Season 5 Photo Journals
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Massawa, Eritrea Journal
Massawa, Eritrea, Africa
March 8 - 11, 2008
by KT
Busy War Torn Port Town
Battle Scars and Fishing Boats
March 8, 2008
Port Smythe to Massawa was an easy motor. Although the winds were predicted to be southerly they came from the NE, luckily quite light and therefore not effecting our progress. We entered through a narrow channel, first passing by a large port area for large ships, then past the local fishing fleet. There was not a soul to be seen, ashore or on the water. The entire area felt desolate and deserted. Most the buildings we could see were either run down or bombed out.
Eritrea and Ethiopia had been at war off and on for many years (starting as far back as 1961), the latest activity having just ended with a tense peace agreement in 2000. Sadly, Massawa was left barely standing when in 1990 the Ethiopians almost leveled the city with bomb raids after losing the port to the Eritrean People’s Liberation Forces. This was our first look at the destruction a war on one’s homeland causes, and it was devastating.
As we had arrived a bit late in the afternoon we decided to wait till the following morning before venturing ashore. That evening was a most amazing sunset. The sun glowed silver as hit the dusty horizon and the reflections on the water of both the sun and other yachts was magnificent.
March 9, 2008
Since Indonesia we have become more and more accustomed to hearing the early morning prayer of the Muslims. This morning Chris (as I was still sleeping in bed) was treated to a mix of cultures and religions as he heard Catholic church bells ringing, African music playing with harmonized voices singing along, and of course the song-like prayer emitted from the mosque loud speakers. All while the red morning sun rose above the dusty African town. He thought it was extremely cool.
The first order of business, of course, was checking in. It was easier for just the boys from the four yachts to go into customs and immigration. Since it was Sunday customs was closed, but we were able to at least get our shore passes.
As with the previous day, the town felt deserted – we saw hardly a single person walking the streets, and since it was Sunday no shops were open. Back in the early 1930s Massawa was the busiest port on the East African coast, but you would never guess that now. Beneath the rubble and ruins a discernible Italian influence exits. In the second half of the 19th century, Italy invested heavily in the colonization of Eritrea, and it shows in the remaining architecture. But not a single building dating from that period stands without some type of battle scar.
Amazingly, for a town barely standing due to years of war, and for a country known as one of the poorest in the world, the people of Massawa are extremely friendly and no one hassled or attempted to hustle us.
Walking along the dusty streets and alleys was an experience. Although the town is destroyed it still exudes tremendous ambience. It is unique with buildings made of coral rock with wooden screened windows. Down many of the alleyways we could hear festive music or see people gathered for Sunday lunch, chattering away and laughing loudly. Massawa is primarily Muslim, however instead drab black burkas the women wear colorful dresses with brightly patterned scarves.
We were mostly approached by children … always the most outgoing. You know that your in a poor area when kids ask for pencils and pens rather than candy and clothes. A couple of older boys (around 12) walked with us a for a bit, and eventually got up the courage to ask some questions. Surprisingly the thing they were most interested in was our political views on the upcoming US presidential election. Who did we prefer? Who did we think would win? And so on. They even offered their opinions on who they liked and why. And of course they had to give us the usual “we don’t like Bush” comment that we now expected whenever we said we were from America. It wasn’t until recently that I really began to understand what it means to be from one of the world leading countries. In my prior life I was never one interested in politics or policy. I never really thought what I or America did (in most matters) had that much of an influence on the world as a whole. But here I was in a country that most people don’t probably even know exists and these 12 year old boys could tell me more about the upcoming election than probably most American college students! So much for my theory on being inconspicuous!
March 10, 2008
It was a mixture of tasks for us today. In the morning Chris went back ashore to try and clear-in with customs, but nothing was accomplished as the official didn’t like that we weren’t using an agent (which cost money) and so told him (and the others) to come back later. We weren’t too concerned as he hadn’t taken any of our paperwork, so worst case was that we’d just leave, still having our clearance papers from Aden. During his jaunt ashore he passed out pencils to the mobs of children … once word gets out the rumor spreads like wildfire and soon you are surrounded!
A large part of our day was spent with various chores around the boat, Chris fixed our VHF antenna and added more fuel to the tanks while I cleaned up the boat and worked on our website and photograph organization.
Later in the afternoon I joined the other women for a trip to the market just outside of town. It is hard to blend in when (a) you are white and (b) you are with three other white women and one white man. From the moment we stepped out of the taxi all eyes were on us. The local markets are always a fantastic place. It is there that you get a true feel for the people, watching them shop and mingle amongst themselves. Many time Chris and I go to the markets just for exploring and don’t end up even buying anything. You never know what to expect and they are so different from any place back home. This market was small, but still interesting … men hand weaving beds, donkey carts bringing in supplies, women selling colorful fabrics and vegetables. (Photo above/left by Stardust)
The one thing about the Arab countries that you’ll read over and over again in all the guide books (besides covering every inch of your body if you’re a women) is that most of the locals do not like having their photograph taken, and that you should always ask before taking the photo, especially if it is of a women. Because of this Chris and I tend to be extremely consciousness and hesitant about pulling the camera out. I can’t stand the thought of further embellishing the stereotype of rude white tourists ignorant of their surroundings. It’s too bad really because these same countries have some great photograph opportunities. It seems amongst our cruising friends that we are the most sensitive and conservative in this regard. Just about everyone we know just clicks away, sometimes asking, sometimes not. Although I’ve seen some harsh looks here and there none of the locals have gotten overly cranky from this, so who knows maybe they don’t care as much as the guide books say. Anyway I only point this out because it might be noticed that in our PDF photo albums many of the photos are not taken by us, and some might wonder why.
After the market our taxi driver (now our hired guide) took us to another small shopping area that consisted of four small shopping stalls. There was nothing much of interest, although we did try and buy bread rolls until we discovered that there were only four left (as this is the only bread we’d seen in Massawa we figured we ought to leave it for the locals).
March 11, 2008
In Massawa you get a 48-hour visa for free, after that it is $40 per person. Originally we had planned on staying longer and taking the inland trip up to the capital, Asmara. The city is supposed to be equivalent to a 1960’s southern Italian town, and was not as touched by the bombings of the war. And the bus ride travels through some scenic mountain areas. In the end we opted not to go. Unfortunately two yachts who had visited Massawa just a week before us were both boarded at night, one was robbed (the other woke up and scared away the would-be thief). Because of this we didn’t feel comfortable leaving the boat overnight without someone watching it. And since we weren’t going to Asmara it didn’t seem worth the extra visa money just to stay in Massawa. So, our 48 hours were up and we were once again off.
In order to check out we had to re-anchor Billabong in the main port area and pick up immigration to come aboard to check for stowaways. I found this a little ironic as it seems to me that most countries are worried about people illegally entering their country not leaving it. It’s not a big deal though, and they were pretty quick about – the only real hassle is that we couldn’t depart early because we had to wait for them to open and then do all the paperwork and boat checks the morning of our departure. This limited our options for our next destination. But the one thing we’ve learned cruising is to go with the flow and adjust to make it work!
Leaving Massawa I couldn’t help but think about how lucky I am to never have been through a war on my homeland. It is good to see (and know from various readings) that Massawa is finally starting to rebuild and more and more business is starting to come back into the port.
March 8 - 11, 2008
by KT
Busy War Torn Port Town
Battle Scars and Fishing Boats
March 8, 2008
Port Smythe to Massawa was an easy motor. Although the winds were predicted to be southerly they came from the NE, luckily quite light and therefore not effecting our progress. We entered through a narrow channel, first passing by a large port area for large ships, then past the local fishing fleet. There was not a soul to be seen, ashore or on the water. The entire area felt desolate and deserted. Most the buildings we could see were either run down or bombed out.
Eritrea and Ethiopia had been at war off and on for many years (starting as far back as 1961), the latest activity having just ended with a tense peace agreement in 2000. Sadly, Massawa was left barely standing when in 1990 the Ethiopians almost leveled the city with bomb raids after losing the port to the Eritrean People’s Liberation Forces. This was our first look at the destruction a war on one’s homeland causes, and it was devastating.
As we had arrived a bit late in the afternoon we decided to wait till the following morning before venturing ashore. That evening was a most amazing sunset. The sun glowed silver as hit the dusty horizon and the reflections on the water of both the sun and other yachts was magnificent.
March 9, 2008
Since Indonesia we have become more and more accustomed to hearing the early morning prayer of the Muslims. This morning Chris (as I was still sleeping in bed) was treated to a mix of cultures and religions as he heard Catholic church bells ringing, African music playing with harmonized voices singing along, and of course the song-like prayer emitted from the mosque loud speakers. All while the red morning sun rose above the dusty African town. He thought it was extremely cool.
The first order of business, of course, was checking in. It was easier for just the boys from the four yachts to go into customs and immigration. Since it was Sunday customs was closed, but we were able to at least get our shore passes.
As with the previous day, the town felt deserted – we saw hardly a single person walking the streets, and since it was Sunday no shops were open. Back in the early 1930s Massawa was the busiest port on the East African coast, but you would never guess that now. Beneath the rubble and ruins a discernible Italian influence exits. In the second half of the 19th century, Italy invested heavily in the colonization of Eritrea, and it shows in the remaining architecture. But not a single building dating from that period stands without some type of battle scar.
Amazingly, for a town barely standing due to years of war, and for a country known as one of the poorest in the world, the people of Massawa are extremely friendly and no one hassled or attempted to hustle us.
Walking along the dusty streets and alleys was an experience. Although the town is destroyed it still exudes tremendous ambience. It is unique with buildings made of coral rock with wooden screened windows. Down many of the alleyways we could hear festive music or see people gathered for Sunday lunch, chattering away and laughing loudly. Massawa is primarily Muslim, however instead drab black burkas the women wear colorful dresses with brightly patterned scarves.
We were mostly approached by children … always the most outgoing. You know that your in a poor area when kids ask for pencils and pens rather than candy and clothes. A couple of older boys (around 12) walked with us a for a bit, and eventually got up the courage to ask some questions. Surprisingly the thing they were most interested in was our political views on the upcoming US presidential election. Who did we prefer? Who did we think would win? And so on. They even offered their opinions on who they liked and why. And of course they had to give us the usual “we don’t like Bush” comment that we now expected whenever we said we were from America. It wasn’t until recently that I really began to understand what it means to be from one of the world leading countries. In my prior life I was never one interested in politics or policy. I never really thought what I or America did (in most matters) had that much of an influence on the world as a whole. But here I was in a country that most people don’t probably even know exists and these 12 year old boys could tell me more about the upcoming election than probably most American college students! So much for my theory on being inconspicuous!
March 10, 2008
It was a mixture of tasks for us today. In the morning Chris went back ashore to try and clear-in with customs, but nothing was accomplished as the official didn’t like that we weren’t using an agent (which cost money) and so told him (and the others) to come back later. We weren’t too concerned as he hadn’t taken any of our paperwork, so worst case was that we’d just leave, still having our clearance papers from Aden. During his jaunt ashore he passed out pencils to the mobs of children … once word gets out the rumor spreads like wildfire and soon you are surrounded!
A large part of our day was spent with various chores around the boat, Chris fixed our VHF antenna and added more fuel to the tanks while I cleaned up the boat and worked on our website and photograph organization.
Later in the afternoon I joined the other women for a trip to the market just outside of town. It is hard to blend in when (a) you are white and (b) you are with three other white women and one white man. From the moment we stepped out of the taxi all eyes were on us. The local markets are always a fantastic place. It is there that you get a true feel for the people, watching them shop and mingle amongst themselves. Many time Chris and I go to the markets just for exploring and don’t end up even buying anything. You never know what to expect and they are so different from any place back home. This market was small, but still interesting … men hand weaving beds, donkey carts bringing in supplies, women selling colorful fabrics and vegetables. (Photo above/left by Stardust)
The one thing about the Arab countries that you’ll read over and over again in all the guide books (besides covering every inch of your body if you’re a women) is that most of the locals do not like having their photograph taken, and that you should always ask before taking the photo, especially if it is of a women. Because of this Chris and I tend to be extremely consciousness and hesitant about pulling the camera out. I can’t stand the thought of further embellishing the stereotype of rude white tourists ignorant of their surroundings. It’s too bad really because these same countries have some great photograph opportunities. It seems amongst our cruising friends that we are the most sensitive and conservative in this regard. Just about everyone we know just clicks away, sometimes asking, sometimes not. Although I’ve seen some harsh looks here and there none of the locals have gotten overly cranky from this, so who knows maybe they don’t care as much as the guide books say. Anyway I only point this out because it might be noticed that in our PDF photo albums many of the photos are not taken by us, and some might wonder why.
After the market our taxi driver (now our hired guide) took us to another small shopping area that consisted of four small shopping stalls. There was nothing much of interest, although we did try and buy bread rolls until we discovered that there were only four left (as this is the only bread we’d seen in Massawa we figured we ought to leave it for the locals).
March 11, 2008
In Massawa you get a 48-hour visa for free, after that it is $40 per person. Originally we had planned on staying longer and taking the inland trip up to the capital, Asmara. The city is supposed to be equivalent to a 1960’s southern Italian town, and was not as touched by the bombings of the war. And the bus ride travels through some scenic mountain areas. In the end we opted not to go. Unfortunately two yachts who had visited Massawa just a week before us were both boarded at night, one was robbed (the other woke up and scared away the would-be thief). Because of this we didn’t feel comfortable leaving the boat overnight without someone watching it. And since we weren’t going to Asmara it didn’t seem worth the extra visa money just to stay in Massawa. So, our 48 hours were up and we were once again off.
In order to check out we had to re-anchor Billabong in the main port area and pick up immigration to come aboard to check for stowaways. I found this a little ironic as it seems to me that most countries are worried about people illegally entering their country not leaving it. It’s not a big deal though, and they were pretty quick about – the only real hassle is that we couldn’t depart early because we had to wait for them to open and then do all the paperwork and boat checks the morning of our departure. This limited our options for our next destination. But the one thing we’ve learned cruising is to go with the flow and adjust to make it work!
Leaving Massawa I couldn’t help but think about how lucky I am to never have been through a war on my homeland. It is good to see (and know from various readings) that Massawa is finally starting to rebuild and more and more business is starting to come back into the port.
Mersa Dudu, Eritrea - Red Sea
March 3 – 5, 2008
After two nights at sea we arrived at our first Red Sea anchorage, Mersa Dudu. High volcanic peaks poked out from an otherwise barren landscape. The wind accelerated through these peaks and into the anchorage, resulting in more wind inside the anchorage than out! The anchorage was still comfortable, with now real chop, but loud with 25kts whistling through our rigging.
I had read some compare the landscape of Mersa Dudu to the moon. I didn’t see it. To me it is the desert plain and simple – isolated, dry, and brown. Then again I’ve never been to the moon.
Ironically we hadn’t really given much thought to where we were going to be – it was always just “the Red Sea”. It wasn’t until Mersa Dudu that it dawned on us that we were actually in Africa, the place I’d wanted to visit since I was a kid. Another continent, another country. For us this was when we truly realized that the Red Sea would not be some place to speed through but rather a place to explore. Later we acknowledged that there were two types of cruisers traversing through – those that would just go-go-go, perhaps only considering Egypt as any type of real destination, using the Red Sea merely as a highway, the anchorages as pit stops, and those that saw the Red Sea (and its many anchorages/countries) as a destination in itself. Who would take the time to see and explore. The other great thing about our realization was that we finally remembered that we have a Lonely Planet Guide for Africa! All this time we thought we’d just have to wing it, but all of a sudden Chris looks in our big shelf and says “hey this is where we are!”
Not that we really need Lonely Planet to tell us that we were currently in “an inhospitable volcanic and rock desert” or that this area was “desolate and harsh in the extreme”. Still it was fun to learn that we were currently in a region reputed to be one of the hottest places on earth!
We spent three days in Mersa Dudu, mostly waiting for better weather. Regrettably Chris and I both came down with something (most likely food poisoning) and spent a large portion of our time sick as dogs and unable to go ashore.
Our friends hiked to the top of one of the smaller volcanic peaks, which offered great views over the bays (photo right by Stardust). On our third day Chris was healthy enough to at least go ashore and do some beach & rock walking.
After two nights at sea we arrived at our first Red Sea anchorage, Mersa Dudu. High volcanic peaks poked out from an otherwise barren landscape. The wind accelerated through these peaks and into the anchorage, resulting in more wind inside the anchorage than out! The anchorage was still comfortable, with now real chop, but loud with 25kts whistling through our rigging.
I had read some compare the landscape of Mersa Dudu to the moon. I didn’t see it. To me it is the desert plain and simple – isolated, dry, and brown. Then again I’ve never been to the moon.
Ironically we hadn’t really given much thought to where we were going to be – it was always just “the Red Sea”. It wasn’t until Mersa Dudu that it dawned on us that we were actually in Africa, the place I’d wanted to visit since I was a kid. Another continent, another country. For us this was when we truly realized that the Red Sea would not be some place to speed through but rather a place to explore. Later we acknowledged that there were two types of cruisers traversing through – those that would just go-go-go, perhaps only considering Egypt as any type of real destination, using the Red Sea merely as a highway, the anchorages as pit stops, and those that saw the Red Sea (and its many anchorages/countries) as a destination in itself. Who would take the time to see and explore. The other great thing about our realization was that we finally remembered that we have a Lonely Planet Guide for Africa! All this time we thought we’d just have to wing it, but all of a sudden Chris looks in our big shelf and says “hey this is where we are!”
Not that we really need Lonely Planet to tell us that we were currently in “an inhospitable volcanic and rock desert” or that this area was “desolate and harsh in the extreme”. Still it was fun to learn that we were currently in a region reputed to be one of the hottest places on earth!
We spent three days in Mersa Dudu, mostly waiting for better weather. Regrettably Chris and I both came down with something (most likely food poisoning) and spent a large portion of our time sick as dogs and unable to go ashore.
Our friends hiked to the top of one of the smaller volcanic peaks, which offered great views over the bays (photo right by Stardust). On our third day Chris was healthy enough to at least go ashore and do some beach & rock walking.
Aden, Yemen
February 26 - 29, 2008
by KT
Yemen may not be on any top 10 lists, and granted I probably wouldn't use my two weeks vacation to go there, but it is one of the most intriguing places we have been. I found Aden to be beyond anything I could imagine, from the scenery to the people, it is one of the those countries that sparks curiosity.
February 26, 2008
I loved the coastline as we approached the Aden harbour. Dry desert mountains shot up from the water, with dirty white and sand colored houses built into their sides. There wasn't a spec of color to be seen. This may sound drab, but I found it just the opposite, perhaps because it was the way the houses seemed to be a part of the mountains, or the rugged lines of the mountains themselves, or the very uniqueness of such plainness, or maybe it's just because having grown up in Arizona I'm a desert girl at heart. The one thing about Aden however, is that everything looks better from afar. From the water you can't see that the buildings are crumbling, old, and dirty, and from the mountains you can't see that the water is a sick unnatural green color.
It was a huge relief to reach Aden. The last three passages (Thailand-Maldives, Maldives-Oman, and Oman-Yemen) had been tough. It seemed we have been living in a constant state of wetness, boat repairs, sea sickness, and fatigue.
The first order of business upon arriving (after showering of course) was the check-in. This was the first country where we had been told we might need some baksheesh. Baksheesh is a form of tipping, or bribing, depending on how you view it. While Westerners probably see it more as a bribe, it is commonplace in this part of the world, and I'm sure they think of it more as a tip. With officials it will usually start with the official asking if you brought him a "present". Now, you can say no, and sometimes they'll just shrug and life will go on with no problem, but usually if you don't come up with something life suddenly becomes more difficult; paperwork might be lost or delayed, officials might find it's time for their lunch break, and so on. Since a pack of cigarettes or a few dollars usually satisfies, it doesn't seem worth the hassle to say no.
The harbor is sectioned off from the city by a large wall. To enter and exit one must present their shore visa at the gate. Photography around the harbor is also usually frowned upon. Much of this security was put in place after the US Navy war ship, Cole, was bombed some years back. (Photo right: the guarded entrance gate) The minute we stepped ashore a number of people approached offering taxis, tours, diesel, laundry, and other such services. It was a little overwhelming, but also entertaining. All the men were friendly, and none were the slight bit put off when we said no (although they didn't really take no for an answer, instead they'd just say, "okay no problem, tomorrow then?"). The check-in turned out to be one of the fastest, and easiest that we have ever been through. The immigration officer was extremely friendly, although it's a little discerning to turn over your passport to be held in such an unsecured office, especially when the officer informs you to double check your passport photo when you check-out has he may accidentally give you back the wrong passport!!! (As it turns out, one boat we know was stuck in Aden as another cruiser had indeed sailed off with the wrong passport). Customs was just as easy, and we got away without having to hand out a gift.
We then set out walking, looking for an ATM and dinner. We had read in one of the guidebooks that Aden is much poorer then Salalah. At the time we had wondered what about Aden made the author write that. It took about 30 seconds out on the street to understand - there was no doubt Aden is a poor city. Everything is run down, and not just slightly, I'm talking full-on falling apart. Every car looks as though it's been in a demolition derby, every building looks as though it is minutes from collapsing, and everything is a dingy grey or brown color. The desert climate doesn't help, as it leaves a layer of dust covering every surface. What was a real surprise though was not the poorness but the friendliness of the people. I couldn't believe it when people shouted across the street "Hello! Welcome to Aden". Horns honked and hands waved as cars drove by. Everywhere people seemed to smile at us.
It turns out there is no ATM within easy walking distance, but we managed to exchange a few American dollars at one of the small shops. As many of the stores didn't have signs, and any signs that did exist were in Arabic, finding anything required window shopping. After a bit of walking around we settled on a place to eat. Eight of us were given three menus, with pretty poor translation, which made ordering a bit of a fiasco. All part of the fun of a new country. We stuffed ourselves until it was painful - Chris and I gorging on the fresh pita bread and homemade hummus (along with our dinner of roasted chicken, kebabs, and salads). Then we waddled back to the boats for a much looked forward to full nights rest.
And that's when we discovered a whole new side to the Arabs. The Seaman's Club (which we thought would be patronized by mostly white-foreigner-folk, but turns out draws a huge local crowd), gets going around midnight. That is it STARTS the loud music and dancing at midnight and continues until about 4am. I couldn't believe it, and recognized that I was surely getting older as I kept thinking "Who the hell STARTS the party at midnight, and how can they stand the music that loud??". I swear the speakers must've been aimed at the anchorage, it was so unbelievably loud. To top it all off, it wasn't even good music. No offense against Arab music, but I just wasn't digging it. Finally, when I realized it wasn't going to end at any respectful hour, I dug out an ear plug and managed to get some sleep.
February 27, 2008
We spent the morning doing odd projects around the boat (aka fixing stuff) and cleaning up another round of salt and sand. Late in the afternoon we headed ashore for a trip to the shopping center, where it was reported there was a LuLu's supermarket (ah, the things that excite us). One of the locals at the gate offered a taxi ride for 1,000 local (about $5.00), however you can hire a taxi/guide for $5.00/hour, and the shopping center was reportedly less than 20 minutes away - so this did not seem like a good deal to us, nor was he willing to negotiate his price. We headed out looking to find our own taxi. We finally came across a van and he was willing to take all eight of us for 400 (the first guy would've been 1000 per car which only holds four). As it is said, half of the adventure is the journey itself. Our driver had no clue where we were going, nor did he speak English. He ended up driving us around the town (which was actually quite entertaining) and yelling out his window to various people on the street who would then yell directions back to him! We did at last find the mall, and didn't even have to pay extra for the extended tour.
Inside the shopping mall is a huge contrast to the rest of Aden; it is clean, sparkling white, and very modern looking (motion sensor escalators and everything). But there isn't much for content. A lot of clothing shops, with designs that I'm not even sure I could begin to describe, a food court, and the LuLu's grocery store.
We had four goals: atm, ice cream (Baskin Robbins if you can believe it), internet, and grocery shopping. Priorities first, we took off looking for the Baskin Robbins. The mall was some funky design with what seemed like maze of halls; nothing like the simple circle shapes of American malls. In addition it is, of course, all in Arabic. So it took us all of two minutes before we were lost. But in our lost-ness we did come across a Kodak shop, where the eight of us proceeded to baffle and entertain the local shop clerk as we all decided to get passport photos taken. You'd think we would've been clever enough to ask the English speaking women who took our photos where either the Baskin-Robbins or an ATM was, but oh no we just aren't that clever.
We ran into three 40-ish local men. One approached asking if he could take a photo. Becky said of course, but the men were looking at me and he said, "with her", pointing at me. Oh boy I thought. Well, I have no problem with it so I stood by one of the men while another lined up the shot. I am sure I was blushing bright red as my gang laughed at the scene (Becky and Gordon kept tell me I should ask them for some baksheesh for the photo!). In these countries I never know how to "behave", normally I'd just throw my arms over the shoulder of whoever is next to me, but in a country where females don't even talk to strange men on the street, let alone touch them, I tend to be a bit conservative, so I just stood shoulder to shoulder, arms at my side, attempting to be as proper as possible. After the first photo, the man behind the camera asked "one with me?" Sure, why not. When I stood next to him he put his arm around me (nothing rude), so what the heck I thought, and I threw my arm around his shoulder. The third guy ran in to be in the photo, so up went my other arm (oh boy I thought, for sure they think I'm a big 'ol slut now). Well, the first guy (who was now taking the photo) seemed to realize he was missing out, so he asked for one more photo, where he too put his arm around me. They were very friendly, but it was still a strange experience. I wish I could pop into their minds for just a moment - how do they see this white girl whose showing her hair, face, and wrists, willing to take a photo with strange men while her husband watches???
It took a few more minutes of aimlessly walking around to find the ATMs. With eight of us together we were quite a site for the locals and the men standing nearby couldn't help but wander over to check out what all these white-folk were doing. Of course the last thing you want when punching in your super secret ATM code is a bunch of people looking over your shoulder! We were double lucky in finding the ATMs, as right across from them was the Baskin Robbins. We practically ran over to it, and must've looked downright pathetic when we discovered it was closed. As if in denial we just stared into the window ... eight white tourist hovering around the Baskin Robbin store window practically crying with disappointment. Either because we looked so desperate, or maybe it appeared as though we would bust through the store window at any moment, one of the mall security guards came over and told us that he believed it would be open in a minute, that the worker had just gone to the bathroom. Ahh were we ever relieved.
Having wised up since our last encounter with an English speaking local, I asked the man if there was an internet cafe in the mall. Not only was there one, but he offered to escort us there. Turns out our new friend was from Egypt and had only lived in Yemen for the last three years. He seemed pleased enough to learn we were from America and Canada. The internet cafe looked hi-tech enough, but was dog-slow, making even a simple email check painful. Conveniently it was paired up with a cafe-restaurant, so after interneting we enjoyed chicken shwarmas (similar to a greek gyro), and then found our way back to the Baskin Robbins.
By the time we got around to the grocery shopping it was early evening; the time when the locals come out in full force. The mall was a sea of black flowing cloth as women in full burkas mingled around. It was a photographers dream, only not, because photographs in this part of the world aren't usually granted or appreciated (seems odd given the four men encountered earlier). It was apparent that many of the women don't make it to this mall very often (if ever before), as the escalators seemed to make most of them nervous, and even caused one to fall. Kids treated the escalators like an e-ticket Disney ride, while the older men seemed to hang on to the hand rail as if their life depended on it. Huge people pile ups occurred at the entrance and exit points of the escalators, as the locals hesitantly attempted to get on or off.
I had always imagined the burka as a shapeless, drab, black, boring "dress". What I found is that while it is pretty shapeless, there is quite a bit of style to it. Intricate designs can be found on the wrists, and sometimes bottom hems. Some of them have patterns around the hoods or down the front. They are a almost silky material, that seems to flow rather than hang. The women around Aden do not all wear a full face cover, many only cover their hair. On the extreme end some women wear a full veil (even covering eyes), with full stockings (covering their feet) and mittens covering their hands. The men are dressed smartly, whether in more western gear (slacks and long sleeve button shirts), or wearing more traditional sulus or robes. And it did appear that more than one man was shopping with multiple wives (which Chris commented must be a nightmare, as he believes it's hard enough shopping with just me!!!)
Becky wanted to take a photograph in the grocery store, not necessarily of any one person, just of the crazy mass of people that were crowding the aisles (it was literally packed cart to cart). When she pulled out her camera a security guard approached and told her absolutely no photos were allowed! They must keep top secrets hidden amongst the tomato sauce.
It is a nightmare shopping when it's that crowded, and I couldn't wait to be done. We found another van cab, this time costing us 1000 for all eight, but it included a movie! The driver put on the Disney Aladdin at top volume and away we went. Turns out he didn't know where we were going either, so after getting a bit lost, doing a u-turn on some desolate dark road, and asking for directions from an eight year old, we made it back. It was another midnight disco music night, but at least time we were prepared and had both gone to bed with ear plugs in!
February 28, 2008
In just about every small country nothing works the same way twice. We had been told that getting diesel "inside" (meaning in the town versus outside at the dockside fuel station) was cheaper, but that inside wouldn't fill jerry cans unless you had permission from customs, which you couldn't get without paying a fee, which in turn made the price nearly the same as getting the fuel outside. Just for grins Chris went to ask at the gate if he could bring jerry cans through. He was told to go to customs. The customs official walked him to the gate, spoke some Arabic while pointing at Chris, and just like that we were allowed to bring through jerry cans. So the two of us made two trips through, without any hassle (except carrying the heavy cans), paying about a quarter of the cost. It was easy as pie, but there is not doubt that on a different day, with a different guard or a different official we could've easily been in paperwork hell attempting to do the exact same thing. At the gas station we talked to a few of the workers and for at the least the fourth time since Oman I was told (in response to saying we were from America) "We like Americans, just not Bush". I only hope they are happier with our next selection, otherwise life could become more difficult for American tourist in this area.
After a morning of fueling up, we were off for some exploring. It's not hard to find a guide and car, as they are hanging out around the gate waiting for business. After a bit of negotiating we had ourselves a guide, and he was calling for a second car. I don't know how either car actually managed to run, both seemed dented behind belief and laden with rust, neither installed a sense of safety, but in Aden terms they weren't too shabby. Chris sat in the front with the guide and tried to put on his seat belt, our guy told him not to worry about it, that only the driver was required to wear a seatbelt. Meanwhile I'm thinking, it's not the law that's worrisome, but rather that big shatter in the windshield right in front of Chris, about where someone's head might've hit when a crazy driver braked too hard!
Our first stop was the ancient water tanks. An amazing water holding system built into the side of a few hills. No accurate information exists about the original construction of the tanks, but the work is amazing and must've taken some bit of effort. The tanks were discovered in 1854, covered by debris and rubbish. They were dry when we visited, but can hold 20 million imperial gallons (our guide said that they still fill with some water during the wet season). We met a few friendly local men, dressed in traditional Yemen clothing (robes and sulus), some even wearing a Jambiya (a curved dagger worn in a special belt). I ended up getting my photo taken again, but in return they posed in a few good shots for us.
Next up was a ancient mosque (it seems everything in Aden is ancient), where for a small donation we got to see inside the tomb of Al Aidroos (I think you need to be a Muslim in Aden to know of him) ... I didn't look, and everyone else said it was too dark to see anything anyway.
After the mosque we drove along the waterfront, with a quick stop at the fish market. Then we hiked up to see the remains of an ancient castle. Along the hike we came across a lot of local men, all who smiled and said a friendly "hello" or "welcome to Aden". Up at the castle, groups of men sat about in circles chewing on Qat (pronounced "gat" or "cat"). Qat comes from a small evergreen bush, the leaves are chewed to produce a mild stimulant effect. Supposedly it leads to a peaceful disposition and heightened sexual prowess. Chris got one guy to laugh by enthusiastically chewing on one leaf when offered (he spit it out later, before any effect took place). When they chew Qat they continuously shove leaf after leaf into their mouth, chewing and sucking, and storing the leaves in the side of the cheek. It doesn't take long before their cheeks bulge as though they were chewing on a baseball.
The views from the castle were amazing, from here Aden didn't look so poor or dingy. But the castle itself was strewn with trash and covered in graffiti (included the ever tactful "F... Bush").
We continued driving along the coastline, past salt fields and a huge flock of flamingoes. We made a quick stop at one of the beaches, were a lot of local women sat in full burkas, socializing in the sea breeze. A huge line of men sat against the curving beach wall, all chewing Qat. Our guide tended to make fun of the men who indulged in Qat. He also joked about the burkas, calling the women Ninjas. He said he too was married to a Ninja, so we figured he didn't use the word in disrespect (of course one never knows). Since he was so open we felt we could ask more direct questions about the culture, and he was very friendly in trying to satisfy our curiosity, but I feel as though I still don't really understand a thing. However we did learn that a man can have a maximum of four wives (our guide felt one was enough), and that if a man did have four it meant he was quite wealthy. He said the advantage of multiple wives was that when you had only one, they might argue and be opinionated, but once a second or third wife came into the picture, the women became more submissive, as the husband would threaten to spend more time and money with the other wife. Well, it's a unique way of thinking!
Our final stop of the day was Arab town. This had to be one of the craziest, most crowded, extremely interesting, sensory overloading, and sadly, poorest places we've visited. We started with a look at sesame oil processing. From the grinding and shaking of the seeds, to the old machines that turned, grinding the seeds into oil, while the men scooped out the oil. Down the street we visited with henna tattooed camels. Yes, you read that correctly, the camels themselves were dyed in funny dot patterns. Chris attempted to get himself beaten-up by taking a photograph of the street ... the women across the road thought he was taking their photo and began yelling and pointing, causing the men to send evil stares ... luckily we were leaving that area, and quickly retreated!
Our guide walked us through the Qat market. I can't even come close to explaining it. Imagine shoulder to shoulder men, standing, yelling, sitting, bargaining ... a sea of bodies and noise beyond comprehension. A lot of people used gas lanterns, which heated up the place to a nice boiling temperature. One thing I've noticed about Arab men is that when they yell or negotiate it can appear as though they are fighting - up until they finish the enthusiastic conversation and smile. When you are trying to push your way through this mass of yelling it can feel intimidating. And since it is entirely men, as a woman, I felt a bit out of place. But what I never once felt was threatened or worried. Eight white people walking through caused everyone to stare, but they all smiled and many said hello.
We stopped at a small juice shop for fresh lime juice that was outstanding. Sweet, tart, and fresh. Sitting away from the masses also gave us a chance to get a breath and relax. From there we walked through the garment shops, full of amazingly bright colors and gaudy dresses. After a tying demonstration we bought Chris a head wrap. I attempted to tie it around his head, but one passer-by just laughed, so I asked him to do it. He got to work on Chris, laughing the entire time, with a huge ball of Qat bulging out the side of his cheek. Chris wore his new head gear for the remainder of the day, which was a huge hit around the market.
As dusk came Arab town came to life. I had already thought it was bustling and crowded, but it now seemed as though the entire population was wandering the streets! We bought some fresh chapati (flat bread) at one of the stalls, which immediately brought along some beggars. It is nearly impossible to turn away someone asking for a bite of bread, and so Chris handed some out, which of course just brought out more beggars. We eventually had to walk away as it was too much to handle, but we did try to give everyone a little piece. One the men was so pleased with Chris that he continued to follow us through the market. When we stopped to buy vegetables Chris watched as the beggar stole a few carrots when the vendor was turned away busy handling a customer. It is beyond heartbreaking to see people so desperate and so hungry. (Photo left by Ascension)
Another hour was about all we could handle. Then the crowds, the yelling, the haggling, the staring, all just became too much - we were ready for the peace and quiet of our boat! After such a busy day even the midnight disco music couldn't wake us!
February 29, 2008
We finally had a little bit of a down day. A few chores around the boat, some interneting, and a tiny bit of relaxing. We could use a few more down days, but the southerlies are blowing, and our friends are anxious to get going.
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by KT
Yemen may not be on any top 10 lists, and granted I probably wouldn't use my two weeks vacation to go there, but it is one of the most intriguing places we have been. I found Aden to be beyond anything I could imagine, from the scenery to the people, it is one of the those countries that sparks curiosity.
February 26, 2008
I loved the coastline as we approached the Aden harbour. Dry desert mountains shot up from the water, with dirty white and sand colored houses built into their sides. There wasn't a spec of color to be seen. This may sound drab, but I found it just the opposite, perhaps because it was the way the houses seemed to be a part of the mountains, or the rugged lines of the mountains themselves, or the very uniqueness of such plainness, or maybe it's just because having grown up in Arizona I'm a desert girl at heart. The one thing about Aden however, is that everything looks better from afar. From the water you can't see that the buildings are crumbling, old, and dirty, and from the mountains you can't see that the water is a sick unnatural green color.
It was a huge relief to reach Aden. The last three passages (Thailand-Maldives, Maldives-Oman, and Oman-Yemen) had been tough. It seemed we have been living in a constant state of wetness, boat repairs, sea sickness, and fatigue.
The first order of business upon arriving (after showering of course) was the check-in. This was the first country where we had been told we might need some baksheesh. Baksheesh is a form of tipping, or bribing, depending on how you view it. While Westerners probably see it more as a bribe, it is commonplace in this part of the world, and I'm sure they think of it more as a tip. With officials it will usually start with the official asking if you brought him a "present". Now, you can say no, and sometimes they'll just shrug and life will go on with no problem, but usually if you don't come up with something life suddenly becomes more difficult; paperwork might be lost or delayed, officials might find it's time for their lunch break, and so on. Since a pack of cigarettes or a few dollars usually satisfies, it doesn't seem worth the hassle to say no.
The harbor is sectioned off from the city by a large wall. To enter and exit one must present their shore visa at the gate. Photography around the harbor is also usually frowned upon. Much of this security was put in place after the US Navy war ship, Cole, was bombed some years back. (Photo right: the guarded entrance gate) The minute we stepped ashore a number of people approached offering taxis, tours, diesel, laundry, and other such services. It was a little overwhelming, but also entertaining. All the men were friendly, and none were the slight bit put off when we said no (although they didn't really take no for an answer, instead they'd just say, "okay no problem, tomorrow then?"). The check-in turned out to be one of the fastest, and easiest that we have ever been through. The immigration officer was extremely friendly, although it's a little discerning to turn over your passport to be held in such an unsecured office, especially when the officer informs you to double check your passport photo when you check-out has he may accidentally give you back the wrong passport!!! (As it turns out, one boat we know was stuck in Aden as another cruiser had indeed sailed off with the wrong passport). Customs was just as easy, and we got away without having to hand out a gift.
We then set out walking, looking for an ATM and dinner. We had read in one of the guidebooks that Aden is much poorer then Salalah. At the time we had wondered what about Aden made the author write that. It took about 30 seconds out on the street to understand - there was no doubt Aden is a poor city. Everything is run down, and not just slightly, I'm talking full-on falling apart. Every car looks as though it's been in a demolition derby, every building looks as though it is minutes from collapsing, and everything is a dingy grey or brown color. The desert climate doesn't help, as it leaves a layer of dust covering every surface. What was a real surprise though was not the poorness but the friendliness of the people. I couldn't believe it when people shouted across the street "Hello! Welcome to Aden". Horns honked and hands waved as cars drove by. Everywhere people seemed to smile at us.
It turns out there is no ATM within easy walking distance, but we managed to exchange a few American dollars at one of the small shops. As many of the stores didn't have signs, and any signs that did exist were in Arabic, finding anything required window shopping. After a bit of walking around we settled on a place to eat. Eight of us were given three menus, with pretty poor translation, which made ordering a bit of a fiasco. All part of the fun of a new country. We stuffed ourselves until it was painful - Chris and I gorging on the fresh pita bread and homemade hummus (along with our dinner of roasted chicken, kebabs, and salads). Then we waddled back to the boats for a much looked forward to full nights rest.
And that's when we discovered a whole new side to the Arabs. The Seaman's Club (which we thought would be patronized by mostly white-foreigner-folk, but turns out draws a huge local crowd), gets going around midnight. That is it STARTS the loud music and dancing at midnight and continues until about 4am. I couldn't believe it, and recognized that I was surely getting older as I kept thinking "Who the hell STARTS the party at midnight, and how can they stand the music that loud??". I swear the speakers must've been aimed at the anchorage, it was so unbelievably loud. To top it all off, it wasn't even good music. No offense against Arab music, but I just wasn't digging it. Finally, when I realized it wasn't going to end at any respectful hour, I dug out an ear plug and managed to get some sleep.
February 27, 2008
We spent the morning doing odd projects around the boat (aka fixing stuff) and cleaning up another round of salt and sand. Late in the afternoon we headed ashore for a trip to the shopping center, where it was reported there was a LuLu's supermarket (ah, the things that excite us). One of the locals at the gate offered a taxi ride for 1,000 local (about $5.00), however you can hire a taxi/guide for $5.00/hour, and the shopping center was reportedly less than 20 minutes away - so this did not seem like a good deal to us, nor was he willing to negotiate his price. We headed out looking to find our own taxi. We finally came across a van and he was willing to take all eight of us for 400 (the first guy would've been 1000 per car which only holds four). As it is said, half of the adventure is the journey itself. Our driver had no clue where we were going, nor did he speak English. He ended up driving us around the town (which was actually quite entertaining) and yelling out his window to various people on the street who would then yell directions back to him! We did at last find the mall, and didn't even have to pay extra for the extended tour.
Inside the shopping mall is a huge contrast to the rest of Aden; it is clean, sparkling white, and very modern looking (motion sensor escalators and everything). But there isn't much for content. A lot of clothing shops, with designs that I'm not even sure I could begin to describe, a food court, and the LuLu's grocery store.
We had four goals: atm, ice cream (Baskin Robbins if you can believe it), internet, and grocery shopping. Priorities first, we took off looking for the Baskin Robbins. The mall was some funky design with what seemed like maze of halls; nothing like the simple circle shapes of American malls. In addition it is, of course, all in Arabic. So it took us all of two minutes before we were lost. But in our lost-ness we did come across a Kodak shop, where the eight of us proceeded to baffle and entertain the local shop clerk as we all decided to get passport photos taken. You'd think we would've been clever enough to ask the English speaking women who took our photos where either the Baskin-Robbins or an ATM was, but oh no we just aren't that clever.
We ran into three 40-ish local men. One approached asking if he could take a photo. Becky said of course, but the men were looking at me and he said, "with her", pointing at me. Oh boy I thought. Well, I have no problem with it so I stood by one of the men while another lined up the shot. I am sure I was blushing bright red as my gang laughed at the scene (Becky and Gordon kept tell me I should ask them for some baksheesh for the photo!). In these countries I never know how to "behave", normally I'd just throw my arms over the shoulder of whoever is next to me, but in a country where females don't even talk to strange men on the street, let alone touch them, I tend to be a bit conservative, so I just stood shoulder to shoulder, arms at my side, attempting to be as proper as possible. After the first photo, the man behind the camera asked "one with me?" Sure, why not. When I stood next to him he put his arm around me (nothing rude), so what the heck I thought, and I threw my arm around his shoulder. The third guy ran in to be in the photo, so up went my other arm (oh boy I thought, for sure they think I'm a big 'ol slut now). Well, the first guy (who was now taking the photo) seemed to realize he was missing out, so he asked for one more photo, where he too put his arm around me. They were very friendly, but it was still a strange experience. I wish I could pop into their minds for just a moment - how do they see this white girl whose showing her hair, face, and
It took a few more minutes of aimlessly walking around to find the ATMs. With eight of us together we were quite a site for the locals and the men standing nearby couldn't help but wander over to check out what all these white-folk were doing. Of course the last thing you want when punching in your super secret ATM code is a bunch of people looking over your shoulder! We were double lucky in finding the ATMs, as right across from them was the Baskin Robbins. We practically ran over to it, and must've looked downright pathetic when we discovered it was closed. As if in denial we just stared into the window ... eight white tourist hovering around the Baskin Robbin store window practically crying with disappointment. Either because we looked so desperate, or maybe it appeared as though we would bust through the store window at any moment, one of the mall security guards came over and told us that he believed it would be open in a minute, that the worker had just gone to the bathroom. Ahh were we ever relieved.
Having wised up since our last encounter with an English speaking local, I asked the man if there was an internet cafe in the mall. Not only was there one, but he offered to escort us there. Turns out our new friend was from Egypt and had only lived in Yemen for the last three years. He seemed pleased enough to learn we were from America and Canada. The internet cafe looked hi-tech enough, but was dog-slow, making even a simple email check painful. Conveniently it was paired up with a cafe-restaurant, so after interneting we enjoyed chicken shwarmas (similar to a greek gyro), and then found our way back to the Baskin Robbins.
By the time we got around to the grocery shopping it was early evening; the time when the locals come out in full force. The mall was a sea of black flowing cloth as women in full burkas mingled around. It was a photographers dream, only not, because photographs in this part of the world aren't usually granted or appreciated (seems odd given the four men encountered earlier). It was apparent that many of the women don't make it to this mall very often (if ever before), as the escalators seemed to make most of them nervous, and even caused one to fall. Kids treated the escalators like an e-ticket Disney ride, while the older men seemed to hang on to the hand rail as if their life depended on it. Huge people pile ups occurred at the entrance and exit points of the escalators, as the locals hesitantly attempted to get on or off.
I had always imagined the burka as a shapeless, drab, black, boring "dress". What I found is that while it is pretty shapeless, there is quite a bit of style to it. Intricate designs can be found on the wrists, and sometimes bottom hems. Some of them have patterns around the hoods or down the front. They are a almost silky material, that seems to flow rather than hang. The women around Aden do not all wear a full face cover, many only cover their hair. On the extreme end some women wear a full veil (even covering eyes), with full stockings (covering their feet) and mittens covering their hands. The men are dressed smartly, whether in more western gear (slacks and long sleeve button shirts), or wearing more traditional sulus or robes. And it did appear that more than one man was shopping with multiple wives (which Chris commented must be a nightmare, as he believes it's hard enough shopping with just me!!!)
Becky wanted to take a photograph in the grocery store, not necessarily of any one person, just of the crazy mass of people that were crowding the aisles (it was literally packed cart to cart). When she pulled out her camera a security guard approached and told her absolutely no photos were allowed! They must keep top secrets hidden amongst the tomato sauce.
It is a nightmare shopping when it's that crowded, and I couldn't wait to be done. We found another van cab, this time costing us 1000 for all eight, but it included a movie! The driver put on the Disney Aladdin at top volume and away we went. Turns out he didn't know where we were going either, so after getting a bit lost, doing a u-turn on some desolate dark road, and asking for directions from an eight year old, we made it back. It was another midnight disco music night, but at least time we were prepared and had both gone to bed with ear plugs in!
February 28, 2008
In just about every small country nothing works the same way twice. We had been told that getting diesel "inside" (meaning in the town versus outside at the dockside fuel station) was cheaper, but that inside wouldn't fill jerry cans unless you had permission from customs, which you couldn't get without paying a fee, which in turn made the price nearly the same as getting the fuel outside. Just for grins Chris went to ask at the gate if he could bring jerry cans through. He was told to go to customs. The customs official walked him to the gate, spoke some Arabic while pointing at Chris, and just like that we were allowed to bring through jerry cans. So the two of us made two trips through, without any hassle (except carrying the heavy cans), paying about a quarter of the cost. It was easy as pie, but there is not doubt that on a different day, with a different guard or a different official we could've easily been in paperwork hell attempting to do the exact same thing. At the gas station we talked to a few of the workers and for at the least the fourth time since Oman I was told (in response to saying we were from America) "We like Americans, just not Bush". I only hope they are happier with our next selection, otherwise life could become more difficult for American tourist in this area.
After a morning of fueling up, we were off for some exploring. It's not hard to find a guide and car, as they are hanging out around the gate waiting for business. After a bit of negotiating we had ourselves a guide, and he was calling for a second car. I don't know how either car actually managed to run, both seemed dented behind belief and laden with rust, neither installed a sense of safety, but in Aden terms they weren't too shabby. Chris sat in the front with the guide and tried to put on his seat belt, our guy told him not to worry about it, that only the driver was required to wear a seatbelt. Meanwhile I'm thinking, it's not the law that's worrisome, but rather that big shatter in the windshield right in front of Chris, about where someone's head might've hit when a crazy driver braked too hard!
Our first stop was the ancient water tanks. An amazing water holding system built into the side of a few hills. No accurate information exists about the original construction of the tanks, but the work is amazing and must've taken some bit of effort. The tanks were discovered in 1854, covered by debris and rubbish. They were dry when we visited, but can hold 20 million imperial gallons (our guide said that they still fill with some water during the wet season). We met a few friendly local men, dressed in traditional Yemen clothing (robes and sulus), some even wearing a Jambiya (a curved dagger worn in a special belt). I ended up getting my photo taken again, but in return they posed in a few good shots for us.
Next up was a ancient mosque (it seems everything in Aden is ancient), where for a small donation we got to see inside the tomb of Al Aidroos (I think you need to be a Muslim in Aden to know of him) ... I didn't look, and everyone else said it was too dark to see anything anyway.
After the mosque we drove along the waterfront, with a quick stop at the fish market. Then we hiked up to see the remains of an ancient castle. Along the hike we came across a lot of local men, all who smiled and said a friendly "hello" or "welcome to Aden". Up at the castle, groups of men sat about in circles chewing on Qat (pronounced "gat" or "cat"). Qat comes from a small evergreen bush, the leaves are chewed to produce a mild stimulant effect. Supposedly it leads to a peaceful disposition and heightened sexual prowess. Chris got one guy to laugh by enthusiastically chewing on one leaf when offered (he spit it out later, before any effect took place). When they chew Qat they continuously shove leaf after leaf into their mouth, chewing and sucking, and storing the leaves in the side of the cheek. It doesn't take long before their cheeks bulge as though they were chewing on a baseball.
The views from the castle were amazing, from here Aden didn't look so poor or dingy. But the castle itself was strewn with trash and covered in graffiti (included the ever tactful "F... Bush").
We continued driving along the coastline, past salt fields and a huge flock of flamingoes. We made a quick stop at one of the beaches, were a lot of local women sat in full burkas, socializing in the sea breeze. A huge line of men sat against the curving beach wall, all chewing Qat. Our guide tended to make fun of the men who indulged in Qat. He also joked about the burkas, calling the women Ninjas. He said he too was married to a Ninja, so we figured he didn't use the word in disrespect (of course one never knows). Since he was so open we felt we could ask more direct questions about the culture, and he was very friendly in trying to satisfy our curiosity, but I feel as though I still don't really understand a thing. However we did learn that a man can have a maximum of four wives (our guide felt one was enough), and that if a man did have four it meant he was quite wealthy. He said the advantage of multiple wives was that when you had only one, they might argue and be opinionated, but once a second or third wife came into the picture, the women became more submissive, as the husband would threaten to spend more time and money with the other wife. Well, it's a unique way of thinking!
Our final stop of the day was Arab town. This had to be one of the craziest, most crowded, extremely interesting, sensory overloading, and sadly, poorest places we've visited. We started with a look at sesame oil processing. From the grinding and shaking of the seeds, to the old machines that turned, grinding the seeds into oil, while the men scooped out the oil. Down the street we visited with henna tattooed camels. Yes, you read that correctly, the camels themselves were dyed in funny dot patterns. Chris attempted to get himself beaten-up by taking a photograph of the street ... the women across the road thought he was taking their photo and began yelling and pointing, causing the men to send evil stares ... luckily we were leaving that area, and quickly retreated!
Our guide walked us through the Qat market. I can't even come close to explaining it. Imagine shoulder to shoulder men, standing, yelling, sitting, bargaining ... a sea of bodies and noise beyond comprehension. A lot of people used gas lanterns, which heated up the place to a nice boiling temperature. One thing I've noticed about Arab men is that when they yell or negotiate it can appear as though they are fighting - up until they finish the enthusiastic conversation and smile. When you are trying to push your way through this mass of yelling it can feel intimidating. And since it is entirely men, as a woman, I felt a bit out of place. But what I never once felt was threatened or worried. Eight white people walking through caused everyone to stare, but they all smiled and many said hello.
We stopped at a small juice shop for fresh lime juice that was outstanding. Sweet, tart, and fresh. Sitting away from the masses also gave us a chance to get a breath and relax. From there we walked through the garment shops, full of amazingly bright colors and gaudy dresses. After a tying demonstration we bought Chris a head wrap. I attempted to tie it around his head, but one passer-by just laughed, so I asked him to do it. He got to work on Chris, laughing the entire time, with a huge ball of Qat bulging out the side of his cheek. Chris wore his new head gear for the remainder of the day, which was a huge hit around the market.
As dusk came Arab town came to life. I had already thought it was bustling and crowded, but it now seemed as though the entire population was wandering the streets! We bought some fresh chapati (flat bread) at one of the stalls, which immediately brought along some beggars. It is nearly impossible to turn away someone asking for a bite of bread, and so Chris handed some out, which of course just brought out more beggars. We eventually had to walk away as it was too much to handle, but we did try to give everyone a little piece. One the men was so pleased with Chris that he continued to follow us through the market. When we stopped to buy vegetables Chris watched as the beggar stole a few carrots when the vendor was turned away busy handling a customer. It is beyond heartbreaking to see people so desperate and so hungry. (Photo left by Ascension)
Another hour was about all we could handle. Then the crowds, the yelling, the haggling, the staring, all just became too much - we were ready for the peace and quiet of our boat! After such a busy day even the midnight disco music couldn't wake us!
February 29, 2008
We finally had a little bit of a down day. A few chores around the boat, some interneting, and a tiny bit of relaxing. We could use a few more down days, but the southerlies are blowing, and our friends are anxious to get going.
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Salalah, Oman
February 15 - 20, 2008
by KT
February 15, 2008
The anchorage in Salalah is at a huge shipping port, actually run by Maersk Shipping. Therefore they tightly control where the yachts can anchor and monitor the port entrance and exits closely (as to prevent boats coming while another is trying to leave or vice-versa). The area they allow for yachts is tiny and not really suited to handle the number of yachts that were visiting. The holding is also poor and sometimes a bit of current runs through. All this made it difficult for Chris and I to find a spot, and we weren't really thrilled with our situation ... we'd have to monitor the winds closely, being sure to not be away from Billabong if anything came through.
The officials were aboard our boat for all of about two minutes. Probably the fastest to date. The anchorage is miles away from the city - more accurately miles away from anything. It is cheaper to rent a car per day than a round trip taxi ride, but since Chris and I figured we'd be spending most of our time on board fixing stuff we didn't bother worrying about getting around. Friends were heading into the city and offered us a ride to Immigration. Afterwards they drove us into Salalah with a plan at going to LuLu's Supermarket, but as it was Friday even LuLu's was closed. Salalah appeared to be vast and spread out, no real apparent downtown or area where shops were more dense. There were some mountains in the background, but the city itself was flat. It would not be a place easy to explore by foot.
It felt as though we'd moved into a sepia photograph, as there was almost no color to be seen. The mountains and earth were desert brown with brown rocks and dirt clumps. The rare pieces of grass that existed were yellow-brown with dehydration. The buildings were beige and white. Men walked about everywhere, many wearing long robes or what we called pajama outfits (loose long shirts over baggy light pants of lightweight material), of white, brown, or grey. Some men wore sulus and loose shirts, but again the colors were drab. The only thing that seemed to have color were some of the men's hats. There were two types, the sit-on-top hat which was small and perched on the top of the head, or the rag-hat, which was a light material wrapped around the head. Both of these tended to be white, but had mixed-in designs of vibrant colors. To complete the picture were the women. On this first trip in I only spotted one, apparently they don't come out during the day, but the one I spotted wore a full black burka, just as I knew the others would be wearing as well.
We returned to Billabong where Chris got right to work on the water maker, hoping that perhaps he could flush out the salt water and maybe to salvage it. That evening we joined some friends for dinner in town. The dinner was spectacular. Huge quantities of food appeared, all delicious. Plates of salad and fresh pita bread were brought, followed by our entrees. We had a mixed grill platter which included kebabs of varying meats. We also had hummus that was to die for ... I've always liked hummus, but never did I know it could be this good. We ate until I thought we'd both be sick, and then finished up with tea. There is no alcohol served in Salalah, instead the men sit around smoking huge (about 3 feet) water bong tobacco pipes. They come in various flavors, such as strawberry or cherry, and are apparently quite popular. It felt exotic to watch these men in their white robes, kicking back playing checkers while sucking away on a huge bong that sat on the floor next to them, filling the air with a delicious strawberry scent. Again there was a huge lack of women (like none at all), apparently they don't visit the restaurants very often, and when they do there is a different section for women.
With all the food and tea and the long passage just over, it wasn't long before I was struggling to keep my eyes open. Bed was heaven.
February 16, 2008
As Chris worked on the water maker, I bummed a ride to drop off laundry in town. It was slightly more lively, with the shops now open, but the vastness of the city and the desert surroundings still gave Salalah a deserted feeling. Again I barely saw another women, even the laundry place was run by men. I returned to the boat feeling pretty good, Chris was making progress with the water maker and all our laundry was about to be done by someone else.
I stepped into the cockpit to find a huge mess. Stuff was strewn all over the place, and there was Chris with this depressing look on his face, afraid to give me the bad news. There are some cords and piping that run from the main part of the boat into the forward compartment. Back in Ventura Chris had epoxied all open holes, making our forward compartment about 99% water tight. The only spot where water could come in was through the very very small gaps in cords that was high up on the port side of the hull. This means that for water to actually ever make it's way in we would have to flood the forward compartment high enough to reach the small space and be on a port tack. Well, wouldn't you know, that is exactly what we'd done. Under our bed we have heaps of space, but not all of it is easy to get to. So, what's the best stuff to keep in such a location -- spare parts of course. Alternators, refrigeration units, rigging, and on and on the list goes. All submerged in salt water since we'd left Uligan. And that's just the beginning of the list, for the water managed not to just get into the first compartment under the bed, but the second and third as well. All our bandages, gauze, and medical tape ruined. Heaps of fabric and material soaked. Canned goods now rusted and label-less. But the real doozy for me (not that all those electronics and the rigging don't matter to me, they just don't effect me as immediately), was that my laptop was now dripping water. The ironic thing is that we do not normally store the laptop under the bed, usually it's in our clothing closet. But in Uligan we had started the process of hiding things (for the potential pirates on the leg to Aden). We had thought about putting things under the floor boards, but we felt that there is always potential for water in the bilge (even though they've been dry since we've had Billabong). Under the bed seemed more safe - we never have even come close to getting water there! And then there was also the fact that I'd stored my laptop and accessories in a Pelican water-tight hard case. With the hard case, inside foam, and water-tight protection I felt that I could pretty much store the laptop anywhere and it would be fine. Chris couldn't believe when he'd opened up the Pelican case and water had pretty much poured out. He still tried to recover parts of the laptop, but everything from the hard drive to the battery was soaked. The external DVD/CD writer stored in the case was also toast, along with all the cables and mouse. I know it's just a computer, but it is the one that we store ALL our photographs on, the one we use to create our DVD home-videos, and the one that is used to maintain our website. It didn't help matters that I couldn't recall if I'd backed it up recently, but we were happy that I'd stored the backup disk in a different location. (It turns out that I had indeed backed it up somewhat recently so no data was lost, just a few hours worth of photo editing). It'll be interesting to see what Pelican has to say about their case!!!
Chris led me forward to show me the water damage, and so started our long days of continuous boat work.
February 17 - 18, 2008
We spent these two days working non-stop; cleaning and trying to recover as much stuff as we could. Chris also worked on repairing the tear in the jib (luckily it was on a seam) and the UV covering of our Genoa. I made a few trips into Salalah for errands (laundry and groceries), where I still hardly saw more than a handful of women. Everyone was extremely friendly, and at first I was hesitant to answer "Where are you from" with "America", but people seemed thrilled that I was American and would usually smile and say "ahh, very good!". I did have one guy at the vegetable market tell me that "America was good" but he did not like "Mr Bush". It does feel a bit odd to be a women, especially out in town during the day when there is not another women in sight, but it does not feel threatening, nor did I ever feel that any of the men looked down at me.
It wasn't look good for fixing the water maker, but we were extremely lucky that friends of ours actually have a spare that they lent us until we could get a replacement. At least we won't have to worry about where we are going to get water while traveling through the desert countries. We are also hopeful that a lot of the damage will be covered by our insurance. Every year we've debated whether we should continue to fork out the money for insurance, but we always have because we like the extra security, after all Billabong and what's on her is all we own in the world. It would be nice to know that all this insurance money we've dished out might actually provide us something in return. We'll see - we are still in the claim filing process, so far they have been extremely nice, so we are keeping our fingers crossed.
I have to make a comment about the laundry. Salalah was THE best place we've ever had our laundry done. Granted it was a bit more pricey than elsewhere, but things came back smelling so wonderful .. and IRONED! I haven't seen an ironed shirt in four years! Our sheets were even ironed; when I pulled them out of the bag it was like they were brand new. Some of Chris' work shirts were actually looking as though he could maybe wear them in public without embarrassment! Of course it's still not quite the same as back home; there was the use of a permanent black magic marker to mark every item of laundry with two black dots -- usually in a spot you couldn't see, but not always. And the use of extreme bleach, even on items with some color in them -- mostly just on towels, so the color change didn't really matter, but what if I'd wanted the kitchen towel to be blue striped instead of lime green?
February 19, 2008
By now we were worn out and feeling frustrated that everything in our lives seemed to be just about the boat. We had decided to be apart of a convoy for the next leg (read more about that decision in the next entry), and they were chomping at the bit to leave, so we didn't have much spare time and didn't have the option of staying longer. We had just about everything done and really needed a break from Billabong, so we decided to spend our afternoon land touring with Sarah & GB from Djarrka.
Our first stop was a museum in town. Inside they had displays depicting the history of Oman and relics from the past. We were impressed with the complex, detailed and intricate water system they had built in the early days. We watched a video on Frankincense. Frankincense is "milked" from a frankincense tree, which involves scrapping the bark of the tree such that the sap seeps out - the sap (or gum) forms a hard rock shaped lump that is extremely aromatic, especially when heated. There are different aromas, which are thought to produce different effects, from healing to warding off evil spirits. Back in the ancient days this gum was one of the world's most sought after substances and it kept the southern Arabia extremely wealthy. In the small gift shop Chris and I purchased a bag as I figured with all the bad weather and lost/broken gear we definitely had some evil spirits that needed warding off!
They also had a maritime section with displays on ship building and the exploration that took place from Oman. We got a kick out of the "head" (toilet) which was basically a small platform with a hole in it that hung over the side of the ship. A bucket attached to a rope completed the flushing system! Talk about exposed! Since then we've actually seen a number of fishing boats with this same system in place!
Then, for a whopping $1.00 each, we hopped on a golf cart and were driven around the ruins of the old town - consisting mostly of mosques. We would've walked but it was now nearing noon, and being in the desert and all we thought we'd be more comfortable under the shade of the cart top. The town did not span a very large area, yet there must have been over thirty mosques. I guess when you pray five times a day it's handy to have a mosque nearby!
After a terrific lunch we headed out to look for a small spring area that another cruiser had recommended. Once you get out of the city area driving becomes a bit difficult, or rather driving without getting lost. The signs are mostly in Arabic, and those that are in English tend to not have consistent English translations; if a location in one translation ends EAY and in another ends with just Y is it the same location??? Apparently sometimes it is, and sometimes it's not. Getting lost was probably the best thing that happened to us. We ended up traveling up through the mountains, getting a terrific few back at Salalah and the ocean. We passed heaps of wild camels as well as donkeys and goats. Finally, convinced we had no clue where we were, we stopped at a small shop and took the map in to see if they could point to where we were. After a lot of pointing and hand waving and questioning eyes we came away still as lost as before but with some tasty nut treats. A few more miles up the road we spotted a "Department of Tourism" building. Ahhh, perfect! Only the building was closed, and covered with so much dust it looked as though perhaps it has been closed for a very very long time. Two policemen stood across the road curiously look at us. Chris ran over with a big 'ol smile and the map and after a bit of discussion as well as a lot of laughing he came back to tell us that we were miles and miles off course! We were almost at some border and just about off the map we had. Kind of ironic but when we were first coming up the mountains Chris looked at the map and said, "Where is this huge mountain range that the map shows?". Well apparently we were driving up and through it the whole time!!! But, like I said, we were all completely happy that we had been lost and really enjoyed the drive.
We eventually found the little spring or waterhole. It was pretty but not that impressive, making us even more grateful for our earlier detour. As we were driving back from the spring a herd of camels came sauntering down the road. These must be one of the strangest looking animals on earth ... but what a smart design! At last I could get my wild camel photo. These guys were a perfect end to our half day tour.
We made a quick stop at LuLu's where Chris and I determined that the full veil burka does not make a lot of sense, the women who were shopping with the full veil actually had to lift the veil in order to read some of the labels -- doesn't seem very practical. That afternoon in the supermarket was the largest quantity of women I'd see out and about since being in Salalah. We spotted everything from western-style dressed women (still further covered but not in a gown or burka), to veiled black burkas, and even some of the face covers with the eye protectors that block the women's peripheral vision such that her whole head has to turn if she wants to look at something. The women whose faces we could see were heavily done up with tons of makeup and many of them had shaved off their eyebrows, only to paint one long continuous one that formed a v in the center. I would've liked to seen their clothing under the burkas as I've read that many wear extravagant, fancy clothes. I understand the idea of dressing conservative, and even, to some extent, covering every inch of the body, but I'm not sure I get why it has to be black, especially when the men get to wear the cooler white color. Perhaps it's time I found a book and did a bit of research on the whole thing.
Even though we got back to Billabong as the sun was setting, Chris got right back to work on the sail repairs he was doing. I admit that I'm amazed at his relentless energy when it comes to getting stuff done - he easily out lasts me ten-fold.
February 20, 2008
We were happy when the convoy decided that an extra day wouldn't hurt and actually, according to forecasts, might give us better sailing weather. This gave us a chance not only to do our previous days worth of touring, but also some time to get the boat put back together after all the work and repairs. It took us all day to finish up everything, and then get everything stowed for the upcoming passage, but at long last Billabong was a working boat again.
We walked up to the Oasis Club (about a twenty-thirty minute walk from the anchorage) for dinner and drinks. The oasis Club is pretty much a whitey hang out, the only place in Oman you can get a beer. It is patronized by ex-pats and the large ship's crews. I was craving a good 'ol fashioned cheeseburger and fries, and it really hit the spot. We had drinks with the gang we had done a lot of our passages with since Thailand, they were all staying a few more days and not going directly to Aden, so we wouldn't be catching them again until somewhere up in the Red Sea.
by KT
February 15, 2008
The anchorage in Salalah is at a huge shipping port, actually run by Maersk Shipping. Therefore they tightly control where the yachts can anchor and monitor the port entrance and exits closely (as to prevent boats coming while another is trying to leave or vice-versa). The area they allow for yachts is tiny and not really suited to handle the number of yachts that were visiting. The holding is also poor and sometimes a bit of current runs through. All this made it difficult for Chris and I to find a spot, and we weren't really thrilled with our situation ... we'd have to monitor the winds closely, being sure to not be away from Billabong if anything came through.
The officials were aboard our boat for all of about two minutes. Probably the fastest to date. The anchorage is miles away from the city - more accurately miles away from anything. It is cheaper to rent a car per day than a round trip taxi ride, but since Chris and I figured we'd be spending most of our time on board fixing stuff we didn't bother worrying about getting around. Friends were heading into the city and offered us a ride to Immigration. Afterwards they drove us into Salalah with a plan at going to LuLu's Supermarket, but as it was Friday even LuLu's was closed. Salalah appeared to be vast and spread out, no real apparent downtown or area where shops were more dense. There were some mountains in the background, but the city itself was flat. It would not be a place easy to explore by foot.
It felt as though we'd moved into a sepia photograph, as there was almost no color to be seen. The mountains and earth were desert brown with brown rocks and dirt clumps. The rare pieces of grass that existed were yellow-brown with dehydration. The buildings were beige and white. Men walked about everywhere, many wearing long robes or what we called pajama outfits (loose long shirts over baggy light pants of lightweight material), of white, brown, or grey. Some men wore sulus and loose shirts, but again the colors were drab. The only thing that seemed to have color were some of the men's hats. There were two types, the sit-on-top hat which was small and perched on the top of the head, or the rag-hat, which was a light material wrapped around the head. Both of these tended to be white, but had mixed-in designs of vibrant colors. To complete the picture were the women. On this first trip in I only spotted one, apparently they don't come out during the day, but the one I spotted wore a full black burka, just as I knew the others would be wearing as well.
We returned to Billabong where Chris got right to work on the water maker, hoping that perhaps he could flush out the salt water and maybe to salvage it. That evening we joined some friends for dinner in town. The dinner was spectacular. Huge quantities of food appeared, all delicious. Plates of salad and fresh pita bread were brought, followed by our entrees. We had a mixed grill platter which included kebabs of varying meats. We also had hummus that was to die for ... I've always liked hummus, but never did I know it could be this good. We ate until I thought we'd both be sick, and then finished up with tea. There is no alcohol served in Salalah, instead the men sit around smoking huge (about 3 feet) water bong tobacco pipes. They come in various flavors, such as strawberry or cherry, and are apparently quite popular. It felt exotic to watch these men in their white robes, kicking back playing checkers while sucking away on a huge bong that sat on the floor next to them, filling the air with a delicious strawberry scent. Again there was a huge lack of women (like none at all), apparently they don't visit the restaurants very often, and when they do there is a different section for women.
With all the food and tea and the long passage just over, it wasn't long before I was struggling to keep my eyes open. Bed was heaven.
February 16, 2008
As Chris worked on the water maker, I bummed a ride to drop off laundry in town. It was slightly more lively, with the shops now open, but the vastness of the city and the desert surroundings still gave Salalah a deserted feeling. Again I barely saw another women, even the laundry place was run by men. I returned to the boat feeling pretty good, Chris was making progress with the water maker and all our laundry was about to be done by someone else.
I stepped into the cockpit to find a huge mess. Stuff was strewn all over the place, and there was Chris with this depressing look on his face, afraid to give me the bad news. There are some cords and piping that run from the main part of the boat into the forward compartment. Back in Ventura Chris had epoxied all open holes, making our forward compartment about 99% water tight. The only spot where water could come in was through the very very small gaps in cords that was high up on the port side of the hull. This means that for water to actually ever make it's way in we would have to flood the forward compartment high enough to reach the small space and be on a port tack. Well, wouldn't you know, that is exactly what we'd done. Under our bed we have heaps of space, but not all of it is easy to get to. So, what's the best stuff to keep in such a location -- spare parts of course. Alternators, refrigeration units, rigging, and on and on the list goes. All submerged in salt water since we'd left Uligan. And that's just the beginning of the list, for the water managed not to just get into the first compartment under the bed, but the second and third as well. All our bandages, gauze, and medical tape ruined. Heaps of fabric and material soaked. Canned goods now rusted and label-less. But the real doozy for me (not that all those electronics and the rigging don't matter to me, they just don't effect me as immediately), was that my laptop was now dripping water. The ironic thing is that we do not normally store the laptop under the bed, usually it's in our clothing closet. But in Uligan we had started the process of hiding things (for the potential pirates on the leg to Aden). We had thought about putting things under the floor boards, but we felt that there is always potential for water in the bilge (even though they've been dry since we've had Billabong). Under the bed seemed more safe - we never have even come close to getting water there! And then there was also the fact that I'd stored my laptop and accessories in a Pelican water-tight hard case. With the hard case, inside foam, and water-tight protection I felt that I could pretty much store the laptop anywhere and it would be fine. Chris couldn't believe when he'd opened up the Pelican case and water had pretty much poured out. He still tried to recover parts of the laptop, but everything from the hard drive to the battery was soaked. The external DVD/CD writer stored in the case was also toast, along with all the cables and mouse. I know it's just a computer, but it is the one that we store ALL our photographs on, the one we use to create our DVD home-videos, and the one that is used to maintain our website. It didn't help matters that I couldn't recall if I'd backed it up recently, but we were happy that I'd stored the backup disk in a different location. (It turns out that I had indeed backed it up somewhat recently so no data was lost, just a few hours worth of photo editing). It'll be interesting to see what Pelican has to say about their case!!!
Chris led me forward to show me the water damage, and so started our long days of continuous boat work.
February 17 - 18, 2008
We spent these two days working non-stop; cleaning and trying to recover as much stuff as we could. Chris also worked on repairing the tear in the jib (luckily it was on a seam) and the UV covering of our Genoa. I made a few trips into Salalah for errands (laundry and groceries), where I still hardly saw more than a handful of women. Everyone was extremely friendly, and at first I was hesitant to answer "Where are you from" with "America", but people seemed thrilled that I was American and would usually smile and say "ahh, very good!". I did have one guy at the vegetable market tell me that "America was good" but he did not like "Mr Bush". It does feel a bit odd to be a women, especially out in town during the day when there is not another women in sight, but it does not feel threatening, nor did I ever feel that any of the men looked down at me.
It wasn't look good for fixing the water maker, but we were extremely lucky that friends of ours actually have a spare that they lent us until we could get a replacement. At least we won't have to worry about where we are going to get water while traveling through the desert countries. We are also hopeful that a lot of the damage will be covered by our insurance. Every year we've debated whether we should continue to fork out the money for insurance, but we always have because we like the extra security, after all Billabong and what's on her is all we own in the world. It would be nice to know that all this insurance money we've dished out might actually provide us something in return. We'll see - we are still in the claim filing process, so far they have been extremely nice, so we are keeping our fingers crossed.
I have to make a comment about the laundry. Salalah was THE best place we've ever had our laundry done. Granted it was a bit more pricey than elsewhere, but things came back smelling so wonderful .. and IRONED! I haven't seen an ironed shirt in four years! Our sheets were even ironed; when I pulled them out of the bag it was like they were brand new. Some of Chris' work shirts were actually looking as though he could maybe wear them in public without embarrassment! Of course it's still not quite the same as back home; there was the use of a permanent black magic marker to mark every item of laundry with two black dots -- usually in a spot you couldn't see, but not always. And the use of extreme bleach, even on items with some color in them -- mostly just on towels, so the color change didn't really matter, but what if I'd wanted the kitchen towel to be blue striped instead of lime green?
February 19, 2008
By now we were worn out and feeling frustrated that everything in our lives seemed to be just about the boat. We had decided to be apart of a convoy for the next leg (read more about that decision in the next entry), and they were chomping at the bit to leave, so we didn't have much spare time and didn't have the option of staying longer. We had just about everything done and really needed a break from Billabong, so we decided to spend our afternoon land touring with Sarah & GB from Djarrka.
Our first stop was a museum in town. Inside they had displays depicting the history of Oman and relics from the past. We were impressed with the complex, detailed and intricate water system they had built in the early days. We watched a video on Frankincense. Frankincense is "milked" from a frankincense tree, which involves scrapping the bark of the tree such that the sap seeps out - the sap (or gum) forms a hard rock shaped lump that is extremely aromatic, especially when heated. There are different aromas, which are thought to produce different effects, from healing to warding off evil spirits. Back in the ancient days this gum was one of the world's most sought after substances and it kept the southern Arabia extremely wealthy. In the small gift shop Chris and I purchased a bag as I figured with all the bad weather and lost/broken gear we definitely had some evil spirits that needed warding off!
They also had a maritime section with displays on ship building and the exploration that took place from Oman. We got a kick out of the "head" (toilet) which was basically a small platform with a hole in it that hung over the side of the ship. A bucket attached to a rope completed the flushing system! Talk about exposed! Since then we've actually seen a number of fishing boats with this same system in place!
Then, for a whopping $1.00 each, we hopped on a golf cart and were driven around the ruins of the old town - consisting mostly of mosques. We would've walked but it was now nearing noon, and being in the desert and all we thought we'd be more comfortable under the shade of the cart top. The town did not span a very large area, yet there must have been over thirty mosques. I guess when you pray five times a day it's handy to have a mosque nearby!
After a terrific lunch we headed out to look for a small spring area that another cruiser had recommended. Once you get out of the city area driving becomes a bit difficult, or rather driving without getting lost. The signs are mostly in Arabic, and those that are in English tend to not have consistent English translations; if a location in one translation ends EAY and in another ends with just Y is it the same location??? Apparently sometimes it is, and sometimes it's not. Getting lost was probably the best thing that happened to us. We ended up traveling up through the mountains, getting a terrific few back at Salalah and the ocean. We passed heaps of wild camels as well as donkeys and goats. Finally, convinced we had no clue where we were, we stopped at a small shop and took the map in to see if they could point to where we were. After a lot of pointing and hand waving and questioning eyes we came away still as lost as before but with some tasty nut treats. A few more miles up the road we spotted a "Department of Tourism" building. Ahhh, perfect! Only the building was closed, and covered with so much dust it looked as though perhaps it has been closed for a very very long time. Two policemen stood across the road curiously look at us. Chris ran over with a big 'ol smile and the map and after a bit of discussion as well as a lot of laughing he came back to tell us that we were miles and miles off course! We were almost at some border and just about off the map we had. Kind of ironic but when we were first coming up the mountains Chris looked at the map and said, "Where is this huge mountain range that the map shows?". Well apparently we were driving up and through it the whole time!!! But, like I said, we were all completely happy that we had been lost and really enjoyed the drive.
We eventually found the little spring or waterhole. It was pretty but not that impressive, making us even more grateful for our earlier detour. As we were driving back from the spring a herd of camels came sauntering down the road. These must be one of the strangest looking animals on earth ... but what a smart design! At last I could get my wild camel photo. These guys were a perfect end to our half day tour.
We made a quick stop at LuLu's where Chris and I determined that the full veil burka does not make a lot of sense, the women who were shopping with the full veil actually had to lift the veil in order to read some of the labels -- doesn't seem very practical. That afternoon in the supermarket was the largest quantity of women I'd see out and about since being in Salalah. We spotted everything from western-style dressed women (still further covered but not in a gown or burka), to veiled black burkas, and even some of the face covers with the eye protectors that block the women's peripheral vision such that her whole head has to turn if she wants to look at something. The women whose faces we could see were heavily done up with tons of makeup and many of them had shaved off their eyebrows, only to paint one long continuous one that formed a v in the center. I would've liked to seen their clothing under the burkas as I've read that many wear extravagant, fancy clothes. I understand the idea of dressing conservative, and even, to some extent, covering every inch of the body, but I'm not sure I get why it has to be black, especially when the men get to wear the cooler white color. Perhaps it's time I found a book and did a bit of research on the whole thing.
Even though we got back to Billabong as the sun was setting, Chris got right back to work on the sail repairs he was doing. I admit that I'm amazed at his relentless energy when it comes to getting stuff done - he easily out lasts me ten-fold.
February 20, 2008
We were happy when the convoy decided that an extra day wouldn't hurt and actually, according to forecasts, might give us better sailing weather. This gave us a chance not only to do our previous days worth of touring, but also some time to get the boat put back together after all the work and repairs. It took us all day to finish up everything, and then get everything stowed for the upcoming passage, but at long last Billabong was a working boat again.
We walked up to the Oasis Club (about a twenty-thirty minute walk from the anchorage) for dinner and drinks. The oasis Club is pretty much a whitey hang out, the only place in Oman you can get a beer. It is patronized by ex-pats and the large ship's crews. I was craving a good 'ol fashioned cheeseburger and fries, and it really hit the spot. We had drinks with the gang we had done a lot of our passages with since Thailand, they were all staying a few more days and not going directly to Aden, so we wouldn't be catching them again until somewhere up in the Red Sea.
Uligan, Maldives Journal
January 29 - February 5, 2008
by KT
Uligan Atoll, Maldives: 40 Feet in Sand
Some friends had emailed us and told us that four days was more than enough time in Uligan, and that we would see what they meant when we got there. After one week, we still didn't understand what they meant, we'd been fully entertained in Uligan and had found the mix of relaxation and exploration to be perfect. Perhaps we are just easily entertained, or maybe it's that we have perfected the art of doing nothing!
At first glance Uligan is the typical tropical atoll. Turquoise green water, white sand beaches, and palm trees scattered about. Ashore however, I was struck by the structure of the town. Instead of grass huts with thatched roofs the buildings were concrete and coral. But more unique was a tall wall that runs through the entire town. The wall provided both protection to the houses behind it (from the sand the wind stirred up), as well as privacy. The wall was clean and neat, forming a wide street in-between. It was built entirely of coral which was pretty impressive. There are no cars in Uligan, and at most a handful of bicycles plus a couple of motor scooters, but the road was easily wide enough for opposing car traffic. The street is not paved and barely even packed, so you are constantly trudging through the white thick beach sand. It is the contrast between the sandy beach streets and the almost modern houses & walls that makes Uligan so different from the other atolls we've visited (modern being a relative term, What I mean is modern compared to say the open bamboo huts of Kiribati). We were especially impressed with their hammock chairs. In other island/atoll countries the typical relaxation-socialization calls for sitting cross-legged on a mat under a tree. It doesn't take long before your legs fall asleep and your back aches. In the Maldives they've built a simple hammock chair; woven roped tied into a metal structure. These chairs are everywhere and superbly comfortable. Even their meeting "house" has these chairs instead of mats. Their only flaw is that they are made for the tiny bums of the locals, us large Westerners found that we didn't have a lot of room to spare! They had also built a set of lounging chairs, a small table, a couple of stools, and a bouncing child's chair into a tree -- it was ingenious. A photo is the only way to describe it (see below).
Uligan is full of rules -- the introduction to the stricter societies that we would be traveling through from here to the Med. We were only allowed to anchor at the one atoll, we could not travel to the other atolls without a guide/escort, and we were rarely left to walk alone in Uligan. We could not have locals on our boat, could not bring alcohol ashore (actually the alcohol ashore is a pretty standard rule in every country), and for the first time in our travels we were actually required by the officials to run an anchor light during the night hours (something we do anyway, but have never been required to by the local government). The rules aren't that big of deal, we just found it interesting that they were so worried about letting us do anything on our own. The people themselves are relaxed and friendly, but private and reserved. They would say hello and occasionally ask how we were, but for the most part had practically no interest in us, and pretty much ignored us (with exception of the group of men who were in charge of managing and monitoring us).
The check-in was fantastic. Tons of paperwork like always, and they wanted our boat stamp on everything, but they were efficient and quick. They were also all extremely young. Later, when we were checking out, I asked a couple of them how old they were; they ranged from 17 to 22. I had just finished reading an old Western book, and associated their ages with the ages from early America, when one was a fully aged, almost old, adult by 20.
Our time in Uligan was nicely broken up between boat projects, exploration, and relaxation. At some point we'd cracked the swedge on our shroud. It was a small crack, but we were glad Chris found it early on. It took a few trips up the mast to replace it. We'd also torn the UV cover seam on our Genoa. We didn't have the time to fix it in Uligan so instead we just put up our smaller Jib. Both of these fixes turned out to be good choices as our next passage ended up being rougher and more to weather than we'd anticipated. We'd also had to fix a hole in the dinghy. It may not sound like a lot, but this was probably the first time that we had so many boat projects after a passage ... I guess we'd been quite lucky the last few years.
For exploration we strolled the white sand beaches, walked along Uligan's town walls, and visited their wind farm. They are quite proud of this accomplishment and tout is as "The world's first AC coupled Renewable Energy Micro Grid System. Initiated under the Renewable Energy Pilot Project". Chris also checked out a boat the locals were making. A huge wooden thing that they were building without a spec or plan of any sort -- just straight from the head!
We spent one day on a tour, visiting two of the nearby atolls and snorkeling. It was a beautiful and interesting day. We had two guides, and I felt bad for them as they struggled to keep track of our group and to keep us together, moving at the same speed. They couldn't let any of us out of their sight (see rules above), and I felt a bit like cattle being herded from one spot to the next. The two atolls were similar to Uligan, with clean wide streets and walls lining them. We visited a small store and one of the schools. The snorkeling was good, but not as impressive as we'd expected for the area.
We also enjoyed a local dinner buffet ashore. The food was outstanding, similar to the Fijian-Indian food we'd had in Fiji, with curries, chili fish (very hot), dahl (a split pea type of curry), and heaps of fresh rotis. Chris and I love fresh Roti so much that we actually asked if we could order 30 to pick up the next day for our passage, not one to miss out on a profit the guy was quite happy to arrange it.
The highlight of our stay was when one of the other boats spotted some manta rays swimming just next to the anchorage. We dinghied out, and minutes later were snorkeling amongst ten of the gigantic winged animals. The water was murky, so we couldn't see them until they were really close, which sometimes made for a shock. I'd tread water in one spot, doing circles looking for a manta. Then out of the murkiness, quite close, would appear a set of huge open mouths, sometimes aimed right at me. The manta would always end up veering off, but sometimes they'd get close enough that I was sure they were going to bump into me! I noticed that the longer I stayed in the water, the less the manta's cared about me. First they'd give me wide berth, then after a few minutes it was pretty much as if I wasn't there, and they'd pass close enough that I could've easily reached out and touched them. Chris, more daring than I, actually swam down and touched a few on the back. We both swear that one guy was playing with us. Chris had touched his back once, and on a second pass the manta came really close to Chris, but when Chris swam down to pet him the manta turned over on his back and swam beneath us for almost a minute upside down, before turning right side and coming back towards us. We've never seen a manta do that before. We stayed out there a couple of hours, until our backs were sunburned, our hands and feet turned to prunes, and our bodies shivered from the cool water.
by KT
Uligan Atoll, Maldives: 40 Feet in Sand
Anchorage off the main Motu
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At first glance Uligan is the typical tropical atoll. Turquoise green water, white sand beaches, and palm trees scattered about. Ashore however, I was struck by the structure of the town. Instead of grass huts with thatched roofs the buildings were concrete and coral. But more unique was a tall wall that runs through the entire town. The wall provided both protection to the houses behind it (from the sand the wind stirred up), as well as privacy. The wall was clean and neat, forming a wide street in-between. It was built entirely of coral which was pretty impressive. There are no cars in Uligan, and at most a handful of bicycles plus a couple of motor scooters, but the road was easily wide enough for opposing car traffic. The street is not paved and barely even packed, so you are constantly trudging through the white thick beach sand. It is the contrast between the sandy beach streets and the almost modern houses & walls that makes Uligan so different from the other atolls we've visited (modern being a relative term, What I mean is modern compared to say the open bamboo huts of Kiribati). We were especially impressed with their hammock chairs. In other island/atoll countries the typical relaxation-socialization calls for sitting cross-legged on a mat under a tree. It doesn't take long before your legs fall asleep and your back aches. In the Maldives they've built a simple hammock chair; woven roped tied into a metal structure. These chairs are everywhere and superbly comfortable. Even their meeting "house" has these chairs instead of mats. Their only flaw is that they are made for the tiny bums of the locals, us large Westerners found that we didn't have a lot of room to spare! They had also built a set of lounging chairs, a small table, a couple of stools, and a bouncing child's chair into a tree -- it was ingenious. A photo is the only way to describe it (see below).
Uligan is full of rules -- the introduction to the stricter societies that we would be traveling through from here to the Med. We were only allowed to anchor at the one atoll, we could not travel to the other atolls without a guide/escort, and we were rarely left to walk alone in Uligan. We could not have locals on our boat, could not bring alcohol ashore (actually the alcohol ashore is a pretty standard rule in every country), and for the first time in our travels we were actually required by the officials to run an anchor light during the night hours (something we do anyway, but have never been required to by the local government). The rules aren't that big of deal, we just found it interesting that they were so worried about letting us do anything on our own. The people themselves are relaxed and friendly, but private and reserved. They would say hello and occasionally ask how we were, but for the most part had practically no interest in us, and pretty much ignored us (with exception of the group of men who were in charge of managing and monitoring us).
The check-in was fantastic. Tons of paperwork like always, and they wanted our boat stamp on everything, but they were efficient and quick. They were also all extremely young. Later, when we were checking out, I asked a couple of them how old they were; they ranged from 17 to 22. I had just finished reading an old Western book, and associated their ages with the ages from early America, when one was a fully aged, almost old, adult by 20.
Our time in Uligan was nicely broken up between boat projects, exploration, and relaxation. At some point we'd cracked the swedge on our shroud. It was a small crack, but we were glad Chris found it early on. It took a few trips up the mast to replace it. We'd also torn the UV cover seam on our Genoa. We didn't have the time to fix it in Uligan so instead we just put up our smaller Jib. Both of these fixes turned out to be good choices as our next passage ended up being rougher and more to weather than we'd anticipated. We'd also had to fix a hole in the dinghy. It may not sound like a lot, but this was probably the first time that we had so many boat projects after a passage ... I guess we'd been quite lucky the last few years.
For exploration we strolled the white sand beaches, walked along Uligan's town walls, and visited their wind farm. They are quite proud of this accomplishment and tout is as "The world's first AC coupled Renewable Energy Micro Grid System. Initiated under the Renewable Energy Pilot Project". Chris also checked out a boat the locals were making. A huge wooden thing that they were building without a spec or plan of any sort -- just straight from the head!
We spent one day on a tour, visiting two of the nearby atolls and snorkeling. It was a beautiful and interesting day. We had two guides, and I felt bad for them as they struggled to keep track of our group and to keep us together, moving at the same speed. They couldn't let any of us out of their sight (see rules above), and I felt a bit like cattle being herded from one spot to the next. The two atolls were similar to Uligan, with clean wide streets and walls lining them. We visited a small store and one of the schools. The snorkeling was good, but not as impressive as we'd expected for the area.
We also enjoyed a local dinner buffet ashore. The food was outstanding, similar to the Fijian-Indian food we'd had in Fiji, with curries, chili fish (very hot), dahl (a split pea type of curry), and heaps of fresh rotis. Chris and I love fresh Roti so much that we actually asked if we could order 30 to pick up the next day for our passage, not one to miss out on a profit the guy was quite happy to arrange it.
The highlight of our stay was when one of the other boats spotted some manta rays swimming just next to the anchorage. We dinghied out, and minutes later were snorkeling amongst ten of the gigantic winged animals. The water was murky, so we couldn't see them until they were really close, which sometimes made for a shock. I'd tread water in one spot, doing circles looking for a manta. Then out of the murkiness, quite close, would appear a set of huge open mouths, sometimes aimed right at me. The manta would always end up veering off, but sometimes they'd get close enough that I was sure they were going to bump into me! I noticed that the longer I stayed in the water, the less the manta's cared about me. First they'd give me wide berth, then after a few minutes it was pretty much as if I wasn't there, and they'd pass close enough that I could've easily reached out and touched them. Chris, more daring than I, actually swam down and touched a few on the back. We both swear that one guy was playing with us. Chris had touched his back once, and on a second pass the manta came really close to Chris, but when Chris swam down to pet him the manta turned over on his back and swam beneath us for almost a minute upside down, before turning right side and coming back towards us. We've never seen a manta do that before. We stayed out there a couple of hours, until our backs were sunburned, our hands and feet turned to prunes, and our bodies shivered from the cool water.
Passage Borneo to Singapore
645 Nautical Miles
7 Anchorages and 3 nights at sea
Crossed the equator for the 4th time
Lot's of lightning and a frozen cow on the foredeck
7 Anchorages and 3 nights at sea
Crossed the equator for the 4th time
Lot's of lightning and a frozen cow on the foredeck
| Our route from Borneo to Singapore |