Categories
Adventure Travel Africa Ethiopia The Nomadic Life

On the Roof of Africa: Trekking in Simien Mountains, Ethiopia

Four Days of Walking

For the four days Liz and I trekked through the Simien Mountains, the smell of wild thyme followed us. The wind was full of strong gusts of the scent that reminded me of old, unidentifiable memories, as we hiked from one beautiful vista to the next, among wild baboons, birds, and ibex. It seemed like we were forever pausing at a cliff side to stare out on blue-green rolling mountains from the roof of Africa. At one point, I noticed that the horizon was never straight, always slanted, which could explain why it also always felt as though we were trudging uphill. It felt that way because it was that way.

Simien Vista

Because of the season, and the rains that came every day, the park was filled with a dozen shades of green, from the dark army green of lichen hanging from low, umbrella-like trees, to the bright yellow-green of terraced barley fields, and the pale yellow-green of tufts of wild grass in between. Bursts of yellow, purple, and a muted pink from wildflowers filled the gap and I could never seem to take a photo good enough to record just how beautiful this mixture of color looked.

Flower Collage Simiens

With the colors, the rain also brought mud and clouds. We trekked through muck, hopped across streams, and sometimes found the trail had turned in to a river. On our final day of the trek, we hiked 400 meters to the top of a peak through cold rain and hail, only so we could eat cabbage sandwiches in a cloud and stare at more cloud. From the top of a second peak, we waited for half an hour, chatting, eating cookies, with a pair of chain-smoking French tourists, watching the clouds move over the valley, waiting for them to part just well enough for us to see and understand just how high up we were.

Cloud Parting

On our first full day, we took refuge from the rain in a rounded hut, while an elderly woman with a worn, yellow scarf, slowly roasted coffee for a coffee ceremony. Our guide, who we all thought to be shifty and easily offended, sat in the corner and sipped his coffee, while our scout, who we all gathered to be well liked and jovial (even though he only spoke about 10 words of English), sat at the center making jokes in Amharic and making the old woman and her daughter laugh. The rest of us, excluded because of our linguistic shortcomings, fell into conversation amongst ourselves.

Ethiopian Round Hut Simiens

Coming down from the mountains to our campsite on the second day, a group of rag-tag children came sprinting up the mountain with little woven boxes in hand that they wanted to sell us. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but we were tired, so we paused to play and joke with them. They tried to teach us how to use a whip to herd donkeys, and we tested their English. One of the girls began mocking the Canadian girl’s laugh, which sent all of us, especially our elderly scout, into riotous laughter.

That night, like every night, we descended into our campsite feeling wet, cold, and tired, but eager to eat whatever it was our cook had whipped up. Usually, she made an Ethiopian interpretation of what Western food was, but we didn’t know how to say that we’d rather just have injera and shiro.

Campsite Simiens

On our final day, Liz and the other American raced up a nearby peak, while the Canadian girl and I wrote in our journals on a cliff by our campsite, watching a bird that always sounded like he was burping dive in and out of the sky. Like that we stayed until nearly dusk, waiting for our car to pick us up. When we asked our guide “what will we do if our driver doesn’t show up?” — being North Americans who need a contingency plan — he shrugged and gave us a vague “we’ll do something” response. Serendipitously, our car showed up just as I was trying to process what “something” would mean, and we drove back to Gondar at 5 mph in a thick mask of fog.

How to travel to the Simien Mountains

Road to Simiens and Baboons

Anyone who travels to the Simiens needs to hire a scout at minimum. Some people recommend having a guide, since scouts don’t usually speak English, but I would have been fine without ours! They’re cheap, only a few dollars a day, though it’s polite to tip at the end as well.

Cooks are optional, but affordable and nice to have someone else make your food after a long day of hiking. Also, if you hire donkeys to carry your bags, a cook will make sure they get to the next campsite. Hiring a donkey to carry your bag is also optional, but nice.

All of this can be arranged in Gondar or at the park office in Debark. Starting and ending in Debark is a good way to save a little money, and convenient if you are heading north to Axum after the trek (going back to Gondar is about an hour or two of backtracking).

In the end, we spent about $220 each for everything (food, transportation to/from Gondar, guide, cook, scout, permits, donkeys, and lodging) for 4 days and 3 nights of trekking.

Photos

Campsite Child Simiens{1} Vista on the roof of Africa
{2} Flowers along the trail
{3} Waiting for the clouds to part from a summit
{4} Traditional house in the Simiens
{5} Getting ready to go at Campsite #2
{6} Baboons by a waterfall
{7} The road in/out
{8} Scouts and guides talking around a campfire while a local girl visits

Categories
Africa In Photos La Reunion The Nomadic Life

Photo Gallery: Quirky Street Art in La Reunion

Jace Graffiti La Reunion

“You can always tell the kind of personality a place has by the way they treat graffiti,” – My little brother.

If that’s the case, then I’d call La Reunion quirky, cartoonish, and welcome to the burst of color graffiti adds to its streets. Most of the graffiti I took photos of ended up being by an artist named Jace (I’m sort of in love with his yellow-man character and the different situations he winds up in), but not all of it. Anyways, I ended up with so many photos of graffiti from La Reunion — and there’s a surprising amount for such a small chunk of land — that I decided to devote a whole post to it.

Enjoy!

In Saint-Pierre; By Jace

Jace Graffiti La ReunionIn Saint-Pierre; Unknown artist

Peuf Graffiti La ReunionIn Saint-Pierre; Unknown artist

Stencil Street Art La Reunion

In Saint-Pierre; Unknown artist

Old Man Graffiti La Reunion

In Saint-Pierre; Unknown artist

Spraypaint Hand La Reunion

In Cilaos; By Jace

Jace Street Art La Reunion

What has been your favorite travel destination for street art?

Categories
Africa Ethiopia In Photos The Nomadic Life

Photo Gallery: Looking Back on One Month in Ethiopia

The month that Liz and I spent in Ethiopia marked a lot of strong positives and negatives. I was yelled at threateningly (twice), and Liz was told that all Americans should go to hell. Boarding a bus first thing in the morning turned out to be an experience akin to the running of the bulls. The habit of having local and faranji (foreigner) prices for everything (food, hotels, transportation, literally… everything) drove us crazy. But then we would meet a kind shopkeeper or group of playful kids, or find ourselves overlooking a dramatically beautiful landscape, and those negative experiences seemed instantly to be countered. Unfortunately, it sometimes took all of our patience and will power to get through the most unpleasant moments and remember the kindness and beauty other people and areas of the country had shown us. Actually, wherever we are in the world, it’s all too easy to let the rudest and meanest representatives of a new place be the loudest speakers in our minds. But because of how strongly I felt this in Ethiopia, I always hesitate when people ask, “so, wasn’t Ethiopia amaaazing?” or “Everyone was really nice there, right?” The answer is yes and no. I’ll probably elaborate further in coming posts, because, at the very least, Ethiopia has given me a lot of stories to tell.

Despite the ups and downs, one thing Ethiopia was consistent in was being beautiful (with, perhaps, the exception of Addis Ababa) and full of visually stunning scenes. Personally, I was also a big fan of the food, but maybe I’m less bothered than most by eating the same thing three times a day. So, in the end, while I may hesitate to sum up the overall amazingness of Ethiopia or general nice-ness level of its people, I won’t hesitate to say I don’t regret going there and I’d enthusiastically encourage others to go there and explore.

But anyways, the purpose of this post is to dazzle you with some of my favorite photos of the trip, so let’s get to it.

image

image

image

image

image

image

{1} Men and women in a church in Bahir Dar
{2} Street scene from above in Harar
{3} Woman preparing coffee for a coffee ceremony in the Simien Mountains
{4} Waiting for the clouds to part at the top of a peak in Simien Mountains
{5} Traditional breakfast food, “ful medames” made of beans and tomatoe and served with bread
{6} Young girl by our campsite in the Simien Mountains

Categories
Adventure Travel Africa Travel Uganda

What it’s Like Gorilla Trekking in Uganda

image

In the jungle

Standing in the mess of twisted vines and jungle overgrowth in Bwindi Impenetrable Forest, our little group of explorers — myself, my friend, a middle-aged Swedish couple, our guide, scouts, and trackers — stood in silence as we stared at a family of silverback gorillas in front of us. They stared back, equally curious. A loud, humming sound broke the silence, and one of the Swedes turned to our guide and asked, “what was that?” in a voice that suggested wonder and excitement.

Our guide, the only woman working as a guide in the park, smiled and began to giggle like the schoolgirl she must have been years ago. “Hehehe – they are farting,” she said and we all began to smile and laugh softly. Even the scouts and trackers, who never spoke enough for me to know just how much English they knew, began to chuckle. The sound happened again, and we all looked knowingly at each other and continued our immature, muted giggles.

Gorilla-Trekking-Guide.jpg

“They ate a really big breakfast,” our guide said, continuing the joke.

And for an hour, they continued to lounge in the jungle, farting, pooping, growling at each other, and sometimes lumbering over into another part of the forest. At one point, one of the females, seemingly annoyed at her audience, charged at us and one of the trackers raised his machete and barked back at her. She backed down.

“You always have to show that you aren’t afraid. They’re just trying to scare you, but if you try to run, they may pick you up. They’re really strong and can break your bones or kill you really easily. They don’t always mean to, they’re just so strong.” Our guide had cautioned us.

After one hour, we had to leave before we over stayed our welcome and really began to piss off the gorillas.

Since trekking in Uganda in September, I’ve gotten a lot of questions from other travelers about the experience and I thought I would include them here in case you were wondering the same thing:

Was it worth the money?

Honestly, I try not to think about it. I was a lot of money for what it was, but the proceeds from the $500 per person permits go back into protecting the gorillas and their environment, and improving the standards of living in nearby communities (related goals, really). Also, even though the trek was brief, it was incredibly well run and you could tell a lot of work and money goes in to protecting the park. Trackers, guides, and scouts are well-trained, and the guides all speak excellent English.

wpid-storageemulated0photoeditorG-Bug-in-Bwindi.jpg.jpg

Is there any way to do it cheaper?

All in all, we paid $900 each for the permit, private transportation to/from Kampala, hotels, water, and all our meals, through Cheap Uganda Safaris. While we don’t regret the splurge (our driver/guide, Alex, who runs his own company, Freelyn Adventures when not freelancing for others, was awesome and it was nice to break up our budget backpacking with a bit of uncomplicated luxury) we could have done it cheaper. We could have linked up with other travelers since tour prices drop as the number of people increases, or taken the independent route, buying the permits ourselves, making it to Kabale by bus and hiring a driver from there, getting all of our own food, and camping in our tent. Also, a lot of tour companies buy permits in advance and so towards the end of the tourist season, around November, some will have discounts on their tours and will sell the permits off for about $350. The trade-off here is that it’s rainy season, and the trail is muddy and slippery.

Bwindi Forest

Do you always get to see the gorillas?

It’s pretty much guaranteed. We asked this question to our guide who said yes, she’s always been able to find the gorillas. The park tracks each family’s movements and at the beginning of the day, trackers set out well before the guides and hikers to locate the families based on where they were last seen. Guides and trackers communicate with walkie talkies for updates on their whereabouts. When we asked our guide what was the longest it ever took to locacte them, she said “about 10 hours.”

“We had to call the office on our walkie-talkies and have them bring us dinner and more water,” she said, remembering the experience.

For us, we found them in about 2 hours, stayed for an hour, and were the first group out of the park.

Gorilla Tracker

So, it was pretty amazing then?

I’d be kind of an asshole if I said no, right? Just kidding. It was amazing, but far too short an amount of time. Also, I think seeing the gorillas (sitting around, farting, eating, looking at me with a strangely human face) made it easier to relate to them and grasp the commonalities humans have with other primates. So, in a way it made them less of this incredible, mysterious animal that exists somewhere-out-there in the world and more of a familiar face. Maybe I’m being vague, but it wasn’t like seeing lemurs and thinking about how cute and amusing they are, but being in the presence of an animal that you know is watching and observing you as much as you are it was a totally different nature viewing experience. They’re intelligent and complex, and you feel that.

Gorilla.jpg

Categories
Africa Ethiopia Travel

Drinking Coffee with Tomoca, Addis Ababa’s Oldest Roasters

Tomoca Coffee

My inspiration to travel to Ethiopia came while drinking a cup of coffee that tasted like cardboard. I wanted good coffee, and I felt that Ethiopia would have that. After all, my experiences in America had taught me that Ethiopian Arabica roasts were medium-bodied, fruity, and exactly the thing to cure my coffee doldrums. As with many other places that are famous for their coffee though, Ethiopia tends to send the best of their beans abroad as a cash crop, and it turned out that getting a delicious Ethiopian roast in Ethiopia was trickier than I had expected — which is why my friend and I decided to head to To.mo.ca (an abbreviation for Torrefazione Moderna Café). Although firmly on the tourist circuit, this coffee shop run by Addis Ababa’s oldest coffee roasting company has still preserved much of its original ambiance, and is still largely frequented by nearby businessmen and other locals looking for a quick pick me up. Since their founding in 1953, they have since expanded to two other locations in Addis Ababa, but we wanted to check out the original on the Piazza’s Cathedral Street, where we felt the personality of it’s original years would be most in tact.

So, with a hand-drawn map on the back of an old receipt, we left our hotel in search of the famed coffee shop, but couldn’t seem to find it. We continued for blocks past where we thought the shop would be, into slightly sketchy territory, but eventually gave up and settled on one of the stylish, modern cafes abundant in Addis Ababa. Disappointed, we vowed to try again the next day.

Turns out, the place is so unassuming from the outside, that we had walked right past it on our first try! Marked only by a small, simple brown sign, To.mo.ca is easy to miss if you’ve never been there before. Fortunately, we walked slower on our second attempt, and this time spotted the small hole in the wall, just past the intersection with Churchill Avenue and went inside.

Once we entered, we were surrounded by the sweet aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the loud clamor of tiny glass and ceramic mugs against saucers, the tell-tale hiss of an espresso machine, and lively conversation. The place was full with customers — mostly men — standing around tall tables chatting with friends or pouring over the newspaper on small stools while sipping on To.mo.ca’s espresso-shot sized cups of buna (black coffee), makiato (coffee with milk), or capucinnos. All their coffee is slow roasted using a traditional Ethiopian process but in modern Italian-made roasters to bring out a fuller flavor and aroma from their Ethiopian Arabica beans. Even before tasting their coffee, I could smell the result of the time and care they had put into getting a quality roast out of a quality bean and felt myself bubbling with excitement as we approached the counter.

Tomoca1

For a bigger cup, we told the cashier “double” before paying and being handed a small plastic chip, which we then took to a back counter where the coffee was dished out. Three employees stood behind the back counter, taking chips and brewing coffee out of their large espresso machines, while customers grabbed their cup (no Starbucks take away cups here!) as the orders came up. Another woman bustled around taking a shaker full of sugar away from those with slightly empty cups, and placing them in front of customers who had just received their orders — since, of course, you can’t drink a cup of coffee as an Ethiopian without three teaspoons of sugar (we were just glad no one was trying to put the sugar in the coffee for us.)

And how was the coffee? Everything I expected of an Ethiopian coffee roaster with 60 years to perfect their craft. The small cup of buna tasted rich and strong and left us feeling revived and ready to dive in to the chaos of Addis Ababa’s downtown area, or perhaps, inspired by the Balzac quote hanging from the ceiling (“When you drink a cup of coffee, ideas come marching like an army”) write a short story. We even debated taking a bag of one of their several roasts on the road so we could enjoy the aromatic flavors of To.mo.ca even after we had long left Ethiopia’s capitol behind. But in the end, we decided against it. Sitting in the bustling atmosphere of To.mo.ca’s original coffee shop was part of the reason that made that one cup so enjoyable, and even if we could take the taste home with us, we would never be able to fully recreate the experience of sipping downright delicious coffee with the locals at To.mo.ca in Addis Ababa.

Tomoca2

Categories
Adventure Travel Africa The Nomadic Life Uganda

At The Source of the Blue Nile in Jinja, Uganda

Blue nile

I will forever remember Uganda as being a thousand shades of green. We arrived in Jinja, Uganda at the end of a long rainy season, and at the beginning of a tropical downpour, that had been making me nervous as I tried to balance myself and heavy backpack on the back of my motorcycle taxi (called a boda boda).

“Where are you from?” My driver asked

“America,” I said dryly.

“Oh! Amereeca! Will you marry me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to marry anyone I have known for only two minutes. Now please watch the road.”

“You’re scared?”

“Just watch the road.”

Obviously, I was more concerned with getting to our hostel, Adrift, before it began to dump buckets of water from the sky, than a boda boda driver’s romantic, or more likely, self-serving, intentions.

We got there, but just barely, and spent the rest of the evening drinking beer and trying to make out a brown, muddy Nile that stood against a backdrop of white haze. The next morning, however, the rain and mist had lifted, and we were greeted with a wide, lolling river, made lazy by a pair of nearby dams.

Why visit Jinja?

Ugandan Fishermen

Jinja, Uganda is a popular stop over for adventurous tourists looking to bungee jump or white water raft down the Nile (mostly out of our hostel, Adrift, which sits a few kilometers outside of town but has a lively bar that overlooks the Nile) and the less adventurous ones who would prefer to bob up and down on a small canoe bird-watching or booze-cruising on a sunset boat ride that putters past papyrus reeds and fishermen — exactly the sort of scene you might expect to see on the Nile if you ignore the anomaly of your boat.

Ugandan fisherman Nile

Off the river, Jinja is a large, bustling town. Downtown’s main street is dotted with several cute cafes (like, Source of the Nile) that serve up freshly brewed coffee — a great break from the instant coffee we kept getting throughout Kenya — and dozens of souvenir shops basically selling the same thing. Being Uganda’s second largest metropolis (after Kampala) I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised by this bit of cosmopolitanism. I was rather surprised by how many foreigners and tourists were roaming the streets, many of whom seemed to be unusually pretty girls in their early 20s, sporting flowing long skirts. Volunteers in the name of God, maybe? I’ll never know.

source of the nile cafe

Final thoughts

Ugandan school children


In the end, I found the place overly touristy but beautiful. I was happy to move on, but encountered several foreigners who now call it home. Mostly, I feel like I’ve walked away from Jinja being able to say “no big deal, I’ve been to the Nile.” Not a bad place to spend a few days, right?


Categories
Africa Kenya Travel Uganda

How (Not) to Cross the Border Overland from Kenya to Uganda

Truckstop at the Uganda / Kenya border of Malaba

When we hopped off the bus in Malaba, the bustling, ramshackle border town between Kenya and Uganda, we were immediately bombarded by motorcycle taxis trying to ferry us across the border.

“No, we’ll walk,” we said, finding it ridiculous to pay someone to drive us a distance we could cover in less than ten minutes.

So we hiked our bags on our back and headed to the office on the Kenyan side, when we saw the recliner chair from the best recliners we knew we had found the office. The office was easy enough to find, and the process was simple too. Since we had arrived in a mini bus, and not with one of the large international buses that ferry people between Kampala, Nairobi, and Kigali, we had also arrived with a crowd of locals going to market (and who therefore didn’t need to have their passports checked) and were the only ones in line. It took us all of ten minutes, and we were stamped and sent on to the Ugandan side.

A Peace Corps friend in Malaba had told us that the Ugandan office wasn’t that simple to find. We would have to veer left off the road a bit — so we tried to do that. A group of men shouted at us and told us we were going the wrong way. They pointed us towards a sidewalk where dozens of other pedestrians were walking in to Uganda, so we followed them, still looking for someone who could stamp our passports and give us a visa. Instead, we found two soldiers lazily sitting by an entrance looking thing, with their AKs sitting in their laps.

“Passports, please!” They demanded.

We handed them over.

“What’s in your bag?” One of them asked Liz.
“Where’s your WHO card?” The other asked me.

We responded accordingly, but it quickly seemed apparent that they were more interested in flirting with us than making sure we were legally crossing international borders. We smiled (because you should never upset a man with a gun) and moved on, now fully in the throngs of an African market filled with colorful fabrics. We stopped to look, because our Peace Corps friend had also mentioned it was a great place to find fabric we could later turn into clothes.

A few meters down the road, we found our bus to Jinja, and turned to each other to say “well, that was easy.”

It wasn’t until later that night we discovered that we were now illegal in Uganda — in the confusion of the border crossing and market, we had never managed to get a Ugandan visa (which all American citizens need in order to enter) or stamp… This was quickly becoming a hassle, I could catch myself thinking, how easy it was in Asia with the Vietnam visa on arrival program.

What You Need To Know

Before attempting to cross the border ourselves, the internet had made it seem as though it would be semi difficult to cross overland between Kenya and Uganda. I totally disagree.

The main towns to cross through are Malaba and Busia. For those coming from Kenya, you can cross into Uganda and return to Kenya with a single-entry visa (don’t waste the money on a multiple-entry visa — Kenya has special agreements with Uganda and Tanzania that allow you to travel between the three with only a single-entry visa) but you still need to buy a separate visa to Uganda. Visas for Uganda and Kenya cost $50 USD each. You can pay with local currency, but make sure you have exact just in case the border agents don’t have change (as happened to us). That said, visas are available on arrival.

Large bus companies such as Easy Coach cross the border, and make it easy for passengers to go through the process. Just hop off and follow what everyone else is doing, then meet the bus on the other side. They’re good about waiting and making sure everyone is back on board before leaving, just in case that sort of thing makes you nervous. If you are traveling with local buses, however, make sure you get both stamps! It’s very easy to find a bus in either direction from the border, and you generally don’t have to wait long. If you are going with a local bus, I’d suggest traveling by day. This is best if you are going only a short distance.

Also somewhat annoying, the bus from Malaba – Jinja is the same price as the bus from Malaba – Kampala, but worth it if you don’t want to back track.

All in all, crossing the border overland between Kenya and Uganda is easy, and you don’t need to have anything special (like passport size photos, as the official website claims) besides money for the fee in order to get a visa on either side. Plan to spend about an hour crossing, just in case you get caught behind a large group, and definitely don’t have any worries about crossing this border!

Our Return to Kenya

Ten days later, we groggily stepped off the Kampala – Nairobi direct and into the Ugandan passport control office.

“Where are your visas?” The offcial asked.
“We tried to get them! There were men with guns… they looked official… we don’t know what happened!” We groveled.

Our official consulted with someone else, and eventually decided that they would give us the visa, stamp us in, and stamp us out, all at the same time.

“Perfect!” We said, and happily forked over the $50 visa fee. We both breathed a sigh of relief that they were so understanding, and that we didn’t even have to offer a bribe, before ambling on to meet back with our bus and try to catch a few hours of sleep on the bumpy bus ride east.

Categories
Kenya Travel

Apparently, Hell Has Zebras: A Visit to Hell’s Gate National Park

Hell's gate

“Welcome to hell!” a Kenyan man standing by a row of rental bikes shouted, obviously amused at his joke. “Would you like to buy a map?”

Liz and I had just turned off the main road from our camp ground by Lake Naivasha, headed to the Elsa entrance of Hell’s Gate National Park on rickety bikes that were already beginning to make our bums sore. We decided to take him up on his offer and Liz handed over a dollar for a sorry excuse of a map, a badly drawn, photocopied sketch of the area, that would end up being little use to us when we really did get lost — a second joke on the map-seller’s part — before struggling up a dirt road on a slight incline to the entrance of Hell’s Gate, to the entrance of hell, you might say.

Safari by bike

Hell's Gate Wildlife

We shattered some preconceptions that day: apparently, Hell has zebras. And giraffes, warthogs, gazelle, baboons, and buffalo.

It was beautiful, and probably not the image you’d conjure up if I had just told you “we just visited Hell”. But it also wasn’t the image you’d get if I were to say I had been on safari in Kenya.

To start with, Hell’s Gate doesn’t have any predators, a small dissappointment since they’re a main safari attraction, but at the same time great because it allows for another unique feature of the park to exist.

You can bike and walk — unguided — through the park, instead of traveling by car.

I loved that part. Even if the bike seats had our butts acheing for two days after, it was worth it to stand in the middle of a grassy plain, just a few feet away from the wildlife (if you had managed to walk quietly enough not to startle them), and pretend like we were the only humans around for miles. Going unguided also gave us the feeling of discovering something new and setting out on a true, rugged, adventure. Our discoveries were our own. This was what I had imagined safaris were like, before a long ago trip to South Africa taught me that Safari in Africa was synonymous with looking at far away wildlife with binoculars from a Land Rover.

Scrambling through the canyon

Hell's Gate Canyon

We did, however, have to hire a guide to wander through the serpintine, sand-colored, Hell’s Gate canyon and recent filming site for Tomb Raider II.

As we trodded along, ocassionaly stopping to admire the naturally hot water trickeling from the rocks, my thoughts bounced between wondering what the filming crews had done about the graffiti on the wall, and why exactly inspired the first explorers to visit this place, Fischer and Thompson, to call it “Hell’s Gate”. Did they take the hot water and active volcanoe as signs that a firey underworld sat just beneath the surface? Who knows, but it was fun to think about.

Climbing Fischer’s Tower

Fishers Tower

About one kilometer from the park entrance stands a tall, slender, pyramid-shaped pile of rocks called Fischer’s Tower. Besides being able to bike among the wildlife, this tower was our other main motivation for visiting the park: you could rock climb. Before heading off into the park, we had just noticed a small mention of rock climbing in a guide book (“in Hell’s Gate you can bike, hike, rock climb, and …”) which is pretty typical really. I’ve found that as a nomadic climber, the normal range of guide books won’t do much more than mention the possibility of rock climbing, and to really track down a good climbing spot requires more word-of-mouth and internet research.

Upon arrival, we learned that this tower was mostly trad climbing — which we didn’t have gear for — but had a solid 5.7, 5.8, and 5.9 sport climb routes that we were able to hop on to and get our fix (thanks to the Kenyan rock climbing guide who spends his days posted up at the bottom of the tower, renting out equipment for tourists who want to go vertical, who took pity on our rope-less situation). The tall rock walls surrounding the valley also offered a variety of more challenging climbs, but again, not bolted. Our new friend told us that he had been working in the valley for over 6 years and knew all the routes. For anyone who wants more beta, showing up at the tower and interrogating him might not be a bad way to do so.

Some practical boring stuff…

Kenyan Town

  • We camped at Fisherman’s camp, about 5km from the Elsa entrance to the park. Camping in our own tent was 500 KSH per person, per night (so unfair, shouldn’t we get a discount for squishing?!).

  • Entrance to the park for non-East African residents was $25 USD, and a 100 KSH fee for each bike. Our bikes were 500 KSH to rent from our hotel, but if you rent a bike at the park entrance, you don’t have to pay the bike fee.

  • Busses from the town Naivasha to Fishermans camp were about 80 KSH
  • Two good cafes in town (Acacia and one next to the butcher) serve cheap local options.
  • Multiple people said it was best for us to set out early and aim to be at the park around 7, so we could have the roads to ourselves before cars came through and kicked up dust (and it’s better photography lighting anyway), and after getting there not-so-early, I’d agree.

Categories
Africa Kenya The Nomadic Life Travel

Landing Without A Plan in Kenya

Zebra

Stepping off the airplane into Nairobi’s international airport felt surreal. Normally, I think of airports as these familiar, unchanging structures — which is ironic since they are buildings built for the purpose of transience and travel — that I can confidently navigate worldwide, no matter if I’ve never been there before or I have been there a dozen times. However, because of construction and the recent fire at Nairobi’s airport, it seemed more like I was strolling through an outdoor expo than an airport. They had erected large white tents to act as an arrivals terminal. The bathrooms were port-o-potties. Customs agents sat behind a folding table in folding chairs, then sent us outside to walk to another tent where our bags waited, lined up next to a paper sign with our flight number, rather than rotating on a large carousal. The airport felt temporary and transient, which I suppose matches its purpose better than colossal airports like Charles du Galle and Dulles.

But the airport may have been misleading. However small it felt, we were without a doubt back on a more beaten path, set to wander around a country with an abundance of travelers and a healthy tourist industry — an excellent situation for us, since we had done little research about our first stop on our round-the-world trip and would need other travelers and resources made for travelers to help us along the way.

Finding Things to Do in Nairobi

Kenyan Coffee

At first glance, we found Nairobi fancy and developed, and since we were coming from somewhere less developed, we had no qualms about spending a day or two pretending to be fancy as well. I was excited enough just seeing asparagus and red peppers on a cafe menu (sad, I know). So, after looking at 101 Things to Do in Nairobi, we decided to forget about the normal touristy stuff, and instead watch a cheesy movie on a big screen at Junction Cinema, drink our first I.P.A. beer in two years at Brew Bistro and Lounge, and have a bagel and coffee at a Nairobi coffee chain, Java. While others at our cozy hostel — Upper Hill Campsite — set out on day trips to Nairobi Giraffe Farm or to shop in local markets, we shyly slunk away to the mall, telling our new friends that we had “errands to run” when actually we were oggling new clothes and going to the cinema like a pair of bored teenagers.

Getting Out of Nairobi

Flamingos in Lake Naivasha

For some reason, I suddenly remembered photos of a flamingo filled lake in Kenya, and decided that’s what I’d want to see here (having already done a safari, and reserving a trek to see gorillas in Uganda as our one big splurge). A quick Google search told me Lake Nakuru, on the road to Uganda (perfect!) was the place I was thinking off. Chats with other hostelers, however, told us that camping alongside the hippos of Lake Naivasha would be more worth our time. Not only does Lake Naivasha have flamingos, but it’s close to the entrance of Hell’s Gate Park, which allows visitors to bike and walk through game filled valleys, rather than drive. We both loved the idea of being outside with the animals (no predators though — phew!), and the possibility of rock climbing as mentioned in an old and battered Lonely Planet, so we immediately made plans to hop a matatu (bus) to the lake the next day. We’d end up staying at Fisherman’s Camp, a classically backpacker spot and one of the cheapest in the area, but would later discover a few quieter budget options elsewhere by the lake.

Maybe Next Time?

Of course, attractions like going on safari in Maasi Mara, hiking Mount Kenya, and lounging on the beaches near Mombasa were all tempting as well, but would have taken us out of the way from getting to Uganda. We heard nothing but positive reviews from people recently returning from then. Naturally, we didn’t want to actually say no to visiting them so in the spirit of travelers who want to see it all, we kept (and keep) telling ourselves “next time… Maybe after Uganda?” We’re traveling without much of any plans right now, so who knows?

Categories
Africa In Photos Madagascar The Nomadic Life Travel

Photo-Frenzied in Morondava’s Avenue de Baobabs

Seven

I went to Madagascar’s most iconic and photographed site, and I didn’t bring my camera.

Just kidding. Though I did think about it for the purpose of writing a piece on how photography distracts from being present and the importance of absorbing and interacting with a place rather than documenting it. Maybe I should have done just that, but I selfishly wanted my postcard snapshot of the Avenue de Baobabs at sunset too. They’re just so damn photogenic.

I wasn’t alone in this. Car after car full of tourists rolled in, parking at the entrance closest to the road back to Morondava town or pausing for a few seconds to drop off groups returning from the Tsingy de Bemaraha National Park, so they could lazily walk the several yards of baobab-lined path back to their private four-by-fours just in time to get dinner. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a large concentration of tourists in Madagascar in my whole two years of living here (although Isalo came close).

As we made our way down the sandy path, a group of small children ran up to us with chameleons on sticks. They knew from experience that basically every visitor would have a camera and demanded we take photos then give them small change. “Madame, photo! Madame, photo!”

It made me a little uncomfortable but one of my friends was impressed they had figured out they could make money off of this. They would have made a cute photo, but I was more interested in chatting with them. I asked one of the little girls her name in Malagasy. When I couldn’t pronounce it quite right she got pouty and stomped her feet “NO! Boon-BOO-na!” I laughed. I love it when kids step out of their robotic “oh, madame-o, please give me something” and let their personality escape.

I snuck a photo of her from behind, and she snapped her head around, obviously in recognition of the shutter’s ‘cliiick’ and was back to berating me with ‘madame, photo!’ I feigned ignorance. I told another group of boys near her I didn’t want to take their photo because they were dirty. They were amused. I was serious.

Four

In the end, my seven friends and I all joined the photo-snapping frenzy, but I could tell that all of us still felt somewhat separate from the tourists passing through. We were observing them and their habits the same way they were observing the trees and cooing over cute little African children holding chameleons on a stick. Even with our cameras, we were putting our Madagascar-acquired habits to good use by simply standing in the middle of the road, chatting and staring, moving slowly and not worrying about time.

After we put away our cameras and piled into our taxis to head back to town for pizza, the cool night breeze forcing me to put on a sweater, I felt reminded of why I love travel — for these moments of absolute beauty and tranquility. For being separated from ‘the rest of the world’ but in such a way that isn’t anxious, but peaceful. I felt absolutely content to be where I was in that moment, but at the same time excited for the adventures to come once I’m off this island (which is soon…)

Oh yeah, and those photos:

Avenue de Baobabs

Baobab

two Canoe Morondava

Rasta Bar

Photos: (1) Entrance to the Avenue of Baobabs (2) Bobona and her chameleon (3)  The kids in front of the baobabs (4) Baobab from the bottom of the trunk (5)  A woman on the road to the Avenue de Baobabs (6) A traditional canoe called a ‘lakana’ on Morondava’s beach (7) Musicians in the ‘Rasta Bar’ in Morondava

Categories
Africa Madagascar Peace Corps The Nomadic Life

Veloma Madagascar — I’m an RPCV Now!

COSYesterday was my first full day as an RPCV (Returned Peace Corps Volunteer).

Except, I’m not returned. My friend Liz, who I’ll be travelling with for the next few months, joked that it meant “Recovering Peace Corps Volunteer”. That seems more suiting, since neither of us will return until Christmas. But whatever it means, it’s a pretty significant event. I’m done! We’re done! On Friday, my group of five COS-ers had our official I.D.s punched and voided, our Country Director shook our hands and said “thanks for your service” and we popped open a bottle of cheap champagne from the duty free store to pass around on our walk from the office to lunch. (Note: When a PCV finishes their service, it’s called “COS-ing”. COS stands for “close of service”. Because of medical processing, only a 5-7 volunteers can be COS-ed at a time. Those volunteers are called COS-ers.)

Working up to that moment, the week was filled with lasts. Last goodbyes, last time at my favorite restaurant in Tana, last day as a Peace Corps volunteer. And finally today, I have my last day on this island. My friends that I’m leaving behind keep asking me how I’m feeling. To answer that, I’m feeling a little nostalgic, but mostly excited for new adventures. And honestly, it’s hard to feel really upset about leaving a place when at the same time you’re cursing it under your breath. Last night, our taxi driver asked for a “kiss kiss” goodbye and it pissed me off. We got stopped at a police checkpoint and hassled for our I.D.s. Several homemade bombs have been going off throughout Antananarivo (but fortunately, whoever’s making them isn’t particularly good at it, so there have been no deaths or damages). This week, I’ve generally been irritated and stressed. I’m ready to move on.

I’m sadder about not being a Peace Corps volunteer anymore. All in one day, I lost my home, my job, and a significant part of my identity. I love being a Peace Corps volunteer and I love the family us Madagascar volunteers have built out of being in it together. Also, Madagascar loves us. On a really basic level, PCVs are known for being “those white people who speak Malagasy”, and Malagasy appreciate it. Telling someone that I’m Peace Corps almost always gets a good reaction (when they know what it is, obviously), and I’ll miss this aspect of instant awesome-ness when I tell people my job.

Fortunately it seems like the RPCV community is just as much of a big family as Peace Corps, and just because I’m losing one identity, doesn’t mean I’m not gaining another. Like I said, I’m less sad than excited for new adventures. I’m excited to fly to Kenya with Liz in less than 24 hours (I’m not excited about the 2am departure time). I’m excited for new food, new music, new scenery, and new discoveries. We’ve both put seeing a movie in a real cinema, not on a laptop, as our number one thing we want to do in Nairobi (silly, I know, but i haven’t seen one in 3 years). I’m also excited to finally be making my way home with a RTW (around-the-world) trip!! So guys, save the ‘welcome home’ for Christmas-time… I want to take my time getting home.

Photo: A mix of friends during the second COS week in August while celebrating at Le B’ in Tana

Categories
Africa Madagascar Peace Corps The Nomadic Life

Success! 22,000 Books Finally Arrive in Madagascar

BFA Mada

After months of frantically e-mailing, running around Tana, and bugging the group of Peace Corps volunteers involved in the Books for Africa project (which I’m sure people are sick and tired of hearing me talk about) I finally found myself standing in a Tana school yard, with the tangible result of all of our efforts being swung full force into a tree. To explain better, a group of Malagasy construction workers were unloading the 40-foot, 4 ton shipping container that had transported 660 boxes of 22,000 books and 4 laptops from Savannah, Georgia to Antananarivo, Madagascar from a truck, and placing it in a Tana school yard to be eventually turned into a guard house com teacher lounge. They weren’t terribly graceful about it, and managed to nick off several tree branches in the process.

image

I didn’t care about the tree though, obviously. I was just marveling at the hugeness of the container and the overwhelming amount of books currently stacked in a classroom and waiting to be shipped off to their new homes. (Earlier in the day, the school had stopped class so students could unload the books from the container into the classroom while I was sitting in painfully slow Tana traffic on the other side of town. I just had to love Madagascar a little for being able to drop a whole school’s studies to force the kids to do manual labor. Don’t feel too bad, they got juice and cookies as a reward.) Mostly, I was filled with relief that the container had made it, and that seeing it in person meant undeniable, verified proof that we had actually succeeded with the most difficult part of our project: getting the books across an ocean and past Malagasy customs. Even though I knew the work wasn’t quite done yet — we still had to sort and distribute the boxes among 18 PCVs — seeing that container swinging into a tree in a Tana schoolyard meant the worst of it was over.

Not everyone in the project thought it would ever be completed, and understandably so: we’ve had a lot of bumps and hurdles. Almost a year and a half ago now, we had our first stall in the project when trying to raise the $19,000 USD we needed to purchase the books, pay for shipping, and get them distributed around Madagascar. Then, very sadly, the PCV who originally started the project, Lynn Brown, was separated from the Peace Corps for medical reasons and had to pass her leadership along to another volunteer, Brittany Bemis, who led us through the ordering process. Even though Lynn was no longer a PCV, she still remained involved in the project and project fundraising. She showed some serious dedication and yes, her site got 1,000 books just like the rest of us! Brittany, however, didn’t have regular enough access to internet or the ability to come to Tana frequently (which would prove essential as we got to the stage of the project where we needed documentation for the container and permission to import) so she passed it along to me.

Our next set of hurdles came with navigating Madagascar’s importation system. It’s hard for me to bite my tongue and keep my criticisms under wraps, but they didn’t make things easy. Madagascar isn’t helping themselves either by complicating the process of importing goods or requiring high taxes (we didn’t pay any for the books or computers because they were a donation). To make matters worse, most of the offices involved didn’t have e-mail and were still functioning in an arcane, print-it-out-and-deliever-the-document sort of system — which meant on several occasions I had to waste a solid 4-5 hours just to pass a document from one office to another, get a stamp from a ministry across town (because, naturally, nothing is official in Madagascar without a stamp…), or just ask a question about the process. For the most part, this wasn’t difficult, but obnoxious, and filled with a lot of little, really avoidable mistakes (like how we lost a full month because a Malagasy website incorrectly translated a website error to ‘missing document’ instead of ‘incorrect document’). I don’t even want to begin to count the hours wasted sitting on taxi-brousses and inner-city busses by yours truly. I listened to many ‘This American Life’ podcasts during this period.

BFA1

The Peace Corps office and the Ministry of Education were beyond helpful with trying to get past these problems and misunderstandings. I don’t know how this would have gotten done without them, and now it has. Which means, it’s time for the fun part: riding in to site with a bus piled high with boxes of shiny, new books, opening them up, and putting them on the shelves for our community to read. While all of our sites are incredibly thankful for the donations, and probably just as excited as I am to flip through those books, I have to say I’m sad to see it all coming together right at the end of my service. Like most of the volunteers in the project, I won’t get to se how my site ends up using the resources, and will never benefit from them as a resource with my own teaching. But then again, “it’s probably more sustainable to have this immense amount of English material in town than to always expect a PCV to be there to teach English,” as one PCV commented. I hope so, because it’s been one heck of a project, and despite it all, one heck of a success!

BFA James

Categories
Africa Madagascar Peace Corps The Nomadic Life

Breaking Up with Madagascar

Broken Hearts by Darwin Bell

I need to get out of Madagascar. And I will leave, to East Africa, in 40-some days. Don’t take this to mean I dislike Madagascar — I’m lucky to have been placed here for my service in Peace Corps and there some truly wonderful things about the island, but two years is enough. I like to use the analogy of an arranged marriage to explain being a PCV here. I, along with most PCVs, came to Madagascar knowing little about it but willing to make the commitment based on the little we did. After we got here, we spent much of our first few months figuring out what this place was all about and in the process uncovered wonderful and awful aspects of Madagascar’s character. Yet despite all of the awful (smelly piles of trash, annoying men, general lapses in logic) we found ourselves forcing to focus on the parts we loved in order to make the ‘marriage’ work (beautiful landscapes, cheap fresh vegetables, laidback attitudes). Some people here, well, they’re really just ‘staying married for the kids’ (as in, they aren’t happy in Madagascar but for whatever reason are too committed to quit now). It’s definitely like an arranged marriage – you don’t know much getting in and have to focus on what you love, not what you hate, to make it work.

On the other hand, I believe a healthy relationship makes you the best possible version of yourself. I would say this extends to a person’s relationship with a place, not just people, as well. This is why I need to leave — Madagascar does not allow me to be the best possible version of myself. Yes, I like the relaxed sort of lawlessness of it all, of living here, but overall I don’t like the characteristics it tends to draw out of me. Over time, it’s made me angrier. I’m constantly on guard, ready for someone to pickpocket or harass me. The lack of general creative energy at first was disappointing, but now it feels stifling. I remember being blown away when I went to Thailand briefly last year, because there was so much presence of fashion, art, and architecture that had been carefully thought out, designed, and constructed. It was inspiring. (To be fair, there are some very creative people here making beautiful things, but it doesn’t seem to be as embedded in the general Malagasy mentality or history as, say, Thai mentality).

I understand that Madagascar has been through some unfortunate circumstances (political instability, it’s one of the world’s poorest countries, locust plague) so I feel somewhat unfair to speak badly of it, but I think my run here is over. We just weren’t made for each other. We had some fun, but didn’t fall in love. In a way, I almost feel like I’m breaking up with it. Sorry Mada, you have some fantastic qualities, and I’m sure you’ll find someone who loves you for who you are, but I just don’t think we’re right for each other. We can still be friends though, right?

Oh, and just to let you all know… I will officially be an RPCV (returned Peace Corps volunteer) September 6th, and fly off the island for Kenya – Uganda – Ethiopia on September 9th. I’m looking forward to this next adventure!

Photo: Flowers in Golden Gate Park by Darwin Bell

Categories
Africa In Photos Madagascar Peace Corps The Nomadic Life

Peace Corps Volunteer for a Week: When Shaz Came to Visit

The idea of inviting a non-Peace Corps volunteer to fly all the way to Madagascar and brave Taxi-brousses and kabones (outhouses) while living off rice and beans for a period of time is always an intimidating notion. I’ve tried to paint a realistic enough picture on this blog, but reading about a kabone and experiencing one are two totally different things. Fortunately, when my friend Shaz came last month to visit me, he took all of our little mishaps with surprising stride. On the way up to Mahajunga, our brousse broke down several times, and while I was slouched in my seat muttering “uhg, we’re never going to f*ing make it” he stayed positive. “Maybe we’ll still get there before the pizza place closes! Here! Drink some of the whiskey I brought!” He actually liked the food, especially brochettes (which are one of the most fantastic snacks here… he has good taste). He aslo didn’t complain nearly as much as I did about the rather putrid kabone situation at one of my friend’s sites (the outhouse has gone to shit because the whole middle school uses it). Furthermore, he even tried toka-gasy, the homemade sugar-cane moonshine that’s known to turn people blind, and was enthusiastic about it. Okay, okay, I mostly pressured him into trying toka for my own amusement, so way to go Shaz for taking that bullet! I took a lot of hilarious photos of him and another PCV throwing down shots with looks of utter disgust while I sat by and giggled.

Also, we took a lot of photos

Ankarafatsika CanyonDrink Seller Mahajunga

Mahajunga boardwalk
Girls in the window
Breakfast
Lemur Forest
Mahajunga baobab(1)
Bush

Categories
Africa Madagascar Peace Corps The Nomadic Life

Really Officer, I’m Not an Illegal Immigrant

Creative commons courtesy of timsackton
Creative commons courtesy of timsackton

I know I have slacked for the entire month of June about blogging… and a lot has happened in that month. The books for the Books For Africa project I’ve taken over have arrived in Tamatave and are currently stuck in customs. I had my Close of Service conference with Peace Corps and will officially be leaving the island on September 9th (onwards to Kenya/Uganda/Ethiopia!!). My Dad will be arriving (with homemade cookies!!!) tomorrow to see this hunk of land I’ve been camped out on for the past two years.

And… a fellow American and I were stopped for being potential illegal immigrants.

Every time I have told this story to other PCVs (and expats in general) they always interrupt me here to exclaim — “who the f– would illegally immigrate to Madagascar?!?” I’ll get to that.

It started when a Malagasy police officer stopped the two of us as we were walking around town looking for breakfast and taking photos. When the police officers started yelling “eh! eh! eh!” at us, I thought they were mad at my friend for snapping an accidental shot of them. Easy problem to solve, right? We’ll just delete it, say sorry, and be on our way.

But I was wrong. Instead:

Officer: “Can we see your passports?”
Me: “Passport? Why? Here’s my resident card…”

The tall, well-fed officer and his two assistants (all donning very official looking, laminated badges dangling from lanyards) took a full five minutes to decipher the card and write down my information — all was good — but started to give us trouble because my friend had left his passport and copy of his passport at the hotel.

Officer: “You’re going to have to come to the station and present it later,”
Me: “But we already have plans, we left the passport at the hotel because there’s lots of thieves. We were afraid of getting robbed.”
Officer: “You need to come to the station.”
Me: “Why are you checking our passports anyways? I’ve lived here for two years and no one has ever asked me for this.” (With the exception of one police officer who, I swear, stopped our whole taxi-brousse just to flirt with my friend, using the passport check as an excuse to talk with us).
Officer: “There’s a big problem with illegal immigrants”
Me: “From where?” (This is when I was thinking ‘who the f– would illegally immigrate to Madagascar??’)
Officer: “The Comoros”
Me: “Do I look like I’m from the Comoros?”
Officer: *Small chuckle* “No, passport please.”
Me: “He left it in the hotel, can’t we just pay you some fee so we don’t have to come back?”

At this point the officer got incredibly offended that I tried to bribe him, and I was equally shocked that he wasn’t taking the bribe.

In the end, we walked away and I was in an outrage at how pointless the whole ordeal had been. Seriously, us illegal immigrants in one of the 10 poorest countries on earth?! The absurdity!! Couldn’t these guys be spending their time doing more productive things? Later, we did end up going to the station and were a little creeped out when everyone knew my name already and had been expecting me (I don’t think the could have pronounced my friend’s name). We figured that they had made such a big fuss about seeing our visas because of the upcoming elections that were scheduled, rescheduled, and now postponed indefinitely, because he wanted to prove that he had been doing actual work before his post came up for elections as well.

Whatever it is, I promise you all, I am not trying to illegally immigrate to Africa.