As Usual

Goats make me laugh-
laughing is better than crying

As usual, the topic of this blog is “the joy of traveling on this blue planet.” (It feels unfair to assign all the blame to “Africa,” as these things have happened to me in Asia too.)

The other day I went to pick up our auditor flying in from Khartoum. The scanned ticket he had sent me listed “11:00am” as the arrival time. I arrived just a little bit after that time because—immigration, baggage claim, getting on and off a stupid bus to go 3 meters across the runway to the airport—these things take time.

We had just slid into a parking place near the crack in the fence (my favorite place to park to avoid pushing through a barrage of wanna-be porters and people selling various types of juice) when James, the auditor, pops up at the car window.

“You’re already out here!” I said, surprised (because usually I’m the only one who can navigate the turbid waters of immigration that fast using skills honed in over-populated Asian countries and years of airport experience, plus sharp elbows).

“Yes,” he said. “I’ve been here for two hours. I realized when I got there that they wrote the arrival time in Sudanese time and not Chadian time.”

Some photos from my last trip

 Because of course they did. Naturally, though it is not the traditionally accepted way to note arrival time in the time zone of the departure city, Sudan doesn’t bow to convention. Sudanese time is the only time that matters, b*tches! (I’m going to try to remember to take that last asterixed word out before I publish this, but if I forget, I’m sorry, Mom.) I said to James, “Well, I did not expect that from what I read on the ticket, but I can’t say that I’m surprised that this happened.” And then I apologized profusely for the wait because somehow it felt like my fault—I should have anticipated something like this would happen. Then I recklessly drove him to the office, casually swearing at all the other stupid drivers. Denis (finance manager who is also currently helping us out in Chad and has been spending a lot of time with James) told me that James has gotten the idea that I am naturally very short-tempered. “She gets angry very quickly, doesn’t she?” he said. Denis laughed and said that I really don’t, but when the only time you’ve spent with me is in the car while I’m driving, I can see how you would get that idea. I took James and Denis out to lunch later, making sure to be extra-charming to try to atone for my bad reputation. And I toned down the language to PG (not super easy after spending a few days in proximity to some militarians), but I managed to keep it together until after I dropped them at the office. The trip back to my house was when the “stupid” drivers went back to being “!@#$%$^#!@#$” drivers, because apparently I can be nice only under the judgmental gaze of my passengers (and that’s no guarantee either).

Now, I know I was just blaming Sudan for their travel habits, but I have another complaint that I’m probably going to blame on Chad, though Togo is still in the running. This month is a month of traveling. A month when I’m glad I don’t have to worry about the well-being of a small, evil cat who resents being left behind while others go on adventures to the outer-world. A month where I leave my fridge mostly empty except for water bottles and essentials like chocolate and hot pepper sauce so that I don’t have to worry about food going bad while I’m gone. I hate wasting food. Good thing gummies and chips last for a long time.

So I get up at 4 to work out in anticipation of a long day on an airplane on my way to Mali, which I’m excited about because it is a new country for me. I’m already missing one day of meetings because I couldn’t get a good flight out of N’Djamena to arrive in the morning in Bamako, though Chad and Mali aren’t exactly on opposite ends of the continent. I get to the airport and wander through, not paying attention until I’m asking the guy at the desk for an aisle seat and he tells me he is actually trying to see if he can re-book my ticket. Awesome. I go out and try to find a way to re-book my ticket myself, but it is impossible. I have to trust Asky Airlines, the airline that screwed up this flight in the first place (which I believe is based in Togo, thus giving them some responsibility for upsetting my plans) to rebook, earliest tomorrow. Now I’m down to 2 days out of a 4 day trip. 

 Finally, I decided to take a taxi to the office, as it’s close to the airport. The little old taxi driver insisted on taking the full 5000CFA, as that is airport policy, though sometimes I can convince them to go cheaper, as our office is really 5 minutes away.

He creaked the door open, and I slid into the car and waited while he cranked and cranked the engine and nothing happened. “Oh, the battery!” he said, “it’s tired.” He elicits help from 10 of the afore-mentioned juice sellers and the car begins to move. I wonder if it will still move once they stop pushing.  

“I’m not going to pay if we break down and I have to walk.” I said (but laughing and he laughed too). Actually, I should have walked, but I have a backpack and a computer bag and I didn’t feel like fending off all of the comments. Some days I prefer to be a bit more inconspicuous. And it felt like a sign of defeat to trudge off down the street, backpack bouncing sadly behind me.

Since this conversation was in Arabic, he was excited to note that I speak his language, and we started on a conversation.

Goats climbing things makes me laugh

“Where are you from? What is your country?”

“I’m from America,” I said.

“America-America or Canada?”

“America-America.”

“What city?”

“Nashville,” I answered.

“Nashkash?”

“Sure.” I said.

As usual, this conversation makes me feel a bit dishonest because it leaves out some many details and inserts ones that aren’t 100% true for all they are so simple. Still, it is a conversation that is socially acceptable and slightly preferable to the “how-many-children-do-you-have-wait-no-you’re-not-married-how-about-being-my-second-wife” conversation that is the other frequent ice-breaker discussion.

Anyway, he decided to tell me about his sister who married an American and lives in Hawaii. During this conversation, I noted that I probably could have walked to the office faster than we were driving. But who cares about that? I have earned an extra, unnecessary day in N’Djamena. It's like the opposite of Day Light Savings, plus a day, or something like that, I'm still a bit hazy on that America-American tradition. Then we drove past our street because I overestimating the amount of time it would take our decrepit vehicle to putter past the road, while I was searching for money to pay the guy.

Buying ice in the desert

Arriving in front of our door, I tried to find a way out of the car, which had a metal piece in place of the handle that wouldn’t move.

“It’s automatic!” he said, as he reached over his seat, braced his full body weight against my door while clutching at the metal handle. The door fell open.

So here I am…writing blog posts about why this is funny to me so that I don’t get mad about missing Mali Tourism Day, which is what everyone else will be doing today.  As I told Leif, it doesn’t matter that much because they refused to let me go to Timbuktu, which is where I really wanted to go anyway. Of course, he’s afraid he is going to get in trouble with Mark, who is slightly sensitive about me going places where I’m going to be shot at, otherwise we all know Leif would be right there with me.

-->

In conclusion, Asky Airlines called and said they will book me on the same flight tomorrow. And what are the odds that this happens again? Well, if we’re going to be honest….but no. Let’s not be. Lightning never strikes twice in the same African airline. Impossible. Tomorrow I’m going to Mali.

Legend has it that this used to be an ocean.
I can kind of see it...if only it were culturally appropriate to sand surf in my bikini...

Traveling to Tunisia (Alliterations Are Awesome And Adorable)

I'm way more excited than I look here about
sneaking into this still-in-use amphitheater

 I recently returned from a lovely trip to Tunisia with my adorable (as she would say) friend Debbie. That makes her sound like she is stuck up or something, but she just actually uses the word “adorable” a lot because she is adorable. We had fun exploring the ruins of Carthage, sneaking into private beaches and amphitheaters and historical sites without paying, climbing up all the stairs at an old fort, trying out various methods of public transportation, and laying around on beaches in and out of the water. We also ate lots of good food, drank lots of good beverages, and wore…swimsuits... Yes, we did, Mom, and not burkinis (though there were a few ladies who were wearing them--but don't worry: this blog contains no people only wearing bathing costumes). It’s totally OK because all the other touriners were wearing their swimsuits too. ‘Touriner’ is a word coined by Debbie (she’s adorable AND a genius), which means ‘one who is both a tourist and a foreigner.’ It is a useful word because one can be a tourist and not a foreigner, as my family is when we go to such places as ‘The Grand Canyon’ or ‘Niagra Falls’ or ‘Wal-Mart.’ And you can also be a foreigner and not a tourist, as I am when I live in South Sudan or Sudan or when I visit Uganda or Indonesia or a plethora of other places where I have lived and/or worked and/or transited. And the point is that when we were in Tunisia, we were in touriner places and we fit in with the other touriners, but when we went to places without many touriners, we dressed appropriately modestly and were usually often more modestly attired than many of the natives.

We snuck in here too!
We are so sneaky.

In conclusion, we had a really great time and interspersed between photos of our journey, I’m including some entertaining conversations I had with various men of a certain age who responded in the same way, regardless of whether I was attired in touriner clothing or arm-and-butt-and-leg-covering garments.

We did not sneak in here

Taxi driver: “You know about Mississippi?”

Me: I know about it.

TD: It’s the most beautiful place. I saw it on TV. It’s so natural.

Looking cute in Carthage (almost all of the photos here
are from Debbie's camera, as my phone was stolen after we left Carthage).

Guy in hotel: You are British?

Me: No.

GiH: American?

Me: Yup.

GiH: Oh. I thought that. Your English is good. It’s like native.

Me: Thanks.

An important photo of me fixing my hair in Carthage.
Thanks, Debs.

Guy guessing our nationality: Russian? Belgian? Swedish? Norwegian? Danish? Dutch? German? Ukrainian? French? Spanish? English? Turkish? Italian?

Me: Keep guessing…

A classic 'touriner' shot

Debbie's classic 'touriner'  shot--we learned everything we know
from watching the touriners while we ate pistachio ice cream cones.

A different taxi driver: Where are you from?

Me: America.

ADTD: But you speak Arabic? You are not the original American. Are you the original American?

The last photo from my phone uploaded to my computer before the theft.
The streets were lined with chairs ready for after-dark Ramadan revelry.

Struggling pick-up artist on the street as we passed: Your eyes is…your eyes…your eyes is…is…

Fun with Debbie's camera timer

We actually got worse at using that feature

Beware: lots of selfies of us coming up (though is it a selfie if it's of both of us? Marian and I call those 'long-arm shots' as a reference to how one must hold the camera and the fact that she takes these photos with her long arms better than I take it with my stumpy ones).

Oh look at my hair like Jesus!

I was not wanting to selfie here, but Debbie made me.
Amanda is cranky when she's hungry.
That is only water in the background, Mom.

Hey-I got a new phone and took a photo of us on our last day
in our favorite haram hotel, seller of food and beverages
during Ramadan. Note: this photo was taken AFTER Ramadan.

And now some photos of the fort in Sousse:

Forts are ALWAYS cool

The view of Sousse from the fort tower.

We climbed every stair.

I posted this on FB already, but I'm lazy and posting 3-in-1 photos is easier
than loading 3 more photos. We sat in the tower a long time and talked until
a few other touriners realized that there was something else to do in
Sousse besides buy t-shirts with camels on them.

Get ready: a truly great photo of Carthage taken by Debbie is about to be seen by you---

Beautiful. You know you all want to go to Tunisia now.
You should.

Traveling However/Wherever I Want

Hippos on the Nile from the MAF plane

In February, the shortest month of the year in case you forgot, I was in 9 countries—if you count staying overnight in a hotel in Cairo for transit as being there (I do because they stamped one of my last dang passport pages, the jerks!) and if you count Gibraltar as a country (they didn’t stamp my passport, charming people that they are, but I did have to sit for a cumulative several hours at border crossings getting in and out, so I count it) and if you count a month as a 30 day period, since technically February was over the day before I got to Sudan, the 9^th country which has most definitely finished off the last 2 pages of my passport. I’m in the process of getting a new one (meaning, I scheduled an appointment at the US Embassy and they’ll pencil me in for March 20), and it’s about time. I’ve started gasping when immigration officials pick up their stamps and have begged a few people to please, PLEASE not stamp on an empty page. I am looking forward to the new passport with hopefully a better photo of my face and many empty pages for stamps and visas and whatnot that should make my immigration stops less stressful. Still, I’ll miss my chubby, threadbare little blue book of adventures. It was a great conversation starter. I had fun watching eyebrows raise and thinking up different responses to “It looks like you travel a lot” and other such astute observations. But it is time. For real, it is.

Say what you like about the Entebbe Airport
(It is small, you have to carry your luggage up
 two flights of stairs to Check-in,
no out-lets to plug in a laptop, etc.),
 but you can't beat the view when you take off--
AND most of the time their wifi works
AND sometimes they turn the AC on.

This month in my travels, I’ve taken a variety of transportation means: airplanes, trains, busses, private cars, ferries, and motorcycles.  In fact, my large green backpack that I may have gained through dishonest means (Spencer, was I supposed to give that back?) got even uglier when it dropped off the back of the motorcycle on the way to the airstrip in Mundri and rolled around in the red dirt for a while. It worked out, though, because it was always easy to recognize on those pristine conveyor belts in European airports as the grungy backpack that had been around the world a few times.

Being in real airports (not airstrips) always feels normal and home-like to me. Still, I am glad I’m not good enough at math or remembering details of my life to calculate how much of said life has been spent waiting in various airports in various states of cleanliness around the world, but it’s probably more than I’d like to admit. Fortunately, there is usually lots of candy available at airports. Though I was bummed that there was no ice cream to be found in the dang Entebbe airport. It would have been the least they could do since my original flight to Spain was canceled due to “fog.” Now I’m no flying expert, but I really thought that they had instruments and other important gadgets to help them fly when they can’t see that well. Otherwise, wouldn’t we get stuck in a cloud up there and not know how to get out? What’s the difference when the cloud is on the ground?

New EgyptAir friends

Egypt Air, well known for being an airline based in Egypt, kindly put the entire flight in a hotel in Entebbe for “until probably sometime later.” This was organized by Chaos himself who chose this moment to take on human form. But that worked out too, because I made friends with a Syria lady and an Egyptian man, and we made our own group and had fun. We had breakfast together and found bus rides to and from the venue together, and Haytham even helped me by calling and telling me that we were leaving for the airport in half an hour (information that was crucial to me making it on the plane, and also something that Chaos & co. had neglected to mention to me via the hotel front desk). Anyway, we all made it, got on the plane and found that we were all sitting in the same row, where we would have sat and probably never talked had our plans gone the way we all intended. Once we arrived in Egypt, they were able to go on to their final destinations, while I was lumped in with a Spanish tour group going on to Madrid at a swanky Cairo hotel. Fortunately, their tour guide was a Syrian guy, so we were able to communicate in Arabic since my Spanish is "not awesome," to quote a friend of mine from India.

Upon arriving in Spain, I was impressed by the efficiency of Europe. I was able to navigate a never-before-seen subway system and hop on a train that felt like some sort of futuristic transportation, it was so shiny and swanky. The best part is that as it was leaving the station and I was thinking about trains that I love (the Hogwarts Express) and comparing that to trains that I don’t love (any train in India), they played the theme from Harry Potter over the loud speaker in the train! I was so excited that I looked around for the lady with the trolley selling cauldron cakes and chocolate frogs, but I guess I was still too far south for her.  From the train station, I hopped a bus (also super-easy and self-explanatory, probably run by personified Efficiency herself) to my final destination, which I missed because I was sleeping and had no idea where to get off. Ma3lish. I got to Torrox eventually.

My private car trips were mostly run by Carolyn (see the post about my 30^th birthday, which may come before or after this one, I don’t know yet) to Nerja and Granada and Gibraltar and cool places like that. I almost got to ride in a cable car, but they were renovating for my bday in Gibraltar, so we hiked the mountain instead. I must say, it is super-fun to be driven around and not have to worry about sleeping through your stop.

My sweet Moroccan mommy

Boat immigration-still easier than
Juba Intl Airport Immigration

And finally, my ferry adventure was probably my real adventure since I took the road less travelled (by tourists) and left from Algeciras to the new Tangier port. Here again, Arabic saved me (Note this important information, dear readers: knowing Arabic saves lives. Maybe. Or anyway it’s really useful at least). A sweet  old lady took me under her hospitable Arab wing and even stopped the bus so it would wait for me to get through immigration in Tangiers where the very charming immigration official and I were charming each other with our charming Arabic conversational skills. “You can stay even 3 months—it is wonderful that you speak Arabic so well. You MUST be Lebanese. Come back anytime.” So charming. But long-winded. But my lady did not let that bus move without me.

My taxi-man

Once we arrived in the actual city of Tangiers, 45 minutes of traffic later, I had no where to go, and again, Arabic saved my life (probably). I changed money, got directions to a hotel, and caught a cab to the hotel. The cab driver kindly informed me that he is not really a local cab, but would make an exception for me. When I told him that I wanted to see the town the next day before hopping on a ferry back to Spain, he obligingly offered to show me around. He refused payment that night, so I knew he’d be back the next day, and then gave me a great tour. He even took me out to breakfast, proving what I’ve suspected for a long time: I am destined to be the wife of an Arab taxi driver. Seriously, they are the only men who ever ask me out.

And after Morocco, all the rest of my trips were going back, which is always easier, since you already know the way.

And now, I’ll leave you with a bunch of photos from my recent travels around beautiful places. . I will include photos here because I took lots of photos and I should use them for some purpose. Remember, I am not one of those fancy photographer people. I take photos on my iPhone and I take a lot in hopes that one or two will not have part of my finger in the shot. Fortunately, there is not too much that I can do to mess up the natural beauty of the places where I was.  Still, I think it is important that you remember that these terrible photos I took and posted here do not do these places justice, so save up your money and/or get an international job and/or make friends with an awesome English sea captain, and go see them yourselves.

Nerja, southern Spain

The lighthouse in Torrox

Aqueduct in Nerja

The view from the Alhambra

Alhambra

Note the crazed look in my eyes and red wind-chapped skin.
Cold make me look like this.

Roy and Carolyn in the gardens

The famous Lion Pavilion
(OK, I can't really remember the name, but it is a famous part of the Alhambra).

The first photo the guard obligingly took for us

The second photo in the pose directed
by the guard--not sure it's really better...

When you go to the Alhambra:
don't forget to look up.

Alhambra window

Still looking crazy

I like windows and arch-ways and blurry photos

Granada from the Alhambra

Orange tree in the garden

Roy and Carolyn walking towards the church

Wearing Carolyn's gloves and clutching the
hand-dryer in the bathroom to try to warm up.

Algeciras Port

New Tangier Port

Tangiers alleyway in the old city

I like alleyways

Hey--it's the door to Ibn Batuta's grave on the left!
More on him later...

Buying breakfast

Breakfast view

Breakfast--ragheef and mint tea

Breakfast place

Chasing his camel down the beach

With Spain in the background

Tangiers from the ferry back to Spain

Seen soon, Africa! (Two days later on the Eastern side)

Tarifa port

Fort by the port

Views from the bus back to Malaga

You can still see Africa

Gibraltar! It's pretty distinctive-looking

Sunset on road to Malaga

And now I'm here.