Bus rides

Bus rides in Tanzania, hurtling through traffic seemingly oblivious to any signage or common courtesy, passing at approaching hills, an ongoing game of chicken with the oncoming traffic. The horn is used liberally mostly as a warning to get off the road, but  also to announce ones arrival and departure. I must be so familiar with it it doesn't wake me at 5:30 am any more when the Arusha bus arrives in Mnenia.
The dala dalas are even crazier. The "conductor" leaning out the window or mostly  open door, soliciting his customers, then out before it stops, hustling any available passenger into the already cramped, what I would call overflowing mini van. The driver inching into the traffic flow and racing along, cutting people off to pull over and disgorge someone. Like some gigantic game of leapfrog there are countless dala dalas stopped and moving all the time (well maybe not all the time) both directions along the main drags.
Our experience with Kondoa 1 the 6:30 am passing through the village has been wonderful. It stops at our driveway with smiles on the ticket sellers faces. They seem genuinely happy to see us as we wedge ourselves into an already overflowing, in motion bus. I've learned the best place for me to stand is on the steps in, that way my head isn't crushed against the ceiling on every bump.
  The conductor "boys" are friendly and seem to look out for us sending Elke to an available seat when such a miracle occurs and letting me know it's not safe for my hand (grasping the window frame or clutching the door outside) when we deke down a side road to avoid the authorities at some road check. Me I would hesitate to drive my van down that road. These guys in a 40 seater bus make it work, driving up one side of a half metre deep gully, crossing over gigantic cactus remnants and along the edge of corn fields. Then across the river. There must be lots of traffic through, it is hard packed sand. Upriver I saw some boys stripped down having a bath in a pool they dug and have seen women washing clothes, colourful patterned material laid out on the rocks and sand to dry.
At the bus "terminal" the bus conductors get possessive as we purchase our ticket home (no refunds or exchanges), and later the ticket sellers are all over us when we return from our shopping, trying to sell us a ticket somewhere, anywhere.
Returning home from Kondoa, anticipating the next stop, one fellow climbs up the ladder outside to untie, dislodge or somehow release whatever the passengers have trusted to be up on the roof so when the bus stops, their goods are handed over and we are in motion again within it seems the blink of an eye and a bang on the side of the bus.
On one ride we watched a fellow climb out the window, swing over to the ladder and disappear up as we careened down the red road.
Our trip to Arusha was somewhat different, a larger bus, and a seat each near the back, although my knees were spread so wide someone else could have sat between. When the seat at the back in the middle was vacated I grabbed it, my freed knees level with the arm rests on the seat forward. Beside me a mother, her two daughters and a box of chickens. Mother and eldest daughter motion sick into their own ubiquitous black plastic bags.
Later they were buying cookies and bottled drinks through the window when we stopped in Babati where at least half the travelers got off. Women hawking snacks and drinks from the plastic wash basins carried arms free on their heads. The men generally don't carry stuff on their heads preferring great square frameworks loaded with wristwatches, combs, sunglasses and other small manufactured items resting on their shoulders. Occasionally a man will walk by with a tray loaded with boiled eggs or newspaper cones of peanuts. We bought samosas.
 After Babati, pavement. The road seemed to get worse what with the speed bumps and potholes, swerving around cyclists loaded with all manner of freight and lurching to a stop when they spied a possible passenger. My back was not happy.
Arriving on the outskirts of Arusha a number of men standing beside the ladder up, caught the six large baskets of chickens the roof jockey levered off.
I was glad to step off at the bus station and walk the half mile or so to the Masai cafe.

At Home: Amarula Camp, Mnenia, Tanzania

The climate here (central  Tanzania) agrees with me. I like being warm and it has been hot and humid.  Early morning and late evening it is very pleasant.  At mid-day laundry dries in 40 minutes. The sun rises early and about the same time everyday.

 We do what needs doing till about 11 then take a break, as the heat can be oppressive.  The solar collector fills the battery by 10:30 most mornings (we've had some misty overcast ones) and along with everyone's cell phones we're able to keep our laptops charged.
Getting online has been at times challenging, our stick works only in specific locations, (must be bouncing off the knob of rock to the north behind us.) It is painfully slow and doesn't like it if more than one page is open. I'm learning to prepare, then upload, download and do my best to NOT get distracted and start reading and responding while online.
Much of the time we are alone here, we have a security guard Mohamed who spends the night flashing his light/torch around and chasing off any wandering livestock. Daytime security is Saum who does some domestic work, dishes and laundry (also chasing livestock) with an occasional delivery of fruit, vegetables and fresh milk. She leaves at noon and returns briefly in the evenings.
 Our man 'Friday' though is Daniel, a hard working, creatively talented, positive force in getting stuff done and translating to and from Kiswahili. I believe we would be struggling here without him. At least until we're more fluent.
I have been reading, writing and researching, planting trees and making compost.
Often quietly enjoying the view from the hammock.  The clouds roll around the mountain, called Mnenia mountain on this side, Kolo mountain on that side and Pahi mountain down below to the east.
There seems to be a breeze most evenings off the mountains to the west down onto the plain, during the day it mostly blows the other way. We've had no rain to speak of for weeks now, even though  it is supposed to be rainy season. Beside the road to Kolo the corn looks parched. Women in colourful kangas hoe between the rows. I've seen them walking up the road early in the morning their hoes suspended on their heads the blade hanging over the back of their necks.
 Getting my hands dirty; planting Baobab, Sausage and Sandpaper trees, putting in a garden and collecting local plants to "landscape" the place has been wonderful and if you'll pardon the pun, very grounding. Permaculture principles and convenience support planting food plants/trees around our kitchen/living area and to that end we planted our first bananas. There are more varieties coming,  we'll need to prepare each spot appropriately. Papayas seem to grow easily here so along with as many mangoes as I can find, in a few years it might look a little like the village down below.
Minus the corn: GMO, terminator varieties covered in pink pesticide anti fungal dust? No thanks. I'm hoping to obtain some dryland corn like the hopi varieties. People here are totally dependent on what they can grow, so they grow what survives. I've got lots to learn here, for our survival we'll need to be working with the villagers.

Into inner Tanzania

Africa is not a country. Tanzania, Kenya, Uganda, Malawi, Burundi, Mozambique, those are countries here in East Africa. Most people here speak Kiswahili. Some English is spoken, French, German, Arabic and hundreds of tribal languages. The best option for being understood though is Kiswahili.
My efforts to learn the language have been spotty at best. Tomorrow though, we head back to Kolo and Mnenia, the village Elke worked in with Twiga women's group. Maybe one or two people there speak English, I intend to volunteer at the school teaching English and I know I'll be learning Swahili from the children. I have a few phrase books to assist me, Elke learns new words every day, so by journey's end I should be speaking.
We've had much fun in the past few weeks wandering around Arusha, visiting Moshi,  tree nurseries, sampling local cuisine; Chinese, Indian and Tanzanian.
I volunteered for two days at a new school up the hill north of Arusha. The children were eager to learn and I was naive enough to think I could teach them. My inexperience had me expecting too much and by the second hour the class I had were jumping off the desks, running around the room, laughing and shouting, completely ignoring my entreaties to "sit down".
They do understand some English but were very aware I didn't understand Swahili. I got  help from another teacher, getting past my concern that I look like I don't know how to manage 9 year olds and they settled down till recess.
Later I saw that after first lesson they get a break...
 The little ones, "the baby class", 3-5 year olds were like limpets, all over me. Stroking my hair, my arms, pinching me and wrapping their arms around my leg fighting over who got to hold my hand in circle. Yikes!
The folks running the school have next to nothing for resources, I made some boundaries around what I had to offer, it would have been easy to go out and buy what I thought they needed, spending everything I had.

A last walk into town to buy supplies. Only what we can carry in my backpack. At most corners there are young men eager to sell us a giant poster map of Tanzania or a Masai knife, belts, hats, shirts, art work or the ever present offer of Safari. I've learned it's not rude to ignore them, in fact I'm doing them a favour so they don't waste their time, cause I'm not buying!
With Seppo's help we purchase an ancient looking wheelbarrow, 13" very used tire and wooden box, renailed numerous times, a bag of flour for making bread in the cob oven and lots of peanut butter. The honey is amazing, yogurt (no fridge so gotta watch that one) buckets, bags of rice and beans. It all goes in the LandRover or on the roof and we're off.
This time the police checkpoints slow us down, I get a fine for not wearing my seat belt. I wore it every other time! Everyone agrees it's bogus as no one in the back seat has one to put on and the driver wasn't wearing his.
Basket makers displaying their craft at the side of the road , massive mats, round square and rectangular as well as coiled baskets all made of local  palm leaves or is that fronds?
We drive past Masai herders,  their goats and cows crossing the road to get to pasture or water. This year is an Initiation year and several young men have masks of black and white with huge plumes rising off the back of their heads.
Stopping briefly in Babati for supplies the vendors at the market are amused by the sight of us attempting to haggle over the price of a watermelon, 3000 shillings about $2C.
The road is still under construction but soon we are onto the familiar red dirt road passing the farmland South of Babati.
A climb into the hills past banana plantations, fields of corn and sunflowers just started and then fields of both in flower. Snaking along a ridge, down into valley back up and around.  We see log bee hives suspended in trees and gigantic cactus trees- Euphorbia Candelabra. Many types of Acacia, Sausage trees, Baobab, Mangos and so many more species to investigate.
 This is where we all came from. The Rift valley over to the west, Olduvai gorge to the north. On some level, I've come home.

Reflections on Deutschland

It was great to settle down awhile in Germany. Eckard and Hedda were most accommodating and gracious hosts on our revisit.Their quiet country retreat, with few responsibilities,  gave us time to slowdown even further and allowed for explorations in the immediate vicinity.
 I recall it being cold; crisp days bundled up in our meager winter clothing, (thank goodness for long johns!) Visits to towns where I was continually enthralled by the old architecture, stone embellishments, faces and figures honouring some past individual or perhaps the sculptor himself.  The churches seemed understated, less light and colour,  with mostly more design than depiction in the glasswork. Some impressive bells though and lots of them.
I drove Eckard's van along narrow country roads into rural Saxony and spotted a wooden caravan parked off the road. Later I found out, it's a mobile beekeeping operation.
 We visited a thousand year old oak held together with strapping and guy wires. Watched trains go by with children going to school coming out of a roadless valley.
 I was happy to see so many folks bicycling around, young and old. Matrons and patrons with their baskets and cloth bags of groceries packed onto a bike and wheeled home. Students, parents with children,  a constant stream of riders on the cycle designated sidewalks in the cities.

 Hung out in Ahrensburg, the "burg"  denotes a castle or fortress where the "king/baron/landowner had ensconced himself and family.The Church would be (and was) somewhere close by due to his patronage and surrounded by the local peasantry who worked the fields to supply this individual with all he needed, mostly.
We took daytrips by train, convenient, quick and affordable into Hamburg. Then board the subway on the same fare taking us all over. Cobblestone roadways, pedestrian friendly walkways and the endless brand name clothing stores that seem to be taking over the world.

In the harbour, we took the official tour, viewing ships being loaded and unloaded simultaneously in one of the biggest  container ports imaginable. It's history stretches way back, the evidence on the buildings, the river tidelines visible on the bricks. These warehouses are now converted into offices and trendy addresses with pulleys above and big doors near the water level. The modern and the historic side by side.
 One evening a drive through the red light district, near the spot the Beatles worked out their licks, and to the fish market, anecdotes and observations peppering the tour.
 We walked some in Blumenthal, so flat and framed by the dike beside the river. I  correctly speculated on the history of the farmland, how the first people had filled in the marshland  built dikes and settled this fertile plain. Elke's brother-in-law Frank filled in the details, of how at one point most of the community picked up and moved a few Km away, taking their houses, animals, etc. to higher ground.
Another train ride to Lüneburg an old guild town, remarkable brick work, an organ that Bach played in a well embellished baroque church. In the canal/river a sailboat between two bridges it's mast tall as the bridge.

Just before leaving the country we drove out to the mouth of the Elbe and the North Sea. There is something compelling about the ocean, I knew I wouldn't be close for a while.  I took a taste to hold in my heart till next time.
Overall I enjoyed my time in Germany: an efficient transportation system makes travel easy, the history was accessible, stimulating, and intriguing. The people out and about somewhat aloof, reserved. Like the minimalist advertising everywhere (except the city), they don't make it a big deal or a spectacle. Generally (always dangerous making generalizations!) people seemed not unfriendly but uninterested in strangers.
Elke's family and friends though, were most welcoming and wanting to practice their English. By the time we left, my ear had adjusted, and I was beginning to say a few words in German.

Barcelona to Paris

Elke had located us a hotel in Barcelona via the internet. The taxi driver had never heard of it, but his GPS and a phone book got us there in driving rain that night. Another strange bedroom, the bed just long enough. We watch Spanish tv news, rivers rising, flooding all around.
In the morning it is still raining. We walk to as many Gaudi buildings as possible, taking pictures between taxis and showers.

Stop for lunch to dry off then to the ultimate Gaudi building... the still uncompleted Cathederal.
It is quite magnificent, inside, the glass, the columns, the sheer audacity of it is mind boggling. There are interpretive displays describing the man and his work, scads of tourists and much for the eye to gaze upon.

The climb up is closed due to the weather and when the power goes off briefly we get a different perspective. Down in the basement (He's buried there!) more about the man and the work to create a building so grand.
Stepping out we ride the subway to the main post office to retrieve our shipped ahead mail from Algecera. Another ride to the train station to secure our passage north.
That evening we enjoy a nice meal at one of the many restaurants close by, it is great to have so many choices.
Later we hang out in a bar that triggers many student memories for Elke. I feel old until two very marginal characters come in. They're part of the group that sings, tells stories and makes noise outside our hotel room at the all night bar across the road.
This is another place to return to, the weather has dampened our enthusiasm and our Eurailpass has only three more days of travel within the week.
Onward! Into France. Matthew has been waiting patiently (I suppose) It's hard to tell when we're communicating via email on a Kindle. We change trains in Lyon and take the commuter line west to St Etienne. Then the tram to the last station as the train wasn't running any further.
From the tram I spot Matthew buying fruit. From the back across a street I recognize my son.
A wonderful reunion, a nice meal and a long bed. Finally, not a hotel! Time to reflect and kick back, see some sights and take the days without that sense of having to be somewhere soon.
We climb the hill behind  their apartment, finding magical mushrooms,

 and great views of the surrounding area.  Then descend into a clothes shopping spree with Elke. Actually it was a highlight!
We visit Matthew's fave coffee shop, Mary's and wander the town.
Sabrina, Matthew's partner was working till the weekend. The night before we take them out for dinner and have Raclette. Matthew is definitely in cheese heaven here.
Saturday morning we all squeeze into Sabrina's car and head up into the mountains for a hike; ancient stone installations, amazing views and menhirs!

Then south to visit her parents.
On the way we check out a troglodyte village up on the side of a mountain. A carved out hillside in sandstone, both new from the 1940's and older habitation side by side.

Another great meal, a lot of challenging (I thought I knew how to speak French!) conversations. Sabrina's dad tells me the river flooded to their stairway, it is just out of view across the fields, vineyards and orchards of this rural landscape. In the morning we do a tour of the Ardeche valley. We drive by one of those recently discovered caves covered in ancient art, paintings thousands of years old.
The river, a favourite kayaking destination, shows oxbows and arches in the rock, canyons to rival many others, narrow gorges and ...fog. Still beautiful and awe inspiring. Yet ANOTHER place to return to. Castles, one lane bridges and a long drive back that night.
Next stop Paris! OMG! the Paris subway, Montmarte, the Eiffel Tower,

Arc De Triomphe,
the Louvre and Notre Dame...
Yes all of that and more in two short days.
It is November after all.
11 Euros for a coffee and Hot Chocolate, beautiful glass in the cathedrals, stone sculpture everywhere, busts of the famous "fathers of France". An intimate little Italian, family run (many generations) restaurant, endless miniature Eiffel towers for sale, the list goes on. And Paris is so full of itself!
The metro was efficient and entertaining. I watched a fellow across the track, obviously feeling the effects of the bottle he was most of the way through, attempting to chat up a lady. He made eye contact across the tracks and we had an amusing exchange for both of us.
Suddenly the last day of the Eurailpass is upon us. In the morning we board the train and continue north, back into Germany.

Safi to Barcelona

Time to see the sea again. I choose Safi, pronounced Asfi, a confusing detail when buying a ticket to get there. The guide book had no information, only warning that El Jadida further north is the playground of the Casablanca folks and not really tourist oriented. The map was not much help either.
More dirty train windows. I was tempted to run outside when it stopped to wipe them clean, a risky venture without knowing how long we'd be in each station. Lots of people getting on and off, likely returning home from the holiday.
Arriving safely in Safi we schlepped our bags across the road to a cafe and sat watching the other passengers slowly dwindle away, picked up by taxis, trucks and buses. Since we didn't know where we were going it seemed prudent to ask someone in the cafe. With the little info we garnered I stood on the road waiting for a taxi.
Where did they all go? Eventually a fellow with a truck (we rode in the back to start with) took us from one hotel to another till a suitable room with a long enough bed was found.
The town has no real beach, a big harbour, a naval base and a promenade along the cliff. Walking there, we speak with a couple of men who talk about, among other things, the sulphur coming from Vancouver to make matches(?). I recalled the great piles of it on the north shore, visible from the Lion's gate bridge.
We wandered through the Medina and now having some experience, successfully purchased a few items.
Due to the holiday the only restaurant open was a specialty chicken place and what a deal! Soup, bread and a delicious spice mix on the more than abundant meal. No other choices! So much for seafood.
In the morning I found a manhole cover worth photographing.


On the bus north, fields and fields of vegetables both sides of the road and adjacent to the lagoon-like inland waterway. Looks like a great kayak destination.



The young men in the seat in front of us wanted to talk (French) and later in El Jadida they take us to a great hotel.








After arranging our room we headed to the beach where we saw a camel and pony (dog and pony show?) all decked out for rides along the sand. Our friends from the bus were having tea and coffee in one of the many establishments along the promenade so we joined them getting more lowdown on the town.

The Medina there is a an old Portuguese fortification, the souk or market takes place across the road and up a main street, fruit, veggies, spices and meats off to one side then clothing, pottery and everything else lining three streets around. I found us a place to sit at a juice bar, a triple coloured treat of avocado, strawberry and mango.

For the first time in Morrocco we saw beer for sale, although no women in any of the establishments catering to such trade. I purchased a few to go and we enjoyed a quiet beer over dinner in our hotel room.

The folowing day walking north along the promenade past football (soccer) players, surfers and fellow walkers spotted an immense seemingly abandoned building. I imagined... real estate opportunities...
On our way to the train the next morning overhead a flock (!) of Storks flying inland.

We'd been told "Casablanca is not worth visiting". Since we were changing trains there anyway, we enjoyed breakfast at the cafe across from the station watching myriad "petite"taxis dropping off and picking up. Each registered and numbering in the thousands! We made a contest of spotting the lowest number while waiting for our train back to Tangier.
Our plan had been to spend the night but it seemed possible to take the ferry that evening. After walking along the promenade looking to exchange our local money (good only for novelty outside Morocco) a generous cabbie dropped us sans fare at the ferry slip. More than one company and more than one ferry made for confusion.
The trip across, in the dark and rather rough made picture taking untenable. But the bus waiting at Tarifa was a relief, and I was happy to surrender my last piece of chocolate to a fellow passenger with insulin challenges on our way to Algecera.
Another night in the hostel next to the market, this time at the back of the building! Not a sound did I hear.
The (only) afternoon train in Spain ran mainly in the rain, through some awesome terrain... back to Ronda! And then on to Barcelona, one of our original destinations...

the tour

We signed up for a three day excursion. Bring a change of clothes, camera, water and some lunchtime snacks. But...
Buyer beware with these guys!
We found three different prices, possibly three different tours and everyone meets at the same place, at the same time is assigned a bus and we all go off together!
Does driving here in Marrakech look scary? How about through the High Atlas? Hairpin turns one after another as we climb and climb, snow patches beside the road. An incredible vista at every turn, drops of a thousand feet, tiny villages clustered in the valleys and up the hillsides. Jokes are made about all the pictures being taken, and I cannot take enough to really show what we experienced. At one point later on a group of motorcyclists went by, one had a camera on his helmet. Now that's how to record it.
I'm reminded of Afghanistan, Pakistan or Turkey none of which I have actually seen... A brutal landscape, the greenery limited to watercourses, rivers and irrigation once we are on the other side and into rain-shadow. Along the river benches; alfalfa, apples, apricots, olives and pomegranates, poplar, walnuts and almonds, figs and dates.
We visit Ait Benhaddou site of many popular movies and spent time wandering up through this mud and stone city that is at least 500 years old. Renovated of course but still evoking a time before this...
Then on through breathtaking geology, as the sun sets (pictures taken, out and through the window) into Dades Gorge.
In the morning, the holy day, we inch our way through the throngs dressed almost entirely in white returning from morning prayers at the mosque. Visit a vast garden valley and the Berber weavers. "No, as much as I love that carpet, I am not buying it." A visit to Todra Gorge and a brief stop to view ancient fossils polished smooth for tabletops and sinks, attractive, not within my budget and heavy. As I recall, we are backpacking.
The sand begins encroaching on the road. I see what look like animal pens with sand drifting in, some obscured in all but one corner. We approach our last stop of the day, the biggest dune I can imagine.
This is the Sahara, dune buggies roaring around on the big dune and a group of camels waiting patiently to carry us into the next phase of the adventure. We all climbed on and as the camels rose off their knees, they pitched forward, then back to upright. Once settled they strode slowly, rhythmically as the guides led us into the desert.
The ride was timed to coincide with the setting sun. Try as I might it was near impossible to capture as I grasped both the camera and the metal bar on the saddle. I pitched from side to side back and forth. Enraptured by the sand and flowing vistas, yet unable to capture much of it, I stowed the camera...





Near dusk we arrived at a small encampment of tents, where tea was served. Then music and eventually dinner, in tagine of course.

Rising early to hands clapping we packed and remounted the camels, to trek back in the sunrise. I wanted to spend an hour or three photographing shadow and sand, tufts of grass and tiny footprints.
Instead, breakfast then back in the bus. We stopped briefly a few times but drove constantly, arriving as promised back in Marrakech at the predicted time. Sadly, early on, the camera batteries gave out.
The sunset especially and vistas on return even more spectacular than the trip in. If I return I'll rent a car, stop when I want and take a few more days to do it, now that I know the route.