Showing posts with label Africa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Africa. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
Desolation in the Sahara
Dunes stretch out as far as the eye can see in the Mauritanian Sahara.
Dust storm at the end of the road.
Self portrait in the Sahara
A camel dies in the desert.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Mauritania Fish Market
Sorry its been so long since my last update. Well, I have been doing what most Alaskans do during our short summers: frantically enjoying every minute of warm weather that I can!
Here are more photos from Mauritania. What a colorful country that was, with lots of new sights! Nothing was more colorful than the fish market near the capital, Nouakchott.
About 4:00 every evening the small, brightly painted, wooden fishing boats begin coming back to beach, loaded with fishermen, and hopefully, fish. After dragging the boats ashore, men in rain gear begin running back and forth with crates of fish balanced on their heads, dodging small boys along the way who jump up and try to snatch a fish or two from the overflowing baskets. The boys are not the only ones who try to get a meal to bring home; the runners themselves often try to hide a fish, or two, or three by stuffing it into the papers lining the bottom of the crates.
The beach itself is lined with a few thousand of the tiny, gailey painted boats. Muscular men and boys play in the surf without shirts, while women wade out fully clothed in long, flowing traditional dresses. Nearby is a small fish market; long covered benches piled high with the days catch are the focus of attention for hundreds of people shouting and bargaining. All around colorfully dressed people wander, work, shop, fish, and play.
Nouakchott fish market
Bringing a boat to beach
A man takes a quick break, leaning against a boat.
A woman watches over her families fish at the Nouakchott fish market
A truck loaded and headed for other markets
A fish runner
A man bringing home some fish from the beachside market
This little boy is in the midst of the fish market action, tied by his ankle to a pole by the red cloth you see in the right of the photo.
Men in the traditional long flowing blue robes.
Baskets of fish atop a car
Beach Side Fish Market
Playing games beside the beach
Friday, May 8, 2009
Morocco, Moving South
My first day in Morocco, eating a big fish plate in Casablanca.
Heading south along the coast I passed through El Jadida. It was here that I first began to notice that the men were. . . well, a little strange! I really wish I had taken a photo of P0rn Man!
An old underground cistern in El Jadida
Fishing boats in El Jadida
Colorful fish in the fish market of Essouiria
Moroccan Viagra in the market at Essouiria. Yeah, right, like they need that!
I am starting into the Southern Territories now, and beginning to feel as if I am reaching the ends of the earth.
A fishermans shack by the coast. The roof is held on with fishing nets.
Fish is served fried up whole, heads, eyes, and all.
The lady of the house serving up tea. I stayed with this family for two days after turning down P0rn mans offer.
A neighborhood to be in Layounne. The earth is all brown and dusty here.
Dahkla, the end of the road. To the East about 400 KM is Mauritania.
More brown, and old land mine signs, on the way to the Mauritanian border.
A fisherman serves up tea in his tiny tent by the beach. I am on my way back to Dahkla here, having hitchhiked a ride across the border.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Preview
Sunrise over dunes that stretch forever, Sahara
Sunset at an oasis in the Sahara desert of Mauritania
An oasis I backpacked to in Mauritania
It has been a while since I wrote last. I traveled back through Morocco, spent 5 days in Madrid, and then came home and have been super busy ever since. The first week back I was recovering from "lots of African germs" as my grandfather put it, the following week was busy with job search, and then I just arrived home today from this weeks gallivant around Alaska, now that things are starting to thaw up. So I am quickly uploading these photos as a preview to the final Africa report, and letting everyone know that I have not been kidnapped by one of those horrible, ignorant, horny Moroccan men. (See porn Man and the men who chase)
Speaking of which, my last days in morocco had a small experience that was a fitting finale for my time there. As I was exploring the narrow, winding alleys of the Fez Medina, a man sidled up to me. Looking around, he judged when the crowds were out of ear shot enough to whisper to me "want Berber massage? wanna have fun? want sex?" I yelled at him "Get the FUCK away from me!"
"OK" he says in a cheerfull tone, and leaves. So accommodating these men are!
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Return From the Desert
I am alive and well and returned to Morocco from my travels to the end of the world in the heart of the Mauritanian Sahara desert. In one word, it was AMAZING! I ran alone in the cool mornings through the desert and slept under shooting stars on sand dunes and in perfect oasis surrounded by trickling water and glow worms. I lived for a short time with a peaceful desert family and trekked up and down plateaus looking at ancient petroglyphs. I cooked, relaxed, thought, talked with other travelers, and siesta'd during the hot afternoons. Finally, I hitchhiked from the police post back across the border to Morocco the day before my visa in Mauritania expired, and also my 35th birthday. I will write more when I return home and can upload my photos.
Some notes from Chinguetti, mid March:
I sit here watching the mice come out of the kitchen and the spaces in the stone wall to eat from the dog's bowl of rotten scraps and amazingly I am not bothered by it. The kitchen is full of mice, bold ones that come out all hours of the day. One jumped out of a pot I grabbed and landed on my arm in broad daylight. What Cher needs for his auberge is a cat, not a damn dog! My first days here another traveler, Kevin, and I removed everything from the kitchen and cleaned years worth of mouse shit-important because we are doing most of our own cooking. Cooking without refrigeration, which means going to the market before each meal, a task fortunately done mostly by Cher. Cher, who watched questioningly while we scrubbed his kitchen and whom I told he needed a wife. He did not agree, and said that women talk to much! A few days after scrubbing down the kitchen, Kevin waged war on a mouse that was invading his room night and day. During my siesta one afternoon I suddenly heard Quebec French curses from the hut next door. Something like "Stab ah neck". Shortly after, Kevin came and showed me his kill, which he held dangling by it's tail; he had jumped on the mouse.
What I am trying to get at is that Africa is a bit more difficult of a place to travel than other places I have been. I laugh now when I think of how I traveled all through Asia and other parts of the world checking the sheets for cleanliness!! WOW, what a wussy I was!! In the whole of Mauritania I have not seen a sheet, much less a clean one, only grubby mats that are tossed onto the ground of a dusty tent or rustic hut. If you are unlucky enough to not have a sleeping bag, you will be tossed an even grubbier, dustier blanket. Fortunately, a kindly soul I met in Nouakchott, Ibrahim, has lent me a bag. And even more fortunately I have ceased to be bothered by these things (this written as I pick a fly out of the milk I am drinking, milk that has sat overnight on the counter). All this actually contributes to the experience of being here in the heart of the desert, in a place that feels like the end of the earth, in a place full of open space, in a place where nature still reigns supreme and the people must be gritty and self-sufficient, in a place that reminds you just how little you actually need to live in this world.
Some notes from Chinguetti, mid March:
I sit here watching the mice come out of the kitchen and the spaces in the stone wall to eat from the dog's bowl of rotten scraps and amazingly I am not bothered by it. The kitchen is full of mice, bold ones that come out all hours of the day. One jumped out of a pot I grabbed and landed on my arm in broad daylight. What Cher needs for his auberge is a cat, not a damn dog! My first days here another traveler, Kevin, and I removed everything from the kitchen and cleaned years worth of mouse shit-important because we are doing most of our own cooking. Cooking without refrigeration, which means going to the market before each meal, a task fortunately done mostly by Cher. Cher, who watched questioningly while we scrubbed his kitchen and whom I told he needed a wife. He did not agree, and said that women talk to much! A few days after scrubbing down the kitchen, Kevin waged war on a mouse that was invading his room night and day. During my siesta one afternoon I suddenly heard Quebec French curses from the hut next door. Something like "Stab ah neck". Shortly after, Kevin came and showed me his kill, which he held dangling by it's tail; he had jumped on the mouse.
What I am trying to get at is that Africa is a bit more difficult of a place to travel than other places I have been. I laugh now when I think of how I traveled all through Asia and other parts of the world checking the sheets for cleanliness!! WOW, what a wussy I was!! In the whole of Mauritania I have not seen a sheet, much less a clean one, only grubby mats that are tossed onto the ground of a dusty tent or rustic hut. If you are unlucky enough to not have a sleeping bag, you will be tossed an even grubbier, dustier blanket. Fortunately, a kindly soul I met in Nouakchott, Ibrahim, has lent me a bag. And even more fortunately I have ceased to be bothered by these things (this written as I pick a fly out of the milk I am drinking, milk that has sat overnight on the counter). All this actually contributes to the experience of being here in the heart of the desert, in a place that feels like the end of the earth, in a place full of open space, in a place where nature still reigns supreme and the people must be gritty and self-sufficient, in a place that reminds you just how little you actually need to live in this world.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Mauritania
Mauritania! I love the energy of this place, the colors, the action. I am heading to Chenguetti tomarrow and then hopefully off into the Sahara on a camel, so no internet for a few weeks. I will be looking for petroglyphs, of which there are several known areas around. I have not yet found an internet with good anti-virus so have not uploaded any photos. I hope I can find a place to upload them before I do another long post so I can share everything through photos as well as words. Check back in three weeks or so.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Into Mauritania
Heading into the heart of the South Saharan territory really does feel as if you are going to the end of the earth. The landscape is dry, bleak, but beautiful. On one side is the deep turquoise of the ocean. On the other is a vast, empty landscape of brown. Scrub brush dots some areas and then gives way to rock and sand. Here and there are buttes and towering sand dunes. The sun is relentless and the wind a constant sculpting force. Occasionally, next to the ocean, a fisherman's hut stands in defiance against the harshness of the land. They are made of anything that the inhabitants can get their hands on; scrap wood, mud bricks, plastic, fabric, and are held together with fishing nets stretched over it all.
Every 100 kilometers or so is a military checkpoint. This is still disputed territory, but currently occupied by Morocco after a UN brokered cease fire in 1991. UN presence is still heavy here. At each stop I show my passport and answer the question " What is your job". "Estudiante" I answer, although I probably am getting a bit old to say that! After Tan Tan, it is 9 or so hours to the next stop, Layounne. Here I am again invited to stay with a family that I meet on the bus. The hospitality is amazing. Mom wants me to go to the Hammam and get my hands decorated with henna with her but I have already purchased my bus ticket for the next day. "on my way back through, Inshallah" I tell her. We feast on a traditional Moroccan Cous Cous dish which I have watched being prepared. The women give me gifts-a ring and the traditional Moroccan gown to sleep in.
The next day is another 9 hours to Dahkla, located on a peninsula surrounded by ocean. I have taken the government run bus this time, which is more comfortable but also a bit more boring. It takes me to the door of my hotel, where reservations have already been made for me. I have the room just next to the reception so that an eye can be kept on me; this hotel, like most in this town, is full of men. The bathrooms are shared and my long gown for sleeping comes in handy. I really must get a pee bottle! The hotel management helps me arrange transport for the border the next day.
To the border is more sand, more rock, more desolation. It is almost 400 kilometers and the journey to Noudabou in Mauritania ultimately takes nine hours. I share the taxi with a Mauritanian woman and a Moroccoan man. As we get closer to the border, I begin to see lone military standing straight and tall on the higher vantage points in the desert, surrounded by nothingness. At Moroccan customs there is one checkpoint after another.
"Passporta"
"What ees your joba?"
At one checkpoint the officials hand me an orange.
It takes several hours to go through this five or six times. Finally we pass through a gate in the razor wire. Here the road stops. For the next two kilometers there is a maze of dirt tracks through the desert. The tracks are littered on either side with rusted out car shells, trash, and land mines. A group of 'guides' wait in their cars for hire to help you find your way to the Mauritanian checkpoint. Our driver has done this route many times and races past the guides before slowing down to crawl our way to the Mauritanian checkpoint. Here, we only have to stop one time and then we are headed to Noudabou and another part of the journey is complete.
Every 100 kilometers or so is a military checkpoint. This is still disputed territory, but currently occupied by Morocco after a UN brokered cease fire in 1991. UN presence is still heavy here. At each stop I show my passport and answer the question " What is your job". "Estudiante" I answer, although I probably am getting a bit old to say that! After Tan Tan, it is 9 or so hours to the next stop, Layounne. Here I am again invited to stay with a family that I meet on the bus. The hospitality is amazing. Mom wants me to go to the Hammam and get my hands decorated with henna with her but I have already purchased my bus ticket for the next day. "on my way back through, Inshallah" I tell her. We feast on a traditional Moroccan Cous Cous dish which I have watched being prepared. The women give me gifts-a ring and the traditional Moroccan gown to sleep in.
The next day is another 9 hours to Dahkla, located on a peninsula surrounded by ocean. I have taken the government run bus this time, which is more comfortable but also a bit more boring. It takes me to the door of my hotel, where reservations have already been made for me. I have the room just next to the reception so that an eye can be kept on me; this hotel, like most in this town, is full of men. The bathrooms are shared and my long gown for sleeping comes in handy. I really must get a pee bottle! The hotel management helps me arrange transport for the border the next day.
To the border is more sand, more rock, more desolation. It is almost 400 kilometers and the journey to Noudabou in Mauritania ultimately takes nine hours. I share the taxi with a Mauritanian woman and a Moroccoan man. As we get closer to the border, I begin to see lone military standing straight and tall on the higher vantage points in the desert, surrounded by nothingness. At Moroccan customs there is one checkpoint after another.
"Passporta"
"What ees your joba?"
At one checkpoint the officials hand me an orange.
It takes several hours to go through this five or six times. Finally we pass through a gate in the razor wire. Here the road stops. For the next two kilometers there is a maze of dirt tracks through the desert. The tracks are littered on either side with rusted out car shells, trash, and land mines. A group of 'guides' wait in their cars for hire to help you find your way to the Mauritanian checkpoint. Our driver has done this route many times and races past the guides before slowing down to crawl our way to the Mauritanian checkpoint. Here, we only have to stop one time and then we are headed to Noudabou and another part of the journey is complete.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
Porn man and the men who chase.
Essoiria is a town of souvenir shops. Everywhere you walk "Mademoiselle" "bonjour" "just look" etc. etc. If you make the mistake of stopping you are sucked in. I stopped in one shop. I couldn't help it. The proprietor was beautiful, in long black robes and a huge black turban with the ends loose and flowing down on either side of him. He spoke decent English so I finally got to ask the question I have been wanting to ask someone since day one.
"Moroccan men, what are they thinking when they chase me down the street?"
He is embarrassed and plays dumb.
"What? What is this you say they do? They chase you? What then, do they want to talk to you?"
"Yes, they run down the street after me and want to talk. What are they thinking?" I persist.
"Oh, they must love you" he tells me.
I should really feel bad now for embarrassing him, but I can't stop.
"But do they run after Moroccan women"
"No" he concedes, and I let him be after that, as he is a healthy shade of pink.
After a day in Essouria I can't wait to get out. The plush bus does not leave until four and arrives at my next destination in the middle of the night, so I jump on the local bus at noon. I am headed for the Southern Frontier, from where I hope to be able to hitch a ride into Mauritania. This 11 hour bus journey will take me about 1/3 of the way. It is stiflingly hot and the seats don't recline but I am happy to be leaving the main tourist track. I am surrounded by men in turbans and robes and women in stylish jackets and hijabs or long flowing folds of fabric draped over them head to toe. Out the window the landscape is getting dryer and more rural. A pretty young woman in a black hijab smiles at me and gives me some food. Later she blows me a kiss. All is good until Algider. Here, the bus empties and waits for an hour to refill before continuing to Tan Tan.
Enter Porn Man.
The man who has sat next to me is watching cartoon clips on his phone. A minute later,I happen to glance over and he has his hand curled around the phone, trying to block the view as he watches it intently. Unfortunately, I still see it.
A woman is sprawled out naked behind a foot long schlong, which is the main focal point in the video. Freaking disgusting - I am sitting next to Porn Man. I decide then and there that if he touches me I will launch him from his seat.
We eventually make a stop for dinner at a row of roadside cafes. Porn man waves me over. He has ordered food for us and pats the chair next to him. I ignore the chair and take the one kitty corner, moving it even further away from him. As we eat I show him my wedding ring and inform him that my husband will be joining me in Morocco soon.
After dinner it comes. I knew it would. Moroccan men are very forward, and fast.
I should not go to Tan Tan. Tan Tan is no good, but Gourmime, where he lives, is very nice.
He has a very nice house in Gourmime and I should stay with him.
And finally, the icing on the cake; he is not married.
Said with a really disgusting, porn style, suggestive look.
I decline and go to find the toilet.
Back on the bus, I have seen a sign informing me that Gourmime is 30 km away. I am sitting turned towards the window and with my coat shoved down between Porn Man and myself.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see him staring at me.
"Gourmime 5 km"
Porn man begins to elbow me gently.
"Gourmime 2 km"
Porn Man elbows me harder. He is getting desperate. I glare quickly at him and look away before I can see make out what he is mouthing to me in his disgusting way. I already know.
Gourmime finally; and a dejected Porn Man alights from the bus.
...
At midnight the bus arrives in Tan Tan. Men are loitering all around. One jumps in front of me to try and talk. I avoid him and see the two women who where sitting behind me looking for a taxi. I join them and they invited me to stay at their home. This time I accept the invitation. Hakimas mother welcomes me to the family home with a kiss on each cheek and I end up staying two days with Hakima and her family before continuing south.
"Moroccan men, what are they thinking when they chase me down the street?"
He is embarrassed and plays dumb.
"What? What is this you say they do? They chase you? What then, do they want to talk to you?"
"Yes, they run down the street after me and want to talk. What are they thinking?" I persist.
"Oh, they must love you" he tells me.
I should really feel bad now for embarrassing him, but I can't stop.
"But do they run after Moroccan women"
"No" he concedes, and I let him be after that, as he is a healthy shade of pink.
After a day in Essouria I can't wait to get out. The plush bus does not leave until four and arrives at my next destination in the middle of the night, so I jump on the local bus at noon. I am headed for the Southern Frontier, from where I hope to be able to hitch a ride into Mauritania. This 11 hour bus journey will take me about 1/3 of the way. It is stiflingly hot and the seats don't recline but I am happy to be leaving the main tourist track. I am surrounded by men in turbans and robes and women in stylish jackets and hijabs or long flowing folds of fabric draped over them head to toe. Out the window the landscape is getting dryer and more rural. A pretty young woman in a black hijab smiles at me and gives me some food. Later she blows me a kiss. All is good until Algider. Here, the bus empties and waits for an hour to refill before continuing to Tan Tan.
Enter Porn Man.
The man who has sat next to me is watching cartoon clips on his phone. A minute later,I happen to glance over and he has his hand curled around the phone, trying to block the view as he watches it intently. Unfortunately, I still see it.
A woman is sprawled out naked behind a foot long schlong, which is the main focal point in the video. Freaking disgusting - I am sitting next to Porn Man. I decide then and there that if he touches me I will launch him from his seat.
We eventually make a stop for dinner at a row of roadside cafes. Porn man waves me over. He has ordered food for us and pats the chair next to him. I ignore the chair and take the one kitty corner, moving it even further away from him. As we eat I show him my wedding ring and inform him that my husband will be joining me in Morocco soon.
After dinner it comes. I knew it would. Moroccan men are very forward, and fast.
I should not go to Tan Tan. Tan Tan is no good, but Gourmime, where he lives, is very nice.
He has a very nice house in Gourmime and I should stay with him.
And finally, the icing on the cake; he is not married.
Said with a really disgusting, porn style, suggestive look.
I decline and go to find the toilet.
Back on the bus, I have seen a sign informing me that Gourmime is 30 km away. I am sitting turned towards the window and with my coat shoved down between Porn Man and myself.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see him staring at me.
"Gourmime 5 km"
Porn man begins to elbow me gently.
"Gourmime 2 km"
Porn Man elbows me harder. He is getting desperate. I glare quickly at him and look away before I can see make out what he is mouthing to me in his disgusting way. I already know.
Gourmime finally; and a dejected Porn Man alights from the bus.
...
At midnight the bus arrives in Tan Tan. Men are loitering all around. One jumps in front of me to try and talk. I avoid him and see the two women who where sitting behind me looking for a taxi. I join them and they invited me to stay at their home. This time I accept the invitation. Hakimas mother welcomes me to the family home with a kiss on each cheek and I end up staying two days with Hakima and her family before continuing south.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Arrived
I arrived in Morocco yesterday, after two nights of travel, with one night spent trying to sleep in the Seattle airport and the next in a hotel in Madrid. I had planned on trying to fly directly to Burkina but the tickets where astronomically priced-for a foreigner at least-about 600 dollars for one way. This was the "special price, for you" that the Royal Air Mark guy promised me. So I am traveling south by land and will go into Mauritania, possibly Mali and Burkino if there is time.
After my failed bid for airline tickets I headed into Casablanca and immediately wished I had taken the train further on. Casablanca is too big of a city to start out with! This morning I was up at 6:00 AM and had to wake the hotel proprietor to give me the keys for the shower room. Then I was off to the train station where I happily waited an hour and a half for the next train to El Jadida, a much smaller and more manageable town by the ocean with an old walled section and twisty, narrow alleys.
In the evening things get really lively. It seems everyone leaves their homes to wander (women and men), shop (mostly women), drink tea in teahouses (men only), and loiter in the streets (men only again-huge groups of them). A lot of the younger men here are dressed over the top-fancy leather jackets, tight decorated jeans, and highly polished, pointed leather shoes or boots. It's a bit funny to see groups of them hanging out; it reminds me a bit of the movie Greece. As I pass often they will say things to me in French. Well, not knowing much more than a word of French I have no idea what they saying, unless it is bonjour (often it starts with that), but I can imagine where it goes from there. I have to ignore them or they will get encouraged and follow me! I have other problems, too, not knowing any of the language, mainly buying things. Most of today I have just been holding out a hand full of coins or a few small bills and let them take what they want! It seems to be working pretty well; for lunch today-which was a huge meal of a sort of stew cooked in a clay pot called Tajine, fresh baked bread, and lentils cooked in curry and cumin-I held out about 4 dollars of local currency and received about one and a half back in change!
After my failed bid for airline tickets I headed into Casablanca and immediately wished I had taken the train further on. Casablanca is too big of a city to start out with! This morning I was up at 6:00 AM and had to wake the hotel proprietor to give me the keys for the shower room. Then I was off to the train station where I happily waited an hour and a half for the next train to El Jadida, a much smaller and more manageable town by the ocean with an old walled section and twisty, narrow alleys.
In the evening things get really lively. It seems everyone leaves their homes to wander (women and men), shop (mostly women), drink tea in teahouses (men only), and loiter in the streets (men only again-huge groups of them). A lot of the younger men here are dressed over the top-fancy leather jackets, tight decorated jeans, and highly polished, pointed leather shoes or boots. It's a bit funny to see groups of them hanging out; it reminds me a bit of the movie Greece. As I pass often they will say things to me in French. Well, not knowing much more than a word of French I have no idea what they saying, unless it is bonjour (often it starts with that), but I can imagine where it goes from there. I have to ignore them or they will get encouraged and follow me! I have other problems, too, not knowing any of the language, mainly buying things. Most of today I have just been holding out a hand full of coins or a few small bills and let them take what they want! It seems to be working pretty well; for lunch today-which was a huge meal of a sort of stew cooked in a clay pot called Tajine, fresh baked bread, and lentils cooked in curry and cumin-I held out about 4 dollars of local currency and received about one and a half back in change!
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