Marjanishvili is a neighborhood in Tbilisi. It's been undergoing renovation like so much of Georgia.
Tbilisi, Georgia. Marjanishvili.
There's a metro station here. A McDonald's. Several guesthouses or hostels. Numerous tiny fruit and vegetable markets. A Russian Orthodox church. Small, human-scale lanes.
Tbilisi, Georgia. Marjanishvili neighborhood.
Irina's in Marjanishvili. Tbilisi, Georgia.
A few weeks ago, Sandy and I spent Saturday night at Irina's Guesthouse. The hostel takes up a portion of this building - a two-level, maze-like place with many bathrooms, two kitchens, and an assortment of rooms filled with beds and antique furniture. Irina owns the apartment; I think the apartment has belonged to her family since her childhood.
Irina's in Marjanishvili. Tbilisi, Georgia.
Sandy and I enjoyed the exclusive use of a four-bed dormer. We met a trio of Swiss cyclists who've been wheeling around Eurasia since September or October. A Korean family was also in residence; parents and two or three young'ns.
Irina's in Marjanishvili. Tbilisi, Georgia.
Sandy had this intriguing, and a little creepy, sight from her bed.
Russian Orthodox Church in Marjanishvili. Tbilisi, Georgia.
We went into the Russian Orthodox Church, a breath of artistic fresh
air, outside the Georgian Orthodox design norm.
Russian Orthodox Church in Marjanishvili. Tbilisi, Georgia.
This weekend was a
milestone in the Lenten season, so there were many worshipers entering
the church, sharing or receiving food, lighting candles, getting
blessings.
Letters From Matt are letters from my
brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and international travels.
The letters span decades, and I share them on Living Rootless at
intervals, in no particular order.
This morning I went to my last tea ceremony for the next
couple of years. One of my students, a 67-year old man, had one of his kimonos
altered to fit me and today he presented it to me. He and several others wore
kimonos and the ladies helped me get dressed into mine.
The tea ceremony takes place in a very clean, simple room
with paper and wood sliding doors, tightly woven straw mats, and a small
brazier with hot charcoal and a tea pot sunk into the floor. We sit on our feet
like we don’t notice there isn’t any blood getting to our feet. We wait
silently while tea – not black tea but a green pasty solution is served to us
one at a time. When the person next to me receives his tea he bows to me before
drinking it. When I am served mine, I bow to the person on my left. Before
slurping the tea down in three (not four) noisy slurps, I must rotate the tea
bowl three one-quarter turns. After my slurps, I rotate the bowl again back the
way it was.
I then put the bowl back on the floor and inspect it as if
it were a wondrous piece of art and not just a very plain looking bowl.
After we’re all finished, I can sit on my side for awhile
allowing blood to rush into my feet. I’m invited to stand up and move to the
next room, but I decline and say, “I just want to sit for awhile” (at least
until I can feel my toes). At another time someone told me that at that moment
after the tea ceremony, some people are injured with sprained ankles.
You probably would never have thought that going to a tea
ceremony was flirting with danger. Fortunately, I escaped the event with no
damage.
My good friends, Kate and Pam, are in Jerusalem and Jordan, soon coming to Georgia. Kate started as a solo adventuress in Egypt. Now she is meeting up with Pam. Received on April 6:
Well it's been several days since my last installment. I want to assure
you I have not been sitting around doing nothing. Once Pam arrived on
March 27, the pace picked up and time to journal has been limited.
Before I tell you about Jerusalem let me tell you about leaving Dahab
and crossing into Israel at Eilat. Jimmy, my host at Bishbishi,
arranged for me to join a group of people going from Sharm al Shiek to
Jerusalem for a one day tour. Jimmy instructed me to go on the tour and
when it ended to slip away. I said you mean leave without telling
them-oh yes it's done all the time. More to come about that. So I
bought the water and fruit as instructed and the van picked me up at
10pm. Saby walked me to the van and when I tried to tell him goodbye,
he said oh no I will go with you until you get on the bus. So bless his
heart he went with me for ten miles and waited twenty minutes until the
bus came. As I got on he said something about Russians.
The whole bus
was Russian speaking except for me and four young girls who are in
medical school in Sienna, Italy. Off we went, it took about an hour to
get to the border and three hours to get through security. We also
switched buses as they can't cross the border.
We traveled through the
night and at morning's light we arrived at the Dead Sea. We got out and
many people took off their clothes (bathing suits underneath) and walked
into the sea. The mineral content is so high it buoys you and sinking
is impossible. People get their picture taken sitting in the water
reading a newspaper. They then put clothes on over their suits and got
back on the bus. Not pleasant for the rest of us.
Two more hours through the Negev desert and we arrive in beautiful
Jerusalem. Upon arrival one of the Russian men put on a black cassock
and hat and it turns out he's a Russian Orthodox priest and several of
his parishioners are with him. Our first stop is the Church of the
Sepulcher, Christ's tomb, this part of the church is supervised by the
Roman Catholics and Greek Orthodox. The tour guide would speak Russian
for 15 minutes and then give us nonRussian speakers a three sentence
explanation. Needless to say we got the abbreviated version.
Several
of the women had very emotional experiences and had to be assisted. We
also visited Golgatha and the stone Jesus was laid on in the tomb. Many
people laid crosses and other icons on the stone to bless them. We
also drove to Bethlehem( about 20 minutes away) to see the birthplace of
Jesus commemorated by a beautiful church. The tour was over and I told
the guide I would be leaving the tour in Jerusalem. She told me it was
against the law as I said at the border I would only be in Israel one
day and besides the bus would not be going back to Jerusalem.
At that I asked a tourist police if I could get a bus to Jerusalem, he
said I could but I needed some Jordian dinars to pay for the bus. He
walked me to an ATM. The guide later told me the tour bus would be
returning to Jerusalem and I could get off with her.
Of course she didn't know where my hotel was located, so I'm walking
around the wholesale food district I have stumbled into, sides of beef
and lamb hanging everywhere, trying to find a taxi driver to take me to
the Lutheran Guesthouse which no one has heard of and I have no
sheckles. The taxi driver found an ATM and the Guesthouse.
Hallaluya!!! By this time it's dark( 6pm), cold and damp and after the
taxi driver drops me off I still have to drag my suitcase about two
blocks through winding cobblestone alleys. But I made it only five
minutes after Pam arrived.
All of a sudden, I'm breathing in the springtime scents of ..............smoke spewing from trash containers, with that distinctive acrid smell of a burning cigarette filter.
In one instance along Rustaveli Street, I poured water from my bottle onto the putrid burning thing. I had been smelling it for an entire city block.
At Station Square, I spotted two large canisters smoking. How hard is it to put your cigarette out and then toss it into the trash?
Tbilisi, Georgia. Station Square. Burning cigarette.
My hostess' granddaughters participated in a huge recital a few weeks ago.
Here's one example of a student performance, the dance Acharuli, I believe, which is a hands-down favorite of Georgian students.
The day-long recital took place in the newly-refurbished theater in Rustavi. Filled to capacity. Enthusiastic audience. I was glad to be a part of it.
Rustavi, Georgia. Theater on Pirsomani Street.
There was a bit of drama between a couple of attendees regarding the lack of tickets and thus, rights to seats, but heck, does a day without Georgian drama even count as a day?
Ok, so I'm in Georgia til June 15 or 20ish, then to Istanbul for three weeks, then back to Georgia mid-July, and then off to the U.S. for a couple of months.
Calendars, climate, and clocks mark the passage of time. So do cosmetics.
There's satisfaction in using up the very last of something. Part of it is the pleasure of frugality - waste not, want not - the other part is knowing you'll be able to open a fresh replacement.
I brought two supplies of cosmetics with me to Georgia. Now I'm down to one. Must be time to leave soon.
Is there a minimum physical distance one must transfer one's body from Point A to Point B before it counts as travel?
To qualify as travel, must there be a minimum number of variables that differ between Point B and Point A, such as scenery, climate, language, cuisine, culture, or customs? Do some variables carry more weight than others?
Is unfamiliarity the key criterion for an activity to qualify as travel?
Is international travel "better" than domestic travel? Or the reverse?
Unwilling to cast off the bourgeois shackles imprisoning them in a soul-less cubical life
But, really, it's OK not to travel if we don't want to. And if we don't want to travel, no excuses and no embarrassment are necessary. We just don't care to.
We can live a big, rich life without ever leaving our home town.
I'm not talking about just reading books, watching TV, or surfing the web, either, though all of those activities can bring the world to us.
I'm talking about people who travel their home environs via keen observation and study skills. Or who have avocations that teach them about the multiple natural and human universes within a small radius of their home base. Mushroom-hunting, for example. Working with refugees. Writing poetry. Micro-travelers, if you will.
And even if we were to drop all reference to travel, there are legions of well-rounded, non-judgmental, complete people who derive joy in "just" raising a family, walking in the woods, tending a garden, participating in local theater, chopping wood, or whatever it is that gives them pleasure. They simply don't care to travel; they prefer other enriching activities.
Me, I love to visit places that pique my curiosity, whether domestic or international. I'm not a better person for it, and to claim I have some higher calling to explain my travel would be bullshit. I just like it.
While on the topic of bullshit and travel, the truism about travel making people more open-minded, tolerant, etc. is bullshit. My experience is that the ratio of traveling assholes : pleasant travelers is about the same as non-traveling assholes : pleasant non-travelers.Furthermore, said asshole-ness is an equal opportunity state of being regardless of where s/he is on the tourist food chain.
I am among a tiny fraction of the planet's occupants who have the wherewithal to travel more than 100 miles from their residence.
I am supremely grateful that I can afford the luxury of travel.
My good friend, Kate, is on a solo trip in Egypt. On March 25, she wrote:
I arrived in Dahab Friday at noon. The vibe is a lot like Montezuma,
Costa Rica, but with more stray cats. My hotel is the Bishbishe,
definitely a no star place, but of course I love it. The rooms are basic
but I do have an ensuite.
Everyone gathers in the outdoor lounge area
filled with pillows and low tables, Bedouin style. The owner is Jimmy, a
very gregarious fellow, who loves to play backgammon. They play in
restaurants and love to challenge the tourists.
Yesterday I went to St. Catherine's Monastery, one of the oldest
monasteries in the world. We drove two hours out into the desert. High
stone mountains, no vegetation, lots of sand, it was very still and
calming, had its own beauty. Tradition has it that the burning bush GOD
appeared to Moses through is still living within the monastary,
replanted several centuries ago. I have a picture.
The monastery is
Greek Orthodox and the basilica was small but lovely, there were at
least twenty chandeliers hanging. Had some quiet time in the basilica
and lit a candle.
We had at least 20 vehicles in a convoy for the
return trip. This is the area the kidnappings have occurred in. We
didn't have a convoy to the monastery so I figure they sleep in and only
kidnap in the afternoon.
Today I went to the beach at a family resort. Lots of children running
around sans clothing.,also men in speedos, very European. The water was
calm and shallow quite a distance out. Lots of wind surfers. The area
also has good diving. I reclined (again) and read a trashy novel. More
of the same tomorrow.
Tomorrow night I leave for Jerusalem and meet up
with Pam. As the saying goes, next year in Jerusalem, but its
tomorrow - can't wait. But I will be sad to leave beautiful Egypt!!
KATE
Note from Mzuri: A true-life adventure story about two Victorian women and what they found at St. Catherine'shere.
Using a clever ruse, we photographed this man, who may have actually been to Azerbaijan, in order to take a clandestine photo of Azerbaijan, over there on the right, said country apparently not liking to be photographed, or Georgians not liking that it be photographed.
This is the inaugural post for the Nothing There Tour, where I check out a place that has seemingly nothing to see, and either confirm or deny said nothingness.
Last weekend, colleague Sandy and I contemplated our choices for a day trip. At first we planned to go to Mtatsminda, a location overlooking Tbilisi, for its views and .... yawn ... some other stuff, like a church and a famous cemetery .... and we were game, but we felt lukewarm about it.
Then I remembered my pledge to myself to visit Gardabani. I loved telling Georgians that I planned to go to Gardabani because they always responded exactly the same way: "Gardabani?! Whyyyy?! There's nothing therrrre?!"
Would Sandy be interested in going to Gardabani? Why yes, she would!
Gardabani has a large Azeri-Georgian population and it's very close to the Azerbaijan border. Some villages are right on the border. The police mentioned Jandari as one example; Nely cited Vakhtangisi.
Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Houses. 2012
Sandy and I caught a Vakhtangisi-bound marshrutka (#13) at Old Bazaar in Old Rustavi. (Tbilisi also has marshrutkas going to the Gardabani area, which depart from Tbilisi's Didube station.) The fare to Vakhtangisi is 1 lari, 50 tetri.
As we chugged out of Rustavi, we passed two prisons, one for men and the other for women; factories, both active and defunct; and some sort of energy plant with structures that looked like nuclear power plants. We passed through Gardabani, a pleasant-looking town. We knew we'd stop there on the way back from our Vakhtnagisi tour.
Vakhtangisi, Georgia. House. 2012
The border crossing
About 45 minutes later, we arrived in Vakhtangisi, the end of the road.
In town, we went by a surprising event: men drumming and playing some kind of flute; a young girl riding in a flower-festooned, horse-drawn cart, holding a plate of fruit, many people gathered inside a schoolyard. What strange ritual this?
Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Bayrami 2012.
But our minds were on the border. When the marshrutka stopped, the first thing we did when we debarked was head to Azerbaijan. To get to Azerbaijan from Georgia, you have to get a letter of invitation from someone in Azerbaijan, submit your passports to some authority in advance, and pay some bucks. We didn't have any of those things. Except our passports. We'd brought them with us, just in case. Just in case what, we didn't know. But just in case.
Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Houses. 2012
We approached the border police officers. We smiled brightly.
"Hi!"
Two or three uniformed police looked back, bemused. Then a non-uniformed gentleman walked over; he must have been the supervisor.
"We just want to put a foot in Azerbaijan. Can we do that"?
"No."
"Can we just touch our hand on the Azerbaijan side"?
"No. Who are you? Are you tourists"?
"We're English teachers from America and Canada. Could you step in Azerbaijan and reach out to us and we'll hold your hand so we will be in Azerbaijan through you"?
"No."
"Can we take a photo of Azerbaijan"?
"No."
Pause.
"Can you pick up a rock from Azerbaijan and bring it over to the Georgian side and we could touch it"?
"No."
"Is there a toilet"?
"Yes." And one of the men pointed to a small, stand-alone building. Just the size of an outhouse.
We walked over. There was a ditch filled with water which flowed behind the outhouse. I opened the door. It was nice! Heated! Western toilet! Very clean! In fact, here is a photo of the bathroom that is on the border between Georgia and Azerbaijan.
Toilet in Vakhtangisi, Georgia, on Azerbaijan border. 2012
I used the toilet. Then Sandy used the toilet.
There was a woman standing outside when we'd both finished. Friendly smile from her. I pointed to the ditch and asked which way the water flowed. Toward Azerbaijan? Yes.
Very well, then. Mission accomplished, no visa required.
As we walked away from the border toilet, some men approached us. Don't know about what. Taxi, maybe. We took their picture.
Now it was time to go check out those strange goings-on at the school. We walked down the street. There is only the one in the village.
Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Houses. 2012
Every once in awhile, a lone car screamed down the street at warp speed, all the better to prove the driver's manhood, we supposed. Stoopids. We wondered how many pedestrians have been injured by such recklessness.
Sandy and I walked into the school yard. Joyful! We heard music and saw young girls dancing. The horse and buggy, covered in fabric and flowers, was over on one side, fathers taking photos of their young daughters in the buggy.
Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Bayrami 2012.
Over on the right was a colorful picnic table filled with fruits, nuts, and breads. Men sat there, drinking tea from small, shapely glasses.
Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Bayrami 2012.
Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Bayrami 2012.
We looked on the school porch where there were girls directing each other in traditional dances, performed to tunes provided by a local DJ.
Sandy and I got up on the stage and danced, too.
What was all this about? It was bayrami (or more accurately, Novrus Bayram), an Azerbaijan (and others, too) holiday that welcomes spring. It was so ... splendid ... to be in this village on this day.
We met the school's English teacher, Nata, along with some of the other teachers, who all live in Rustavi. Unfortunately, the school in Vakhtangisi doesn't have a TLG teacher.
We left smiling, with colored eggs, different kinds of nuts, and oranges stuffed into our bags.
We began to walk - for however long we felt like it - to Gardabani. We were 18 km from Rustavi.
Vakhtangisi, Georgia. 2012.
We passed Vakhtangisi's internet cafe.
Vakhtangisi, Georgia. Internet cafe.
Outside the village, we passed sheep.
Vakhtangisi, Georgia. 2012
We followed a couple of bulls and their tender. Suddenly, they veered to the left when they spied some cows. Then tender chased after them.
Vakhtangisi, Georgia.2012
We walked for a long while. When we reached the town of Kesalo, a car pulled up alongside. It was filled with the school teachers who live in Rustavi - we squished in and they dropped us off in Gardabani.
My good friend, Kate, is on a solo trip in Egypt. On March 23, she wrote:
On Wed. Flew from Aswan to Abu Simbel to see the magnificent temple of
Ramses and his Queen Nefretari. These two temples were moved when the
High Dam was built in the 70s. They would have been flooded by the manmade Lake Nassar. I went to the temples late in the afternoon so I
could stay and see the Sound and Light Show. Very impressive. At the
end of touring Ramses temple everyone else had gone and I was the only
one in the temple. A guy visiting with me while I had a soda said two
years ago there would be 7000 visitors a day, now 500. This is so hard
for the Egyptians - come to Egypt it is so beautiful!!
My lodging in Abu Simbel was Escaleh built in the Nubian style, mud
bricks plastered over; the ceilings were domed and the floors were rough
stones. Of course there was a patio with reclining couches overlooking Lake Nassar. The food again was very good - especially a dish
called tagen - chicken in an herbed sauce baked in an earthen pot. The
produce was grown in their garden and the chickens were also free range.
On Thursday I flew 12 hours - 3 flights to get to Sharm el Sheikh. Got
in at 11 pm and had an arranged ride. When I met with the man from
Memphis Tours in Aswan he kindly arranged my flights, cab pickups, and
hotel in Sharm. After two nights in local Nubian guesthouses, the all-inclusive resort he booked for me was a shock. All marble, crystal
chandeliers, and western music. My room had seating for 7, a shower for
2, and a bed for 5. The suite was as big as my house. Not my style.
So on to Dahab by local bus, as it's safer. The guidebook said there was a
bus at 10 am but no, only at 9 am and 3 pm. So into a taxi I go -this
scenario did cross my mind - she was last seen getting into a rickety cab
with a guy in a white gown and a red and white checkered head scarf.
But the alternative of waiting in the bus station was worse than
possible kidnapping.
We drive about 3 miles on the highway and then turn off on this little
dirt road. I inquire Dahab? He replies something that sounds like "no
police", I settle back thinking oh, well. Evidently we were taking a
shortcut because we shortly got back on the highway. We go another
several miles and the rickety cab dies - I'm serious. I've got to get in
the front seat so he can lift up the back seat and tinker around, he
does the same under the hood. Meanwhile I'm waving off the hundreds of
flies that have come into the cab to get out of the sun. I'm fanning
with my 15-year old raffia hat which has decided to molt, so I'm in
flurry of raffia and flies. Meanwhile the car is not starting and a
truck full of policemen stops - they talk for awhile and deciding I'm in
good hands, drive off. After about 20 minutes a van comes, I get in and
the rest of the trip is uneventful. Ah, the joys of independent travel!
Dahab is heavenly, laid back and right on the Red Sea. I'm in the
Bishbishi Hotel - $20 a night with an ensuite. There is a covered
outdoor area furnished with rugs and pillows to recline on.
I'm reclining there with a Stella, great Egyptian beer, and writing to
you. I had the best lunch, a falafel sandwich with a kiwi
smoothie - $3.50. I hope to eat there many times.
My good friend, Kate, is on a solo trip in Egypt. On March 21, she wrote:
Boarded the Sonestra Moon Goodess at noon on March 17th. There were
eight people in a dining room for 80. I sat with a couple, Cheryl and
George, from Mississippi. He teaches archeology, specializing in the Mayan
civilization. The first tour was to Luxor and Karnak. Words cannot
describe the wonder. By the end of the first day, the nine, yes only
nine passengers for the first three days, we were all friends and shared
all meals at a large round table.
The other USA couple were Susan and Ryan. She teaches 5th grade in
Tulsa, OK, and Ryan is an architect working on a new airport in Qatar.
There were two couples from the UK. Tricia and David, retired, in their early 60s. They travel all the time as does the other UK couple. Neil
and Julie, great fun. Neil is on the national board that promotes
football (rugby) in the UK. He will be helping with table tennis at the
Olympics. We had a great time together and exchanged emails. Tricia
and David invited me for tea at the Cataract Hotel. It's the grand old
colonial hotel. Quite lovely.
Each day on the cruise we toured - also the Valley of the Kings and
Queens. Some of the tombs had the original painted decoration. I didn't
realize the outside and inside of temples were painted. Of course most
has worn off. They clean the paintings but don't restore them. In
Aswan we saw the Phillae temple, a granite quarry, and the two Nile
dams.
To get back to lodging: I, on the other hand, had booked a Nubian
guesthouse room. I took the local ferry (me and 30 Muslim men and
women) and then walked up a dusty road to reach the guesthouse. As I
was walking along a young man trotted by on a camel. I do love being
with the locals - no posh hotel for me. The room and ensuite was large
and clean. The jewel of the house was a roof top terrace overlooking
the Nile and the few Nubian homes.
My good friend, Kate, is on a solo trip in Egypt. On March 16, she wrote:
On the plane a woman was talking about a Sufi (whirling dervishes)
dance that was not to be missed. So after the Giza tour, I left by taxi
to go - taxi driver was unsure of place but got me there.
A man
approached and told me where it was but not for another hour. He
offered to show me the mosque nearby. He took me all the way up to the
roof - wonderful view. As we were leaving I offered to make a donation to
the mosque; with a smile, he said no, to give it to him. Ah, the
baksheesh (tipping everyone).
He then took me to his friend's restaurant,
who made pizza that made you eat your fingers (maybe he meant lick your
fingers; maybe not).
Along the way I was introduced to one of the drummers
from the Sufi performance. He would give me a CD of the performance
after. During dinner the friend told me about life in Egypt and how
hard it's been since the revolution. He would meet me after the
performance and show me some handicrafts and a jewelry factory. Better
to buy Egyptian than Chinese - that made sense, but I didn't plan to buy
anything. So I followed these two men all through the dark alleyways
of the souk and bought jewelry, papyrus paintings, and inlaid boxes.
How's that for not buying anything.
At one point I ran out of money
and they were gracious enough to find an ATM. But it was fun and I have
pictures of the craftsman making the items. At the end of the evening I
offered a tip to them, of course. The saying is "whatever your heart
says - but couldn't it say a bit more," this in regard to the tip.
The
Sufi performance was entrancing, beautiful, and unlike anything I've
ever seen. The drumming was unbelievable. One Sufi whirled for
15 minutes. It's a religious experience that's supposed to put them in a
trance. Got back
home about 10:30-what an experience.
More
to come. Did I mention I'm now in Luxor, sitting at the hotel rooftop
deck, overlooking the beautiful blue Nile?
Another beautiful event occurred in these last 18 months: My daughter and son-in-law adopted their foster son, making legal what had already been a loving parent-child relationship for four years.
My good friend, Kate, is on a solo trip in Egypt. On March 16, she wrote:
Got a late start
today as I was tired from touring pyramids and shopping. So
today (Thurs.) I went to the Egyptian Museum. What a magnificent
collection of statuary, furniture and jewelry. Boy, the pharaohs loved
jewelry. This is the best museum in my opinion. I wandered around
leisurely and saw everything.
A young woman (21yo) came up and asked if
she could converse with me in English. Her teacher recommended this
approach. We spoke for awhile and she invited me to come to her home. I
explained I was leaving in the morning, we talked a bit more and she
said come to my home this afternoon. She called her mama who said yes
and then I agreed. I had no other plans and what an experience to visit
an Egyptian home. Haanan was a pretty, enthusiastic young woman. She
had her younger brother and sister with her.
So after taking
pictures outside the museum, we were off to have an ice cream. I bought
her mama a kilo box of cookies as a gift. We took the subway, a young
woman immediately offered me her seat (it's the silver hair). We then
took a tuk tuk (small crowded bus). Trip took about 40 minutes. The
family lives in a 3 bedroom apartment, kitchen and bath, down a dusty
side alley.
On the way I am introduced to the neighbors and shop
keepers. Haanan has 5 brothers and 1 sister. Mama is 46 yo, Baba owns a
kosher resturant. The brother, Magdy (mid 20s) was home. He wants to come
to America and work as a chef. It was agreed I would look into writing
a letter of invitation to help get his green card. The mamma served me
fresh squeezed orange juice and tea. She also gave me prayer beads
from Russia. When I told her we are sisters of the heart she pointed to
her eyes as if to say I have tears, me too.
Then it was time
to take pictures and they all walked me to a cab. Cab driver assured
he knew the way and only had to ask twice but I got home at 9:30 safe
and sound.
The Egyptian people are beautiful. Another amazing
experience.
My good friend, Kate, is on a solo trip in Egypt. On March 16, she wrote:
All is going well. I caught a taxi when I arrived in Cairo at midnight.
The driver sped through traffic weaving in and out, tooting the horn to
let other cars know he's coming through. I just say a prayer and look
out the side window. The roads have no defined lanes and if they do the
driver straddles the lanes to keep his options open. Also, there are no
stop lights and the one I saw, the driver went right through.
People
cross anywhere even with traffic coming. The first time I crossed a
street I stood on the corner for five minutes trying to figure it out.
The best strategy is to cross with a family - maybe they'll stop for
small children. That said I only saw two fender benders.
My hotel is down a side street in a commercial area. The hotel is on
the 4th floor with a three person lift. My room has pine floors, a sink
and little balcony ( no view but glad to have). There are 10 ft. double
doors to my room. It has lots of old Egyptian charm. The shared
bathroom was fine, and there was plenty of hot water!
Tuesday my first day, I set out with vague directions to walk to the
large market, Khane al-Khalili. The sidewalks were full of vendors
with their wares spread out on the ground and lots of people
browsing, almost impossible to walk through. You understand I am in the
common folk area - and the vendors are calling out "welcome to Egypt".
Did I mention I'm the only European tourist around? Tourism is down
65% since last year. I walked for a couple hours; never got to the
market, but got comfortable with the area.
On Wed hired a taxi and went to Giza and two other areas with pyramids.
Went down into a pyramid at Dashur. There is a long, steep ramp down
into it and then several rooms with nothing in them (everything has been
removed to museums). I was the only one down there and it still felt
close. I can't imagine being there with a lot of people. Did I mention
I had to crouch the whole way down? I had stiff legs the next day.
The
drive out was through rural areas. Many donkeys pulling carts and
forests of palm trees.
At Giza I toured the pyramids in a horse-drawn cart. On the way there
was a funeral, two coffins carried with men walking along. Woman can
attend the service in the mosque but not walk behind the coffin.
It's
so weak to say the pyramids are magnificent but they are. The sphinx
was carved from the rock it rests on, so it is one piece. Napoleon shot
off the sphinx's nose in the 18th century. The guide said Napoleon
thought the sphinx would come to life and fight him. Another guide told
me the foot of a famous statue is in the British museum and they want
it back!
I'm sending this first installment as I'm going to order a falafel for lunch and don't want to lose my email.
Kathy and I spent a day walking about Yerevan. It was chilly, but sunny for the most part.
Cascade detail, Yerevan, Armenia
In comparing Yerevan with Tbilisi:
Tbilisi is prettier than Yerevan.
Where Tbilisi can feel a little closed-in, Yerevan feels open and airy.
Tbilisi is hilly. Yerevan is flat.
Yerevan: Good customer service. Tbilisi: Very uneven.
Tbilisi pavements: Treacherous. Yerevan pavements: Generally in good condition.
Tbilisi dogs: Can be a problem, but mostly stay out of your way. Yerevan dogs: Packs seem more prevalent, and I saw some canine-to-human confrontations.
Both cities have lots of statues. Tbilisi's tend toward the classical; Yerevan's sculptural art is more diverse.
Lovely parks and pedestrian walkways in Tbilisi. Yerevan's parks are a little scrubby.
Vehicle traffic pays more respect to pedestrians in Yerevan than Tbilisi.
More international variety in Yerevan's cafe scene than Tbilisi's.
Kathy and I had lunch at a Mexican restaurant. We liked the cool floor.
We stopped in the Chocolateria near the Cascade:
Yerevan, Armenia. Chocolate.
Yerevan, Armenia. Chocolate. In the raw.
We worked our way up the Cascade, stopping every once in awhile to take in the changing perspectives as we climbed higher.
Center Hostel is in a good location, close to Republic Square. I'm not crazy about its being on the 4th floor, but Suzanne, the hostess, provides a heart to the hostel that makes guests feel they are at home. There's an eat-in kitchen, a cozy living room, free wifi, sunny rooms, and two good bathrooms with hot showers.
I liked what I saw of Envoy Hostel also, with its commodious community room that is on a separate floor from the sleeping rooms, the modern kitchen, friendly and professional staff, and good location. If I were to ding the Envoy at all, it'd be that the sleeping rooms are a little rabbit-warrenish. For example, in one area, there are three small, linked rooms that require inter-room traffic to get in and out. On the other hand, I loved that each bunk had its own tiny set of shelves. Each bunk room also had generous-sized lockers.
Envoy Hostel community room, Yerevan, Armenia
The Envoy Hostel has nailed customer service beautifully. It offers a daily, 2.5 hour walking tour of Yerevan - and anyone can come, regardless of where you're spending the night. Gevorg, one of the Envoy's staff members, was on our marshrutka from Tbilisi to Yerevan. He facilitated our way through customs and helped us get a taxi to the Center Hostel, letting us know what to pay and ensuring the taxi driver knew our destination.
The Envoy Hostel is opening a branch in Tbilisi. I imagine it will set a new standard for hostels in Georgia in regard to customer service and comfort. I also like that it will have a walking tour of Tbilisi, plus offer one-day tours within Georgia as it does in Armenia.
Letters From Matt
are letters from my brother, Matt, from various of his domestic and
international travels. The letters span decades, and I share them on Living
Rootless at intervals, in no particular order.
January 18, 1991
Borneo
Dear Family,
My trip to Borneo was
fantastic. I took 200 pictures (all slides). Most of them turned out great.
I found the people to be very hospitable. I hiked into the
jungle far away from any roads. An airplane had dropped me off 150 kilometers
from the state highway (mostly dirt). A Penan family that lived a nomadic life
of subsistence in the forest fed me wild pig that they shot with poison darts
and a blowpipe. I spent two days with them speaking no English but learning a
little of the Penan language. I tasted many different fruits from the jungle
and learned of many different medicines that the Penan produce from plants and
animals. The Penan love to dance and are very friendly.
I would like to go back and visit them some time in the
future but I’m afraid they may not have a future, for the loggers are supposed
to arrive in that area in the next two years. The meat, the fruit, the
medicines and the dancing, smiling people who have lived there forever will
disappear.
There is an effort afoot to make the area I visited into a
United Nations Biosphere Reserve. A fancy version of a park that requires a
treaty. Of course, the native people would still live there and tourists would be
welcome. Only the loggers would be somewhat restricted.
One of the people I met gave me a blowpipe with darts as a
gift. I also have acquired several baskets and samples of native medicine that
I would like to show people when I get home.
Now I’m safely back in Japan and am looking forward to my
next trip which will be in April. I’m thinking about Thailand
or possibly Indonesia.
