Out of Africa - Moja (1)

August 17 - 18, 2016

Mwenye pupa hadiriki kula tamu - "A Hasty Person Misses the Sweet Things." - Kiswahili Proverb

Waiting for our flight to Tanzania at the Suvarnabhumi airport in Bangkok, Thailand, I noticed a Muslim family sitting down for pizza. The two women were wearing burkas, and I became curious about how they managed to eat with their faces covered. From the corner of my eye, I watched as they lifted a little flap of fabric covering their mouths and carefully guided the pizza slices in from below. We were still in Thailand, but my cultural education had already begun.

We found our seats on the huge and roomy Qatar airlines airbus A388. (I don't think I've ever used the words "airlines" and "roomy" in the same sentence.)  I noticed the young lady next to me reading a book with Vietnamese writing, familiar to me because of our recent trip to Hanoi. We struck up a conversation, and I learned that she was travelling from Hanoi, Vietnam to Bangkok, Thailand to Doha, Qatar to Oslo, Norway on her way to begin her second year of schooling there.  She attends an international college that accepts only 200 students per year, each one from a different country.  Sounds like an awesome experience.  She enjoyed practicing her English with us, and said she thinks it's "cute" when older couples travel together.  Yeah, I guess we are getting to that age - sigh.

We arrived in Doha around midnight for a nine-hour layover.  It was my first time in the Middle East, and I was fascinated by the variety of dress - hijabs and burkas of every style on the women, and men in long white garments called thawbs.  In various shades of white, gray and tan, these were sometimes a below-the-knee shirt over pants, a floor-length robe, or two wraps - one around the waist, another around the torso and over one shoulder.  These were plain, patterned, some even looked like towels.  I just happened to read an article in the New York Times Magazine about the 21st century version of the pilgrimage to Mecca, and learned these two pieces of white, towel-like cloth are called ihram, and are worn to convey a state of purity and human equality.  Many men wore white or red-and-white scarves, held onto the head with a black band called an agal, or iqal for you Scrabble enthusiasts.  Many sheikhs(?) appeared to be accompanied by multiple wives.  It was enlightening to be in a place where this Middle Eastern dress is commonplace, and no one is reacting with fear or suspicion.  Of course, many people were wearing western style clothing as well in this international hub.

We were able to procure a room in the Airport Hotel and got some sleep before continuing on to Tanzania.  I had hoped we would be able to get one of the room-by-the-hour rates, but of course those were not available, so we had to pay full price.  It was very nice to be able to shower and sleep between flights.

crossing the Arabian peninsula

Our plane from Doha to Tanzania was much smaller and not nearly as roomy.  This flight lands for a sixty minute "technical" stop on the island of Zanzibar, where they let off some passengers and change crews before continuing on to Kilimanjaro International Airport.   Zanzibar facts:  In the late 1600's, the sultanate of Oman took control, and developed an economy of spices (hence the Spice Islands), ivory and slave trading.   In the 1800's, it became a British protectorate and the slave trade was abolished.  Zanzibar gained independence from Britain in 1963.  The former countries of Zanzibar and Tanganyika united to form the United Republic of Tanzania in 1964.  Both maintain a degree of autonomy with their own presidents.


It was a new experience to sit in a plane for an hour as it was being cleaned.  I thought we might have been allowed to disembark, but had to stay in our seats the entire time.  At least I could kneel up on my seat, facing the back of the plane, just to change up my position.  I noticed everyone still on the plane was white, and felt a bit embarrassed by our privileged status.  The crew came through and asked everyone to identify their stuff in the overhead bins, to make sure nothing was left behind by the exiting passengers.  New passengers came aboard, and our pilot, with an attractive Italian (?!) accent, finally announced our departure.

Every time we took off, we had to watch this ridiculously long,
soccer-themed safety video twice - once in Arabic, once in English

The appearance of FC Barcelona's Gerard Pique causes
oxygen masks to drop for his swooning fans

The azure waters of the Spice Islands

We landed at Kilimanjaro International Airport around four in the afternoon, after getting a peek at the top of Mt. Kilimanjaro sticking up through the clouds.  We walked across the tarmac to a little building, where we had to fill out a mimeographed form with all our deets.  Stepping to window number one, our paperwork was checked, and we handed over our $100 USD for our Tanzanian visa.  Americans have to pay $100, while most other countries only pays $50 - interesting.  I, however, am used to the double standard, as Thailand businesses routinely have two-tiered pricing, one for locals and a higher one for foreigners.

(Ted's pic)

On to window two, our papers were checked again and fingerprints taken.  The immigration officer had little patience for my fingerprint-taking ignorance.  Once that was finished, we continued out to the baggage claim area.  After a few minutes, the immigration officer came shouting after us.  On the form, where it asked for destination, we just wrote "Dusty Roads Tours," as we would be travelling to several different places.  He scolded us that this was not a destination, that he needed to know a place we were going, that they can't let people into the country without knowing where they are going, and made us go back to window two and show proof of our itinerary.  I don't know why this wasn't questioned while we were still at the window the first time, but things were quickly sorted out.  Welcome to Tanzania!

Our guide for the trip, Geoffrey, was waiting for us outside with a sign that said "Liz and Family."  Assuming I was the only Liz, we introduced ourselves and made our way to the safari-style vehicle.  Geoffrey said he had been waiting for us there since one o'clock!  I didn't realize the time of the flight had changed from the original information I'd received.  He was counting on having time to drive us to the hotel, then go back for the boys.  But now it didn't give him enough time, and he had to call someone else to go pick up the guys at the airport.  This didn't feel like a very good start to the trip.

It was a long, bumpy drive from the airport to the hotel, and Geoff called our attention a major road construction project being done by the Chinese.  He pointed out the Chinese job bosses when we passed.  It's something of a novelty here, I guess.   He also pointed out that we would see many young Maasai males dressed all in black, with white chalk patterns on their faces.  These teenage boys have reached the age of circumcision, called emorata, and wear all black for about six months.  After this, they are considered warriors and help protect the tribe.  We saw several groups of young boys like this,  which could be a bit alarming if you didn't know the reason.

The African Tulip Hotel (Mike's pic)

I was sick to my stomach by the time we arrived at the African Tulip Hotel in Arusha, maybe motion sickness.  We were greeted with glasses of fruit juice and warm washcloths, a ritual that would be repeated at each of our stops.  The manager welcomed us and we climbed the stairs to the third floor, with the staff hauling our luggage up for us.  The first of many, many tips were paid here.  Our room was a family suite, with two bedrooms, two baths and a sitting room.  I immediately laid down on the bed to try to settle my stomach.  The boys arrived a couple of hours later, and we went down for a late dinner.  I couldn't really enjoy this long awaited reunion with my stomach doing gymnastics.  I shouldn't have, but I had  ginger ale and a piece of chapati bread, the unleavened, pan-grilled bread popular in east Africa.  Let's just say the results were not pretty.  The guys stayed up visiting for a bit, but I could not join them.  I was so disappointed.

"Freshly Homemade Mandazi"

buffet meal

(Ted's pics below)

Everything Under the Heavens

My mad selfie skills

I finally got up the courage to go for my first haircut in Thailand a while back.  The hair of an older white lady must be quite different in texture to that of the beautiful, dark Thai hair.  After a very vigorous shampooing, it was obvious that my hair was a tangled, knotty mess.  As the woman slowly combed it out, she remarked that I had "Barbie hair."  Nice - unfortunately, mine isn't stretchy plastic.

I went for a second haircut about a month ago.  This time I had a nice lady boy cut my hair.  The term "lady boy" is not an insult here.  I've had conversations about this with my Thai teacher, because I don't want to appear rude or judgmental.  He says this is the polite term to use, in Thailand anyway.  He said he has a good friend who is a lady boy.  I also learned that not all lady boys dress as women - some just identify as feminine.  Thai language has gender-specific polite endings used regularly when speaking - "Krup" for men, "Kaa" for women.  Lady boys use a third polite ending.   And lady boys a very normal part of everyday life, working in stores, restaurants, Starbucks, beauty salons and everywhere else.  Who gets to use which bathroom is a non-issue.

Anyway, I again enjoyed an ardent shampoo and head massage, and again my hair grew into a tangled mess.  I could feel my already dwindling hair being pulled out by the roots as she combed out the knots.  A few more beauty shop visits and I may be completely bald when I return!  Oh, how I miss my old hairdresser, Carrie.

In the chair next to me, a farang was getting a straight-razor shave by a young man.  Not sure you could find a young man doing a straight-razor shave in the US.  Seemed like only the old guys did that in their traditional barber shops.

Non sequitur alert...

The ice cream here is a bit odd to our taste - definitely different than what we're used to.  I bought ice cream once that I thought was sherbet.  "3-in-1 Asian Delight" was not sherbet, but three interesting flavors of ice cream: matcha green tea, thai milk tea, and salacider.

Matcha green tea powder is commonly used in Japanese tea ceremonies.  Thai milk tea is a spicy, golden orange-colored black tea traditionally sweetened with condensed milk, for which I have unfortunately developed an affinity since we've been here.  I never heard of salacider, so I looked it up.  It comes from sala fruit, also foreign to me.  So I looked for it in the store, and found these bunches of fruit that look similar to strawberries, but with spiky hairs like Velcro.  Inside is a sweet, whitish fruit with texture a bit like a grape, around a large pit.  Interesting taste, with a tangy hint of bubble gum, but not one I'd seek out on a regular basis.

Non Sequitur Number Two:

Recent scenes from the balcony.

rainy season brings some awesome storms

low tide

deliciously fragrant plumeria decorate the swimming area

storm moving in from the west

Come join me for some Thai tea out on the balcony, won't you?

Revelations

August 8, 2016

I have come to learn that assumptions I'd made about certain phenomena in Thailand were incorrect.  First, I've written a few times about the lines of glowing green lights that we see out on the water at night.  We wondered about them, finally deciding that they must just be lights on boats to make them visible in the darkness.  I thought perhaps it was related to the international regulations of red lights to indicate port and green lights to indicate starboard.  But why were all these boats facing their starboard side toward land?

Difficult to capture with a camera, but these green dots appear on the horizon every night

Well, a few weeks ago, Mick and his companions were out fishing on the huge cement dock near our condo while we were at dinner.  He left his mates to pick us up, and drove by the dock on our way home.  He said, "You can see my friend there - look for the green color."  Revelation:  when Thais fish at night, they hold a green-colored light near the water to attract phytoplankton, which in turn, attract squid.  All those green lights are squid fishermen. Click here   to read a Wall Street Journal article about this phenomenon visible from outer space!

Second, since we moved to our new condo, we've heard a loud, crackling sound several times a day.  With the four towers of our condo, plus the hill across the way, it was very difficult to pinpoint where the sound was coming from, and just what it was we were hearing.  Our guests this past winter also wondered about the sound, and we shared our theories.  I was fairly convinced it was debris being dropped down a long shaft at one of the high-rise construction sights nearby, as it was a "crackle, crackle, crackle" of some duration, always finished off with a "boom, boom."  Tim was certain it was electrical in nature - perhaps the running of some equipment.

My curiosity increased as time went on, and I asked our driver's wife, when she was at our condo, if she knew anything about it.  She said something about fireworks up on Pattaya Viewpoint, just across from us.  This didn't quite make sense to me, but I tried to look up there when I heard the noise, to see if there was any visual proof.  I had seen puffs of smoke up there before, but didn't really tie it to the sound.  Soon enough, I'd concluded that there was a direct correlation between the crackling sounds and the puffs of smoke up on the hill.  But fireworks?

The statue at the top of Pattaya Viewpoint

 Digression: I have had the tremendous pleasure of studying Thai language with a new tutor since the end of February.  This excellent kruu comes to our condo twice a week as part of the relocation contract with Tim's company.  Tim and I initially started the lessons together, once a week on Sundays.  But Tim really couldn't afford the time to study, and once a week with a middling tutor wasn't cutting it.  I asked about continuing the lessons without Tim, but was given the impression that the employee must be present for the company to cover the cost.  After that, I enjoyed classes twice a week at a language school; thirty hours offered free as a promotion.  That teacher was amazing, and I learned a lot.  My friend and I paid for an additional twenty hours, but the new teacher was not nearly as good.  We took a break for a while after that - traveling and visitors took attention away from my studies.  I was determined to continue, however, and spoke about the lessons with other wives.  Most were under the same impression, that the working spouse had to be present; but one wife thought it wasn't a requirement.  So I pleaded my case to the powers that be, and was rewarded with a new, excellent teacher who would come for an hour twice a week.  Word nerd heaven!

One day, I thought to ask my teacher about this mysterious noise.  He explained that it is a Chinese custom to set off firecrackers as a sign of thanks for prayers answered.  Many Thais have Chinese roots, and a lot of Thai customs originated in China.  I knew the hilltop statue visible out our window shared Pattaya Viewpoint with a temple.  So I imagined that's where the firecrackers were being set off.

A couple of weekends ago, Tim and I walked to the Viewpoint, and all speculation ended.  A large iron or ceramic fireplace of sorts sits to one side of the statue, and someone set off firecrackers while we were visiting.  The area around it was strewn with red - what we now realize was firecracker debris.  Although I couldn't confirm the reason for the firecrackers, I would say this is case closed, my dear Watson.

Where we finally cracked the case of the firecrackers

Nguyen We Meet Again 3

July 15-16, 2016

Tim was "off" today, which usually means he's working.  We had a nice breakfast together, then I hung out while he logged on to his computer in the hotel room and got some work done.  It was late morning when we went out for Tim's first look at the city on foot.  We were already dripping from the heat when we reached Hoan Kiem Lake.

views of the Hanoi Opera House

 

Covered lady hides from the sun in front of the
Hanoi Stock Exchange

 

It is common to carry your shade with you

bride and groom posing for pics

 We intended to just walk around the lake, but an enthusiastic bicycle taxi driver talked us into an hour ride.  The cyclo is a three-wheeled bicycle taxi, with the driver in the back, and a seat with an awning in the front. We broke a cardinal rule and didn't negotiate a price ahead of time, but he had such a nice smile.  We said we were too heavy for him to take both of us, and he immediately produced a second taxi.  So with me in one, and Tim in the other, we embarked on a slow tour of the streets of old Hanoi.  Tim saw my driver take a hit of something from a pipe at the onset of our tour; probably needed it to survive this "taxing" fare.  I questioned whether we were doing these guys a favor by giving them our business - did I mention how hot it was?

the canopy over the cyclo

 We expected them to stay along the side of the road, but they headed right out into the middle of the busy street.  Drivers here must be used to sharing the road with all manner of vehicles, and everyone calmly went around us.  We kind of expected a ride around the lake, but they headed into the narrow streets of the Old Quarter instead, which turned out to be full of interesting sights and smells.  Several times my driver said, "Photo, Madame," and he would point out something I imagined his many riders before me took pictures of.

bamboo ladders for sale

Hanoi old city gate

When our hour was up, they pulled over quite a way from where they picked us up, but the lake was in site.  Vendors descended on us as we pulled out our money to pay the bicycle taxi drivers.  We didn't have much bargaining power regarding our fares at this point, but felt that they certainly earned their money on this hot day.

We played a little Frogger as we crossed the busy street, and walked across the Huc Bridge (Huc means "morning sunlight") to Jade Island where the Temple of the Jade Mountain sits.  We didn't pay the entry fee to go in, but enjoyed the view from the bridge.  We strolled along the edge of the lake, and enjoyed the view of Thap Rua (Turtle Tower) out in the middle.

Common to see these long tops with open sides

Thap Rua

We stopped back at the hotel, then walked a short distance in the opposite direction to the National Museum of Vietnamese History.  This beautiful old building is an combination of French and Chinese architecture, known as Indochina architecture.  It was originally part of the French School of the Far East, which was opened in 1910.  The museum is actually comprised of two buildings, this original building housing artifacts from 400,000 years ago up until the August 1945 revolution.

The second building houses the Vietnam Museum of Revolution.  From Wikipedia:

Topics covered...are the National liberation movements of the Vietnamese against French troops before the Vietnamese Communist Party was established in the period 1858–1930, the National independence struggle of the Vietnamese under the leadership of the Communist Party from 1930–1975 and then the social construction of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam from 1976–1994.

It was most interesting to learn about the tremendous struggles of this country over the last 150 years, and to see the issues from their perspective.  While the ancient artifacts seem much the same in every culture, this second building makes clear what has uniquely shaped the character of the Vietnamese people.

We walked back to the hotel to get cleaned up for the evening.  We met Tim's boss and his wife for drinks, then walked a short distance from the hotel to El Gaucho Argentinian Steakhouse.  Anita and I spotted this place earlier, and thought it looked like someplace the guys would like.  We were not mistaken.  This place was pricey, but we had the best steaks we've had in a very long time.  And we enjoyed complimentary shots of icy-cold caramel vodka to finish off a wonderful meal.

multi-million-dollar steaks!

Our dinner companions headed back, while Tim and I checked out a music venue nearby, the Swing Lounge.  This upstairs lounge was crowded with Vietnamese twenty-somethings.  A woman riding the elevator up with us asked, sincerely, what we were doing there!  We said we just wanted to hear some music.  We were squeezed onto two little stools at the bar, with no room to move.  We ordered a B-52 and a Blue Love, and listened a while to a good pop singer and a great fiddle player.  It struck me as odd that no one was moving to the music; everyone sat quietly in their seats, or looked at their cell phones.  We wondered if perhaps these were warm-up acts, but we soon decided to give up our little stools and walked back to the hotel.  We lingered in the lobby for a bit, then hit the pillows.

busy bartenders

It was so loud, we had to use sign language

The opera house at night - lovely

We watched coverage of the attempted coup in Turkey as we ate breakfast the next morning.  I'd arranged for an escort from Hanoi Free Tour Guides, a non-profit organization that allows students an opportunity to practice their English (or other languages), and be ambassadors for their city.  The only expense is to pay for their transportation, entrance fees and any food or drink.  Our guide, Tien, was an awesome twenty-one-year-old engineering student who was also studying German, so he practiced both languages with us.  He called for a taxi that took the three of us to the Museum of Ethnology.

The Museum of Ethnology documents and celebrates the fifty-four different ethnic minorities of Vietnam, the Viets being the major ethnic group.  It was fascinating to see the huge variety in dress and customs, many influenced by Chinese culture.  The area devoted to weddings and funerals was particularly interesting.  Some cultures bury their dead, then run quickly away from the burial site.  Others dig up the dead after two years, clean the bones, and place the remains in an ossuary or stone box.  On the way, we'd seen people, in a van carrying a deceased person, throwing paper "money" out the window as they went, to lead the lost spirits back to their rightful place.  Many of the rituals are based on superstition.  The worship of Mother Goddess was displayed here as well.

Tien explained how each village specialized in a particular craft

Symmetry is very important on a
mother goddess altar

ceremony to communicate with deceased loved ones

Black Thai ethnic minority

Outside, we had a cool drink (no A/C inside), watched a bit of a small water puppet show (not nearly as good as the one we saw the first night), and saw some structures from a traditional Vietnamese village.

community houses were built tall so villagers
could easily find their way back

one stairway for men, one for women -
can you guess which is which?

Tien called another taxi, and we rode to our next stop, the "Hanoi Hilton."  Hoa Lo Prison, labelled Maison Centrale by the French, and known to Americans as the "Hanoi Hilton," was built by the French colonists to house Vietnamese political prisoners in horrible, subhuman conditions.  It was then used by the North Vietnamese to hold and torture American POWs in the 1960s.  Only one small part of the prison remains; the rest was demolished in the 1990s to make room for two high-rise buildings.  Evidence of the imprisonment of Americans was scarce here; the primary focus was the inhumane treatment of Vietnamese prisoners by the French - both were horrific.  Again from Wikipedia:

Only part of the prison exists today as a museum. The displays mainly show the prison during the French colonial period, including the guillotine room, still with original equipment, and the quarters for male and female Vietnamese political prisoners.^[23] Exhibits related to the American prisoners include the interrogation room where many newly captured Americans were questioned (notorious among former prisoners as the "blue room") is now made up to look like a very comfortable, if spartan, barracks-style room. Displays in the room claim that Americans were treated well and not harmed (and even cite the nickname "Hanoi Hilton" as proof that inmates found the accommodations comparable to a hotel's). Propaganda in the museum includes pictures of American POWs playing chess, shooting pool, gardening, raising chickens, and receiving large fish and eggs for food. The museum's claims are contested by former prisoners' published memoirs, and oral histories broadcast on C-SPAN identify the room (and other nearby locales) as the site of numerous acts of torture.

Thick walls topped with barbed wire and broken glass

shows the small part of the prison that was preserved, with high-rises behind

After this sobering end to our visit, we walked a good distance in the heat back to our hotel.  We invited Tien to join us for some snacks in the lobby.  We enjoyed chatting with this energetic and ambitious young man - he was definitely one of the highlights of the trip.  Then he headed home, and we headed to the airport.  Until we meet again...

Nhat Tan Bridge across the Red River just opened last year

The after-effects of the attempted coup in Turkey