tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87169111108353027102024-02-19T02:55:03.781-05:00WanderlustThe adventures of a curious travel addict.
C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-52108936638752797342013-07-13T14:25:00.000-04:002013-07-13T14:25:15.605-04:00Tugende!<br />
Week 1 has been crazy and exhausting but off to a fantastic start! Jetlag is almost beaten, although I ran on coffee instead of sleep for most of the week. Monday was taken up by classes. Interesting, but both classes together made for a long day. <br />
<br />
I feel like my life has been taken over by bodas (motorbike taxis)! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgdUxZf3gtfMSUMIY5RoDNuMZbsM_RwPT2yvHPkk5Oo51Fmod8xd53faQuswJ5KVmNZSYtVcrLavfQ8M8N3n4-9DOlx-IPCEpfdY9YTCfoUgLFyNfk8xQXbBHNecGd_mF0OeNa6KJno8/s1600/Picture+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgdUxZf3gtfMSUMIY5RoDNuMZbsM_RwPT2yvHPkk5Oo51Fmod8xd53faQuswJ5KVmNZSYtVcrLavfQ8M8N3n4-9DOlx-IPCEpfdY9YTCfoUgLFyNfk8xQXbBHNecGd_mF0OeNa6KJno8/s320/Picture+005.jpg" /></a></div>(View from the back of a boda, except usually there is a lot more traffic on the road)<br />
<br />
In addition to being the quickest form to transport in Kampala, I am interning at a start-up microfinance organization that loans motorbikes to drivers, who use them as taxis to earn a living. The organization is called Tugende,“Let’s go” in Luganda. The loan system revolves around the “drive to own” philosophy; once the value of the bike has been repaid the drivers own the bikes but in the mean time they are using them as taxis to earn a living. <br />
<br />
Boda drivers eke out a modest income from their work, often barely enough to make ends meet, so saving up to buy a bike outright is difficult, many drivers choose to rent their bikes, making payments to a landlord on a weekly basis. Owning a bike makes it considerably more profitable and drivers can then save towards other goals like building a house, buying a plot of land, or paying for their children’s school fees. This is the basic premise of the organization, run by an American man named Michael Wilkerson (aka my boss). If you want to find out more about Tugende then check out the website or send me an email!<br />
<br />
http://tugendedriven.com<br />
(You may have to copy-paste it)<br />
<br />
OK, so that’s a brief explanation of where I’m working while I’m here! I work with 3 American MBA students, 2 Uganda managers and the CEO, Michael, the office fills up fast when everyone’s there! Wednesday was a great introduction because it’s the day that we host info sessions for prospective customers and help them fill out applications. So in addition to the 7 staff, there are also about 30 boda drivers! It was definitely standing-room only. The rest of the week was more normal and I'm looking forward to the projects we have lined up.<br />
<br />
There have been a few more nights at the bar since I got here. A big bottle of beer (I’m guessing it’s about a pint) goes for $2, which is also the standard amount if you have to pay cover on the weekends! When I get back to Vancouver I have a feeling it will be quite a shock. I also discovered the Uganda equivalent of a 4am McDonald’s run- the Rolex. No, it’s not an expensive watch, it’s actually cooked egg, onions, tomato and sometimes cabbage rolled up in chapati (flatbread) and served hot. Mmmmmm. Oh and it costs about $1. <br />
<br />
Today was a bit of a relaxing day, since the rest of the group is in Kigali for the weekend, but part way through the afternoon Michael called to see if I wanted to come out to the launch of some of our new bikes. Drivers who had been waiting received their motorbikes, freshly painted and tuned up, so they can start driving them. The pure happiness on their faces as they received their bike could only be compared to a kid on Christmas morning as each man stood so proudly with his new bike. This really drove home the impact that Tugende is having and made me equally proud to be a part of it. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkMG-eWRtw4ntXK4UrO-ag8pEF5UQTUUva6k9E-C9RFxqEtzIdJpzPmwnQJ9Ah_NpWJPakf7oMp-m5XavL-186i8VKjlABYVgjNuujrbQUuGeT42Y_4IAKQklbUa4BfhGelWDNvvW9U8/s1600/Picture+009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIkMG-eWRtw4ntXK4UrO-ag8pEF5UQTUUva6k9E-C9RFxqEtzIdJpzPmwnQJ9Ah_NpWJPakf7oMp-m5XavL-186i8VKjlABYVgjNuujrbQUuGeT42Y_4IAKQklbUa4BfhGelWDNvvW9U8/s320/Picture+009.jpg" /></a></div>(Finishing touches!)<br />
<br />
Tucked behind the metal shop kids found endless ways to play with the empty helmet boxes. What a great way to end the week. I’m really looking forward to the rest of my time here in Kampala.; it feels good to be back<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTEkzO3N5tahL8_zuRZi_S2PuDEPqXA9WfiqYPgwQRw8Q5zW6KlldHvESNerym65m7aN1rrB06b6p03osx32tlqtPM9WuE0VHm7Ru-qJA1LV6eVJcXlNThZeVy0FCpA9tbkBqP5Uc_s6k/s1600/Picture+008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTEkzO3N5tahL8_zuRZi_S2PuDEPqXA9WfiqYPgwQRw8Q5zW6KlldHvESNerym65m7aN1rrB06b6p03osx32tlqtPM9WuE0VHm7Ru-qJA1LV6eVJcXlNThZeVy0FCpA9tbkBqP5Uc_s6k/s320/Picture+008.jpg" /></a></div>(This little girl was absolutely adorable, she had a dance-off with one of the other interns)<br />
<br />
C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-83489086338173586782013-07-09T14:47:00.000-04:002013-07-09T14:47:38.564-04:00Africa 2.0<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhliW3VNsbz7Aj-tyKxZgMuSnFyWx01cadxF8ScuuIi0Fn4ytsXcah4vR3tOdNBqxkkGncayQ8nCuOQIJFR98QH0fHSiDnJ5G_FbwFcCjJ5eUMW_ef24Irz3L67VRQBZ_1j2Bh8W3GyywI/s1600/Picture+002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhliW3VNsbz7Aj-tyKxZgMuSnFyWx01cadxF8ScuuIi0Fn4ytsXcah4vR3tOdNBqxkkGncayQ8nCuOQIJFR98QH0fHSiDnJ5G_FbwFcCjJ5eUMW_ef24Irz3L67VRQBZ_1j2Bh8W3GyywI/s320/Picture+002.jpg" /></a></div><br />
After two stressful months of waiting on visa paperwork, on Friday morning I was on my way to the airport, bound for Kampala, Uganda. Two layovers and a touch-down later I was back in Africa. Landing in Kampala at night, the city looked like a sprawling cluster of dim lights in the dark- a far cry from the brightly lit cityscapes I left behind in Canada. But the view from the air is deceiving, when the sun comes up the city comes alive. <br />
<br />
Let me back up for a minute and explain what I am doing back in Africa. Way back in January a friend was describing his work on development projects in Sierra Leone and Uganda and something just clicked. I had slowly drifted away from the idea of doing development work in Africa and all of a sudden hearing my friend talk reminded me of why I had wanted to do this in the first place and how happy it made me feel. So on a bit of a whim I looked into a pilot project a couple of master’s students form my department were starting. I would be with 8 other students from my university working part-time as an intern with a local NGO and taking classes at Makerere University in Kampala. Applications were submitted at the rest is history, leading to me being on that plane to Kampala. <br />
<br />
When I stepped off the plane I took a deep breath and all I could think of was, “Mmmm smells like Africa.” The air was a little sticky with a faint smell of earth, exhaust, and something else (I personally think it smelled like maize, but that may not be the best description). It may not sound like the exotic jungle air people imagine, but for me it’s oddly comforting.<br />
<br />
First stop was into the city to drop off my bags and then to meet the rest of the group who were out at a bar (as you do on a Saturday night in Kampala). It must have been the jetlag but I had an amazing time and managed not to even feel tired until my head hit the pillow sometime in the morning. Since then I’ve been adjusting to life in Kampala, getting over jetlag, and even managed my first day of classes (coffee was VERY necessary). The accommodations are great,, I share a house with four other girls and everyone seems to get along great, we even do family dinners. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTV2KJ8gViPzCJaF3Rct_Fm4BG7UBn9txMAvrY2UKXkfBifEIcBHyABizNGDEdmmOTHaqgnox0XmCkentnWHAIcXb76-kWB1tUdyFzVOyg_2Si1ssriGTVJ_f8iJYuhRtyEJbFlLxoECA/s1600/Picture+003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTV2KJ8gViPzCJaF3Rct_Fm4BG7UBn9txMAvrY2UKXkfBifEIcBHyABizNGDEdmmOTHaqgnox0XmCkentnWHAIcXb76-kWB1tUdyFzVOyg_2Si1ssriGTVJ_f8iJYuhRtyEJbFlLxoECA/s320/Picture+003.jpg" /></a></div>(This is home)<br />
<br />
There will be more pictures and stories to come, but don’t count on any regular communication… wifi is anything but reliable here- TIA (This is Africa).<br />
C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-7211426101081108972013-07-03T01:22:00.000-04:002013-07-03T01:22:31.232-04:00Connecting the Dots: Student life and Southeast AsiaAfter taking a two-year break from blogging, I'm back! Now it's time to fill in the gaps between Sierra Leone and today:<br />
<br />
I returned to Canada from Sierra Leone in March 2011, spend some quality time back home before moving across the country to attend university in Vancouver. It was the fresh start I needed after an amazing and exhausting year of travel. The ocean air and mountains were a welcome change, not to mention an incredible group of people that have become some of my closest friends. What Vancouver lacks in sunshine it certainly makes up of in warm, friendly people. After a great year I needed to scratch my travel itch, so I took off on a whirlwind trip to Southeast Asia with one of my friends from university. <br />
<br />
Five weeks flew by as we zigzagged through Thailand, Laos, Malaysia, and Cambodia. In hindsight, four countries in five weeks may have been a little too ambitious, but we managed to hit many of the highlights and still find some hidden gems. Malaysia was definitely my favourite with beautiful beaches, amazing food, and fun cities. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1g6iV1iXwbqSPMhyphenhyphenaoJWzueLU6eaKaoL8MpRMEiTZ0N6IRDa_K-c_rOQse5VTerz06FtZP6PWFJ5btSWODXqB12AkyJ_lvWM1OrSyval7Cqz8pbiwETG8hCx_sKxPbyvcBDHiHycTm3s/s1600/DSC_1252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1g6iV1iXwbqSPMhyphenhyphenaoJWzueLU6eaKaoL8MpRMEiTZ0N6IRDa_K-c_rOQse5VTerz06FtZP6PWFJ5btSWODXqB12AkyJ_lvWM1OrSyval7Cqz8pbiwETG8hCx_sKxPbyvcBDHiHycTm3s/s320/DSC_1252.JPG" /></a></div><br />
Thailand was a great place to start and get adjusted to the oppressive heat. We temple-hopped and got our first taste of true Thai curry, before taking one of the longest and most horrendous bus trips I have ever experienced into Laos. At the time it seemed the a better option than the fast-boat of death or the 3-day slow boat down the Mekong river, maybe now not so much. Laos was a mix of beautiful colonial buildings, jungle hiking, yummy food, and of course a touristy-excurision into Vang Vieng. The string of ramshackle bars along the river has closed since, somehow this doesn't surprise me. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2KbbXQOIOBpxgKChuXVI7A-wQrbJkH7djbRO2in6HoIU5zmbyyiaiBhK6X2h3w7PWna_gIupnNPz4X9-f9rU8HTZxgmF_EK822rXbuQdkLaIn_rjahRRXzqM0OzLgON1d4KefCkOkz_k/s1600/DSC_0924.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: center; float: center; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2KbbXQOIOBpxgKChuXVI7A-wQrbJkH7djbRO2in6HoIU5zmbyyiaiBhK6X2h3w7PWna_gIupnNPz4X9-f9rU8HTZxgmF_EK822rXbuQdkLaIn_rjahRRXzqM0OzLgON1d4KefCkOkz_k/s320/DSC_0924.JPG" /></a></div><br />
The view is stunning though! From Laos we flew to Malaysia where we finally got to relax on the beach and take-in some of this incredibly diverse country. We parted ways in Malaysia, as my friend had to return to Canada a week earlier than me. So what did I choose to do with the extra time by myself? Add another country to the list! <br />
<br />
I flew to Cambodia for more beaches, history, and temples. After touring the Angkor Wat temple complexes for a few days I feel like I may not need to see another temple for a long time. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8BJpEAWnAG9-JYZRX5Xje3pspn0BQGBtDhlDz5BKaj-cgJ6G-ved-kNJGOTMjQKTwHszQmIyMNC2FonFdnp_uFpsWMs4QdKVDIBE3_Cq5cCpEQG6slnYaQ6Oj7aMGIj7u7cmo1ZhgEw/s1600/DSC_0727.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8BJpEAWnAG9-JYZRX5Xje3pspn0BQGBtDhlDz5BKaj-cgJ6G-ved-kNJGOTMjQKTwHszQmIyMNC2FonFdnp_uFpsWMs4QdKVDIBE3_Cq5cCpEQG6slnYaQ6Oj7aMGIj7u7cmo1ZhgEw/s400/DSC_0727.JPG" /></a></div>Yes, I did the obligatory "get up at 4am to see the sunrise over the temples" thing... and it was worth it.<br />
<br />
After five quick weeks I was back in Canada and ready for a rest. <br />
<br />
<br />
It was back to student life in the fall, and even now it feels like September was just yesterday. Vancouver grew on me over the next 12 months and at the end of two years I feel like I can call it home, making it even harder to leave again. So here I am, packing for my next trip, although this one will be considerably longer... and worthy of another blog post!<br />
C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-74868484580018602102011-03-31T10:43:00.000-04:002011-03-31T10:43:53.705-04:00The Wild West: Sierra Leone"Nature is by and large to be found out of doors, a location where, it cannot be argued, there are never enough comfortable chairs." -Fran Lebowitz<br />
<br />
<br />
As the plane hovered over the endless forests and spiderweb of rivers of the West African landscape, all I could feel was anticipation welling up inside of me. I mentally begged the pilot to turn around, "Take me back to Kenya where life is comfortable and I at least know what I'm doing! (or at least I think I do)" Of course the pilot did no such thing and before I knew it we were touching down in Monrovia, Liberia, the last stop on this VERY long journey from Nairobi to Freetown. Monrovia's main international airport is little more than an airstrip surrounded by a few sheds and a lot of UN equipment and tents. Welcome to the wild west of Africa. As we took off again the anticipation bubble burst, and was replaced with solid resignation. "Here goes nothing." Finally touching down in Freetown all the disembarking passengers eyed eachother up like hawks. The look was the same between everybody and we filed off the plane, "What are YOU doing here?" I got a few extra glances because I was the only young, foreign woman getting off. In total there was: a military/ex-military from somewhere in Eastern Europe, a couple of American diplomats who were clearly more practical than most (probably a return visit), a young Western European (possibly Italian) or American guy who I'd pick for a journalist or some kind of writer, and finally an older woman who was likely doing missionary work in the country. Flights and waiting around in airports gets pretty boring after the third layover in a day, so people-watching to the rescue! I assure you I wasn't staring. <br />
<br />
Outside the airport my volunteer coordinator, Collins, was waiting with a couple other guys who are part of the organization I was working for. First impressions of Sierra Leone, were favourable, not too drastically different from Kenya, people generally wore less clothing, looked less healthy, and the public transportation was... less than roadworthy, but the mini-buss drivers still ignored all road rules, people stopped to look at the whiteperson, and the land around me wash lush. We took a ferry across to the main city of Freetown, before heading out to the suburb of Wellington where I would be staying. The most obvious difference between East and West Africa, though, was the climate; what I considered unbearably hot in Kenya, would have been pleasant here. The heat and humidity were immediately overwhelming, and when I arrived it was already dusk. Canadians were not made for this kind of heat.<br />
<br />
The next morning I found out just how hot it actually was. Temperatures generally sat at or above 35C with a humidity of 60-80% on top of that, making it feel more like 40-something. Imagine living your life in a sauna. The air is hot and sticky, simply moving elicits a downpour of sweat from my forehead. The sun just made all of this even worse. Why didn't anybody warn me about this?! Oh well, I'll survive and just drink a lot of water. <br />
<br />
I lived in a compound that encompassed several smaller houses built around a courtyard/common area. I was introduced to everyone in the compound and started working on remembering names and faces. Everyone was very kind and so pleased to have a foreign volunteer there with them. The women generally did all the cooking, the men were either working, or socializing during the day. In the evenings as washing was being done, people would often sit outside on wooden benches and listen to the sound of a crackling radio report the latest BBC news on regional and international issues. Everyone was very concerned about the Libyan conflict, especially because Libya has been a large contributor to that country's development. I imagined it would be similar in some ways to going back in time 100 years in Canada. <br />
<br />
Here's a little background about Sierra Leone to give everyone a better idea of the country's past and put the present into context. The Republic of Sierra Leone was declared an independent state in 1961 after decades of British colonial rule. This year will be the 50th anniversary of independence and there is evidence of this everywhere in Freetown. The small country (about the size of New Brunswick, or Ireland), boasts resource exports including palm products and the infamously troubled diamond industry. Its climate is one of the hottest and wettest in West Africa with a rainy season that stretches from May until September-October. It's situated 8 degrees north of the equator, on par with Venezuela and Colombia in South America. The population is religiously divided, about 60% of Leoneans are Muslim, 30% are Christian, and the remaining 10% follow traditional religious practices, although secret societies (cults) remain very popular regardless of religious beliefs. Surprisingly (to me) all the religions get along with very little tension between them. Children are even taught that regardless of the religion that they were raised with, they can chose whichever religion suits them best. There are many tribes within the country, all get along amicably, and most have their own languages, but English and Krio (a variation of English brought over by freed slaves from the Americas in the 19th century) are national languages. In the 1990's to early 2000's the country was thrown into a violent civil war that destroyed much of the infrastructure that had been built since independence. The conflict that had spilled over from neighbouring Liberia, pitted the RUF (Revolutionary United Front) against the government, both claiming to represent the best interests of the people, but resorting to violence to prove their point. If you want to see Hollywood's take on the civil war, "Blood Diamond," starring Leonardo DiCaprio will fill in the gory details. Today, the country is still feeling the effects, struggling to rebuild infrastructure and push forward with development.<br />
<br />
The capital city of Freetown was a true dose of crazy, that made everything I had seen in the Eastern Europe, the Middle East, and even East Africa pale in comparison. The streets wind up and down through neighbourhoods that look like villages within the city. Downtown, there aren't many distinguishable landmarks for a confused foreigner like me to orient myself with, luckily I was always with someone from the volunteer organization who had no trouble navigating. Everything was very crowded, and there was barely enough room to walk between the man-powered carts, motorbikes, mini-buses, cars, massive trucks, and of course locals weaving their way through it all carrying baskets, or other items (like 2 x 4's), on their heads. Ducking and dodging my way through the city I was faced with another problem: the sidewalks. The sidewalks were almost scarier than the streets; built over a concrete drainage gutter, the cement slabs I was walking on would occasionally bounce, wobble, or simply not exist, with exposed metal rods in their place. YIKES! Amid all the craziness I did catch glimpses of the traditional colourful fabrics, and a variety of street vendors selling everything from designer knockoffs to chickens out of a cooler. This is a whole different dimension of crazy.<br />
<br />
The school I visited in Wellington occupies an older house that has now been converted into a two-floor school for about 135 children between the ages of 3 and 12. The kids learn all their basic subjects and while I was there, were also preparing for a school-wide sports day. The teachers don't have access to many resources: copies of the curriculum, textbooks, and other simple materials are in short supply. This is the case for most of the schools across the country. In government run schools, the situation is even worse, with teachers often going years without receiving a salary, which is to be paid by the government. Regardless of what they have, or do not have, these teachers genuinely care about their students.<br />
<br />
In Wellington, I started learning a few practical "Salone" (Sierre Leone) things, like eating rice one-handed. I didn't pay attention when one of the women in the compound invited me to eat with her, and I immediately starting making a ball of rice tossing it from one hand to the other. Ooops, I forgot that the lady I was eating with was Muslim, so I should only use my right hand out of etiquette. In case anyone feels the urge to try this, it's not as easy as you may think! There is a specific method, but despite having someone to show me how to eat properly, I still ended up with rice and sauce all over my face and hand. The other people living in the compound thought it was hilarious, but I was very proud of myself regardless. I also went to fetch water, and was strictly warned not to carry the full 20L jerrycan on my head like everyone else was doing. Winding my way through the hills and houses for the short 5min trip, I dutifully carried the plastic container on my hip, inciting laughter and lots of pointing and staring at the silly Upoto who didn't know how to carry water. It would have not been as bad if I was a man, not knowing how to carry things on your head would have been somewhat more excusable. I made it back without spilling and was greeting with applause. <br />
<br />
After a week in Wellington I headed out to the village of Kambia-Makema <br />
(Kam-bee-ya/Ma-kay-ma). Small might be an understatement, but it was still one of the largest villages in the chiefdom and home to the Paramount Chief (who represents the chiefdom for matters in Freetown). Village life is best described to someone from the Western world, as basic. Each morning families get up before dawn and start preparing for the day's meals, pounding rice and maize flour or making a trip to the grinding mill. Water must be fetched for cooking, and plants set out for drying. Then children will go off to school from 8am until 2pm, before coming home to help prepare the evening meal and do household chores. At night people often sit around the remains of the coking fire as the children are put to bed. Electricity may have been spotty in the capital, but out here it was non-existent. The closest electricity access was a local market about 15km away. I was so thankful my cell phone had a long battery life! <br />
<br />
Visiting the schools was an interesting experience. Corporal punishment is alive and well here in Sierra Leone, and is a part of daily life for children. I was once told, "How can we teach a child to listen if there is not punishment?" The parents and teachers know that development organizations and mission groups working in the country don't approve of their methods, but to the locals it's just another outsider trying to tell them what to do. This subject gets especially sensitive when it has anything to do with the family. Female enrollment in schools also shows evidence of a two-tiered approach to education in the home. After grade four the number of girls attending school significantly drops to the point where in a class of 60 grade nine students , eight of them were girls. Girls are still expected to help around the home and parents don't see the reasoning behind sending them away to school where they won't learn the practical tools they need to raise a family or look after a household. A lot of girls also drop out because of early pregnancies and poor access to any form of birth control. This issue also affects elementary grades (usually 4-6) because many girls don't start school at the same age as their male peers, and may be delayed several years. It wasn't uncommon for me to find girls my own age in 5th of 6th grade. Like in Wellington, access to school materials was difficult but they made the most of what they did have. One of the schools in the village was even top ranked on the national primary exams for the entire district, proving that a lack of materials, and class sizes often exceeding 60 are no barriers to education.<br />
<br />
The food that was prepared for me in the village was delicious, but I'm positive the diet would have caused me to have a heart attack before I was 30. In the morning it was greasy french fries with home made plantain chips (basically deep fried banana slices), with deep fried scrambled eggs and onions. This was topped off with an extra large mug of steaming hot full fat cream (made from powder). Lunch, if I wasn't convincing enough that I didn't need it, was usually a whole pineapple and whatever else they could try to fit on my plate. Then came dinner with enough rice to feed a family of four and a bean/fish/chicken sauce cooked in palm oil with a 1/2 inch think layer of oil still sitting on top. I was also brought a large, doughy baguette almost daily that I was expected to eat before it went stale. I certainly didn't go hungry! After a few days of this I was determined to make some changes, but no matter how hard I tried nothing was about to change how much these stubborn women thought I should be eating in a day. It didn't help that I was polishing off 3L of water a day because of the heat and humidity. With all that water in my stomach I barely had room for half the food they were trying to feed me! To not eat was very offensive and immediately everyone in the village would come knocking on the door to my room, demanding to know if I was sick.If nothing else the villagers certainly cared about me.<br />
<br />
I was welcomed to the village by a throng of screaming children who stampeded towards me just trying to grab a hold of the Upoto. It was very strange when children would reach out and just try to touch my skin, it was so different to them they didn't know what to expect. I quickly got used to kids practically petting my arms and fingers just to learn what my skin felt like. Some of the local women started singing and dancing in a welcome dance tat I happily joined in, much to everyone's amusement. I discovered that the typical custom was that any time I passed someone I needed to go over and properly greet them with long hand shakes and a series of greetings in the local language of Temne. This meant that a walk that should take 5min often took 15 because of all the stops along the way. No one is ever in a rush here. <br />
<br />
The day after my arrival I was formally greeted with a welcome ceremony where all the chiefs and elders were invited and sat on either side of me in throne-like chairs on a raised platform. Greetings were exchanged (with the help of a translator), which included several interruptions as the women burst into song and dance, and women from another village arrive beating drums and singing as well. The men seemed to take the hint, and when the women stood up, the men immediately cleared away all the benches and retreated to the back of the enclosure. This was an amazing cultural experience that not many foreigners would ever get to take part in. <br />
<br />
In the village, I set up an endless schedule of meetings to try to understand how everything worked and what the villagers wanted out of the solar-powered study centre I was trying to set up. I think everyone was a little surprised by all the questions I asked, but they didn't seem to mind. I got my hair braided in traditional Salone fashion, and practised carrying buckets of water on my head. I also went to church one Sunday morning, that was an experience-and-a-half! I walked in to a small group of young men singing and dancing like they were possessed. I turned to my friend that had brought me with wide-eyes and said, "This is NOT like church in Canada!" I felt very out of place as the only woman, and of course the only white person. I was a little scared of what would happen next, and wanted nothing more than to turn around and walk right back out the door. Then one of the boys turned around and I recognized him, he was the Paramount Chief's 12-year-old grandson and was always around the house where I was staying. Abdulai gave me a wink and a smile, that gave me the confidence to walk up and sit down as soon as the song ended. The service was more of an attempt at conversion, than preaching to the faithful, with lots of loud interjections and plenty of occasions where everyone shouted: "A-men!" The preacher even compared me to Jesus coming down from the heavens (the developed world) to save Hell (Sierra Leone) to save the people. For anyone who hasn't had the opportunity, being compared to Jesus is not a particularly comfortable experience. After the service I decided to chalk it all up to experience and move on, quickly. <br />
<br />
After about a week in the village I received a message from home that things had come up, and I needed to return home as soon as possible. It came as a bit of a surprise but also a relief in some ways, because I had been struggling to adjust to some of the intricacies of Salone culture. Within days I was sitting in the airport awaiting my flight. I was leaving Sierra Leone filled with just as much anticipation as when I arrived.<br />
<br />
The ending may have been abrupt, but it was just another adventure to add to my collection that I've accumulated over the past six months. My head was spinning and it wasn't until a couple weeks after I'd gotten home that I truly took stock of everything I had lived on my travels. That will have to be another post.<br />
<br />
Muhmo<br />
<br />
Just like the last post, I have already put photos up on Facebook, so in case you haven't seen them here's the public link:<br />
<br />
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=342622&id=511087593&l=f853d2b2a4<br />
<br />
Enjoy!C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-29405114572540685892011-03-22T17:47:00.001-04:002011-03-22T17:54:12.775-04:00Africa: The Continent of Many Colours"Motion is created by the destruction of balance." —Leonardo da Vinci<br />
<br />
<br />
Each time I write a post I'm sharing a distinct section of my travels (even if this section is a little delayed...). Each has a beginning and an end that I can mark and usually find a title to go with it. The places are very different and each shift is like going back to square one, relearning how to adapt to the new set of logistical challenges of this new place. After five months this transition has gotten easier, and before I knew it I had seamlessly slipped into East African culture. The culture here is so radically different though, that I found myself missing the familiarity of home more than usual. Each time this happened I was quick to remind myself of all the snow and winter weather awaiting me back home in Canada. Nah, I'll take Africa thanks!<br />
<br />
<br />
Landing in Nairobi, my body was still running on adrenaline from the last few days' adventures in Cairo. My first glimpse of the city left me wide-eyed in amazement; the sun was rising, turning the sky pink and illuminating a landscape of savanna-esque grasslands and gnarled, leafless trees, leading into the towering skyscrapers of the city. Hello Kenya! Nairobi, fondly known by locals as "Nai-robbery," is made up of many different neighbourhoods like most large cities. Each has its own reputation and "ethnic flavour," such as the rougher are of Eastleigh, where many ex-Somalis have settled, and many private enterprises are (allegedly) financed by piracy money. This area has great shopping for designer knockoffs among other things if anyone's interested. While I was in the Kenyan capital I had a bit of Canadian nostalgia as I visited Amanda, who has become a friend as well as my boss. It also meant that I got to see much more of the city through local contacts and friends, that I would have otherwise missed out on. There was the added bonus of getting to fuss over little Malaika (Amanda's 3 month old daughter), who is absolutely adorable, even when she decides to let everyone know she's having a bad day. <br />
<br />
<br />
From Nairobi, it was off to the "outback of Kenya," in Western province. I visited Amanda's development project that she manages between being a new mom and running her own business that stretches across two continents. This was my first taste of village life in Africa, and I loved it! I stayed with two other volunteers for a week, and got to know the school, community and observe the lifestyle in this not-so-travelled area of the country. Here a village really means a collection of houses that share a common road, and maybe market area. Everything is spread out because it's still very agricultural and each house is on a separate plot of land. This part of Kenya is also at the heart of its sugar production, with large plantations employing many villagers to work in the fields. Western province also taught me a lot about the typical Kenyan was of life, which is best described in the Swahili phrase "Pole pole," (Po-lay, po-lay) meaning literally, "slowly, slowly." Everything runs on African time (much slower than its cousins, "Greek time," and "Arabic time"), which means that arriving 2.5h late to a meeting is perfectly acceptable. In development projects, this is where the volunteers come in. The introductions of the words "follow-up," "accountability," and "schedule," into daily vocabulary help set plans in motion that may have been in the works for months. The concept of saving-up towards a long-term goal is also a scarce commodity, so one of the challenges volunteers may face is to ensure that existing projects are profitable over time and money isn't squandered away in the short-term. <br />
<br />
<br />
At the school, known as Tumaini, there are 135 students who range in age from 3 to 9-10 yrs. and are split between six classes. Everyone's favourite subject is phys. ed. where they can run around and burn off some of their very infectious energy. The second Stacey, Rachel (the other volunteers), and I arrived at the school we were mobbed by the most adorable children I've ever seen. They were all dressed in their blue school uniforms, shouting , "Mzungu! Hello!" (Mzungu = White-person). It only got worse whenever someone pulled out a camera, then of course they all wanted to see their picture... School life is basic compared to the many luxuries we've come to expect here in Canada, but every child truly values their ability to attend school and as a result puts extra effort into their studies. The classes sit together on wooden benches as the teacher instructs from the blackboard. The teacher's position doesn't come equipped with the wide range of materials and resources that Canadian teachers have access to, or even teachers in urban areas of Kenya, so these teachers have learned to become much more creative in their lessons so the children still learn the curriculum. By the end of the day I had enjoyed my fill of adorable, shouting kids, and I could see that the other volunteers loved it just as much as I did. <br />
<br />
<br />
Western province also introduced me to the adventure of African public transport. I added a few new words to my vocabulary through many fun and fearful rides throughout the countryside. Here's a page from my travel dictionary:<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Matatu:</i> (ma-ta-too) A 14-passenger mini-bus that often gets crammed with up to 24 people and if you're lucky a few farm animals to make the ride interesting. Wooden planks are put between the seats to make more space, but people still hang out the door for short distances, or just pile on top of one another if it's a longer journey. Roofs are piled with any baggage that doesn't fit inside the vehicle (in a cartoon-like heap tied down with ropes), and the ceilings are usually padded to avoid possible concussions from the massive potholes and surprise off-road experiences. Matatus are apparently not subject to the rules of the road, and drive wherever they please to avoid the potholes (large enough to swallow a small car), oncoming traffic, and weaving motorbikes, this often means not on the road at all.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Piki Piki:</i> (pee-kee pee-kee) Motorbike taxis that will go anywhere that matatus won't. They navigate mini-ravines and forest trails to deliver passengers to their destinations. Generally the drivers take pity on foreigners and go a little slower than usual, but once in a while I got a crazy driver to sped along at about 50kph, over bumps that sent me airborne off the seat many times. This is when the "holy shit handle" comes in handy for white knuckle rides. Drivers usually don't wear helmets, or provide them for their passengers (except in Rwanda). In Uganda they are called <i>boda bodas</i> and in Rwanda <i>motos</i>. <br />
<br />
<br />
Kenyan cuisine was also something I got to try in Western. At the volunteer house we ate more traditional things, like ugali (oo-gal-ee), the local staple made of maize flour cooked with water into a mashed-potato type paste. We also had maize and kidney beans (so heavy!), matoke (ma-toe-kee) and green grumbs, which is boiled, mashed, green bananas and lentil sauce, which was all punctuated by copious amounts of "tea," the code-word for any hot beverage, and fresh mangoes. Yummm! <br />
<br />
<br />
I knew I had to leave Western if I wanted to see other parts of East Africa, so it was off to Kampala, the Ugandan capital. Kampala is a big, crowded, and polluted city in the heart of southern Uganda, not far from the shores of Lake Victoria. The traffic has a reputation for clogging the cities roads for hours at a time and winding its way up and down the city's seven hills. I arrived at night and got a bit of a shock: the streets were dark and eerily lit by occasional ditch fires and roadside shops, because there were no streetlights. A harrowing piki piki ride later I was relaxing in a little slice of paradise surrounded by tropical gardens and great company at the hostel Amanda had recommended. First impressions of Kampala: it's HOT! Situated less than 100km north of the equator, even a leisurely stroll in the city was strenuous. I had never been this hot in my life! <br />
<br />
<br />
The highlight of my time in Uganda wasn't actually in the capital, but a smaller city closer to the Kenyan border where I went bungee jumping over the Nile river. It was a spontaneous day-trip, and together with a friend from the hostel, we took the plunge, jumping from a 44m high platform above the river. There were many moments where I wondered what I had gotten myself into this time, but I had paid my money so I wasn't about to let it go to waste. The scenarios of: "3-2-1-Bung-" "No! Wait!" happened a few times, then I finally just closed my eyes and bye-bye platform, I was flying through the air with the river rushing towards my head. After my first bounce I realized that my arms were wet and the only conclusion was that I had not only touched the water, but gone elbow-deep in it! Several bounces later, and a lot of screaming, I was being safely lowered into a waiting raft, and all I could think was, "I want to do that again!"<br />
<br />
<br />
Heading into Rwanda the next day was an adventure of another kind. At the border crossing I was politely informed that I didn't have the necessary visa, as the requirements for Canadians had changed last November. Oh. Now I needed to pre-arrange a visa for my stay, which would mean going back to Kampala and waiting for my application to be processed. A lot of pleading and reasoning later the border guard decided to take pity on me, and let me buy my visa at the border. (Travel rule: always carry cash when crossing borders, because you never know what could happen...) Once in Kigali, the capital, I encountered more challenges. I had changed about $5 worth on the border, and I couldn't get Rwandese Francs in Uganda, so I was expecting to just take some cash out of an ATM to avoid a bad exchange rate. Surprise! not a single bank in the country will accept Mastercard or Maestro cards, only international Visa cards are accepted. Oh. The only way I could get cash was to take an advance on my credit card, which could only be done during business hours at a single bank, and it was already closed for the night. Not the best situation, but not impossible, just another travel lesson learned, and re-learned: do your homework!<br />
<br />
<br />
After these initial mishaps. Rwanda got a lot better, with good food, clean streets, and European-style organization. This was a big shock for me to find in the heart of Africa. It was the beginning of the rainy season in Rwanda, so I grew accustomed to daily downpours and sporadic electricity. I paid a visit to the genocide memorial centre in the capital and learned a lot about a part of this country's history that I'm just a little too young to remember. The centre is beautifully designed and made a fitting memorial to those who were buried in the centre's gardens.<br />
<br />
<br />
The prospect of travelling across the width of Tanzania to get back to Kenya had lost its appeal to me, so I opted for an impromptu 25h bus ride back into central Kenya. Two border crossings later I was in Kenya and headed for Lake Naivasha to do some, "safari stuff." There, I went to bed every night listening to the hippos grunting from my lakeside cabin. I cycled through Hell's Gate National Park on <i>my</i> kind of safari, where I saw zebras, antelope, gazelles, baboons, warthogs and even a couple of giraffes. I didn't see any elephants, lions or cheetahs, but maybe that was for better, since there was nothing between the wild and me. By the end of the day I was thoroughly exhausted, but happy and my camera was full of great pictures. <br />
<br />
<br />
Next it was out to the Kenyan coast, and after another overnight bus I found myself sitting on the beach, looking out over the Indian Ocean. I enjoyed some time relaxing by the ocean with a group of British volunteers who were working with street kids in the nearby city of Mombassa. The seafood was delicious and my favourite were the whole fish seasoned and thrown on the grill. Seaside nightlife was a blast as we went for a night out, Kenyan style! If I could describe the atmosphere of the bar in one word it would be "raunchy," but as the only <i>mzungus</i> in sight we stuck together to laugh at the comedy act going on around us, and help eachother up and down the stairs made of sticks.<br />
<br />
<br />
My last stop in Kenya was further up the coast to a small city called Malindi. I thought Kampala was hot, but Malindi was hotter! It was very humid here, making the heat more intense. I bought a chocolate bar (that the store kept in a refrigerator) and it had melted after an hour. Wandering around I practised my bargaining skills in the markets and wandered along the beach. The beach wasn't the typical pristine white sands with palm trees blowing in the wind. It had all of these things, but with a twist: the sand was covered in pieces of old driftwood and torn fishing nets from the many boats lining the coastline. It had a more rustic than tropical feel, it was a nice change from typical tourist spots. While I was there I took a day trip a few kilometers out of the city to the site of some old Islamic ruins. The Gede ruins are of an abandoned town, complete with many houses, mosques, and even a royal palace. What's left are a collection of half-walls and columns in the middle of the forest, and surrounded by massive trees. It was cool to be walking on an around all of these ruins, with no one fences or barriers, far more relaxed than anything you'd find in Canada or Europe.<br />
<br />
<br />
Finally it was back to Nairobi. It was a bttersweet return, while it was great to be someplace familiar (yes, I would consider Nairobi familiar after a few visits), I knew that I was coming back to leave for something totally different in Sierra Leone. Travelling, backpacking, and staying in hostels has become so easy. This had been my life for the last, almost six months. Getting to a new city, figuring out how to get to the hostel/hotel and just taking it from there. I never knew who I would meet, or how each day would turn out, it was always a surprise. Navigating guidebook-sized maps and finding new ways to see the touristy things have now become regular occurrences. So has laughing over language barriers, sometimes even in English! Meeting new friends all the time who are doing the same thing, or something even more outlandish than I had planned for myself, was such a high point. I could never consider this work, at least not in the mundane, obligatory sense. It wasn't always easy, and more often than not, exhausting, but I wouldn't do it if I didn't love it, even the hard parts. It was so strange to think that this East African part of my adventures was also marking the end of travelling as I knew it up to this point. A lot of things were about to change, whether I was ready or not.<br />
<br />
Asanti.<br />
<br />
<br />
I have posted photos for this entry, but I put them up a while ago, so chances are if you're following my adventures you've already seen them. Here's the link just in case you missed them:<br />
<br />
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=334683&id=511087593&l=adf50766d3C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-81012592325062522092011-02-01T07:43:00.038-05:002011-02-01T08:27:39.657-05:00Expect the Unexpected"Do for yourself, or do without." - Gaylord Perry<br />
<br />
Travelling alone has taught me many things. The most important skill has certainly been self-reliance. When I'm faced with a problem no one else will be there to tell me how to deal with the situations, I need to figure it out myself. Knowing that, I always need to trust me own jugement, self-doubt simply isn't an option. The second part of my time in the Middle East re-taught me this lesson many times over. <br />
<br />
Hello Lebanon! I was safely deposited back in Beirut by my 20min flight from Larnaca, Cyprus, and all too quickly brought back into the backpacking world. "You've got a girl!" announced the hostel worker jokingly as he showed me into my dorm room. The room was full of about 5 guys all perched on the bunk beds chatting about the days travel adventures. I was back on the road again. Lebanon was a shock to my senses. I was better equipped to handle the glitz and glamour of Beirut after 2 weeks in Cyprus, but outside the capital things were very different. Tripoli in the north was an industrial mess of a city. Development was patchy with some areas looking like they would fit in better 200 years ago. The souq in particular turned my stomach; rancid odours, animals running wild and blood all over the cobblestones from the dead livestock hanging on meat hooks. This got a little overwhelming in the dark claustrophobic maze of the souq. After that I began to get nervous about my upcoming travels to Africa. If I couldn't handle this, what was I going to do in a developing country?<br />
<br />
From Beirut the road led to Amman, Jordan, via Damascus, thankfully without any further border hassles. Amman exemplified the Middle East for me. There were well-off areas, but the heart of the city was poorer and much more interesting. Winding streets, blaring car horns and a healthy dose of pollution. I discovered 2 great local spots to eat close to my ho0stel, and both served things local style. They only served one dish each, you just sat down and they brought food over to you. Amman has a bustling market street instead of a traditional souq, but it was always packed with people selling everything under the sun including a section for livestock and birds (conveniently located next to the camel tack shop). All I could see in both directions was a sea of people, more specifically and sea of men. The sheer numbers of people surrounding me was intimidating. On the upside, everyone was so preoccupied with their own business that they didn't even bother to notice me. What a treat!<br />
<br />
I made a trip up to the very conservative/rural north of the country to visit a friend I had met in Istanbul, then travelled with through Turkey and into Syria. Chris is working on an archaeological dig in Pella, an ancient site only a few kilometers from the Syrian and Israeli borders. It was amazing to see first hand the unique mix of ancient history and modern social/political tensions in the region. At the dig site I was like a kid in a candy shop, having for many years dreamed of growing up to become an archaeologist. I couldn't ask enough questions, and the more I asked, the more I realized that, minus some of the glamour, archeology WAS everything I had imagined. The best part of the day was getting to see a familiar face ... even if I took the "scenic route" to get there.<br />
<br />
Next stop on the well travelled tourist path was Petra in the south of Jordan. It's an ancient Bedouin-turned-Roman trading complex cut into massive rock faces in the desert. The 2 days I spent hiking were punctuated by frequent water/photo breaks. I was amazed at how these old, hobbling Bedouin women selling jewelry could make it up the staircases faster than me, and with much more grace! Petra was more of a spectacular national park with ridges and canyons, the ruins were just bonus. By the time I was ready to leave my hamstrings and shins felt like they had been well-exercised. <br />
<br />
Moving on from Petra I went directly to Aqaba, then caught the ferry to Nuweiba, Egypt so I could avoid the land crossing that would take me through Israel. Thank you political tensions for making me take the long route. Dahab was my first stop in Egypt, although I'm not sure if it really counts. On the Sinai peninsula, the beach town was very relaxed, and I spent my days laying on rooftop terraces or strolling along the beach. As an added bonus I got to scrub off the layer of dirt and grime that had been building up since Petra and my trip to the, disgustingly salty, Dead Sea. <br />
<br />
From Sinai I headed west to the port of Alexandria on the Mediterranean coast. And so began a series of very exhausting night transports(this particular one was a 14h bus ride). Alexandria was fairly laid back for "continental Egypt." The architecture was amazing with a mixture of British colonial influences and Mediterranean flavour. This was a quick and uneventful stop before heading into the heart of it all, Cairo, for another 2 day layover on the way south.<br />
<br />
I had been warned about Cairo, and it certainly surpassed all expectations! A chaotic jumble of desert air, pollution, and 18 million people, most of whom are living on less than $3 a day. But Cairo could never be categorized by only one label and it's broken up into various different sections each with its own characteristics. The island in the centre of the city, Zamalek, boasts its fancy apartments inhabited by wealthy ex-pats, European style cafes, and park-lined streets. Downtown is chaotic and the main university hub where hole-in-the-wall Kosharias (local mainstay: rice, pasta, fried onions, lentils, tomato sauce and whatever else was left over from last night's dinner), sit next to McDonald's and Pizza Hut. Surrounding the Islamic quarter it's a maze of crumbling mud-brick houses and tin roofs that can been seen for miles. Because of the international tourism industry all the touts and con-men became more aggressive than anything I had seen up to this point. The imported stereotypes of Western and European women have serious consequences for unsuspecting tourists. Many women on tours simply aren't warned that Egypt is a Muslim country and that they should dress more conservatively than they would at home. The media, tourists "letting it all hang out," and the growing sex-tourism industry all help to perpetuate the image that Western women (especially solo women) should be objectified. I had a few minor problems with this. <br />
<br />
Cairo was just a stop-over so I could buy my (tourist-priced) ticket on the overnight train down to Aswan in the south. There I visited my first ancient site at Abu Simbel. Despite my sleep-lacking state (we all had to wake up at 2am to catch a convoy that would take us the 4h south to the temple), I was dwarfed by the statues sitting at the temple entrance. It had been moved piece by piece from its original location which is now under water thanks to the Aswan Dam. Aswan was only a primer though for Luxor, the site of the ancient Egyptian capital of Thebes, the Valleys of the Kings and Queens. First I spent a day wandering the ruins of the temple complex at Karnak (Thebes). One part is a veritable forest of columns decorated with hieroglyphics and carvings. The next day I got into efficiency mode in order to visit the Valley of the Kings, Queens, and Hatchepsut's temple ( a massive building cut into the face of a ridge) all in one day. The few tombs that I saw in the valleys had beautiful, life-sized paintings of ancient life and mythology still accented in vibrant original colours. This was a sharp contrast from the barren valley outside. I really liked all the tombs and temples, but I left feeling a little disappointed because for once I felt that TV had done these sites justice. Everything that I was seeing was like watching the program on repeat. Regardless I was glad I went to see these marvels with my own eyes.<br />
<br />
After Luxor it was back to Cairo. I was not thrilled about this since I hadn't really liked the city the first time around, but then things got interesting. I arrived Monday morning and by Tuesday night all the images that I'm sure you're seen on TV began. There were peaceful demonstrations in the streets, with most of the action concentrated in the main square (Tahrir sq.) right outside my hostel. I went out into the very center of the demonstrations Tues. night when the kicked off in the so-called "Day of Rage." There were people chanting, and shouting slogans jumping around and climbing all over anything they could find to give themselves some extra height. It was thrilling and crazy, but let me assure you, when I walked into that thing, I had no idea it was an anti-government protest of the most dangerous kind. I had asked several people during the day what was going on, and why there was a massive riot police convoy parked on my hostel doorstep, and here is the answer I got: It's a festival today on a holiday called Police Day, that's why the shops are closed. Many people were expected to gather on the streets to celebrate, so the riot police were out to make sure nothing got out of hand. The reason I was so misled was because people on the streets were too afraid to tell me the truth for fear that one of the president's secret police could be listening, I was an informant for the government, or worse, a journalist. The people of Cairo, and all of Egypt, have been living with this kind of fear and oppression in their daily lives for the last 30 years since the current leader, Hosni Mubarak, rose to power. He has always been "re-elected" with 99% of the vote, fixed perhaps? He started growing a personality cult with massive posters of himself everywhere, giving the impression that Mubarak was always watching. He enforced his brutal rule with an army of secret police causing many people openly opposing the government to "disappear." Now, after the spark of Tunisia, the people of Egypt are taking a stand against Mubarak and his regime. The poverty-inducing wages, poor education system, and fearful oppression have driven Egyptians to desperation where they dare to oppose the weakening regime.<br />
<br />
That first night of demonstrations things remain peaceful; for the majority of the time, but by midnight things were getting more tense as police dispersed the crowd with water canons, rubber bullets, and tear gas. This created a chaotic mob that stampeded through downtown Cairo to escape the baton bearing officers. 3 people died that night, including 1 officer. The strangest thing that someone pointed out afterwards was that through this historic demonstration, there were no media crews camped out in the square. Not a single one was anywhere to be seen; this is just one small example of the heavy-handed oppression that has gripped this country for the last 3 decades.<br />
<br />
The next night was eerily quiet at the sites where the demonstrations had been the night before. Few cars even dared to take to the streets and the absence of blaring horns was unnerving. The protests were taking place in another location, closer to the high courts. While all looked quiet, locals urged all tourists to stay off the streets, even though we were likely the safest identifiable group, because tourists are not targets. The following daqy, Thursday, added new sparks to the rumour mill as Facebook, access to blogs, Twitter, Youtube, and even Google was blocked by the government on most browsers. The mobile phone network was also temporarily interrupted. That is the kind of power the government wields freely here, with nothing to keep it in check. People began to speculate as to what would happen the next day, Friday (the Muslim holy day), and by Thursday evening the mobile network and entire internet had been cut off for Cairo and other various cities around Egypt. <br />
<br />
Until Friday I had been continuing my touristic duties despite the protests, and life basically went on as usual for most people in the city as well.I visited the Egyptian museum and marveled at the masses of artifacts hap-hazardly displayed throughout the beautiful building. I visited with friends who I had connected with at various spots in Egypt and enjoyed having company to share a laugh with about the circumstances of our crazy situation. I had saved my visit to the pyramids for my final day in Egypt... Friday. However this was not to be and Friday morning all semblance of normalcy disintegrated. When I left the hostel to visit friends (because I couldn't email or call them) I had difficulty getting back into the hostel because the doors were chained and bolted shut. My plans to visit the pyramids fell through because the hostel workers told me that if I left downtown, I might not get back in, since police were already starting to block off the roads, and the metro was closed. Their advice to me when I asked if I could get out later to head to the airport for my flight, was to get to the airport... NOW! I managed to drag 2 other guys from my hostel who either had flights in the next day or so, or wanted to book a flight, but I had other friends who decided to stay for fear that they might get stuck at the airport. As we hopped into the cab I wished well, and safety over the next few days, then we were gone, flying through the streets of Cairo (at very illegal speeds). We passed several thousand riot police massing in the main square with support on almost every block, armies of secret police advancing through the empty streets, and blockades of convoys and armoured vehicles across bridges and main roads. The strangest thing I saw though, were the people praying on street corners; this is something I have never seen. Every mosque was overflowing with the faithful waiting to hear what council the Imams (religious leaders) would give to the potential protesters. The city held its breath, and everyone knew that the moment when people, emerged from midday prayers could change the course of this country's history.<br />
<br />
Safe at the airport, everyone was glued to the news as all hell broke loose in the city. We could see the situation deteriorating before our eyes.<br />
-4 French journalists disappear and reports are broadcast from tear gas filled stairwells<br />
-CNN camera ripped from camera man's hands and smashed in front of him<br />
-Al-jezeera journalist (that I had been following all afternoon)arrested after the building he was hiding in was stormed by police<br />
-1 million protesters on the streets<br />
Police convoys are overrun by demonstrators and lit on fire<br />
-5pm: The army has moved into the capital and there will be a curfew in place from 6pm until the next morning<br />
-A state of emergency is declared and marshall law is now in place<br />
-Government buildings are set ablaze<br />
-Will this be a coup d'etat?<br />
-Widespread looting on the streets<br />
-Still no mobiles or internet<br />
-7pm: No flights scheduled after 9pm will take off and the best hope is that there will be more news tomorrow.<br />
<br />
At that point I was prepared to spend the night at the airport, something that I've never had to do before, but there's a first for everything! We all knew it was going to get worse, but the airport was blocked off, and probably the safest place in the city, it was the "Greenzone." The flights that had just landed depositing loads of unsuspecting tour groups into this mess. Everyone who arrived was also stuck at the airport because the doors were closed and no one could leave. There were many stories form people at the airport, but the most shocking was, "I called the tour company/hotel/tour leader yesterday and they said it was totally fine!" The speed at which things had deteriorated was admittedly a little shocking, but anyone could see that Egypt was not the ideal place for a 2 week holiday in the sun.<br />
<br />
At 11 pm I got news: A handful of flights were leaving and I was on one of them! Nairobi Go! was my battle cry as I ran through the crowded airport to check-in and clear security. I wished my friends well and good luck with their own flights, By midnight I was sitting on an airplane listening to the safety demo. The chaos and riots seemed a distant memory or a figment of my imagination. I was only going to be delayed a couple of hours. The twinkling lights of Cairo far below gave no indication of the terror taking place on the streets. From the airplane window it even seemed peaceful.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When I started writing this blog post I had no idea what I would face when I returned to Cairo for the second time. Looking back now I realize that self-reliance was the perfect introduction to this post as Cairo became the biggest test yet. It's true, there was no room to doubt my judgments and I was forced to make decisions and know that they would be the right ones without any possibility of outside help. AT the Cairo Airport that self-reliance became confidence and I soon found myself thinking with unnerving clarity (probably the adrenaline) and doing everything I could to help others and keep people calm. There was no time to stop and question what I was doing, it just had to be done. For me that exemplifies independence, and I have no idea how differently I would have reacted before I left home.<br />
<br />
<b>Afterword:</b> The situation hasn't settled down in Egypt, and I don't expect it to anytime soon. I was one of the lucky ones who got out that first night, but there are still many people stuck in the thick of it and depending on government evacuations. Stay safe and stay strong. I'm thinking of you.<br />
<br />
As usual there is an accompanying Facebook album being published currently, so here is the link to see the photos, just copy and paste. I know this one is really long, but it covers a lot of ground, so koodos to everyone who sticks it out to the end and hasn't gone bug-eyed from staring at their computer screen. Thank you for all your support.<br />
<br />
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=327772&id=511087593&l=826cc954ccC.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-88752484508923400012011-01-07T08:20:00.001-05:002011-01-07T12:52:09.909-05:00Cypriot HolidaysFor Mom.<br />
<br />
"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage." -Lao Tzu<br />
<br />
Time for a holiday! Travel is full of amazing experiences, beautiful places, and unforgettable people- but don't let the superlatives fool you, travelling is no vacation. Constantly adapting to new everything and never knowing what's going to happen next, but being prepared for anything, can become emotionally and physically draining. Stability is a word that has almost been completely erased from my vocabulary. This is the reality of travel that doesn't always translate into my blog posts of photos, but never the less still exists and keeps me grounded. So after 3.5 months it was time for a true vacation and a taste of home.<br />
<br />
But first, we interrupt this program to bring you a special news bulletin: Expect the unexpected (Thanks Dad). At some point during my time in Damascus I ate or drank something that my stomach strongly felt I shouldn't have. I made it to Larnaca (via Beirut), but then things went downhill fast. To complicate matters further, I realized after much "sightseeing" that the hotel we had booked into for the next 4 days was at least 10km out of the city in a tiny village, and there were no reliable bus routes. Great. I managed to get there with some and a taxi, but decided it wasn't going to be convenient, and only stayed one night. The next day I moved into the city to another hotel I had stumbled across the day before. This was not a prime time to be sick. The new hotel was perfect though, and the lady at the reception was so kind, going out of her way to help me in anyway she could. She even drove me to the airport to meet my mother.<br />
<br />
Larnaca Airport is small and easy to navigate, but when I arrived it seemed big and complicated as I shuffled around from desk to desk trying to figure out what had happened in London to cancel all the flights arriving from Heathrow. The answer- snow. No one could predict when things would get moving again either. Of course it was Sunday, so none of the internet cafes were open to try an email Mom. This seemed like a catastrophe when I wasn't thinking clearly because I hadn't had food in my stomach for about a week at this point, with a side of dehydration thrown in for good measure. Thankfully there was 12euro an hour internet available at the airport so I could try to sort out what would happen. The news: Mom had been stopped in Toronto because of the cancellations and after a harrowing airport adventure, she had gotten the last seat on a connecting flight through Vienna, Austria. She would be arriving the next afternoon. "Ok. I can't wait 'till then," were my only thoughts, "I need to go to the hospital."<br />
<br />
I had never been to a foreign hospital before, so I was hoping that I would get seen, and sure enough I had no problems except the 2h wait because the hospital I had gone to was the only one operating in the city that day since it was Sunday. The crazy Greek lady screaming in the room next to me just added to the ambiance. Some blood tests and 2 IV drips later, I was diagnosed with "probably Salmonella," and given a perscription for some powders. The IV really did the most, giving me a much needed boost.<br />
<br />
So it was back to the airport the next day, and finally Mom arrived. There were tears and big hugs. We were both so glad to see eachother that everything else seemed to stop mattering. At dinner we swapped stories and didn't stop smiling all night. I had my Mom there and that was the best gift anyone could have given me for the holidays.<br />
<br />
The city of Larnaca is small and centred around a beachfront strip that came alive at night. Cyprus itself is part of the European Union and feels very Western European. There are also a lot of Brits there, some living, many on vacation. It's kind of like Florida to Canadians if that analogy helps at all. Our next stop was Pafos, or so we thought. Somehow the address had gotten mangled and we ended up in Polis (which is in the regioon of Pafos, rather than Pafos itself. In the end we were very happy about the mix up and loved our time in Polis over Christmas. The hotel was beautiful with a double leveled pool and tropical flowers everywhere. The best part though, was the owner who would bring us Christmas treats almost daily! He was kind and just so pleased that we would be spending Christmas there. Typical Cypriot hospitality. On day 2 in Polis it was back to the hospital for me as I still wasn't doing any better. Not ideal shape for a lovely vacation in the sun. This time I was told to take more over-the-counter meds and to eat strictly plain rice and water for 3 days. That might treat the symptoms, but is anything going to cure the Salmonella? Thanks to an email home, and 2 great Manitoulin doctors I was told to take another medication that I had luckily brought with me, as it was the best treatment for Salmonella. Within days I was feeling better and could eat normal foods- but my birthday dinner was pretty bland (Rice, apple juice, poached egg and lunch meat).<br />
<br />
In Polis we walked around the small town and lay by the pool. We felt part Australian being able to spend Christmas day on the beach getting a suntan in the 25C weather. Anyone jealous? Christmas itself was a treat as Mom and I exchanged small gifts and I marvelled at her creativity at sticking monopoly money in my cards from anyone who sent me money for Christmas. The cards were as much of a treat as all the messages on Facebook and via email, always are. I got to unpack the various little Christmas ornaments that I had been hoarding since Belgium, that Mom had tasked me with collecting. We had a Christmas table rimmed with ornaments and even a Manitoulin Christmas tree on top (check out the Facebook photos if you're a little confused). It was a Canadian Christmas transplanted to Cyprus.<br />
<br />
So feeling much better we moved on to the actual city of Pafos, changing our plans a bit. Pafos is like a mini version of the French Riveria, mixed with a budding Cancun-esque resort scene. Everything glittered as we walked along the seafront in the evenings. Spending 3 days there we got to visit an archeological site with ancient Greek ruins and mosaic masterpieces made out of tiny painted tiles that were thousands of years old. Bustling Pafos also provided us with plenty of opportunitis to shop for trinkets and other things here and there which inevitably got sent back with Mom.<br />
<br />
Heading back to Larnaca was bittersweet, knowing that our time together in Cyprus was ending. We would have to say goodbye to the warm sunny, weather, fruit trees on every corner, but most painful of all, eachother. Mom was flying out 1 day before me (on New Year's Eve) and going to the airport was tough. But I think only after we said goodbye did we both truly realize how sad we were. My Mom is may friends as well as my mother, and after being taken care of for 10 days, I was going back to doing everything on my own again. I knew long ago that this goodbye would be hard, but I had never imagined that it would be that hard.<br />
<br />
Despite missing my mother I was determined to celebrate New Year's Eve in Cyprus to the fullest, and I did! I found a bar that seemed pretty quiet at the time, but soon was commandeered by a couple of companies of young British soldiers stationed at a base just outside of the city. We got along so well that we decided to celebrate not 1, not 2, but 7 different New Year's Eves! Cyprus time was the first at midnight, followed by England at 2am, then I got the idea to wish all my friends and family a Happy New Year back in Canada at 7am... but wait Canada is so big that we have lots of time zones, and the end goal was to make it all the way to my future home of Vancouver at 10am. By that point we were eating breakfast and enjoying the hot sunshine. Who needs sleep? Happy New Year's!<br />
<br />
So January 1st I packed, checked out and wrote postcards all day before my 10pm flight back to Beirut. I even (very seriously) considered staying in Cyprus to work at the bar for the next 3 weeks, but turned it down. It was a tough decision though, and required the phone-a-friend lifeline, and dragging them out of their own post New Year's Eve stupor for advice, for which I am very grateful. When I went to the airport I was upgraded to 1st class, sop I think something was trying to tell me that I had made the right decision.<br />
<br />
Cyprus was a wonderful experience and holiday. It was a welcome break to out leisurely strolling, looking for adventures, rather than feeling like they're going to run you over on a daily basis. I couldn't have asked for a better Christmas, and in the end I found myself wanting to fly home with Mom. Talking to friends from home and abroad reminded me that I have a whole group of people that believe in what I'm doing, just as much as I do. That is some of the best inspiration I could ever hope for. So thank you to everyone who keeps reading this blog and following my adventures.<br />
<br />
I wish everyone all the best that 2011 has to offer, and as always there are new photos on Facebook to go along with this post (the link isn't active so you'll have to copy and paste this one, sorry guys):<br />
<br />
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=320391&id=511087593&l=ea45c13373<br />
<br />
If they're not up when you read this, they will be within a few days, when I find a better internet connection :)<br />
<br />
<br />
Cheers!C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-74909987007096804282010-12-28T10:48:00.001-05:002010-12-28T10:48:58.636-05:00The Road East“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.” <br />
–Mahatma Gandhi<br />
<br />
Merry Christmas to everyone at home and abroad, and wishes for a Happy New Year as well!<br />
<br />
Picking up where my last post left off, I was very happy to leave the (cozy) confines of my Serbian hostel room in Nish and get back on the road to Bulgaria. I had been attempting to get there a few days earlier, but got held-up with a nasty bout of strep throat, so when I finally hopped on the train for Sofia the anticipation that had been building was well rewarded.<br />
<br />
The train was smoky, as usual, with entire cabins occupied by moving Roma families with bags piled floor to ceiling, but this train had an extra twist: a cigarette smuggling ring. We were crossing the Bulgarian border, and into EU territory from a non-EU country, so I knew customs would be a hassle, but when I saw a sketchy looking lady start to pry the paneling off the inside hallway of our car, I got really worried. What the h*** was going on?! The Hollywood blockbuster began to unfold and I had a front row seat. Next a large (drunk) man singing a Serbian folk tune, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth ran past my cabin with a ladder, soon to return and toss it up against the wall in order to pull down the ceiling tiles and stuff up cartons of cigarettes. At some point a metal piece form the roof fell down and got tossed out the window of the moving train with just a shrug. “Guess they didn’t need that piece very much.” Just before we crossed the border the situation took an interesting twist, two of the head smugglers decided to come in and share my cabin for the passport and customs control. Great! Just what I need, to be mixed up with cigarette smugglers! The interesting bit was that the Serbian girl who had been with me in the cabin before, and who spoke excellent English, was able to relay the story behind this illegal operation so I could understand what was going on, and why. Turns out, this happens every single day so I had nothing to be worried about. Whewf! Sure enough, at the border both sets of customs officers were extremely lenient with the smugglers and only confiscated about ½ of all the cigarettes they found. They just didn’t care. Bribes were paid to the ticket officers to look the other way (literally as the guy with the ladder hauled down what remained of the cigarettes not even a meter away), and as soon as all officials were off the train the race began to sell everything before we got to Sofia. The smugglers looked pretty sketchy, but other than that, like normal, middle-aged people, the majority of whom were women. I found this surprising, but it turns out they had all worked for state run companies back in communist era Yugoslavia (modern day Serbia), until the company had sold out to an international corporation and they had all lost their jobs. Without other training these people had been left to fend for themselves in a country with an economy in poor shape, and an even worse social system. The only option they saw was to smuggle cigarettes across the border to make ends meet. They weren’t proud about it, but they did what they had to do to supplement their 80euro (about $115) a month income. Welcome to reality for so many people in the East.<br />
<br />
Into Bulgaria I saw a country filled with contrasts. The rugged rural landscape and farming history are a shock against the urban concrete monstrosities left over from the Communist days. Within the capital of Sofia there are beautiful buildings, and old churches dating back to the early AD years, quite often these are in better shape than the newer apartments that are already peeling and crumbling. My favourite places in the city were the farmer’s market, which stretched for many city blocks and was chock full of all the grown, collected, dried, or butchered goods I could have ever imagined, and the Cathedral of St. Nicolas. The Easter Orthodox church towered above the ret of the city and inside the detail in all the votives and murals was astounding. There were chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and in the dark interior all you could smell was beeswax and incense with a healthy dose of dust for good measure. The floors were marble tiles and the altars were veritable thrones with regal Bulgarian lions standing guard. Unfortunately I couldn’t even sneak a few photos to show you, so I’ll leave it up to your imagination with the guidance I’ve given you, but be sure it was truly breathtaking. By the time I left, I was ready to continue my journey and head to Istanbul, the gateway to the Middle East (or so I thought).<br />
<br />
Istanbul is a gem of a city with a history that makes it all the more intriguing. Population 18 million- yes, that is about half of Canada in one city- the metropolis didn’t feel that overwhelming to me. Each little neighbourhood had its quirks and it was very easy to maneuver around… provided you weren’t driving on the roads! Everything was loud in Istanbul, that’s the best word for it. The store owners shouting at you from their doorsteps, the colours in all the bazaars, and of course the streets. Monuments were truly “Istanbul-sized,” like the Aiya Sofia and Topkapi Palace, the food had flavour to spare, and the tourist rip-offs were Istanbul-sized as well. After six days I had explored enough for this trip and was ready to move on, even if I didn’t know where to.<br />
<br />
Leaving Istanbul, the rest of my time in Turkey was a whirlwind through the beautiful and unique landscapes of Kapadokya, then south to Antarkya for a night before crossing the Syrian border with a fresh mind (and much needed patience) in the morning. This was my first ever visa hassle, so I was thankful that I was traveling with someone else who had already done some of his own traveling around the region and knew what to expect. I got bumped around from room to room meeting, but of course not being introduced to, all the military captains, generals, supervisors and their commanding officers. Each time I would get the same questions: was I married? No. What was my occupation? Student. Why did I want to travel in Syria? Tourism. And on, and on, and on. The hardest answer for the (all male) officers to accept was that I was not married. To complicate matters further, I was traveling with an Australian guy, and it was very difficult to convince the border guards that we were just friends, somehow that would get lost in translation every time. Being the only younger woman in the entire building, I think part of the reason they held me for so long was so everyone could get a look at the foreign girl, oh yeah I felt great being stared up and down repeatedly. Finally after a tense 1.5h and a lot of arguing on the part of our amazing bus driver, they let me into Syria- with a 48h transit visa. That was not what I was expecting, or what I had paid for, since I had already paid the fee for a full one-month visa, but they didn’t really bother to refund that, and I didn’t have the time, or the social status, to argue. Now what?<br />
<br />
Aleppo. Aleppo is Syria’s second largest city, and it was my first stop in the country. It’s a dusty, dirty, old maze of a city, mixed with all the traffic hazards and the crescendo of car horns that I’ve now come to associate with the Middle East. I really enjoyed the full experience of the city because it was something totally new to me, and turned out to really be my kind of city. Crossing the street meant taking your life into your hands, and it was there that I came to the conclusion that Syria might be the only place in the world where the horn in a car wears out before the brakes do. The city felt like a big ball of chaos, but somehow Aleppians manage to weave their way through the daily mess and create some kind of order in their lives. The best part about Aleppo for me was that after a multi-hour trip to the Immigration office, I got an extension on my visa, and I didn’t have to curb my plans to visit Syria. <br />
<br />
I left Aleppo heading south to Hama, wondering what Syrian adventure I would get into next. Hama isn’t as big as Aleppo, but it certainly makes up for that in hospitality. The people there were the kindest and most open of anywhere I travelled in Syria. A couple friends and I met the most amazing group of women one evening sitting in a park that overlooked the city. The women were very conservatively dressed in long, black, burkas, one woman, with only her eyes exposed. This was the woman who struck up a conversation with my friends and I after hearing us speaking in English. What made this extraordinary was that my two friends were men, and she began talking directly to one of them. I’ve been in similar situations before and usually local women will prefer to talk to other women as opposed to male foreigners, so this came as a complete shock to me. We got to know the women through Safra, the youngest, and most conservative, because she spoke excellent English. They were curious about our respective countries, the differences to Syria, what we thought of Syria and of Islam as well. Safra is 19 and married, but still attending university studying international tourism and had taught herself English and Italian. She’s incredibly intelligent and outgoing, but it was clear that she placed her religion ahead of everything else without conflict and took pride in all of what we, in the West, would see as restrictions in her lifestyle.<br />
I spent most of my time chatting to Safra’s mother in a mix of the little Arabic I understood and the few English words she knew, with lots of hand gestures thrown in for good measure. It was amazing everything that we could communicate. She was an Arabic teach in a primary school (just like my own mother in Canada with English), and her husband and two sons were doctors and dentists that had gone to work in Saudi Arabia because it was more profitable. She had made friends from all over the world and loved entertaining international guests. We talked and laughed for hours until the sun began to set, and the women had to leave. As we said goodbye I was once again reminded of the many joys of travelling and all the magical moments that come along with it. <br />
<br />
Moving out into the desert, I spent one night at the oasis of Palmyra. The city was small by Syrian standards and it felt like it. I nicknamed the place, “one-horse-town, Syria style,” because that’s exactly what it was, complete with tumbleweeds blowing down the streets. All the buildings were new and the streets were actually planned, so everything was in a grid pattern and became as much of a maze as any old city, because all the square concrete houses and shops looked exactly the same! The main attraction to this place was the ruins. The beautiful remains were of the ancient temples and a sandstone city that was once an envy of the ancient world. At sunset everything starts to glow pink and gold against the saturated blue of the sky, and dusty beige of the mountains, making it that much more impressive. The only drawback to these ruins which seem to go on forever, are all the jewelry peddlers, and men on motorbike who stop you every five minutes to ask if they can take you somewhere or if you want a ride. I was even offered to ride a camel out into the ruins! One evening spent amongst the skeletons of the ancient city was enough for me, and I managed to make it back to town before it got completely dark. One other unique thing that I saw in the desert for the first time, were the Bedouin. They’re an old nomadic, tribe that moves around from camp to camp in the desert. I didn’t expect to find any encampments so close to populated areas, but I could often see them from the highway as we sped along in the bus. Their tents were modern and heavily tarpped down, some even had a portable water tank sitting outside. They lived their lives moving constantly whenever that weather or season demanded it. That was hard for even me to imagine.<br />
<br />
My final stop in Syria was the capital of Damascus. I arrived amidst the craziest weather possible. There was snow everywhere in the city and it was piling up on cars and streets making everything messy, but just to make matters worse it had started to rain so snow that was on the ground, was now turning into freezing slush. The main highways in and out of the city of about 6 million, were flooding because the drainage system was not equipped to deal with freaky weather, and this was wreaking havoc everywhere. To give you some perspective of how unexpected this was, it was the first time it had rained in Syria in 3 months, and the people had been praying for rain, but it was also the first time it had snowed in Damascus in 20 years. Welcome to Damascus! Life was a little crazy for a while, but since it was the end of December I enjoyed the wintery weather and had several snowball fights on the streets. Someone even made a snowman’s head with a plastic carrot nose, and olives for eyes. Everything got wet, but so what, everything could be dried. The weather soon cleared up and it was back to highs in the high teens, early 20s,- not bad for December! The hostel was great, and I was a little sad to leave, but happy to be getting on with my trip, and soon to meet my mother for Christmas. <br />
<br />
I had an overnight stay in the glittering city of Beirut, Lebanon. That was a shock to my senses. I had become accustomed to the Syrian grunge and chaos, but in Beirut, everything sparkled. There were Christmas trees everywhere and I could have gone to buy a Prada purse right next to the Gucci store. Even the university area was strange. MacDonalds, Pizza Hut, and lots of other fast food chains reigned supreme on Rue Bliss, which ran along the main entrance to the American University in Beirut, one of the most prestigious schools in the Middle East. In this district, English was spoken as widely as Arabic, and there were university kids running around everywhere, doing typical “American” university kid things. I felt like I was home again, but in some place that didn’t feel familiar at all. It was so entirely strange that I was thankful to leave early the next morning to fly to Cyprus, so my brain could readjust itself before I had to come back in the New Year.<br />
<br />
It’s been an interesting and very challenging trip so far in the Middle East and Turkey. I’ve learned to “turn off” my Western mind at times when things get frustrating, and always remember that I truly am the outsider and I need to be more open than usual to strange and sometime what I would consider demeaning customs. I didn’t talk about it a lot in this post, but the way I was treated as a foreign woman varied widely in Syria and Lebanon, depending on where I went and who I was with, Turkey was very different so it can’t really be counted. I rarely felt unsafe, knowing that I could use my own wits to get myself out of sticky situations; it was more just coming to terms with being less comfortable on a daily basis. I was conscious of the customs and I think that helped a lot, but of course locals could spot me a mile away as a tourist. Since I’m heading back into the Middle East I am prepared for it to start all over again, and only get more challenging as I head in Egypt (which I have been warned and cautioned about many, many times by other travellers). Despite any challenges I may face, this area of the world is certainly worth travelling and seeing for yourself, since everyone leaves with a different souvenir. <br />
<br />
From the beautiful island of Cyprus I send everyone, everywhere Holiday greetings and in true Canadaian fashion, I hope that the weather is as nice for you as it is for me, even if you don’t get to spent Christmas lying on the beach, but that will be my next post. As usual it’s been fun putting all my experiences in order and down in type so that I can share them with you, and expect another post early in the New Year on my mother and my Cypriot adventures. I promise the next post won’t be near as long! <br />
<br />
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to all! <br />
Shukran, sahdir (transliterated Arabic)<br />
<br />
P.S. I have also just put up a photo album on Facebook, so here is the link, and I’m sure this one will work even if you don’t have a Facebook account. Just copy and paste the link and it will take you directly there!<br />
<br />
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=316304&id=511087593&l=4d2dc71ae7C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-44912050688442326572010-11-23T14:44:00.002-05:002010-11-23T18:10:14.255-05:00Balkan Beauty"The world today can be a scary place, it's hard to keep your faith in the human race; <br />
We're running out of trees and we're running out of space;<br />
But we'll never run out of good people." - Great Big Sea (Good People)<br />
<br />
From the moment I stepped off the plain in Zagreb I knew I was in for a different experience. Let the currency changes, total unfamiliarity, and language barriers begin!<br />
<br />
I don't think I could have picked a better starting point than Zagreb. Most people spoke decent English so it was an easier transition to the very first country that posed a true language barrier. The city itself is very beautiful, with a lively cafe culture and vendors roasting chestnuts on every corner. I would have never believed that concrete could be elegant, but the crumbling facades and mock 19th century architecture proved me wrong! Walking around I noticed that people generally kept to themselves and didn't concern themselves with anyone else on the street, but they still carried themselves with a relaxed air... a far cry from the Parisian attitude. The Croatian capital also gave me my first taste of the recent and violent history of the region. Outside the national theatre, I stumbled across what I thought was an art exhibit, but turned out to be so much more. On well-lit boards were photos and stories of survivors whose loved ones had been killed or simply disappeared during the 1990's conflicts. There were 15 photos to represent the 15,000 Croatians who are still missing. For me the most chilling realization that I took away from the display, was that I was learning about a war where my generation were the ones left orphaned and alone. It certainly gave me new perspective when I wasn't thinking about grandfathers, or great grandfathers who would have been fighting. Walking away form the display, I had a hard time not trying to imagine what every person I crossed on the streets here had lived through, but somewhere on that walk I made one of the most important realization that would carry me through my travels here in the Balkans: Life goes on. This was the true meaning behind the cliche. Standing in this vibrant, colourful city, surrounded by warm hospitality, I would have never suspected this regions tumultuous past.This one moment, so early in my time here in Eastern Europe defined much of what I would experience over the next few weeks.<br />
<br />
From Zagreb I headed south along the Dalmatian coast to the ancient Roman city of Split. The Croatian coast is known to rival the French Riviera... and I would agree! White marble streets (that are very slippery when wet) and palm trees everywhere. Not to mention great seafood! After a short, but fun stay in Split I moved on to Dubrovnik at the southern-most tip of Croatia. The landscape all along the coast is breathtaking to say the least. Rocky cliffs seemed to spring up from the turquoise blue Adriatic; this made for a very beautiful (6h) bus ride to Dubrovnik. The city itself is similar to Split, if much more touristy. The walk along the ramparts was definitely the high point of my time there. The entire "old city" is surrounded by high ramparts that overlook the sea and the city below, but the most amazing part about this ancient city, is that much of it isn't ancient at all. During the 1990's conflicts the city was heavily bombed and virtually destroyed. Since then many, many stone masons and construction crews have worked to restore the city to its original state. Today, visitors would have difficulty telling the difference between the old and the new!<br />
<br />
As I am quickly learning my Canadian spatial sense is doing me no good over here. Distances on road signs are clearly measure "as the crow flies" and travelling between cities seems to take forever... even worse when there's a border involved! So after Dubronik I ventured inland to Mostar, Bosnia-Herzegovina (yes, I learned how to spell that... if anyone reading this wants to know how to say it, it's "her-tze-go-vee-na"). Here began my love affair with the tiny, "heart-shaped nation." the countryside is rugged and beautiful, just like the people who live there. Language barriers were nothing to overcome, even if people spoke every language BUT English and French. Walking down the well-lit streets, Mostar has an eerie sense about it; I would pass bombed out buildings that stood next to colourful cafes and rebuilt shops. The sidewalks were in need of a little work, and locals only used them in emergency situations, like when a car would drive down the road. Mostar was also my first taste of the immense Turkish influence in the region, which was under Ottoman control for many centuries.<br />
<br />
Next stop was Sarajevo, where I can say with certainty that I indulged in plenty of Bosnian/Balkan specialties and learned how to properly drink Bosnian Coffee. I made (and re-made) some great friends and had many unforgettable moments. My favourite had to be my last night there. I climbed up one of the very steep hills surrounding the city, just to get into the residential areas, but was treated to the most spectacular sunset I have ever seen. The sky was glowing orange and pink, and I could see the entire city below me. Just as the sun was dipping below the hills all the minarets started their call to prayer, and almost simultaneously the church bells began to ring. That was when I knew I was in love with this city, and this country as a whole. The only word that will do it justice is... magic. <br />
<br />
Belgrade was a sharp contrast to the warmth and charm of Sarejavo. Once the capital of communist Yugoslavia, this sprawling concrete jungle felt more like it belonged in Western Europe than the Eastern half. When most capitals in this region don't top 800,000, Belgrade, with a population of 1.7 million felt immense, and anonymous. Two days was plenty of time for me here.<br />
<br />
I continued my adventure south, to Skopje, Macedonia, once again adjusting to a new language and currency... hooray! Great food was easy to come by, and very cheap, my greatest delight was that you could get vegetables... even salads! As a side note you can also get beer in 2L plastic bottles and every hostel owner and their neighbour has their own home-brewed version of the local alcoholic potion- Rakia. My taste of Macedonia was limited, but I can still say that this is one of the most under-developed countries I've seen yet. Not the absolute worst, but still a very simple lifestyle where manual labour is the tool of choice for things like agriculture, and even road building! But if I though Macedonia was rough... a day trip to Kosovo gave me a new perspective. One of the world's newest countries, Kosovo was officially created in 2008, but it still isn't recognized by Serbia as an independent state (... and I had my Kosovo passport stamp crossed out at the Serbia border to prove it). Anything outside the capital of Prishtina is best described as "third-world." Paved roads don't exist and international military installations are common- as is evident by the posted highway speed limits for tanks. The capital city is better developed and is centered around towering EU/UN buildings. This country truly feels like another world entirely.<br />
<br />
On my way to Sofia, Bulgaria, I made an unplanned pit stop in Nish, Serbia, where I have enjoyed the scenic views of my hostel dorm room for the last three days thanks to a nasty bug of some sort. Bed rest, chicken noodle soup and tea have done wonders, and I heading off to Sofia tomorrow. From there I'll continue east to Istanbul and into the Middle East. Let the adventure continue!<br />
<br />
The Balkans have been an amazing experience., The sights and magnificent, the history is intricate, and the hospitality is the stuff of legends. I can't count the number of times I've been adopted by older women on train/bus trips, despite complete language barriers! This place is truly wonderful and I'm thankful everyday for all the experiences I've had and those yet to come.<br />
<br />
Hvala Vam<br />
<br />
As usual... I will have photos up on Facebook shortly so here's the link if you want to go check them out :) This should be a public link, so even if you don't have Facebook you can still see the photos!<br />
<br />
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=304203&id=511087593&l=bba2dc7450C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-17505880125249967352010-11-02T12:34:00.000-04:002010-11-02T12:34:08.242-04:00The French Adventures- Part 2"Life is a long lesson in humility." -James M. Barrie<br />
<br />
Life really does make the best teacher, and all of the lessons have a distinct purpose, even if we don't realize it at the time.<br />
<br />
... So where did I leave off in this French saga? Brive, or rather <i>getting</i> to Brive. This was the day I officially named the "Day from Hell." Leaving Montpellier I was anxious and excited to go back to familiar territory, see my lycée friends, but most importantly, see my host family that I had lived with during my exchange in 2008. (Most) of whgom I hadn't seen in over 2 years. Emotions already amuck, I got to the train station early, and until then hadn't had any problems with the periodic train strikes. Well, after a series of unfortunate events, I got kicked off the train by the conductor because there was absulutely no room. I was left standing on the platform alone, as I watched the only train (indefinitively) that would make the connections to Brive, speed down the tracks, without me. Pissed off doesn't quiote cut it. The ONLY time I actually have someone waiting for me at the other end of the journey, just my luck. At that moment it felt like the end of the world.<br />
<br />
From that point, the journey was taken in stages, usually with me sitting on the floor or standing with my heavy pack because there were no seats. Finally, late that night I arrived in Cahors, the closest I could get to Brive (about 1h by car). Michel (my host father) was going to meet me there. Exhausted, I waited in the very empty train station, content, until in stumbled a drunken bumm- great, just what my day needed. In slurred French he proceeded to ask me 1 million questions and tell me how beautiful I was, every 5 min. moving one seat closer to me. Late at night, there was no one around. However, just as I started to actually become concerned, Michel arrived to save the day! Officially the day from Hell. <br />
<br />
Brive was an amazing experience. I stayed for a whole week, and loved every minute of it, surrounded my family and familiarity, home-cooked meals, time to relax, and visit with the family that I hadn't seen since I left France for the first time back in '08. Just the feeling of being home, and totally at ease did wonders for me. It was also the very first time that I actually noticed that I've grown up. I'm an adult out discovering the world on my own. Leaving was tearful as I said goodbye to everyone, with promises to return before I head back to Canada.<br />
<br />
Next stop was Limoges to visit Coraline and more friends. Leaving there was more complicated as the train strikes had gotten worse, to the point that the company didn't even know which trains would run the next day until 6pm the night before. Reservations anywhere were impossible, so it was flying by the seat of my pants as I headed to Paris with no idea where I was going next. I ended up in Brittany, in the city of St. Malo. The region is gorgeous and the city is a medieval fortress on the Atlantic coast. It was amazing, but unfortunately crawling with tourists because it was the start of nationwide school vacations in many European countries, including France, and there was a huge catamaran regatta in port preparing for a race all the way to Guadaloupe that would start the following week. At the hostel I met some really cool Quebecois, and sure enough, had difficulty with there accent at times (in French), but thankfully, not very often.<br />
<br />
Next was over to the North and actually into Belgium, because the hostel I had been trying to get to in Lille (France) was still booked. The next week was spent touring through almost all of Belgium, with stops in Bruges, Antwerp, and Liège (I missed Brussels). Belgium is a beautiful, but in my opinion, confusing country, with multiple lanuages that vary by region, and thus multiple names for everything! Chocolate shops, waffle and fry vendors were everywhere and pubs/bars were on every street corner. The countryside is incredibly green, even at the end of October, and is dotted with lots of little farms and brick homes. I often had difficulty finding accomodations because of school vacations, but everything worked out in the end.<br />
<br />
Then it was back to France, to Dunkirk (north of Lille), because Lille, and the entire countris of Belgium, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, northn Germany, and Northern France were entirely booked up. I'm not kidding, there was NOTHING.<br />
<br />
Halloween day I arrived in Lille (finally), and the weather felt just like being back in Ireland. I passed through many famous areas surrounding the city, and in the end forgot what the huge draw was in the first place. Regardless it was a very enjoyable city.<br />
<br />
Back in Paris, the next stop will be an entirely new part of my travels as I fly to Zagreb, Croatia on Nov. 3.<br />
<br />
<br />
Amazing, difficult, but ultimately the most rewarding experiences of my life. Travel, and life, really do make the best teachers.<br />
<br />
à la prochaine- Bisous à Tous!<br />
<br />
*************************************************************************<br />
<br />
"La vie est un leçon dans l'humilité qui dure longtemps." -James M. Barrie<br />
<br />
La vie est le meilleur enseignant de tout, même si tous les lçons ne sont pas biens compris au moment, ils ont tous un but uniques.<br />
<br />
... Alors où est-ce que j'ai terminé ma saga française? Brive, ou plutçot comment je me suis arrivée à Brive. C'étiat une journée que j'ai nommé, "La journée de l'Enfer."<br />
<br />
De partir de Montpellier j'avais senti beaucoup des emtions; l'anxiété, l'anticipation, et j'étais heauresuse aussi de finallement revoir ma famille d'acceuil. (Le plupart) De qui je n'avais pas vu depuis que je suis rentrée au Canada. Donc avec un coeur trop chargé je me suis arrivée à la gare bien en avance. Jusqu'à ce moment je n'avais pas eu des problèemes avec les grèves de le SNCF, donc, selon moi, la journée dû derouler toute simplement. Mais non. Apès une série des événements qui n'étiaent pas de tout prévues... j'ai râté le train. Le contrôleur m'a fait desçendu du train car il n'y avait pas de la place pour moi, même si j'ai un billet dans le main. J'etais la seule laissé sur le quaiavec aucun prospêt de prendre un autre train qui faissait les connexions jusqu'à Brive, indéfinitvement. Merde. "Ennerver" ne suffise pas pour exprimer toutes les emotions que j'ai senti. La seaule fois que j'avais quelqu'un qui m'attendais à l'autre bout du trajet- violà, ça peut arriver qu'à moi.<br />
<br />
Dès ça le voyage était fait en plusieurs étapes, d'habitude je n'avais pas une place assise dans les train, sinon c'était assise sur mon sac-à-dos ou par terre. Mais j'étais quand même contente d'être sur les trains. Enfin je me suis rétrouvée à la gare de Cahors à 21h, où il n'y avait personne. Je serais été contente de rester là, tranquille, jusqu'à Michel est arrivé pour me chercher, mais non. Un homme totallement bourréeétait entré dans la gare et il s'assoyait à côté de moi. Il avait commencé de m'embêter serieusement, quand Michel était vénu. Voilà la journée de l'Enfer.<br />
<br />
A Brive j'ai passé un bon moment et j'ai rester là pendant une semaine entière. J'ai adoré chaque jour, chaque moment, et même chaque seconde que j'ai passé là. Je me suis senti comme une enfante gâté, entourné dans toutes les affections de l'amour d'une famille, mma famille. En plus je connassais déjà la ville, presque mieux que les Brivistes (peut-être). La cuisine maison, le temps pour me reposer, et une soirée avec "les amis"; c'est difficile d'exprimer toutes mes emotions, mais le meiux que je peux faire est de dire que j'étais "chez moi." Il y avait un autre côté de ma séjour à Brive aussi, je me suis sentie pour la première fois que j'avais grandi. Que maintenant je suis une adulte qui voyage toute seule dans le monde. Les aurevoirs étaient dûrs et j'avais les yeux pleines de larmes à chaque fois. J'ai dû absoluement passer par Briver en revtrant du Canada l'année prochaine. Donc ce n'étaient pas forecement les "aurevoirs," plutôt les "à juins."<br />
<br />
Le prochain arrêt était à Limoges pour visiter avec Coraline, voir son apartement, et aussi de rencontre les amis de qui j'avais entendu parler de depuis longtemps. et voilà j'ai passé encore des bon moments à Limoges et c'était dûr de partir (surtout à 6h du matin)!<br />
<br />
Pour partir je ne pourrais pas faire les réservations à cause des gèves et car je n'avais aucunes idée quel trains circulerait. Le plan était de partir pour Paris et après pour Lille, mais le plan était completement refait à Paris car l'aubèrge à Lille était complet. OK, donc... à St. Malo! Il y avait la place dans l'aubèrge puis il y avait les trains qui circulent, Parfait! La Bretagne et très belle et la ville est une ancienne fortresse Medéivale au bord de la mer. C'etait dommage que la ville était pleine des touristes qui viennent soit à cause des vacances scolaries (qui juste viennent de commencer dans plusieurs pays Européens, la France incluse), soit pour un concours de batreau entre le St. Malo et la Guadaloupe qui partira la semaine après. A St. Malo j'ai rencontré deux Québecois qui étaient vraiements géniales et tellement drôles. C'était bizarrecar pour la première fois que j'ai rencontré quelqu'un de mon propre pays, je ne me suis pas rendue compte qu'ils étaient forecment "canadiens", plutôt "québecois." En plus, en français j'avais eu de defficulté avec leurs accent, mais heureusement, pas trop.<br />
<br />
Le prochain déplacement m'a fait traversé le pays et enfin rentré dans la Belgique, car Lille était encore complet. La prochaine semaine j'ai passé en Belgique avec les arrêts à Briges, Anvers, et Liège (j'ai manqué Bruxelles). Un très beau pays, mais difficile à navigué car il y a plusieurs langues et plusieurs noms pour tous les choses (les villes incluse). Il y avait les chocolatier et les petits vendeurs des gaufre et des frites partout, et aussi il y avait les bars/pub sur chaque coin. Le paysage est encore très vêrt même si c'était le fin d'octobre. Par contre j'au eu beaucoup de difficulté à trouver les aubèrges de jeunesse à cause des vacances scolaires, mais enfin c'était bien passé. <br />
<br />
L'Halloween était arrivée et finallement je me suis rétrouvée à Lille. Le temps m'as semblé que je me suis rentrée en Irlande, mais ça. Enfin, la ville et le paysage était très jolis, mais je ne sais pas qu'est-ce qui m'attirais si fortement à cette ville.<br />
<br />
Maintenant je suis rentrée à Paris pour commencer la prochaine partie de mes voyages. J'ai un vol à Zagreb en Croatie le 3 nov.<br />
<br />
<br />
Merveilleux, difficile, mais enfin les plus belles expériences de ma vie. De voyager, et la vie, sont les meilleurs enseignants.<br />
<br />
A la prochaine- Bros Bisous à Tous!C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-37081311189955154922010-10-19T11:57:00.000-04:002010-10-19T11:57:44.601-04:00France Part 1- Paris et le Sud“Home is not where you live, but where they understand you.”- Christian Morgenstern<br />
<br />
Coming back to France has definitely felt like coming home, even if I’ve never been to the city before, there’s always something slightly familiar that I just can’t put my finger on. Despite initial language worries, it has actually been easier travelling here than in Ireland/UK. The reasoning is a bit hard to explain, it’s partly being able to recognize all the foods when you walk into a grocery store, knowing where to go to buy things, and how to navigate the bus/train network. Other than those concrete things, there’s certainly a feeling that this place isn’t so foreign after all.<br />
<br />
Paris was stop #1, after a 21h bus trip from Edinburgh that arrived at 6am! *(Ouch) I wandered around the beautiful streets in some (finally) gorgeous weather. All the leaves were starting to change colour and the air smelled like a true autumn day. Paris was as beautiful and romantic as ever, I decided, as I strolled down the riverside boulevards feeling happy to finally be someplace familiar.<br />
In Nice my body got a much needed vitamin D boost from the sun and warm shorts-and-tanktop weather. Clothing and towels finally dried that had been wet since Scotland! This was someplace I had no desire to leave; the city of Nice is absolutely beautiful, cornered between the Mediterranean and the Alps. The Old Port has kept much of its character with brightly coloured streets and the cuisine is amazing! The best part of Nice though wasn’t the city, or the beach, or the climate- it was the amazing people I met there. I felt like I was part of a true family, even for a few days, as I toured around the area with our little international troupe. I soon discovered that Nice is also a great base to do lots of little day trips from to the surrounding villages and beaches. I have no officially seen the rich, deluxe, lavish side of the world after touring Monaco and Cannes; it’s days like this that make the travelling life pale in comparison to material possessions. That thought usually passes pretty quickly though.<br />
<br />
Next stop was Marseille. It’s a city I had read about in a magazine, years ago and since then have wanted to visit. The sunny city is right on the Med. and the old port opens out onto a bay spotted with rocky islands (including the Island of If that was immortalized in Dumas’, The Count of Monte Cristo). Walking down the streets everything had a yellowish hue and I could really feel the history seeping from the walls. Out in the newer parts of the city I quickly learned to keep my wits about me as being approached by strangers (even security guards!!!) and hearing catcalls was common. Despite this uncomfy feeling, I put on my Parisienne face (the biggest, baddest scowl I could muster up and a distinct sense of purpose in my steps), and everything was fine. Travel is such a learning experience.<br />
<br />
Next came a small city that to me was just a dot on the map, turned out it had been Picasso’s home in France for a while and, surprise there were a couple of Roman coliseums to check out. I felt slightly out of place, as most of the travelers there were at least triple my age, but hey, maybe it just means I’m ahead of my time? Montpellier was next, and I managed to find a friend of a friend through Couchsurfing to start off my time there. A beautiful, cool, hip, funky, VERY clean city, Montpellier had a great ambiance about it. I could actually see myself going back there and staying for a while. <br />
<br />
Next stop Brive. This is home for me, since I lived there for a while back in High School. It’s hard to even imagine right now, truly coming home to someplace that feels just as comfortable as returning to Canada, where people already know me, and for once during this year I will no longer be a traveller or a tourist, but a visitor coming home.<br />
<br />
P.S. if you want to check out photos, they are on my facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/album.php?aid=293293&id=511087593&comments&po=1¬if_t=photo_album_comment<br />
<br />
************************************************************************************<br />
<br />
Car je suis en France, j’ai dû practiquer mon français un peu donc cette édition de ma blog va être bilangue. Je dis désolé en avance pour TOUS les fautes de grammaire! <br />
<br />
« Domicile n’est pas où tu habites, mais où les gens tu-comprends. » -Christian Morgenstern<br />
<br />
De retourner en France m’as donné le sens de vraiment être chez moi, même si c’est ma première fois dans une ville. Il y a quelque chose que je me sens, mais je ne peux pas comprendre. J’ai trouvé qu’il est beaucoup plus facile pour moi de voyager en France qu’au Royaume Uni ou Irlande, même si (d’habitude) on parle la même langue. C’est un peu difficile à expliquer, par exemple, ça me met plus alaise quand je rentre dans un supermarché de savoir que je connais tout les diffèrent types d’alimentation dedans, ou le savoir où je pourrais acheter les choses si j’en ai besoin, ou la connaissance de comment faire marcher le réseau de transport dans le pays. C’est juste quelque chose.<br />
<br />
Paris était mon premier arrêt en France, après un voyage en bus de Edimbourg, qui avait prit 21h et était arrivé à 6h du matin. J’ai baladé en ville pour profiter du beau temps (finalement du beau temps) ! Toutes les feuilles avaient commencé de tomber et de changer couleur, l’air a senti aussi comme une vraie journée d’automne. Paris était belle et stereo-typiquement romantique comme tout, j’ai décidé, en marchant au coté de la Seine, enfin contente d’être quelque par familier.<br />
<br />
À Nice mon corps a reçu une injection de vitamine D grâce au soleil et le temps qui fait si beau que je pourrais porter des shorts ! Les choses qui étaient mouillé depuis Écosse ont finalement eu la chance de sécher. Nice était vraiment un place que je n’avais aucune envie de partir ; la ville est tellement belle et il y a tout un rayon des couleurs partout, sur les murs, les toiles, les rues. En plus il y avait la mer et la culture qui était également vibrante. Le vieux-port a gardé beaucoup de sa caractère et les traditions sont encore vivants, et la cuisine était superbe ! Mais le meilleur partie de mes experiences à Nice n’était pas le climat, ni la mer, en effet la meilleur partie était les amis j’ai fait et les bons moments on avait passé ensemble. Ca m’a senti d’être dans une petite famille internationale touts les jours quand on a fait les excursions aux villages justes dehors de Nice. Maintenant j’ai vu les plus riches du monde à Monaco puis à Cannes et il est les jours comme ça que j’ai envie d’avoir un grand bateau et d’habiter dans un château au bord de la mer, mais ça sensation se passe très vite. <br />
<br />
Le prochain arrêt était Marseille. C’est une ville que j’ai lu un article à propos de quelques années avant, et depuis j’avais envie d’aller voir. La ville en plein soleil est sur la côte de la Méditerranée et le port s’ouvre à une baie remplie des Iles Calanques (qui incluent l’ile D’If qui a fait partie du Comte de Monte Cristo de Alexandre Dumas). En promenant dans la vielle ville j’avais l’impression que l’histoire se suinte des murs, et toutes les choses ont avaient un teinte un peu jaune, mais peut-être c’était le soleil. En sorti de la vielle ville j’ai appris rapidement d’être toujours consciente de toute qui se passe autour de moi, car d’être approché par des gens m’arrivé plusieurs fois (même un homme de sécurité dans un magasin). N’importe ce sentiment de mal alaise j’ai mis mon « visage Parisien » (le plus méchant que j’ai pourrais faire), et tout est bien passé. De voyager est vraiment une expérience d’apprentissage.<br />
<br />
Après était la petite ville de Arles. Pour moi c’était qu’un point sur la carte de sud de la France, mais en effet elle était la ville où Picasso avait habité pendant des années et il y a des arènes romaines en plus ! J’ai senti un peu hors de la norme car tous les autres touristes avaient triple mon âge ! Peut-être je suis toute simplement en avance de mon époque ? Montpellier était après, et j’avais la chance de retrouver une amie d’une amie avec le Couchsurfing. Une ville très jolie, au courant, TRÈS propre, et diverse, je l’ai bien aimé. En l’avenir ça peut être une ville où je pourrais penser d’habiter .<br />
<br />
Maintenant le prochain déplacement va être vers Brive. Cette ville est absolument « chez moi » et même à ce moment c’est difficile d’imaginer de rentre chez moi, à une ville qui est si confortable que Little Current en Canada. C’est un endroit où les gens me connaisse déjà, et pour une seule fois pendant cette année que voyage, je n’aurais plus un voyageur, ni une touriste mais quelqu’un qui rentre chez eux.C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-45340338857848899382010-10-01T10:01:00.000-04:002010-10-01T10:01:50.428-04:00Ireland and the United Kingdom- The Learning Stages(London-Liverpool-Dublin-Killarney-Galway-Belfast-Edinburgh)<br />
<br />
"You must do the thing which you think you cannot do." - Eleanor Roosevelt<br />
<br />
These frist three weeks have been amazing! Life lessons galore, and I can only expect more to come for the rest of my time abroad. I feel like I've learned so much, simple things, but still important when you're travelling alone: <br />
#1- Be assertive at all times. Which goes hand-in-hand with...<br />
#2- Sellf-confidence = survival!<br />
#3- Listen more, learn more; meeting amazing people has been a huge part of my experience so far, and it's always great to walk away with a sense that I've really learned something new.<br />
#4- Solo, young, female traveller= people magnet; sometimes this is not so good, but 99% of the time it's great. A smile works wonders to smooth things over and make language barriers easier.<br />
#5- (Something I like to think I knew all along that's just been reinforced) People are people no matter what nationality they are, and everyone has a unique point of view. That to me is facisnating, and the whole reason I am travelling... besides seeing the world!<br />
<br />
~London was a bit of a blur, the biggest thing I discovered was a tour company that operates all over Europe's major cities called "New Europe Tours." They're great and the best part about them, they're free! The guides operate on a tips only basis so you get a great, enthusiastic walking tour.<br />
~Liverpool was more of a cultural experience. Coping with strong accents I managed to hear some amazing stories and meet cool people, including a man who had seen the Beatles in Liverpool before they were big, only becuase his frind was playing in a band that was playing ahead of them at teh open mic night! It was a little difficult to figure out how to leave (ferry to Dublin), and spent the better part of a day wandering around in circles from various different directions. In the end the confusion was explaned by the fact that everyone was sending me in search of a pier that had recently sunk... oops! Eventually found my way and met plenty of great people along the way. Liverpuddlians (as they are called) are extremely friendly, I would ask for directions and someone would walk me to where I needed to go. Everyone was so kind that it really left an impression on me and I know that I will be back someday.<br />
~Ireland (for the sake of people readfing this I will attempt to condense it a bit). Saw a few places in teh Republic and then Belfast in the North. Everywhere I went I found the most amazing landscape, welcoming people and a taste of culture. I took a couple of day tours, into the Wicklow mountains and then to the Aran Islands, both were great and the views were spectacular. In the cities I learned about Irish culture, past and present, but there was one moment that really stuck out for me. I was in Galway (pop. 90 000) and walking down a posh street when I came across this line of people stretching down the sidwalk for blocks. Inside the building it was packed, so I stopped to ask what it was. The mad replied, "The Dole office." With a little shock and embarassment I thanked him. These were the people from the city that were currently unemployed and living off what we in Canada would call welfare. This was no special day, it was like this every day. For me it was a bit of a shock, I knew the recession had hit Ireland hard, but with little in the way of primary or secondary industries to offer a buffer, the economy had hit rock bottom. This was the first of I'm sure what will be many perspective shaping moments on this trip.<br />
Belfast in the north provided a great history/culture lesson which was apparent when I walked out into the city. Stepping out of the bus station was a huge mural with a masked paramilitary gunman and union jack with the words, "Welcome to the Loyalist heartland of Sandy Row..." Wow, reality check, that conflict is not ancient history! Other than the murals dotting teh city, there was little evidence that this was a hotbed of conflict the people's demeanor, everyone I met was kind and just as friendly as their southern Irish counterparts.<br />
~Edinburgh was another great city, it was what I had imagined London to be like-twisty back alleyways, beautiful centuries old buildings and cobblestone streets. It had a friendly atmosphere and everything a traveller could want to do, shopping hiking culture, day trips, you name it they did it. I liked it so much I decided to stay longer than anticipated, but why not?! That is the beauty of not having to stick to someone else's schedule.<br />
<br />
So far I've had many great experiences, met new people, discovered new cultures and foods, even built up enough muscles to hoist my heavy backpack! What a great start to this adventure, and I can only hope that I learn as much in the rest of my trip as I feel that I have already in these first few weeks.<br />
<br />
Cheers<br />
<br />
P.S. If you'd like to see photos check out my facebook page, I haven't figured out how to post them to my blog yet! <br />
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=287848&id=511087593&savedC.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-16413464477552269062010-09-10T13:43:00.000-04:002010-09-10T13:43:15.370-04:00London Calling"Hey somewhere... You threw your fears in the sea of no cares." -Great Big Sea<br />
<br />
Day 2- London, UK<br />
<br />
Before I left Cananda, my usual reply to anyone who questioned me going solo was, "Oh I'm sure I'll meet people." As confident as I may of sounded, I was still a little doubtful, but within hours of beginning my travels, sure enough I had met people. Here and there people who support what I'm doing and even someone who's doing the same thing (well sort of). <br />
<br />
I landed in Keflavik, Iceland (just outside of Reykjavik) for my 10h layover between Toronto and London, but that may have been my favourite part of the journey so far. Going into the city I met Cassie, who was on the same flight to London. We spent the day wandering around the city, which isn't that big for a capital (180,000 ppl), but what it lacks in population, it certainly makes up for in culture. Everyone has their own individual style and fashion sense, the narrow hilly streets are navigated by an even mix of Asian, North American, and European cars, and EVERYTHING is centered around efficiency. With the summers in 24h daylight, almost all buildings have large, east-facing windows to maximize the sunlight. MNost buildind are relatively new by European standards, and contemporary art plays a huge role in the society. <br />
<br />
Outside the city the landscape is barren; there are no trees or shrubs other than at sealevel because the country is too far north. Instead the ground is rocky and covered by long, flat grasses and mosses. It all makes for a very alien effect with the volcanoes and hot springs smoking in the background.<br />
<br />
Overall Reykjavik was amazing and seen in good company. Landing in London was a bit of a hastle through customs and the airport, but eventually I got through and back to my hostel. That trip did include minor detours through all Earl's Court with my VERY heavy backpack as I walked in circles trying to find the hostel late at night! Got in and met my roommates, 2 French girls, 1 girl from Hong Kong, a girl from Italy, and an Aussie. <br />
<br />
Now I'm beginning to explore the city and my new freedom. I'll keep you posted.<br />
<br />
Cheers,<br />
CassandraC.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8716911110835302710.post-69343560720791241112010-08-23T22:19:00.000-04:002010-08-23T22:19:40.249-04:00Reality Check<br />
“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.” –Albert Einstein<br />
<br />
Time. Some days it passes quickly, others it seems to take forever for each minute to pass. Well, this was one of those moments where time all of a sudden caught up to me. Lying awake, I finally counted the days until I leave on this crazy mad adventure. I’d been putting off counting since the one-month milestone so the total gave me a long awaited reality check. 15 days. Just over two weeks and I will be across the pond in the home of The Beatles, fish n’ chips, and of course the right-side steering wheel. It will be totally new and different, but that’s exactly what I’m after.<br />
<br />
The to-do list is getting shorter, and now I’m faced with the reality of this trip that has been so long in the making. I’ll be on my own for the first time in my life, in a foreign country, no limitations, restrictions or schedules. Total freedom. Everything I’ve been so excited about is suddenly terrifying. Regardless of any doubts or inhibitions I may have now, my plane ticket says I’m going, so in 15 days home will fade away out the window of a 747, on my way to London.<br />
<br />
So here’s to the adventure and every new experience to come. Welcome to my blog and I hope you’ll enjoy reading about my experiences as much as I will sharing them.<br />
<br />
‘Till next time.<br />
Cass<br />
C.McColmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10095997307502050627noreply@blogger.com5