Friday, 1 March 2024
We arrived to a nearly vacant Siem Reap International Airport (SAI) at about 1230 coming from four days in cold rainy Paris followed by three sweltering, radiant days in Bangkok. Out ATR 72-600 from Bangkok Air was the only plane anywhere at the airport as it taxied to a stop at a gate equipped for much larger aircraft. Because the jetway would not accommodate our little prop plane, we walked down the aircraft’s own steps and across the blazing tarmac to a ground-level entrance. From there, we walked in the empty halls to immigration.
The immigration hall had about a four-to-one passenger to agent ratio, but still l took longer than necessary. We’d completed our immigration and customs cards on the flight and had hard-copies of our eVisas, but that didn’t seem to speed things up very much. Our agent was picky about the photo he took of each of us and seemed to really enjoy stamping things with his three different red-inked stamps.
Our bags were on the carousel by the time we made it to baggage claim and Paren, our Cambodia contact for the trip, was waiting for us at the door.
The weather was just like Bangkok with hazier skies due to some burning rice fields we saw on the aircraft’s approach. The road into town from the airport was new and uncrowded. We passed barren rice fields, cassava, and orchards of cashew trees laden with red cashew “apples” with the dangling nut below. Farm carts were along the road as were many large, white Brahma cattle and their calves.
Paren told us about his background, saying that his parents had split when he was young and that he’d struggled to go to school, walking four kilometers each was to school in the primary grades and then, for “secondary” (i.e., middle school) biking 15 km each way, just happy to have gifted a bike by a local charity.
He told us about the constant pressure on children to drop out of school to help parents farm or fish and how few opportunities there were for many. He had been tempted to drop out many times, too, and sounded grateful but not boastful that he’d stuck to it.
He’d managed to go to high school as well and then got a job as a nighttime hotel receptionist working nights and staying in a simple apartment room. The hotel gave him at least one meal per day, but after rent and electricity, he was netting only one dollar per day.
His break came when he was offered a job by an NGO named Plan International where he worked and learned English, ultimately becoming an English teacher. He then moved to Bridge of Life, his current employer, and is our primary contact and driver for the project.
Paren took us to a cell phone store on the way to the hotel and I bought a Samsung Galaxy A14 replacement phone for my Google Pixel 6a that died in Bangkok, leaving me anxious about connection to an extent that was both depressing and surprising.
The sales clerk was very helpful and installed my Pixel SIM card. Ultimately, the phone worked, but the SIM did not. I would have to rely on WiFi and tethering to Becky’s hotspot with her Pixel 7 to stay connected and get a new SIM when we returned to the States.
We checked into the hotel at about 3:30pm and moved into our spacious room after having the entire complex explained. It was a remarkably nice, quiet place, well above the highway motel and restaurant where we stayed in Costa Rica last year. The Khmer House Resort has both a fresh and a salt water pool, restaurant, laundry service at only $2 per kilo.
In the room, we found that the air conditioning worked well. We spent much of the remaining afternoon moving into the room that we would occupy for the next ten days. I also set up my phone, trying unsuccessfully to work out the SIM card issue with Google Fi technical reps by phone.
At dinner, we met Natasha and Chinoo who had also arrived early. Natasha had been traveling in the area as part of a family celebration. Chinoo had arrived from Phnom Penh via Taipei, originating in Toronto.
The outdoor restaurant served excellent local food and the service was friendly and helpful, if very slow–even to bring out a cold beer. Prices were very cheap: $1.75 for a 12 ounce bottle of Cambodia beer and most main course plates at only $5 apiece. They had some craft cocktails, too, that were $4 to $6 each.
We got to know Chinoo and Natasha and talked about each of our travels to date. Chinoo was very jet-lagged and left first. Becky and I were in bed by nine and slept fairly well.
Saturday 2 March 2024
I left early for a walk around in Siem Reap from the hotel after our 7am breakfast at the hotel. At breakfast, I’d had eggs Benedict and sent a photo of the plate to the team via WhatsApp. I told Becky that I would be back by 10am and started a loop (or an intended loop) using Google Maps as my guide. My intention was to walk by several restaurants that I had researched as well to judge the distance to Pub Street and the downtown area. Most of the rest of the team were landing at about 9:45am Saturday with Paren picking them up and driving them into town. Given the long drive, I didn’t expect them to arrive before 11am.
I was immediately impressed by how much cleaner Siem Reap was compared to my memory from ten years earlier when I’d visited here as part of a trip that included my very first Developing World Connections project. (Back then, Siem Reap was an additional destination as our main project was near the South China Sea coast and the city of Kep.) The town seemed quiet as a few tuk-tuks, scooters, and cars scurried around the relatively uncrowded streets. I made some wrong turns, but eventually found the Haven Restaurant where we would be dining on Sunday evening as well as a few other attractive places that I would consider. My walk took me by the very large Angkor High School that seemed to have hundreds of students in two big white, four-story colonial style buildings.
I made it to downtown in about 40 minutes and crossed the bridge towards Pub Street. The river was fairly clean and there was evidence of many lights in the trees and on railings and decorations.
Pub Street and its area was clean and being cleaned by many workers. Signs displayed beer prices as low as one dollar US per draft There were pizza and Mexican food restaurants, massage parlors, souvenir shops, and the typical touristy souvenir shops one would find in any city.
The walk back was uneventful and I returned just before 10am. The team and Paren arrived an hour later and we had a quick chat before releasing everyone to their rooms to recover. Some were very jet-lagged while others had also already been in the region (e.g. Hana and Tarek had been traveling in Japan and Vietnam). We agreed to meet at 3:30 to go on our scheduled city walking tour organized by Deepak.
Some of the group did meet for lunch at the hotel and I explained the policy towards alcohol and meals–everyone was on their own for all alcohol, but DWC picked up meal costs.
I spent some time at the pool and did exercises (push-ups) early in the afternoon and Becky enjoyed lounging by the pool and on our room’s terrace/patio.
We traveled to the walking tour meeting point in two groups of six using the hotel’s free tuk-tuk service. Once there, we met our guide, Tee, and a 60-ish London couple that were also joining the tour.
Tee was very engaging as she led us through one of the smaller, but central city markets and explained what products were Cambodia and which were actually imported. As usual, I enjoyed taking market and people photos.
We next walked along the river, through town. Everyone was impressed by the beauty of the city.
Tee led us to the Royal Residence and a main memorial square and told us about the current political situation in Cambodia as we stood near a large billboard with a picture of King Sihanouk commemorating the 70th anniversary of Cambodian independence from France.
She told us that the current government was suppressing much of the country's disastrous recent history, including the 70’s genocide under Pol Pot and the civil war that followed. She said that social media was monitored closely by the government and that she had to be careful of what she posted.
We continued to walk through the city and entered a small craft market set up as a charity by a Taiwanese businessman. Artisans at the store paid no rent, kept all of their profits, but had to agree to only sell items produced and crafted in Cambodia.
We bought some Kompot pepper as did others and a few bought Cambodian ice cream (much like Thai ice cream).
We completed the tour at Pub Street and told Tee that we would take tuk-tuks back to the hotel. Those cost us $1 per person. Back at the hotel, we met for dinner at about 7pm.
At dinner, we all sat at the same table with me at the head and, after ordering drinks, we covered trip and DWC policies. The team was enthusiastic and happy to have all arrived on time. We answered several questions and then ordered our breakfast for the next morning that the staff said would be ready by 7am for our 7:30 departure. I spoke with the staff again–that was VERY helpful–and made sure that all food charges would be put against our room bill (covered by DWC) and that anyone’s alcohol bill would be separately charged to their own room.
Monday 4 March 2024
Neither Becky nor I slept well Sunday night. I was up before 5:30 and then over to the restaurant to load photos and use the stronger wifi. I was pleasantly surprised that they were setting up breakfast quite early.
The team arrived on-time and our plates were brought out beginning a few minutes before 7am. Everyone ate quickly and we were ready to go at 7:30.
Paren arrived in a 15 passenger van that had exactly 15 seats. We were very cramped in the van and the air conditioning to the rear was poor. Tarek and I discussed getting a second vehicle and Paren agreed to talk about that possibility at the end of the day.
The drive out of Siem Reap, on very good roads for the first 60-plus kilometers, was smooth. The land was very flat, dominated by brown, barren rice fields. There seemed to be villages, homes, and merchant stands along the road the entire trip to Kompong Khleang, the Floating Village, of which Outaput was a small neighborhood.
As we got closer to Tonle Sap, the road narrowed and we could tell that we were on a tall earthen jetty with homes and businesses on either side of the road, but water or marshland below us. Kids, dogs, scooters, carts, tractors and pedestrians crowded the road and we made very slow progress.
Ultimately, the road turned to dirt and narrowed more. We crossed a bridge with a giant, gold Buddha statue and temple and then were in the Outaput area.
When we arrived, we saw the home sites as a barren, dry area along the water and below permanent homes mounted on stilts 15 to 20 feet (4-6m) high. The water had receded to a fairly narrow channel that was no more than 30 meters across at some points and well below the base of the tall log pedestals, with barges, floating gardens, and fish nets still in the water. Narrow dragon boats sped up and down the channel at high (and very loud) speed. Other, larger passenger boats with a capacity of probably 100 carried small groups of tourists for their floating village excursion.
Merchant stands had corn drying as well as fish and frogs. Many of the homes doubled as little shops out front, selling snacks. Kids played under some of the houses and in the street. Most of the transportation was by bicycle.
Paren showed us where to place our equipment in a large, elevated home near the work site and introduced us to the lady of the house–his older sister. We would have lunches there prepared by her and use the toilet there as well. The steps from the dry-season road to the main living area were very steep and about four meters high.
We walked to the worksite and Paren introduced me to two of the four locals with whom we would be working, Kwon and Muk. Neither spoke English but seemed very friendly.
A shade tent was set up near the worksite and a cooler of ice and water bottles placed there as well as two rest benches.
We started work with a situation and safety chat and then brought down tools, hardware, and lumber from beneath and inside the nearest stilted house to our north.
Our local leads quickly laid out two foundational grids of roughly 2” x 4” boards that were about 5 x 8 meters. They measured for placement and then we nailed the board together into the grid for both houses.
We next cut stakes from dry tree limbs, each about one meter long and five to ten centimeters thick. The local crew used hand axes to sharpen one end of each and then we pounded them into the soft ground framing (inside and out) each grid. We must’ve used nearly 100 stakes.
Next, the locals used a long, clear piece of plastic tubing with water as a long-distance level as we lifted each grid and nailed them to the stakes to set the entire structure level on all sides and corners.
Once this was done, two large drills were brought out and holes were drilled for securing half-inch bolts at every conceivable wooden junction, fastened on each side by washers and nuts.
We all worked together drilling, bolting, and tightening together the grids as a local used an angle iron to cut excess bolt length once secured. The remnants were ground again at each end for reuse. Each original headless bolt was nearly a meter long, while each securing segment was four to eight inches deep.
The team and locals worked very well together, but the heat was taking a toll and we took many breaks.
Once the bases were leveled and secured, the locals nailed in vertical columns of 4” x 4” lumber about three to four meters tall. We drilled more securing holes into each and bolted them to the frames, as well as adding additional, fortifying horizontal cross pieces (stringers) to the base.
It was time for lunch now and we went back to the home to relax. Our chef had made some excellent egg dishes with fish and also served noodles and bowls of chicken soup. We had plenty of cold water, plus another jug and plates of bananas for dessert.
Everyone continued in high spirits, but needed a break. We relaxed until 12:45 with Paren taking a short nap inside. Tarek, Hana, Alex, and Anna found the back deck that overlooked the waterway and had a bare wooden bed area and a hammock. It afforded a great view of the whole area, but the noise of the dragon boats cut into the ambience somewhat. Importantly the “shotgun” design of the house allowed for decent airflow and the brief was especially good on the deck.
The afternoon continued with much of the same sort of work. We brought in more lumber and made a second level of grid about one-half meter above the original, securing those boards to the verticals as well. This took the whole afternoon, but we were happy to complete it all before the end of the day on both houses.
Paren explained that the next day we would be setting the floor atop the second level grid using boards planed and cut on-site the next morning. We hoped that meant a little less intense work in the heat!
We jumped into the vans (or rather, crawled) all exhausted by the day and conditions. We did a quick debrief once started and I admitted that I should’ve done a better job of taking breaks myself and was totally exhausted. My smart watch told me that I'd spent several hours of the day with a heart rate over 110 and 120 bpm, peaking a few times at 140 bpm.
The ride was otherwise quiet and several tried to sleep. We arrived at the hotel at 6pm and decided against going downtown as a group for dinner. Rather, we mostly stayed at the hotel and relaxed. Deepak and Bella went directly downtown for dinner, while Alex and Anna joined them after dining at the hotel and all went for massages.
We showered and met back in the restaurant, arriving at different times and ordering in a long series. Dinner was again excellent, but slow. We enjoyed fruit smoothies and beer and Becky had a mango Margarita with an extra shot of Tequila.
I messaged DWC and asked about getting another vehicle to transport us to and from the worksite more comfortably. Joy approved the request and I relayed the message to Paren. We would pay an additional $180 for four days with another car driven by Paren’s brother–it was the same SUV that Paren had used to pick us up at the airport.
We went back to the room and I put on my swimsuit for a dip in the pool. No one else was at the pool, but dozens of small bats were swooping over the water picking off insects attracted to the water and light. I did a few laps in the freshwater pool, the bats dodging my head each time I surfaced.
Back in the room, we went to bed quickly, putting off most admin work for the morning.
Tuesday 5 March 2024
Becky didn’t sleep well again, but my night wasn’t bad. I woke at about 5:30am to see a message from Chinoo that he had slept very little, suffered from chest pains, and had arranged with the front desk staff to have a doctor arrive to check him at 7am. He didn’t think that it rose to the level of an emergency that needed him to rush to a hospital, but wanted to be checked anyway. Hana was not feeling well either and decided to stay home for the day and rest as well.
I worked on some photos on my laptop in the restaurant and tried to keep track of Chinoo via WhatsApp messaging. Breakfast was served on time and the rest of the crowd was ready to go on time.
When I didn’t get a response to my messaging, I went to Chinoo’s room and chatted with him and his doctor. The doctor was prescribing him antibiotics for suspected bronchitis and he also believed that Chinoo had some underlying cardiac artery disease. He said that Chinoo’s blood pressure was normal and saw no other symptoms. If he had any more chest pains, though, the doctor said that Chinoo would need medication for angina and that he should contact the doctor immediately.
I passed the news to Joy and DWC. Chinoo said that he would stay behind and rest for the remainder of the day and hope to join us on Wednesday. The first van left on time and Becky and I departed in the SUV with Paren about five minutes later.
We caught up with the van about a kilometer from the worksite at a checkpoint. Paren told us that the other car needed our visitor’s permit to enter the floating village area.
We went through the usual set-up, dropping bags off in our headquarters home and carrying the tools and supplies to the worksite. Tarek (especially) helped move the shade tarps and position them for maximum effectiveness.
The first thing we did was complete quality control on all of the bolted joints, making sure that the nuts were tight–as Alex had been doing at the end of Monday.
While the bolt quality control was going on, we moved our large 2”X4”X12’ boards from under the closest stilt house and brought them to an outdoor table saw that ripped each one into a long 2”x2”. These were mounted on the frame as the final base for the floorboards and more bolts held them in place.
We next moved many, many bundles of six floor boards each to where an outdoor planer had been set up. It was gas powered and very loud, throwing wood chips and sawdust everywhere. We had two volunteers feeding them into the planer while two others accepted the planed boards and stacked them. Finally, volunteers were given electric angle grinders with solid grinder wheels to take the edge off of the planed boards’ side edge.
With the quality control done and all of the base for the floors complete, we began hammering the floorboards into place. We worked well in teams of three to five with someone using either the circular saw or the jigsaw to square the ends of some ragged pieces.
Time was moving quickly and we broke for lunch after finishing about half of the south house’s floor.
At lunch we had the same very good food and relaxed until 12:45pm. We decided to not go to the Cambodia Circus on Thursday night (a cultural event proposed by Paren) and I confirmed dinner reservations for both tonight at Jomno (recommended by Paren and one of the places I’d seen Saturday on my walk around) and Friday back at Haven. Deepak said he and Bella wanted to go out on their own on the last night.
Nastasha told me that her flight left Friday night at 8:30pm and we discussed arrangements getting her to the airport in time that evening.
Having the second car now would make it much easier to send Nastasha, and potentially others, back to the hotel early on Friday. I assured Nastasha that we would take care of her and get her to the airport in plenty of time. I assured everyone that they would have time for dinner Friday, too.
Messages from Hana and Chinoo indicated that they were feeling better back at the hotel.
In the afternoon, our tasks and goals were clear: we would finish roughing out the floors. This meant about two-and-a-half floor boards (in length) to cover the depth of each house, nailed into the supporting boards below. We used a jigsaw in addition to the circular saw to trim boards to the appropriate length.
One of the most tedious jobs was smoothing the edges of the planed boards, but we attacked that quickly following a break and finished enough boards to complete the day’s project.
As the work wound down, we sent eight of the team back to the hotel at about 3:45pm and four of us stayed behind to finish the final nailing and paint eight of the floorboards bright red or blue. We finished that work just after 4pm and were pleasantly surprised to be greeted by the crew with congratulatory ice-cold cans of Ganzberg beer bought by Paren. Karthik and Carolyn joined Becky and I in enjoying the refreshment and toasting our co-workers. We discovered that this was not only Karthik’s first ever beer in his life, but his first ever alcohol. He thought it tasted a little like tonic water–which it did.
I took a few photos on the way out and we loaded up just before 5pm, arriving back to the hotel right at 6pm. Chinoo was still resting and doing better, as was Hana. Alex and Anna said they were meeting people by the salt water pool and, as we arrived, we greeted them there. I changed quickly and joined them after a fast outdoor shower by the pool to get the grime off.
We had reservations at JOMNO Cambodian Food for dinner on Paren’s recommendation and met in the lobby at 6:45. Tarek and Hana decided to stay behind, as did Chinoo. We arranged tuk-tuks and were on our way.
JOMNO was a more upscale, white table cloth place that (most importantly) was air-conditioned on the inside. The food was probably 30% more expensive than Haven, but very, very good. Most of us had dessert as well. I think the team was very pleased with the evening. A few went into town for massages, while the rest of us took tuk-tuks back to the hotel.
Wednesday 6 Mar 2024
I woke early as usual and slipped out of the room to do some administrative things. Breakfast ran a little late and Paren said he might be late, too, but in the end, the vehicles left just a few minutes after 7:30am with the larger van in the lead and three of us with Paren just two minutes behind. Chinoo and Hana both decided to stay back at the hotel for another day and rest.
When we arrived, the locals were already working on substantial strengthening additions to the base and also to adding the vertical stringers on the side walls to which the corrugated steel sheets would be attached. Ceiling cross boards were also added. Almost the entire day consisted of attaching (with nails) these vertical pieces and then, once the horizontal ceiling beams were tacked onto the existing structure, drilling and bolting all of the upper lumber together.
The ceiling beams were only about five feet, seven inches above the floor (1.70 meters). I know this because I’m just over 5’9” (1.77m) and smacked my head on many of them. Everyone over 5’7” in height left the project with marks from hitting our heads on low wood.
The team continued to work together very well on all of this, rotating in and out. Tarek and I did almost all of the drilling, while Alex continued leading the quality control team that marked and made sure that all bolts were securely tightened on both sides. I was impressed by the overall team and project because almost all of the tasks were do-able by every member of the team and everyone had a chance (it seemed to me) to do every task that we accomplished.
The heat was even worse than the day before and we constantly emphasized breaks. The locals were even taking more breaks, too. We broke for lunch at a natural stopping point around 11:25am as the locals were working on the roof sloping pieces that attached to the top framework. The roof slope was fairly shallow and looked to be no more than 20 degrees.
We had the same excellent lunch, but extended the break a little longer due to the heat and waited for some of the other work to be done that we couldn’t complete high in the ceiling area.
After lunch, I returned to the site and saw some local kids playing volleyball at the site with a well-marked (with staked cords) court rectangle. I played a few points with them. The kid on my side (we played two-on-two) was excellent. He looked to be no more than 10 or 11 years old and could bump like a champ. They served by kicking the underinflated volleyball over the net with amazing precision. They scoffed at me just a little when I served conventionally. Carolyn and Tarek joined us for several points and all had a good time.
Another kid showed up with an American football and I showed him how to throw it. We played catch on the road for a while. He had excellent hands for catching, but they were too small to effectively grip the full-sized ball and throw a spiral regularly.
The afternoon was more of the same, with some pauses as we ran out of nuts and washers for the bolts and some of the cut sections of long bolts needed to be ground down so that we could rethread nuts on them and use them in other places.
We finished the day just before 4pm as all that could be done prior to attaching the roof was done. We cleaned up the area, as usual, and loaded the vehicles, every bit as tired and sweaty as any other day even though we had probably worked less. Again we remarked at how much energy it took to fight the heat. We tried many strategies to mitigate the issue during the day. I put ice chips under my hat and let them melt on my scalp. Many kept them bandanas/buffs constantly wet, but we were still overheated.
The drive back was peaceful and calm. Natasha rode back with Becky and me in the SUV. We agreed to meet Paren at 6:45pm to go to our cooking class that evening. Much of the group had post-dinner massage plans in town again, too.
I took a short swim when I returned–after another outdoor shower at the pool to remove the dried top layers of sweat. Everyone was able to relax for over an hour before departing on-time to dinner.
We drove into town and stopped at a small corner restaurant called Angkor Hand-Pulled Noodle and Dumpling Restaurant. Once there, the owner (another old friend of Paren’s) and head chef showed the team how to make dumplings with prepared fillings of chicken, vegetables, and duck. We made about 50 of them, placed on trays that then went to the kitchen to be steamed or fried.
In the kitchen, I cut up the beef and chicken into one centimeter cubes for the evening’s “Lok Lak” and mixed each in separate bowls with oyster sauce, ketchup, finely ground black Kompot pepper, two egg yolks, and a teaspoon of what the chef called “chicken powder.” I took this to mean powdered chicken bouillon but wasn’t sure.
Karthik sliced the vegetable garnishes for the Lok Lak and Tarek fried the dumplings. The rest of the team was enjoying drinks at our two tables. We occupied the whole restaurant and the owner turned away many customers who were strolling by.
The Angkor beer was cold as were the soft drinks. We had a little evening breeze at the outer table and felt much more comfortable. The dumplings came out first and were really excellent, especially in the shop’s own dipping sauce. Next, we had the Lok Lak with fresh vegetables and another dish the chef had prepared in advance: sesame honey chicken. The last one was my favorite and many others agreed. Becky and I took note of the restaurant and thought we might come back to it for one of our additional nights after the project.
At about 8:30pm, we departed the restaurant with much of the group headed to downtown for more pre-arranged massages. It would be another first for Karthik as he’d never had one before. Becky and I returned to the hotel by tuk-tuk, accompanied by Carolyn.
Thursday 7 March 2024
Breakfast ran a little late again, but we had no issues being on the road by 7:45am. Chinoo and Hana remained behind again. Chinoo had decided to rebook his flights and leave early on Friday morning. Becky and I rode in the van today.
We arrived by 9am and went through the typical set-up. I spent a few minutes visiting the Bridge of Life School classroom set up for the community in the same stilted building where we stored the tools for the project. The poorly lit room had a large white board in front, a single teacher, and about 30 kids that seemed to be five to seven years of age seated at low desks. The teacher was working on their alphabet with them in both Khmer and English and they were repeating the letters and sounds that they make after him, all in unison. They seemed to break in a Cambodian version of the Alphabet Song that American kids learn, but repeating it many times over. I took a short video and a couple of still photos of them.
At the work site, the weather was even worse than the previous three days–and the worst of the entire week, it would turn out. By now, we were getting used to the routine, though, and everyone was taking frequent breaks. The work continued to consist of adding frame pieces for the back two rooms on each house (bathroom nook and kitchen) and then the opening/doorway that led to a back or stern deck.
Paren was very helpful helping us set up all of the verticals that would support the corrugated steel walls for these inside rooms as well as more work that needed to be done on the sides. The locals concentrated on the rafter work running stringers along the top arches that were supported by the main frame. In other words, the rafters were not unitary pieces placed atop the structure like we had done in Kenya or is done in building most American houses, but were built onto the main structure one piece at a time.
We had started the day thinking there was a chance that we might have a chance of coming close to completion on Thursday, but those hopes were dashed pretty quickly as we saw how much work we had to do. More measuring, cutting, placing, nailing, and bolting continued through the entire morning.
The eight pieces of what constituted the painted frontice were given a second coat in the morning and two were placed on the arch roof facing just under where the roof metal sheets would be attached later. Eventually, the same was done on the back of each house. We now had a red and a blue house.
Just like in past days, the whole team seemed able to do almost every task. Tarek and I did most of the drilling and Alex led quality control of all bolted joints, but everyone else helped in those areas while sharing painting, measuring, pilot-hole drilling, and nailing work. I did climb up into the gables to nail a few pieces. This whole project was remarkably equitable in terms of everyone being generally able to do every task assigned to us.
We were wiped out for lunch and not only stopped for that break earlier, but stayed a little later. The heat was oppressive. I did a few volunteer interviews for use by DWC on their social media accounts at lunch as in past days, but we did not go back to work until almost 1:15pm.
The afternoon tasks would be fixing the very shiny, reflective corrugated stainless-steel sheets to the side walls. These sheets were remarkably light and thin. The locals put up each sheet (about two or three feet by eight feet, or maybe one-and-a-half or two by three meters). They would tack top nails through the steel into the wall’s vertical wood boards and then we would put additional nails about four “ridges” below, continuing to the bottom of the sheet, with sheets overlapping by two waves in most cases and about 10 centimeters side-by-side.
The nails had free-spinning, circular steel caps and were each about three centimeters long. They were made of very soft steel, though, and bent easily when pounded into the beams even if they pierced the steel sheets as if it was aluminum foil.
We all eventually learned that if you could not be deadly accurate with each hammer blow, then you needed to be patient, taking 20 or more lighter, precise taps to get one into the steel and support. It was very frustrating, but it seemed to be a difficult task for the locals, too, as there were many bent nails either replaced, nailed over, or just pounded in, bent. The job would easily take over one thousand of these nails, not even counting the rooftops.
The Sun’s reflection off of the steel as it slipped lower in the sky made the unshaded sides deadly for this work. We could put in 20 or 30 nails and then need to take a break, all of us sweating profusely. The team was pretty discouraged, really, as the day ended. We weren’t near completion and it didn’t seem that we would complete the project in another day.
The nail patterns were also not consistent around the houses, with spaces between nails on individual rows varying from three to six ridges and side-by-side ridges looking very different.
We loaded the vehicles and left shortly after 4:00pm. It was probably the least amount of work, in terms of actual time, that we had put in–again due to the weather conditions.
We had no plans for dinner. Becky and I decided to stay in and eat at the hotel while the others eventually met downtown at a restaurant called Mesa. Carolyn put the dinner on her card and collected money from everyone and I reimbursed her (with Becky’s help) via PayPal. Paren took Karthik for more shopping–this time for some gemstones and jewelry. His shopping list for family and friends was being completed.
After dinner, several volunteers got their usual massages, and others came straight back to the hotel. Becky and I retired early, anxious about the last day of work.
Friday 8 March
On our final morning, it was cloudy with some light rain showing on the radar with weather.com but no sign of rain at the hotel. With the clouds, it was even more humid–something I didn’t think possible.
At breakfast, we talked about the day ahead and later plans. The van was going to be driven by Paren with most of the group. They were planning to stop to buy house-warming gifts (home wares) for the two families that would be receiving the houses. Deepak organized all this as well as a plan to buy ice cream for all of the local kids sometime during the late morning.
Carolyn, Becky, and I went in the SUV directly to the work site with Saro driving us.
Driving in Cambodia is interesting. The car drivers seem very calm and they don't tend to drive fast. The roads are generally in very good condition, with many being redone during the pandemic when no tourists were visiting. More than half of the vehicles on the road are scooters of one sort of another.
The scooters drive everywhere and in every direction and lane and seem to be governed by only one rule: don’t die. Many of even the larger intersections are completely uncontrolled and so virtually all drivers slow on approach and work their way through based upon a first come, first served right-of-way rule.
Passing on the highways is constant and when cars do so, they ignore any oncoming scooters because it’s the scooters responsibility to avoid death, not the car driver’s job to avoid the scooters.
Scooters pull small trailers and tuk-tuk carriages (remorques) and have panniers for cargo. Many carry four or more people–I’ve seen as many as six–including toddlers, grandparents, and whole families. Almost all drivers wear helmets, but fewer passengers do.
The highway to the work site includes a section of the airport road, but the main artery that we take is lined by many small shack businesses selling sticky rice in bamboo, fresh, dried, and smoked fish, duck, and chicken, fresh fruits and vegetables, noodles, and all sorts of prepared street foods.
The land is incredibly flat with roads and paths elevated by one or two meters to avoid flooding. White Brahma cattle are in the fields cleaning stubble from the harvested rice fields. I wonder when the elevated paths and jetties were first built–probably centuries ago in many cases.
Mobile phone coverage seems to be everywhere and there are phone shops (primarily for Chinese brands like Oppo, Vivo, Huawei, etc) in every little village. Coverage is pretty good because the land is so flat. Everyone you see has a phone, including kids under 12 – at least in the city. At the floating village, we saw fewer phones, but the center of town had phone shops and ATMs.
Despite all of the trash we see around the Floating Village site, there are active measures to clean up the area. We saw troops of uniformed elementary school kids alongside the road before school picking up trash with large rice bags. Unfortunately, most of the trash seems to be just dumped into a pile and burned. Small trash pile fires seem to be everywhere and, even though it's the dry season, there doesn’t appear to be much concern about the fire spreading or getting out of control, presumably because of the high humidity and amount of green plants and grasses that are near the piles.
Most homes outside of the Floating Village are made of the same red brick that we used ten years ago to build latrines near Kept, Cambodia. The larger homes are well-appointed and maintained, with stucco over the brick walls. Many are built on stilts or with only storage areas on the ground floor. We were told that that is a tradition based in part for the security of the occupants and provides a “barn” area to gather domestic animals overnight. We saw this in Nepal and India, too, especially in rural areas.
Older wooden homes are still common with many on stilts of heights ranging from one to two meters even in areas that appear to be far from any significant water.
We passed several nurseries for flowering plants and fruit trees. Bougainvillea are common among the former. Fruit trees we see near the road include banana, mango, papaya, jackfruit, and (so I’m told) lychee and passion fruit.
Temples are frequent, surrounded by many ornate family stupas that contain ashes of ancestors.
As we approach the work site, having turned off of the main Highway 6 south towards Tonle Sap, the raised nature of the roads becomes more pronounced. Now we’re driving on wide, stable jetties. Closer to the water, some of the flats have bright green dry season rice growing, supported by the high water table and some irrigation. There are rectangular ponds retaining water after the lake has receded, some farming fish, others serving as lotus flower farms, and others to support irrigation. There is also one small crocodile farm near the work site.
At the turn to the south this morning, the Sun started to burn off the cloud and any home of better working conditions vanished. Paren assured us that this would be a fairly light day with much of our time devoted to cultural affairs like meeting the families getting the homes as well as other locals–and, of course, ice cream with the kids.
We knew that we had many nails to pound attaching the corrugated steel panels to the side walls and roof and wondered how much our local friends had done between our departure Thursday afternoon and our arrival Friday morning. Paren was concerned about the status of the homes and whether they would be presentable to the accepting families.
When the three of us started (Becky, Carloyn, and me) it was clear that the locals had been hard at work. Steel sheets were on the roof and that’s where they were concentrating their efforts. We added nails where they had been omitted and filled in whole sections. But, due to the low Sun and breeze, the conditions were almost pleasant and we worked non-stop until the rest of the group arrived about an hour later.
We finished the last rows of nails that we could reach and went to work attaching capping boards on exposed edges of steel on the sides of doorways for safety. This would require eight pieces per house for the two external and two internal doorways.
This involved lots of measuring and cutting and the entire team was up to the task, enjoying the weather and working quickly together.
Before long, the left or “red” house was getting close to being finished and Alex, Thomas, Carolyn, and Karthik swept the floors and removed all sorts of scrap metal and wood. Where we could, we helped the locals with the remaining cut pieces of corrugated steel attached to the front and rear gables.
Near 11am, we took a break to give out $25 worth of ice cream for the local kids, bought from the local vendor. That amount bought about 200 popsicles of one sort or another. Tarek, Alex, Anna, and really the whole group walked down the center of the street handing out popsicles to kids before they would melt. They looked like Pied Pipers with all of the kids following them. Some tried for a second and I’m sure a few succeeded, but it was remarkably calm and orderly.
Meanwhile, others completed painting the front awnings. All work was now progressing rapidly in the much better weather, easily 2-3C less than past days with a nice breeze. We commented that if the weather had been like this all week, we would’ve finished by Thursday’s close.
We broke for lunch feeling good and in better spirits. No one took a break after eating today. We all went back to the worksite and either did cleaning, final touch-ups, or began bringing the house-warming gifts to each home
Coming back and doing more painting, trim, and clean-up as the left house was done and all of the workers moved north to the blue house. Only roof work remained and that was going well.
Several local leaders arrived along with our two recipient families and lots of other kids. Lots of kids playing with Tarek and Hana (expectant parents, themselves). Paren introduced the female community organizer that helped decide the recipients of the homes. She spoke first followed by two men who were local/city chiefs. Paren did the translation for all involved.
Next, we were introduced to the two fathers that would get the homes and then the team was introduced and they asked for a few words from Hana and me. There were thanks and words of appreciation on all sides, of course.
The fathers drew numbers to decide which family got which house, red or blue, then each family came into their new house and saw their house-warming gifts. We went to the red house first. The family sat on a bed mat and thanked us. Meanwhile, the workers were still pounding the final nails into the blue house. They were asked to take a break so that we could hear each other speak.
We took photos at both sites with the families and then we went outside for group shots in front of the houses. The whole team glowed, almost as happy as the receiving families.
Our lead group of three left at 3:30 to get Natasha to the airport. The locals continued to apply the final touches and we were told that they would do a few more things in the following days, but the houses were “complete.”
I decided to go for a photo walk for a few kilometers thinking all were almost ready and they’d pick me up on the way. I put my best lens on my camera and walked the kilometer back to the giant golden Buddha statue by the bridge, taking about 100 photos along the way, mostly of people, bicycles, scooters, and houses.‘After walking a mile, I turned around, wondering where the others were. I was afraid that they’d passed me at some time when I wasn’t looking or wasn’t visible because I’d climbed onto the tall elevated area around the Buddha.
Then I realized that they were probably back at the house drinking beer with the workers, so I hurried back to find exactly that. I enjoyed two cold Ganzberg’s and cooled off for one last time at the work site. We thanked the workers on final time and left just before 5pm. I emailed Haven Restaurant telling them we’d be late, arriving at 7pm, and sent a message alerting the rest that we wouldn’t be back until just after 6pm and that we would be leaving for dinner at 6:45.
On the way back, we talked more with Paren about birth control, marriage, alcohol, and other issues in the community. He told us that alcohol was a problem because of the easy, cheap availability of rice liquor that could sell for as little as $0.75 USD per liter.
He also said that girls married very young and that it was not uncommon to see girls that were only 15 or 16 with a baby. Birth control was (obviously) not widely practiced despite encouragement from the government. He attributed that to a lack of trust in the medical/health institutions in the country and the high cost of health care for all. He was as frustrated by what he saw as we were.
We did return at 6pm, cleaned-up quickly and took tuk-tuks to the final team dinner, arriving on time. Deepak and Bella went to dinner on their own and were missed. We ordered appetizers, beer, and enjoyed a great meal. Before the main courses and dessert we renewed the now traditional, individual speeches or testimonials of what each of us like most about the project.
Everyone spoke of the same general issues: team cohesion and warmth; the sense of family; the oppressive heat; the fun of having a project where everyone could make a big contribution; the satisfaction of helping in a village where so much help is needed; the appreciation of the community; etc. Becky pointed out the many roles that Paren played from driver, to NGO lead, to project foreman and translator. We have not been on a project where one person did so many different tasks. We thanked him deeply. More than a few of us became teary and emotional.
I thanked Hana for making the project happen despite pushback and changed policies at Salesforce. She had been the driving force that ultimately made the trip go.
As usual, we returned to the hotel while some went for their final Cambodian massages.
Saturday 9 March
I was up by 5:30am to work on photos and see the others off. There were many tears in the hotel lobby as Paren took the first nine to the airport, departing at 7am. We tracked their progress on WhatsApp and all shared their favorite photos from the past week, as well as photos of their journey either home or to a real vacation spot like the Thai coast and Phuket.
Becky and I spent the day doing all kinds of admin stuff, posting photos, and responding to WhatsApp messages. I hit an ATM to get cash to pay Paren for the extra vehicle and we saw Thomas and Kellie off just after lunch and were now the only ones left. Everyone made their flights on time and to their destination.
That evening, Becky and I arranged an evening/sunset tour of Phnom Bekhang Temple with the hotel as well as a late checkout on Monday for flight to Ho Chi Minh City. We toasted the team's success again that night on Pub Street with a $1 beer and a lychee daiquiri and looked forward to our next adventures: a one-day tour of more temples (Beng Melea and Koh Ker) the next day and then our departure for Vietnam on Monday.
17 Oct 2019
I slept better than any night so far, waking only once in the middle of the night--oddly when the power went off and my white noise devices (ceiling fan and air conditioning) stopped. I didn’t wake up again until shortly after 6am, then did my normal routine prior to breakfast.
At breakfast and along the way, team members were discussing the weekend plans. We were being expected to vacate our rooms and put all of our bags into one room for the two days we would be at Bardiya National Park, but many wanted to just keep their rooms and either pay the difference or asked why DWC wasn’t covering that cost. In the meantime, I confirmed--as we had suspected--that the negotiated price for the rooms didn’t just include breakfast, but also dinner and all of our bottled water every day. Both the hotel owner and Dinesh confirmed that verbally.
So, en route to our work place, I composed an email to DWC suggesting that, since all of the meals were included, which was a significant savings over expected costs, that they (DWC) pick up the costs of our rooms over the weekend as well as covering the cost of the additional single rooms we now had for Hal and Mark. I allowed Mike to pre-read the email before sending it and after a good suggestion on his part, I sent it on its way. (As I type this morning on 18 Oct, I’ve received approval for my plan as well as approval to buy any snacks and additional food needed for the team during our remaining time.
Today was going to be the big day for setting concrete rings into our four very wet septic pits. Each team went to their site and began work quickly. We were actually surprised at how well it went, too. Team 1 had their rings in quickly after fishing a very agitated rat from one pit. They had already set rock and gravel in the bottom the day before.
At our site, Mark went into the first pit and using a stick and the water line as a reference proceeded to use rocks to shim the bottom ring the Mike and team had installed the day before until it was level. We then used four people at a time with ropes around the rings to lower them into the pit. The process went smoothly, using the stick and rocks to continue shimming the rings and make sure we were vertical and very closely in the center of each pit.
Our local leader for the day (who had a very difficult name to pronounce, so we just called him “Yellow Shirt”) was a very strong young man with zero people skills. He had impressed Mike the day before as someone who considered us a hindrance to his work despite the fact that little was done when we weren’t on site and he simply couldn’t get ANY of the heavy-lifting or digging work done without us. He wouldn’t smile, wouldn’t try to communicate with any of us, and frankly was as ass. I told Sam, one of our very friendly, hard-working local folks with CPN who spoke some English that Yellow Shirt wasn’t very friendly and Sam just smiled and shrugged and said that that was just the way he was and that we all had to work with him. Oh well.
After the third ring was installed in the first pit, Yellow Shirt starting bleeding profusely just above his left ankle on the outside of his leg from two puncture wounds. I did not know what caused them. Nonetheless, I got out the first aid kit and with Debra’s help, we cleaned the wound with disinfectant wipes and applied a compress. Happily, the bleeding slowed fairly quickly. We sprayed with Bactine and applied a large band-aid to his leg. He was silent through the process. I then got out tape and wrapped it around his lower leg to keep the band-aid in place and asked Sam to tell him that we didn’t want him going into the water again today and that he should keep the would dry all day. Same relayed the message, Yellow Shirt responded to him, and then didn’t make any attempt to say anything to Debra or me. He just went back to work. No smile, no thanks, not even the simplest acknowledgement of our existence.
A few minutes later, Debra brought the compound’s wife and mother to me for treatment. She had badly cut the tip of her pointer finger on her left hand with something sharp (possibly a rice scythe?) and it was infected and dirty. We cleaned it up as carefully as we could with wipes and bactine--it had to hurt her terribly as the nail was nearly sliced down the middle--and then I carefully wrapped it with four band-aids and some tape. We again instructed her to keep it dry for at least a day. Meanwhile, we made a point to check on her again and encouraged her to go to the local free clinic for better treatment.
Despite this cultural clash, we got all of the rings in quickly. The first pit, though, needed another ring to protect it from monsoon waters and keep the rim firmly above ground, so we put in an order by phone with Sam’s help for the required ring as well as the two caps we knew we would need--one at each site.
We then left Debra and Grace to help with the concrete and installation of the structural rods for the latrine along with a few local workers. Mike, Mark, and I returned to Unako House and helped Team 1 haul sand and gravel to a large open pit where it would be mixed and used for the same installation at that site. We had heard that Team 1 also needed one additional ring, but that was not the case.
Once the 45 baskets of sand and gravel were hauled to the mixing site and the portland cement was added, Deb and team did some work dry-mixing along with a local woman, Sima. By then, though, groups of ornately dressed women were arriving for a large meeting at Unako House concerning women’s issues in the region--an event to which we were invited. We called for Grace and Debra to return for the event and Mark started to trot in that direction to get them. They were on their way, though.
We sat in the front left corner of the meeting on the second level of Unako House and were amazed to see about 200 women seated cross-legged on the floor, some with small children. They waited patiently in the heat chatting amongst themselves. It seemed clear that some groups were in what almost constituted uniforms--saris of identical design and decoration--that we presumed represented unique villages. Dinesh later told us that some had some from up to a three hour’s drive away and that many had walked more than an hour to attend the meeting.
The meeting started with some short speeches and then the local dignitaries sitting to our right were blessed with a red tika and given a sash that went around their necks. The same presentation was then held for each of us. All of us, though, were VERY dirty, straight from work. I was, in particular, at my dirtiest and felt terrible among all the finery.
Dinesh asked me to get up, move to the back of the room and take photos and in doing so I had to walk right down the middle of the 200, tip-toeing in my dirty boots between the amused (or shocked and stunned) women, hoping that I wasn’t dripping sweat or dropping dried mud on them as I passed.
Music started and three beautiful young ladies danced on a large red plastic tarp. They soon asked Debra, Grace, Deb, and Sue to join them, and Debra and Grace did so. Before long, the men were dancing, too, except for Hal, while I was happy to be taking photos and a video of the event from the back of the room.
The dancing done, at one point a local leader stood and said a few words, then I was motioned to the front to accept a small plaque showing the community’s appreciation for our work. I was just filthy, though. I said a couple of words of thanks and returned to my seat. At this point, we were asked to depart and we went out to the north, shaded side of the building for lunch while the meeting carried on.
Lunch was a rather unique roasted rice along with chicken in a mildly spicy yellow sauce--very good once again. We chatted over lunch and made plans for the afternoon. Our final ring was delivered as well as the needed to caps, so we off-loaded the cap at the first site and then delivered and installed the final ring and second cap to our site. Mike, Grace, and Debra stayed behind at that site to continue help with the latrine while Mark and I returned to Unako House. Once back, we joined with Hoot and were led by Hemraj to the third work site. Meanwhile, Team 1 was mixing concrete for the vertical rod installation led by Sima and Deb.
Dinesh said that third site was about 500 meters away, across the main road from Unako House. We walked with Hemraj and one other young man to the site that, according to Hoot’s GPS, was 0.88 miles or 1.4 kilometers away. We didn’t enjoy seeing the different countryside, though, including crossing a small stream that had many cattle grazing nearby.
When we arrived it was clear that we would be digging in an elevated area about five meters or so above any nearby water sources, ditches, or streams, so that made us optimistic. It took some time before we were cleared to work, though. Our local technical leader was quie.t but very nice and down-to-business. He and Hemraj staked out and marked the latrine as well as where the rings would go. We suggested that the rings be a little farther apart than in the thick, clay soil of the other locations as the mostly sand composition at this site worried us in terms of sidewall collapse. Hemraj explained that to our leader and he agreed. The pits would be a little over two feet apart.
Pleasantly, too, a young lady delivered three perfectly new Tata shovels complete with sharp points. We got to work quickly in the hot sun--zero shade or breeze--and also asked that Hemraj send a message back to Unako House asking that Mike and Grace be sent over to help.
Work went quickly in the much drier soil. The young lady and our tech lead dug the latrine foundation and placed river rock and dry concrete mix atop the rocks after staking it out with sticks and twine. We dug in teams of two: Hoot and Mark on the east side; Hemraj and me on the west. Both teams made good progress and we were happy to not have mud and thick clay. Mike and Grace arrived shortly thereafter and we shifted to three-person rotations, with Mike joining us and Grace on Mark and Hoot’s “team.” Our only obstacles were a few roots, the occasional gravel (that gave us a sense that this was a filled hill) and the oppressive heat that required us to rotate diggers frequently.
I decided that we would work until about 3:40, giving us time to walk back to Unako House to meet the others for departure. The digging seemed to get a little competitive,especially in the last few rotations when we were changing diggers at the same time, comparing depths, etc. By the time we finished, both holes were over five feet deep and almost six feet in some places. We’d kept good diameters all the way down, too. Hemraj said we were done as the pits only needed to be five feet deep here due to the elevation and dry soil--that was a most pleasant surprise.
We walked back and along the saw families winnowing rice and carrying bales of rice stalks along the road. Three girls were carrying big loads on their heads and asked if I would take their photo. I did some group shots and then did close-ups under the burden of the rice bales and was very happy with the result. They were practicing their English and giggling as they asked my name and where I was from--a great highlight to the day.
When we returned to Unako House, we were very impressed with the work of Team 1 that had four rods set in the concrete-molded corners as well as the squatter “toilet”, trap, and piping to the pits set--virtually complete, functionally at least. Debra suggested that as we drive out we go by the other site to see what Sam, Yellow Shirt, and the others had done since she had left (Note: she was not optimistic). We all agreed and shortly after 4pm we departed, headed south on the narrow farm road.
We were actually pleasantly surprised by what we found at Site 2. The work was comparable to Site 1 except that the toilet had not been placed and set, not the piping. The corners and vertical rods were in place, though, and it would be less than an hours work to catch up to Site 1.
The return that followed took us on backroads--about as backroad as possible in Nepal--and we emerged from the farmland and tight squeezes between fences and bamboo stands at the main river crossing bridge back to Lamahi. From there it was quick drive in.
This was probably my most exhausting and sweaty day. Mike and Mark agreed. We were as fatigued as we’d been all week and ready for a long cool shower. We gathered cold water bottles and headed to our rooms.
At dinner, we talked about the next days plans--something I’d discussed with others on the team and then with Dinesh during the return drive. We would send two each to Sites 1 and 2 to help with completion of the latrines, send a couple more to Site 3 to help put the finishing touches on the pits and work on the latrine foundation, and then send the “Digging Team” to Site 4 to get started there. Meanwhile, we asked that rings and caps be delivered to Site 3 even if we couldn’t install them on Friday. Dinesh agreed to the plan as did the others.
Dinesh also told us the plan for Bardiya--that we would wrap up work by about 11:30am, get lunch at Unako House, and then return to clean-up and try to be on the road to Bardiya by 1:30pm. He also covered the Bardiya itinerary and I once again briefed the group on the room and spending plan that I had emailed to DWC. We all drank a little more beer and wine (following the usual dinner plates) talked about the day and retired early--we could tell that many were fading quickly.
That evening, I got a message from Debra that she wasn’t feeling well due to a persistent cough and some congestion and that she would be skipping the morning’s work on Friday to recover. That morning we had also stopped by a pharmacy to get her some cough drops.
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16 Oct 2019
I spent my first waking hour-and-a-half writing this blog and loading photos before going to the lobby for coffee at 6:45. It was another cool, hazy morning but we could see a little more blue in the sky today--or maybe that was just our imagination and best wishes.
Today’s breakfast was a little different with grilled eggs on lightly toasted bread for sandwiches and local, small and tart bananas. I had two of each and particularly liked the bananas. Everyone else seemed to like the change.
Dinesh couldn’t join us in the morning as he was already on his way to Unako House for meetings. Instead a tall young man named “Man” joined us. Everyone was ready to go at 8:10 and Santos was there early with the bus. Man asked if anyone wanted to ride on his motorcycle with him to the site, but I quickly declined for everyone--especially Grace. We had a good chuckle over that. Man took off on his bike and we were a few minutes behind.
About a mile into the trip, we realized that Man was just dropping his bike off at home (or somewhere) as the bus picked him up on the way. We stopped in Gadhawa at the concrete shop where they made blocks, bricks, as well as the concrete rings and caps used for septic pits. Sam met us there and he along with Santos were trying to arrange for truck and wagon transportation for the 24 rings and four caps that we would need today. We looked around the site and found the rings and were fascinated by the machinery and processes used to make the pieces. There were also long rectangular steel molds for the kind of steel reinforced pillars that are standard for local home and building construction. There were several rings and caps recently formed that were drying and curing on the ground and the rings were stacked in several places about four high. Checking the dimensions, each ring seemed to be about two- to three-inches thick, 14”-15” in height and with a diameter very close to three feet. Mark later did a calculation on the weight of each based upon the density of concrete and came up with a very believable 260 pounds.
The wait for a truck took much longer than usual as it turned out the first candidate hand truck wasn’t operable. We waited almost an hour for the first to arrive, then loaded six rings and two caps aboard the small steel trailer. The hand truck, used for everything from plowing to towing and taxi service in the area was very slow when laden with the trailer and rings. It was also slowed by our driver’s propensity for stopping in each direction to pick up and deliver other cargo for additional pay, we later learned.
We arrived at the work sites shortly after 10am and found that at the near site the local workers had determined that one pit needed to be three feet deeper and the other one only needed another foot of digging. Mark jumped in along with Kevin and they started to work. Meanwhile, out hand truck and rings showed up and we walked behind it to the second site. There, we needed to prep the path to the latrine pits as it was a narrow fit to our work site for the truck and trailer.
The truck and trailer backed in very delicately to the closest approach point to our latrine, just a footstep away from the pig sty. Meanwhile, we had to disassemble most of the wooden gate to the homes backyard area where the latrines were located so that we could bring the rings back. The 30 meter move of these 260 pound rings was not trivial and by the time we had them stacked near the pits along with two caps, we were all drenched in sweat.
The first thing we did, though, noticing the speed of the truck was to unload all six at the back of the wagon so that he could head back. In addition to unloading the rings, one of the local guys also went into our pits and dug out a little more along the sides to even up the pits. Even more water had seeped in during the night and the water level was just at seven feet below the ground surface.
Santos had the bus waiting for us and we jumped aboard to go back to the concrete foundry for another load. When we arrived a truck was blocking the way getting a load of bricks, so we had to wait almost a half-hour for the driveway to clear. During that time we bought drinks at a local restaurant--bottled Coke and Sprite along with some cold water--and sat in the back to relax.
We finally had a chance to load the rings and did so quickly, returning to Unako house to find the pits complete at the nearby site as we also unloaded this shipment of rings there. By the time this was done and we’d sent the truck back for more, it was lunch-time.
During lunch we discussed our mounting frustration with not knowing who was in charge or what the plan for each latrine was. We had not received any kind of plan, the plans seemed (to us at least) to be changing hourly, and there was not a good sense of why we were doing what we were doing. I also did not have a good sense that whoever was in charge of the building knew anything about soil hydraulics and water tables.
After lunch--which was excellent, by the way, featuring a rice and coconut porridge--I asked Dinesh about our concerns. He still could not tell me who was in charge, but did say what we would be doing next which was to put rocks in the bottom of each pit to make sure the rings had a level base on which to sit. In each pit, the water was bailed again until they could see the bottom in order to ascertain if the base was level as rocks were thrown in, but that was very difficult to maintain as the water just seeped in quickly, covering the rocks and any sand that was added.
We asked about the steel rods that would act as the corner braces for the structures and never really got a good explanation for why those couldn’t be now installed into the set foundation corners with rocks and concrete. We wouldn’t do that until Thursday when the welder would come to look over our work, but then he wouldn’t weld the top braces and roof truss to our four vertical shafts until Friday. Oh well. In the meantime, we had people sitting around that could’ve easily and enthusiastically installed the rods.
In the afternoon, we managed to get our final two loads of rings to the sites bringing the daily total to 24. At the far site, with Mike’s, Debra’s, and Grace’s hard work and insistence, one of the rings was actually installed in the base of the first pit--video’ed by Debra for our instruction. Mike reported that the expert at that site, though, wasn’t completely happy with how level the ring was in the bottom of the pit and said that we would need to go down into the pit with two of three people in the morning and shim it level with river rocks. That should be fun.
Meanwhile, back at the near site, the foreman kept insisting on adding more sand and gravel to the bottom of each pit which, given the water that had now seeped back, only raised the level of the water and did not provide any visibly level bottom.
As we left, Dinesh and I chatted for a short time and he apologized for not fully explaining the process to us at the beginning. I told him that, especially with a group of five PhD engineers and yet another engineer in Mark, we could probably be a LITTLE overbearing in our questions and need for explanation, too. We ended the day, though, happy with our progress and ready to put all of the rings into the pits the next day. Dinesh also said that we might begin digging at sites three and four later tomorrow if the rings went in quickly. We could leave behind some of the team to do the concrete and rod installation while we dug pits again. There was some mention of a visit to see and meet some locals that would be at an indeterminate (or to be determined) time, but that was left as a possibility only. We all seemed to hope that that would be quick and that we would have a full day of work now that we’d overcome some of the uncertainty of the previous two days.
On the return to the hotel, we picked up a few locals who asked for rides. Santos had done so a few times earlier moving from Unako House and Gadhawa and back during the day. In each case the riders were thrilled to get a free ride to their destination and not required to pay. It was a special treat, it seemed, to ride with a group of dirty foreign workers, too!
We returned to the hotel shortly after 4:30 and everyone went to their rooms for their own cleaning ritual. Hoot brought laundry to the front desk and we’ll all be curious to see how that goes. I didn more bucket laundry.
Dinner was ramen noodles and chicken in a spicy sauce along with plenty of beer. We hung around until about 8:30pm talking, then everyone went to their rooms for a good night’s sleep.
During the day, I did take a few minutes to photograph the rice harvest, especially the winnowing of the rice using hand-crank fans to blow the husks away from the rice--all of this done by hand. The amount of hand labor--or lack of machine assistance--in the rice industry here is amazing. All of the fields seem to be ut by hand, gathered by hand, arm, and back, and threshed by hand. We’ve seen a few machine systems threshing the rice along the roadsides, but it was all from stalks carried to that site. We’ve also seen a few tractors plowing fields, but water buffalo seem to be as prevalent for that task as well.
The land is amazing fertile, too. In the bottom areas around the river, people are gathering what looks like wild growth lentils. I could find black lentils growing in the corners of fields and it was unclear whether those gathering the lentils had actually planted some small plots of their own on public land or were just more-or-less scavenging. The rice grows amazing thick here and in the ditches and along fences you can see long green beans growing free, squash sprouting from thatch roofs (the fruit growing on the roof), okra, and all types of flowers. Cabbage and cauliflower are being grown in some fields and we did see one field of corn as well. The only bare earth is in the rocky banks of the rivers. Everything else is green or grown and ready for harvest.
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15 Oct 2019
I woke up at about 4am and couldn’t go back to sleep. Closer to 5am, I just got up and rearranged all of my things in anticipation of the day. I also began posting photos and writing this blog before going down for coffee at 6:30. I also spoke to Becky by phone (wifi) and updated her on our status. Wifi was poor in the lobby, so I returned to the room to get more work done.
I went back and forth between the lobby and room for a few hours, alternating between coffee and wifi. Mike sat outside in the cool morning air with his coffee until the air conditioning was turned on in the muggier lobby. A local woman came buy with a large bag basket of produce on her head for the hotel. The lady proprietor picked through the small bags in the basket consisting of mustard greens, spinach, and the very long green beans that seem to be a staple here.
At breakfast we discussed the days plan with Dinesh. Everyone was excited to get started. We were told that wouldn’t be leaving until about 8:20, which we interpreted to mean that we wouldn’t be out of the hotel until 8:45, but we were happily surprised when Santos, our driver, showed up with the bus shortly after 8am. We were on the road by 8:15 and headed southeast across Lamahi and then on the road to Unako House (local home of CNP) and our work sites.
Along the way, Dinesh explained that this was one of the main roads to India and that there was considerable construction along the way, funded in part by the Indian government, to improve the road. We saw immediately that the state of the road was not very good and in one little town saw the construction first hand. The road was down to one bumpy, muddy lane in the middle of town and workers along the side were putting in drainage channels. The road alternated from very good to very poor several times and included a long, “one-plus” lane bridge across the river. I say “one-plus” because a bus and a tuck-tuck could cross paths on the bridge, but it wasn’t wide enough for two vehicles larger than a passenger car. On the return that evening, we had to wait for a string of buses coming the other way.
Dinesh told me that we could be passing through another town on the way and when he arrived he explained that, outside of Lamahi, it was the nearest large town that included both a police station and small clinic. He also said that we were passing by the hardware store where we might be buying things during the week and asked if we’d like to drop by to see what they had in stock--a short five minute visit. I agreed and the stop was just that--about a 50 meter walk from the town’s main intersection to the very, very crowded little shop that held everything from a paint mixing machine to corrugated steel roofing sheets, glass, plywood, flooring, hardware, etc. It was kind of like a micro-Home Depot in the size of a small convenience store. Every square inch was used for something.
Dinesh had told us that there would be a welcoming ceremony at the Unako House with the families that we would be helping attendance along with the rest of the staff and some trainees. When we arrived shortly before 9am, that’s exactly what we saw. We were greeted with leis of flowers and led into a large room with about twenty others. We were seated in somewhat of a semicircle and a little girl, along with a couple of other young ladies came around to each of us giving us a hand-full of flowers and putting s very bright pink bindi on each of our foreheads, saying “Namaste” as she did so.
Dinesh then introduced us to everyone and asked if one of us would like to say something and that he would translate for us. I stood up and gave a general thanks and welcome and Debra did the same, emphasizing CNP’s role in helping girls and women and how much that meant to her. Dinesh also explained some of the circumstances of the families, especially pointing out a widow we would be helping near the Unako House that had been abandoned by her husband’s family upon his death--a cultural issue not uncommon to the area by which the husband’s family places blame for his death on the wife.
We then took a few group photos and split into our two groups. Debra, Grace, Mark, and Mike joined me--we would be walking to the widow’s home about almost a kilometer up the road and the others (Hoot, Mark, Deb, Sue, and Hal) would be working at a site just a few meters from the building.
Sam, one of the staff members, joined us in the walk to our work-site as did Santos, our driver. The road was dusty with loose gravel, traveled by a tractor, a tuck-tuck for local transportation, and many on bicycle. We passed small farmhouses with water buffalo, goats, chickens, and a few pigs. Several of the homes had beautiful gardens with tall marigolds and other flowers attracting plenty of butterflies. Families from the homes were making their way to the rice fields as harvest season was underway.
When we arrived at our location, we were pleasantly surprised to see that much of our work would be done in at least partial shade as there were several small trees lining the ditch bank near the stick, mud, and thatched roof home. The site “foreman” used his three meter tape measure to mark out circles where we would dig the two septic pits (four feet in diameter), separated by about two feet, and the structure itself that would only be four feet by five feet. We were surprised that all of their measurements were in feet.
Our team took to digging the septic pits quickly--maybe too quickly. We were digging furiously and started to sweat profusely and overheat. Our pent up enthusiasm was getting to us. The weight and thickness of the loamy soil quickly took its toll, though, and we slowed. We had to cut through some fairly big roots as well.
At first, two could dig at the same hole at once, but once we were down into the ground by much more than about two feet, it got two crowded and we had to alternate. At first, the foreman said that we needed to dig down “nine feet” as we would be putting in (i.e., stacking) six half-meter tall, one meter wide concrete rings for each ring, but I had my doubts as to whether we’d be able to go that deep before hitting water.
As we worked in each hole, the foreman, along with Sam and Santos dug the foundation for the latrine with a wide hoe. It seemed larger than what we’d done with bricks in Cambodia. Once that was dug (about six inches deep and a foot wide, they began to line it with large, rounded river rock.
Throughout this process, we had about ten kids from the family and nearby watching us, ranging in age from five or six up to early teens. Some of the kids helped by carrying river rocks to the foundation--something Debra was helping with, too, but most just stood around and watched. As it got warmer, I opened my bag of Jolly Rancher hard candies and handed them out to the workers and kids who seemed to like them.
The digging got more serious as the clay soil got thicker and thicker. Soon, in the hole nearest the house, we were alternating one person at a time and struggling to pull that person (Mark, Mike, or me) out of the hole. Grace was working hard on the other hole as was Debra and while one was in each whole, the others were using the excavated clay to build a berm between the latrine and the drainage ditch beside the home--something we told might flood the house during the monsoon season. We also had to clear the excavated dirt from around the pits just so the digger could successfully toss their shovel-fulls of clay over the edge.
Soon, in the first hole, we were too deep to even throw out the clay easily. Debra suggested using the plastic buckets nearby and also tried to explain to our non-English speaking foreman that we needed steel buckets and rope. Sam and Santos weren’t there at the time, so this became a little frustrating. We decided to use the plastic buckets while we had them--along with some rope--and that worked for about five or six trips out of the hole until the handle broke. It was repaired but broke again. By then, Sam and Santos had returned, understood the problem, and promised to go into town during lunch to get steel buckets.
We took a lunch break at noon and walked back to the Unako House. The others were headed to lunch at the same time. We could see that they were suffering a bit more from the sun than we were with their work in an open field. They did have a “relief site” next to the building with shade, though, at which several chairs allowed them to take breaks. They also were struggling with the thick soil and, in their first pit, had hit water barely a meter down.
Lunch was a good break. We had a chance to clean up a little, get some water and have the standard meal. We compared descriptions of our sites and discussed the project more. Then and again later in the day, we realized that the latrines were going to be different than we expected and the thought came to us that it would’ve been nice to see a diagram or photos of the plan or to just visit a similarly completed toilet in the area before we started work.
We walked back after lunch and had a very productive afternoon. We completed digging the closest pit first. Mark had struck water before lunch and when we returned there was quite a bit in the bottom. We used the bucket to clear out the water and continue digging, but it was clear that we wouldn’t get much farther down. Same came over and told us that we were close to finishing and that seven feet deep--the depth to the now-established water table level would be good enough. Meanwhile, Grace was working on the second pit with Mike and Debra was helping with the rocks and mortar at the latrine, all of us switching in and out of roles, taking some photos, too.
Over lunch, not much was done with the toilet structure, but once the two pits were completed by about 2:30, everyone focused on that. Our foreman allowed us into the mix as Grace and Debra brought us buckets of mortar and we worked to together to add layers of rock to the walls of the latrine. Mike turned on his bluetooth speaker and the kids listened first to some classic rock and then some country music of Mike’s choosing. Grace (and I) got sick of that, though, and she chose a “Glass Animals” playlist followed by my selection of “Portugal. The Man.” The kids seemed to like that quite a bit better.
By about 3:45, we were done with the rock and mortar. The foreman and others piled some dirt around the outside the rectangular structure (with a step on one side and a slot on the other for the pipe) and filled the two-foot high structure with clay from our excavation piles to keep everything in place. We were told that we would dig out the clay from the inside once everything was set the next day.
As we left, I took a few photos, gave the kids another Jolly Rancher, and we packed up for the walk. It was a beautiful afternoon with the fields being harvest, the golden colors and vibrant dress of the locals making for some striking sites and photos.
At Unako House, we surveyed the work of the other team with Kevin and Hoot still digging away. One of their pits was nearing seven feet in depth--it was the one farthest from the nearby well head, while the other, only two feet away was wet barely four or so feet down. Mark jumped into that one and did some more digging, but it seemed obvious that both would have water in the bottoms when we returned the next day.
The rock structure at this site was a little higher than ours by a few inches and they did not used mud in the middle to hold things in place. They also seemed to use noticeably bigger river rocks than we did.
We decided to pack up for the day and left by 4:10pm. On the way back, Dinesh showed us a completed latrine that we saw from about 100 meters away.
Back at the hotel (we arrived at 4:45), everyone cleaned up with some doing sink laundry but others discovering that the hotel would do laundry. I cleaned my clothes in a bucket of hot water in the bathroom, showered and felt refreshed. We started to gather for the 7pm dinner by 6pm to have some refreshments.
At dinner, Dinesh told us that we would be helping load the concrete rings in the morning and that he had some meetings but would see as on-site later in the morning. He also said that the menu would change a little the next day and that we’d get some noodles and chicken instead of the same meal we’d had for lunch and dinner in each of the last three or (in some case) four days. That made everyone happy.
The evening concluded with Hal singing “Oh, Canada!” to the Canadian ladies in our group, fueled by a couple of beers and a generous shot of “Old Durbar” Nelapi whiskey--a highlight of the day. I was in bed shortly after 9pm and slept (with a few interruptions) until almost 5:30am.
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14 Oct 2019
I woke up before my 5am alarm, took a shower, completed my packing and brought everything downstairs in two loads, The guy at the desk was very helpful--he’d been on-duty all night--and took care of our checked common bag for trekking. Debra was already in the dining area having coffee, so I joined her and the others came down shortly after. As promised the food was ready, everyone showed up on time and (somewhat to my surprise) we were loaded, in the van, and moving at 6:18.
Traffic was very light as we made the 15 minute trip to the airport. We drove to the domestic terminal on the north side of the airport and our driver just let us out. He got some nice tips for his help with the luggage, though, especially from Deb and Sue who had three very large bags filled mostly with things they planned to give away during our time in Lamahi.
We walked towards the terminal--whose first line of security seemed to be the many monkeys in the trees and on the power lines at the entrance of the terminal--and found the Buddha Airlines front desk. I asked about our tickets and tried to pull up the PDF versions of each on my mobile phone when one of Dinesh’s helpers showed up, followed shortly thereafter by Dinesh himself, who had paper copies of our tickets and led us through the first screening. It was a short walk from there to the Buddha Airlines check-in and Dinesh handled all of that expertly after getting our passports. Within ten minutes we were headed to the final screening and the terminal.
As usual in Nepal, I set off the metal detector despite having emptied all of my pockets due to my steel hip, but they barely batted an eye, patted me about twice and moved me along.
Frankly, the domestic terminal at Tribhuvan is better than the international terminal. They’ve done rennovations in the bathrooms and there are a few little shops. Wifi was good while we waited and the flow to buses that carried passengeres to their planes seemed to work well. We were in the terminal by 7am and flights for Buddha Air to places like Pokhara were boarding. We waited about a half-hour for our flight to be called with most of us sitting around checking in with wifi, using the clean bathrooms, and perusing the maps on the walls or the trekking maps Hoot bought in Thamel that showed both Bardiya National Park and the Annapurna Region.
At about 7:30am our flight was called and we went through check-in to the bus. I sat next to what I thought was a Nepali family only to find out that they were from Fairfax County, Virginia and the two kids (ages 9 and 13) were born in the US. They were on our flight, visiting relatives in the Lumbini area--where the parents had been born.
The bus arried quickly at the ATR-72 twin engine plane that looked to be very well-maintained. We boarded through the rear entrance and took our seats. Dinesh was kind enough to get us all seats on the right side of the plane so that we’d have good views of the Himalayas as we headed east towards our destination.
The plane was about 80% full at take-off. We climbed quickly out of the KAthmandu Valley and above the hazy inversion. The pilot said we were flying at 12,500 feet, though it seemed higher. Once above the smoky haze, the views of the Himalayas were spectacular and the flight passed quickly as most everyone was crowding to the right side to take cell phone photos. Despite the short duration of the flight, the attendants served water and small bags of peanuts. They were very well-dressed and courteous and I was surprised to see that Buddha Air had its own in-flight magazine and was now even flying internationally to Kolkata, India.
We descended into the haze on our approach to Buddha International Airport and landed headed west. We did a u-turn at the end of the runway and proceeded back up the main runway to park at the terminal. Bags were unloaded and brought to a rather simple baggage claim area--there is only one terminal there--and we quickly got out bags. There was security, though, as Dinesh had to show claim tags for each bag as it was handed over the low concrete wall to us.
The parking lot was dirt and rocks, but we managed to get our bags over to the Tata bus and our driver that awaited us. Two teenage boys were also on the bus for the duration of our travels, friends of the driver who were helping him with the bags as well as with transporting some other goods that we later picked up.
Over the next three-plus hours of driving, we really had a chance to see the southern Nepal countryside. The roads were largely terrible with big potholes that required the driver to come to a near complete stop, interrupted by stretches of good asphalt that allowed for very high speeds. The bus had no air-conditioning or seatbelts, but plenty of rust and reasonably good tires and suspension. Our driver was VERY good and as safe as could be given the rules of the Nepali roads which seem to be: just don’t have a head-on collision; honk frequently to let others know you’re coming; pass other vehicles at every possible opportunity.
Our first stop was the Buddha Birthplace Shrine near Lumbini, a World Heritage Site. We parked off of the main road and walked about a kilometer into the main entrance, accompanied by many pilgrims that looked like they were bused in from India as well as many others. The complex is huge and resembles a nature park with a few large buildings.
I bought my entrance and photography ticket first and then waited adjacent to the ticket office for the others, taking some photos of flowers and plants in the area. A few minutes later, I turned to see Kevin and Mark had joined me and we started walking north to what we thought was the main destination, a large golden Buddha statue about a quarter mile up the wide walkway that was filled with pilgrims and others. We didn’t see the rest of the group.
We continued walking to the Buddha, took some pictures and, along the way, Mark and Kevin said that the others must be well ahead of us since they (Mark and Kevin) were last in line for tickets.
We walked another quarter mile or so and followed the pilgrims to the large Chinese shrine to Buddha, took photos and bought some water. We still didn’t see the others. By this point we were getting worried, so I checked email and found that the others were on their way back of the bus despite Dinesh telling us that we would be here for two hours--at this point we hadn’t been there for an hour yet.
We realized that we had gone the wrong way and that the main attractions (Buddha’s birthplace and temple) were actually BEHIND the ticket office--we’d passed it coming in--and that we were a good half-mile away.
We started walking quickly and communicated with the group that had to already be back at the bus and frustrated with our absence--and their wait in the heat. We did a quick loop through the shrine to see the birthplace and went back as quickly as we could. We probably should’ve taken one of the rickshaws or tuck-tucks to make it an even quicker trip, in retrospect.
Finally, we made it back to the bus (just over 1:45 after we’d left) and met up with the group. Dinesh was very happy to see us, not wanting to lose members of his group on the very first full day. We boarded the bus after many apologies and headed towards lunch and then Lamahi.
We passed through a broad valley covered with rice fields, occasional home and small villages. The roads had plenty of bicycles, motorcycles, pedestrians, large transport trucks, and a few passenger cars on them, as well as goats, dogs, and cows. We passed through one forested area from which many bicyclists were bringing bundles of firewood to villages and to small stands at which they sold the wood for cooking. The forest looked healthy and not overharvested, the wood being sold mostly being branches, not full logs.
We stopped for lunch at a small hotel called Pauwa and relaxed on the couches with cold water and the food we now know is not just typical, but standard for just about every meal in Nepal: a mound of rice, a bowl of daal, and then small surrounding bowls of spinach, mustard greens, fish or chicken in sauce, a smaller bowl of some spicey sauce, and then either soft roti or a very thin, crispy and peppery cracker bread--all very good and pretty much all you can eat.
We boarded the bus and drove the remaining 79 kilometers to Lamahi, a trip that took almost two hours. The most harrowing part of this segment was going over a mountain pass with many twists, turns, and narrow bridges. We miraculously avoided about a dozen head-on collisions with large trucks, motorcycles, and cows as we and others continually passed other vehicles on blind curves and hair-pin turns depending upon the brakes of oncoming vehicles, last-second swerving, and other evasive maneuvers.
We finally arrived in Lamahi shortly after 3pm and checked into the Hotel Classic. We’re apparently the only people staying here in the family run establishment that has eight rooms on two levels. Mike and Grace share a room as do Deb and Sue, and Kevin and Hoot. Mark, Dinesh, Hal, and I are in single rooms. The air conditioning works well in each room, wifi is pretty good on the first level where our rooms are (but very weak, strangely, in the lobby), and there’s really nowhere to put clothes other than a coat rack in each room. The carpet is like low-pile astroturf and the beds range from soft to plywood in firmness. The bath/shower is exactly that--a toilet room with a shower head coming out of the wall. It’s tiled to about a meter up from the floor with two floor drains. Hot water is merely an aspiration. We have a couple of plugs that seem to work well. The curtains don’t block out much light.
After checking in and getting the rooming arrangements set, we were told to meet for dinner at 7pm. Several of us decided to go for a walk and I used WhatsApp to announce the activity as well as to pass along the room numbers of the whole team.
We walked the mostly dirt streets of Lamahi for about an hour: Debra, Deb, Sue, Kevin, Mark, Hoot, Grace, and I. We asked about the price of the 650ml beer bottles in the shops (ranging from 270 NPR to 450 NPR), scouted any potential restaurants, and managed to get some cash out of an ATM on our second try. The locals seemed curious by our presence as this is clearly not a tourist town and we did not see any other non-locals during our walk. The west side of the town, where we’re located, is dominated by a large cricket pitch and we saw some teenagers practicing in batting cages upon our return. We walked through the dusty bus depot and MArk avoided becoming our first serious casualty by stepping out of the way of a bus that was turning (careening?) from the main highway into the gravely bus staging area. Along the way, we also saw plenty of water buffalo walking the streets on what looked like a regular evening stroll back to their home, a couple of rather large and impressive multi-story building construction sites, and plenty of agricultural machinery. The primary means of paid transportation in town seems to be tuck-tucks and we discussed taking a larger tour of the area via tuck-tuck on a future evening.
We were back at the hotel shortly after 5:30pm and everyone relaxed before dinner. Mark, Hoot, and I asked about beer in the lobby and were told that it was 500 NPR for Tuborg and 550 NPR for Carlsberg per bottle. They also had “Dragon” high alcohol beer for 400 NPR but we passed on that.
We ordered two bottles, three glasses and sat down to cool off. Shortly thereafter, Hal joined us and the so did Dinesh. We ordered more beer as Dinesh said that they would just run a group tab for the beer and charge us at the end of our stay--I can’t wait to see how big that bill is.
Deepah, one of the local reps stopped by to say “hi” but couldn’t stay. Sam and Hemaj introduced themselves as the construction experts for our trip and I opened up photos from my Cambodia latrine building trip to compare notes and better understand what we’d be doing over the next two weeks. They explained that the latrines would be similar to what we’d done near Kep, Cambodia, but that we wouldn’t be making brick walls. Instead, we would be adding rebar and other structural supports vertically from the poured foundation and then constructing steel walls in each latrine along with a corrugated steel roof. That should make the whole process go much quicker.
Dinner arrived shortly after 7pm and it was the standard plate, much like we’d had at lunch. The beer continued to flow, too. We finally adjourned at about 8:30 pm with the plan for the next day to have coffee and tea available starting at 6:30am, breakfast served at about 7:30am and then a departure at or near 8:20. I returned to my room, took a quick shower, plugged in things that needed recharging, inserted by earplugs, put on my eye mask and went to sleep.
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13 Oct 2019
I slept reasonably well again, waking up a few times before getting up at about 5:30am and making some tea. I also did sink laundry with underwear and two T-shirts to stay ahead of the game, then turned on the Air Force - Fresno State football game back in Colorado Springs via internet radio and started writing in the blog.
Air Force ending up winning the game 43-25, which was nice. Mark Kijowski arrived on time without incident and we all filtered through breakfast downstairs in the hotel. Hoot left early for the Monkey Temple and a chance to get in some stairs which I knew he would enjoy.
We told everyone to start meeting up in the lobby starting at about 9am, about the time that Dinesh arrived. He arranged for the hotel van (a 15-passenger vehicle) to take us to Creating Possibilities Nepal (CNP) and we left at about 9:45 after talking in the lobby and answering some questions. Several also went for cash at a nearby ATM.
The trip to CNP was longer than expected because the visit of President Xi of China was still on-going. We appeared to be redirected on one street towards roads with more security, possibly because of the size of our van. The main street heading towards the large government buildings were lined with police.
We pulled down a very narrow alley and Dinesh got out to open the gate to the CNP compound that is also his immediate family’s home. The driver edged his way into the parking area of the very well-kept home and we were greeted by several young ladies that were resident students at the home.
Dinesh directed us into the first-level living room and we all took off our shoes and entered. We all formed a circle on the couches. We were introduced to Nura as well as Dinesh’s wife (whose name I now forget). His two sons were there, ages 5 and 13 were there and the older one was quite sharp--excellent English and very inquisitive.
Dinesh went over the general background of CNP and the NGO environment in Nepal. He told us that there are nearly 10,000 NGOs operating in the country, many of which are very small and many others that are of questionable integrity and purpose.
Creating Possibilities Nepal is a group dedicated to “empower vulnerable girls, youth and women through education and income creation ending the cycle of poverty in their communities.” They’ve done this by providing school scholarships (5,000 per year), building homes, community centers, and schools, providing literacy classes, helping women build their own homes and buy land, providing bicycles to children and mothers, rescuing boys and girls from domestic slavery, and providing sickle cell anemia screenings. They strive to be very open and honest about their programs and impacts. I won’t go into any more details, as the links to their websites cover the information much better.
We then went into a discussion of the mission of our trip and our objectives. I went over Developing World Connections policies for the trip as well as expectations for myself and the team. Everyone seemed to receive all of this quite well and their enthusiasm was clearly building.
Some of the kids at CNP then took us on tours of the building/home showing us all of the rooms, kitchen, chores lists, roof-top, etc. I was impressed with their openness and lack of any pretense or sense that our visit was staged in any way. The young lady that showed me around is 17 and has two more years to complete her high school diploma. She then wants to go to university and study to be a radiologist.
We had lunch in the courtyard with all of those currently at the CNP facilites (about two dozen), enjoying chicken Mo-Mos and talking more about CNP and the project.
By 1:30, we were ready to go and returned via three taxis to the Eco Hotel. I paid the taxis and we then split up with some of us walking around Thamel--Mike and Grace needed to buy gaiters for our later trekking in Annapurna and Debra was with them some of the time. I did street photography for about 90 minutes covering as much ground as I could.
After we returned to the hotel, Hoot and Mike then brought over their trekking gear that they didn’t want to bring to Lamahi and we consolidated our gear into my one large REI duffle bag.
At 7pm, we met in the lobby for dinner and walked to the Satkar Restaurant on Amrit Marg. The restaurant has a set menu and a small stage with some dancing. Dinesh and Nura had arranged for the meal as the big kickoff for the trip. There was one other large party there, coincidentally a group with Intrepid Travel, an organization with which Becky and I have done several international small group trips.
The food was very good and the beer and wine were flowing pretty freely. They started the meal with a shot of their “rice wine” which was not nearly as bad as the hooch we had the day before at the Thamel House. We enjoyed the first two dancing set--the first done by two women and the second done by a man and woman. But then, about an hour into the meal, we lost all power. Naturally, the dancing ended as music and lights were inoperable. The staff brought out candles, though, and the meal went ahead as planned. At the end, Dinesh and I went to the front counter and paid the bill after I collected from everyone for the wine and beer.
We walked back to the hotel slowly, passing by a very large brick-lined rectangular area that serves as a communal hand laundry spot as well as the many open bars and shops one finds in Thamel.
Upon arrival at the hotel, we all got together one last time to reiterate that the hotel would have coffee ready by 5:50am, breakfast by 6am and that everyone should bring their bags down in the lobby by 6am as well.
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12 Oct 2019
I woke up at about 4:45 and decided to get some things done--uploading photos, checking email and writing my blog for 11 Oct. We then assembled in the lobby a little before 6:30 in the morning to go to the Monkey Temple, though Hal and Debra decided to sleep in.
We asked the hotel security guy in the front to get us two taxis to take us to the base of the mountain on which the temple sits and when I asked the first driver how much the fare would be for each cab he said, “One Thousands Rupees!” I laughed at him, offering him exactly what the guy at the hotel counter said should be the cost this time of the morning, 300 NPRs. I offered him 300 and he countered with 500. I said, “No, we’d rather walk,” and he said “Okay, 400!” I said, “No, we’re walking” and told the others to follow me. We walked about 20 meters before two taxis pulled up beside us and said, “Okay, 300!” (That’s about $2.80 for the 2.2 km ride)
We jumped into the two taxis and they made it quite clear that, in return for the bargaining, we were going to get exciting rides. My driver led and he drove like a bat out of hell, with the other taxi giving chase. It was the fastest I’ve ridden on the streets of Nepal. He came to a screeching halt in front of the temple steps and I handed him the money and thanked him. The second taxi was close behind and Mike described a similar ride during the chase.
We walked up the steps in the cool, comfortable, but somewhat humid air and immediately began to sweat during the 300 feet of climbing on the rock steps. Hal took his time, while we went up a little quicker, still stopping occasionally to take photos or check out all of the dogs (favorites of Grace), monkeys, and families along the way.
The top was not very crowded, but there were many still celebrating the festival of Dahain and a small band and some singers were performing in one temple. Along the south wall, some worshippers had started small fires in the triangular wall top slots overlooking the city. Others walked clockwise around the large stupa, and some lit candles, spun prayer wheels, or or made offerings.
We stayed at the top for about an hour, just walking around, watching all of the people, monkeys, and dogs and enjoying the cool air and views. Most were very quiet as they worshipped and it was a very peaceful morning. I met one German tourist who had the exact same camera and lens that I did. He told me that he had just bought it used and was trying it out. He asked about a few features and details and I helped him with the autofocus points and some exposure issues. I gave him my photo website and he seemed pleased with not only his new knowledge and contact, but with his decision to buy a seven-year-old used camera.
We walked slowly down the steps and then back to the hotel without incident. We loaded Hal into a taxi, though, and he went back for 500 NPR. I bought one liter plastic water bottles along the way for 20 NPR apiece, or about $0.18. Once back in the lobby at 8:30 (only two hours for the whole trip) we enjoyed breakfast and then relaxed for a little while. I kept in contact with Hoot as he had landed and was on his way to the hotel and at about 9:15am, Deb’s and Sue’s flight landed. The hotel was helpful in contacting me once their shuttle made contact with each.
We sat around deciding what to do for the day with Grace discussing going to other towns in the outskirts of Kathmandu. Bimal, Dinesh’s friend and apparently a hotel employee or associate of some type, arrived to ask us what we wanted to do. After a while, we decided to go to Kirtipur and a few other areas on the southwest side of the city, avoiding anything near or passing by the airport with the upcoming arrival of the Chinese president.
Bimal said that he could arrange another van for us and I went around to our group to find who was interested in going with us. In the end, it was decided that Grace, Mike, Hoot, and Debra would join me when a van was scheduled to arrive at 10:30. Bimal was evasive when we talked about the cost of the day, but said that since it was later in the day, it would probably be about $75 and no more than $100.
We waited until about 10:45 and still no van. Meanwhile, Bimal had disappeared. The hotel management and security guy then told us that our van couldn’t get in due to traffic and they led us about two blocks away to a main street where, with a little looking around, we found a gold Mitsubishi SUV with five seats and a very young driver named Nikas.
I tried to communicate with Nikas as we got into the vehicle, but his English was not good at all. I pointed to Kirtipur on the map and he seemed confused. He called someone at his office and we finally left when, I think, he realized where he was going.
The trip to Kirtipur did not go well. Nikas stopped three times along the way asking for directions and was pulled over by a pedestrian traffic cop for driving on the wrong side of some temporary traffic cones.
We finally arrived at Kirtipur after paying a 100 NPR per person entry fee. We descended the vehicle and started walking around, first into a large temple in the center of town. Nikas then seemed to disappear and we starting looking for some of the other sites in town based upon the tourist flyer we were given--that didn’t have a map. We talked with a few locals and found several of the sights.
It was nice that this was not a touristy area and we felt like we were walking through a more authentic, quiet village.
We walked back to the vehicle and tried for several minutes to find Nikas. When we did, he suddenly became a tour guide and starting leading us around without many verbal clues. We eventually made our way to a relatively distant Buddhist Monastery before turning back to the car.
Once in the car, we talked about going to Khokana, but Nikas said that he didn’t know how to get there. He called for directions, but also suggested that we go to Sanga. We told him that we’d already been to Sanga the day before--Sanga is Nikas’s hometown. We asked about Bungamati also, but he said he’d never been there.
Once we started driving--thinking we were going to Khokana--Nikas showed me his gas gauge and said he was almost out of gas, so we stopped for gas. It now became apparent that this was not Nikas’s car. He didn’t know how to release the door to the gas cap and then, once found by the guy at the gas station, couldn’t get the gas cap off without help.
When he came back to the car, he said that he didn’t know how to get to Khokana and that he’d never been there. We, by that point, had lost patience, so we decided to tell him that we just wanted to go back to the hotel. This confused him and he called “The Office” to ask them what he should do. A minute later, he handed me the phone and someone at “the office,” asked if there was a problem. I explained that there was a problem and that we wanted to go back to the hotel. He asked if it was a problem with the driver and I said that I would explain it when we got back to the hotel. I reiterated that several times before hanging up.
On the return to the hotel, our driver became lost and didn’t know how to get back to the hotel. We had to pull up Google Maps and direct him. He finally made it to the Eco Hotel and I gave him $5 USD as a tip and then went inside. One of the managers at the hotel asked if there was a problem and I explained the whole story to us. We did not and have not paid anything for the aborted trip. Bimal hasn’t contacted me.
With that debacle over, we walked down the road a little (with Kevin joining us) to the Thamel House Restaurant for a light lunch that was very enjoyable in an outdoor courtyard. The meal was capped with some small complementary shots of Nepali “rice wine” that was really just moonshine. After a short excursion to the ATM farm down Thamel Marg to get cash, we relaxed a little in the hotel as everyone went to their rooms. We agreed to meet at 6:15 to go to dinner. I checked with the front desk and they confirmed that Deb and Sue hand gone to the Fairfield by Marriott to meet a friend and that they’d be back by the time we left for dinner.
I used the remaining time to process photos and clean-up a little. Nothing was said again about our earlier trip.
I met Deb, Sue, and Debra in the lobby at 6pm and the others joined soon after. Mike and Grace begged off to have more time to chill. Deb and Sue seemed to be in good spirits despite arriving just a few hours earlier after a 12-hour layover in Delhi after a red-eye from Toronto. We walked down Thamel Marg and found the Yala Cafe without any trouble about 500 meters away.
The Yala cafe was very nice and open, as well as friendly. We all got along very well right way and everyone was talking constantly. Sue and Deb tried to order a bottle of wine, but the only read was a sweet Nepali wine that had no appeal. They ultimately settled on an available Jacob’s Creek Aurstalian white after Deb looked at the selection in the back room. The rest of us had water or beer (or Fanta) and we ordered from the menu. The food was excellent and our waitress was very nice and charming.
Deb asked us all to tell the story of how we decided to do this trip or deal with DWC and most agreed that they wanted to step outside of their comfort zone, make real, objective contributions to a local community, and see another culture.
During the walk back to the hotel, Deb was leading when a moped suddenly veered in front of her to cut into a back alley. The right-side exhaust pipe grazed her leg and that, coupled with the shock and surprise, cause her to tumble awkwardly into the gutter and curb. The driver stopped when I yelled at him, but he didn’t say much. Deb was clearly shaken but there were no cuts or serious injuries. Her left elbow seemed to swell a bit and was bruised--the largest injury. She was quite shaken psychologically--as anyone would be in the first hours of their time in a new country like Nepal.
We were able to walk back to the hotel from there without incident, keeping plenty of space (as much as we could) between the traffic and the others. Once inside the hotel, others went to their rooms while Deb, Sue, and I went to the bar. Deb got some ice from the bartender and applied it to her elbow while She and Sue ordered some “real red wine.”
We spent the next hour or so talking about our trip, politics, Canada, the US, and many other topics before calling it a night at about 10pm. I went up to my room, entered by spending and receipts for the day, and gave Becky a call before going to sleep.
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11 Oct
I woke up only two times during the night--shortly after midnight and again at about 2am--but went back to sleep until a little after 4am when barking dogs and realizing that I’d slept for eight hours told me that it was time to just get up, write in the blog and upload photos. That done, I went downstairs to make a call home to check on things and reassure my wife, Becky, that all was well. I then went to breakfast and was quite pleased with the service and food that included porridge, sauteed beans and carrots, potatoes, fresh fruit, small omelets, breads, juices, and yogurt.
After eating, I completed some more work in the room and then went outside for a short walk around the neighborhood with my camera to see the city starting to wake up.
By about 8:45 everyone was in the lobby or eating breakfast. Debra Powell was incoming today, so I reconfirmed her pickup at the airport and sent her messages with additional contact info and some reassurance.
We’d arranged for a driver to pick us up at 9am, but he didn’t arrive until almost 9:30. Lama pulled up in a small silver van that seated six and had air conditioning, I sat in the front passenger seat with the others behind and we decided on the day’s itinerary with a phone call to Lama’s boss, Bimal. It was decided that we would start by driving out of the city to Sanga, followed by visits to Bakhtapur Durbar Square and then back to Kathmandu and the Buddha Stupa or Buddhanath.
We drove through heavy traffic, once again on the obvious route that would be taken the following day by the Presidents of China and Nepal for their summit as indicated by all of the portrait photos along the way, banners, clean-up, and armed security. In the city, the quality of the roads is generally better than I expected or remembered, but there are some rather incongruous patches where they go from perfectly fine to about 50-100 meters of just pen gravel and potholes.
It took us about 45 minutes to get to Sanga, the site of the world’s largest Shiva statue. It’s kind of like Rio’s “Christ the Redeemer Statue” or the Virgin Mary statue about Beirut except without the massive crowds. The statue stands 43 meters high and has some dimple temples around it and great views looking west towards Bakhtapur and Kathmandu. They would be even better views if the air wasn’t so hazy from vehicle and other exhaust causing an inversion layer that limited visibility to about 10 miles. Occasionally, during the drive, we could catch glimpses of the snow-capped Himalayan peaks to our north.
We spent about 45 minutes at the Shiva statue taking photos and relaxin. The air was noticeable cooler in the higher altitude and it felt very good. We then rejoined Lama for the torturous drive down from the site, sliding past narrow streets and sleeping dogs down to the busy highway that connected Nepal with the Tibetan border about 150 kilometers away.
Next we drove back to the west and then veered north toward the temple complex and ancient city of Bakhtapur. Lama parked outside the gate and, as we descended the van, we were immediately accosted by local guides that wanted to show us around for two hours--only 10,000 NPW or about $9US. We decided that we just wanted to walk around, so we avoided them all, paid our normal 1500 NPR entry fee and walked in unescorted. We’d made an arrangement to meet back at the van with Lama at 2pm and it was now 11:30am.
I was both impressed and disappointed with the condition of Bakhtapur. Some of the most famous temples were barely piles of rubble still five years after the earthquake, but a surprising number were still in good shape. Very few looked to be in any serious process of rebuilding, though. In Pottery Square, the damage seemed to be quite severe.
We walked around for about 90 minutes just soaking in the sights and taking photos. The crowds weren’t bad, but we did notice that there were few if any Americans or English speakers of any kind. Most of the tourists seemed to be southern or eastern European or East Asian, though many were local or visiting Nepalese.
After enjoying the sites, we did a big loop of the complex and settled into a small garden cafe for lunch, ordering cold drinks and some local style food. As usual, Grace was served last, some drinks were forgotten, several ordered items weren’t available, but we enjoyed the meal anyway. It was shady, cool, and the break felt good. Time passed quicker than we thought and by the time we paid the bill, we barely had time to walk back to the van to meet Lama.
It took us another ten minutes to get out of the parking lot because a taxi was blocking our van and he refused to move until he saw Lama’s paid parking ticket. From there, we braved the crushing afternoon traffic to go to the giant Buddha Stupa in the northeast corner of town. This involved driving past the airport and a few other sites and some back-tracking from earlier travels. We saw more “Xi signs”, too. Lama finally got off of the crawling main highway and took us through shortcut to end one block away from the entrance. He gave us directions on which way to walk and we made it there easily in two minutes, crossing one major road that had been reduced to dust and gravel from disrepair.
The rest of the group was getting better at crossing roads as they adapted to Nepalese driving and we managed the traverse without incident. The entry fee was 500 NPR, so we paid and went inside to see the huge white stupa with the golden top and eerily observant eyes painted on the tower. Flag ropes fluttered in the breeze as hundred of locals, tourist--some devout, some just enjoying the weather circulated around the monument always clockwise, turning the hundred of prayer wheels on the outside, surrounded by a real tourist shopping mall experience on the exterior complete with multiple coffee shops and the usual souvenir stands. A walk around the outside was about 200 meters and maybe 120 meters on the elevated level on the inside. Everyone was stopping to take photos, staged and selfies with the flags an stupa in the near-perfect weather conditions. Many families with little children and grandparents were there as well.
We toured the facility and then went into Himilayan Espresso for an afternoon snack. Grace was served last again. We retrieved Kevin, who’d become separated and he joined us. MEanwhile, I went out for a last few photos after downing my double espresso and using the shop’s wifi to check on Debra’s status and make sure she had landed and had transpo back to the hotel.
Lama returned us to the hotel about 4:20 and we agreed to meet again in the lobby at 5:45 to go to dinner.
I use the time to post-process all of the day’s photos again and began to upload them. Meanwhile, I was comforted to see that Debra was en route, Hoot had landed in Doha, and both Deb and Sue seemed to be on track with their flights.
I met Debra in the lobby and we got acquainted quickly just before dinner departure. I introduced her to the rest of the team except for Kevin who’d decided to stay in. The hotel staff then tried to arrange for a pair of taxis to take us to a restaurant, but that didn’t work very well and caused us about 20 minutes in delays.
By the time we got to the restaurant, chosen by my friend Utsav--brother of the bride in a wedding I photographed in Kathmandu five years earlier and brother-in-law to one of my US Air Force friends--it was almost 8:30. Utsav was waiting for us outside of the unexpectedly closed restaurant, but he assured us that other restaurants were nearby and that we could walk to them.
Indeed he was right. Just around the corner, we found a nicely upscale place serving local food called Nilgiri Thakali Delights. We decided to let Utsav order everything for us and we would pay. I was surprised that he brought a gift--a bottle of Nepalese “Old Drubar” Whiskey and thanked him profusely. He read to me a very nice note just received from his sister by email and we settled down to dinner.
The conversation was even better than the excellent food as we learned about Utsav and his job. A civil engineer with a MS in environmental engineering, he worked on water and power projects in Nepal, attempting to coordinate water storage, preservation, and distribution improvements throughout the country. He likened the water infrastructure to the cable/telephone/power infrastructure with its thousands of unknown, hanging, exterior wires--in an undocumented pattern unknown to all and completelboth insufficient and undocumented. We also talked a lot about the history and current politics of Nepal, really enjoying the chance to learn more about this fascinating but challenged country.
The food he ordered was great, too. We tried the dried mutton (really goat) that was like a salad with crunchy jerk, the roti (fried bread), a pasty blob made of millet that you made into balls and dipped into sauces, the standard mo-mos, fresh vegetables with dipping spices and sauces, yogurt, etc. All was very good.
We agreed to pick up the tab for our host, took a few photos, and said our goodbyes after a very memorable evening. Hal took a taxi back, while Debra, Mike, Grace, and I walked the 2.2 km in the dark back to Thamel and the Eco Hotel.
The walk was uneventful as traffic was light by almost 9:30pm. Hal was waiting for us in the lobby. We made plans for the next morning (6:30 am departure for the Monkey Temple, emailed that new to Kevin, and then sat down in the lobby for more chat and a wee nip of the Old Durbar.
The whisky wasn’t bad at all. Not exactly McCallum 25, but drinkable. We were confident it would enhance the rest of the trip--especially the many upcoming evening discussion in Lamahi.
I went up to my room, checked emails on WhatsApp one more time and settled in just after 10pm. Tonight, I put in ear-plugs to defeat the dogs and the music coming from the beer bar across the street and was quite successful, sleeping almost straight through to 4:30am so that I could get up and write in the blog.
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9-10 Oct 2019
The flight to Istanbul was uneventful, but long. I managed about four hours of sleep, spending the rest of the time either reading or watching Toy Story 4. We arrived at Istanbul ahead of schedule and, after taxiing for quite some time, made it to the terminal.
The new airport in Istanbul is huge and beautiful, but it has the most ungainly and inefficient wifi system around, allowing only one hour of free access per person. Luckily, in that time, I was able to locate Mike and Grace and we decided to set up a small camp and wait out the next 3.5 hours until our flight to Nepal would board. We couldn’t locate Kevin, but eventually met up with him at the departure gate--which wasn’t announced until about an hour before departure.
We spent most of our time relaxing or walking around the new facility, marveling at the luxury goods retailers and duty free shops, as well as the amazing diversity one sees in a city like Istanbul--especially at its airport. Turkish Airlines claims to fly to more countries that any airline in the world, and that seemed obvious from what we saw.
We bought a couple of snacks, but not too much food. Mike picked up a big Tobelerone chocolate and some drinks. I had to have an authentic Turkish coffee. We also bought a bottle of Laphroaig whiskey just to have something a little stronger during the trip. I bought a new wireless mouse, too, as I quickly discovered something that I’d forgotten on the trip.
Before boarding, we met up with Kevin who seemed to have weathered his first flight quite well. It was good catching up with him and he seemed to be enthusiastic about the trip as well as meeting Grace and Mike. We boarded on time in the usual gaggle fashion, but I was happily surprised to get an unexpected upgrade to seat 1B in business class. That made the next leg of the trip so much more comfortable with my lay-flat seat and great food and drink.
The guy sitting next to me was a 30-is German tea dealer, educated in Scotland, who was visiting Nepal for the first time. Interesting guy with a fascinating accent when he spoke English. The flight departed the gate on time but had to return to the gate for about 10 minutes due to some minor mechanical issue. We left almost an hour late--more extensive taxiiing--and landed about 40 minutes late into Kathmandu.
I didn’t sleep very much on the flight--maybe an hour or so--occupied as I was with watching Gary Oldham in “Darkest Hour,” the great service, and the free wifi that I used to catch up. It was also fascinating to watch live TV coverage on TRT (the Turkish CNN) of the Turkish invasion of Northern Syria and to get their slant on these events.
The approach into Kathmandu at dawn was spectacular with the Himalayas out the left-side windows and the twisting, turning, final track into Tribhuvan International Airport. We departed the plane--what looked like the only flyable aircraft then on any tarmac or runway and walked to a shuttle bus that took us no more than 100 meters to the entry gate to immigration.
I was literally the first person off of the bus and into immigration, finding myself one of their electronic kiosks with which to process my visa--something that took no more than five minutes. From there, I only had to pay my $50 fee, get my passport stamped and then go through a security scan before arriving at baggage claim.
Mike and Grace were just a few minutes behind me but Kevin was one of the last to clear immigration as he had a couple of false-steps due to some poor advice. Nonetheless, we were all glad to claim our bags and head out together to the curb to meet our driver. I’d been conversing with Dinesh, our Creating Possibilities Nepal Team Lead, via WhatsApp so we knew they were ready to pick us up. I was also quite pleased to see that my cell phone (Pixel 3 on the Google Fi network) wrokedin Nepal since the Google Fi webpage reported that Nepal was not one of the 180-plus countries in which service was available. They must’ve just fixed that because I had a clear signal and Google Fi VPN right away. That saved me--so far at least--from buying a new SIM card for my extra phone.
We saw a guy holding a sign with our names at the curb and walked out to him. He directed us to another location and a van came to get us quickly. Our big bags were loaded atop the van in a small cage--not strapped down or covered--and we headed to the Creating Possibilities Nepal (CPN) site to pick up Dinesh.
Dinesh jumped into the van and gave us lots of info right away. We arrived at the Kathmandu Eco Hotel within 20 minutes (in the heart of the Thamel district) and checked in without any issues. Hal Rhoads met us in the lobby and we all relaxed for a few minutes over some coffee and tea.
The next 30 minutes were spent chatting with Dinesh about the trip, hotel, Kathmandu, etc. I told the others my plan to relax for about an hour and get unpacked--as well as shower and plug things in--followed by as much walking around the city as possible before crashing for the night. This has always been my plan when recovering from overnight flights. All agreed, though Kevin said he might do only a half day with us.
Dinesh introduced us to his friend, Bimal (sp?) who worked with the hotel as a guide. He informed us that the Chinese President, Xi, was coming to Kathmandu on Saturday, 12 Ot, and that if we were going to visit anywhere outside of Kathmandu (e.g., Bakhtapur) we needed to do that on Friday since road closures and traffic would be an issue. He offered to get us a driver to pick us up at 9am the next morning and drive us around all day to the outer sites of Kathmandu and we readily accepted. We would hit the loser in sites like the Monkey Temple on the 12th when our need for transpo and crossing the city (or going anywhere near the airport) wouldn’t be an issue. Bimal also warned us that the flights of those coming in on Saturday were likely to be disrupted (Hoot, Sue, Deb), but that there was nothing we could do about that.
The group reassembled in the lobby at 10:30am and we began our walk, maps in hand, through Thamel south to the Kathmandu Durbar Square area. I was immediately struck by how little had changed since my last visit almost five years prior, though as we got closer to the square we seemed to see more damage from the April 2015 earthquake in the form of unrepaired buildings, vacant lots where collapsed buildings had stood, and lots of bracing and scaffolding around unstable buildings or those in some state of repair.
We all successfully navigated use of an ATM, each getting out 10,000 Nepalese Rupees (about $90 US). A few blocks later, a young man seemed to glom onto us, asking about us and showing us around. We couldn’t get rid of him. He said he was just a student who wanted to practice his English and be nice to foreigners, but we knew it was more.
He was a nice guy, but we couldn’t distance ourselves. We finally found a place for lunch and he followed us in. I offered to buy him lunch, but he said he only wanted tea. We ate a light lunch of local food (daal, chicken, mo-mos, etc) in a small hotel restaurant and then went into Durbar Square. By this time, our “guide” was getting pushy and asked if we could each give him 1,000 rupees for his services. I kind of lost it and told him that we never asked for or agreed to his help, that we’d asked him to leave us alone several times, and that he wouldn’t get any money from us. He stomped off in a huff, quite miffed that he’d wasted so much time on us.
We spent about an hour walking around the Durbar Square area, much changed from my previous visit. Almost all of the buildings were closed to access and several were barely more than heaps of bricks, The largest building on the site, a nine-story, 17th Century structure was completely cordoned off with huge signs proclaiming the restoration work underway funded by the Chineses. We each paid 1,000 rupees for entry, but really shouldn’t have bothered as there was open access everywhere. We justified the expenditure to ourselves by saying that we were supporting the restoration of the site, too, but it wasn’t clear that the money was well-spent!
From Durbar, we meandered out way back towards the hotel through the twisting, dirty backstreets of Kathmandu, stopping at about 3pm at the “Garden of Dreams” to relax and get a coffee or drink. This beautiful little spot looks like the perfect wedding shoot location with manicured laws, ponds with lily pads, a classical building, sculptures, and walkways. It’s the nicest kept area in Kathmandu with no trash on the ground. Several hundred were in the park with their families taking photos and enjoying the peace and quiet.
I took several photos of families with their cameras and enjoyed interacting with the locals as usual--and also taking photos with my own camera. There’s a huge swing their supported by 25-foot tall bamboo beams that’s always a treat and people stand in line for five or six swings on the giant pendulum, each smiling for the cameras that are clicking away. I took shot of several including Mike pushing Grace to start her turn.
We walked the last 800 meters back to the hotel and agreed to meet up at 5:45 to walk to the Fusion Himalaya Restaurant about 300 meters away for dinner. Kevin, who left us just after lunch and skillfully made his way back to the hotel solo, sent me a note that he was fine and would join us for dinner.
We joined up a few minutes late--I was late as I had become engrossed in photo post-processing--and started out walk, led by Google Maps. We found the place easily, dodging cars, motor bikes, and huge potholes in equal measure along the way in the falling dusk.
We walked into the restaurant and the owner immediately greeted me by name. I’d been in touch with him asking for a reservation and he’d seen my WhatsApp profile. The other tourists turned and looked at us a little bit surprised. I found his place because it was somehow rated #3 of over 600 restaurants in Kathmandu despite having no more than 30 seats at its narrow, back alley location.
The owner was very helpful, but also explained that he was short-handed that evening and missing one of his cooks so he’d have to run back and forth between us and the kitchen to help the staff. We thanked him, ordered beers and relaxed.
The place was filled with western tourists and every seat seemed taken. The beer was cold and the appetizers were excellent. We ordered currys and chow mein and watched the action. Hal drank two large bottles of cold beer a little too quickly and was having a great time. Grace was starting to crash, as was I. We left the restaurant at 7:45 and all hoped to be in bed by 8:00pm.
I almost made that goal. I had to shift all of my stuff to another room earlier in the afternoon because my air conditioning wasn’t working, so that cost me some set-tup time, but by 8:30 I was sound asleep.
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Developing World Connections Nepal Trip (N1019)
12-26 October 2019
Monday, 8 October 2019
The Developing World Connections trip to work with Creating Possibilities Nepal in villages near Lamahi (Dang Province) is set to go after over a year of planning. The team consists of ten from the US (6), Canada (3), and Italy (1 US citizen) that will be arriving in Kathmandu from 9-13 October. Once there, we’ll be meeting with Dinesh and Nura from Creating Possibilities before flying and driving to Lamahi.
As the team leader, I can say that it’s been a lot of work--but very rewarding work--as I work with the DWC staff (Gerry Shea and Patti Miller, primarily) to recruit volunteers and work the logistics of the trip. I’ve been impressed with DWC’s communication throughout the process as well as the enthusiasm of the volunteers. As we’re all going over the final arrangements and getting the last of our questions answered, the excitement level--tinged with a little anxiety--is fairly high.
I decided to volunteer to lead this trip soon after also deciding to retire from the US Air Force after 37 years of active duty service. I’d arranged an Air Force Academy-sponsored service trip with DWC in June 2014, taking five Academy cadets to Cambodia to do similar work and was so impressed by the organization at that point that I made a personal commitment to continue my relationship with DWC and sign-up to lead a trip on my own once retired. Gerry Shea was great about providing that opportunity and the response from several friends and others to the trip has been gratifying.
Four of those going on the trip are long-time friend of mine and also retired US Air Force officers, including two other brigadier generals, one retired colonel, and a retired lieutenant colonel. All five of us have technical backgrounds as scientists or engineers and four of the five have deep academic roots as professors, too, so the dynamic should be interesting. The team is completed with the daughter of one of the generals, a pair of Canadian female friends from the Toronto area, a semi-retired American man living in Italy, and another Canadian lady from British Columbia.
Four of us (Mike, Grace, Kevin, and I) will be meeting in Istanbul to take out final flight into Kathmandu together and we plan to meet Hal--our earliest arriver, getting there on 9 Oct--at the Kathmandu Eco Hotel in the Thamel part of town. The current plan is for the five of us to walk around for a couple of days, possibly arranging some short tours to Bakhtapur and some temples, before uniting with the rest of the group (except for Mark) for dinner on 12 Oct. We’ll all be in Kathmandu by the morning of the 13th and then we’ll meet with Dinesh and Nura for a visit to the Creating Possibilities offices, a set of briefings about the trip and our work, and then a welcome dinner that evening arranged by Dinesh at Saktar Restaurant, walking distance from our hotel.
The trip to the Denver airport was uneventful. I decided to try a new parking arrangment since I’d be gone for four weeks and parked at the 6st Ave and Pena Blvd train stop since you can get a 30-day parking pass there for only $48. The train stop is a short walk away and I had just a nine minute wait for the next train ($5.25 each way). All--in-all, it was 35 minutes from parking spot to check-in counter at the airport--not much different from the actual airport parking economy lots that are $8 per day and require a 15-20 minute shuttle bus ride.
Check in went smoothly, too, though I did have to move one pair of work pants (my Air Force utility pants) from my checked bag to my carry-on, dropping my checked bag from an overweight 51.5 pounds to a svelte and acceptable 49.5.
It was good to see a Facebook post from Hal Rhoads who’s currently in Doha awaiting his connection to Kathmandu. He’ll be the first among us to arrive and I’m hoping that his visa processing and hotel shuttle pickup go smoothly.
I’m trying to come up with a sleep strategy for my back-to-back red-eye flights (ORD-IST and IST-KTM) but I think everything will be a failure. When you’re going almost exactly to the other side of the world (actually 11:45 different because of Nepal’s weird time zone), you’re going to be wiped out no matter what you do, so I’ll just try to sleep as much as possible (thanks, Ambien!) and work my way into Nepal Time when we arrive by walking around in the sunlight as much as possible.
Jordan - Lebanon Trip Blog
25 June
We decided to leave early in the morning in an attempt to beat the traffic, planning to use our United Lounge passes for breakfast and a little preflight relaxation once we were checked in.
We parked at the Mt Elbert shuttle lot, a process that took about 20 minutes from entry into the lot to arrival at the terminal for check-in. Given the lower cost ($8 vs $15 per day), it's definitely worth it for the 20 days we'll be parked here.
Check-in went reasonably well and the TSA lines for premium passengers was short. We arrived at the United East lounge with nearly 90 minutes to relax and out gate not far away for the flight to Dulles.
We checked one bag that contained almost entirely clothes for the Beirut part of the trip, then planned to carry on a roller and back pack each. My pack included photo gear: Canon 5D Mk III; 16-35mm f/2.8L Mk II from Mike Cutler; my 70-200 f/2.8L Mk II; my 24-105mm f/4L and 50mm f/1.4; tiny tripod, charger; sling bag; laptop; backup hard drive; memory cards and batteries; etc.
Our connection through Dulles for the overnight flight to Vienna is fairly close at only 1:10, so we treated the Lounge time as lunch, taking a step towards shifting timezones in three steps--two hours to IAD, six to Vienna, and another hour to Amman.
The flight went well to DC and we arrived almost 20 minutes early. We were worried because this was supposed to be our closest connection. It gave us time to walk around a little before the redeye to Vienna. We also put a final charge into our phones.
The Austrian Air flight boarded on time and had quite a few empty seats. I like flying the smaller wide-body planes like the 767-300 for this flight as it gives us two seats on the side and no worries about some stranger on the aisle seat. Becky took the aisle seat this time and I settled into the window. We taxied quite a while and were hung up in a traffic jam as the flights to Europe for the evening queued on the north runway. We finally took off almost 45 minutes late and were only able to make up about 20 of those minutes enroute. The flight was smooth, though, and generally quiet with good food and service from Austrian. I took advantage of the complimentary wine service to pre-game my 10mg Ambien with two nice glasses of red, then popped my pill just prior to eating the chicken dinner. By the time the serving trays were cleared, I was ready for sleep having pre-positioned my eye mask and set my Pandora off-line selection to the Phoenix Channel for some lighter alt-rock across the pond.
I think that I managed almost five hours of sleep, waking as we crossed the North Sea coast. Becky slept a little, too, and neither of us felt too bad as we landed at about 0850, almost 30 minutes late.
It was a long walk to the connecting Austrian flight to Amman and we wondered if our bag would make the connection. Still, the walk felt good after the short night and long flight. We had about 20 minutes to arrange ourselves and freshen up between arriving at the next departure terminal and then loading the shuttle buses to our Airbus 319 parked on the tarmac. It was surprisingly warm in Vienna, causing us to check the weather and see that all of Central Europe was experiencing an early summer heat wave.
The 3.5 hour flight departed on time and was again quite smooth. The little Jordanian kid seated behind helped me acclimate to the new time zones, kicking the seat constantly to keep me awake. Becky had a more peaceful time, though, and managed an extra 90 minutes of shut-eye.
I received a note from United saying that our bag, in fact, did not make the connection in DC, so upon landing we decided to head straight to the baggage service counter. On the way, we cleared the visa counter, displaying our Jordan Passes that included pre-paid visas on arrival. That really smoothed things out. We went to the baggage counter and gave them our info, bu they seemed to have trouble locating our bag--not good. In the mean-time, though, Becky went to the bathroom and, on the way, walked by the baggage carousel and saw our checked Osprey bag--problem solved.
From there, we were quickly waved through customs without inspection and exited to the main reception hall where our driver from the Marriott was waiting in a nearly new Toyota SUV.
The ride was almost an hour due to rush hour traffic. The highway had the distinct look of one of the Chinese “:One Road” projects we’d seen in Africa: new airport, big, newly paved six lane highway, etc. Our driver didn’t speak too much. He just said that he lived in Amman but was originally from Madaba.
We checked into the hotel and were greeted by a very friendly staff. We were informed that we’d been upgraded to an executive room with a king-sized bed and access to the Executive Suite on the 12th floor, so that made us very happy. The staff at the hotel was uniformly very, very attentive and friendly. The security was quite good, too, with pop-up barriers, a pretty extensive inspection of the SUV when we arrived, significant stand-off from the road, metal detectors, etc. All in all, one of the better Marriotts we’ve visited and well worth the price. We were glad we booked it for this night and then again for two more when we would return from our Intrepid Excursion.
After a shower and a few minutes of light unpacking, we headed to the Executive Suite for their happy hour and food. The spread was excellent with chicken skewers, hummus, baba ganoush, salads, drinks, etc--more than enough for a meal.
After our heavier than expected “light snack,” we left the main exit and got a taxi to the Citadel. Before going, we were told by several that the Citadel was already closed at 6pm but that the Roman Amphitheater was open late. We heard the reverse of that, too, as well as both being either open or closed. Our taxi driver told us the Citadel was closed, too, but we drove there anyway. It turned out that Google was right--the Citadel was open.
Our Jordan Pass got us easy entrance into the park area of the Citadel and we were treated to tremendous sunset views of the hills of Amman including the Amphitheater, giant Jordanian flag on a hillside, and the Roman ruins. The Jordanian locals there were very nice, too. Several asked me to take their photos and I handed out several of my cards.
One family asked me to take their photo with the dad’s iphone--he had two young daughters--but the mother was excluded from the photo as she was wearing a full burqa. The father then asked if he could take a photo of the two of us with his daughters and we agreed. Another teenage girl asked if I would take photos of her and her younger sister and I agreed--giving them my instagram handle and email address to forward the shots.
Throughout our self-guided tour we saw a young couple posing and taking photos. They looked to be engaged and were taking many posed selfies and photos of each other. Near the end of the tour, I asked if I could take a few photos of them. He agreed and it was at this point that I realized that they were both deaf. They were very appreciative of the shots, too, and I again gave him my card. He emailed me later that evening with one of their selfies attached to remind me of their identity and I forwarded four shots to him with a promise to send more, if he liked, from what I’d posted on my website.
I also took photos of another group of young people at their request and added significantly to my insta follower count.
The Citadel was really beautiful all evening as during the Golden Hour the shots of the ruins with the city as backdrop came out well. The guards started to move everyone towards the exits, though, as we neared 8pm and I made a note of that if Google asked for any info during later use.
From the Citadel, we chose one of the many taxis to take us to the Amphitheater. Our guide offered to drive us all over Jordan for as many days as we’d wish--something that, if seemed, every driver offered. He was quite proud to point out that he was cited by name in the Lonely Planet’s guide to Jordan, handing us a highlighted copy. We took his card and told him that we would call upon our return if we needed anymore help. Along the way, he stopped at an overlook of the theater and then dropped us at the square in front.
The square was alive with action--families with kids everywhere, in-line skaters, soccer balls, basketballs, blade scooters, hookahs, women in all manners of dress, lots of young men, hawkers selling food, etc. The amphitheater was, in fact, closed, though and we could only enjoy the views from the outside.
We then walked towards Habibah Sweets, a mandatory stop, we’d been told by many, for freshly made Kanufeh, the national dessert of Jordan. The streets were jammed with cars and people and we used Jordanian pedestrians as blockers while we crossed the road to Habibah.
We were visiting the original location of Habibah & Sons and were lucky that there was no line. A plate to share cost 1 JD ($1.60 US) and we took our plate upstairs after taking a few photos of the chef. The place sat maybe a total of 30 people including the upstairs seating area, but there were plates of Kanufeh and Baclava that could’ve served 100 each. Signs indicated that the Habibah family would deliver almost anywhere in Amman, plus they had another three locations in the city if one was outside of the downtown area.
The kanufeh was excellent: a bed of mild, white cheese about a quarter inch thick topped with what they described as wheat shavings (more like coarse whole wheat flour) soaked in a sugary syrup, lightly flavored with rose water, and also topped with crushed pistachio. It was delicious and unlike any dessert I’d ever tasted. Becky enjoyed it, too.
We thanked the manager and chef on our way out, took a few more photos, and then hailed a taxi to return us to the Marriott. A driver rolled down his window, and responded “Four J D” when I asked how much to go to the Marriott. I countered with “Three J D,” and he smiled, waved us in, and we departed. The traffic was down a little from the afternoon, but the three mile drive still took almost fifteen minutes of honking, swerving, acceleration, braking, and only the most subtle and carefree pedestrian avoidance.
The day had gone well, so we decided to press out luck and return to the Executive Lounge for a nightcap. We entered and the same server whom we’d had earlier greeted us. It was after 9pm and the Lounge was largely deserted even though the sign said it was open until midnight. We asked the server for a beer and he apologized and said that the bar was closed. A minute later, though, he returned with two fresh pints of Carakale Jordanian Lager, from the only craft brewery in Jordan, and said that “A man which such a nice woman deserves a beer.” I agreed. He also brought us a plate of brownies and we both agreed that this was a pretty amazing first eight hours in Amman.
We returned to the room, trying to stay awake a little longer. I quickly uploaded photos and did a fast first pass through post-processing in time to post the first day’s shots while Becky got ready for bed. We decided on setting an alarm for 7:00am to get into the right time zone and both were in bed and close to asleep by 10:30pm. I took an Ambien for a little help and the next thing I knew it was 5:30am--I was awake at the same clock time as usual in the Mountain Time Zone.
27 June
We returned to the Executive Lounge for breakfast and were just as pleased as we were with dinner the night before. Excellent service and wide choice of options from some traditional English to local yogurts and breads.
We left the hotel by taxi at 8:30am and headed towards the King Abdullah Mosque--the only one in Amman open to tourists. Our driver offered to give a tour around the whole city, but we declined.
At the mosque we both had to put on long robes since I was wearing shorts and Becky needed to put her scarf. We passed through a souvenir shop that seemed to be run mostly by a group of young women (sisters) that spoke excellent English. The older mensat in the back and watched them, smoking their cigarettes and seemingly guarding the camel hair rugs from afar.
The mosque was not really that impressive--in size of decoration. We spent about 20 minutes walking around it after paying out 2 JD entry fee. Becky had no restrictions on where she could go.
After the mosque, we passed back through the souvenir shop and were given some very hot tea while the young ladies explained to us the most important souvenirs of Jordan: mosaics and decorated ostrich eggs. Both were beautiful as were the camel hair rugs and decorated plates. The eggs started at 150 JD and many of the camel hair prayer rugs were 500 JD or more. We enjoyed the tour, but begged off of any purchase by reminding them that we would return in eight days and didn’t want to commit to anything (or transport it) before then. Of course, we were offered special deals to buy today and free shipping to the States via DHL was included for free, but we held our ground.
We jumped into a metered taxi (finally) from there to go to the Jordan Museum. We discovered that this museum doesn’t take the Jordan Pass, but paid the 5 JD each for entry and went inside.
This museum was extremely well-done, focusing almost entirely on the pre-Islamic history of Jordan, from prehistoric times through the Bronze, Iron, and Classical eras. I found it rather surprising that they had so little about the Islamic era, but the displays informing us about the other ancient cultures throughout Jordan was very extensive and well-curated. We spent a solid two hours there before moving on.
The next taxi took us to “Rainbow Street” where we expected to find many small restaurants and coffee shops. We weren’t disappointed and quickly settled on what looked something like an outdoor pizza joint called “Fatatri.” They had nice umbrellas for shade and, by spying on the plates of the other patrons, served what looked like flatbread, but was called “feteer.” I’d call the Jordanian stuffed quesadillas. They were crispy and folded, freshly roasted and lightly charred on the outside, filled with a mild but salty white cheese and then a variety of vegetables and herbs very much like Mediterranean style pizza (e.g. caprese, margarita). We had a diet soda each and enjoyed two “halfway” servings of the feteer, sharing the Cypriot and Caprese styles.
We then walked down Rainbow Street looking for a taxi, but had no luck in the midday heat.
It was clear that the main street was well below us and that Rainbow Street was stop on of Amman’s many (seven, they claim) hills. We had to navigate down some very steep steps about 100 feet before arriving at a main artery road and then jumped into a tax with a passenger already in front.
Our driver explained how much he loved Jordan, but spoke no other English. His seat was broken in the reclined position, so Becky and I had to squeeze into about one-and-a-half seats in the back. Still, he got us back to the Marriott in one piece, gouging us for a fare of 7 JD.
We’d arranged for a late checkout at 2pm, but were just arriving at that time, The main desk folks were very good about that, though, printing us a fresh key. We decided to try the Executive Lounge one more time for a final coffee and succeeded. The lattes were excellent. We also enjoyed the view east from the 12th floor and congratulated ourselves on the insight needed to book this great hotel. The servers once again gave us water bottles to go and we did just that--heading back to our room to grab out bags and go to the lobby. I checked out and also gave the front desk our biggest bag to hold until we would return on 4 July from our touring, dropping the suggestion that we looked forward to our return and hoped that we would be treated just as well then (i.e., upgraded to include the Executive Lounge!)
Not wanting to leave the air-conditioned luxury of the Marriott, we decided next to just hang out in the lobby for an hour or more before walking the 650 meters (according to Google Maps) to the Grand Palace Hotel and our meet-up with our Intrepid guide and group slated for 6pm.
Becky enjoyed the chance to relax and I used the time to write most of what you’ve read above...
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17 June
Even though we set the alarm for 0700 in hopes of sleeping a little later, both of us were up at 0630 after maybe about six hours of sleep. The air conditioning in the room worked well, but we didn’t have any hot water. Apparently, there was a switch to turn it on in the main living area (unlabeled) that we should’ve found. I tried to update some files and upload photos but had very little success.
We went down to the sparse breakfast that was just toast and pre-made omelets. There was also a pot of what looked like oatmeal, but I didn’t try it. Georgia was talking to a guy about our age. He had a thick Southern accent and asked us if we spoke French., Apparently, he was a high school French teacher on a Fulbright Foundation Trip with about a dozen other Georgia state educators led by a professor at Savannah State. He joined us at the breakfast table and talked almost non-stop for over a half-hour. He reminded me a lot of the character “Cam” from the “Modern Family” TV series. However, he was clearly on a luxury tour compared to what we’d already seen and I could tell that even Georgia was chuckling (and cringing) a little, but quietly.
Georges was there by 0830 and told me that the van was already there. He was still upset about the day before’s fiasco and wanted to make sure all went well today.
We loaded into the van and were ready to go once Eddie jumped in after his standard five-minute breakfast.
A TransAfrica rep named Peter joined us on the bus, apparently for no other purpose than to give us a verbal apology--albeit with no explanation at all--for Saturday’s mess. It rang hollow.
We drove first to the Manhyia Palace, home of the Ashanti king and the museum of the Ashanti Empire.
We parked outside in a parking lot by a large field and were told that that area was used for their every 42-day ceremonies led by the king. We then walked to the museum that was housed in a building donated by the British to the Ashanti king over 100 years ago in partial compensation for wrongs done to him and the empire. There were several peacocks on the grounds, but several look like they’d had several of their “eye” tail feathers pulled for some reason. They squawked loudly at us, performing their role as “watch birds.”
We were escorted into a center courtyard and were supposed to watch a short video before beginning our museum tour, but another pair of tourists had just finished the video and their guide asked us to join them for the tour.
Our guide was a very knowledgeable young man in his mid- to late-20s with evident pride in his Ashanti heritage. He gave a great tour that lasted about an hour during which he told us quite a bit about Ghana’s history through the lens of the Ashanti Empire that arose in the region in the late 17th Century. There were displayed showing the work of the most recent kings since the Colonial Era began and especially since the Ashanti fall to the British in 1873. I hadn’t realized that the Brits sent the Ashanti king into exile in the Seychelles Islands and that the queen mother joined him and died there. The king returned to Ashanti after 28 years of exile and became an ally of the Brits--of sorts.
Today, the Ashanti king is largely ceremonial, but still taken quite seriously. The king still “owns” or controls the land of the Ashanti region and collects royalties on the use of the land by locals and foreigners. He approves all land sales and purchases and is used by the government to resolve disputes in the traditional tribal areas. It was also interesting to learn that about 100 years ago, the Ashanti king had converted to Christianity and the Anglican Church and now all kings and the kingdom were associated with the Anglicans.
Like the king we met in Aniassué, the Ashanti kings are chosen from their maternal lineage, usually the eldest nephew of the king, chosen by the Queen Mother. The Queen Mother is really the term given to the most senior woman in the king’s family and could be his mother, eldest sister or maternal aunt.
The museum did have some interesting displays of the king’s furnishings dating back 60 or more years including his first TV, first refrigerator--which supposedly still works, but wasn’t when our guide checked it. Water was dripping from the freezer section onto the floor when the door opened. Clearly, a royal defrosting. There was a smoke alarm in the building, too, that needed its battery changed and annoyingly screeched one per minute during the tour. I presumed that this was the first royal smoke detector and it had its original battery still.
Otherwise, they also had displays of the king’s guns, crystal, dinner servings, gramophone, etc. It was a very enjoyable tour and highly recommended. We stopped into the gift shop where Matt, Charlie, and I each bought souvenir Kente cloth neckties.
From the museum, we went only a few blocks away to the Ketegia or Central Market of Kumasi, the largest in West Africa with over 10,000 individual stalls and covering probably 20 acres or more. First, though, the cadets stopped at a couple of ATMs for cash.
Before entering, Georges ad-libbed a little and took us up some stair of a residential building that went directly to the roof of an adjoining building so that we could see the whole market from above.
The roof was a collection of bare rebar sprouting through supporting concrete columns and a couple of shacks from people living up there. We walked to the overlooking edge and started taking photos. Suddenly, two floors below, two women selling vegetables starting yelling at us, threatening (half-heartedly) to throw vegetables (cabbage and cucumbers) at us, upset that we were taking photos. We laughed at all this and egged them on. They laughed at us and we could tell it was for show.
We then descended and walked in. It was Sunday morning, which worked out well because at least half of the stalls were closed and there were not many patrons at all. We weren’t jostled much and just had to step out of the way of passing merchants with large carrying bowls on their heads or huge bags at their side.
One of the butchery sections was still, probably, one of the worst smelling places I’ve ever experienced and I could tell that Georgia and Evan were about to gag. Looking at the slimy tables and tree stumps used as chopping boards, it was easy to see why. We were in the “tripe and entrails” section and some of the “non-meat products” were looking a lot like part of Saturday’s (or Friday’s) sale. Georgia asked that everyone keep moving and I had no problem obliging. People in the market varied greatly in their willingness to have their photos taken. Some were very reticent, while others openly asked or easily assented to my requests.
We didn’t spend too much time in the market and Georges did a good job of moving us along. We came out, miraculously, just a short distance from where we entered and walked over to the area above which we had stood on the roof. We greeted the women who had threatened us with their vegetables and all had a good laugh. I bought a bunch of about a dozen small, ripe bananas from a woman for 3 Cedis ($0.60) and passed them out among the group. The bananas were very tasty. I offered the rest to our driver, Dada, and he appreciated it, eating two right away.
From the market we drove to a couple of craft “villages” that were really just sets of stalls along the road in villages on a road leading out of Kumasi. The first was a wood carving area known as Ahwiaa. Under a large wooden cabana with corrugated metal roof, about a dozen men were either working on royal-style Ghanaian/Ashanti stools or smaller items with a variety of hand tools. They gave us a few short descriptions of the stools, including how you told the difference between a man’s and a woman’s stool: the woman’s had five “legs” connecting the seat to the base and the men’s had a single pedestal type structure between the two that was carved into the Ashanti symbol meaning, essentially, “God in All Things.” More likely, though, they were paired up in games of Mancala or watching games being played. They were moving with incredibly speed, picking up stones from one chamber and dropping them successively into the adjoining pots one at a time, picking up the next if there were still stones in their last pot, gathering any stones they’d earned, etc. The next player would start his turn before the last stone played by his opponent was even done rattling in its pot.
They invited us to sit down to play a few games with them which I did. My opponent and teacher taught me the local variant and then we started. He was very helpful in the first game, as was Becky, as I relearned a game we’d played with our sons quite often when they were growing up. He clearly let me win the first game and, in the second job, did an even better job, I’m sure, of letting me win. Of course, he and his friends had Mancala sets for sale and after the two games we joined the cadets that were already hard at work bargaining for their latest souvenirs.
We settled on two sets--one for our grandsons and one for the brewery-- with each being a different color of stained local wood and having a giraffe or an elephant carved into the folding case. The owner of the shop wrapped them nicely and gave us two or three extra stones.
From the wood carvers, we went to a village that specializes in Adinkra or stamped cloth. To us, the ones for sale looked like that had been machine woven and then locally stamped with a waxy dye that might not survive for very long. Georges told us that the most common uses for the Adinkra cloth were as robes for funerals and that we could pick out the funeral patterns because they were almost all black and red patterns, though some were black and white.
We told him that we were really interested in seeing the Kente cloth weavers in action in the next village of Bonwire, so we didn’t stay in the Adinkra area for very long.
Bonwire was just a few miles away. As we approached, we could see some foot looms in front or beside houses with their characteristic long, tight runs of gold thread leading to foot looms under large mango trees. Once we arrived at the center of the town, we parked just before a narrow street by the sign that indicated that a communal workshop was at the end of the path. We walked along the road to find a typical old cinder block and stucco building in the shade of a very large tree. Inside were at least a dozen foot looms and products from the “cooperative” that turned out to be not so cooperative.
We were immediately stampeded by the weavers as we walked around the inside wall of the building. Only one weaver was working at the time and it was fascinating watching how fast and coordinated he was in flipping the loom with the cords strapped to his feet and passing the shuttle back and forth between the rows of thread, easily at more than once per second.
We were surprised the huge variety of patterns and colors at the center--far more than we expected or I had seen in my previous, brief visit to Ghana. Each of the salesman brought out full-sized tablecloths, table runners, and strips ranging in size from a single strip that is about four inches wide and a meter or more long to one meter by two meter tablecloths made of stitched together strips.
The individual strips we're going for between 20 and 50 Cedis or about $4 to $11. The Weaver's explained and showed us the difference between single, double, and triple weave fabric--the factor that had the most to do with price.
As we moved around the building, the sellers became more and more aggressive and more willing to deal. Becky and I ultimately settled on a table runner and a unique decorative strip, but the moment you bought one item, the Weaver either wanted to sell you another at a better deal or his cooperative competitors would jump in with similar offers.
If you changed your mind and declines one offer for another, then the Weaver's would argue in an increasingly tense manner. Frankly, it was starting to get ugly and we decided to leave. Sellers followed us all of the way to the bus, desperate to make a sale. We told them that we didn’t have room in our baggage but that didn’t slow them down.
I bought one last strip from a guy who’d been lowering his price as we walked settling in 25 Cedis for a nice double woven piece.
You couldn't fault the weavers, really. In a world where the equivalent of a $5 sale can make your day or week, we understood their fervor.
On leaving Austin held us up for a moment while a guy wove a bracelet for him bus-side by hand. Austin wanted it to read Antoine and had written it on paper, but it came out as ANETONIDE--another funny story for the future.
We next drove the Anita Hotel and restaurant for a late lunch. The dining area was very elaborate and kitschy and it reminded Becky of many hotel restaurants we’d seen in China.
We ordered drinks at our large round table, took turns cleaning up in one of the nicest washrooms we’d seen on the entire trip, and ordered lunch.
Almost everything we initially ordered was not available--a recurring Ghanaian theme-- including all of the local favorite Ghanaian dishes like “Red-Red.”
Most of us settled for pizza, but Austin got Beef Stroganoff (inexplicably available).
During the drive back to the hotel, we visited one of the oldest Ashanti shrines in the area, a restored building now made of concrete blocks, but with an authentic bamboo and thatch roof.
Inside were some old “Talking Drums,” used for centuries to connect villages at a very low bit rate. The site also had a royal-style stool for the local king or chief and was still used for the every-42-day Akwasidae celebration.
Georges told me that the Ashanti month is 42-days and the celebration that marks the new month involves several parts. Locals are expected to bring gifts to the local king or chief and, as we learned in Aniassué with that local chief, the favored gift was a particular brand of Schnapps that came in a green bottle. Food and livestock were also accepted, but this explained the huge pile of discarded, empty Schnapps bottles and their cardboard cases that formed a mound under the only tree in the small compound.
The site had several narrative posters about the building’s history, construction, and renovation,
We walked around the little village for a few minutes and I managed to gather a following of local kids who wanted their photos taken again and again while striking their favorite glamour or Kung Fu poses.
We returned to the hotel after getting a little lost in a nearby village causing Georges to get mildly upset with the driver, Da-da, for taking the wrong turn. Nonetheless, we made it back to the hotel shortly before 1700 to clean up, relax, and get organized for the next day of travel.
I downloaded photos, tried to deal with the slow internet connection, and then we joined the cadets downstairs at the bar for the 1800 Brazil-Switzerland World Cup match. I brought my laptop down and finished processing photos, but had little more success loading them. We all turned in earlier than usual to compensate still for the previous day.
18 June
Neither of us slept very well for some reason. It may have been that the air conditioning worked, too, well and we actually woke up cold a few times.
We were packed and ready before breakfast started at 0700 and met Georgia there again this I'm without her Fulbright friend from Georgia.
Following breakfast, we hauled our luggage to the lobby, checked on the others who were finishing breakfast and loaded up the van to leave just a couple of minutes late. Google Maps told me it would be a 4.5 hour drive to our hotel in Cape Coast, but Georges said we would make some short stops along the way to see local crafts and industries. He also said that we would be driving around Kumasi to avoid the Monday morning rush hour traffic, something Google Maps suggested as well.
Our first stop was along the road at a carpentry shop that made home furniture and coffins. Some of the coffins were very elaborate: one shaped like a fish, another like a house, a third one rather plain. In the back of the carpentry yard, two men were cutting long, wide raw boards into smaller sizes with a huge open saw blade, the workers not sporting any protection equipment whatsoever for eyes, ears, or appendages.
We’d already learned that funerals are a huge social status event in Ghana. There were enormous road signs erected to announce the passing of a loved one or even the anniversary of their death. Some posters announced funeral and after-party details as well as dress code in addition to the deceased’s age, dates of birth and death, and occupation or key survivors.
Georges told us that funerals are a means of a family demonstrating their reverence for the deceased as well as showing the community the status of the family socio-economically.
Our next stop was to a community palm oil production facility in the city of Bekwai. We were passing through the hometown of our driver, Da-da, and he seemed to know people. Georges asked him to stop the van on the roadside by the palm oil facility and we got out of the bus.
Georges and Da-da greeted the woman that looked like she was in charge who took us on a tour around the yard.
There huge bags of raw palm nuts on the side of the road that were the raw material. They looked like dark gray granite gravel and not nuts if you were not close-by.
The large nuts went through a coarse grinder that was really a cracker for the hard outer husk. The result was passed through a spinning, first level grating that separated the smaller pieces of cracked husk from the inner, very hard, nearly black seed that was little bigger than an almond. Georges took one and cracked it open with his teeth and showed a soft translucent white nut inside that reminded me somewhat of a hazelnut. I tried it, but it didn’t have too much flavor.
From this pile, the nuts and large pieces of chaff we're separated in water because the nuts floated and the chaff, strangely did not. The women seemed to mix some red dirt into the water to provide contrast for fishing out the nuts--something they used a large colander to do.
After being completely separated and cleaned, the refined nuts still in the shell were placed into big black cauldrons for roasting.
The pits we're placed on what I can only call “ground ovens,” where a hole had been dug and three supports of some kind (e.g., bricks, large rocks, a smaller pot). A fire with either charcoal or raw wood was started underneath each cauldron and then tended by women and local children.
The resulting palm nuts we're charred black and then put through a very fine grinder out of which extruded a short of oily black peanut butter with the sediment settling into the bottom.
The thick oil smelled somewhat like sesame oil but looked like motor oil. Moments after make that comparison, the woman operating the grinding grabbed a small cup, dipped into the top layer of the product and began pouring the oil over all of the moving parts if the grinder.
Our guide explained to Georges that no part of the palm nuts is wasted. The first layer husks are so blacksmiths to fire their forge and the sludge from the final grinding, once oil was separated from it, was sold as fish food. We thanked the ladies for allowing us to disrupt the day, took a few more photos and jumped on to the bus.
Our next stop occurred only about 15 minutes later when Georges ordered the driver to stop, then back up. He said that he had seen a palm wine distillery back about 100 meters, so we backed up to see it.
It looked like just about any other moonshine operation in the world with a wood shack, a covered area with about six steaming, rusty, 55 gallon barrels, and some large plastic 200L containers that, we were told held palm wine.
Georges explained that the palm trees were cut down in a small area and then the core of the trees was opened and tapped for the sap in the same way that maple trees are tapped for their sap. A container is placed under the cut portion of the trunk and the sap slowly flows into it. The sap is very sweet with some acidity. The containers are emptied into large plastic drums, covered and allowed to ferment into palm wine. Some palm wine is consumed or sold directly, but most is triple distilled into alcohol or “gin’ as the locals called it.
The distiller explained the VERY simple process and equipment they had with a boiling barrel, a length of arched pipe, then two cooling barrels filled with water, and finally a tap out of which the distilled liquor flowed at a very steady pace.
We were offered a sample and it was very, very strong--easily on the order of 75% alcohol or more but my rough estimate.
The head of the operation said that plantation owners were paid by them to come into palm plantations and clear small patches of about 100 trees at a time. They had a somewhat nomadic lifestyle moving from plot to plot and living on-site in a temporary shack. They could expect to spend about two months at each site after which they would have about nine 200L plastic drums filled with “refined" liquor that would sell for about 10 Cedis (USD$2.25) per liter. Or about $4,000. It seemed to me to be a means of crop rotation that, at our level, looked fairly smart and responsible. They said that the palm trees would naturally come back in the area--they did not need to consciously replant--and that the next crop of trees would be ready for harvest in about 15 years.
The roads seemed to be getting a little better as we went South, meaning that Da-da's skills need to move through the chicane of potholes, spending the majority of his time on the right hand side of the road.
It turns out, we were actually on a toll road to Cape Coast, something I learned when we stopped at a toll station in a town just after crossing a road with a river that Georges said was stained brown with sediment from gold mining operations upstream.
While we were in line to pay our toll, the van was mobbed with ladies selling peanuts, palm nuts, and roasted plantains. Georges asked Da-da to open the door and he quickly negotiated for a bunch of roasted plantains and peanut packages.
The plantains we're very good, sweet, and tart and Georges recommended eating them with peanuts at the same time. The tiny roasted peanuts with their skin on we're delicious. Becky liked it all, too. I’m not sure how many of the cadets had some, but since Georges announced that we were doing directly to the Elmina Castle and not to the hotel to check-in or get lunch, I presumed this was lunch and ate a full package of peanuts and one-and-a-half plantains.
Sure enough, about an hour later, Georges asked if we wanted to stop somewhere for lunch or go straight to the Elmina Castle and we chose the latter.
We drove through part of Elmina and across the bridge in light rain. It had rained steadily for the last 45 minutes, but let up, thankfully, as we arrived.
We when exited the bus, several young men introduced themselves, asked our names and where we were from. We could tell that they were selling large conch-like seashells and told them that we weren’t interested.
Georges handled out entry and we walked around the tunnel leading in while a few of us hit the toilets. We joined the tour after a short tour of an adjoining museum in what was the old chapel and four others tagged along--three couples. Our guide led us to the governor’s quarters and central area where, notoriously, previous Dutch governors had used the balcony outside their room to gaze upon the female slave quarter and choose unwilling partners for their bed. Dungeons adjoined the area on three sides.
The castle was established in some form soon after the Portuguese arrival in the Cape Coast area in 1482. The Portuguese used it as a base for trade with caravans and traders coming from the gold fields and Trans-Saharan routes to the north. The Dutch took over about 150 years later in 1637 and ruled the castle and city until ceding it to the British in 1872.
During the Dutch period, many soldiers and others assigned to the castle had had relationships, including marriages to locals in the cities, resulting in mixed race children. These children were actually educated in one of the first established western style schools in the region, inside the castle.
Our guide took us in to the many dark, damp rooms and helped us imagine the horrors and deprivations the slaves that were held, traded, and exported here must’ve been subjected to. We visited the execution room in which recalcitrant slaves were merely imprisoned without food or water until they died, dragged out and tossed into the sea each morning. Like at Goree Island in Senegal, we saw the door of no return through which slaves were loaded like cordwood onto ships bound for the Americas. He also explained the positioning and purpose of the guns (still the original Dutch iron muzzle loaders) and explained how the castle was used during World Wars I and II as a staging and training location for African soldiers of the British Empire before they were shipped to duty in Europe for WWII and to the tropical climes of Burma and India. Elmina castle is one of the oldest UNESCO sites and was so designated in the late 1960s, almost a decade after the Ghanaian government declared independence and took the castle from the British in 1957. He showed us not only the Door of No Return (now bricked up) through which slaves passed on their way to their voyage, but also a very large set of wooden doors they now call the “Doors of Return.” These days, African-Americans and others of the African diaspora from the Americas are invited to return to Africa through these doors, accessed from a fishing village beach below the castle.
The rain was still lightly coming down when we departed the castle, following Georges on a walking tour of the Elmina fishing village. This was Monday afternoon and almost all of the boats were in the harbor because Tuesday is a traditional non-fishing day throughout West Africa. Fishermen were repairing nets while ladies continued to see the morning’s catch along the wharf and little kids peed from the side of the pier or competing for the largest possible arc from the side of the boats. As usual, the mélange of odors was so overwhelming as to cause nasal shutdown--if you could achieve that Nirvana-like state of olfactory tranquility.
The inner harbor was not unlike Saint-Louis, Senegal or any of the other fishing villages we’d toured and the boats were indistinguishable except for the Ghanaian use of national flags to designate “fleets” of pirogues. Some sets of three or floor flew American flags, other groups sported Canadian, Japanese, or South Korean, or any number of non-descript banners that might’ve been representative of a city, district, or state.
From the port, we walked into Elmina (meaning “the mine,” referring to local gold mines) and were once again “immersed” in culture.
One of the most interesting sites was what Georges called an Asafo shrine. Apparently, the Fanti tribespeople had once formed military (or militia} companies called “Asafo.” The headquarters of each was called a Posuban. Over the decades, these had morphed into local community support companies or organizations that provided services like fire and security, but also served as social structure for general support of neighborhoods. Each shrine had a meeting hall, number, specific emblems unique to the neighborhood, and a variety of fetish statues in front of the building meant to promote good fortune among the company and during its endeavors.
On the street we passed women and men at small stands selling blue cubic blocks of some obvious food item. Georges told us that these were a form of the local polenta that was a dense mixture of ground corn and cassava flour that accompanied fish dishes and was served with a variety of spics and sauces. Called “banku,” it was a staple item in the Fanti diet and could be found stack eight and ten high (each block was about a kg) along the roads in small stands labeled with just the first name of the lady owning the stand.
We next walked past the Dutch cemetery with some graves dating to the 17th Century. Georges explained that, to this day, many of the names in the Cape Coast area had Dutch origins, citing examples like VanDyke, VanderPuye, etc, originating with children born of mixed race couple over the years. The British had also assisted in this rite of increased diversity resulting in many local names like Fergus, Smith, Johnson, etc.
From the cemetery, we climbed about 120 steps up a steep hill to the Catholic cathedral area that contained the busts of bishops and church officials of similar stature dating back to the 1700s. They seemed out of place as the foreground to a notorious slave castle across the city and the slum-like town beneath. The cathedral itself was immaculately clean and well cared for.
About this time, via Georges’s mobile phone, I received a phone call from Roberto of TransAfrica in Lomé, Togo. He was upset that the day before I had posted on Facebook, on their website, a short narrative of how their contracted driver had left us in such a dangerous lurch in Kofikorjo on the Ivoirian border. He said that is was their fault and that the driving company with whom they had contracted had just failed to do their job. I told him that that was no excuse and that a simple verbal apology for their negligence and poor communication was insufficient. As I’ve stated earlier, this was easily one of the most dangerous, if not the most dangerous situation in which we’d found ourselves and cadets on a tour of this type. Roberto didn’t seem to understand that the whole issue was one of communication and that, had they been forthright and honest with Georges and us earlier in the day, expressing their lack of confidence that the driver was enroute and encouraging Georges to make alternative arrangements ASAP, we could’ve solved the problem much easier and will less delay and danger. He seemed completely unwilling to give us anything but a verbal apology--no compensation or any other consideration. Therefore, I told him that we had nothing more to discuss, that I would not take down my post, and that he could expect a more detailed, and negative post on several sites once we returned to the US--and that others on the trip would do the same. The phone called ended abruptly.
We arrived at the Anamabo Beach Hotel and Resort at about 1700 and drove into the courtyard. The lobby looked nice and we got our keys quickly. The rooms were single buildings and duplexes scattered in a sandy area under coconut palm trees not far from the beach. Porters helped us get our bags across the sand and we checked into a spacious room with ensuite bath/shower. One of the staff told us that he would turn on the room’s water pump and showed us how to turn on the air conditioning. He never mentioned, nor was there a label on the water heater switch. The rooms had no Wi-Fi and where we should’ve had a TV a bare coaxial cable jutted out of the wall from the center of a flat screen mount screwed into the plaster.
Still, we settled in the room, expecting things to be functional soon after and met on the bar’s patio overlooking the beach. After a Club beer, we met the cadets under the restaurant cabana and took one of the large tables on the sea side of the building. Adjacent to us was a large group of young women that we learned were nursing students from the University of Arkansas-Fayetteville just concluding a three week service visit during which they’d worked in clinics in northern Ghana. The cadets spend some time chatting with them at the bar, but now they were having their own dinner along with two older women and one spouse whom, we later learned, were leading the trip.
We were eating early because we’d essentially skipped lunch and just had a few snacks enroute to Elmina--a pattern that was the norm throughout the trip. It began to rain and as the rain and wind strengthened, we moved to another set of tables not so exposed. The mist from the rain felt pretty good, as did the Club beer that was selling for only 9 Cedis ($1.70) for the large 650 ml bottles.
I ordered Red-Red, a favorite local dish, as did a few others, while Georgia and Evan stuck with what now becoming their go-to Africa dish: chicken skewers.
Georges joined us and I bought him a large Club beer. He started talking about halfway into his beer and couldn’t stop. We talked about the new touring company he’s forming on his own called Afrika Vera (afrikavera.com). He told me that he thought I’d be a good tour guide and maybe his perfect rep to help him in the US organize tours from the States to come to Côte d’Ivoire, Togo, Benin, Ghana, and Burkina Faso--his focus countries. I was flattered and quickly agreed to help, including providing him with photos from our trip for his promotional use.
The Red-Red arrived as was very good. It was served with a large place of plain white rice and was a somewhat spicy stew of local vegetables not unlike ratatouille with chunks of bony fish. I’ll definitely look up some recipes when we return.
After discussing his company and future with us, Georges also told us that he is a Spanish professor in Lomé when he’s not leading tours. He told us about his family (wife and two sons ages 8 and 5) and then told us a charming story about his courtship of his wife over five years spanning his studies in Dakar and what he had to do to win her and her family over. He told us about the wedding and we discovered that it had striking similarities to the Joseph Abakunda’s wedding to Clarisse that we attended three years earlier in Rwanda.
Georges then told us how he was working hard with Da-da to train him to be a good driver and how he needed Da-da to understand that the two of them were a team and that Da-da should ask him questions when he was lost of confused and not just turn down any old street. We told him about Idi in Senegal and how he was, for us, the definitive tour driver.
Georges and I linked with each other via Facebook and WhatsApp and Georges showed us photos he’d taken with his cell phone of trips to northern Côte d’Ivoire and Burkina Faso. He clearly has plans for the future and a passion for showing people the “True Africa” more than anyone we’ve met. He’s a very driven, disciplined man with a great vision and we wish him the best.
At about 2000, we returned to our room to find still no water pressure. The toilets wouldn’t even flush. I went to the front desk and asked for help, but nothing happened. After about 30 minutes with nothing working in the room except the lights, I trudged back through the pouring rain and asked for a different room. They gave me the keys to room 41--we were in 43--and when I arrived there was only a bare mattress on the bed with cleaning buckets on the floor. It was the same building as our original room and the toilets didn’t flush here, either. They clearly had no clue about the state of each room. Meanwhile the cadets were having similar room problems from no air conditioning to no water pressure, to no electricity. We got most of this fixed and we were moved to a single room building (45) where, guess what, the water didn’t work. They did manage to turn on this pump and it started to flow right away and we were shown where the water heater button was situated (no label). The room was short of towels, though, and that was remedied about 20 minutes later.
Once moved into the room, the fun wasn’t over. The entire complex lost electricity at about 2200 and we only had flashlights on our cell phones. Luckily, I’d already showered. The lights stayed off during the severe rainstorm and were finally restored at about 0100 when I awoke to a fully lit room (Becky had her eye mask on)
19 June
We woke at 0545 and Becky had no water pressure for her shower. She used a few dribbles and some wet wipes to freshen up. I went to lobby to complain but nothing was done fast enough to help here. I also took my laptop to the lobby area to use their intermittent Wi-Fi to load some photos and check work email but the connection wasn’t good enough to get much done.
Breakfast at restaurant was pretty good, with omelets, Nescafe, good fruit, and toast. I was able to check email and was pleased to see a note from Justice that we were set for a 20 dinner in Accra.
We departed at about 0830 going to Rain Forest hike and canopy walk. Georges stopped us to watch cassava flour being made. It was in a family group compound and we could see one group peeling mounds of cassava with sharp, smallish machete looking knives by chopping with short strokes, often with babies strapped to their back, goats eating the peels. The cassava was then ground fresh and put into porous plastic bags and then as much liquid as possible was strained through the fabric before then passing the result through a sieve to eliminate bigger chunks. Next, the cassava was dried and lightly roasted/toasted on large wrought iron flat grill plate over an open fire pit made of concrete. Logs were pushed into one side of the oven, pushed in farther as the part in the oven fire was reduced to ask.
The flour is then bagged and sold for about 2 Cedis per kilo. Georges said the powder was used for many things: eaten straight as a snack; mixed with milk or water; cooked into something like tapioca; added as another ingredient to polenta; and even used to brew beer in place of rice or barley as the starch/sugar.
We really enjoyed the many “Georges Stops.” At each, he contributes money or buys some of the product to help the group producing it and tells them why it’s important to allow tourists like us to witness what they do.
About 15 minutes later after crawling along some terrible wet dirt road, we arrived at the entrance to Kakum National Park. The park looked well-developed and popular, with gift shops, restaurant, tickets required and (seemingly) mandatory guides. This was one of the few places at which we’d seen other tour buses.
We hit the toilets, Georges paid our entry fees and we met our guide--a young woman in her late 20s by my guess. Though looking a little soft, she turned out to be in excellent shape and was one of the fastest walking guides I’ve seen. She led us quickly into the jungle, showing us the line between second and first growth lines. Ominously, in the distance, it seemed like we heard a powerful chainsaw harvesting some of the latter.
We did maybe a total of three miles of walking on very good trails with well-labeled trees. Our guide had been doing her job for three years and working within the park in other capacities for a total of seven. She was very knowledgeable about the many plants and trees in the park and could tell us all about their traditional uses by local tribes.
After about 20 minutes, we came to the start of the canopy walked. She explained that though it might be a bit scary, it was well-engineered and built by a Canadian engineering firm with the assistance of the Ghanaian government. Each bridge was supposedly strong enough to hold three elephants, but they were so narrow that the elephants would never fit on the bridge.
The canopy walk was a series of seven well-designed rope and board suspension bridges from 11 to 40 meters above jungle floor. We convinced Becky to give it a try and she was game. Side ropes extended up from the rood base on each side coming up to our armpits or above and, near the center, we could also easily grasp the wire rope suspension sections. There was a good deal of low-frequency vibration and some swaying, but all in all, it was fun with good stability and excellent good views
The park has lots of wildlife but they are hard to see or find, especially at midday. We heard crashing through the branches and leaves at one point indicating the presence of a relatively large monkey (Colobus?) but only caught a glimpse of his or her silhouette and they scampered up the very tall tree and disappeared into the dense overgrowth in the second canopy.
Our guide told us that there were forest elephants, monkeys, leopards, many bird species, and even bears in the jungle but had no idea many forest elephants nor how many guests per year visited the park. The park does have a treehouse set about 10 meters above ground-level for paying overnight guests, but Georges said that he’s done it twice with guests and they didn’t like it very much because of the many insects and how noisy the local inhabitants are at night.
From the tree house, we walked to a huge Fromager tree that was over 70 meters tall and easily 20 meters or more in circumference.
The two hour tour was quite good and we covered probably three miles of hiking with some serious ups and downs. Luckily, we had no slips and falls despite the muddy conditions from the previous night’s rains. I passed a 10 Cedi tip to our guide and thanked her on the way out.
Next, we drove towards Cape Coast castle and stopped for coconuts on the street with a guy who had two wheelbarrows full of them and chopped them quickly with a machete. I paid for six coconuts and our chopper then threw in a bonus. The milk was very good and the meat varied from coconut to coconut, ranging from very thin and gelatinous to the more firm, chewy type we see in fully ripe coconuts sent to the US or processed into bags for cooking.
Cape Coast castle was next. It is significantly larger than Elmina but served many of the same purposes. After entering the main courtyard, we were introduced to the head guide who instructed us to go to the castle museum first for a self-guided 30 minute tour and then our regular tour would begin. We walked up a set of concrete and stone stairs to a balcony overlooking cannons facing east-northeast and then entered the museum.
Becky and I were impressed with some of the best written narratives we’d seen at a museum. They were in flawless English, new, and very factual and balanced. They outlined the history of the region, city, and castle in clear terms without dwelling on blame or scapegoating.
The dungeons and prison cells were much bigger here and the guns defending the castle were impressive. It was roughly triangular with one side pointed at the town of Cape Coast looking up the hill to the lighthouse that dominated the landscape. Signals from the lighthouse would alert the castle to approaching danger from the sea. The castle had a large collection of old cannonballs and the guide stated that the cannons were all the original Dutch versions. At one point, below us on a rocky beach, we could see some abandoned cannons scattered about, rusting out over the centuries.
All in all, another excellent guide who earned a 10 Cedi tip. The only downside was a speech he gave at the end of his tour that sounded like grubbing for a tip, if subtly expressed. He mentioned that slavery still happened today in the world and that any time someone did something for you and you did not pay them, you were practicing a form of slavery.
On the way back to the hotel, we made another water and ATM stop, then arrived in the lobby in time to see the second half of the World Cup Match with Senegal beating Poland 2-1. We all decided on an early dinner having again skipped lunch after the coconuts.
Becky and I adjourned next to the outdoor bar on a very nice early evening with plenty f breeze and no rain. Carol, the leader of the nurses’ group, and her husband were there as well. We walked a little along the stone breakwater and then talked to the waitress about ordering dinner. She took our order and said that our meals would be ready at the restaurant cabana at 1830. She did the same for the cadets. Matt wasn’t feeling well and he retired to his room while the others played beach volleyball with a very game 41-year-old Da-da.
Dinner was a fiasco. None of us were served before 1900 and Becky couldn’t seem to get the quiche she requested. Finally, at 1930, the waitress came over and told her that it would be “five minutes.” Five minutes later she came back and said it was “still icy.” Becky just told her that she no longer wanted it (they’d delivered her French fries 30 minutes earlier) and I added that we weren’t paying for it. Another restaurant worker came over and told us that we wouldn’t be charged, too. Five minutes later, the quiche came to the table via another waiter and he looked confused when we sent it back.
Meanwhile, Matt wasn’t doing well. He was puking badly and had diarrhea. We decided to talk to Carol and we told her Matt’s symptoms. She said that he didn’t need antibiotics if he didn’t have a fever (we agreed) and went to her room to get some Dramamine to treat his nausea. We all met in our room and Matt admitted that, though he taken an Azithromycin, he’d thrown it up less than thirty minutes later. Carol said that was fine--he didn’t need another. We bought him a Sprite from the bar and gave him more Imodium. While in the room with us, he vomited (mostly dry heaves) in our bathroom
Carol mentioned the possibility of amoebic dysentery and gave us a bottle of Flagl as well as the Dramamine. We told Matt not to take it unless he was still having issues when we returned and checked with the doctors at USAFA.
Meanwhile, back at the bar, Evan and Charlie danced and did drums with nursing students (all women) at beach show.
Matt seemed stabilized, Austin, Eddie, and Georgia had gone to bed, too, so we hit the sack early after packing for the next day’s drive to Accra.
20 June
I woke at about 0330 and checked my mobile phone to see texts from Eddie at about 2230 saying he was sick from both ends. I sent him a note to say that if we was awake he could come by and get some drugs, but got no response between then and when I got up at 0545.
I showered, packed, and then went to check on cadets. Charlie came to room saying that Austin was sick, too.
I started with Eddie and checked his temperature by hand and thought he had a significant fever. I went back to the room for drugs and the thermometer, checking on Austin on the way.
Eddie had a fever of 101.8F so we gave him a three-pack of azithromycin and told him to take one. We gave him Loperamide (Imodium), too.
Matt still didn’t have a fever and said that the last time he threw up was at about 0300. He said he felt better, but not well.
I checked on Austin again and he was up but in the shower. I gave thermometer to Charlie and told him to take Austin’s temperature when he got out.
Next, I checked on Georgia who was downright chipper and ready for breakfast. The three of us went to breakfast and had plain eggs with toast, fruit, and coffee. The mango and pineapple were very, very good. I bought a Sprite for Charlie to take to Austin, too.
I spoke with Carol again and her colleague who told us we could buy Loperamide and Dramamine at pharmacies in Accra if needed, but warned us to look for products made in the UK, afraid that some Chinese or Indian-made generics might not be the real thing. Nonetheless, they both came back to our room with packages of both to tide us over, saying their trip was almost over, too, and that they’d come “loaded for bear.” They were both very kind, helpful people. I therefore awarded each of them the Astro Coin for distinguished gallantry in the face of significant gastro-intestinal distress under very trying conditions..
During this whole kerfuffle, we did manage to have one slight dosage mix-up when we learned that Matt had given Austin an Azithromycin tablet--which I did, too, only about 45 minutes later.
I’m now in charge of all meds after this. I presumed that two tablets wouldn’t kill him and confirmed that with Carol.
Austin mitigated my fears of antibiotic overdose when he puked about 20 mins after taking the second pill.
We struggled to get everyone out the door as porters carried our packs over the sand. Neither front office nor bar would provide change for a 10, 20, or 50 Cedi bill, so porters didn’t get much tip. (Getting change for larger bills has been a continuous source of frustration on this trip in EVERY country)
The Anomabo Resort is really a crappy resort that could really be quite good. They spend too much time raking the sand, though, and not enough time making sure that the rooms are functional or that food is served in a timely fashion. They don’t have what they claim, either (TV or Wi-Fi). The woman at front desk was plain surly when she wasn’t aloof. The credit card machine wouldn’t work for Evan paying his dinner bill, so Matt and I had to pool cash to cover him. I’m pretty sure it just went into her pocket.
We started the drive to Accra and I start reading Kwei Quartey’s “Death By His Grace,” my fifth of the Darko Dawson Ghanaian detective series and was interested to read about the role of religions, both Christian and Animist in the plot.
Matt was the last one to board the bus after a final bathroom stop. That was good in that he said he had nothing left.
Georges very concerned about all of us. We told him that we thought it best to go directly to the hotel and not have any stops (other than for comfort) along the way and he agreed. We drove with Austin and Matt laid out across the aisle. Eddie was sitting up but looking bad.
Becky and I reminded all to not be hesitant to call for a stop and to have puke bags at the ready.
We drove along the coast past Fort Amsterdam, built by Dutch on a big hill, then the city-state of Mankessim, the home or capital of the Fanti people.
Forty-five minutes in, Austin asked for an emergency stop and he and Eddie jumped off and into the undergrowth on the side of the road. Happily, it was a better safe than sorry situation they only needed to pee.
Georges asked if we wanted to stop to see a place where coffee was grown and roasted--our first Georges Stop of the day but, on Becky’s recommendation, we told him that we thought that we should just go straight to the hotel, as mentioned earlier, with the sick cadets before deciding to do anything else. I could tell that he was disappointed, as I was, but he understood our decision and we continued.
Next, he said that we were entering the area of the ethnic group called Ga, the first to settle in the Accra area.
As we got closer to Accra, traffic picked up greatly. Google maps said that the last 40 km would take use over 90 minutes. In the suburbs of Accra we saw some large, modern homes on surrounding hills, passing Lake Weija on the left side. The two lane road became a four lane divided highway after passing a toll station for the Accra region. The road turned into six lanes but then ground to a halt with hundreds of street sellers weaving in and out of the stop-and-go traffic selling food, chewing gum, windshield wiper blades, large tourist maps of Ghana and Africa, chips, water, pastries, soccer balls, toiletries, and just about anything else you can imagine. Air compressor, jumper cables, jewelry, wallets, electrical plugs and converters, dog collars and leashes, rope and nylon straps, children’s coloring books, ladies’ scarves, art work, eggs, a globe map, cleaning products for the kitchen and bath, pillows and linens, Ghanaian chocolate bars, cloth napkins, used cell phones, lottery tickets, car seat covers, steering wheels, fridge magnets, air fresheners, pens and note pads, sunglasses, earbuds, etc, etc. We drove through Jamestown, the old colonial heart of Accra and i could tell that Georges wanted to stop here to tour, but instead we stopped at a gas station for another comfort break, ten minutes from the hotel.
We arrived at the hotel which seemed nice but had no electricity. They said it would be on in an hour. I suggested to the group that it would be at least three hours before the power was on. I turned out to be a little too generous with my prediction, though.
The Afia Beach Hotel and Resort is was right on the beach--albeit one strewn with plastic garbage and other refuse. There were sitting areas and gazebos for relaxing below the hotel and a blue fence separating the hotel property from the beach itself, along with a security guard to keep anyone from encroaching on the hotel grounds.
The hotel had a series of duplex rooms on three tiers of the sloping hill, decorated with quite a few flowering plants, papaya trees, and extensive indoor and outdoor tribal art. The dining area was open and quite nice with a tiled floor, large tables, and plugs useful for laptops and chargers. The porters and manager were very helpful and friendly, as well as happy to see us since it looked like we might’ve been the only guests--we later saw one other couple.
Eddie went to his room to sleep, as did Austin and Matt. We arranged with Georges to meet at 1330 to tour with whomever was healthy.
Meanwhile, I emailed Justice and told him that we would be available for dinner at 1800. We eventually settled on just staying at the hotel restaurant for dinner as opposed to risking travel with our sick cadets, or leaving them behind for the evening.
The unsick met in the restaurant and ordered bowls of groundnut soup and rice, plus drinks, during which time we had a good discussion about religion, education, rights, development, economics throughout West Africa and the developing world.. The groundnut soup tasted like a slightly spicy peanut butter soup and was quite good with the large ball of rice that accompanied it. I’ll have to give that a try back in the States, along with finding good recipes for the Red-Red we’d had a couple of nights before.
We went back to the room and organized a few things. Becky decided to stay at the hotel despite the fact that there was no electricity. By then, she had seen enough local culture and markets and also wanted to keep an eye on our sick cadets. Before leaving, we made sure they all had water and any necessary drugs and then Georgia, Charlie, Evan, and I joined Georges out front with Da-da and we departed.
Our first stop was the national independence monument which was very similar to the Arc de Triomphe in Paris. It was simpler in design but had the same sort of walk-through arch in the middle and was positioned in the largest roundabout in the city. Adjacent to the monument on the ocean side was Black Star Square, a very large open area with stadium stile seating on three sides and another large arch (or stool) like structure on the far side. The area looked like a smaller version of Red or Tiananmen Square and was used annually for the Ghanaian Independence Day celebrations and parades. Between the square and the independence monument was what looked like a tomb of their unknown soldiers accompanied by a tall pillar or obelisk with a bronze statue of a Ghanaian soldier on top and a low dark tomb-like structure beneath it. There was a bronze cauldron that looked like it once held a non-eternal flame, too, but we could find no other plaques or descriptions of the site.
We took photos of all of the sites there but did not take up the local guides’ suggestions to go to the top of the monument for photos.
From there we drove into the downtown area and found an ATM for Evan, Charlie, and Georgia and Georges took me into a post office where I bought a stamp and mailed a postcard from Elmina to our grandsons back in Colorado.
We continued through this older part of downtown into the colonial or old section called Jamestown, parking in a small area that was an entrance into an area dominated by cliffs down to the ocean and shacks precariously perched atop them.
Georges led us through the streets that were well-decorated with some very sophisticated and beautiful street art. Locals were frying beignets on one corner and we stopped to chat for a moment. I asked several people if I could take their photographs and most acceded. Several locals seemed to know Georges, or he knew them and one gentleman about his age joined us a local guide, but speaking directly to Georges most of the time.
We weaved our way through the shacks and towards the water, coming out into an area with dozens of large steel oil barrels being used to cook and smoke fish as we had seen in Monrovia at Westpoint. These, however, were in even a worse state of repair and the junk, mess, slop, and fish guts. The fish being smoked were generally whole mackerel, but some small, very long, thin silvery fish were being smoked in a unique way forming rings as the tail of each was stuck in its mouth. Other fish included bonita and barracuda steaks and filets as well as some species I could not identify. There were stacks of wood for smoking the fish and the active cookers/smokers were attended by both men and women. We could walk out to a bare point about 75 feet above the water and look back across the small bay to the east, amazed at the enormous amount of trash simply tossed down the cliffs from the shacks, fouling the beaches and everything in sight. At this very point was also a real pigsty with about a half-dozen large sows in wooden dens.
We continued along the edge of the cliff towards the west and came down several sets of steps and a steep hill to probably the dirtiest, most disgustingly sad fishing beach one could ever imagine. I’ve seen less plastic at a recycling facility. You simply could not walk on the sand for all of the plastic bottles and bags. We traipsed through it, though, carefully heeding Georges’s and our guide’s warnings to “be careful where you step, because people defecate here, too.” We were very careful.
Somehow, we managed to get to the long, old concrete and brick pier that jutted into the harbor by a solid 200 meters or so. On both sides of the pier, colorful sea-worn pirogues of all sizes littered the beach, each with their identifying flags fluttering. Some locals were doing repairs onboard, but most were empty.
Our guides led us out onto the pier where kids stripped naked and were actually jumping off the platform into the sandy brown breakers below, avoiding the current borne dozens of plastic bag jellyfish that lurked just beneath the surface.
We walked farther out onto the pier to see kids and adults napping on large piles of nets while small groups huddled around makeshift cook stoves sharing three bowls for lunch: the local cassava/corn polenta in one, boiled fish in another, and a spicy red dipping sauce in the third. I politely declined an offer to dine with them--even I have some limits and testing them the day before I returned to the US seemed unwise.
This was another standard “Georges Walk.” We hooked back and onto the mainland past the anchor maker’s and outboard motor repairman’s shops as well as a couple of tiny seaside bars offering great deals on Club beer.
Maybe one of the strangest things we saw, though, hanging from a nail in front of one shop were about three old hockey skates. I wondered what giant Goodwill bag sent to Africa had accidentally contained them buried in old T-shirts and jerseys, and what the locals must’ve thought they were when they found them. Shoes to chop whole fish into steaks, perhaps?
We then passed our van who was waiting for us. Georges suggested that we just keep walking down the main street to soak in more “True Africa” and we agreed--or rather, I agreed and the cadets nodded and followed. It was clear that, 18 days in, they had seen these scenes more than a few times and there was nothing particularly new about the street that we hadn’t seen in Dakar, Banjul, Monrovia, Grand Bassam, Kumasi, or Accra. I told them that this was their last reminder experience of all that we’d done and seen.
We picked up a dread-locked friend of Georges’s along the way who greeted him warmly and introduced himself as a local artist. Georges was amazing at cultivating these relationships and he knew that our access to special areas and things that other tourists didn’t see were based on everyone, everywhere expecting him. He greased some palms, bought local food, and made it clear to everyone that he was supporting their community and bringing awareness to all by leading us through their communities and streets.
We walked past the large Anglican cathedral and high school with dozens of kids in uniforms streaming out at the end of the school day, then into a parking lot that adjoined the Kwane Nkrumah Museum and Monument. At the entrance we found the usual group of hawkers who would always ask us our names and where we were from. Today, I was Bob from Canada. They said they just wanted to chat with us, but Georges kept us moving and shoo’ed them away like the team’s horse-tail whisk.
We entered the nicely air conditioned one-room Kwame Nkrumah Museum and were joined by possibly the softest-voiced docent/guide of any museum in the world. She was tall, slim, with very high cheekbones--very beautiful--with straightened hair in a nearly ‘60s flip. With obvious pride, she explained the life of Ghana’s first president and his and Ghana’s march to independence on 6 March 1957. Nkrumah had been held in prison in Jamestown at the converted fort/prison for over a year for political reasons. He was born in a village in the north, but had been educated in the UK at Oxford and held faculty positions at the University of Pennsylvania in the US. On 6 March, he and five other Ghanaians, all six featured on several of their Cedi bills and honored at a roundabout entering the Kotoba International Airport, declared Ghana’s independence. They did so wearing their prison black and white stripes on the site of the British polo grounds precisely because black Ghanaians had been previously prohibited from setting foot on this ground.
She explained Nkrumah’s Pan-African leanings and that he was allied with Nassar in Egypt--who was both Pan-Arab and Pan-African, marrying Nassar’s daughter, Fatiha.
The walls of the Museum were covered with photos of Nkrumah during his tenure as Ghana’s first president from 1960 to 1966. They included photos with Nassar, Chou En-Lai of China, John F. Kennedy, and the famous photo of him dancing with Queen Elizabeth II in 1961 during her historic visit with Prince Phillip (which we’d seen a couple of months before in the second season of “The Crown.”
The museum also had collections of his writings in several languages as well as much of his wardrobe, office furniture, and his two pianos. Outside, his Cadillac Coupe de Ville (steel blue) was behind glass.
Exiting the museum, our guide accompanied us to the decapitated statue of Nkrumah, vandalized in the 1966 coup d’état led by Joseph Rawlins. Apparently, after the Rawlins regime took power, they tried to rid the nation of Nkrumah’s influence and cut off the head and the right hand of the statue--the latter because of Nkrumah’s writings. The head is now mounted on a pedestal beside the body with a plaque mentioning that it was recovered thanks to the efforts of a “patriotic citizen.” The right hand has not been recovered.
We then proceeded to the giant monument covering the tomb of both he and his wife. We were impressed by the fact that this seemed to be the only monument of its kind (or any kind) in West Africa that was well-maintained and operational. There were sculptures in the fountains in front of the monument that had water spewing form them as designed, the water in the fountains was clean and plastic-free, and the grounds were well-tended and as close to immaculate as we had seen.
We exited the grounds of the monument and our friends found us with freshly braided bracelets. We all declined even though the one with the small Canadian flag and “BOB’ on it (with matching Ghanaian flag was hard to turn down. We just told them, and all others, that it was our last day in Ghana and we had no money left--and that was about 90% true.
We continued walking to an artists’ village that was just another tourist shopping area. We walked down a couple of aisles, pestered by sellers, but by then we were just so tired of shopping, haggling, being presented stuff, being asked to “just look at my shop,” that we were getting a little brusque. Georges sensed this and we didn’t spend long there. Even Charlie avoided buying anything!
We returned to the bus and Georges was very perturbed that Da-da had left the bus (locked) and was not around. He called him quickly and I heard him ask, “what are you doing!?!” Luckily, Da-da was very nearby and materialized at the driver’s door in just seconds.
When we returned to the hotel at about 1730, the electricity was still not on. We asked about it at the desk and we were told that it would be coming on shortly and that they would start the generator soon. The lights came on when I was in the bathroom and suddenly, we even had Wi-Fi--but only in the lobby and restaurant. Clearly, the power being off had been their own doing. They could’ve had power all day, but given the low occupancy of the hotel, we were sure they were just saving money until the evening when they and we would need it for lighting and air conditioning in the rooms. Our TV still didn’t work, though.
We checked on the sick cadets and told everyone that we would be up for dinner at about 1800 and that Justice would arrive soon after.
Ordering dinner went along the lines of every other meal we had in Ghana. Many of the items on the menu weren’t available. We would order food and it would come out randomly over the next hour. French fries would come out in ten minutes, while a sandwich might take 90.
Georges joined us for dinner (our treat) and admitted that he wasn’t feeling well. He thought it might be either the street coconut from the day before or the “Red-Red” from Anomabo Beach. He ordered spaghetti, while Becky had fries and I ordered the sautéed grouper filet with rice--which was outstanding.
All of the sick cadets joined us with Matt doing the best followed by Eddie. Eddie ordered a smoothie and a milkshake and just a little of each. Austin was with us for a short time, but still was running a fever and looked miserable. He returned to his room after eating just a little.
Justice arrived finally at about 1930 and we talked for almost 90 minutes, plied by a large Club beer. He teased the cadets about the Academy going soft with no more running the strips, no longer a requirement for all cadets to take Chemistry II or Physics II and a variety of other things.
Justice is currently finishing up medical school in Ghana at the best med school in West Africa, sponsored by his military. The plan, ultimately, is for him to become Ghana’s first flight surgeon, though he’s not sure when he will be able to complete that specialty. He finishes med school in early September and is also expecting his first child, a girl, the same month. As he finishes his training, he’s currently in one of the “districts” north of Accra about 2.5 hours drive away. He’d driven in just to meet us, but only lived a few minutes from the hotel and was planning to spend the night here before returning. He and Georges connected right away and Georges got his contact information so that they might connect on future visits. Like other international cadets from USAFA, Justice seemed to be doing extremely well and was very thankful for his USAFA experience. We took a parting selfie and promised to connect if/when he visited the US and we were back in West Africa. He reinforced our strongly held belief that the international cadet program at our service academies is among the most important public foreign diplomacy efforts we have in the Department of Defense.
Finally, at about 2100, we decided to call it a night. Georges was looking better, the cadets were trickling away to their rooms, and I had finally negotiated a USD-to-Cedi conversion that would settle our dining and drinking bills for the day and leave us with very few Cedis for the return trip.
Becky and I packed our things one last time for the next evening and tried to go to sleep. Neither of us slept well, in part because of an air conditioning unit that made noises suspiciously like a rat running around on concrete--something we checked for but never saw--plus just the overwhelming thoughts running through our mind of what we’d seen and experienced in the previous 18 days. We couldn’t believe that we’d made it through the trip with not much more than the Kofikorjo fiasco, but were simultaneously thrilled and apprehensive about returning home and facing the challenges of my final two weeks in uniform, out-processing, and the decisions ahead.
Before I call it a night, though (at least in blog order), I need to say that Ghana has: the worst roads and traffic we’ve seen on the trip, coupled with the most speed bumps and police checkpoints. It does have functioning traffic lights in some areas that are ignored by all but the most responsible commercial drivers. They are merely advisory for most--except in he heart of Accra, where only moto-bikes seem to ignore he signals. Lucky for us, Da-da observes them all under the watchful eye of George. The rich parts of Ghana match or exceed anything we saw in Côte d’Ivoire, but the slums of Accra are virtually identical in terms of depth of poverty, hygiene and living conditions, flocks of small children, and a sense (from our perspective, if not of the inhabitants) of near hopelessness. Still, the Ghanaians seem to have a spirit and energy that was strong and growing. They have a vibrant economy, a functioning democracy, and hope of improvement that might be the strongest we saw on the trip. Now, if they could work on having a functional electric grid, which might be nice.
Of course, Becky and I awoke before the alarm. I showered first and then we put the finishing touches on our packing. I actually think that with all of the snacks, bags, toiletries, toilet paper, extra, abandoned socks, and other stuff we brought along, we may have been returning with less stuff than we had at departure--at least in terms of volume. Everything fit in our bags, including the Kente cloths, mancala boards, shirts, and other souvenirs. The cadets’ bags looked similar--though Austin came with so much extra room that we wouldn’t know for sure.
Breakfast was supposed to be ready at 0600 for an 0700 departure to the airport, but that was 0600 African Time, clearly. The restaurant was a ghost-town at 0610 and people began arriving at about 0620. Becky and I had toast with excellent ginger-orange marmalade. Eggs never came despite the promising label under the chafing dish rack. They did have broiled tomatoes, sausage (hot dogs), fried potatoes, and fruit, which sufficed or all of us.
The cadets seemed healthy. Austin reported that his fever had broken, Matt looked good, and even Eddie said that, despite a headache (from dehydration, no doubt) he was good, too. However, we did hand out ibuprofen to everyone for the departure and arrival just to help make sure we didn’t have any spiked fevers that might relegate one or more of us to further scrutiny or quarantine.
We boarded the bus on time, as usual, and headed to the airport which, at this time of the day was only about a 20 minute drive. Georges told me en route that we was already nostalgic for our group and would miss us. I told him that we felt the same way and that he’d been an awesome guide. The night before we had discussed our itinerary with him. We were all torn between what we did and what we could’ve done. We decided that for a first trip to West Africa, that it was a very good trip. But, he said that, now that he knew us (Becky and I, as well as what we wanted the cadets to see) he might’ve designed it a little differently, focusing on more of the cultural aspects and less on some of the standard tourist stops. We could tell htat he “got us” and it was once again evident how much he enjoyed showing the “Real Africa” to people that truly wanted to experience the many aspects of life on the Dark Continent. We again discussed his company (Afrika Vera) and I promised to send him any and all photos he might want to set up his webpage and for promotional use by his company.
At the airport, we unloaded quickly and took a final photo of the group. I “coined” Georges with the coveted Astro coin and then gave tip envelopes to both him and Dada. I spend my last Cedis that way in order to avoid losing money at an exchange stall in the airport, giving Georges a combination of CFA, USD, and Cedis.
We cleared check-in and customs reasonably quickly. Scanning and inspections were thorough and redundant. The insides of our bags were swabbed and scanned at check-in and, even after clearing customs and immigration, and the standard TSA-style check, our carry-on bags were opened at searched at gate check-in.
Delta had announced that the flight would departing 30 minutes late, but it still managed to takeoff 40 minutes after scheduled departure which was better than the West African average. The flight showed almost completely full on our status checks, but when we boarded we were happy to find several empty seats. I was particularly hesitant about the flight because I had the middle seat in the three-seat middle section of the Boeing 767, but when the seat to my left went empty, Becky and I claimed the row as our own.
Boarding and departure was quite a show. The flight attendants--all African American--repeatedly told people how to load their bags into the overhead. They had to walk up and down the aisles three times specifically pointing to people to remind them to turn off their cell phones and cease their conversations. One attendant, about 50-some years old, just chuckled when I told her that, while the bathroom was occupied, I’d discovered that the door wasn’t latched and didn’t indicate that was the case. She just said, “You get used to that and more on this flight.” We each had a good laugh over the thought of how many passengers would actually SIT on the toilet seat versus squatting on it. The attendants on this flight should get time-and-a-half for the amount of time they have to spend dealing with the passengers.
The flight to New York was uneventful except for several passengers that got out of their seats seconds after the wheels screeched on the runway. We cleared customs and immigration quickly through a line set-up for the military and then just waited for our bags. Our layover time had shrunken again due to time taxiing, but he cadets still found time to get real American food.
We boarded the next flight on time, but then sat for an hour as more ground traffic cleared. Headwinds were like, though, and we arrived generally on time at the airport. I had the number of our Colorado Spring Shuttle driver and made sure they would be ready to pick us up promptly once we had our bags in Denver. The Delta flight to Denver had 110V electrical plugs and I took advantage of that to put together this narrative into one document and give it a once-over editing,
Winds were clearly very good, though, because we still landed almost twenty minutes early into DEN. We gathered our bags quickly and tracked down our transportation. Just as we were board, though, a final wrench was thrown in the trip gears when I realized that I’d left my laptop in the seatback pocket of a Delta flight that in 30 minutes was headed back to JFK on the redeye.
I ran into Delta baggage claim, they called gate A29 and confirmed that it was found. They gave me a security pass to go get it and the whole process, despite more running that I’m done in quite some time, tacked about another 40 minutes onto our return. Our driver and the others were patient, though and we were on the road by 2350, arriving home at 0110. Georgia’s mom was there to pick her up and the others stayed the night. We each had some cookies and milk, a couple of the cadets took late showers, and the house was open and peaceful by 0200.
22 June
Typical of Becky and me, we couldn’t sleep in. Despite eye masks and (for me) a half of an Ambien, we woke at 0600 to the familiar shriek of our local magpie squadron. Realizing that we might as well just get back on the MDT clock, we got up and started the first load of laundry—after one of the best showers and shaves of my life.
The trip in the van was getting long and there was no end in sight. We stopped just before dusk for a bathroom stop. The roads were terrible and some of the uphills looked impassable, but Fatou kept going. The transmission was a little shaky and he revved and rested every couple of seconds going up the steeper hills, at times almost coming to a stop.
It was getting dark and passing through villages and along the essentially one lane roads was not at all comforting or safe. The sing-along had stopped. We were passed by a couple of motorcycles and passed a couple of suspicious cars that were stopped along the side of the road. Austin admitted later, and Becky agreed, that we were complete sitting duck targets for any criminals that wanted to rob or highjack this van full of white tourists.
I turned on mobile data on my phone to track a little using Google Maps and Becky was doing the same. Our progress was much slower than expected. George was getting frantic calling the hotel to make sure food would be available when we arrived late, while simply assuring them that we would eventually arrive. When we stopped to use the bushes, he thought we might be there by 2030. On our maps, it looked like 2130 at the best. About 30 minutes later, when we were discussing dinner, he admitted that he’d told them that he thought we wouldn’t be there until 2200.
We drove through one non-descript village and stopped along the side of the road just past a roundabout that, my map showed, we should take to get to Kumasi. We’d left the original route Google Maps suggested about an hour or more before, but I said nothing, nor did Becky because we just did not know the roads. Fatou, supposedly, drove this route almost every day and seemed to know the good and bad parts of the road. Unfortunately, we discovered we’d been used--or at least not told the full truth about our route. Fatou got out of the car and delivered a large box of rice, on foot, to his mom’s house in the village. We were starving and everyone was out of food. We walked back to the roundabout and found a woman selling piles of boiled peanuts in the shell for 1 Cedi per pile (about $0.23). I bought six piles and put them into three bags and then brought them back to the van. George bought himself a pile, too.
I was texting with the Tailor Made Travel folks telling them what was going on. They responded once but could do nothing. TransAfrica was not responding to texts.
At about 2030 we stopped at a gas station to fill up and use the bathrooms again. The shoppette was closed and we couldn’t get any snacks. By now, it was clear that the hotel restaurant wasn’t going to stay open for us, so George suggested that we hit another restaurant in Kumasi before checking into the hotel. As the length of the trip grew, that seemed less and less likely to be successful. Becky suggested that we didn’t need dinner, just a chance to stop at a shoppette that was open so we could get some food to tide us over. We did that at about 2130 and my phone showed that we were still almost 90 minutes out. George said that we were only 30 minutes away, but that was to a turn on the highway before Kumasi--he was using Google Maps on his phone, too, I could see. Therefore, he knew all along, as did we, how long it was going to take and how slow we were moving.
I can’t even imagine how many speed bumps we crossed going through villages. It must’ve been near 1,000. Each set caused us to slow, as intended, but Fatou would come to a near halt for almost every one. My back was killing me.
We listened to the entire Nigeria-Croatia World Cup Match on a local language radio station--or Fatou did. I could only understand the occasional English phrase and the names of the teams. When the game was over, Fatou, who’s rear-view mirror had a small banner hanging from it declaring him “Proud to Be a Muslim,” turned it to the 24-hour non-stop Arabic Muslim chant station. I was just loving this.
At one point, slowing for one of the probably dozen police traffic checkpoints, a large red bus stopped going in the other direction and so did Fatou. He actually opened the window and started a conversation with his friend, the driver of the bus. Then, I lost it, and just said, “Let’s Go!” We went. As we approached the hotel, George was trying to give the driver directions. Only about a half-mile away, we started to see signs with arrows for the Noda Hotel. They were in reflective gold and yellow and easily legible. The driver missed the first one and made the wrong turn. He stopped, reversed, and we turned right. We came to the next one. I said, “There’s another sign, turn left.” He turned left, but not at the road intersection with the sign, but into the parking lot of another hotel. He backed out and made the next turn. We came to the third and final sign directing us to turn into the hotel parking lot--the four-story hotel to our left with the name in red neon lights, “Hotel Noda.” He almost missed the turn again and had to stop. This time George told him, “Turn there where the sign is.” He did so. I realized that it was entirely possible that our driver was illiterate.
We arrived at 2325 to a dark hotel, but the receptionist at the desk was ready for us and we quickly got keys in exchange for passport copies. We went upstairs, found our rooms to be quite nice and spacious.
Becky and I did a little sink laundry before going to bed. George had told us that we would start the next day later, at 0900, and I was sure we could use the extra time. Before going to sleep, I sent the cadets a GroupMe note thanking them for being so positive and resilient during one of the toughest day of travel I’ve had in my life. Eight hours in a local, indigenous van with ten people and luggage, covering over 240 km, with more than half of the driving time on horrible dirt roads was more than enough for all of us.
]]>We woke up early on the 15th and neither of us had had a good night sleeping. We did most of our packing and then went downstairs early for breakfast. I finished writing my blog entries for the 14th and we caught up in the news and weather in Colorado Springs where, two days before, there had been a severe hailstorm. Now, there were flood warnings for the coming week and as remnants of a tropical storm moved north from Mexico.
While eating, Becky saw a Facebook post from Masha Smirnova, our guide seven years ago when we took Intrepid Travel’s Trans-Siberian/Trans-Mongolian trip across Asia with two friends and four cadets. She was announcing for Intrepid that they had a new trip with a hidden itinerary. They only publish the start and stop dates and locations and price. I’m in. I’ve already submitted a request for info and will plan on inviting a few friends as a gift to myself for my 60th birthday.
After returning to the room, we gathered our bags and went to the lobby. Georgia was ready and waiting and has clearly been on the health upswing the last few days. Everyone now seems healthy and adjusted to the trip, if occasionally troubled with some minor “distress.”
We left the hotel on time and spent the frist thirty minutes or so retracing our routes through Abidjan before entering the countryside. En route, we passed a huge new soccer stadium under construction funded by the Chinese. It looked remarkably similar to the Bird Nest Olympic Stadium in the artist’s drawing road signs.
We saw significantly more farming along the route than we’d yet seen on our trip, passing farms growing papayas, corn, vegetables, and bananas.
Rather abruptly, George asked Yah-yah to stop the van along the side if the road and he said we were stopping at a cacao plantation. We didn’t see anything--just jungle along the road that looked almost impenetrable. We walked back behind the bus by about 10 meters and saw a small footpath leading into the green and a couple of banana trees bearing green fruit.
Almost instantly, though, we began to see dozens of cacao pods hanging from the trunks and branches of the trees varying in size from small green okra-like pods to deep yellow golden ones the size of small Crenshaw melons.
George took one ripe one off of the tree and opened it up to show the many whitish, pulpy seeds within. We each tasted one and found it somewhat tart, but sweet. I chewed up the seed, which became bitter as I did so, and swallowed it--just in time to see George spit his seed out. Oh well. Evan did the same thing.
George explained that, once harvested and separated from the husk of the pod, the seeds were wrapped in banana leaves to ferment. A few days later they would be laid out in the sun to dry before being sold. He said that cocoa prices had recently tanked on the world markets and that that was causing concern in Cote d’Ivoire--the world’s largest producer of cocoa.
We were surprised to see so many pics on each tree and how close some of them sprouted from the base of the tree trunk. Very tiny white flower seemed to emanate directly from the bark of the trunk and branches, ultimately becoming a cacao pod. Some of the trees appeared for have three or four dozen pods at differing levels of maturity.
We returned to the minibus and continued our journey north. The air conditioning was working well and Yah-yah was driving safely but fast. There were not the many speed bumps in every village slowing us down as we’d seen in Senegal no police vehicle he checks that we endured in The Gambia or Liberia.
From the jungle coffee and cacao farm, we next arrived in Aniassue, which seemed like a small town with one intersection on the highway. We stopped at the intersection and picked up two women, one older and one in her late teens or twenties that would take us to the King’s residence. Both had some white powder or paint designs on their face that we're somewhat worn away. Before they got onboard, though George had gone to a small shop by the bus and bought a bottle of liquor that he said would be a gift for the king. I couldn’t tell the type, but it seemed to be a clear liquor in a tall, rectangular cross-section bottle in a plastic case.
We turned right off of the main road next onto a red dirt road that led into the heart of the village, arriving after about a half-mile at a compound that announced La Royaume d’Aniassué.
We stepped off if the bus and into the compound that had one large residential building a few lower buildings, a large paved area and a covered area with a concrete floor. There were about 20 kids playing around, some teenagers chatting behind a low wall and some adults.
We we're Les under the Cabana to a ring of plastic chairs that faced the King’s throne and asked to sit by a man who looked like the King’s chief aide and behaved like him, too.
George told them generally about us and there were translations into the local language and explanations in French.
A few minutes later, a large man in a black and white rice came down the stairs and we all stood the greet the king as he entered our area. In the background, the kids were still gasking at us a little, but mostly just played around.
George introduced us to the king hrough his aid and a young man clearly in training who was helping to translate.
We then all passed by the king and his entourage shaking hands with everyone including the king. After we were seated again, the king asked us to introduce ourselves and I began in French. The king was pleased that Becky and I knew French and that also helped George with some of the translation.
I told them that we were from USAFA and that these students would soon be officers in our Air Force. The king asked each of their ages and seemed quite impressed that they were only 20-23 years old.
He then offered us a welcome gift which was the same liquor we’d brought them. George accepted it graciously and then reached into his bag to present our gift. I got the impression that many of these bottles just change hands like this and are never opened.
The king was very friendly and asked us if we had any questions. Through our questions he told us that he was king over a surrounding area encompassing 18 small villages. He was 72 years old with five wives and 37 grand children. He pointed out his youngest son who appeared to be a mid-teenager.
The king had ruled Aniassué for 50 years as of last December. He explained that the did not inherit the kingdom from his father but that the throne was handed down traditionally to the eldest son of the previous King’s eldest sister. He said that this was the only way to be absolutely certain that the family blood-line had been maintained because you knew for certain that the child from the King’s sister was related to him, but you could never be 100% certain that the King’s son was, indeed, the King’s son and not that of another man. This, their hierarchy was maternally based.
He had inherited the thrown at a time when he was a student in Paris. However, when the previous king had died and he was chosen, he was obliged to return to Aniassué and give up his studies.
We then followed his aide to an open area in which he opened the King’s received bottle of liquor and made a shirt ceremony of pouring a shit, taking a small taste, kneeling in front of an elephant shrine and pouring the liquor out onto the concrete while chanting. He then touched all of his fingers to the wet concrete and touched his forehead and then his chest with his fingers in a motion similar to Caholics crossing themselves.
He then invited me, as leader of the group to do the same, which I accomplished without incident.
Next, the king invited us back for photos at which time he insisted upon Georgia and Becky sitting on either side of him as the others gathered around for the group shot.
Once accomplished, we took some more photos of the kids--again, unlike in Senegal--no one had an issue with having their photo taken. They were very beautiful kids and many of the girls looked extremely similar to each other.
From the King’s residence we went to the Animist Priestess's compound. The entire area was Animist and in no place did we see any Christian or Muslim structures or symbols, throughout Aniassué.
We drove back to the main intersection and parked by a little boulangerie. The two women led us off the bus and about two buildings away and we entered through a concrete gate and then walked into the home of the ranking priestess at this Animist School for, presumably, witch doctors for lack of a better term.
We sat in the living room and she told us her story. Another priestess had told her mother, when he mother was carrying her, that she would be a priestess someday. She claims that, when she was four years old, she wondered off into the jungle near a river and was lost. Everyone was looking for her, but couldn’t find her. She was saved by spirits in the jungle, though. Growing up she didn’t want to be a priestess but decided at age 21 to change her mind and entered three years of training to become a 'certified’ Animiat priestess.
She now ran the local training facility and the program ranged from three to seven years. The trainees we're mostly girls but included some boys, too.
She gathered her herbs and medicines in the forest and produced her own treatments. She told us that people will come to her and that the toughest part of the job is diagnosing maladies. She says she works with modern doctors, too. When there is an ailment that she thinks she cannot cure, she refers them to modern doctors. Likewise, she said that modern doctors will send her their hopeless cases when they can’t treat or diagnose them. It made me think that some American doctors might like to do something like that with a hypochondriac that won’t accept their diagnosis. We didn’t discuss her treatments in any detail.
The young man who was translating and speaking for the king was also speaking for her. He seemed to be very engaged through the whole village structure.
From her living room, we went into the compound’s inner courtyard where a group of about 40 had gathered for a fetish priestess dance. It would be led by the head Priestess’s second in command and was part of the noviate’s training.
The group under the large mango tree pretty much ignored us and spent at least a half hour singing to two beating drums. The drums would cease and we would expect the dance to begin, but then it would start again.
Finally, the five priestesses who were performing stepped through a doorway into the courtyard with an assistant throwing out clouds of talcum powder (or wheat flour) to announce their arrival.
Prior to this, a couple women made a large circle encompassing almost all of the sunny part of the court with the same powder.
The priestesses seemed to range in age between about 15 and probably late-30s or mid-40s. The ranking women was clearly the oldest, while the second ranking was much younger and was one of two wearing a red fez. She was a remarkable dancer. The youngest in the group came out topless, while the others were wearing white bras.
The dancing and ceremony than ensued was just amazing. We never got the impression that this was centered on us or solely for or entertainment or to generate donations. They didn’t seem to even notice that we were there.
It went on for almost an hour in heat that wouldn’t wilted any of us. Different priestesses or trainees took the lead. At one point they each danced individually and then thanked and elderly gentleman with gray hair seated sin the front of the audience. The assistant helped with tosses of additional talcum powder from time to time, too.
At another point a rather young initiate came into the ring from the audience and played a pantomimed game of hide and seek with the second priestess.
We were all just amazed at the length of the event. Finally, the leader brought each of us a sheet of colorful flower fabric and invited us into the ring to join the dance. The crowd roared with delight as we mimicked their moves incompetently.
When we’d completed our dance and we're now all dripping wet with dusty sweat, the priestesses continued. Finally, the leader brought a dish around and we gave donations. I tossed in a 2000 CFA bill, about $4 and they seemed content. Again, I know the cadets each or as a group put in some bills, but I’m not sure how much.
Following this, the ladies each did a solid in the center aided by additional talcum powder and shuffled off the center ring after completing their own dance.
We were exhausted just watching, much less participating in this amazing event. The dancers came out of their dressing room to meet their friends and family and we were allowed to mingle somewhat. My camera was a hit and I took many photos of the kids and adults, including several family shots. They gave me the email address of the young man who’d done the translation and I promised to send them photos upon my return.
We thanked the high priestess as we departed and returned to the bus. We bought baguettes at the boulangerie as well as a few pastries and then loaded up to cover the final 20 km to Abengourou.
In Abengourou, we checked into the sad hotel called the Royal. The stucco was moldy, there were few lights and it was hot with zero circulation. Other than, it was probably the best hotel in Abengourou.
We settled into our room down a dark hallway and found a bare room with a low bed, TV smaller than most computer monitors and an air conditioning unit that only worked when the door key was in the slot by the door--despite all the jerry-rigging I tried to overcome it. Becky was not thrilled.
We agreed to meet George at 1530 to go to the market and tour the city a little. When we arrived at the market, we found it relatively clean an spacious by African standards. It wasn’t crowded either and we could walk down the aisles with ease. This was surprising because the main part of the market had burned down about two months ago and was a mass of charred stucco and twisted corrugated steel and rubble about 50 meters away.
The people in the market were friendly--almost too friendly. In the cosmetic area in which stylists were working on weaves and eyebrows, one young later suggested that she would like to make the male cadets “mes joués” (my toys). I told her that she couldn’t have any of them for less than 20,000 CFA apiece. The guys were clearly a hit, while all of the women stared at George’s blond hair and light skin.
Upstairs, the guys bought Cote d’Ivoire soccer sets before we left.
We walked back through the market to exit and I took many photos of kids and parents in their stalls.
We returned to the hotel and tried to arrange dinner. They told us that they would like us to order in advance, but we couldn’t do that until the chef arrived. No, they didn’t know when the chef would arrive.
Becky and I went to the bar, which was relatively frigid fromita a/c. We each had a Beaufort and watched World Cup, catching up on social media, working on photos and relaxing.
The cadets went to the remarkably nice pool and then hung out on the terrace for awhile.
Shortly after returning to the room, I was alerted that we could order our dinner. They gave me a menu and I ordered for Becky and me after asking all of the cadets what they wanted.
They told us that dinner would even ready at about 1900 and they would serve us outside on the terrace since they didn’t seem excited about running the cooler in the restaurant. I asked them if we could be served in the bar and we declined. While we were in our room running the a/c, another call came asking me to come back to the restaurant to speak with the chef.
When I did, he told me that they didn’t have many things already ordered. I made some substitutions for almost all of us with consulting and just hoping I’d be close.
Soon after, Becky and I went down to the restaurant and found the cadets in the bar relaxing. We told them that we’d call them when dinner was ready. Meanwhile, they had turned on the a/c in the restaurant area and temperatures were approaching tolerable.
I was then called to the bar to help resolve a dispute over our drink bill. It appeared that Becky and the bar staff were talking past each other. Hunger and heat were not helping and we both went back the restaurant after a settlement with the bar.
Dinner arrived about 30 minutes late and they combined our side orders into single plates. The food wasn’t bad considering, nor was it very good. Luckily, however, it was much cheaper than Abidjan.
We finished, paid up without incident and everyone retired for a night that included lots of noise, loud talk in the halls, and loud banging lasting well past 0100.
16 June
Breakfast was pretty miserable. We had a choice of baguettes with preserves/jelly and simple omelets. No fruit, no pastries, and only hot water for instant coffee. Moreover, the waitress claimed that we had to pay for one of us to eat--that you the same room fee only included breakfast for one. That didn’t go well. We finally chose to order anyway and ignore her. When we left, she said everything was okay.
We loaded up from the rooms and left on time. George told us that we were meeting a second driver and minibus at the Ghana border, leaving Yah-yah in Cote D'Ivoire, but that the other bus had to come from Kumasi and it might be late. We would drive around abengourou little bit to “waste some time” and maybe make another stop or two because he didn’t expect the next bus at the border until 1200.
We stopped in the town of Niamble just before the border to walk around and soak in a little more culture.
First we stopped into a home compound with a couple of women pounding cassava in a large wooden bowl. I didn’t see how the younger one with the giant pestle was missing the fingers of the older woman as she kneaded the starchy, sticky, faintly yellow-white blob and occasionally felt and extracted tiny bits of the toughest fiber.
The kids asked if I would take my photo and, of course I obliged. The cassava stand was really a restaurant because people would come up with porcelain-lined steel pots, add cassava and then gets ladkea of a reddish fish soup with cooked fish heads.
Across the street another stand was selling some fruit and frying more fish heads in hot oil off the road, again with lots if kids. They were even more enthusiastic for photos, too,
Burning more time, we continues walk, visiting the compound of the local king, who wasn’t home--but more kids wanting photos were!
Yah-yah followed in the bus and a couple of cadets road along in the chase wagon. Finally, we got on board, too, and headed to the border.
When we arrived at the immigration, a guy in uniform stopped the bus and asked George for our “list” of tourists. He asked, “What list?” Apparently, we needed some certified list for our tourist group granted either at our entry or in some other way. George was confounded and said that we were just a tourist group, nothing special and that he’s never before heard of this requirement.
They argued for few minutes more without much progress when I interrupted in French and told them that we weren’t just tourists, but rather an official group of Americans on government business, handing him my official passport. For a list, we gathered our orders. The gentleman asked George and me to come inside.
Up some stairs and to the shack where the Ivoirian immigration officers were, we met one man at a desk and another standing. Over the next 30 minutes, he carefully transcribed all of our info onto an old-style log book. He was confused by our birthdays written with the month word as opposed to number and miswrote several. He wasn’t sure if October was month 9 or 10. I kept quiet.
Slowly, progress was being made.
Another officer in uniform came in and introduced himself. I returned the favor and we struck up a nice conversation in French during which he told me that his dream was to visit the American West and see the Grand Canyon.
Finally, our man completed his entries and then stamped all of our passports, adding a written note of date and his initials to each.
We drove in the now terrible dirt road to Ghana, arriving five minutes later at the sleepiest little border crossing I’ve ever seen.
We filled out immigration forms and went to the next room in which we filled out more forms.
The agent was only slightly quicker than his Ivoirian counterpart in completing our passports. There was no rush, however, as the next bus hadn’t arrived yet--nor would it.
We waited at the border with the guards trying to watch the France-Australia World Cup match on a poorly tuned Sharp TV of about 15”.
We decided to drive to the first town in Ghana and meet the next bus there. It was only about five kilometers in and was a classic dusty poor little burg with a dirt center square for three taxis and a couple if spare car engines--plus one transmission.
We stopped to get something to eat or drink, but that was hard to find--at least in any clean and packaged form.& andIwillbe & the same%%^÷® and we can go
George found a bar with a covered back area and a big screen TV where we could get beer and soft drinks--but no food. Meanwhile he tried to comm from there with TransAfrican and our next driver--to no avail. Soon after, he found a money changers who gave us a good rate on converting CFA to Ghanaian Cedis. We changed all of them except 100,000 I kept in the car for an emergency and maybe a better rate somewhere. We put all of the cadets money into ours to improve the rate and pro-rated it for each. Next, we sold them some extra Cedis we had from from my ATM mistake.
After sitting for an hour watching the Iceland-Argentina pregame, he decided that we should bring our bags into the bar and let Yah-yah go on his way. TranaAfrica continued to assure him that our minibus was on it's way. It wasn’t.
George was getting very perturbed, We could tell that he didn’t think things were going well and he told Becky that they were not being “very professional.”
Meanwhile, back at the game, we were enjoying the show of all the Ghanaian fans, most rooting for Iceland but there still cheers when Argentina scored the first goal. The place erupted as Iceland evened the match, though, and then went crazy when the Icelandic goalie stopped Mesii’s penalty kick.
The Club beer bomber bottles were only 700 CFA ($1.25) so that helped.
We started discussing the over/under for a bus arrival and thought that 1500 was about right. At 1445, though, Becky and I went looking for George who was trying to arrange alternative transpo. I called the TransAfrica hotline twice, but no one answered. I called Tailor Made’s number and they answered promptly. There wasn’t much they could do, but said they would try to contact TransAfrica as well and see what was going on.
While speaking to the Tailor Made agent George walked up and said he’d found a van to take us but that the van we rode in wouldn’t have air conditioningat this point, we didn’t care so long as the windows went down and we’d all fit inside.
The locals took us to the van with a giant catfish painted on the side. We started to walk around it and Becky, the trip’s director of safety, security, and not doing stupid things, noticed that belt fabric was coming through the right front tire. She said that she wouldn’t rise in the van and we wouldn’t take it unless they changed the tire.
The driver said that it was okay. The other three tires were “OK” (meaning in the US they were only 10,000 miles past needing replacement).
Negotiations restarted. They said they would change the tire, but no one moved. George was negotiating, calling, promising, shaking his head, “Non!” and there was smsovement everywhere. I reiterated our objection in French to the driver and others and then, thanks mostly to George, the conversation shifted to another slightly larger van that seemed, upon inspection, to have four serviceable tires.
The deal to transfer agreement was struck and we starting bringing out bags as the cadets paid the bar tab in a combo of CFA and Cedis.
The cadets were turning a shitty situation into a fun one as we took photos loading the van, photos with the locals, selfies, etc.
Once loaded, we started to roll at 1530 with three each the back two rows, Austin and George in the second row and me serving as driver Fatou’s co-pilot in front.
The a/c didn’t function, so we just rolled the windows down for air.
The roads were amazingly rough from the very beginning, with car-swallowing ruts and pond-like potholes, or pondholes. George said that the road was in better shape than usual because it was mostly dry.
Fatou was a good driver, though, and did his best to keep us dry and right-side-up as well as loose from the Ghanaian Shihatsu massage.
After 45 minutes of fun, we were stopped at a roadside gate and had to show our passports and entry stamps to the customs officer. A few minutes later we enjoyed the luxury of a paved Ghanaian road--a treat that lasted for about 15 minutes, but I felt like Fatou covered as much ground in those 15 minutes of high-speed pothole slalom that we did in the previous hour.
Sadly, it ended quickly and we were back onto terrible roads.
The ride was fun so far, though, as the cadets played music on their cell phones and we sang along, much to the delight of Fatou and George.
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Jimmy quickly set us up with three kay-kays and the bumper car race into Westpoint began. The cacophony of honking horns, hawkers selling goods, wheels plashing through puddles, and screaming kids was saturating. We cleared stalls, chairs, people and other vehicles by significant millimeters, traveling at about 15 mph. I decided to take a video with my camera that turned out pretty well.
We stopped in an open parking area along a long wall that, I’m sure, was used more often as a pickup soccer pitch. The walls around the area suggested that a high school was on one side, a health center on a second, and a Catholic school on a third. We walked towards the non-walled side that was an entrance into the residential area.
The good news about Westpoint is that the ground base was all sand--we didn’t have to walk through mud. The bad news was that the sand was very dirty with puddles of unknown composition.
We were immediately struck by the tight, squalid conditions. Many of the buildings we're about eight feet high and made of concrete block that was crumbling at any exposed edge. These were covered with a patchwork of corrugated aluminum sheets often shared between homes. Entries we're bare except for a sheet or drape of some kind, but colors of paint on doors, walls, and window shutters we're often vivid and primary. No “home” appeared to have more than about 60 to 100 square feet of space and probably slept six or eight.
Children we're everywhere, most six or under. Women were cooking or preparing food, laundry was hanging from most exposed wires and cables, and we saw little indication of indoor lighting. The smells we're so intense that you quickly just flicked the olfactory switch to “off” and stopped caring.
We arrived at a low building with a new roof that burst with the screams and cheers of little kids and soon realized that we’d arrived at our first school visit.
This was a one room schoolhouse with about 80 preschool and kindergarten aged kids (though some seemed to be seven or eight) led by one man whom, we were told was a volunteer. The kids roared with delight when the cadets went to the front of the room and began speaking to them a little.
There were lessons on the two old chalkboards showing all of the letters of the alphabet and, on the other side of the room, a simple science lesson defining “matter.”
The director/teacher explained that the school was free for the children and run by donations. Under his direction, the kids parroted back some phrases as a group. We saw no individual recitation or questions. The room was packed completely with kids and we could barely walk around. The director showed us where the roof had been replace with new wooden underlayment paid for by contributions from visitors. Jimmy said for a second time that donations were welcome and we got the distinct impression that he had directed us to his friend’s school specifically to generate donations from us--a thought that recurred several more times during the day.
We thanked the director and I gave him USD$10. I’m not sure if the cadets donated anything.
We walked farther (I presumed to the north) towards the inland water side and heard more cheering--we’d arrived at another school. This one had two rooms and appeared to have three teachers (or two and a director). The kids seemed to be ranging from about third grade to maybe middle school age and we're all dressed in clean blue uniforms. Every seat was filled. The director led them in chanting drills that seemed inocuous, but were simple and apparently part of a show they point on for tourists. Their accent was difficult to understand, but then, due to the rhythm, we realized he was just saying “One, Two,” and they’d respond “Tie my shoe!” and so on. I took a video of this and, eerily, having just read “Allah Is Not Obliged,” it reminded me of drills for child soldiers. Becky was struck in the same way. When we mentioned it to the cadets hours later they said that they had not considered that. However, Matt watched the video and you could tell that it gave him chills.
In the other room of the schoolhouse, groups of three boys and then three girls were each doing the same memorized short skit on the value of staying in school that generated cheers from all of the other kids--again like it was a show for us. We did, however see real signs of lessons on the board, some progress reports belonging to a few of the kids, and a teacher actually conducting part of what looked like a real lesson.
Near the end of the visit we broke up and took some individual photos. A group gathered around Austin as he showed them photos on his cell phone, including shots from the total solar eclipse in Wyoming last year. On departure, I handed the director a twenty and, again, I don’t know if the cadets donated or not.
From the second school, we continued towards the water and came to a beach of trash with three building on stilts over the water and rickety wooden bridges leading to each. Chickens, dogs, and two small children rummaged through the trash looking for anything edible or of value.
In the first building at the beginning of the bridge was a room in which vats of water were being heated for showers that one could purchase in the out building over the water. The other two over water buildings seemed to have similar arrangements and included toilets that vented directly to the water with about five feet of space between floor and water surface, a la Slumdog Millionaire. Two young men were sending the hot water vats and collecting money from patrons. In the outdoor area on land, Matt warned us to not look to our “3 o’clock” because a little girl had decided she didn’t need such formal facilities and had just dropped her trousers to relieve herself in the open air.
We left the bathing facilities and walked through the trash heap to an adjoining area with large open steel barrels--several dozen of them. Some had charcoal smoke coming from them and we realized that this was the fish smoking and preserving area.
Jimmy led us through a passageway and a woman was laying small whole silvery fish (about 8-12” long) on to thin wooden slats. The charcoal and wet wood chips were already smoking.
She told us that they would smoke the fish for about 24 hours and that someone would tend the process overnight.
We retraced our steps back to our arrival lot and then out on to the main Street of Westpoint. Jimmy asked if we’d like to ride kay-kays back to the bus or just walk and I said that we’d walk so we could see more and than 'in for a penny, in for a pound,’ we might as well have full experience.
And that we did. We dodged kay-kays and saw the sellers at work close up. We passed tiny shops of all varieties presuming that the owners and their families all lived in or just behind the shops. Among the more interesting sights we're baskets of tiny crabs and giant sea snails.
We walked by one little girl in a pretty blue and white dress squatting a
On the curb brushing her teeth with a fairly new and clean looking toothbrush and paste. Then, we all shuddered as she spit the foam into the street, reached down with her brush and rinsed it in the street puddle, put it back in her mouth, and returned to brushing.
Our next stop was the National Museum. We drove down the hill on Broad Street and past the US embassy and parked across the street from the National Museum. We walked inside and we're greeted by a very serious guide/docent who told us that we could take no photos of the exhibitions, but only group shots near the exit. He then made it clear that donations were accepted at the exit--something Jimmy reiterated several times during the tour.
Our guide was very knowledgeable, but spoke with a pidgin accept that was all.ost unintelligible. He also insisted that, despite museum’s small size and several excellent printed narratives at each display, we stay close to him
He grew visibly bothered when any of us spoke among ourselves or made comments to each other about the displays, too.
The museum ahd been recently (2017) redone and was the most modern we’d seen on our trip. The ground floor covered culture, tribes, costumes, and the history of the region, while the second floor covered more contemporary history, focusing largely on the civil wars between 1980 and 2004, as well as the Ebola outbreak of 2014.
Our tour ended with a very amateurish photo slideshow of former President Shirleaf containing photos of her and many dignitaries as well as some good shots from her youth.
We all gathered around the exit and took photos, then put a few bills in the donation box under the close surveillance of our guide who seemed to think that everyone should make their own independent donation and take the time to reach into their own wallet and was quite perturbed when we did not comply. The whole thing was sad because it really was a good little museum, spoiled by a very antisocial guide.
We next went to the Liberian Inauguration House in which all of their their president's took office. We saw their seat or the one and that of the vice president. As well as photos of each president, no matter how heinous their reign.
Outside, we saw the tomb of President Tubman who led from 1944 to 1971 during as close a time as any to a 'Golden Age’ in Liberia. He died in office and his successor would ultimately be executed my MSgt Samuel Doe during the coup d’etat of 1980. Doe’s picture was on the way, as was that of his successor--convicted human rights violator and war criminal, Capt Charles Taylor. On the lawn outside hall we're Doe’s and Taylor’s limousines, each up on blocks with unlocked doors enabling us to see the small TV and minibar.
Note: Taylor’s ex-wife is the current sitting vice president of Liberia!
The exterior also had a monument to the pioneers of Liberia erected for the centennial of the republic’s establishment in 1847.
With this, and the time barely past 1230, Jimmy said we were almost done for the day. He pointed out a couple of old churches we would visit the next day and I wondered why we wouldn’t just see them today.
He said that the next day we would see those sites and Providence Island before going to the markets for souvenirs and leaving for the airport at about 1200. We did, however, drive up and down Broad Street to see more of the city before returning to the Bella Casa at about 1300.
Actually, our timing was good because, by the time we began our return the rain was falling heavily.
As we parted for the day, I told him that we planned to visit the US Embassy the next morning from about 0800-1000 and could then do what he had planned, time permitting. He said that he was okay with that and that I could contact him by SMS to let him know exact times.
We went for lunch in the Bella Csa restaurant and sat as a group ordering light food and watching soccer reruns on the wide screen TV.
Service was very slow, as usual, and I don’t think we left the restaurant before 1530. Becky and I shared a bowl of local-style fish soup and some frites.
We met in the lobby at 1845 and Jarad arrived shortly thereafter. We piled everyone into his minivan or the short ride the the Royal Palace Hotel and top floor restaurant.
This was Jarad’s favorite hang out and he admitted to eating there more evenings than not. The Lebanese owner knew him well and we got the best service of our trip.
The menu was Asian fusion with sushi, Vietnamese, and Thai curry dishes. Jarad said the food was the best in Monrovia and that it was one of only two places in the country at which he trusted he could use his credit card safely.
Becky ordered the tuna tartare and I had a Thai Green Curry and shrimp plate.
We continued with deep discussions about the value of overseas and special duty assignments, lessons learned and connections made during jobs like this, and the positive and unpredictable impacta they can have on one’s career. It was another relaxing but highly rewarding evening.
Jarad also told us that we were on for our Embassy visit the next morning but that he had a fairly tight schedule and could only see us from about 0845 to 1000. I tried to relay that information to Jimmy by SMS, but he never responded. An hour later, I sent the same info to the TransAfrica rep that had been so helpful the day before and he confirmed that Jimmy and our driver would be at the Bella Casa at 0800 the next morning to take us to the embassy.
13 June
Breakfast was again good. In terms of room quality, wifi, and breakfast, the Bella Casa was o e of the beat hotel on our trip. It even had a little Nespresso-fueles coffee shop.
Jimmy was on-time and I asked him, on Becky’s suggestion, if we could leave our bags in our room and pick them up in your way to the airport. I noted, though, that checkout was at 1200 and we’d need to be back by then. He agreed and we we're on our way.
Emmanuel dropped us off in front of the consulate and the guard gave us friendly directions back to the main entrance. We cleared the first level of entry with a call from security to Jarad’s office, locked up our cell phones, and proceeded to the Marine Guard checkpoint.
The Marine at the window helped us quickly and Jarad brought us up to his office to show us around. It looked exactly like every other DAO I’d visited in every other embassy. We did learn, however from a photo on the wall, that Benjamin Davis, Sr, had been stationed in Liberia at the embassy from 1910-1911.
Jarad then led us to the USAID offices where met Dr Jessica Mea. After a short walk to a conference room, we spent the next 45 minutes listening to her describe USAID's work and many challenges in Liberia and how she'd worked through the Ebola crisis.
Originally an emigree from Romania after the end of the Cold War, she was an epidemiologist who’d serves as a professor at UC-San Francisco and done extensive AIDS research. She’d worked for the CDC for the last dozen or so years as a public health officer in Uganda and West Africa.
Our discussion ranged far and wide from birth rates, health infrastructure, poverty, prostitution, and the Ebola outbreak to the role of religions (Christian, Muslim, and Animist), women’s rights, gay rights, education, and economic development. Overall, she was not at all optimistic in Liberia but did say that there were positive pockets and examples of progress in Africa, citing Rwanda as one of those.
Again, we had an amazing experience that I’m sure few could match.
Jarad had to get to a meeting, and we hurried our after thanking him profusely and presenting him with the coveted Astro coin.
We cleared our way out of the embassy, retrieved our phones and found Jimmy and Emmanuel at the curb waiting for us.
Jimmy next took us to the first church in Liberia, the Methodist church established with the first arrivers and it proudly proclaimed across the front that it was established in 1822. We went inside the dark building with hand-painted “stained” glass and a dominating painting of John Westley. Neither Jimmy nor our “guide” could give us much information except to say that the building was constructed in 1822, which clearly was not the case. It was well-maintained on the exterior, but strangely so with “bricks” painted on some of the exterior walls with stripes of white paint over red paint.
We next went to a market to find soccer jerseys for the cadets, but didn’t realize that we’d be walking there. It was no big deal, but we did climb and descend a pretty big hill.
We entered the garment area and Jimmy took us to a Lebanese dealer who gave them very good deals at about USD $5 apiece. They may have actually been able to pay less, but it was so hot inside the store that they just wanted to buy the jerseys and get out--not a bad sales ploy.
Traffic was building now, more quickly than our sweat, as we headed towards Providence Island. We could see it up ahead, just past a bridge that connected it to our part of the city and, opposite, the mainland. Jimmy told us that during the Civil War, rebels blockaded the city by taking over the bridge, essentially starving it of many mainland products--he didn’t mention any issues with resupply by the ocean port. He then added that the American ambassador came directly to the bridge to negotiate with the rebels and bring relief to the city, which he did.
Traffic, though, was at a standstill and it looked unlikely that we’d have much time there if we actually moved since it was now almost 1130. We were getting a little antsy and tired of Monrovia and told Jimmy that we could see the island and just wanted to get back to the hotel, clean-up just a little before mandatory check-out at 1200 and load up to go to the airport.
He agreed to return and we were back quickly after a ragged u-turn in the middle of the four lane road by Emmanuel.
Skipping forward a bit, I’m now writing as we’re en route to the Roberts Airport, almost a two hour drive outside of the city to the east. It’s been a whirlwind 42 hours (so far) in Liberia and we’re all ready to leave, I think.
This is a very depressing country with few redeeming values or reasons to be optimistic beyond the demonstrated resilience of many of it's people that have survived so much.
Still, there are very few countries that I will be so happy to leave.
I’m only half joking when I say that Monrovia is a potential preview of the Zombie Apocalypse with it's skeletal buildings, poverty, bullet and RPG holes in walls, collapsing infrastructure and population density.
As I type, we’re at a traffic checkpoint, stopped, watching police scream at two obviously American motorcycle riders on their shiny new motocross bikes.
Our driver just cleared the inspection, though, and we’re not going to see the conclusion. Instead, we’re driving fast to the airport with the windows down because the fan belt on the bus won’t allow us to use the air conditioning. We’re on a quasi-four lane highway lined by businesses with no curb, divider, or controls/lights. Pedestrians cross wherever they choose and cars stop randomly for them causing brakes to squeal and minibuses to swerve. We turn right onto (strangely) a smaller two lane road that supposedly will lead to the international airport in 27 miles, then merge on to another road.
We’re driving now by the Samuel Kanyon Doe soccer stadium. Yes, that Samuel Doe, who executed his predecessor in a bloody coup d’etat. I ask Jimmy, our guide, about it and he says that Doe had the stadium built during his time in power. I ask why they haven’t changed the name of the stadium and he said it’s because he contributed so much to soccer in Liberia. Yeah, and Mussolini made the trains run on time, too.
We pass a sign that says that the EU paid for this road and is paying for it's maintenance until 2021. It’s a good road now…
We just went through our second police checkpoint, this time without a stop. It’s 1225 and there are many school kids walking along the sides of the road in their various uniforms, presumably because it’s lunch, but who knows. We see kids in school uniforms at every hour of the day.
The air conditioning belt just snapped. Our driver pulled over to the side of the road and told us he would try to reconnect it (somehow). I just said, “No, let’s go. We don’t need air conditioning. The windows are already down.”
Just rolled through police checkpoint number three.
We’ve also passed two large government office building, one the ministry of health and the other a new building to house all other government ministries and learn that they were both built by the Chinese.
Further out of town and along the coast, we pass many large homes in the distance (not along the road, with the poor, but seaside) that are quite large and in every conceivable state of repair--from block walls and no roof, through fully complete and apparently maintained well, to abandoned to the jungle and squatters.
Our driver swerves to pass a land cruiser and just ducks in front before a head-on. He’s no Idi by a long shot.
As we get more rural, we see farming area around the homes and compounds growing corn and bananas. There are piles of trash interrupting jungle overgrowth of vines along the side of the road.
We’ve covered the first 20 miles in about an hour, but we seem to be rolling along now on a hilly but straight road. The number of palm trees increases, as does the number of half-built and abandoned homes. We pass by some wetlands in which women and children and wading, harvesting greens of some type, I think. Next is a rainy season pond that, in the dry season is a soccer pitch--since the pond has goal posts and crossbars at two sides.
The wing-like white airport appears in the distance across a field of sparsely planted banana trees. Sadly, it’s not open yet, and we turned into a sad little, moldy terminal that was only marginally bigger than Wayne Airport where we arrived two days before.
Jimmy and the driver dropped us at the door and, since we had arrived almost four hours before our expected departure of 1645, we decided to walk over to the Farmington Hotel and get some lunch. It was only about 200 meters away and we just carried our bags. Jimmy offered to carry us over in the minibus, but that wouldn’t taken longer by the time we loaded and unloaded. Still, he walked over with us to say goodbye.
I gave him USD $20 and thanked him. I didn’t say goodbye to Emmanuel. He didn’t seem interested in us at all throughout the trip, so that didn’t surprise me. If Jimmy decided to share some of his tip with home, that was his decision.
We entered the very nice Farmington Hotel and we're directed to the dining area where they had a very nice buffet lunch with many local selections awaiting us. It was relatively expensive at USD$20 apiece, but the cadets got their money’s worth by the time they’d ravaged the dessert table. The best and most interesting dish was a sort of spinach purée stewed with some spices, chiles, and and tough beef or goat. It was very good over here rice.
We connected via WiFi and started to check on the status of our flight. Each of us, checking a different site or app got a different response for the Air Cote d’Ivoire flight 759 to Abidjan. These discoveries ran from 'no flights today to Abidjan’ to departures at 1600, 1625, and 1645. The Air CdI site showed no Wednesday flight from ROB to ABJ.
We decided that, in case Charlie’s source (1600 deposit) was correct, we should walk over. Becky was checking with hotel staff to see if they knew the schedule, but their expert wasn’t around, so we walked to the front door.
The manager, who looked Lebanese, was very kind and courteous--and clearly happy that we’d dropped USD$175 on his establishment, so he offered up a free shuttle to the terminal since rain had begun. We took advantage of that, tipped our driver with some remaining Liberians 100’s and entered the decrepit little place by comically walking all four legs of the labyrinthine rope cue with no one else in line. The security guards were clearly amused.
We entered and we're pleased to see three check-ins for Air CdI. From there, check-in was easy and event free, as was clearing of customs and security. Quaintly, the gate agent hand-wrote each of our boarding passes after checking our passports. She then handed me a printout of my ticket, which, it turns out had another name on it, unknown to us all. Richard, however, was scheduled to return to Monrovia from Abidjan' on 22 June. Bon Voyage, Richard. All were accomplished in probably less than 2000 square feet of terminal space and we were in the only waiting area. Security was funny because the older gentleman working it said that he would have to dump my water bottle. But, at the last minute he said, “It’s okay. No problem. I trust you!” And handed it to me across the inspection desk. Good for me, but not great for airport security.
The little waiting area had a few shops, some broken chairs, and was occupied by about 30 others. There was a transfer bus outside. An Air CdI agent walked around and took our tickets. We tried to ask her what time we would board and finally understood her to say, “When it’s announced.”
“But when will that be?”
“I don’t know.”
It turns out she was wrong. Five minutes later, the exit doors to the tarmac opened and everyone just starting walking to the bus without an announcement. Since is was only 1525, we now deduced that Charlie’s source was correct and our flight would leave at 1600.
We were flying on another Q-400, albeit one that looked a little newer than the ASky one on which we flew two days before.
The flight was delayed by about 20 minutes because of an indicator light on the cabin door that was showing it wasn’t fully closed, but they resolved that and we were on our way a little bit late. The flight was uneventful for us, but for the cadets up a few rows, apparently one of the passengers smelled so bad that another passenger asked to be moved to another seat. The plane was about 75% full, so that was easily accomplished.
Service was very good for an 80 minute flight, with three flight attendants--all very tall. They served us a small sandwich, plenty of drinks and were working constantly.
We landed in Abidjan and immediately noticed a difference--even though we didn’t have a jet bridge. There were large (A330 and B787) aircraft from Air France and Brussels Airlines, the runway looked organized and busy, and we stepped into an immigration area that was modern and well-lit. The e-Visa desk was just inside the door and they were not only ready for Becky when she arrived, they actually greeted her by name when she came in the door.
I was impressed with this service by the company SNEDAI. You basically completed all of the application on-line and paid the fee weeks in advance, then, upon arrival, you presented your passport, they took the necessary biometrics like photo and fingerprints, then they created her visa in a little laminating machine and stuck it into her passport. The whole process took a total of five minutes. She was then only a few minutes behind us in the regular immigration line.
We were moved as a group to the diplomatic and first class line and were equally impressed with how quickly they processed us. From there, we went to baggage claim that actually had a moving carousel and luggage carts like any European airport. Bags, came out, bathroom stops were made, and we cleared the customs inspection, too. George was waiting for us and we chatted briefly.
The cadets were just amazed at the difference between Liberia and Abidjan and all smiles. George couldn’t have been more friendly. He is Ewe from Togo, Benin, and has been a guide for 13 years. After the Cote d’Ivoire Civil War ended, he was invited into the country by several leader general officers and asked to set up tourist itineraries and to do liaison work with communities to reestablish the countries overland tourist industry. He served as a liaison for some communities and seems to know the country inside and out. He proudly opened (completely) a full Michelin paper map of Cote d’Ivoire and described potential 14 and 15 day adventures that he has led in the past covering all of the major villages, ethnicities., cultures, etc. We’re clearly with the right guy.
He then told us what we’d be doing for the next couple of days before heading into Ghana and set our departure time the next day for 0800.
The team settled into the bar for a local beer and some ordered food. We were surprised by the costs--about twice the price of things in Dakar--but then I reminded them that per diem allowances in Abidjan were among the highest in Africa at $225 per night for lodging and $113 for meals.
For some reason, the bar was not air conditioned and we all go remarkably sticky and sweaty just sitting there. We adjourned to our rooms at abou 2130 and all seemed to have slept well.
Breakfast at the Onomo Hotel was quite good with the widest selection of food we’ve seen, excellent pastries, yogurt, and an espresso machine. We came down early at 0700 and then I wrote on my laptop for about 20 minutes, posting two blog entries.
The cadets trickled in and seemed happy with breakfast and their night’s sleep. Everyone now seemed to be near 100 percent with the possible exception of Evan who still needed some Imodium.
George was on-time and we left just after 0800 after retrieving the Imodium from the medicine bag.
We drove through the main part of Abidjan and we're amazed how relatively clean and modern it looked compared to the other cities we’d visited. You could’ve told me we were in a European city and I would’ve believed you.
First, we stopped in a shopping center to get water and I was amazed at how clean and modern it was. We walked into the entrance of the Carrefour Hypermarché and it was identical in most respects to one in Toulouse or Paris. We bought four 5L bottles of water and returned to the bus..
We next went to the striking modern architecture Cathedral d’Abidjan with it’s huge abstract white elephant head spire and suspension wire ropes. It was just as striking on the insdie, seating 5000 with stained glass scenes that includes one rather interesting panel that appeared to be a owing white colonialists in hard hats arriving on the shore s to greet (and presumably save) black natives. The cathedral was built in the late 1960s, designed by an Italian architectural firm.
We took plenty of photos and walked around the exterior. We had a guide for a short amount of time, but he seemed most interested in just selling us a book about the cathedral. Becky deftly deflected that one by saying that we just did not have enough room in our luggage to carry home books.
From the church we drove on the highway past many government and office building to the east side of the center 'Plateau’ part if the city, to a town called Bingerville. En route, we passed a large University named (as is the airport) for Boigny, the father of independent Cote d’Ivoire and their first president. It look large and sprawling like a western University and even had athletic fields. We also passed national police and gendarme academies and their military academy before arriving at the gates to the Bingerville botanical gardens, established in 1904.
We entered through the main gate to find two soldiers (two chevrons each) sitting on white plastic chairs and a guy in T-shirt and long pants man-spreading over two chairs in civilian clothes. George began to speak with him, then turned to us and said that it would cost us 25,000 CFA (about USD $45) apiece extra for whomever had a camera and was taking photos. I said that that was outrageous and suggested that we leave. George turned to ask the guy again, and I clearly heard him repeat the charge. There were no signs anywhere announcing restrictions on or charges for photography, so I knew this was a shakedown. Again I told George that we wouldn’t pay it and then the guy spoke up and asked George to ask us what we were willing to pay. I said in French that we would be willing to pay 5000 CFA (about USD $9) for the whole group. Now we knew it was a shakedown. He said no and then that it would be 15,000 CFA apiece. At this point I told him, in pretty good French, that that was crazy and that we were leaving. George stepped in and he and the guy went into the little ticket shack. About a minute later, George came back and said we could all take as many photos as we wanted. He didn’t say if or how much he paid them and I didn't ask.
The park wasn’t worth 5000 CFA. It was really just 100 acres of jungle with dirt roads/trails on it and some labeled trees. We saw one area deliberately planted in flowers near a small archway that, with rust coming through the white paint on most of it, would’ve looked appropriate for the site of a hurried second wedding ceremony.
The only really interesting part of the park was the large, tall stands of bamboo and a couple of very large fromager trees. We also saw several giant millipedes, beach almost six inches long. We walked from about an hour, establishing our first really good sweat of the day. Luckily, most of it was shaded.
When we returned to the entrance, our man was still there, still covering two chairs, checking his mobile. We made eye contact for a few seconds until I noticed some nice hibiscus flowers nearby. I took more than the usual amount of time composing and taking the two photos, then gave him a look and a smile on the way out.
From there we went up the road a little farther to the former colonial governor's mansion which is now the national orphanage for boys. Again George started to talk to the security guards at the gate who informed him that photos would cost 5000 CFA. At this, I told him that I wouldn’t take any photos and returned my camera to the minibus.
When I returned, the director or someone with some power was talking to George about the photo privileges. George told us to go on and we walked towards the mansion. He joined us a few minutes later and told us that we could return to the bus to get our cameras because photos were now free. I told him that I was content taking photos with my mobile and we kept walking.
Just past the mansion, we came upon an athletics area with several basketball courts an a large, mostly dirt soccer field. A game of pretty high quality was going on. The players had personalized, matching jerseys, there were three referees, and several spectators watching from the shade of a giant mango tree--there we're no bleachers or other seats. We watched for a few minutes and were impressed with the skills we saw. It was at the level or beyond a good American high school game under much tougher conditions.
There three little boys shooting baskets and Matt, Evan and I joined them for a few minutes. They were pretty shocked when I accidentally drained back-to-back three pointers through the netless rims.
We continued to walk around the school and chat until returning to the entry. We expected to meet the director, but she was apparently busy with an event in a large covered Cabana at which most of the students seemed to be.
We loaded back into the minibus, but Becky and George did meet the director, who told them that there were 217 boys at the orphanage and that they were eligible if: both parents had died, or one had died and the other could not support them, or if they were abandoned or not supported by their parents. The school was heavily supported by donors, including the first lady of Cote d’Ivoire.
We then left for Grand Bassam, which was only about 10 km away by straight line, but a nearly 50 Km drive due to the lagoon. The drive took us just over an hour.
We arrived in Grand Bassam and passed a center roundabout that had a white plaster statue of three women, all in postures of protest. George explained that this was a memorial to women who came from Abidjan and all over the country to protest the fact that their husbands were being held by the French in prison in Grand Bassam for their pro-independence views in the 1950s. Ultimately, their protests played a role in the French granting Cote d’Ivoire independence in 1960.
We then crossed a bridge that took us to the old quarter of Grand Bassam, an area the locals called, “France.” From there, we went to “La Taverne Bassamoise,” a bar and restaurant on the beach for lunch. The menus were only in French, so Becky and I helped translate for the team. Our waiter was a very friendly guy in his 50s who was happy to be serving his only customers of the day. Becky and I shared an avocado salad and fries, while the cadets tried various dishes from filet de boeuf to calamari and a salad nicoise. While waiting for our food, we all walked out to the beach for a few minutes, but it wasn’t all that interesting, dirtier than the beaches in The Gambia, and not very deep. The waves were breaking very close to the shore, indicating a steep drop off. The beach was VERY long, however, with barely a turn or curve visible in either direction as far as the eye could see through the coastal haze. The beach did appear to be lined with resorts, though, for just as far.
Lunch was good, but strangely served in the sense that the lone waiter brought out two or three plates at a time and placed them on a table near ours. We watched as the flies sampled our food and he would return for more plates. Finally, when all eight plates were ready on the table, we were served.
The food was good and the beer was cold, so we enjoyed lunch. The cadets (and, I admit, we too) have had a little trouble with the pace of service in Cote d’Ivoire and the other cities as it seems to take almost forever to serve some of the simplest dishes. However, break seems to come quickly and the cadets like that a lot.
From the restaurant, we drove a short distance to an old colonial building that was the governor’s residence, now converted into the National Costume Museum. This humble, two-story museum had a very passionate guide who was extremely knowledgeable. He reminded me instantly of our friend at the Gambia National Museum. He led us around the sweltering little museum giving us descriptions of all of the many costumes and village dioramas with amazing animation. He spoke about colonial times, forced labor, tribal insurrections, and French deceit. There were photos from the era, too, showing French generals being carried everywhere in hammocks and carriages ported by groups of four or more indigenous people. I enjoyed hearing about the French interaction with northern, Muslim tribes from the regions that are now Burkina Faso and Mali and how the French used them to have access to the traditional trade routes across the Sahara to Timbuktu and on to Algeria and the Mediterranean coast.
I gave a nice donation to the museum as we left and we thanked our guide. From there we went to the adjoining craft market where Charlie, the star shopper on this trip, bought a mask.
George then led us on about a three miles walking tour of the colonial quarter that we all enjoyed. By now we’d come to embrace the sweat as we had just been dripping wet for hours, with alternating times that it would dry whenever we climbed aboard the air conditioned minibus.
George pointed out all of the building in the area--both their colonial and current (if any) uses. The locals seemed very friendly and many greeted us warmly without asking for handouts.
We stopped at a batik fabric maker’s tent and were amazed by his beautiful work. He showed us the stamps and wax he used to complete his tablecloths and runners. We asked about prices and were surprised to learn that a full-sized tablecloth that included eight hemmed napkins was only 15,000 CFA or about USD $27. The shopping started in earnest then with Austin buying the first full set for 12,500 CFA. We bought a slightly bigger one as well as a runner for 16,500 CFA, Eddie bought a beautiful round tablecloth, Matt bought a runner, and Georgia bought napkins separately, too. We were sure that we’d made this guy’s entire week, if not month. Still, they seemed to be a tremendous bargain.
We walked by the old prison, saw some 100-year-old mango trees, and other sites before leaving. Yah-yah, our driver had been tailing us and was ready to pick us up. It was now after 1700 and we were all very tired. Austin’s smart watch told us that we’d walked well over 5.5 miles during the day.
The drive back was easy and event free except stopping to buy more water and then coming upon the first car accident we’d seen. It was a minor fender-bender, but airbags had actually deployed in one of the cars (we were shocked it had airbags) and there was a discussion going on with about 40 people. There didn’t seem to be any injuries in either car.
We returned to the hotel and George told us that we would be leaving the next morning at 0800. Everyone went back to their rooms for a well-deserved shower and we rejoined at around 1900 for dinner. Several of the cadets were intrigued with the Croque-Monsieur/Croque-Madame sandwich choices and ordered the latter. Becky and I shared the medallions of white tuna which was very good and we ordered beer and water. After ordering our food, though, it took almost an hour for it to arrive. I used the tie to work on photos and we continued our discussions of the trip, music, how USAFA used to be much better (sarcasm), etc.
I went ot the ATM to get more cash and made a bit of a mistake. Instead of getting about $50 to get us through Cote d’Ivoire for the next 48 hours, I pressed the wrong button and got out a little over $500. Oops. Luckily, I went on-line to USAA via our USAFA VPN patch and made a transfer. The good news is that we won’t need anymore cash on this trip and I can used my 300,000 CFA to change into Ghanaian Cedis when we get to the border.
So ended 14 June
]]>13 June
Skipping forward quite a bit I’m now writing as we’re en route to the Roberts Airport, almost a two hour drive outside of the city to the east. It’s been a whirlwind 42 hours (so far) in Liberia and we’re all ready to leave, I think.
This is a very depressing country with few redeeming values or reasons to be optimistic beyond the demonstrated resilience of many of it's people that have survived so much.
Still, there are very few countries that I will be so happy to leave.
I’m only half joking when I say that Monrovia is a potential preview of the Zombie Apocalypse with it's skeletal buildings, poverty, bullet and RPG holes in walls, collapsing infrastructure and population density.
As I type, we’re at a traffic checkpoint, stopped, watching police scream at two obviously American motorcycle riders on their shiny new motocross bikes.
Our driver just cleared the inspection, though, and we’re not going to see the conclusion. Instead, we’re driving fast to the airport with the windows down because the fan belt on the bus won’t allow us to use the air conditioning. We’re on a quasi-four lane highway lined by businesses with no curb, divider, or controls/lights. Pedestrians cross wherever they choose and cars stop randomly for them causing brakes to squeal and minibuses to swerve. We turn right onto (strangely) a smaller two lane road that supposedly will lead to the international airport in 27 miles, then merge on to another road.
We’re driving now by the Samuel Kanyon Doe soccer stadium. Yes, that Samuel Doe, who executed his predecessor in a bloody coup d’etat. I ask Jimmy, our guide, about it and he says that Doe had the stadium built during his time in power. I ask why they haven’t changed the name of the stadium and he said it’s because he contributed so much to soccer in Liberia. Yeah, and Mussolini made the trains run on time, too.
We pass a sign that says that the EU paid for this road and is paying for it's maintenance until 2021. It’s a good road now…
We just went through our second police checkpoint, this time without a stop. It’s 1225 and there are many school kids walking along the sides of the road in their various uniforms, presumably because it’s lunch, but who knows. We see kids in school uniforms at every hour of the day.
The air conditioning belt just snapped. Our driver pulled over to the side of the road and told us he would try to reconnect it (somehow). I just said, “No, let’s go. We don’t need air conditioning. The windows are already down.”
Just rolled through police checkpoint number three.
We’ve also passed two large government office building, one the ministry of health and the other a new building to house all other government ministries and learn that they were both built by the Chinese.
Further out of town and along the coast, we pass many large homes in the distance (not along the road, with the poor, but seaside) that are quite large and in every conceivable state of repair--from block walls and no roof, through fully complete and apparently maintained well, to abandoned to the jungle and squatters.
I driver swerves to pass a land cruiser and just ducks in front before a head-on. He’s no Idi by a long shot.
As we get more rur, we see farming area around the homes and compounds growing corn and bananas. There are piles of trash interrupting jungle overgrowth of vines along the side of the road.
We’ve covered the first 20 miles in about an hour, but we seem to be rolling along now on a hilly but straight road. The number of palm trees increases, as does the number of half-built and abandoned homes. We pass by some wetlands in which women and children and wading, harvesting greens of some type, I think. Next is a rainy season pond that, in the dry season is a soccer pitch--since the pond has goal posts and crossbars at two sides.
The wong-like white airport appears in the distance across a field of sparsely planted banana trees. Sadly, it’s not open yet, and we turned into a sad little, moldy terminal that was only marginally bigger than Wayne Airport where we arrived two days before.
Jimmy and the driver dropped us at the door and, since we had arrived almost four hours before our expected departure of 1645, we decided to walk over to the Farmington Hotel and get some lunch. It was only about 200 meters away and we just carried our bags. Jimmy offered to carry us over in the minibus, but that wouldn’t taken longer by the time we loaded and unloaded. Still, he walked over with us to say goodbye.
I gave him USD $20 and thanked him. I didn’t say goodbye to Emmanuel. He didn’t seem interested in us at all throughout the trip, so that didn’t surprise me. If Jimmy decided to share some of his tip with home, that was his decision.
We entered the very nice Farmington Hotel and we're directed to the dining area where they had a very nice buffet lunch with many local selections awaiting us. It was relatively expensive at USD$20 apiece, but the cadets got their money’s worth by the time they’d ravaged the dessert table. The best and most interesting dish was a sort of spinach purée stewed with some spices, chiles, and and tough beef or goat. It was very good over here rice.
We connected via WiFi and started to check on the status of our flight. Each of us, checking a different site or app got a different response for the Air Cote d’Ivoire flight 759 to Abidjan. These discoveries ran from 'no flights today to Abidjan’ to departures at 1600, 1625, and 1645. The Air CdI site showed no Wednesday flight from ROB to ABJ.
We decided that, in case Charlie’s source (1600 deposit) was correct, we should walk over. Becky was checking with hotel staff to see if they knew the schedule, but their expert wasn’t around, so we walked to the front door.
The manager, who looked Lebanese, was very kind and courteous--and clearly happy that we’d dropped USD$175 on his establishment, so he offered up a free shuttle to the terminal since rain had begun. We took advantage of that, tipped our driver with some remaining Liberians 100’s and entered the decrepit little place by comically walking all four legs of the labyrinthine rope cue with no one else in line. The security guards were clearly amused.
We entered and we're pleased to see three check-ins for Air CdI. From there, check-in was easy and event free, as was clearing of customs and security. Quaintly, the gate agent hand-wrote each of our boarding passes after checking our passports. She then handed me a printout of my ticket, which, it turns out had another name on it, unknown to us all. Richard, however, was scheduled to return to Monrovia from Abidjan' on 22 June. Bon Voyage, Richard. All were accomplished in probably less than 2000 square feet of terminal space and we were in the only waiting area. Security was funny because the older gentleman working it said that he would have to dump my water bottle. But, at the last minute he said, “It’s okay. No problem. I trust you!” And handed it to me across the inspection desk. Good for me, but not great for airport security.
The little waiting area had a few shops, some broken chairs, and was occupied by about 30 others. There was a transfer bus outside. An Air CdI agent walked around and took our tickets. We tried to ask her what time we would board and finally understood her to say, “When it’s announced.”
“But when will that be?”
“I don’t know.”
It turns out she was wrong. Five minutes later, the exit doors to the tarmac opened and everyone just starting walking to the bus without an announcement. Since is was only 1525, we now deduced that Charlie’s source was correct and our flight would leave at 1600.
We were flying on another Q-400, albeit one that looked a little newer than the ASky one on which we flew two days before.
The flight was delayed by about 20 minutes because of an indicator light on the cabin door that was showing it wasn’t fully closed, but they resolved that and we were on our way a little bit late. The flight was uneventful for us, but for the cadets up a few rows, apparently one of the passengers smelled so bad that another passenger asked to be moved to another seat. The plane was about 75% full, so that was easily accomplished.
Service was very good for an 80 minute flight, with three flight attendants--all very tall. They served us a small sandwich, plenty of drinks and were working constantly.
We landed in Abidjan and immediately noticed a difference--even though we didn’t have a jet bridge. There were large (A330 and B787) aircraft from Air France and Brussels Airlines, the runway looked organized and busy, and we stepped into an immigration area that was modern and well-lit. The e-Visa desk was just inside the door and they were not only ready for Becky when she arrived, they actually greeted her by name when she came in the door.
I was impressed with this service by the company SNEDAI. You basically completed all of the application on-line and paid the fee weeks in advance, then, upon arrival, you presented your passport, they took the necessary biometrics like photo and fingerprints, then they created her visa in a little laminating machine and stuck it into her passport. The whole process took a total of five minutes. She was then only a few minutes behind us in the regular immigration line.
We were moved as a group to the diplomatic and first class line and were equally impressed with how quickly they processed us. From there, we went to baggage claim that actually had a moving carousel and luggage carts like any European airport. Bags, came out, bathroom stops were made, and we cleared the customs inspection, too. George was waiting for us and we chatted briefly.
The cadets were just amazed at the difference between Liberia and Abidjan and all smiles. George couldn’t have been more friendly. He is Ewe from Togo, Benin, and has been a guide for 13 years. After the Cote d’Ivoire Civil War ended, he was invited into the country by several leader general officers and asked to set up tourist itineraries and to do liaison work with communities to reestablish the countries overland tourist industry. He served as a liaison for some communities and seems to know the country inside and out. He proudly opened (completely) a full Michelin paper map of Cote d’Ivoire and described potential 14 and 15 day adventures that he has led in the past covering all of the major villages, ethnicities., cultures, etc. We’re clearly with the right guy.
He then told us what we’d be doing for the next couple of days before heading into Ghana and set our departure time the next day for 0800.
The team settled into the bar for a local beer and some ordered food. We were surprised by the costs--about twice the price of things in Dakar--but then I reminded them that per diem allowances in Abidjan were among the highest in Africa at $225 per night for lodging and $113 for meals.
For some reason, the bar was not air conditioned and we all go remarkably sticky and sweaty just sitting there. We adjourned to our rooms at abou 2130 and all seemed to have slept well.
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We arrived right on time at Payne International Airport in Monrovia. On the flight in from Accra, we bounced around a little with the many thunderstorms in the area, then descended to see a very green, jungle countryside. The runway at LFW was very short and our pilot put the plane down hard and jumped on the brakes and thrust reversers, tossing us into our seatbelts. As we slowed and started to turn onto the taxiway it was clear that we were very close to the end of the runway. The taxi was very short and then we pulled up to a small terminal that was little better than a small private airport in the US. We walked down the stairs and onto the tarmac that was asphalt with significant amounts of loose gravel. Some well-dressed men came out of the building’s left side and greeted one of the passengers--some sort of dignitary--and we proceeded to the immigration line.
Charlie moved to the front of the line and was processed quickly. While we were in line, though, one of the officers came out and asked for the leader of our group. I spoke up and he asked for our group’s official passports. Then, he told us that we could go to baggage claim and wait while they processed our passports.
Our bags arrived and they were checking claim tags before we could leave with our bags. Managing to find our tags or use other ID with our bag tags, we gathered our luggage and took the time to hit the bathroom. When we stepped outside, two young men were waiting for us with signs and we carrying our baggage to their two sedans.
It became obvious that our transportation was unaware of our trip and just bringing us to the hotel. Our driver asked us if he could stop for gas on the way back--only about 100 meters from the hotel--which I found strange, but we agreed.
We arrived at the hotel, checked in quickly, but still found no note from our tour guide or any other information from TransAfrica or Tailor-Made Travel.
I was in touch with Mr Jarad Geiger from the embassy, trying to arrange dinner, via WhatsApp but still wanted to clarify our guide plans here. I called Tailor-Made’s 24-hour number and spoke with Holly, a very helpful agent aware of our trip. She was surprised that we didn’t have the necessary info, but gave me the TransAfrica local number which I called. I was using my Google Pixel phone and wifi calling to do all of this since they don’t have service in Liberia.
A TransAfrica agent answered quickly and told me that we our guide would meet us at 0730 at the hotel the next morning to begin our tour. He then texted me the guide’s name and contact info. With that, we set dinner with Jarad at 1900 and he committed to come pick us up with a colleague of his. I sent all of this info to our cadets using our GroupMe app and they all responded promptly. We settled into the room and relaxed for about an hour.
Jarad and his colleague, Josh, a foreign service officer serving in the political office at the embassy, picked us up in a white Chrysler Van and a 4x4 with US Embassy plates on time and we went about a mile away to their residential compound. It was right along the beach with a view of the breakers. The building had a huge gate, tight security, and very high walls. We walked up to Jarad’s furnished apartment that was large and spacious with a balcony and well-stocked drink fridge containing soft drinks and beer. Inside he had some excellent red wine and copies of Wine Spectator on the coffee table in front of the large, flat-screen TV.
We did introductions and stepped onto the balcony where we stayed for most of the evening.
The discussions were fascinating. Josh is a former contract flight test engineer that worked with the Air Force before joining the foreign service. Jarad has been stationed overseas for 20 straight years all over the world. He’s leaving in January and will take a post at the embassy in Slovenia--a nice bonus after Liberia.
They were both pretty negative about the country and thought that they were headed for another crisis or economic crash in the next six to twelve months. They were surprised that we had come here and said that if the Army Lt Col Defense Attache was here he would have certainly invited us out, too, and taken good care of us. They told us about West Point and called it the “worst slum in the world,” and that when bad storms hit, since it is build on a sandbar, several people are just swept away. They advised that we just see it from a distance and don’t go in. They described violence in the city and it was pretty shocking. They also told us about former warlords and child soldiers with known histories of committing murder and atrocities within their parliament or in cabinet offices. They described a country with very few serviceable roads--it takes 14 hours to drive 240 miles to Sierra Leone’s capital of Freetown--and rampant corruption. They said that Liberia is the fourth poorest country in the world, too, and that the Liberian Dollar had dropped in value against the US Dollar by about 40% in the last year.
Liberia has very few exports except for mineral wealth mined by international corporations and a huge rubber plantation established by Firestone in the 1930s.
We talked about Redemption Beach and seeing the soccer goalposts still on the beach against which Samuel Doe had had his enemies shot by firing squad in the coup d’etat of 1980.
The pizza was pretty good and I’m sure the cadets enjoyed it. After finishing it, I actually did NOT have heartburn for the first time in about 48 hours, so I felt good. I laid off the beer and had a glass of excellent Rioja that Jarad offered.
They told us that under no circumstances should we walk around after dark in Monrovia, even in a group, and that we should, in general not go walking around without our guide.
They offered to set us up for dinner with them the next night at a place they called, “the best restaurant in Monrovia, for what that’s worth,” run by a Lebanese friend. It turns out that much of the successful merchant class here is, or has been, either of Lebanese or South Indian descent. Many were now leaving, though, as they were not allowed Liberian citizenship because the Constitution of Liberia requires that all citizens be “of African descent.”
They returned us to the hotel and we all returned to our rooms, set to meet for breakfast at 0700 for an 0730 departure with our guide.
12 June
Breakfast was very good with scrambled eggs, sauteed mushrooms, potatoes, breads, cereal, coffee, juices, etc. Everyone seemed to be in pretty good health and only one requested a Loperamide tablet.
We were ready in the lobby at 0730 and Jimmy, our guide, arrived at about 0740. We waited until almost 0810 for our minibus, though, and Jimmy was definitely frustrated by this. Jimmy has been a guide in Monrovia for about six years and speaks very clear, good English. He’s a member of the Kpelle tribe from the county of Bong a few hours from Monrovia. He appeared to be in his late 30s or early 40s. Our driver is Emmanuel and he’s much younger than Jimmy--about 25 or so.
He told the group that we’d be going to West Point, walking around, and visiting a pair of schools there. We’d also go by Redemption Beach on the way.
Elaborate later on Jimmy’s discussion of the tourist industry.
On the drive, Jimmy pointed out several government buildings, the University of Liberia, United Nations and EU buildings, as well as the old US Embassy, now used as housing for embassy personnel. We turned up Broad Street and went uphill from there to Ducor Hill to an immense abandoned resort hotel called the Ducor Palace. We parked in a brought asphalt area and were the only cars there.
First we went to the Roberts Memorial that pays tribute to Liberia’s first president. It’s statue on a small ride atop the hill surrounded by high relief bronze sculpture plaques showing the arrival of the Elizabeth carrying the first freed slaves and others from the American Colonization Society as well as dispictions of local tribes meeting them, ultimately integrating with the “Americos.” Jimmy told us about Liberia’s early history with some level of pride.
From there we stepped over the abandoned Ducor Palace and began our tour there. First we went to the old swimming pool. Eddie actually walked out on the old, very questionable diving board and sat on the end. Jimmy started laughing saying that in all of his tours he’d led, no tourist had ever had the guts to do that. We told Eddie that if the board broke and he fell into the stagnant, green water (probably only two to three feet deep) that he was on his own--no one was going to help him.
Jimmy explained that the hotel had begun construction in 1967 and was ultimately bought by Muhammar Qaddafi from Libya as part of his Pan Africa efforts and investments. However, afer the coup of 1980 and the ensuing civil wars that lasted well into the ‘90s and early 2000’s, it had been abandoned and generally stripped of everything except some of the marble on the floors and walls. There was considerable graffiti on the walls, some of it actually quite beautiful. The parking lot actually had a security guard--for what reason, I do not know.
We stood on the balcony and looked out at West Point, the Port of Liberia and other landmarks to the west. From rooms on the east side we looked over central Monrovia and Broad Street. In some ways it reminded me of the ruins at Mesa Verde National Park. I’d also visited a similarly abandoned resort during our trip to Cambodia in 2014 that was left fallow with the arrival of the Khmer Rouge to power. Like its Cambodian counterpart, the Ducor Palace was photographic paradise and I could stay there all day taking photos accentuated by the puddles of calm water on many of the floors, the holes in the walls made by both bullets and rocket propelled grenades, and more and more graffiti.
From the Ducor Palace, we drove down the hill and headed into the West Point Township slums. We parked at a Total gas station and walked out onto the wet road, watching a front loader scoop tons of wet, smell garbage.
More 9 June
The National Museum of Banjul was a surprisingly well done little museum with a very sincere and enthusiastic docent that couldn’t have been more helpful. It helped that we were the only people at the museum and he seemed to be the only employee on duty, but he just exuded this infectious pride in his country and the displays that we all admired.
The museum was on two levels and not much bigger than a moderate sized home. Originally, it had been the colonial “British Club,” then the national library, until it’s conversion to a museum
The first section on the main level covered contemporary culture and politics, while the back section covered history back to prehistoric times, including a fascinating display on iron smelting, Stone Age tools and discussions of regional ethnic and imperial histories, the introduction of Islam, and the colonial era.
Downstairs, they had a display of traditional musical instruments that you could actually touch and play. Ali impressed with his skills on the antique tribal xylophone, then admitted that he was jus 'making shit up.’
From the museum, we went to the market where we first had to pass through the souvenir section (resulting in some cadet buys) before seeing market proper. A couple of ladies selling fresh fish actually allowed me to take their photos, which was a rare treat. It was a typical market, though, and we didn’t stay too long.
From the market we first drove to the Grand Mosque of Banjul which, while not that large, was very beautiful and newly renovated inside. At the gates entry, we saw an interesting sign showing in excruciating detail the right and wrong ways to pray, with graphic photos, red X’s and green ✓’s. Ali laughed at this and said it was silly.
We walked inside and there were two gentlemen inside--one much older than the other and me. Both wore the robes of mosque leaders. They didn’t explain much about the mosque, but the local guide had a few words.
While I was taking photos, I walked closer to the two gentleman and the younger one asked me if I was Muslim. I told him that I was not. He then asked, “But do you pray?” I told him that I did not. He asked me why and I responded simply that I choose not to do so. He looked very perplexed, but the other, silent, older gentleman, flailed his right hand (obviously understanding what I’d said) and stomped away in apparent disgust). I then said, “Thank you allowing us to visit your very beautiful mosque,” walked away.
From the mosque, we drove outside of Banjul to the livestock yards that had some cattle, but mostly hundreds of goats. We learned that herders bring their goats here to sell, while butchers and private families with drop in to pick goats and cattle for slaughter, haggling with the goatherd or his agent. We asked about the prices and found that your typical, average-sized adult male goat went for about 4500 Dalasi, or just under $100. Prices were higher for big billies with unique horns and prices would jump to 10,000 Dalasi or more for a high quality animal near the end of Ramadan (Eid).
The next couple of hours were a bit frustrating as we we're supposed to go to a Batik factory--or at least a place where artisanal workers were dying and producing fabrics in this fashion. However, since it was Sunday, many people were not working but the markets and roads we're jammed. When it all didn’t work out, we returned to the Lemon Creek and relaxed for before dinner.
Most of us went out for a long walk on the beach, going first north, then past the hotel to the south. We easily covered three miles.
The tide was coming in and the waves were occasionally surprising us as we walked along the wet line in the sand.
Our dog friends were on the beach again, as well as a herd of about ten cattle that seemed content (and unsupervised) to ruminate on the meaning of life while staring contentedly at the waves.
A small freshwater pond near the hotel had several hundred gray-headed gulls bathing and chattering.
Some people approached us asking if we’d like to come to their beach bar for happy hour, but we declined.
Many local kids were playing in the waves and Ali pointed out that he didn't to think any of them knew how to swim--but they just staying in the shallows. We passed one gentleman with his dog on a leash (the first time I'd seen such a thing in Africa, as well as a ball that the dog loved to fetch from the breakers.
We returned to the hot and ordered drinks, including a few JulBrews, then Becky and I went to our room to relax, get cleaned up and do some photo work (me) or crossword puzzles (her).
We left at 1900 with the whole crew headed to Ali’s house. We parked on the dirt street and walked down a sandy, block-fences line alley to an iron gate. From there, we walked to the front door that also had a little porch on which the family was cooking a large pot of excellent-smelling food.
Ali led us in, introduced us to his mom and dad, sister, aunt, and cousin and we were seated in the living room. Ali offered drinks and then fired up his XBox he’d brought from the States (he said he’d returned with only that, his cadet laptop, and a few clothes). He and the cadets took turns playing war-type single shooter games while his father sat quietly the women prepped dinner. The TV was also on, playing a Gambia public TV discussion on sexilual assault.
About 15 minutes later, two huge bowls of food were brought onto the dining room table. The first was about five pounds of spiced red rice, the second almost as much stewed vegetables, cassava, and whole fish.
Ali had told us this was the national dish of The Gambia and (we learned from Moussa) Senegal. It's called “one pot” because all of the cooking occurs in one pot.
The rice was tremendously as we're the veggies. The fish was fired and a little chewy at first with plenty of bones to pick. The cadets (especially Austin and Matt) ate copious quantities of the rice. Juice was also served and fresh bananas we're brought out for dessert.
Following the meal, we took group photos and we presented another Colorado photo book to Ali’s parents.
Ali’s parents don’t speak much English. His mom is from Senegal and speaks French. At home, they speak primarily Wollof--and, as we were learning, Wollof seemed to be used more than English in most of the areas we visited. So, we didn’t converse much, but we did thank them for the very generous dinner. Augusto and Idi seemed to really enjoy it, too.
We returned to the hotel, bought cold water and a few JulBrews and sat outside having deep conversations about The Gambia, America's role in Africa, growing Chinese influence here, and Ali. I think everyone enjoyed The Gambia a little more than Senegal in the sense that they were more comfortable in an English-speaking country that was a little cleaner and more orderly, but they also saw the optimism is Ali’s eyes and really seemed interested and concerned about the country’s future. It was a very good day
Becky and I returned to our room and we're disappointed to NOT see our air conditioning unit dripping on the exterior floor, meaning it wasn’t on. Again, I returned to the lobby, and gain the desk agent had to determine whether we’d paid for a/c or not. I assured him we had, but it still required a phone call. The technician walked back with me and it was turned on promptly.
We pre-packed for the next day’s departure, I uploaded the day’s photos and we went to bed.
10 June
We needed to leave early the next morning o catch the second ferry to Barra, across the Gambia RIver’s mouth again.
Augusto had tried to negotiate a slightly earlier start to the regular 0700 breakfast suggesting we could eat quickly if they had the cold items available at 0645. This concerned the staff greatly--they wanted to make us ham and cheese sandwiches to go instead for some reason. We deferred to them, but I’d told all of the cadets to be in the eating area with bags, ready to go not later than 0645.
Becky and I Arrived at 0630 and saw they were already laying things out--but they’d also prepared a platter with 10 aluminum foil wrapped sandwiches for each of us. The cadets put the sandwiches in their bags and then got the normal breakfast. Eddie even was able to wolf down a plate of scrambled eggs in about 60 seconds since the omelet guy had everything fired up by 0650.
Austin and Charlie said goodbye to the hotel cats (Greg and Karen) who’d followed us out to give us a kitty paws wave goodbye and we were off again.
Traffic was very light on Sunday morning and we made it to the ferry dock in downtown Banjul quickly, by 0730. At first, it didn’t look promising that we’d get on the next ferry as the terminal was packed with large freight trucks and passenger cars as well as pedestrians (no cattle this time), but Augusto and Idi worked their magic and we moved towards the front if the queue, just in time for street sellers to offer us plenty of last-minute Gambian souvenirs. Idi took advantage of one excellent offer to buy two white bottom undershirts from this driver side window.
The inbound ferry arrived at about 0820 and emptied quickly on to the quai, one small pickup truck with side rails had six cattle onboard. Milliseconds after the last vehicle came off the ferry, cars pushed forward to it ahead and on. The ferry workers, however, did a good job of a game I now call 'Africa Ferry Tetris’ in somehow maximizing the platform space to get the most various-sized vehicles onboard, even if the rear gate didn’t shut all of the way and the bed of a truck was hanging over the water. Idi managed to get us in a position in which we could actually exit the vehicle (the door opened in, as if designed for this game) and get us within millimeters of the mango truck ahead of us. We squeezed out and went above to the open air seats on a very nice, cool morning.
(Skip this next paragraph if you get queasy reading things about African toilets, ferries, and their intersection)
By now, My digestive system was beginning to show some signs of trouble. When the gates were semi-closed and we pushed off of the pier, I moved quickly downstairs looking for a toilet after asking Becky for some paper. I lucked out (only in terms of time) and opened a very rusty door to find an equally rusty small space with a porcelain 'squatter’ that was, shall we say, well and recently useful to many, many people. It vented directly to the big bring and there was a large blue plastic bucket half-filled with water for 'la nettoyage.’ The light roll of the ocean was magnified by the exterior nature of the small room and, we’ll just end this by saying, it was one of the very least pleasant experiences of my life. I used all of the remaining water in the bucket to wash the whole thing down, feeling just a little bad for the poor soul that might follow.
The rest of the ferry ride was uneventful and we arrived in Barra about 30 minutes later. Along the way, we passed the very distinct line between Gambia River freshwater flow (filled with silt) and the clearer green-blue ocean water. Fishermen in pirogs made a ring about part of this transitional zone that, apparently, was attractive to their prey.
The border was not far away and soon we we parked and exiting The Gambia, reentering Senegal. Clearing the Gambia side was quite easy this time. The usual hawkers, this time selling lots of cashews in addition to trinkets were there in addition to unofficial money changers. One came up to my window and, with Idi’s help we negotiated a reasonable rate helped by dueling calculator apps on our cell phones. Idi assured us that the rate we were getting for our remaining Dalasi (converting to CFA) was better than we’d see in Dakar or at the airport and by now we all knew to trust all things Idi.
In mid-negotiation, however, near tragedy struck. I tossed my wallet to Becky, excused myself from my business partner and walked/ran as quickly as possible to a douane who, in Trump's, directed me to the nearest toilets. (Once again skip forward as needed)
I went behind a small building to find standard four stall, cement block building with a large barrel of water out front. Just barely making it in time, I didn't have time to fill the sluice buckets in my stall. Not good. The place was just a mess when I arrived and soon got worse. Olfactory senses were now turned off completely as I grabbed the buckets, pulled up my shorts and went to the barrel. I filled them quickly and went back to my stall thinking that this was the least I could do to help--or worse that by not doing so I was committing some huge cultural faux pas. Well, apparently that wasn’t the case. Even the the barrel was ten feet from the door, in the few seconds I’d turned to get water, an elderly woman in a brightly floral dress had just as urgently gone into the stall, not finding it necessary, it seems to pull the door more than halfway shut. That was awkward. I set the buckets down on the concrete outside the door and returned as quickly as possible to more mathematical pursuits--and two Imodium tablets.
From the border, after a quick stop to buy two 10L water jugs) we began what would be a lot of driving. Again, Idi was just on his game. I sat next to this guy for a week and he never came close to dozing or losing his focus. By now, I could predict when he would honk a warning to pedestrians, goats, donkeys, horse carts, or other vehicles. (He said that he never honks at cattle because they just don't listen or respond) Despite some dangerously crazy idiocy by other drivers (and goats and kids) I didn’t see him get angered or flustered in any way.
We drove for over two hours to Kaolack again where stopped outside town for an uneventful bathroom break and a chance to buy snacks. It was hot as blazes on the concrete. I decided to treat myself to a Coke Zero for the first time on the trip and also bought a small package of yogurt, which hit the spot.
We drove for almost another two hours in a roundabout route that I didn’t quite understand--possibly to stay on the smooth, newer roads--before arriving in the town of Foal on the beach about 100 km south of Dakar.
We learned that Foal was once the center of Portuguese trade in the region and that it was also the home of Senegal’s first president, though that second claim was up to some dispute or interpretation. It was also the third most important artisanal fishing village in Senegal behind Saint-Louis and Mbour.
We parked a hotel near inlet/bay side of the town and shortly thereafter met Edward, our guide for a tour of Shell Island.
Edward was originally from Shell Island and has been a certified guide there for six years. He lived in New York at some time in the past and had clearly been influenced by reggae/Rasta culture, speaking with a pretty good Jamaican accent and sporting some serious dreads above his scraggling, short, and graying facial hair.
Shell Island and it's community were really a series of mud or sand flats in a mangrove bay that had been built up over centuries with billions and billions (trillions?) of cockle and oyster shells. They reclaimed the land and built a whole town of 6,000 on shells dumped on mud and sand covering three distinct islands to depths (or heights) of well over 20 feet covering many hectares of land. The reclamation continues to this day with locals constantly gathering shells and dumping them by the basket full in low areas or as new foundation. Shells we're even used in the making of concrete blocks as a sort of matrix. We took a 500 meter wooden bridge over part of the shallow bay to reach the island and could seat the abandoned pilings of the old bridge sticking out of the water to our left as we did.
The community was big enough to support six districts, each with its own ramada-like “palaver’ for local discussion debate, and meetings. They also had a mosque and a Catholic church. The island was unique in Senegal in that it was 90% Christian, which explained the huge number of pigs running loose in the town or wallowing in the mud of the brackish bay at low tide.
Interestingly, Edward explained that the town football field was really a sandbar just on the west side of the island that was only useful during low tide.
We walked through village saw what appeared to be arriving little community of happy people. As usual, there were plenty of little kids everywhere. Edward took us to large church and showed us the Black Jesus sculpture opposite the main pulpit and above the entry doors. He was quick to point out that this Jesus had dreadlocks like him, but that they also had a White Jesus at the front.
Edward also was very proud of the fact that Christians and Muslims cohabitated peacefully on the I and that they had helped finance, build, and rebuild each other’s place of worship, and that were ultimately buried together in the same cemetery.
We next walked over a shorter bridge (about 200m) to their cemetery island. Here, as mentioned earlier, there was a Christian and a Muslim section. Almost all of the Christa burial sites were marked with a cast concrete cross with details of the deceased written in paint on the concrete. The Muslims had simple steel plates with data and all were oriented in the direction of Mecca. The cemetery island was actually quite a bit higher than the main island, maybe as much as 20 meters high at an overlook sporting a large cross. Again, this whole island and all that was above the now rising tide was shells.
Edward explained that you could tell how old the grave was in part because of the color of the cocke shells. Newer grave sites were darker, while older ones were bleached white by the sun. The cemetery had been there so long that a few large baobabs had sprouted and grown amid the shells, as well as some vivid flame trees and some shrubs.
I asked Edward how long people had been living on Shell Island he said he didn’t sure, but that it was many, many hundreds if not thousands of years. Clearly some grave stacking was occurring on the island as almost all of the graves we saw where no older than the second half of the 20th Century.
We returned to the main island and came upon an older gentleman weaving cloth with a small foot loom. He had hundreds of threads stretched out 15 meters or more from his loom tied to a cement block, keeping it very tight.as he worked on his Kente-cloth like strip of blue, gray, and white fabric, he would slowly pull on the brick until in needed the rethread the whole loom--womething Edward said could take up to a week.
Austin bought about a two meter section of cloth that was very nice for only 2000 CFA, for which there no reason to bargain.
From there we returned to our van, reboarded and headed back to Dakar. Traffic was Terri let until we were able to get on the new N1 Toll Highway that runs from the airport to the City. We drove to the Hotel Djoloff and checked-in.
The Hotel Djoloff was very, very nice. New, modern, great fixtures and architecture. We instantly liked it.
We’d been communicating with Moussa and planned to meet him for one last dinner before leaving Dakar.
I still wasn’t feeling very well (nor were a few others) so Becky and I checked out the hotel restaurant on the third floor (fourth floor for Americans). It had a great view of the bay and city and was open air, with a good chalkboard tapas menu. We asked them to set us a table for 10 and then informed the cadets and Moussa (then en route) of our plans.
Dinner was excellent with green beans cauliflower, fish, cured Spanish ham, avocados, duck, and dessert plates. It was a relaxing evening and a good way to put the exclamation mark on our time in far western Africa.
As we said goodbye to Moussa and promised our return, he gave Becky a nice Senegalese dress and three African shirts for Sean, Andy, and me. I gave him one of my last Astro coins and there lots of hugs going around.
Becky and I again pre-packed for the next day’s flights, cleaned up and though I tried to work on photos was just too tired.
11June
We awoke at 0450 for our 0530 departure and packed quickly
We we pleasantly surprised to see the hotel had put out a tray of breads and cookies for us as an early breakfast and we all grabbed a few items. We left on time and made it to Blaise Diagne International Airport in only 45 minutes. At the curb, we said goodbye to Augusto and Idi, returned our Trans-Africa customer surveys to them and gave them each envelope with large tips for their great work. I also gave Augusto my business card and hope communicate with him in the future and maybe even visit Guinea-Bissau.
Airport check-in went very smoothly and we cleared immigration easily, too. The new airport is quite nice with little shops, duty-free, and even relatively clean bathrooms--those Charlie managed to discover that they save one stall for the traditional squatter format in each bathroom.
Each of us bought some water or snacks and we settled into our chairs to write, read, and relax.
Our plane arrived on time and we boarded just the same. We’d warned the cadets that assigned seating might not be that meaningful on an African airline within Africa and the passengers proved us right.
Becky and I were assigned to an exit row but those seats were taken by one gentleman and Austin gave us a shrug when we looked at him--apparently someone was in his seat, so he’d moved into ours. The flight attendant asked us if there was a problem and Becky said that’ “Someone’s in our seats,” as she pointed to them. He gave her a helpless shrug as well, but then giggled when she said, “C’est l’Afrique!”
The plane was barely half full, so we just moved to the back half of the plane and claimed our whole empty row.
ASky served a good breakfast for free on this 3.5 hour flight and I used almost all of that time to write this with my thumbs on the way to Lomé. We arrived right on time and the transfer to our next flight was easy. They were waiting with our next boarding passes in the hallway as we exited and after clearing security one more time, we went to Gate 6, waited for only about 10 minutes and boarded via a bus that drove us out to our Bombardier Q-400 (really a deHavilland Dash-8). As your bus arrived at the plane, so did the luggage truck and trailer and we were relieved to see our bags had made the transfer with similar ease.
Again, our flight had several open seats, so Becky moved to my side of the aisle for the quick 20 minute flight to Accra.
We landed on-time with just a few bumps and all but for us and maybe four others deplaned. I asked the flight attendant how long we’d wait before the next flight and he said we’d be taking off in 20 minutes. He was nearly accurate as we began taxiing shortly after 1400. Only about dozen boarded the plane, so we each enjoyed our own two-seater row.
We were pleasantly surprised when they served a light lunch of fish in a red tomato sauce with rice and potatoes, plus a mini-baguette and fresh fruit salad. No complaints at all about ASky so far.
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Writing on 10 June…
Wow, now I have to journal our entire time in The Gambia (@thesmilingcoastofafrica, #gambiahasdecided) all at once as we leave this very interesting and optimistic little country. The contrasts with Senegal are very interesting and worthy of about a 10-15 cadet Poli Sci term paper, so I’ll jus touch on those later and briefly.
It goes without saying, though, that our visit here was tremendously impactes by having 1Lt Ali Sumbundu join us for most of our time here. Ali is a 2017 USAFA grad, one of our unofficial sponsorees, a former student of mine (Engr 100 in Fall 2013), and is currently and already serving as the aide-de-camp to the Chief of the Defense Staff (Lt Gen) of the Gambian Army. I can’t put into words how proud we are of this amazing young man.
After finally getting on the road in The Gambia, we stopped about an hour later at a cashew plantation and saw cashews on the trees and laying on the ground with their red “apples” and gray/purplish “nut” connected externally and below. Though I’d seen pictures of them before and read articles about how drink manufacturers in the US were beginning to try to market the juice and other products from the apple, I’d never seen one, much less tasted one.
Augusto explained that they aren’t picked off the tree but rather gathered when they fall--indicating they are ripe. We wiped off one of the fresher looking dropped cashews and I gave it a small bite. The skin seemed loaded in pectins (Moe so than even apple skins) and the meet just burst into sticky, sour juice. It was quite tart, but very tasty. Matt liked it, as did Becky. I think Eddie was the lone dissenter among those that tried it. It seems that cashews are one of the up-and-coming agricultural products in West Africa because of the many uses they have. Augusi told us that the squeezed pulp pressing of the apple are used to make soap and the nut is also ground to a flour for baking. I’ll have to do more research on cashews and see if we can get some juice in the US. I think it would make a great flavor additive for a sour beer at LFBC.
We arrived at the Bari ferry landing and Idi and Augusto got out of the bus to purchase our ticket. Augusto had been in contact with the ferry operator or some intermediary all day and we were quickly driving up the ramp, parked in the queue behind a large concrete pumper truck and another truck loaded with fresh produce. Within five minutes of watching the newly arrived file past us on the lesft, we were driving onto the ferry that could probably hold a half-dozen large trucks or as many as two dozen passenger cars. Two young men with four head of cattle also joined us, pinned to an area in the aft right corner of the parking area.
We climbed out of our bus and made our way to the seating deck from where we could watch the whole show. From the ferry, we could see fishermen and their pirogs along the beach to the west as well as several large freighters in the mouth of the Gambia. Banjul was a misty six or seven kilometers away to the south.
There was a nice breeze that mitigated the sunny, humid conditions somewhat. Two women were selling cellophane-wrapped shortbread cakes displayed on a platter on their heads, while the rest of the passengers checked their cell phones or napped. The cadets bout two of the cakes as a snack and liked them.
The trip lasted about 20-30 minutes and we passed the returning ferry, going to the North shore, along the way. It seemed larger, with three decks and many more passengers. It was also named the Kunte Kinteh.
Arriving at the Port of Banjul, we saw two large ships tied to a pier pararllel to each other with a large Turkish flag and signage indicating that these boats we're essentially a sea-going electrical power plant. An oil tanker was tied next to them, large smoke stacks extended from the western ship, and high tension lines ran directly from one ship to tall towers and, presumably, Banjul’s electrical grid. We’re heard that Banjul was notoriously underserved by reliable electrical power and that this, as well as new power lines from Senegal, we're part of the solution.
A large freighters was tied to one of the piers near our landing as well as a decrepit and rusty river boat and a semi-capsized ship of indeterminate type.
The captain spun the ferry around in the shallow channel, running aground on the beach as he backed the ferry attempting to swing into the gate. We cleared that quickly and we're brought into the ramp straight away.
The ferry unloaded quickly and we were on our way into Banjul. We were going to visit the National Museum of The Gambia that afternoon, but Georgia’s condition and our earlier delays helped us decide that we would skip that.
Along the way to the hotel, Augusto pointed out many landmarks, included the museum, city centre square, various government buildings, etc.
It was about a twenty minute drive to the hotel, during which time it became apparent that the Gambia was somewhat cleaner and marginally more orderly than Senegal. We saw several large businesses, sidewalks and curbs in a better state of repair and significantly less dust, grime, and loose plastic bags and trash.
We stop at a Standard Chartered Bank ATM and several of us got cash before the machine ran out. We got 2000 Dalasi each, about $50 and went to the hotel.
The Lemon Creek Hotel was somewhat difficult to find, down a couple of dirt roads, but then we arrived driving into the parking area that was completely covered in white clam shells. We were very close to the beach with several six to eight room buildings, tile roofs and many flowers and tropical plants as well as a couple of large baobobs.
The rooms were fairly large, with mosquito netting over the bed and air conditioning that wasn’t operating. Each room had a nice balcony with several chairs.
We relaxed, went to the bar and tastes our first JulBrew beer--brewed by Banjul Breweries. We liked it! We also found the wifi fairly effective and used it to communicate with Ali who was arranging dinner for us at a local restaurant with Muhammed Cham, our incoming Gambian cadet.
The cadets walked down to the beach, I caught up with photos and we enjoyed the relaxing afternoon.
Ali arrived with Muhammed at about 1730 and we all had a chance to chat in the bar area. Muhammed impressed us a quiet and very sincere--as well as very young. Ali told us that Muhammed had attended the best technical high school in The Gambia, St Peters, and that Ali had shepherded him and many others through the application process with the help of the US Embassy. He’d put them through weeks of physical training so that they would crush the candidate fitness assessment (CFA). He bragged that Muhammed could do 21 pull-ups and 72 push-ups.
In end end, Ali had gained appointments for three future Gambian officers--two to the US Naval Academy and the second cadet at USAFA. That’s just an amazing feat for a country so small.
We left at 1900 for dinner at the Butcher Shop and arrived about 15 minutes later. It was an impressive, white tablecloth restaurant with a large slate menu on the wall, nice wine selection, and very attentive staff. They proudly displayed all of their TripAdvisor awards on the wall, too.
The owner/manager was a middle-aged man of European descent who walked around with a lit cigar in his mouth.
Augusto joined us for dinner, but Idi went to prayers and had a snack elsewhere. Ali and Muhammed explained that they would be early lightly, planning to return home for a planned larger meal closer to 2200.
I asked the waitress here favorite dish plate and she recommended a whole fish stewed in a tomato garlic sauce with rice and other vegetables. Becky ordered the tuna steak, medium rare and the others picked generally between beef and chicken. Everyone seemed to enjoy their meal an the owner made sure we had plenty of bread. Becky and I paid for Ali and Muhammed, while we all split the Augusto’s bill. It cane to about 750 Dalasi for each of the eight of us, or about $17.
We returned to the hotel and we're pleased to find our air conditioner dripping water outside the door, a sign that it was functioning well. We turned on the fan to provide some white noise. Otherwise, the room was comfortable and we slept pretty well, waking just after 0600.
9 June
After loading a few more photos and checking social media--plus NCAA track results, I walked on the beach with Ali who’d arrived early. He was happy to have his first day off in quite some time and wanted to spend it with us, touring around Banjul and other parts of the region.
The beach was remarkably clean by African standards with much less plastic trash than many places. There were a few stray dogs that were not aggressive and seemed well fed. They were contact to lay in the cool, wet sand.
Matt and Evan had left just before us and we're getting a workout in, running on the waterline and stopping to do some calisthenics. The breeze was cool and the skies cloudy and hazy at the same time.
During the walk, Ali told me about his situation more and I my admiration for him grew even more. He’s paid a pittance, as are his colleagues, and he received advice from many quarters not to return to The Gambia after completing his degree at USAFA. He’d endured a change of government (for the better) while in his Firsties year and returned anyway, committed to helping his country’s military rebuild the trust it deserved from other branches of government and the civilian population. He said he wanted to come back because his family and everything he knew was here.
However, having spent four years in the US, he was treated quite differently by his peers, superiors, and even friends and family. They considered him 'American,’ and many assumed that he had come back rich from his cadet time. He laughed about this and said that that was a common misperception among Gambians--that everyone who spends any time in the US, no matter what their job, is rich.
He said many Gambians return from the US and feel like they have to prove they were successful there, whether they were or weren’t, by borrowing and spending lavishly on many consumer items and entertaining family and friends. He thought his was sad and misguided.
After breakfast, we loaded up and went to the National Museum of The Gambia in downtown Banjul to start the day.
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6 June Continued
After spending most of the afternoon working on photos and the blog, I decided to do a little walk-around solid with the M5.
The cadets had gone out earlier to do a little shopping and later said that they’d been robbed by hawkers. Austin had finally bought a Senegal Lions football Jersey for the World Cup, but they’d bought little else and had returned to the hotel to play cards and relax.
I stayed close the hotel and worked on the M5 whose controls are quite different really from the 5D. I found it tougher to set Auto ISO and really just need practice with the touch screen.
I had my first less-than-friendly encounter with a local when I took a photo of a fruit stand and the back of the man selling fruit. I don’t photograph his face, so I thought nothing of it. However, a man of about 30 walked up to me and said (in French) “Why do you think you have the right to take a photo?”
I think he was trying to shake me down for money, so I quickly shot back at him, while walking, “C’est un pays libre, n’est-ce pas?” (Isn’t this a free country?). He was clearly taken aback by my response, stopped walking towards me and said no more as I turned and walked away. I do need to be more careful.
I walked around shooting more doorways and asked a few kids if I could take their photos. Some agreed, some did not. I returned to the hotel at 1915 and shortly thereafter we left for the restaurant in the Hotel de la Residence just a block away.
Dinner was again good--a Prix fixe menu already arranged with salad to start. We we a little hesitant to eat the lettuce and tomatoes, but ultimately convinced each other to go for it, in part because of the balsamic vinegar. Not foolproof, of course, but it worked for us.
The main course was either chicken brochets or grilled snapper with a choice of vegetables, rice, or frites.
The snapper was good, but bony and the veggies we're better than at La Flamingo the night before. For drinks, we a few of us ordered Flag and then we had two large Kirene water bottles (1.5L) that we shared. Service was outstanding again--very friendly but not overbearing. The sliced baguettes, which, I think may be the cadets’ favorite thing to eat on the trip, we're great.
For dessert, our waiter brought out little wooden pirogs with a scoop each of mango and strawberry sorbet, plus some small shortbread cookies. The total bill came to about 7600CFA so we asked for 10,000 each and threw a 1000 CFA bill to each of the non-Flag drinkers. Both Idri and Augusto ate for free again and were clearly well-acquainted with the wait staff.
On the way back to the hotel, we bought two more 10L bottles of water for only 1000CFA apiece to recharge our bottles.
Becky and I returned to a rather chilly room as osur a/c had been running all evening, but it felt good while we pre-packed for the morning and climbed into bed.
7 June
The next morning, after sleeping fairly well, I woke up at 0530 ( the alarm was set for 0550), showered and tried to load more photos.
We met for breakfast at 0630, everyone dressed in long pants and long-sleeved shirts as instructed the night before by Augusto. He’d told us that we would be leaving the next morning at 0700 for a three hour drive to Touba, the second largest city in Senegal and the home of a very large mosque.
According to our trip notes, Touba is the home of a particular Sufi Muslim sect and city with its Grand Mosque operates almost autonomously in the country. Nearly 4,000,000 pilgrims visit the mosque each year from across West Africa.
Georgia wore a long black skirt and Becky put on her long grey convertible pants. All of the men wore long-sleeved T or collared shirts.
Breakfast was again good with the same name as the day before. Matt and Evan shared another messy mango, while Becky and I had plain yogurt, pastries, coffee, and some cheese.
We left on time just after I hit the ATM for
100,000 CFA to get us through to Banjul over the next couple of days.
The route southeast from Saint-Louis was typical in that the quality of the road surface was outstanding and we went through a string of small towns that seemed identical. Kids walking to school, women waiting for transportation to markets by communal taxi buses, goats along the road, and overloaded trucks.
It was cloudy and humid, with a few light sprinkles muddying the windshield. The countryside for progressively drier as we went inland, with mostly bare ground and acacia trees by the time we’d traveled 30 km.
Senegal continues to amaze me because, despite the dirt, dust, and poverty, the hundreds of little kids, the trash, and the shacks, horse carts and abandoned cars, half-built and collapsing homes--very little that would suggest development past what you’d expect in the US during the Depression of the 1930s, men and women are often well-dressed if not overdressed in terms of style and colors, they make amazing French-style pastries, service and food is excellent, and kids are all walking long distances to school with backpacks full of books, often in uniforms. While the boys are often barefoot, in shorts, with T-shirts, the girls and women are wearing very clean, very vibrant, colorful, full-length dresses with matching scarfs on their heads. Those without scarves have intricately coiffed, often tightly braided, hair.
All seem very honest and hard-working. At La Hotel de la Posted, when we left our 'payment box’ at the table and forgot about the 2000CFA change from two Flag beers, the waitress presented the boss to me two hours later when I returned to order a second beer. I paid her all 2000, tipping her 500 after the 1500 CFA beer.
So far the cadets have been outstanding--we couldn’t ask for better travel buddies. Despite very different backgrounds at USAFA, they get along very well and we’ve had zero conflict. There’s plenty of good-natured ribbing for little mistakes--as you:d expect on a France-led tip--and everyone seems willing to give and take in good humor.
They’ve all been on-time or early to every call and haven’t backed down from strolling through the worst back alley. They’re asking good questions, are observant, trying to use a few French words, and are friendly and respectful of everyone they meet.
We’ve seen VERY few European/American/White tourists so far. We stick out even more than I thought we would. The hawkers are very aggressive and pounce on us almost immediately upon leaving the hotel or mini-bus. It reminds me a bit of Tanzania in that respect. Kids automatically ask us for money, candy, or ink pens. I wish we’d brought hundreds of ink pens!
I’ll say it again and again… you just can’t escape all of the plastic trash here. Everywhere. Bags stuck on virtually every Bush and tree along the roads. Piles of trash in every village. Some of it is burning, but Augusto tells me that it’s now illegal to burn the trash--apparently preferring one type of pollution over another. I think we all need to get rid of plastic bags if we’re not going to assiduously commit to recycling them--and certainly containing discarded bags to real landfills in which they can degrade. Or we need to find new formulations that will degrade in days or weeks instead of years and decades.
In small villages that we passed, often the town was on one side of the road and the other side of the road was the town trash dump.
Along the road we saw increasing numbers of Falani grass/thatch huts mixed in with the usual block buildings. We also saw Falani tribespeople wearing the typical woven conical hats.
We arrived in Touba from the North just before 1000, passing through a large concrete arch. Idri told me later that all of the major roads leading to Touba had these large gates.
We saw many signed referring to “Bon Magal” and learned that Magal referred to the pilgrimage that almost four million per year make to Touba.
We arrived at outside the mosque and we're greeted by a tall gentleman dresses in a white boubou with caftan. He was very friendly and pleasant, explaining to us that we needed to leave our shoes in the car and then gave Becky and Georgia wrap-around skirts plus carefully arranged and positioned head scarves.
The grand Mosque was huge. Our guide told us that it was the 'largest in Black Africa,’ with the only larger one in Africa found in Morocco.
Our guide was very clear that in Senegal they practiced a very tolerant, moderate sorry of Islam and that Islam meant peace and tolerance.
The grand Mosque was started in 1927 with the caliph of a particular Sufi sect. The mosque is like the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona in that it may never be completed and was still be renovated AND built at the same time.
The mosque has seven minarets and will not get any more because it’s improper to have more minarets than the Grand Mosque in Mecca (8).
There hundreds of women in deep blue-purple robes cleaning, artisans were recarving patterns in cupped ceilings, and two of the larger minarets had scaffolding around them for work being done.
The floor tiling was all in white Italian marble not unlike Terrazzo strips at USAFA while the exterior walls were all in Portuguese pink marble. It was amazingly opulent and contrasted starkly with the abject poverty and filth that was only meters away on the exterior.
Our guide told us that there had been eight caliphs since the founding of the mosque and sect and that the eighth had taken his place just a few months ago. All were sons or grandsons, or great-grandsons of the original caliph. The names of the caliphs were all over the city, on taxis and buses, shops and homes, all invoking their specific favorite caliph’s name in hopes of blessings and good fortune.
Our guide told us of the annual pilgrimage or “Magal” that occurred in Touba, brining almost four million there every year from(mostly) across West Africa. Pilgrims were housed by locals and fed as well as part of the hosts’ Muslim obligations, though many chose to stay in hotels. He was quick to point out that this was a huge boon for the local economy, but that it wasn’t a true pilgrimage in the sense that it replaced the requirement of all Muslims to go to Mecca for the Hadj--rather this was more of an annual commemoration or celebration of the Weather African sect or caliphate centered in Touba.
At one point, our guide got into an argument with a younger man who took offense at him wearing a cap in and around the mosque. It got somewhat heated as we watched and walked. I think it was all conducted in Wolof or another local language because I could only pick up the occasional transliterated French words. Apparently, our guide told the younger man that he did not understand his own religion and needed to study more. That was not well-received. Eventually others joined in and the younger man exited through a gate to the other side of the iron fencing around the mosque proper. We thought, at first that it might have something to do with us, as infidels with women, being there, but that was not the primary issue according to our guide.
The tour ended after about an hour and we made our way back to the bus. I gave our guide a donation of 2000 CFA.
On leaving Touba, we did a quick water and toilet stop at a gas station and Becky and I again marveled at the nearly spotless shoppette with it’s Kum-N-Go type selection, minus the clean bathrooms--those were still outdoor squatters with a big bucket of water and large Dipper to 'flush.’
We drove for another two hours to Kaolack, which, Idi explained was the crossroads of Senegal. In the city several national roads met, going to Dakar, Saint-Louis, The Gambia, and parts East. It was a town of peanuts and salt, too, with the salty Saloum River passing through it on Nearly flat plain and mountains of salt and peanuts at processing facilities nearby. He explained that you could always tell someone who was from Kaolack because of their teeth stained brown from the salts and sodas in the water--something we saw soon enough.
We arrived at the hotel along the river and we're again somewhat impressed by it. The Relais de Kaolack was part of a chain (Relais Bleu) in the area and had huge outdoor verandas, a nice pool, and an excellent bar serving Flag for only 1000 CFA (about $1.80)!
We were roomed in small bungalows that had two rooms each. Augusto said that we were free until 1700 when we would go on a market tour downtown. The cadets used the time to play pickup water polo in the pool and have a few drinks (beer and soda). The hotel was hosting a government conference on information management for the sanitation profession with about 100 attendees that moved in and out if the pool and outdoor seating areas as their sessions progressed. Easily 90% of the participants were male. There were two other groups of European-American tourists, both either French or Quebecois, one being a family of four with grown children and another a group of female college-aged friends. There was also a group of Chinese business people.
Becky read and did puzzles while I worked on photos and tried with limited success to get internet access. Eventually, I went for a short swim, too.
At 1700 we went to the market and met a local guide took the lead through what turned out to be a typical covered, crowded, find-it-all, African market, complete with narrow passageways, sewing machines, freshly butchered meat and poultry, produce, and just about everything else. It was maze-like and we were quickly disoriented. Since it was a market for locals, there weren’t a lot of pushy people trying to sell us things here. The cadets handled it well despite the mess and heat that was approaching 100F.
From the market, we walked to an artisanal village of small sales shops. I saw some interesting paintings and batiks, Charlie bought a small carving, but that’s about all. As we walked back to out minibus, Eddie asked me what sort of souvenirs we liked and I said that we didn’t buy many souvenirs these days because we had so much already at the house. We preferred photos and memories and maybe something useful like a bolt if unique cloth or fabric that could be turned into a tablecloth and napkins and ultimately a story to tell friends when they visited us for dinner.
We returned to the hotel at about 1830 and, as we did the day before, ordered dinner in advance planning to eat at 2000. Becky and I had a drink at the bar and watched the Bislett Games track meet from Oslo on the television above the bar.
Dinner was not particularly good, but the veggies we're acceptable and the baguettes nearly fresh. Eddie wasn’t looking too fresh and he admitted that he was suffering from some digestive issues. After dinner, we brought him back to our room, gave him dose of Imodium (Loperamide) with a few more pills to last the night, checked that he didn’t have a fever, and refilled everyone’s water bottles.
Our room was chilly from the full-scale refrigeration and, after trying to connect to WiFi and processing the afternoon’s photos, I went to sleep. We both slept well, waking a few times, but not completely until the alarm at 0620.
8 June
As we started to move luggage outside the door, Georgia appeared looking pekid and said she’d had a rough night with more digestive issues. She didn’t have a fever, so we gave her Loperamide, too, and plenty of water.
Breakfast was pretty poor with only second-rate French pastries, no fruit, no yogurt, and last night’s baguettes.
On the bright side, Eddie was looking and feeling better. One the downside, Evan and Matt both needed doses of Immodium, too.
We loaded the van, leaving on-time, as usual, and hit a gas station after a few kilometers to get more water. The shoppette inside wasn’t open, but the guys Manning the pumps were glad to accept 2000 CFA for two 10L bottles if Kirene water.
We're drove about an hour on the highway and then turned off on a dirt road, passing through three Wolof farming villages to arrive at the Sine Ngayene complex stone grave site. Along the way, Idi explained that they farmed mostly corn and peanuts in the area and each spring burned the fields prior to planting after the third or fourth rain of the just-commencing rainy season.
It was clearly a wetter climate here as the nber are large green trees (not baobab) increased and the acacia disappeared. The thatch and stubble from last season’s corn was raked into pikea and ling strips and then burned--we could see the black rings and stripes of past fires with several other still burning. Some were attended by kids or adults, others left to burn out on their own.
The drive to the site was about 10 kilometers over sandy roads. IDi stopped once to check the front left tire that he had had refilled two days prior. Happily, it was holding.
When we arrived at the site, the gates were locked. Idi made a phone call and we climbed over the low, rusty, steel tube railed fence and into the UNESCO World Heritage Site--one the only that we will ever visit completely alone, with no other tourists.
The site is quite interesting in that it dates to between 925 to 1305 CE. It contains 1102 large volcanic, rectangular headstone each weighing a ton or more. These monoliths are arranged in single and double circles of twelve stones each--52 circles in all. The volcanic rock has no writing or symbology. https://whc.unesco.org/en/list/1226
A guide arrived a few minutes later and began explaining the site to us. He spoke almost no French, but rather conversed in Wolof to Idi who then translated to French. Augusto and I then translated Idi’s comments to English for the group. Sometimes the guide used obviously French words and we could understand his intent.
He told us that the age of the site has been verified by Carbon-14 dating of the bodies found in the graves. The largest double circles held 65 bodies with the body of the supposed queen buried 1.5 meters deep and in the outer ring, with the king buried three meters below the stones in the center. The higher ranking bodies had jewelry, knives, and Spears buried with them and their bodies we're positioned oddly with their lower legs pulled up behind and their hands together, arms straight, down at the waist.
The site was discovered in 1956, uncovered by local farmers like the Terracotta warriors of Xi’an, China, then slowly unearthed by French and Senegalese archaeologists in the Sixties and Seventies before being named a UNESCO site in 2006.
Our guide told us that the stones came from a site over a kilometer away and they were probably transported there during the rainy season in pirogs or rolled on logs in drier times.
I took plenty of photos and then we walked towards the now-open gate. Our guide unlocked a small stone shack that held a one-room museum explaining the site, showing some recovered artifacts from graves, and displaying maps showing similar sites in that region of Senegal and The Gambia.
Goats we're playing on the stones under a huge Green tree, plastic trash fluttered in the dry brown sticks of the last rainy season, and we left out the gate to find at least 20 kids and mom's begging for money and candy at the car. Georgia had gone back to the car not feeling well and was being pestered by the kids and mom's.
We drove back and headed south to The Gambia.
We cleared Senegalese immigration relatively quickly (though we were unaware that we needed to pay a 2000 CFA exit toll. I paid it as a group to move things along and then we walked across the border.
Gambian immigration was another story entirely. We couldn’t get Gambian visas in advance as they do not have a functional embassy in the US or any means to do so. The douane said that we needed to pay 3000 Dalasi to enter.
He gave us back our passports and told us that we should follow “the boy” (actually an immigration office NCO with two stripes) to immigration down the road.
We pulled over after about a kilometer and all entered the immigration office, except for Georgia who again stayed in the van with Idi.
I went to back room with Augusto and we explained to the immigration officer that we didn’t yet have any Dalasi and needed to app in a combination of CFA and USD. It took quite a while to work this out as he called his superiors (or a local money exchange friend) on his cell phone to confirm the rates I quoted.
We ended up paying 40,000 CFA each for two of us (Evan and Becky) and then $66 each for the rest of us ($400 total) coming from our stashes of USD.
He asked how I would like the receipt written and if one receipt for all of us would do, and I agreed. He really was quite friendly and helpful given our situation. I thanked him for his help and shook his hand. He asked how long we were visiting The Gambia and seemed disappointed when I said “Only two days.” He responded that he had given us all two weeks on our visas and hoped that we would extend our stay.
We loaded back on to the minibus after the one hour detour and started into The Gambia proper.
Immediately I noticed a few things--besides the signs all being in English--there seemed to be better corrugated steel roofs on the houses and much less plastic trash--apparently least in some areas. That might be because of the wetter climate in both cases, but villages seemed a little cleaner, too.
We passed some cashew farms, plenty of cattle grazing in marshy areas, and noticed many huge mango trees and tall red termite mounds. The roads, though, are not nearly as good as in Senegal.
2 June
Our flight from Denver was uneventful, but we did spend about 30 minutes waiting and taxiing to the gate because of so much ground traffic at JFK. When we arrived, our assigned gate for the flight to Dakar was B36, so we took the shuttle from Terminal 2 over there with the cadets and then decided to just split up, walk around and meet back at the gate before the flight was set to leave at 2205, boarding at 2110. Becky and I got dinner in a pub-style restaurant instead of waiting to eat dinner late on the flight--a decision that paid off later. Afterwards, we walked around the terminal as our gate changed from B36 to B22.
JFK is a 60s or 70s style airport that is very crowded in the older part of the Terminal 4 international area, with just scads of people lined up for flights and almost no space to stretch out. We were clearly in an older, less renovated area, unlike the newer, more open parts of Terminal 4.
Later, our gate was changed to B33 and we moved down there, sitting and reading. We helped a very nice French woman from Nice with some questions about her long-delayed flight at a gate that was expecting a flight from Amsterdam and then eaves-dropped on some conversation in French between a woman in a wheelchair and some porters. She, too, was headed to Senegal, dressed in a deep yellow floral print. It wasn’t clear why she needed a wheelchair.
We saw her again when our gate again moved to B22, then we endured yet another set of changes to B33 and back before taking off. It seemed that many flights coming in from Europe were late arriving and Delta was having trouble finding open gates in a timely fashion.
Meanwhile, at B22, Georgia struck up a conversation with our Senegalese friend and was learning a lot about the city. Her new friend wanted to meet her for dinner and show her around the city and they exchanged contact info.
We finally boarded--or started to board at about 2130. There were dozens of small children and at least five women in wheelchairs. Boarding was a complete gaggle and we were joking with an American that lived in Dakar that it looked very French, with no one willing to respect place in line.
Becky, the cadets and I pre-boarded after all of the children and wheel-chair bound were on-board, taking advantage of the offer for active duty military to walk on with First Class. Moments before boarding, I took my 10mg Ambien and we thought we might make it on time.
Of course, boarding took longer than usual, but we settled into the full flight and made the best of it. I put on my eye mask, used by bluetooth headphones as earplugs and fell asleep.
I woke up at about 0015 and we hadn’t left. It seems that someone did not board the plane as expected and they had to search the cargo hold to find his luggage--this took nearly 90 minutes. Ultimately, this caused us to arrive almost three hours late.
During the flight, we both slept very little due to the many babies crying and a medical emergency. One women almost directly behind us felt very ill and passed out, requiring calls for a doctor on-board--there was none. A few minutes later we heard the automatic voice of the AED device prepping to give her a shock, if needed--it wasn’t needed. She was, however, carried to the first row of coach, nearest the main doors so that she could be evacuated quickly upon arrival.
I woke up another time when a young boy apparently had the night terrors and couldn’t be calmed, screaming like a banshee about three rows up and across the aisle.
We landed about three hours late at 1300 and parked on the tarmac, despite what looked like an empty, new terminal with plenty of jet bridges. No one getting off the plane required a wheel chair, but there was an ambulance waiting for the woman who had an emergency and she was taken off the plane almost immediately, despite looking none the worse for wear..
We got on the second bus and arrived at the immigration/visa processing door in time to see Georgia rushing back to the plane. She’d been on the earlier bus but had realized that her passport had fallen out of her pocket while on board. We waited at the door, though the guys had cleared immigration and were awaiting our bags.
Happily, she came back quickly, passport in hand and our first crisis was averted. We three cleared immigration quickly and didn’t have to wait too long for our bags. We cleared customs inspection just as quickly and stepped into the lobby to meet our guide patiently awaiting us, sign in hand with my last name and “Tailor Made Travel.”
On Augusto’s advice, we all got cash at ATMs near the exit doors. With an exchange rate at about 560CFA/1USD, we decided to get 50,000 CFA for each person..
We learn that is now an hour drive from Dakar since the new international airport in Thies opened in Dec 2017. We thought that maybe that’s why we didn’t use jet bridge--it wasn’t open yet. Augusto led us to a large 16 passenger van and we loaded up with the assistance of Idri, our driver.
We drove along smooth, new roads and bridges coming into Dakar and saw work being done on a high speed train being finished to the newly renovated downtown train station.
Augusto explains that Senegal government being moved out of downtown Dakar to nearer airport, explaining all of the construction we saw along the way. New hotels, a basketball arena, large government offices, and commercial centers seemed to be going up everywhere. It was, however, very dusty along the way with many homes looking half-built, some goats and herders along the highway and mixed in with the homes and small compounds.
During the drive to Dakar and the Hotel de La Madrague hotel, we passed by an Atlantic beach with excellent waves and dozens of surfing riding their boards waiting for breakers that seemed to be in the six to eight foot range.
City very dirty with dust on everything.
Checked into hotel without problem--excellent view of N’Gor Beach, fishing bay, and N’Gor Island to the west.
Hotel nice and clean with bright colors. Simple decor.
Enjoyed a nice lunch at the hotel with grilled whole filet of sole, rare grilled tuna steak, etc. We shared several plates between pairs, but made a mistake in ordering and got an extra fillet of sole which was easily devoured. The beer was good and cold, too, and we tried both Flag and Gazelle, the two Senegalese brews. Flag is your very typical tropical climate developing world light lager comparable to Tiger Beer in Singapore and was perfect for lunch. With drinks, we paid a total of 7000CFA each.
Depart for City tour at 1500.
Many things closed due to Sunday and Ramadan.
Went to Monument to African Renaissance.
Huge statue of family financed by North Korea and just open a few years.
Very impressive, somewhat like Mt Rushmore combined with Washington Monument and Statue of Liberty. Very heroic, socialist style.
Augusto said that it offended some Muslims because woman is uncovered and legs bare while man is lifting baby in left arm/hand.
Walked up many stairs to base of statue but didn't pay 10€ to go up elevator top of 'crown.’
Saw cool modern art sculptures nearby, then drove past huge Mosque on the beach under renovation paid for by UAE.
Drove into centre college and past President’s residence seeing changing of the guard.
Passed many ministry offices and residences downtown and we're told again that it’s all moving out of town.
Also went by old int’l airport (Yoff) that is now operated by the military.
Abandoned ministry offices will become apartments and hotels downtown.
Went to Catholic cathedral to Mary downtown, built by French in 1930s. Closed.
Went to city overlook and saw Goree Island in the distance as well as port and downtown, then to a monument to WW1 and WW2 dead in front of city hall..
Returned via main roads lined by street sellers with markets down side roads.
Stopped at grigri booths where shamans were selling herbal cures and weird stuff like goat horns, dried lizards, chicken/turkey feet, minerals, spices, leather strips, fur, etc.
Sellers wanted me to pay for photos. In general, people are very reticent to have their photos taken here and most women either cover their faces or turn away when I simply ask the question.
Walked down a street and saw other street sellers and small shops:. paint, food, hairdressers, tailors, auto repair, etc.
Walked past large concrete soccer/basketball area with a game going on then returned to bus and Idiot, our great driver.
Back to hotel to arrange dinner with Moussa
Moussa arrived at about 1900 to take us to dinner at his mom’s house.
V2 joined us, here with CSLIP for three weeks as sub, arrived four days earlier and had been body-surfing that day.
Moussa negotiated taxi fair (2500 CFA per car and we went in a total of three cars to his mom’s--where he also lives.
About a 20 minute ride on good streets, then down sandy sidestreet to apartment complex. Upstairs in dark hallway to very simply decorated 2-3 bedroom apartment on second floor to meet his mom and aunt who were cooking in kitchen down long hallway.
TV on with African soap operas (Walf TV) and then Muslim chanting/singing announcing sunset and prayers.
Nice deck on West side facing neighborhood of upscale (relatively) and new apartment complexes that were 2-4 stories.
We could hear muezzin calling prayers.
Dinner was served first courses being finger foods that were very tasty, almost like mini-pizzas.
Served at dining room table buffet style.
We served ourselves and ate in living room, not realizing that other food was coming, so we conserved the food on the table to not wipe it all out.
Moussa wanted his mom and aunt to practice their English with us, but there wasn’t much interaction really. They just brought food out.
Next (main) course was roasted chicken with couscous and a great onion sauce that included spices and green olives. Layered on a plate with sliced baguettes.
Moussa had gone out to get bread earlier and he explained that he had taken his mom to the market earlier in the day to get all of the food they needed to prepare for the evening.
We all are well. Cadets asked Moussa questions about his flying, as did I, and experience with the CN-235 flying around Senegal. Moussa told us that he likes flying around Senegal and that the Senegalese are planning to buy one or two more CN-235s.
We talked about Boubacar and Moussa told us that because of the T-6 stand-down due to oxygen issues he would be graduating late and probably not back to Senegal before September or October. Boubacar is now married to an officer in the Senegalese navy that he met before he went to UPT while stationed for several months in Saint-Louis. Moussa was stationed there at the same time.
One of the few decorations on the wall was Moussa’s UPT grad certificate and USAF pilot wings.
After dinner, we stepped into balcony and saw a night football match going on in the streets.
Cool evening breeze.
We thanked Moussa’s mom and aunt for dinner and presented them with a Colorado photo book Becky brought along.
Walked to corner to get two more taxis and then back to the hotel, exhausted.
No need for Ambien tonight as we were totally exhausted.
Went to sleep easily and slept until after 0630.
Augusto is from Guinea-Bissau and has been a guide for ten years for a variety of companies. Speaks at least five languages including French, English, Spanish, and Portuguese.
He’ll be our guide until we depart for Liberia on 11 June.
Idri (or Idrissa) is our driver and he’s from Dakar, speaking only a little English. He speaks to me in French when I’m in the front seat and is good practice for me.
He’s an excellent driver always in control of our 16-seat mini bus, very careful and courteous.
The mini-bus is quite spacious and comfortable. I sit in the front right seat with Becky behind Idri and Augusto beside her on the right.
4 June
I got up and met Eddie for a walk-around the area and photography.
Hazy morning light and fishermen being taken to their smaller boats from a couple of large pirogs.
Several locals in wet suits, some with scuba gear and spear guns going out to their boats.
Colorful pirogs on the shoreline littered with plastic, trash, and blobs of seaweed.
Some people running for exercise.
Many people starting their day.
Walked to point and ducked into neighborhood with very narrow passageways, unmarked, around homes packed into the area.
Some open areas with laundry drying, while there were goats and a few cats as well.
Became a little lost but knew our general direction from sunrise in the east.
Saw kids going to school and small businesses opening.
Back hotel as planned at 0815 for a quick shower and breakfast on the hotel terrace.
Good coffee and pain au chocolate, pain au raisin, crêpes, cheese, salami, and cantalope.
Met Augusto and Idri at the front gate--they’re very timely--and we departed for Goree Island.
Traffic was heavy and thee are very few traffic signals in Dakar--mostly just round-abouts and uncontrolled four ways.
Saw one traffic signal.
Parked near entrance to ferry port near train station under renovation and walked in.
Augusto was buying us tickets when several women (two names Maria) introduced themselves and insisted that we visit their shops on Goree.
Augusto gave us our tickets and we went inside to wait.
About 100 people or more we just outside with crates and fruit and vegetables separated in steel 'pens’ awaiting loading and shipment of their goods.
Several large freighters in the port and a large dry dock.
Weather was nice and cool with a breeze, the sky generally clear but still hazy.
Ferry ride was about 20 mins. Two little British kids sat in front of us on upper deck, outdoor seating calling out jellyfish and 'sharks’ when they saw them--then will really none of the latter but plenty of the former, quite large with reddish tentacles extending ten or more feet behind them in the current.
Sea was calm with only a gentle roll and we could see fishing boats heading to work and more freighters on the hazy horizon.
Goree Island is a UNESCO world heritage site--one of the first so-named.
We stepped off of the ferry and met our guide IDi who lives on the island and was very proud to show us his residence card.
He spoke quickly and moved us along on a tour that only lasted about 90 minutes because we needed to catch the 1200 ferry back to Dakar.
Goree was first settled by the Portuguese and then changed hands many time (mostly in the 17thC prior to becoming French like most of West Africa.
It was a staging place for slave going to Europe and the Americas and at one time had 28 slave houses.
One remaining slave house is well-preserved and our guide showed us around all of the rooms. There was tourist graffiti on almost all of the walls, some with sympathetic messages but mostly just names and dates.
We saw the island’s old well and an exclusive school for girls named in honor of a Senegalese female author that I’ll try to lookup.
Idi said the best girls were chosen for it and lived there Mon-Fri for school, taking the ferry back to Dakar for weekends.
The island is in two parts and is originally volcanic, kind of like a micro-Maui. We walked up stairs to the top of the largest part of the island and saw an old (approx) pair of 10” guns that served to protect the island and strait between it and Dakar, built by the French before WW1.
The barrels had been spiked and destroyed before WW2.
The summit also had a Goree Island monument sculpture that was dedicated to those lost at sea from Goree and Senegal.
There were several artists there and lots of hawkers selling trinkets and the cadets succombed for the first time, with Matt buying these wooden knockers used to keep rhythm (I think Charlie bought a pair, too).
IDi then took us to his old sand painting shop where he used to work and he demonstrated how it was done--then offered us bargain prices on the work.
I think only Georgia bought a small one.
We then huddled through town to get to the ferry on time, passing by a very unique sculpture garden of iron cotton plants with bills of real cotton in them.
One of the Maria's caught us we were leaving and was very persistent about selling bracelets to Becky and me.
She got on the ferry and would not leave us alone.
Her strategy worked and we bought four or five for 5000 CFA just to get some peace more than anything.
I’m wearing two of the bracelets now as a means of fending off other hawkers.
During the visit, my non-Canon OEM battery failed and I had to switch to the M5.
It worked well but I'm just not used to the controls and couldn’t get just what I wanted.
Can’t believe I forgot to get another battery as backup, so I was stuck carrying around useless gear.
We drove back across town after returning on the ferry and north the Lac Rose, almost halfway back to the airport.
Lac Rose is pretty fascinating in that it’s a supersaturated salt lake (ten times saltier than the ocean) no more than a couple of meters deep with a base under the salt water of crystallized salt about a meter thick.
Small wooden boats go out into the lake and you piles to break up the salt under the water and then baskets to collect the Chuck's if salt. The salt is then brought into shore and piled up for grading, breaking, sorting and bagging. Huge piles of his salt and hundreds of bags are everywhere.
Of course people were selling things and I got another 'free’ bracelet that cost me 200 CFA.
After Lac Rose, we drove back into Dakar and we're told we were free for the evening, but that we would be leaving at 0800 the next morning with bags fully packed and ready.
We relaxed for a little while after returning with the cadets walking along the beach and having a couple of beers. They also enjoyed the pool and Becky read by the pool.
I worked in photos and then joined them. They said that the security guard advised them not to go too far and Georgia was admonished by locals for walking on the beach immodestly in her bikini, so they came back to the hotel.
Matt and I walked to the South to a point and talked quite a bit. Several ladies selling things approached us but we didn’t buy anything.
Back at the hotel, we made arrangements for dinner with Moussa.
Initially, Moussa implied that dinner with Boubacar’s dad, Gen Ousmane Kane, should only include Becky and me. I told the cadets and they started to make other plans, including contacting Georgia's friend from the flight.
Just as quickly, Moussa texted back and said that the general expected ALL of us for dinner and that we’d leave at about 1900.
I asked about attire and he told us to wear a little nicer clothes.
We all piled into Moussa’s car and another taxi and arrived shortly after 1930 to his apartment.
Gen Kane greeted us at the door in a flowing white boubou and cap and was very warm and friendly. He invited us in and explained that since he was fully retired he lived in his large apartment complex with his nephew and niece taking most of the house. He also rented out part of the apartment to an American couple who allowed him to use the downstairs area for events like this.
In an undecorated room with chairs and a sofa, the main table was laid out in a buffet with fruit, vegetables, and canned tuna--salad with tomatoes and delicious mango chunks. Also, more sliced baguettes, which the cadets love.
We talked a lot about Senegal, the general’s time in the Air Force and compared National War College stories since I’m class of 2000 and he’s 2007.
Becky spoke of working with spouses of international officers at ACSC and at NWC.
We were introduced to his nephew and niece but they didn’t join us for dinner.
The nephew brought in a large platter of grilled lamb with onions and potatoes which was delicious and falling off the bone.
We had tea as well as soft drinks, juice, and water.
We concluded the evening by presenting him with a book of Colorado photos again and taking pictures--a great evening with a genuinely warm person who couldn’t stop expressing his thanks to us for all we’ve done to help Boubacar and all of the African cadets we’ve sponsored.
We left and took another taxi ride back to the hotel and on the way, in the dark, noticed many people out for an evening run--clearly recreational because they had earbuds in plus they were wearing upscale running shoes.
Back at the hotel, the cadets played cards for a while and then we all went to sleep--or tried to do so. Neither Becky nor I, nor, apparently Matt and a few others slept well.
5 June
We agreed to be ready to leave at 0800 the next morning and, after breakfast, everyone was set and ready to go--this is a very timely group and I appreciate that. Breakfast at the hotel was quite good with excellent crepes, patisseries, cantalope, etc. Moreover, Augusto and Idri are very prudent with our time and theirs, so we ended up leaving actually at 0750.
After taking some time to get out of Dakar due to morning traffic, we drove by the towns bordering Lac Rose before heading north only a few kilometers from the coast towards Lompoul and ultimately Saint-Louis. Each of the little towns looks alike with the same markets, speed bumps, horse carriages, shops, etc.
We went through different agricultural zones in which Augusto and Idri explained that the water table is no more than five meters below ground, so tons of green beans, squash, cauliflower, potatoes, and onions are produced. Senegal also produces lots of chicken, but I presume it’s all small-time because we didn’t see any large poultry farms along the way. Idri mentioned that Senegal imports zero chicken from Europe or other countries--seemingly due to equal parts concern for health/hygiene and national pride. Food for chickens and other animals is provided by SEDIMA, the Senegalese equivalent of Purina.
Every village has many, many goats of different sizes, presumably used for meat and milk and we saw herds of large-horned, white African cattle in many places along the way, many time crossing the roads.
We stopped once for water and a bathroom break, buying some snacks instead of having a formal lunch which seems to be the pattern we’ve fallen into, buying big jugs of water, some Pringles, local small roasted peanuts, and other items. Idri doesn’t eat because he’s Muslim, while Augusto has no issues with that.
Augusto hasn’t told us his religious beliefs but just that in Guinea-Bissau about 50% of the people are animist while 40% are Christian and about 10% are Muslim. We’re learning a lot about Guinea-Bissau on the trip as Augusto tells us about his life there.
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The drive was over sometimes deep sand for about three or four miles of bumps and slides--without any real danger. We then arrived at a camp with probably a total of twenty large white tents at the base of a huge sand dune and across the small valley below it. We got out and learned about the camel riding which would be done in groups of four since there were four serviceable camels.
Becky and I ordered a flag beer each and the cadets relaxed in hammocks. Augusto explained that there were tents here set up for overnight stays with a complete restaurant tent, a few wood and thatch huts, and en suite bath facilities in each tent. We saw a few other guests, but not many.
The cadets did see boards for sand surfing and they immediately headed to the dunes since we were told we’d have to wait to ride the camels. Georgia stayed behind with us and we watched as they headed about 200 meters away in the sand.
Most of their efforts were not very successful, but on the larger dune with the larger boards, they eventually figured it out and did well enough to have some fairly spectacular spills. They continued to surf while we were called ot ride the camels and Austin joined us to make four
We walked over to a small stand of eucalyptus trees where our guide had led the camels.
When we arrived, they were all lying down on their knees chewing their cud. Our guide led us each to a camel and one at a time we mounted the camel and he gave them the signal to stand up. We sat just behind what looked like the cargo saddle and it was surprisingly soft and comfortable.
We were, nonetheless, quite a bit higher than if we were on a horse and that was a little disconcerting. Still, Becky managed to conquer her fear of heights and climbed aboard the fourth camel. We walked for about twenty minutes over several hills. The only time that we felt the least bit unstable was when the camels walked downhill, picking up their speed and catching themselves softly with their padded feet in the deep sand. Georgia, in particular, liked the camel ride and decided to name her camel “Spirit” because of her (or his) nose ring. Of course, I couldn’t help but constantly hum the theme from Lawrence of Arabia while we swept over the dunes.
When we returned, we called the guys over and they climbed aboard while the others went back to relax. I took photos of them and they climbed aboard and began their slow, guided walk. Suddenly, though, Charlie leaned over to his right and vomited all over the sand. He sat up and then turned to his right a second time, spewing over his camel’s right hip. We called the guide and we got Charlie down. He explained that he was dehydrated and nauseous from all of their time running up and down the dunes in the heat and begged off of the ride. He returned to the eucalyptus copse and layed down in the shade before returning to the main camp. He claimed that he felt okay, though, and would be doing better with some water and shade.
I took more photos of Matt, Evan, and Eddie as they returned and then we all walked back to the camp. A few minutes later, we remounted the pickup truck and were back on our way to the town of Lompoul, though we did all pay the camel guide 2500CFA apiece for the rides.
On the route to Saint-Louis, we had only one stop to see an enormous, almost hollowed out baobob tree along the side of the road. It was hundreds of years old and could hold several people in it nearly empty core. It reminded me of the large redwood in Sequoia National Park in the US that you could drive through--until it fell in a storm a couple of years ago.
We arrived in Saint-Louis at about 1600 and immediately checked-in, dropped our bags in our rooms and descended the stairs to jump onto two horse carriages for a tour of the town lead by a French-speaking guide that used Augusto and me to help him translate.
I sat up front with my driver, Daode, and we turned north from the Hotel de la Poste to the north end of the island. Along the way we passed the Grand Mosque (built by donations, in large part, after the French government refused to pay for it). The mosque doesn’t have traditional towers for the muezzin to call everyone to prayers because the French colonials didn’t want to have to deal with the noise. They made it condition of construction that mosque have a bell instead.
We rode by former slave holding areas, the local military base for the “Secteur Nord” of Senegal and arrived at the top of the island in about ten minutes. Here, we could see the branches of the Senegal River with Mauritania to the other side. There was a large sandbar where the river empties into the ocean that separates Senegal and Mauritania and on that island are nine large trees that mark the border right on the coast. Our guide pointed out several other key buildings and we took several photos. Strangely, in the cul-de-sac at the end of the road was a Vietnamese Restaurant, La Saigonienne.
We turned south and then went across the next bridge to the beachfront side of the city. Here, on the main drag of old Saint-Louis, we experienced more “Africa” in one place than I’ve ever seen, Out guide explained that this part of the island is 30 hectares in area and has 30,000 people. It seems that we saw every one of them and more.
The street was a smelling, dirty, wet melange of hundreds of children from toddlers to teens, goats, horse-carts, sidewalk markets and shops, dogs, cats, fruit, refuse, boat parts, and just about everything else you can imagine. It was maybe the most chaotic, smelly, poorest area I’ve ever seen.
Still, the horse carts carried women in their finest dresses who preferred to be seenin the open air of the horse cart than be cooped up in a regular taxi.
Kids waved to us, some turned away. The cadets seemed more than a little overwhelmed and, frankly, I know Becky and I were, too.
We got off at one point and walked between collapsing brick buildings to the shore. There, we saw hundreds and hundreds of ocean-going pirogs in all of their color and peeling paint, dragged onto shore with more coming in late in the afternoon with every wave and dozens more waiting for just the right wave.
We saw one pirog ride a wave in with incredible speed and power, almost being flipped as its keep caught the sand and fisherman alternatively ran from shore to stabilize it and were tossed (or jumped) from it in the melee.
Hundreds of women with buckets, baskets, and bins lined the shore making bids on the incoming fish or transporting the fish for their husbands to markets (wholesale and retail) where they would make their daily profits.
We kept a close eye on everyone and moved quickly off the beach when an obviously drunk and/or crazy “gentlemen” started shouting and moving towards us with a giant, shit-eating grin, huge teeth, and his pants half-way down his thighs, sans sous-vetements.
At one point I turned around to chat with Matt and he just looked overwhelmed by it all. I reminded him that “more of the world lives like this than lives like you do in the US,” and he came back with his typical hockey retort of “100 percent, sir. 100 percent!”
We made our way to the south end of town past more shops and mayhem, then turned north and crossed a bridge back to “our island.”
Our guide led us past city hall to a statue of the French “founding father” of Saint-Louis and he explained how controversial that statue had become with the locals. Many have called for it to be torn down for reasons similar to the removal of US Civil War statues because of this guys rather genocidal (or at least inhumane) treatment of the locals in establishing order, but the local government also didn’t want to upset the French and insult them by disrespecting someone the French considered a great administrator. Our guide did admit that this guy had done a lot in terms of establishing government and infrastructure, but that it had some at at enormous cost.
I asked him about the “Lycee des Hotages” that Boubacar’s father had mentioned the evening before and he explained that the subject of the statue and others had, in fact, set up a system of schooling that was in line with what General Kane had explained. In fact the school’s original dormitory was just to our south and he pointed it out.
French officials had set up a school for the sons of Senegalese tribal kings and the royal sons from other parts of French West Africa, promising to teach them French, engineering, science, and history to prepare them to lead in the region. The unspoken truth, though, was that these “hostages” were held in quasi-ransom by the colonial French and their status at the school meant that their father-kings would not rebel against French domination.
The story does have some positives, though, as our guide and Augusto listed the names of part presidents of free, West African republics that had graduated from “Hostage High School.” Becky and I immediately thought of the same situation in the US represented by the Indian Schools (one of the largest being in Phoenix, where I grew up) that served the same purpose even though, by the time they were established, most Native American tribes were relegated to the poverty of their reservations.
We next went to an orphanage, now abandoned, down a side street. Behind the iron gate that we could not enter was a pair of circular concrete stairs that looked suspiciously like the steps going to the second level of the last slave house on Goree Island. Our guide explained that the orphanage was run by an order of Catholic nuns that took in abandoned children drop at the gate. Apparently, a rather famous French movie was made about the orphanage starring many top French names. There was a plaque outside the gate detailing its history. Once again, they pointed out that there were some very positive outcomes from the orphanage as the wife of the second president of Senegal had been one of the abandoned girls there.
After a few more short stops to see the riverside and large fish market on the inland side, we returned to the Hotel de la Poste at about 1800 and went up to our rooms. Charlie was feeling better, he said, but also told us that he had puked one more time.
We agreed to meet shortly before 1930 to walk to La Flamingo restaurant across the street from our hotel and overlooking the river and bridge.
The Flamingo is a very nice restaurant with a nice maitre d’ but terrible service. We tried to talk through a prix fixe menu but that didn’t work. We ordered drinks and waited for the chef to arrive so that we could have some sort of proposal. That took about an hour. Meanwhile, we “grignotee’d” some peanuts and waited to order.
Finally, our waiter came back and gave us menus to order a la carte. We skipped appetizers and went straight to the main course, hungry by now as it was approaching 2045. Becky, Augusto and I helped with menu translations and we all ordered after learning (the hard way) what was NOT available, including a few of the supposed “Specialites de Chef.”
I had the fish-of-the-day, grilled morue, and it was very good once it finally arrived. Others seemed pleased with their orders. Charlie had Sprite to drink and managed to hold down his dinner, so that was a good thing. In all the bill was about 8700CFA apiece. Augusto had his meal comped by the restaurant (nice move!) for bringing us all in. He and the maitre d’ were clearly friends. We would’ve ordered a second round or more of beers, but we were never asked.
We made it back to the hotel at about 2145 and everyone agreed to be ready to go the next day at 0900. Several decided to join me for a morning walk-around at 0700 followed by breakfast at 0800 and we all repaired to our rooms.
Becky and I stayed in the center open area of the hotel to do some computer and communication work since the connection was so bad in our room. We got some work done and then ALL of the lights and power went out shortly after 2200.
We turned the flashlights in our cell phones on and made our way up to our rooms to get ready for bed. I showered in the semi-darkness and we prepped for bed. A little while later, we heard a generator kick-on (loudly) across the street and our power returned. It was obviously a hotel-owned backup as the rest of the city seemed to remain in the dark.
In the middle of the night, I woke to find the power off again--I think the silence of no air conditioning and no generator running is what startled me. Becky was awake, too, and soon we heard yelling at the generator. It seemed to us that someone had let the generator die or run out of gas. After a few minutes of yelling, it started again and a few seconds later La Hotel de la Poste had power again. We slept until about 0615.
]]>We leave from Denver airport today and head first to Dakar, Senegal via New York's JFK, arriving (Delta-willing) on Sunday morning. The next 19 days will be spent visiting locations in Senegal, The Gambia, Liberia, Cote d'Ivoire, and Ghana. We'll see some old friends along the way, take a few thousand photos, buy some souvenirs, make some new friends, stay healthy (hopefully), and eat and drink some new things as well. Our goal will be to stay healthy and happy!
I'll try to update this blog and start adding photos ASAP! https://goo.gl/maps/RpoMnp2c6KN2
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At the tour desk, we were told that the five-hour tour would cost $10, but included a lunch. We tried to sign up but the lady there said that the 0800 trip was full. She did put us on a waiting list, though, saying that a large group of 11 had reserved spots but that they had not yet shown up. As it turned out, they never did, so we made it onto the 0800 long trip instead of having to settle for a two-hour tour of just the Incheon area.
We joined 15 others and a very animated guide who obviously lover her job. The drive into Seoul took us an hour and we went directly to the Gyeongbukgong or Royal Palace on the northern part of Seoul. Our guide explained that only about 10% of the palace is original because “we’ve been invaded many times,” and Becky and I had visited the sites around the palace when we were here in 2010, but it was still a great walk and clear that more renovations had been accomplished since we were there before. Our guide managed to walk us through most of the palace in just over 45 minutes with some lively descriptions and quick walking. This was France-style power tourism at its best.
When we made it back to the bus there was one irate guy still on the bus with his two small children. He claimed that they were the last ones off the bus and by the time they had exited they couldn’t find the guide and didn’t know where to go so they just sat on the bus. His wife was in the bathroom in the parking lot and we had to wait for her to come back. The guide told the whole bus, though, with her microphone before we left that if you got separated you just needed to be back at the bus by 1000. Still, this guy gave her hell for leaving them behind. Ugly Americans—though they said they were in transit from their home in Hong Kong. Why someone would take two kids under six years old on a tour like this is crazy anyway. The guide handled it well, though, and apologized profusely but didn’t really give in.
Our next site was the Jogyesa Buddhist Temple more in the center of town. When we got there, our guide made it clear that we had only 15 minutes at the site and then we would be moving on. I didn’t see the family get off the bus. The temple was very impressive and there were many inside following a chant leader. The exterior was decorated with many hanging paper fish which our guide said was indicative of the season. Fifteen minutes was plenty of time to walk around and take a few photos. Luke fell asleep in the back row of the bus and missed this stop completely, much t our amusement.
We reboarded and next went to the traditional street market (Insadong) and shopping area in downtown Seoul that, I recognized, was in the same area as the hotel at which we had stayed four years earlier. Our guide described the area and then told us that we would be going to lunch first. We walked down a narrow street (inaccessible to cars) and then upstairs to what looked like a traditional Korean restaurant. The six of us sat together on rustic wooden chairs and we had a prix fixe menu that included several starters, rice, and then a choice of three main courses. The appetizers were some very good kimchi that was not too hot, some fermented eggplant, seaweed, and potatoes each in separate bowls that were repeatedly refilled by the servers. My main course (along with Dylan) was s spicy soup that had an egg plopped into it raw—it cooked quickly in the hot broth—lots of tofu, some potatoes, and plenty of spice. It was medium hot and very tasty. Our guide told us that the way to eat is was to have a spoonful of soup and the go for a bite of rice. The others had dishes that they clearly enjoyed. Dylan, Winston, and I ordered a bottle of the local beer (0.5 liter) and recognized that we were back in the developed work when the bill for each one was $5 or 5000SKW. The coupled that complained about being left behind got off the bus, saw a a fried chicken and French fry place and went there directly, skipping the Korean lunch that they’d already purchased. I liked the fact that the cadets recognized boorish behavior of Americans overseas.
After lunch we broke into two groups—Dylan and I were more into the back alley walking while the other four were window shopping. The sites and people were fun to see and we covered a lot of ground quickly. We went to one park that seemed to be populated almost entirely by old men. The inner walls of the park contained large bronze high relief murals showing key historical events in Korean history, specifically the Japanese occupation period, and there were statues and monuments to key resistance leaders. It was small and peaceful with some beautiful flowers, too.
We continued our walk around, passing down narrow alleys to see various pork parts cooking in small kitchens, one restaurant clearly dedicated to octopus since they had an aquarium filled with small ones front and center at the entrance and an caricature octopus in their logo. There was a small children’s science museum with funny statues that showed a large elephant being sucked into a black hole (not clear where the front part of the elephant was located, but I’ll presume that it was another painted black hole somewhere else in the city). One gentlemen seemed to have stepped out onto the sidewalk midway through a barbershop shave visit.
Seeing downtown Seoul was a revelation to the cadets. They were amazed at how clean the streets were, that people in cars and on motorbikes actually followed traffic signals and laws, and there were no stray pets roaming the streets. Dylan and I wondered at what point in the development of a modern society citizens start being conscientious about trash and follow traffic rules. I didn’t realize at first how amazing the Seoul scenes must’ve been to them since their only Asian experience had been Cambodia, and told them that Singapore made Seoul look dirty by comparison.
The time passed quickly a before we knew it, we were back on the bus and headed through town back to the airport. The cadets got to see the Seoul tour through the fog, but not much else since the air was thick, but relatively cool. We were happy to not be sweating much more after all of our travels and glad that the temperature in Seoul was much lower than the 94F (35C) it was the day before. Here's the slide show of our morning in Seoul:
Back at the airport, we passed through passport and security check quickly despite some lines and took the train to the international terminal. We were at out gate by 1330 for the 1730 departure so everyone had time to catch another nap, walk around, or work on blogs and photographs. The airport was annoyingly warm (probably upper 70s despite air conditioning. I cleaned up as best I could in the bathroom, changed shirts right before we got ready to board, and brushed my teeth. Some of the cadets got some food before boarding as they planned to just skip dinner and go to sleep once we were on board. I ate my last Clif Bar as my dinner and had my Ambien in my pocket for easy access as part of my plan.
We when went forward to board the Delta 767, they told us that our boarding passes issued in Phnom Penh were no goo and that they needed to reissue new ones to us. We stepped aside and went to the customer service agent at the gate and handed over our passports. Then, things went downhill again—much like they had at Phnom Penh. I asked why we weren’t either alerted to do this in the four hours prior to boarding or why the boarding passes were not sufficient but didn’t get any solid answer other than “Delta is not Korean Air.” True, but both flights were Delta/Korean code shares, so that didn’t make much sense. We really began to worry when the whole plane was boarded and they now were asking for our baggage claim tickets. Suddenly the thought that our bags may not have made the transfer (in 11 hours!) dawned on us. They entered the numbers and we asked if our bags would be on the flight, but again the explanation in their best English left significant room for doubt. Luke had to explain his name again, but this passed quickly. Luke, Hansena, and Annie boarded when they got their passes as they were all on the same reservation with me, but Dylan and Winston were on a different confirmation code that required even more work and research. I waited outside for them and we were the final three people to board the plane by about ten minutes.
Finally, though, we were on board. I popped my Ambien, set the music on my tablet on shuffle, put on my facemask and can’t say I remember much from takeoff until almost five hours into the flight. Hansena was seated next to me at the window and she slept most of the flight. I managed to finish my second book of the trip (Willa Cather’s 1923 Pulitzer Prize-Winning “One of Our Own,” about rural Nebraska and World War I) and also got more work done processing and cataloguing photos. We landed on time at a sunny SeaTac and made our way to customs and immigration.
The lines were long at the passport checks, but they had new kiosks that allowed US citizens to just scan their passports, answer a couple of quick questions on a touch screen, and then have a photo taken with an integrated camera. The kiosk then printed a receipt that we handed to the agents with our passports. I was impressed with the entire system. Annie was less pleased, though, as for some reason not clear to any of us here receipt printed with a big red “X” in the middle and she had to go back through the system. We’re not sure if it was a random check or some malfunction. Still, she met us down in baggage claim about ten minutes later. Dylan, Hansena, Luke and I were already waiting for our bags and we had one of our bigger reliefs of the trip when we saw them on the carousel.
Recheck-in went smoothly and we passed security eventually—I was reminded that we were back in the States because my TSA agent that patted me down after I set off the metal detector with my metal hip offered the kind of stateside attention that I’d missed in Korea and Cambodia.
We made it to the gate area about four hours before boarding and used the time to set up our typical camp near a bunch of recharger plugs. Dylan promptly went to sleep sprawled out on a back of nearby seats and he was joined by Winston a little while later who found a parallel set. The others were watching the Netherlands-Brazil soccer match and they returned later. Luke went to sleep. Hansena woke Winston three or four times because he was laying on his back and his snoring was audible throughout that SeaTac C Terminal. Dylan hardly budged for four hours.
SeaTac’s free wifi was blazingly fast and I managed to get all of my remaining photos processed and uploaded to my Zenfolio account, my Microsoft OneDrive cloud backup, and to several smaller Facebook albums. I also added a few items to our Googledocs spreadsheet documenting some expenditures during the trip, called our shuttle company in Colorado Springs to reconfirm our pickup, and get some pages into “The Book Thief.”
By 1730 we were all cleaned up, awake, and ready to board the final flight leg of our trip. A call came out for a volunteer to take a middle seat in the exit row (non-reclining seat) so that a family could sit together in this oversold flight and I took it, reasoning that the cadets were tired of me sitting around them, I’d get more leg room, and I didn’t plan to recline anyway since I would be typing this blog. The family was thankful and it worked out well.
Nothing to report on the return flight and our bags and driver were on time worked out well. On the final van ride back to the Academy, our driver (a Marine Corps Vietnam vet) had lots of questions about the trip because he was also the driver that took us to the airport three weeks earlier. (Let me note that it was a 30 minutes longer trip than it had to be because USAFA has decided to close the North Gate after 2200 so our driver had to go all of the way to the South Gate and then back north to the Cadet Area to drop off the cadets) With all of his questions, and my answers, he was happy that we’d had a good trip and surprised by how upbeat we were about Cambodia and its future. I realized the same thing, while trying to balance my comments with all of the challenges that we saw. The conversation really helped all of us focus on what we saw and learned on the trip and was a great way to finish.
Becky picked me up at the South Gate as did Winston’s sponsors. We all had a few shorts words of mutual thanks and congratulations on a trip very well executed. This is my fourth official cadet immersion trip and it was the smoothest—even though it was the most physically and culturally challenging and immersive.
Thanks to all who followed us on this trip, checked the blog, and wrote encouragement. Special thanks goes to the USAFA Class of 1981 for supporting this trip through their generous donations to the USAFA Endowment as part of our class gift (If you’re ‘Second to None,’ reading this,and haven’t yet contributed to the Class Gift, I hope this blog and the success of our trip will encourage you to do so). Cadet final reports will be submitted and publically available via the USAFA Endowment's website sometime in early August. I'd also like to thank Developing World Connections (especially Ashley Ekelund), Equitable Cambodia, Intrepid Travel, Mango Tours Cambodia, and our great guides and leaders: Dan Tc, Sotheavy Sov,Sokkheang Ly, Kheng Senh, and Savorn Toem for helping make this such an amazing, memorable, and important experience for our cadets (and me). All 5000 of my photos are now up at martyfrance.zenfolio.com.
And that’s it folks. More adventures start soon when I depart for a semester abroad at Nanyang Technical University in Singapore as a Fulbright Fellow. The Cambodia trip and strengthened my resolve to travel as much as practical throughout Southeast Asia and Indonesia while I’m there as well as making plans to meet Becky in Hong Kong during our Fall Break to see that great city and let Dan serve as tour guide again--for beer and photo discussions. I’ll run a blog for that trip, too.
All the Best,
Marty
]]>Traffic was noticeably heavier due to the pop-up national holiday, with many families on the road in both directions. We made the same halfway stop at Takeo for drinks and to see a little more local flavor. It was there that we saw one of the most packed cars of the trip. While departing a stop a Toyota Camry passed us with at least nine people inside. To give you an idea how this is accomplished, the person on the far left of the front seat was NOT the driver.
About 30 km from Phnom Penh, the traffic was getting heavier though it continued move reasonably well. At this point, though, our lead driver took a turn to an off-road hoping to go around the city and it’s traffic a little. This led us on about an hour’s worth of the worst paved and semi-paved roads of the trip, back alleys, parking lots, and open fields that couldn’t possibly have save us any time. Twice the drivers had to stop to try to determine where they were.
By the time we arrived in Phnom Penh, it was almost time for our 1800 dinner reservations at Malis. We drove “straight” there and were greeted by a security guard that said that it was closed for the holiday. Clearly, the person with whom I made reservations by telephone the night before was unaware of these plans. We called a couple of other restaurants and then settled on returning to Khmer Surin, the large guest house and restaurant where we’d dined before flying to Siem Reap (seemingly) ages before.
The drivers got us there easily and we went to the third floor for an open air seat and were soon joined at the next table by six Chinese business men who decided that they needed to chain-smoke through their meal. Luckily, there was a breeze and the ceiling fans were working overtime, but it was still annoying.
Our flight didn’t leave until 2320 that evening, so we had plenty of time for the meal, ordering drinks first (Beer Lao for Dylan, Dan, Winston, and me) and more frilly drinks for the rest of them. We were glad Vy was dining with us one last time and I announced that her meal and Dan’s was on me as their “tip” for great, great help and guidance for the trip. For appetizers, we had fresh and fried spring rolls and some excellent chicken satay in peanut sauce. Winston was now on stag two of what was his typical diverse choice of beverages: jasmine tea; beer lao; followed by a white Russian and then a cappuccino.
Our waiter hovered over us for quite some time, though we resisted him, wanting to stretch the meal out a little more since we weren’t planning to leave until at least 2000. The waiter actually warned us that a couple of plates would take longer to prepare than others, but they seemed to arrive with the others. I had a grilled whole tilapia that came out undercooked and raw in the middle. Three of the cadets ordered Pad Thai, Vy had the frogs' legs, Dan ordered grilled whole catfish, Winston had fried rice in a pineapple, and I can't remember what Dylan got but think it was some noodle dish, too. My fish came back recooked and was actually quite good. Most of us ordered dessert, too, and we were ready to go at 2000.
Outside the restaurant, we said our goodbyes to Dan and Vy. Both were like part of the team and they fit in well with us throughout their time. There were hugs all around and promises of visits. (I'm planning to visit Hong Kong where Dan lives in October with Becky) Both said that they would highly recommend any of us (even me, with some reservations) as team leaders for upcoming Developing World Connections/Equitable Cambodia service trips because of the great work we'd done and how well we'd embraced the culture and experience. They again expressed their amazement that we'd survived three full weeks in Cambodia without any serious illness and only one person-day of work or touring missed. I can't thank either one of them enough--we were so lucky to have them on the trip as well as the great guides and drivers.
Once again, traffic was terrible going to the airport. We didn't arrive until after 2045 and finally pulled up to the curb to get our bags and tip our drivers. I gave our part-timer $5 for safely bringing us from Kep and then I had to chase down Dee. The cadets had given him $5 tip already and he'd hugged all of them with just a huge smile. He'd really adopted us even though he spoke almost no English. He's a REALLY excellent driver who we trusted implicitly. Anyway, I ran him down in the drive-through area of the departure gates and knocked on his slowly moving window. He pulled over and I gave him another $10 and he hugged me and we shook hands to say goodbye. He also got a USAFA lapel pin.
Things got more interesting at the airport, though, for check-in. The Korean Air agents were confused by our tickets and the fact that we were traveling to Denver on a total of three different airlines (Korean, Delta, Alaska) even though the Korean Air flight was code-shared with Delta. When they finally worked all that out and told us that they couldn't give us boarding passes for Seattle to Denver, we hit another snag... The agent noticed that Luke's passport lists his first name as Lucas, but the airline ticket was issued to "Luke." She said that she couldn't issue him a boarding pass and apologized. I started to raise a stink by pointing out that he's made it to Cambodia with the same credentials and ticketing, but she held firm. We continued to try to explain and she finally got a supervisor. HE looked very concerned and said that the names didn't match. We told him that we knew that and I became more assertive. At this point, I didn't know what we were going to do--call the Embassy? Call the government travel agent (Manassas Travel) or what. It didn't help that, technically at least, the airline was right and this was something that we just hadn't caught. He said that he would check with his manager and he came back with yet another person who finally approved the boarding passes for Luke/Lucas. By now, our check-in process had gone on for over an hour and we were very glad that we'd arrived early. We had only about 30 minutes from that point until we actually boarded the flight.
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By then, Dan was up and had ordered breakfast. I ordered Khmer soup with prawns and went to the room to finish packing and get ready for the morning. The girls came down and did the same thing, but none of the guys even showed up until Winston came down at 0755, followed by Luke, then Dylan. They all skipped breakfast or had snacks in their rooms because we were supposed to leave at about 0800 as usual. Vy was there and she outlined our plans again: school visit with soccer game; visit women's vocational training center, the a final lunch at the Vine, back to the hotel, checkout at 1400 and then the drive to Phnom Penh.
The weather was excellent with finally some clearing and blue skies as we drove to "Our School," a small K-12 school near the Vine retreat that we'd driven by before Savorn (mentioned earlier) is an English teacher at the school and his wife is the librarian. The school was originally run by an NGO and funded in large part by the Korean government, but has since been taken over by the local community.
We learned when we arrived that today had been declared a national holiday by the king and the government and that school would not be in session. However, many kids showed up anyway at the request of Savorn and the other teachers. About 30 kids and several teachers greeted us when we arrived. Savorn showed us around the peppercorn farm that he also manages which is located adjacent to the school. He said that it had 1125 plants which produced between one-half and one kilo each per year. He was very proud of the irrigation system that pumped water from a reservoir pond to a small water tower about four meters off the ground, then into the pepper plants. They also had some pretty large cow manure piles that they used for fertilizer. He said that as part of his job (his house was next door), he also managed a newly planted mango orchard that had 3000 trees on 10 hectares of land (almost 25 acres). Savorn's house looked nice and modern compared to most in the area with a steel roof. It was obviously well-maintained. He said that the community and school provided him with the house as a condition of employment.
From the peppercorn vines, we went back to the school and looked into the classrooms. They were very basic, with minimal lighting. They did, however, have a nice computer room with 15 new Toshiba laptops and it was clear from the posters and writing on the board that they were teaching spreadsheet use, some basic coding, and the use of other apps. The entire school has nine teachers and its annual budget is $12K. Yes, I said $12K. That both impressed and saddened me at the same time. Kids have to pay a small fee, equal to $0.50 per month from their families to attend, but everything else is free.
We then went to the soccer field for about 45 minutes of spirited, but rough (with loose rules) sport on the mostly dirt field. All of the cadets played as did Dan, Savorn, and one of Savorn's friends. About 20 kids played. They split into two teams that were roughly boys versus girls, though Dan and Savorn played on the girl's side. We had a lot of fun watching the game and everyone was sweating profusely within a few minutes. The kids (mostly ages 6-12) had a blast and really showed a lot of spirit and enthusiasm. The cadets ate it up, too.
After soccer, we moved to the front of one of the buildings and Dan sang some songs with his guitar. We were trying to find some songs that everyone would enjoy (with some participation) and Hansena and Annie demonstrated and taught them to do the Hokey-Pokey. The kids loved it, though they didn't get the right versus left thing entirely. They all giggled and laughed when Hansena called them to put their "butt in" and their "butt out," then shake it all about. I videoed the whole scene with my camera. The kids like it so much that they did it again to huge applause. They then sang one of their songs and we cheered.
Finally, it was time to go, so I pulled out some of our gifts. I gave Savorn a USAFA pin for his lapel and then pulled out the gross (144) of USAFA emblazoned pencils that we'd brought with us from Colorado. To my surprise, the kids all lined up--girls on one side, boys on the other--to receive their pencils. I had more than enough for two each, so I gave them each two and they politely said "thank you" in English of "akun" in Khmer, each treating their new pencils like gold. I gave the remaining pencils to Savorn as well as some foam rubber baseballs with USAFA logos, some lanyards, and other stuff. The kids stayed in their lines and we did high-fives down the line with each cadet before regrettably saying "goodbye."
We next went to a vocational training center where local girls and women were learning to weave silk scarves by hand, make coconut shell jewelry, and other artisanal crafts. This was an example of another NGO that had started a local training shop but had now given it over to operate as a real business. We'd seen their products for sale in local hotel and really like it, so it was nice to be able to see the crafts being made an then purchase some more souvenirs at very good prices.
It was finally time for our last lunch at The Vine Retreat. What a great, secluded guest house with just awesome food that we'd enjoyed for almost two weeks. I probably gained weight on this trip and The Vine is the primary culprit. We had another great squash soup as well as squid with fresh green peppercorns--both delicious as usual. I gave one of my Tripadvisor "Excellent Service" pins to the woman who had been taking care of us during our visits. This was clearly one of the highlights of the trip.
We all decided to just get back to the hotel as quickly as possible to rest, shower, and finish packing before the arduous and thrilling drive back to Phnom Penh. Once there, we plan to go to Malis for dinner before Dan an Vy drop us off at the airport for a wonder 2320 departure to Seoul.
Here's the whole day's slideshow:
]]>The forecast was still not good, so we left at 0800 hoping to get a chance. When we arrived at the work site, our little bridge was totally submerged and we had to take another way around that included zig-zagging on the little levies that separate the rice paddies east of the houses. As you walk along these, little frogs jump into the paddies and there were ducks enjoying the rains as well. Cows are everywhere in rural (and urban) Cambodia, so we passed a few of them as well.
As usual, the families were there to great us, shake our hands and thank us for the work. Jay was using a hatchet to turn a couple of branches and some leftover wood into scaffolding--some seriously impressive innovation--and Mr Song was helping him. We started mixing mortar right away and went to work finishing the bricklaying. Winston and I shoveled mud into the gaps around the concrete cylinders, too, while Mr Song leveled the mud/dirt inside the latrine and we distributed the base granite stones evenly and marked on the interior walls where the cistern containment would be.
The work went quickly except for a couple of frustrations with deciding how high to go and the correct slope for the roof. Just as at the other site the previous week, I would put up bricks, Jay would tell me they were too high or that a vent was going into that spot, then a few minutes later, Mr Song would come over and tell Jay and me that we needed to go higher or that something else had to be fixed.
This touches on the whole translation thing. With Vy working at the other site, we did seven days of work with no common language. Jay knew "yes," "no," and "okay" in English, and I knew only "thank you," "hello," "goodbye" and how to count to five in Khmer. This made for an excellent immersion experience for the cadets (and good patience training for me), but in the end it did cost us time and work.
We finally settled on heights and slopes, though, and soon began stuccoing the exterior of the latrine. We had some mix issues (too thin) to begin, but those were solved quickly and Dan, Annie, and I got to work--with Tiem helping us, Jay finishing the top of the bricks, and Winston mixing. The ladies and girls were constantly hauling new buckets of stucco to us when they weren't presenting us with fresh coconuts to drink with a straw or holding out baskets of fresh bananas and rambutan. The other team didn't have as much support as we did and one less worker, so they were a bit frustrated and behind, but still happy to be moving along.
The weather continued to hold and was overall as pleasant or more so than Monday, with a nice breeze and overcast but light skies. We worked hard and long, getting as much done as possible before breaking for lunch just after noon. We drove to the Vines and everyone agreed that this should be our shortest lunch of the trip--we were all anxious to get back to work before the rains came again. Lunch included morning glories deep fried in a light eggy batter as well as another delicious soup and the ever-present rice. We settled up for the additional drinks quickly and were back to work well before 1330.
From here on, both teams worked almost non-stop until 1730. We had the usual breaks for iced-coffee and bananas, but those didn't last long. Even Jay was taking fewer smoke breaks as we all thought that the rain would arrive at any moment--but it didn't.
After getting most of the exterior walls done, Jay and I went to work finishing them--Tiem worked on one wall himself--then Annie and Dan moved inside to start stuccoing there. Winston kept us in stucco all afternoon and did some of that himself when we was ahead of the game.
And so the afternoon went--smoothing and evening the sides until they were flawless using a wet sponge and a straw broom as the finishing touches. By 1700, it looked like we were going to finish the outside walls completely and that the basic coats of stucco would be done inside, too. The other team found a stopping point and came over to see our work--it was also on the way back to the van since we now walked an alternate route. Jay and Tiem moved inside the latrine to do finished work and I helped for awhile, but it was obvious that we'd hit our stopping point and it was time to go by about 1715. Mr Song and Vy assured us that the workers would be able to finish everything on Friday and that it was okay to leave, so we began saying out goodbyes to the family (grandma, two of the three sisters, and three granddaughters) who'd been feeding us so well. We took photos and had our hands shaken about a hundred times. It was just a superb ending to two weeks of work and everyone clearly appreciated the entire experience.
On the way back to the hotel, we decided that we would, in fact, wade out to the Kep Crab for photos. I set the camera up for Vy and as we arrived it looked like the tide was going out and that we'd have no trouble getting there from the narrow, but sandy, shoreline. Winston and I took off our boots and waded in socks because of the many rocks, a couple of the cadets kept their shoes on, and we started the meter wade to the base of the Crab.
Vy took the first set of photos and then we decided (on Dan's urging and demonstration) that we could climb onto the platform. Luke found a couple of large, strategically place rocks near the platform and we were able to swing ourselves up. Luke and Hansena climbed farther up the Crab and we took another round of photos. After that, Dan climbed down and scouted the bottom to find a sandy section not too far away from the platform and I jumped off, seat first, landing easily in the shallow water--rock free. The others followed suit and we were all wading back in a few seconds.
When we got to the road, we all realized that we didn't want to get into Dee's van and mess it all up, so the cadets decided to run back to the hotel--about a half mile. So, we made a very interesting picture to the locals as seven fully-clothed but soaking wet people were jogging along the seashore's sidewalk, squishing with every step.
We were back to the hotel by 1830 and decided to go out to one last dinner at Holy Crab that night, leaving at 1915. On our way over, though, Vy called us to say that Holy Crab wasn't open on Thursdays, so we chose our second favorite restaurant in Kep--La Baraka.
We were seated outside at Lar Baraka on their upper deck and had ordered drinks and were enjoying them. Everyone was very pleased with their day amazed that the time had gone so fast. Suddenly, though, our luck ran out and we heard the "plop, plop" of a few big raindrops and then suddenly it was like someone had turned on a shower head directly above us. We were drenched in a matter of seconds and sent scurrying inside with our drinks. The staff, though, was very accommodating and found us a table within minutes. We'd beaten the rain on our final work day and it all felt good. Everyone was so tired that dessert was ruled out and everyone went straight to their rooms upon return to the hotel.
Here's the slide show from today--I'm up to almost 5000 shots for the trip.
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Vy thought of buying tarps and using them to shield us from the rain and wind, so she called Mr Song and it looked like we had everything worked out. We loaded up just before 0900 during what appeared to be a lull in the rain and everyone was pretty excited about the opportunity to get some work done. However, about five minutes into our drive to the work site, the rain started up again in earnest and was coming down as hard or harder than ever. We turned down the muddy road from Highway 33 and it was barely passable. When we got to the front of the house that bordered our work, we saw that the pond we'd been crossing on a log was huge and the logs and bridge were invisible. Vy, Dan, and Winston got out of the car to reconnoiter the situation, but it just looked hopeless. We might've just waded across the pond, but the rain was falling so hard and the wind was so strong that no one thought the tarps would hold or be able to protect us and our work. Sadly, we decided to turn back.
At the hotel, there was just not much to do except read, watch movies, and wait for lunch. The rain never really stopped all day. A little after noon, there was a short period of near clearing, so I walked about a mile to the crab market just to get some exercise. I walked around the market area to see what was being sold and I purchased some packages of local peppercorns as gifts and souvenirs (white, red, and black). The rained started to pick up then and I ducked into a restaurant for lunch just as another mini-typhoon wave of torrential rain hit the shoreline.
It seemed like the tarps and decking at the restaurant were going to blow in for a while, but the rain eventually let up as I finished a relatively quick lunch of grilled barracuda and rice with a big bottle of Angkor beer. When I left, it was hardly raining and I managed to make it back to the hotel before it started again.
That's how the day went. We'd have a short break,but you could just see the clouds building and another wave would sweep in. Hansena and Luke took advantage of one short break to rent mountain bikes and tour the area a little, but they cam back soaked to the bone. I hung out on the deck reading most of the afternoon, as did Dylan.
We talked about other activities, but not much was really possible. Hansena brought up our desire to make sure that any unexpended funds from our trip (that we'd already paid to DWC) to to Equitable Cambodia to make sure the latrines were finished even if we couldn't do the work and Dan assured us that that would be the case.
Finally, at 1830, we returned to Holy Crab for another great dinner and talked about our chances of getting more work done tomorrow given the forecast (bad) and how we would handle our school visit on Friday (if it occurred at all) prior to the drive to Phnom Penh, dinner, and our departure from the airport to return home.
The cadets have kept a good attitude and managed to find productive ways to keep themselves busy during the breaks, but I can tell that it's wearing on them as it is me.
I did manage to take a few shots in the rain today, and here's the slide show:
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We each split up into our two groups and headed over to work. just the senior sister was home at our project and she was very happy to see us again. Vy told us the day before that she was 49, but she looked easily 60. She doesn't know a word of English, but we're all trying to communicate and learn a few words--Winston most of all.
We bailed our cement pit of water--it had about two inches of standing water in it from the rain--and were close to beginning to mix concrete when Jay pointed to the Southeast and we saw a squall line incoming. We waited for almost two hours for the weather to clear, but we never go to the point of being able to mix concrete and go to work. Vy translated for me as I spoke to the woman of the house and senior of the three sisters that we met the day before. She said that five lived in the house, plus the grandmother who often slept there. This included her daughter (teenager), her youngest sister who had a small baby, and her son. All three of the sisters were widows. The youngest had just lost her husband recently, while the oldest had lost her husband in conflicts with the Khmer Rouge after the 1979 liberation. She said that her husband had been in the Army and had died shortly after their daughter (youngest child) was born. The daughter looks like she's about 16 or 17, so that would put his death sometime in the late 90s. She also said that her middle sister just lived a few kilometers away and visited often. I asked who worked the rice fields that surrounded the house and she said that she did most of the work. Having seen her use the hoe to dig the day before, I believed her! She also pointed out her well that had been built four year before with contributions from a Cambodian restaurant in California. Looking into the well, you could see that the water table was only about a meter down. Still, they got all of their water from it. Vy said that any drinking or cooking water is first boiled, though, and since it tastes so bad they usually only drink it in the form of tea. (Photos)
At about 1030, we decided to just go to the Vines, tour the peppercorn farm, catch an early lunch and hope things would clear. Lunch was again fantastic with a fish and tomato soup and some stir-fired veggies. We are eating healthily here. Soon after we started eating the weather seemed to clear and we went about a half hour without a sprinkle. Vy called Mr Song and we packed up after lunch and headed back to work. I did get a chance to take some pictures of Dan's friend, Savorn, and his 18-month-old son which I liked a lot. (Photos) I also took a lot of flower shots... (Photos)
When we arrived back the work site, the water had gone down in the pond and we forded it easily. It wasn't raining, so at our site we bailed out the new inch of water in the concrete ring and Annie and Winston wanted to start mixing a batch even though jay wasn't there yet to give instructions. I cautioned against it and Dan agreed. Dan pointed out that losing a full bag of cement was probably more costly to them that a day's work--the raw materials were relatively expensive--and that we should proceed without Jay's direction and some clearer skies. Sure enough, about five minutes later, the skies opened up and it rained for the next 90 minutes almost non-stop. We sat on the front porch of our homeowners house and just watched it rain. In the barnyard area, rain ran like little rivers towards the rice paddies that were gently terraced and connected with small drainage ditches to slow the flow between each and keep the young rice submerged by about three inches. The rain just didn't let up. We couldn't even get back to the work site for some time and when it slowed for a few minutes, it would recommence even harder than before.
By 1400, we just decided that we just had to call it a day. It rained all of the way back to the hotel and is still drizzling as I write this. The forecast isn't much better for our remaining days either. We'd been lucky in the first week to get the work done with only minor interruptions for rain, but this IS the rainy season and our luck seems to have run out. We're committed to doing as much as possible and will work into Friday morning if the weather allows. Still, the cadets are disappointed and frustrated to have a task in front of them and not be able to get it done. (Photos)
Everyone relaxed for about 90 minutes back at the hotel and we slowly congregated on the deck/cabana area to play some pool and cards. There's really not much else left to do until the weather clears, so we'll try to make the best of it.
Here's today's slide show...
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I woke up early and got some work done writing and working on photos and got a Facebook message from Annie that she wasn't feeling well. I went next door to check on her and she was nauseous and had spent most of the night dizzy and in cold sweats. She didn't have a noticeable fever, so I ruled out malaria and chalked it up to probably not taking yesterday's two plus hours on a rocking boat at sea too well. She admitted that she hadn't probably had enough water, too, so I encouraged her to drink a full bottle and start working on another. After a conference with Dan and Vy, we decided to leave Dan's cell phone with her and let her stay in the room and rest for the day.
We left the hotel on schedule and dropped by the local post office. Hansena mailed a bunch of postcards and was a bit worried because she said that she had to lick all of the stamps. Maybe not a good idea in Cambodia. Oh well--we'll see if that gets her.
We next stopped at a "hardware store" and I bought two shovels for a total of $7. These were medium-sized spades with handle grips that I thought would help us at the site since we didn't have very good shovels last week.
The drive to the new worksite was a little longer and we turned north off of the main road instead of south. Once onto the dirt road, we went about a half-mile into the countryside where we found the homes to be more spread out with rice paddies/fields separating all of them. It was really beautiful and we liked the area immediately.
We got out of the car and walked across a palm tree log bridge that spanned a small pond and then shortly arrived at the first work site (photos here). We dropped Team 2 there and they rejoined their team leader from last week who was already started digging the square trench for the foundation. Team 1 walked about another 100m across a couple of rice fields to the second site that was next to a rather larger house with accompanying palm frond roof barn for the animals. The land around the house was much more spacious and open and we were shaded by coconut palms.
Jay was there and he and Mr Song had already dug the foundation and were pouring concrete over the granite boulders that they'd placed with sand in the foundation trenches. We immediately started placing the first layer of bricks onto the foundation concrete following the guide lines and also started digging the septic pit.
Once again, we struck water before we made it much deeper than a meter, but that was proceeded by a lot of work cutting through palm roots to get to the base clay. Winston was schooled by one of the ladies of the house (age 49) on the proper use of a hoe to dig a hole. She was amazingly strong and effective and we were all humbled. She MAY have weighed 110 lbs, but I doubt it. Winston had another digging helper, too, whom we presumed was the man of the house, but that's still TBD since they speak no English and we speak very few Khmer words. Once they got through the roots, the work went very fast, though, and by lunch time it was clear that we would have the concrete cylinders in place later in the day.
As we laid the bricks, mixed the concrete, and really got into a groove, we noticed that almost everyone around us was supporting the effort. Little kids were delivering bricks and shoveling mortar into our buckets. The sisters that live in the house were helping dig holes, delivering fresh coconuts for refreshment, and doing as much as possible. At our last site, I have to admit, it was frustrating to see the number of idle people doing nothing--at least at our latrine site, though Team 2 had a little more support on their side of the road. Today, it was our team with the support and our work showed for it.
There was a lot going on at the farm, too. Seven-day-old puppies were yipping in the wood and palm leaf cooking shed next to us and a couple of them tried to crawl out from underneath. Chickens were constantly running around us and the kids were everywhere. Still, despite the distractions, we were moving at a great pace and had more than seven rows of bricks laid with the door mounted and sand and rocks inside the latrine before lunch. (Photos here)
We drove to The Vines again for lunch and had their amazing Cambodian salad with peanuts again, along with a squash and chicken soup. We decided to cut lunch short and get back to work earlier than usual since the weather was so good and we were being so productive. We called Annie to check on her and she reported feeling quite a bit better, but we decided to let her rest through the afternoon and prep for work tomorrow if she continued to improve.
We were back from lunch before 1330 and spent the afternoon placing the cylinders and working hard on the bricks. The ladies brought us rambutan fruit (like red, really spiny lichee nuts) and bananas (later) as well as sweet, iced Vietnamese-style coffee. The weather continued to be nice, so we mixed batch after batch of concrete on the hard ground near the front of the house and the kids kept us going. We had four bricklayers for most of the afternoon, except for mixing breaks and when we put the cylinders in. By the time the afternoon was complete--and we worked until 1700--we had at least 18 rows of brick laid (over 6' high), the cylinders placed, and Jay was installing the concrete vent pieces. (Photos here)
Vy came over and helped me chat with the family while I was laying the last couple of rows of bricks. They explained that three sisters (ages from the late 40s to early 50s) lived there and in neighboring houses with all of their kids, Grandma lived next door butslept i nthe big house at night to protect her from "ghosts," and that the small baby was five months old. I explained the composition of our group and our purpose and made it clear that we were in the US Air Force. They were very happy to have us and kept thanking me over and over again. I tried to convey how much we enjoyed the work and appreciated their support as we worked and their participation in the process.
We left at about 1700 knowing that both groups had had a great day. We were happy to be more in the country and around the rice fields and really like the families that we were helping. Of course, I spent most of my break times taking photos of people and our work, so you can see those photos here.
When we returned to the hotel, Luke suggested an early dinner, meeting at 1800 to walk over to a French Bistro named "Brise de Kep." Everyone showered and cleaned up quickly and Annie joined us, too, feeling much better and ready to work tomorrow. We walked over and generally enjoyed the meal. I ordered a tuna steak for $4 and it was overcooked, but Dylan had Magret de Canard and it was good, while Hansena had a good barracuda filet and Annie ate their version of a fried chicken breast. To pass the time, we played cards (the France Family's official card game that we call SOYN). It was a good time and it kept us busy and not complaining about the service all of the way through dessert--which was the best part of the meal.
We're looking forward to tomorrow and will finish the bricklaying in the morning and hopefully get most of all of the stucco done tomorrow afternoon. We're feeling good about finishing on Thursday now.
Here's the slide show of all of the photos taken today:
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We'd arranged, with the help of Vy and the hotel, to rent a boat for the day including the the boat owner/driver and planned to visit two or more of the islands off of the coast of Kep. We drove to the boat dock and were directed to the end of the pier where we met our typically long, skinny Mekong River-style boat that you see all over Southeast Asia. The engines are side-mounted diesel of gasoline motors that look like they've been stripped from a car or truck. The propeller is attached axially at the end of a long shaft that extends from the engine by 8-10 feet and turns a two-blade propeller at a shallow angle. Like the boats on Tonle Sap, the props have a lower protective framework to keep them out of the mud.
We loaded up without issue, put on our life jackets and left for the one-hour ride to Koh Pau and the fishing village there. The seas were moderate and we rocked a bit, but no one got sick (even me) and we pulled into the little bay at about 1010. Savorn, a Cambodian friend of Dan's, was with us. He translated and told us all to be back at the boat by 1100. (Photos are here)
We waded ashore past an abandoned boat and along the garbage-lined shoreline past several ramshackle houses with palm frond roofs. Dogs barked at us and kids scurried along as we passed, some of us looking for shells while I took photos of the boats in the bay and of the local residents.
We rounded the corner of the island and passed along an uninhabited section that was quite rocky. After clearing this, we had a shortcut through the jungle and past some houses to the main area. We saw a LOT of kids and I took photos. They started following us and I took more photos. They were all very friendly and obviously surprised to see us. The cadets and I had a great time interacting with them. They were just beautiful kids stuck in a very, very poor situation. It was difficult not to feel pretty about their lot as we waved goodbye and left for Rabbit Island. Here's an album of photos of the kids, plus another one showing other parts of the island.
Soon after the boat left Koh Pau, the wind picked up and the rain started. Almost then entire 25 minute trip to Koh Tonsay (Rabbit Island) was in rolling four-foot waves and a driving rain storm. We covered what we could, but we all got soaked to the bone. The rains stopped just a couple of minutes before we landed at the shore, though, and stayed nice throughout the rest of the day.
We left the boat and walked along a path to the south shore of the island that had dozens of thatch bungalows, a few outdoor restaurants, a nice beach, and plenty of hammocks. We ordered lunch and found the service to be, once again, lacking. Dylan finally got his food almost 90 minutes after he ordered it. They said they'd run out of beef and needed to run to one of the other restaurants to get some. We worried about the local canine population.
Finally, just before 1400, we were done with lunch. I set a rendezvous time for 1600 at the boat and then allowed the cadets to do whatever they wanted along the beach. Dylan joined me on a hike around the island on a path that was easy to follow but contained enough thorns to lacerate each of us pretty well, take my hat off of my head, and make for a lot of crouched walking. Along the way we saw locals cultivating sea weed as well as several small fishing settlements and boats. The hike was supposed to take us two to two-and-a-half hours, but we made it back in 75 minutes and were happy to have the time to order a beer and enjoy it on the beach before we left. Annie and Hansena were catching some rays on the beach, while I think Luke and Winston napped in the hammocks. We were all entertained by and Australian couple (we think they were Aussies) that were in their mid-50s, tattooed, over-weight, bikini'ed, and getting the sunburns of their lives while constantly drinking and smoking, standing in the waves. It made me think of the US Gulf Coast... I took no photos, fearing for my camera's well-being.
The trip back was again through fairly rough seas, but there was no rain (photos). Dylan sat on the bow, which was probably drier than the mid-boat areas as the waves crashed over the sides. We returned to the pier at about 1615 and were happily back at the hotel by 1630. We set a meeting time for 1830 for dinner and everyone went to their rooms to dry out, clean up, and relax again--I worked on photos.
We went to dinner at 1830 to Holy Crab along the Crab Market area and (for once in Kep) were very impressed with the service--the food was excellent, too, and the prices quite nice. There's a reason that it's the #1 ranked restaurant in Kep by Tripadvisor. We talked a lot about photography at our end of the table. The food exceeded expectations, too.
Tomorrow, we start a new pair of latrines in the same village but along a different road. We're all looking forward to doing the project again with the knowledge that we've gained from the first week and are sure that things will go much more smoothly. I'm planning to go to the local market and buy a couple of good, new shovels for the team and then donate them to Equitable Cambodia. Winston's looking forward to more digging and I'm happy to make sure he's well-armed.
We should finish this pair on Thursday, then the plan is to meet at a local school on Friday and do a little more local touring before we board the minivan with our bags and drive to Phnom Penh. Our flight leaves that evening, so it'll be a busy day.
Here's the slideshow from today:
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I rode shotgun in the van and enjoyed taking photos out of the windows with my 70-200mm image stabilized lens. The morning light and traffic gave me some pretty good shots given the circumstances. You can check those out directly in this Facebook Album.
We arrived in Kampot at about 0715 and Dee drove us around a little bit to see the Durian Monument, the external views of the Central Market and also to see the new and old bridges. We headed out from there a few minutes later, crossing the New Bridge on National Road 3 (two lanes, no centerline) towards Sihanoukville and Bokor. The phone rang a few minutes later and it was Vy asking us to go back to Kampot because she had found a guide that could meet us at the Durian monument at 0800. So, we turned around and were there by 0730. Dee let us out of the van and we walked around a little bit.
One of the cadets needed to find a bathroom, but he soon discovered that not all gas stations in Cambodia are really "rest stops." So, we were on the search for a WC. He tried a couple of guest houses, but they wouldn't let him in. A few blocks down the road, we came up on the Kampot Pie and Ice Cream shop that we'd seen in an advertisement on our regional maps and found it open. We ordered drinks (espresso for me, iced Vietnamese coffee for Annie and Dylan, and some fruit juices I think for the others while first Winston then others cycled through their bathroom. The servers were very pleasant and asked us to come back later in the day for ice cream--which we did because they gave us two-for-one coupons for ice cream. The espresso shot was only $1 and the same was true for the ice cream.
Back at the Durian Monument, we took more photos, but the guide never showed. We waited until after 0830,but just left. We'd now wasted almost two hours of the morning.
The drive up to the top of Bokor Mountain was not unlike driving up to Olympic National Park in Washington--a long, winding road taking us from the shore to over 3,000 ft in altitude over about 20 miles (32 km). Along the way, we saw a giant Buddhist statue that was partially covered in fog. I was just happy that no one got car sick and we didn't have any head-on collisions with on-coming Vietnamese tour buses cutting the turns.
By the time we arrived at the summit, it was foggy, misting heavily and refreshingly cool. We went past the new. modern casino to the "Old Casino" built during French Colonial times (1921) and long since abandoned and stripped of everything except maybe a few tiles. The starkness of the stucco and architecture, along with water settled on many of the floors (even upstairs) made for some fun photography and the cadets enjoyed roaming around the haunted house. We followed all good horror story laws, though, and didn't let anyone go off alone or run towards any screams. We were also lucky that we got a clearing in the clouds for about two minutes, allowing us to take a few good exterior shots.
Apparently, Dee didn't want to take us to the other "ghost town"-like spots. Communication was difficult as Dee knows only about 5 words in English. I was texting questions and tour suggestions to Vy who was then texting or calling Dee to pass along that info. Much was lost in translation.
From the Old Casino, we went to a beautiful Buddhist temple complex and monastery on a hill well above the modern casino. Shrouded almost completely in mist while we were there, it reminded you of being much higher in the mountains as clouds raced up the cliffside from the valley below. During the few clear moments, though, we could see all of the way to the beach and the Gulf of Thailand. The cadet and I explored the entire area and even made it into the monk's area for their lunch to get a few photos.
From the temple, we went to the (supposedly) four-star New Casino to look around. This was a large, Las Vegas Resort-sized complex with hundred of rooms in several buildings, bars, gaming areas, etc. It was also almost completely empty. We walked around in it almost like it was the Old Casino--only with uglier interior decorating and architecture. It just reeked of the style of cheap, garish decor, lines, and design that I've seen so many time before in bad Chinese construction. I took zero photos of it because it was just so ugly--and not even in the good, quirky way that makes for some good photos. Ugh. We were happy to leave.
From there, we'd hoped to be able to go see some local waterfalls, but all of my suggestions and map-pointing apparently did not impress Dee, so we headed down the mountain for lunch in Kampot, stopping along the way to get a panoramic photo.
We lunched in Kampot at the Rusty Keyhole on Vy's recommendation. She said that they had the best ribs in Cambodia. The placed looked good and had small pitchers of beer for $2.50 and reasonable prices, so we stopped in. The drinks were quite good,too, though the ribs were nothing special. Luke had a cheeseburger with egg on top and fries. Annie had pasta, Hansena and Dyland shared ribs, and Winston got some stir-fried squid dish. I ordered the daily special grilled barracuda. In what has become a common theme of restaurants in this area, everyone's food was served, but it took well over 30 minutes for my "special" to arrive. When it did, it was quite good, but knowing that it doesn't take long to grill a barracuda filet, they may well have gone across the street to the fish market to get my lunch.
After lunch, we decided to split into two groups and then meet back at the ice cream shop at 1500 and then at the Durian Monument to meet Dee at 1515. Winston and Dylan came with me and we made our way to the Central Market, pricing scooters along the way and taking photos. The market was pretty amazing and ALL locals. We didn't see any souvenir or T-shirt shops here as you can see in this album on Facebook. We did buy some durian fruit here and Winston was the brave man who tried it first, much to the viewing pleasure of the locals. Kampot is the center of both the agricultural durian market and also for the production of peppercorns. We saw lots of peppers (black, white, green, and red) and even some jars of pickled green peppercorns that we almost bought.
We all rendez-voused on time at the ice cream shop and passed around the tray of durian for the others to enjoy. I'm no fan--primarily because of the muddy texture that is somewhere between a rotting avocado and pudding, all with a smell that would clear out a public bus (you can't eat them in public transpo in Singapore), and a bit of a sickly sweet taste. Winston had another piece and I ate three chunks to help encourage the others. Dylan, who'll eat almost anything that crawls or flies or can be found under a rock almost gagged on his and the other three cadets tried their best to choke down one segment, but couldn't quite finish their small bites. Still, we'd all done our duty and tried the treasure of Kampot.
On our return, we turned left off of the National road towards Phnom Chhnork, a cave complex in the nearby hills that houses a Pre-Angkorian Hindu Cave Temple and an interesting rock formation at the entrance that looks like an elephant. The admission cost was $1 apiece and we climbed the 203 stairs to the entrance accompanied by three ad hoc tour guides all about 13 or 14 years old. They spoke excellent English and some French and asked the cadets with help on some idioms--though they knew quite a few. (For example, when one of them asked me to climb/slide down into a steep, dark part of the cave and I said, "No way", he chimed in immediately with "Way!" I then taught him the phrase "November Foxtrot Whiskey," thus contributing to his cultural knowledge of the American military.
We took some photos near the entrance of the small temple and all went with the guides into the depths of the cavern except for Annie and me. I used the time to take a panoramic shot of the view from the cave entrance. They all emerged about 10 minutes later from another entrance down the mountain much to our relief.
From there, we walked back through the fertile and busy farmland about a half-mile to where Dee had parked the van. We crossed a two-log bridge over a canal and chatted more with the kids. They said that they'd only been studying English for two years bu that their school was very good.
It rained lightly for most of the return to Kep. After a shaky start, we'd had a good day and all of the cadets were happy to return at a reasonable hour. We later met for dinner with Dan, his Cambodian friend, Savon, and Vy, discussing our plans for the next day (boat to Rabbit Island (Koh Tonsay) and Koh Por) and turning in early. Here's the link to the entire slide-show from yesterday.
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Once the van picked us up, we stopped at a local beverage shop and bought four cases of drinks--two of beer and two of soft drinks--as well as some snacks and other goodies that we intended for later in the day when our work was complete.
When we arrived in the village, we started work right away. Mark, who joined us yesterday and is interning with Equitable Cambodia, joined Winston and Dan, along with our homeowner in bailing out the septic cylinder area and then adding the second cylinder so that they extended a few inches above the ground. The evening before, pipe had been run from the latrine to the tanks, so they were also able to install the lids to the tanks with cement.
Meanwhile, Annie and I were still stuccoing the interior walls and sealing the cistern compartment with pure cement. We worked non-stop through the morning and got quite a bit done, including some patching of bridge work that I screwed up from the day before. Jay was very patient, though, and let me do more and more of the actual skilled work.
On the other side, Team 2 looked to be well ahead of us, but they had lots of interior work to do, too. Dylan was their stucco-master, and the others did a lot of work in that area, too. They had their roof on and were just concentrating on sealing and stuccoing as were we.
By 1130, we were ready for lunch having worked just about three hours in the sun without let-up. Winston was constantly mixing and shuttling mortar to us and as Jay finished each wall we helped him with some spot patching. Dan was entertaining the kids when he wasn't mixing mortar with Winston or working on installing the septic cylinder lids.
Lunch at the Vines was again excellent, this time with an egg, spinach, and winter squash soup along with another chicken stir-fry concoction. The cadets only had about 20 minutes to nap again, but I passed the time by finally remembering to bring my tablet so I could read.
In the afternoon, our roof was installed and we finished stuccoing the internal walls. The roof kept the temperature down just a little bit in the latrine, but the lack of a breeze made up for that. Mr Sing worked most of the afternoon prepping and then installing our combo sit/squat toilet. The design is such that there is no flush tank. Instead, the cistern area will hold water that can then be used with a shower head to rinse the toilet after use with all of the contents flowing down through the toilet through PVC pipe to the septic cylinders. We were happy to be the first to have our toilet installed as that marked the essential end to our work. Jay and I still patched and finished a little and there are remaining steps to complete the whole thing (pour the final main floor coat of concrete, install a tank in the cistern area, and (we heard) tile the floor and some of the lower internal walls. I wouldn't liked to do some tiling as that is something I actually know--oh well.
With the completion, the family where team two was working brought out snack for all of us. The grandmother had these wonderful dumplings stuffed with coconut, peanuts, rice flour, and palm sugar wrapped in banana leaves and cooked until steaming hot (and safe). We each at two of them I think--they were delicious.
Dylan was the last one working, sealing their cistern area with cement, but we began to gather around team two' project area. When Dylan finally finished, we started our little party by spreading out plastic tarps on the ground and bringing the coolers and snacks for everyone. We took photos in front of each latrine and then, with the help of Vy, I said a few words to the families about our Independence Day and how much we'd enjoyed working and helping the village.
The grandfather (age 53) of the home where Dylan, Hansena, and Luke were working then said a few words, too, and was quite sincere and moving. He said that the village had never had foreigners come in and help them before--that they were thankful for our hard work and how friendly and enthusiastic we were. Vy's translation of his words was that this "was an historic event" for the village and they were very, very thankful to all of us. We were all quite moved by his words.
After this, we pulled out the drinks. I toasted Jay, my mentor, and gave him a pair of Air Force Academy sunglasses. The kids were having fun because they were all drinking Fanta and Sprite getting all hopped up on sugars that they probably didn't see very often. Dan was corrupting them by showing them how to say "Ahhhhhhh!" with a big wide open mouth when they had finished a slurp. He also put his GoPro camera on one of the boys and promised to post on Youtube what the world looks like through the eyes of a Cambodian 4-year-old.
We stayed for some time drinking and eating, talking to each other with Vy's assistance. The village leader was there as were members of the extended families, all excited about our work and anxious to catch a glimpse of the latrine.
We left at about 1700 and drove back to the hotel. I had just enough time to process my photos and get ready for dinner. At 1830, we left for dinner at the Kep Sailing Club along with Vy and Mark.
The view at the atmosphere was wonderful at the Sailing Club. The food was quite good, too, after we worked through a minor glitch--they said, when we were placing our orders, that the kitchen was closed (at 1900?). With some cajoling, Vy managed to get them reopened as quickly as possible and they finally agreed.
Great seafood and some fancy mixed drinks were available at the Sailing Club along with good seafood and the usual drinks. The ocean breeze was enjoyed by all and we didn't leave until after 2100. We'd like to go back on another day when the sunset is at its peak and may do that Saturday or Sunday.
Tomorrow, we're going touring again since the work doesn't recommence until Monday. Our driver will be taking us to Bokor Mountain National Park to see some old ruins as well as to hike on their many trails. From their, we'll go to Kampot for lunch and then look into some of the local caves before returning for dinner.
Here are the slides from the day--enjoy!
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When we got to the work site, Team 1 got right to it with more stuccoing. We'd done three walls yesterday and needed to get another one done on the back side first. The fun part about this was that any step backward would put us right into the septic pit that was now full again. I tried to step on what looks like a bag of sand to get some leverage but then was comforted to realize that it was just a big bag of pig manure. Lovely. All over my shoes. Jay laughed. I laughed--the rinse them off in the dirty water that was next to the pig manure, too. I love my Gore-Tex lined Merrell hiking shoes.
Annie and I worked on the back wall while Dan and Winston were in charge of the mortar mixing and distribution. The other team was a little ahead of us and by lunch they'd stacked their second concrete cylinder and were starting to stucco inside as well as laying the brick on the inside for the flush water tank frame that would sit in the back left.
Annie and I made pretty quick work of the back wall and Jay started work on the finishing as well as working the corners of the building and laying the first rows of bricks inside for the toilet seat and the water tank frame. I felt pretty good because when he started to do the finish work on our wall, he asked for me to finish the bricks on the inside for him. Winston joined me and we got a few rows done before lunch inside the walls of the latrine with the sun beating down on us. I was just dripping sweat--enough to keep the mortar moist.
The time just flew this morning. We started by 0830 and I didn't even look up or take more than one sip of water for the next three hours before we left for lunch.
Lunch was again very good--we had a chicken green pepper stir-fry and a salad that we can only describe as Cambodian cole slaw. It's a wonderful mix of shredded young tamarind, carrots, green mango, peanuts, and a nice vinaigrette-like dressing. This was probably the fourth time we've had it at a restaurant and I think Hansena and I are particular fans of this. Lunch was shorter today, but a few of the cadets managed to get a short nap in before we returned.
While we were gone, Jay fixed a few of my bricks--I'd gone up too high on one side and he took the bricks down. He was working on those when we returned, so he asked Annie and me to begin stuccoing the interior. THAT was hot work, but we got a light, brief rain shower, so that helped cool it down a little. We finished two walls through the course of the afternoon and I finished the brick work, again with excellent support from Dan (who also did some stucco work) and Winston, whom we name "Sir Mix-a-Lot" for his skills in the mortar pit. The other team, with their flat open ground lacking booby-trapped bags of pig poop , banana breaks and other details that I'm not at all bitter about, were now well ahead of us. They didn't have as much brick work inside their latrine--presumably theirs is going to be a "squatter," while ours will be a high quality seat. Still, their pit was finished at the end of the day and they were close to finishing their stuccoing, to0.
I'd wondered throughout the process why we didn't lay down PVC pipe to connect the inside of the latrine to the outside pits--building around the piping and having it in place. I still don't know why we didn't do that because near the end of the day,with a beautifully stuccoed wall on the back side, Mr Sing pulled out a hammer and a chisel and smashed about a 4" hole in the side of the wall at its base, below the interior's sand and rock floor that had already been layed. After smashing through the stucco and brick, they went inside and dug up their sand and moved rocks to make channel from the hole. We left at about that time, but I'd bet that they're going to wedge PVC though the hole and run the line to the squatter, then patch it all back up. Mine is not to wonder why, mine is just to keep laying brick, stuccoing, and trying not to step into any more pig shit. Tomorrow, we SHOULD finish. If we do, we're planing to buy refreshment for all those from the village that helped with the work--and their families--then go out for a nice 4th of July dinner in town.
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A very busy and productive day found us finishing the brick work early, then hauled sand a rocks into the latrine area. After spreading the sand and distributing the rocks around, we made little ones out of big ones in order to make the concrete floor (first step) in the latrine.
We went to lunch before starting to stucco on our latrine, but Team 2 was well ahead of us and they did a good job breaking rocks and also getting started on their stucco.
Lunch was again at the Vines restaurant and the food was excellent. The cadets (except for Hansena) fell asleep immediately after eating. A group of high school kids from Kent Denver showed up and they ate on the balcony while we were on the ground level below in the shade. The kids were just obnoxious brats and it hurt our ears to hear them. They were their as part of a school trip and planned to work one day doing some digging, but then they had a two day "home stay" with some families. If felt so bad for the team leader who was from Tennessee and didn't even know these kids before taking them on the trip as the leader.
We woke the cadets up just before 1300 and headed back for a full and satisfying afternoon of stuccoing outhouses. It really doesn't get any better. I liked stuccoing even more than laying brick. Annie was a great help, while Dan and Winston were the mixologists for the stucco (just concrete made thin) and Jay gave me hints and cleaned up behind me. We again worked well together and got a lot done. We finished two walls, while the other team did three.
We were back to the hotel at about 1630 and four of us decided to go on hike into the Kep Montain Forest National Park just above us. Luke and Hansena went for a 45 minute run, while Dylan, Dan, and Winston joined me for some serious climbing. We repeated what Dylan and I had done two days ago and then went to the Summit (286 meters!) as well as to Sunset Rock. The trails were well marked and maintained and we loved the exploring and the additional workout in the steamy air. We were back by 1800 a cleaned up quickly quickly for dinner.
At dinner, we went back to the crab market area and visited La Baraka--a place with both Western and Cambodian food. Three of the ordered pizza and we had some good conversation just along the beach with the Sun going down. I don't have time to pull out individual photos, so here's the link and the slideshow again.
Hopefully, we'll finish the outhouses tomorrow, but we were very happy with our progress today. Here's a link to all of the photos, plus the slide show below...
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Money: The Cambodian currency is the Riel ($1 = KR4000), but the standard currency here in practice is the US dollar. It was explained to us that so many NGOs work here that the dollar has become fault because most of the NGO employees (from whatever nation) are paid in dollars. All UN activities are in dollars, too. There are no US coins here, though. Instead, the 1000KR and 2000KR bills take the place of quarters and half-dollars, while there are a few 10,000KR bills floating around, too, worth about $2.50 each.
Tuk-tuk rides to all about $2 or $3 from hotels and they tend to be a little more coming back. The price is the same whether there is one passenger or six, and we’ve seen as many as 12 in and on a tuk-tuk in something that looked like a family challenge. The tuk-tuks are just two-wheeled carts with front- and rear-facing seats and a roof, open-aired, that attaches to the back of the motorcycle. Most of the drivers where helmets, but there are no seatbelts on the tuk-tuks. I think top tuk-tuk speed is about 25 mph, maybe 30 but that’s pushing it. On most tuk-tuks, we could fit three across with our relatively narrow hips (for Americans), with some tuk-tuks being more comfortable and wide than others.
There are a few full-fledged taxis around, but most of the transpo—including 10 km out to the airport is by tuk-tuk. Individuals can catch rides on the back of motorbikes for a cheap price and there are some pedal-powered tuk-tuks as well, but again, not many.
Motobikes pull everything here—from the pig going to market photo I posted to a flat-bed cart with a family of 15 on it, charcoal bags, water jugs, mattresses. You name it ana motorbike pulls it around here. And EVERYONE’s on a motorbike. Families of four routinely were seen on them with mom of dad steering, the other parent in the back, one kid in between them and one standing (for scooters) in front or sitting on the driver’s lap. Many drivers had helmets, but most passengers did not. We saw some kids on motorbikes that could not have been 18 months old and the largest number that we’ve seen (several times) is five.
We noticed another thing along the sides of the roads in little shops. Lots of Coke-style beverage bottles (glass, one liter, and two liter) in racks, filled with a strange looking yellow liquid. I was afraid to ask what it was, but when I did, Sing told us that they were all filled with gasoline for motobikes. We see plenty of gas stations around, but he said that the people don't always trust the metering on the pumps and that it's a pain to pay at them, so when they want to be sure they're getting what they want in the amount that they want, they just guy it liter by liter on the side of the road.
Driving here is just crazy. Signals mean nothing except at the largest intersections and the only governing rule is that the vehicle with the highest overall momentum has the right of way. Minibus and automobile drivers honk constantly to warn motorbikes that they are coming from behind and the motorbike needs to get over to the shoulder or at least make room. Left turns are made at any point in time and are shaved off and shallow so much so that form sometimes 50 or 100 meters, the driving turning left is driving on the wrong side of the road. No one fully stops at uncontrolled intersections—they just slow down and find a gap to merge or cross, no matter how small. When traffic is snarled in one direction, most drivers think nothing of just moving over to the left and commandeering one of the oncoming lanes that may appear to be unoccupied a the time. Once occupied, though, and a face off is set, gridlock ensues.
Driving in the countryside is free form. The only rule is: don’t hit something. All else goes. It doesn’t matter what side of the road you’re on at any point, so long as you’re not about to impact someone else in the next microsecond or two.
Driving through villages is very much like what we experienced in Rwanda about seven years ago. The driver barrels through (as traffic allows), with dogs, children and bicyclists performing a calm but effective Darwinian Dance to avoid and evade. In Cambodia, you’re either aware, or you’re dead. The idea of distracted driving here (cell phones) is terrifying. We’ve seen very little cell phone use by drivers.
Population
According to our Intrepid Travel guide, Kean, Cambodia has about 15 million citizens with 58% of them being 18 years old or younger. Kids are just everywhere here.
]]>I started the day by pulling out a couple of foam rubber baseballs that we got from the Academy's Admissions Office as souvenirs and gave them to a few of the kids that had been hanging around us and watching. Needless to say, they were pretty pleased by their new toys. Dan was nice enough to take a few photos before we got started.
The morning consisted of Winston doing more digging--but first he had to bail the pit out because we arrived to find his pit completely filled with water (well, to about 12 inches of the edge) and since it didn't rain that much, it confirmed what I deduced the day before. The water table in most of Cambodia is only about 12 inches below the ground!
Anyway, he and another local bailed it all out while Dan, Annie, and our Cambodia expert, Jay (sp?), mixed a fresh batch of mortar on the ground with five, five gallon buckets of sand and one 50 kg bag of Portland Cement. After that, we got to it with the bricks and made good time until we got near the top of the door frame. At this point, day installed the concrete-poured vent window pieces. Things were getting a bit sporty with the height, too, and you can see in the photos that I was standing on the equivalent of two parallel 2x4s that were on top of the one meter circular cylinders (in full rolling formation) because they hadn't been installed yet. I managed to make it through the whole day without a fall, which is a very good thing considering my potential impact points. The other group, despite being in much better ground, was only slightly behind us ;-) and progressing well, too.
the morning was generally uneventful except for the fact that they constantly asked Winston to widen his pit to fit the concrete cylinders. We measured the pit an few times and thought that the cylinders would fit, but we had a few Lost in Translation moments getting that point across, so Winston continued to dig and scrape and bail.
We left for lunch at about 1130 and again arrived at the Vine ravenous with hunger. Everyone looked like they were going to fall asleep on the deck, but the food brought them back to life. We had about a 30 minute siesta next, though, which I used to walk around the gardens with my camera and to explore the peppercorn fields.
When we returned, the work got very busy. We worked hard to complete the walls of the latrine and we had a few more translation issues dealing with how high the walls would ultimately be. Finally, after a few replaced, then disassembled bricks, we settled on a height over the door frame that included a slope to the back for drainage from the corrugated steel roof that would be installed later.
We finally got clearance on the pit for Winston after a couple of locals helped us pull out some big rocks and also dislodge an unside down five gallon bucket that Winston had been using as a stable island in his inland sea of muck.
Note: the pig was gone from his/her sty this morning. In the trash, we saw a pig's tail. You can do the math on that one. The family looked happy and well-fed.
The installation of the pipes/cylinders that followed was tough work. Each of the cylinders easily weighed 100 kg and probably more--reinforced concrete one meter in diameter. They were slid into the pit on poles and then set by a combination of methods that included digging out a little more around them for balance, Winston and I jumping on the them to set them, and, when was slid in wrong, looping a rope through the side drainage hole and hoisting it up with the help of three people. It was funny that the barefoot kids watched our every step, each of them only inches away from falling into the muck.
Finally, though, the first two cylinders were set side-by-side, to the great relief of Winston. We spent the rest of the afternoon completing the brick laying and got to the last few bricks just before quitting time. We let Jay and Mr Senh do the last few bricks so that they would get it right and meet their expectations. We'd realized early in this process that helping is good, but there are times when we just need to step back and let them do their thing the right way without our good intentions or interference. Vy was very helpful throughout this process as she interpreted for us.
The other team was at about the same point as we were by about 1600 and twenty minutes later we decided to call it a day. The roof is left, as is setting the pieces and running the drain lines from the latrine to the septic cylinders.
Good news about today was that we had very little rain and the ground was a little drier. We had probably our sunniest day of the trip, but the cadets were pretty diligent about their sunscreen even if I had to play "Dad" and remind them a few times.
We left just before 1630 and made our way back to the hotel, arriving just before 1700. Winston, Hansena, Annie, and Luke made a beeline for the beach and I loaded photos on the laptop for later processing. I joined them a few minutes later and enjoyed cooling off in the water, wading through the shallows, and taking a few more photos. The water certainly wasn't clear, but it was a little cooler than I expected, too. I used the opportunity to do a little more washing of my DWC shirt, but still came back and did shower laundry with my shorts.
During the break before dinner, I post-processed all of my RAW photos and got them backed up. We left for dinner at 1830 and went to a very nice restaurant (The Veranda) which had a stunning overlook of Kep Bay. We could see thunderstorms over the water while we enjoyed a very good dinner. The cadets went "western" and ordered pizza, steak, and pasta, while Dan and I had one of the national dishes of Cambodia, Cha Kreung. Winston was kind enough to treat the over 21ers to fruity happy hour cocktails, too. Luke saved half of his pizza for later and took it back to the hotel room to refrigerate until the US-Belgium World Cup game starts at 0300 local time. We'll see how productive the cadets are tomorrow as we (hopefully) finish our first two latrines--what a big day!
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Mr Seng led us to the back yard area behind one home and we met a Cambodian guy that was leading this construction. He had staked out wand strung the outline of the latrine--it was to be about two meters square. Just inside the lines/wire, he was using a hoe to rip up the ground and dig a ditch about one foot deep and the width of the hoe (about 8"). Our first job was to haul all of the boulders back to the muddy yard, then haul the bricks and restack then, then carry buckets of sand and 50 kg bags of Portland cement. We then carried buckets of water back and mixed the sand and cement in an open pit next to our project.
The leader (actually a skilled worker) had, by this time, completed the foundation trench and was lining it with the large granite boulders. As the concrete was mixed, buckets full went into the trench on top of the rocks and he and Mr Senh used tampers to level the foundation.
Once that was done, the first bricks were laid and we joined in doing the same. About this time, Dan also started digging a big pit next to the latrine that would house the concrete cylinders (turned vertically).The original goal was to dig a two meter deep pit and then stack the cylinders on top of each other to make a two meter deep septic tank system.
Dan got to work as Annie and started laying brick and Winston helped with hauling and mixing more concrete. That was the division of labor for most of the day, though I did dig some in the pit--enough to realize that a flat front edge shovel wasn't going to the the job when we started hitting dense whitish-colored clay as well as some buried clothes and other trash. Did I say the ground was REALLY muddy, too?
We took short breaks for fresh coconut milk (a good benefit of the job, since they came directly from the trees around us and were cut by the neighbors) and some regular water as well as taking photos--Dan with his Nikon and me with my Canon and 16-35 f/2.8L II lens. Kids watched us and we learned a few words of Khmer There also short breaks as we were hit with intermittent rain showers much like the "pineapple rain" one sees in Hawaii.
The work went quickly, though, and Dan dug quite a bit. Winston was a machine in the hole, too, but we started running into water issues. The water table is just so high here that even at one meter depth in the rainy season we had water seeping in. Mr Senh and Vy quickly decided that we would be changing plans for the pits and decided to dig one meter deep, but put the cylinders stacked two high next two each other. The adjustments were made, we found a pointy-ended shovel and Winston went to work. Meanwhile, Annie and I were laying bricks and actually having a good time doing it.
Did I say it was muddy? We were all covered in mud from the knees down pretty quickly. We also noticed that our work was being carried out only 10 feet from the family's covered pig sty, so that added a little "atmosphere" to our work. (It was a healthy looking pig, too) It was clear that the "lawn/work area" was well fertilized, too, as the grass was growing quite well.
We worked until about 1130, doing much more than we or the project leaders thought we'd accomplish, then took a lunch break. We drove about 10 minutes away to a place call "The Vine," a combination bed and breakfast, restaurant, and peppercorn farm. Dan told us that it was owned by the head of Equitable Cambodia and they would provide our lunches in each of the weekdays that we worked. We took off our shoes at the door and climbed to a second floor deck that overlooked a pool below, the peppercorn fields, and the Cambodia countryside--it was beautiful and the breeze felt wonderful. We also took advantage of the facilities to do a little personal clean-up.
Lunch consisted of and excellent sour fish soup, rice, and something that was the Cambodian equivalent of Egg Foo Yung. All of it was good, accentuated by the hunger brought on by a very tiring morning. We lingered a little while, but we were back to the work site by about 1330 to get more done on the latrines.
Progress picked up in the afternoon and the walls of our latrine were getting high enough that we could work standing up. Also, our work leaders had earlier installed framed doors into each latrine and we were now bricking around those. The other team's latrine was going well, too, with Hansena doing much of the digging in the morning, followed later by Dylan and Luke, plus a few of the locals.
Back at our latrine, Winston was singing (and inventing) work songs to laugh about all of the muck he and Dan were digging out of the hole as they continued to make progress and get muddier and muddier. Our walls continued to get taller and we enjoyed the work. I found it very calming, structured, objective, and logical--like laying tile.
We had a few more rain showers, but not too much in the afternoon. WE continually recharged the concrete/mortar pit by hauling more sand and water, but ultimately decided to call it quits for the day at about 1630. I took a set of "after" photos to document where we were for each project. The cylinders were set for Team 2, while we were close to doing so. The doors looked solid and both latrines had about the same total number of bricks laid. WE wondered if by us leaving the real experts might actually get it done quicker than if were there and they had to take the time to fix our mistakes.
On the way back, we stopped at a small convenience store and the cadets bought soap for doing sink laundry and a few other sundries. Back the hotel, Luke, Winston, Annie, and Hansena immediately ran to the beach and umped into the water wearing their Equitable Cambodia shirts. They were having fun and they waved to Dylan an me as we watched from the balcony of the Beach House.
We weren't going to dinner until 1830, so Dylan and I decided to try out the trail behind the hotel that led into the national forest. It was called the Stairway to Heaven and it had small yellow signs telling us the distance in meters to landmarks along the trail. We started at 1714 and decided to hike until 1725 and then turn around and return to clean up for dinner.
The trail started with about 100 stairs and then transitioned to a single track dirt trail that had about a dozen switchbacks through the jungle before arriving at a small Buddhist Temple on the side of the hill that overlooks Kep Beach and the water. It took us almost exactly 10 minutes to get to this point and we were encouraged by signs pointing out reasonable distances to the summit of the mountain and other landmarks. We'd climbed 129 meters in altitude (0ver 400 feet) and were again covered in sweat.
The hike down was quick and uneventful and we were both back in our rooms before 1740. I used the time to do sink/shower laundry, download files, and process some of them.
We departed the hotel with Vy and Dan at 1830 and went to out for seafood to a local place that had great grilled fish, shrimp, and squid, plus cheap beer, but horrible service. We enjoyed dinner, though, especially the fact that you could get about 12 BIG grilled shrimp for $5. We were back in the hotel by 2030.
I'd like to pick out a few photos to show here, but it's getting late and the easiest way to do this is to just link to the zenfolio gallery and slideshow, so here it is!
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We returned to the hotel and packed out bags for the return to Phnom Penh, meeting Kean in the lobby at 1515. We’d checked out by 1300, so I stayed in the lobby and watched the bags while the cadets got yet another round of shopping in.
As Kean left us at the airport, we thanked him profusely, gave him a tip equal to $10 apiece and dragged out bags to the counter. The flight went off without a hitch—and the landing was a lot smoother this time, too. As we exited the airplane, a young man was holding an Intrepid sign with my name on it and we were shuttled back to the Plantation Hotel through very heavy rush hour traffic. Intrepid travel had once again done a great job on a cadet trip and I’ll definitely use them again as soon as possible.
We checked into the hotel and were once again presented with their intoxicatingly good fresh passion fruit and orange juice in a champagne flute along with the iced cotton towelettes. We love the Plantation!
We’d made plans to meet our guides, Dan from Developing World Connections, and Vy from Equitable Cambodia at the hotel at 1900 and then all go out for dinner. They were on-time and we hailed two tuk-tuks for the eight of us to go to Sovanna Khmer BBQ on Vy’s suggestion. We made a small mistake, though, when Dan and Vy got into on tuk-tuk with Winston and me, while the other four cadets got into another one. We had our first tuk-tuk race of sorts and were enjoying the ride through the evening air around the Independence Monument until we arrived at the corner near Sovanna to be dropped off. Suddenly, the cadets and their tuk-tuk were nowhere to be seen. We waited a few minutes, but they didn’t show. Vy and I left Dan and Winston at the corner to wait for them (the restaurant was about 50 meters down a narrow road), to see if their driver had deposited them in front of the place. They had not. Then, Vy pointed out to me that there was another location for Sovanna on the same street about 200 meters down the road. The driver must’ve left them there. She walked there, while I stayed in front. Luckily, she found them at the other location and we finally all met up for some grilled food Khmer-style.
The restaurant was bustling with people, completely open in the front, with ceiling fans going full speed and a decent breeze. Grills were in front of the building and the kitchen was raging I nthe back. Vy made suggestions and we ordered things like Grilled Bull’s Heart, Grilled Kidneys, Grilled Tongue, Whole Grilled Fish, and some other dishes. Luke ordered what the menu said was a beef steak, but it bore very little resemblance to what we would call a steak and I don’t think he liked it very much. The beer was again cheap and we were surprised at the end to have a bill of only $65 for all eight of us. We took tuk-tuks back to the hotel—with Vy in one and Dan in the other this time—and made plans to meet the next day at 1130 for checkout from the hotel, loading our bags onto the vans to take us to Kep, getting lunch on the way.
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We loaded up our larger bags in one of the vans, but our driver had to go back to get another driver and van for the trip. We used the free minutes to run across the street to an ATM to get a little more cash since we were told that there would be no ATMs in Kep—the nearest being in Kampot where we might visit next weekend. The ATM was funny because (and it said this as you went through the menus) ifyou asked for $100, it gave you a single $100 bill. If, however, you asked for less than $100, it gave you smaller denominations. I asked for $90 and got ten $10 bills. Luke and Annie got $100 bills—tough to break in most places in Cambodia where almost nothing we’d encountered so far in terms of a daily expense costs more than $10. I suggested that they ask the hotel lobby for help and each of them were able to break one large bill into $20s and $10s.
We went to lunch at the Magnolia Vietnamese Restaurant which looked very good. The Pho was only $3.25 per bowl and there were some other good looking options as well. Angkor beer was only $2.20 for a large 640ml bottle, too—the best price we’d seen so far. I have to admit, though, that I was a liitle disappointed in the Pho Tai. The beef was good, as was the broth, but the noodles were flat and larger that I’d prefer. They didn’t provide bean sprouts, but we did get a plate with fresh basil, fresh green cumin stalks, some other unidentified green, and some diced red chiles. The fish sauce was good and they also had Hoisin and a local Sriracha equivalent that was passable. The bowl was the size of a small at Pho 75 in Northern Virginia or Pho-Nomenal in Colorado Springs. Winston was finally pleased to find some very small, hot, pickled green peppers on the table that he could add to his stir-fried pho noodles. They also served unsweetened ice tea which was good—for free—to everyone. All in all a good meal. I’m hoping to try more Pho in the Kep area since we’ll only be about 20 km from the border with Vietnam.
Before leaving, we visited “happy room” and were surprised to find an alternative to the American tradition of putting a chemical “mint” in the urinal—the restaurant had put the equivalent of about two sliced limes in there to freshen the air. (Insert Margarita joke punchline here—citing Cuervo Gold, of course)
The drive to Kep was the usual Death Race 2000 in a rickety van devoid of seatbelts along marginal roads lined with pedestrians, bicycles, motorbikes, cars, large freight-hauling trucks, farm vehicles, tuk-tuks, and ox carts. The number of near-death experiences for us and those around us was somewhere in the low double digits. I tried to take a calm, meditative approach to the whole thing, accepting my fate in the finest Buddhist traditions, seeking enlightenment at some point before impact with an oncoming vehicle or multiple rolls into a flooded rice field. It is just an exercise in inner peace and tranquility. Additionally, I used the opportunity to type this missive as we barreled along at about 110 kph (70 mph) on roads designed for 80 kph, unlined, unregulated, with neither guard rail nor stable shoulder. Yes, I’m at peace now…
We arrived in Kep and checked into the hotel that overlooks the beach. The rooms are simple, but comfortable with a/c and wifi,plus breakfast is included, so we're good to go. We start at 0700 tomorrow morning and will be building/digging latrines! More on that later!
I woke up at 0500 and couldn’t get back to sleep, so I grabbed my laptop, camera, and other equipment and headed outside to the pool to catch up on blog posts and processing and backing up photos. It was still dark when I made it to the breakfast area, and the staff was preparing things for breakfast and straightening around the pool area. It was peaceful and very quiet and I was able to get quite a bit done, including loading almost all of my photos onto Zenfolio and completing all of but a few post-processing tasks.
I enjoyed my last Plantation breakfast of fruit, yogurt shots, and their incredibly good coffee and hit a good stopping point just as Annie was arriving for breakfast—Dylan had joined me a few minutes before.
At 0800, we grabbed a tuk-tuk and went to the market. I decided to just take my 50mm f/1.8 lens (Canon’s “Nifty-Fifty”) to challenge myself with taking photos only equipped with a prime lens. I tried to get my settings right on the way over and got a few good shots, then went into the labyrinth that is the market, agreeing with Annie and Dylan that, if separated we would meet at the same entrance (by the KFC!) where we’d arrived.
We started off together and were looking in the same area—me for kids’ t-shirts and Annie for both t-shirts and some small Buddhas and jade. I bought my two t-shirts quickly, making the lucky first deal of the day with one young lady. I spent the rest of my time in and out of the stalls, passing through the “food court” and then into the produce and VERY fresh meat and seafood sections of the market, getting some keeper photos. It was a lot of fun.
The cadets were waiting on cue at 0900 and we walked through the market a little more so that I could get a cotton “boony” hat with a Cambodia emblem on it—another good wide-brimmed hat for working in Kep.
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When we arrived after the very dusty ride, we saw dozens of boats along the banks of a channel that, during the dry season connected villages to the lake itself. Kean told us that the water was just beginning to rise since we were early in the rainy season, but that all but the tops of the dikes and roadways would be covered by September. Dozens of long, narrow Mekong-style passenger boats lined the shoreline and Kean bought tickets for us at the main counter. We all went down the steps from the high-water berm to the current lake level and boarded the sturdy boat 5786 with its intrepid captain working to get the engine started. Kean helped push us from the shore once the motor was running—and also away from the other boats so that we could navigate our way into the main channel. We were told that the water was only about chest deep, but the propeller shafts that stuck out almost horizontal from the backs of the boats had bottom guards to keep them from choking in the muddy bottom.
We were soon off for our two hour cruise along the channel that became increasingly congest with boats, houses, and plant growth until we reached the current effective terminus with the lake aobut 25 minutes later. Along the banks we saw children swimming, men and women throwing fishing nets, families on small houseboats watching TV powered by car batteries, repair shops, mini-marts on barges, pigs in floating stalls, dogs, cats, and more than I could imagine. There were floating schools sponsored by Vietnam and a safe drinking water station funded by USAID.
The channel effectively ended at an area choked by plant growth, but home to a floating village that included a crocodile farm, restaurants, markets, and observation platforms, From that point to what appeared to be the open water of the lake, it looked a half kilometer of water lilies and other growth was choking the route. Some boats charged through, but Kean told us that there really wasn’t anything exciting about being on the main lake itself—just a flat expanse of brown, muddy water—so we stayed at the terminus and watched the other boats from the platform.
The return on the boat was largely uneventful once we got the motor started again—this time requiring one of the village mechanics to give us a jump start. Oh, and I forgot to mention… as we were departing in the first place, our captain suddenly just let go of the wheel and ran to the back of the boat. It seems that he’d forgotten to attach the ropes that connect the rudder to the steering. We approved of his actions!
Once back to our tuk-tuks, it took us about 40 minutes to return to the hotel. We were caked in dust, but we had time for a shower and clean-up before checking out of the hotel and getting some lunch.
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I woke up early and took my laptop down to the dining area in the hotel to work on more photos and try to upload some files, but the wifi was so slow that it was not a very productive session. I did get some reading done, though, and enjoyed a good breakfast. AT 0600 when the doors opened for the regular clientele, the breakfast area was mobbed with about 100 Vietnamese tourists that we’d seen arriving the evening before. They took up almost every table, but were almost all gone by about 0630.
Kean met us at 0800 and we left this time via three tuk-tuks (only two or three of us in each carriage—which seemed like luxury). We rode for about 20 minutes into the suburbs of the city to visit a local market along the river and also a very elaborate Buddhist monastery and temple.
When we arrived at the market, my camera lenses had still not warmed up from the overnight cold-soaking in the hotel air conditioning and I missed a lot of early shots waiting for the condensation to clear on all of the out lens surfaces. When I was finally ready, you can see the result. This market was VERY meager and local with local delicacies like rice rats, plenty of fish that was still flopping in the buckets (many of them ugly snakeheads), fresh fruit, some baked goods, and lots of interesting smells. We walked through the market with Kean pointing out specific items and giving us background and detail. The people were very friendly and somewhat surprised to see tourists this far away from the beaten path—exactly the experience we were looking for. We walked out of the market into the neighborhood along the lake and purchased cold water bottles at a new lowest price of eight for a dollar.
Next door, we visited a large Buddhist temple and monastery complex with dozens of large rock and concrete “stupas,” which are ornate tombs for the ashes of the departed. Each family has a stupa for its members and the overall stupa is sealed if or when the last surviving member of a family passes away.
We walked around the complex and saw monks going about their morning chores as well as the interior of several of the temples, a Buddha statue in the middle of a large pond containing some huge catfish (20 pounders easily) and then walked to the main temple area to look inside. This temple was deserted, but looked like it had been remodeled/renovated just recently as all of the colors were bright—and there were plenty of colors, too!
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We returned to the hotel just before 1600 and decided that that we would meet again at 1800 to go to dinner in the Pub Street area near several of the night markets. We took a tuk-tuk—jamming all six of us into one as we’ve done all along and paying $3 to get there.
Pub Street is the bar and restaurant area of Siem Reap that is famous for its nightlife and also for its legitimate (and some not-so-legitimate) massage parlors and fish pedicures. The latter are big aquariums with la-z-boy style chairs over them that have a particular type of small fish that swarm around your feet and eat the dead skin away from callouses. I declared the fish pedicures off limits, if for no other reason than the aquariums often had three or four patrons at a time dangling their toes in the water and it just seemed like a very nasty Petrie dish of infectious disease. The cadets were not disappointed by my order.
We arrived in our tuk-tuk and walked up and down Pub Street, hearing offers for pub crawl parties, a ride on the Rock-n-Rol Tuk-Tuk that plays requests or will allow you to plug in your own device as musical score for your tour of Siem Reap. We settled on the Red Piano Bar for its location and the fact that they sold several good Belgian beers at reasonable prices (e.g., Leffe Blond for only $4). I ordered the Fish Amok for about the fourth time, while the cadets had pasta, French fries, and a few local dishes. Winston ordered curry as usual and asked that it be made as hot as possible. Winston seems to think that he’s in Thailand (or wishes he was for the food) and asks makes similar requests at every meal except breakfast. Every time he’s disappointed because the “ultra spicy” is just not that hot. We keep telling him (and our guides agree) that the Cambodians just don’t like hot, spicy food, but he keeps trying. He ordered chopped red chiles on the side, but they’re not hot enough. We’re tyring to convince him that he should order the Cambodian food the way the Cambodians eat it, and we’ve made some progress, but he continues on his quest.
After a surprisingly good dinner, we decided that the cadets deserved an unsupervised night away from me and that they could stay on Pub Street for the evening so long as they stayed together and practiced the good operational risk management (ORM) that we’ve been discussing since January. I left them with plenty of warnings and instruction that we were leaving in the morning at 0800 and that I expected them to be there on time—bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. I also warned them about the trip rules for alcohol and other issues.
As I left them, I started walking towards the main drag and was immediately accosted by several tuk-tuk drivers that wanted to offer me MUCH more than just a tuk-tuk ride. It was then that I realized that a fifty-something American walking alone on the streets of a Southeast Asian city just might look to the locals like someone looking for something not quite so legal or proper. Within about 50 meters I was offered drugs, girls, and other things. I finally just walked up to a tuk-tuk driver and before he could say anything said, “Angkor Holiday Hotel please!” I jumped in and he started driving. I took a video of the trip which should be entertaining. However, we hadn’t traveled more than 200 meters when he turned around and said, “Mister, you want tuk-tuk boom-boom tonight?” I politely declined his offer and asked him to just take me the hotel.
Once back, I worked on photos from the day and went to sleep pretty early—I was tired from the early wake-up, too.
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We started with snacks of fried crickets and peanuts and ordered some rather inventive foods including some great meatball, excellent fish, and our first try at some Cambodian sushi. Here's a link to the restaurant and its review (including mine) on Tripadvisor.
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The trail is 1.5 km long and climbs about 600 feet to a beautiful river and waterfall that has carvings on the rocks dating back more than a thousand years.
The trail was sandy,but very well-maintained with workers keeping it clear. Most of the large trees had species tags and other info along the way, too. Deforestation is a huge issue in Cambodia, so any attempts to protect the forests is a big deal. These exotic trees can sell for tens of thousands of dollars apiece for very high-end furniture in the Far East, so the incentives to cut them down in the poor country are great.
The trail was also marked every 100 meters going up which was fun. It was an easy but, as is everything in Cambodia, a very sweaty activity. We were rewarded when we got to the top with a beautiful waterfall.
After climbing above the falls, we came to the carvings/sculpture and also learned from Kean about the heritage of the river. This is near the source of the Siem Reap River that flows through Angkor. The riverbed is lined with what rock sculptures of over 1000 penises. Yes, you read that right. Although they're now eroded and just look like circles of stone in the riverbed, the ancients here believed that the fertile symbol of these thousands penises would make the water equally fertile and guarantee good crops downstream. Yeah, right. Anyway, it was a fun story.
We did enjoy seeing the carving in the rocks around the river and it was easy to think about how this must've been a great get away for the local royalty to swim and cavort in the cool waters--and penises.
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This was really the first time we'd been out in the rural areas besides out trip to Chuong Ek (Killing Fields) and this drive was nice because we got to see all of the kids going to school in the blue and white uniforms (school starts at 0700), people driving their motobikes to work (5 is still our max number we've seen on a motobike), cows and buffalo in the rice fields, homes, farms, etc.
Kean told us that this is called the "Women's Temple" because the carving of the rocks is so delicate and fine that the people usually assumed that it could only have been done by women with small hands. He then told us that that, in fact, was not the case and that all of the stone carvers of those days were men.
It was nice to be the first ones at the Temple and we pretty much had the place to ourselves. As usual, there were several dogs around, including one terribly mangy and sad black dog that followed us around. We also some some local flora and fauna.
After touring the complex, we relaxed with some cold drinks and, again, the cadets shopped for souvenirs.
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Kean met us in the lobby with boxed breakfasts from the hotel and we jumped into our mini-bus for the ride to the pond in front of Angkor Wat along with about one thousand of our closest Korean, Japanese, Chinese, and Australian tourist friends. The scene reminded me of the evening wait for sunset at Delicate Bridge in Arches Nat'l Park, Utah, with tons of people wedged in trying to get the best angle and hoping for a good sunrise with lots of colors.
First, let me say that the changes in temp from our hotel rooms (where we max out the A/C) and the humid, warm outdoors, are playing havoc with my camera gear. It costs me about 20 minutes every morning to warm up my stuff and let the condensation (fogging) clear from my lenses and filters--very frustrating.
Generally, we were a bit disappointed by the sunrise, but we did get some colors and it was worth it. Plus, it allowed us to get an early start to Banteay Srei and other sites.
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Angkor Thom is famous for its 216 Buddhas—they’re everywehere—and it was an informal game to find as many as you could. This was a great complex for climbing and the cadets were all over the place. Again, we lost Dylan and he didn’t appear until we’d sent two search parties back into the complex to find him.
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We entered the complex from the East, passing by one small complex--at least it seems small now after seeing Angkor Wat. It was overgrown, collapsing in spots, and very eroded, but impressive nonetheless.
We walked another couple hundred meters and arrived at the northeast corner of the complex. Kean was very informative as our guide and he discussed the 720 meter carved Hindu story that rings the entire main level of the building.
We spent the next two hours, approximately, walking throughout the massive complex. Small shrines were set up at points with people selling incense sticks—that was a little inappropriate and distracting, but we managed to avoid most of those. There were a few monks, but they were just visiting from other monasteries. The size of the complex is just amazing, though, and reminded me in size more of Carcassone in Southern France.
As we were leaving the main internal area, we started to see monkeys on top of the buildings, in the trees, and on the walls surrounding Angkor Wat. There was also a “temple dog” who seemed to enjoy chasing the monkeys in a game I can imagine that has gone one for quite some time.
We walked out to the west after spending some time with the monkeys—Dylan is a big fan of the monkeys—and were immediately greeted with the standard waves of hawkers selling water, T-shirts, scarves, mementoes, etc. Three bottles of cold water went for $1 after some haggling and since we’d already started to sweat profusely, that was good. Winston, of course, bought more souvenirs, and we had to go back and find Hansena and Dylan who were entertaining the monkeys.
We walked out to the west across the bridge that spans the moat to the local transpo scene with multitudes of tuk-tuks and small buses. I took some photos of a couple of Chinese women for them and we boarded our minibus for the next temple, Angkor Thom.
Here's a slide show from Angkor Wat showing all of those photos.
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Anyway, after our morning in PP, we cleaned up, checked out of the hotel, jammed all six of us into another safe and comfortable tuk-tuk, and went to lunch at the Khmer Surin restaurant where we enjoyed more local cuisine. The youngest among us have had fun trying all of the exotic juices and freezes made here with just about every fruit imaginable. I've been expanding my beer bandwidth with the likes of Cambodia, Angkor, and Lao Beers.
The transfer to the airport was seamless--great job by Intrepid Travel again--and we made it to the airport plenty early. The flight was a little late, too, so the cadets got a chance to nap on the huge couch at the airport by a coffee shop, while I did what I do with every free minute--post-process photos or write. Rebecca Black from the Embassy (USAID) was on our flight, too, so we had a chance to chat again. She was going to Siem Reap for a health/disease conference. Apparently (and this isn't comforting) Cambodia is a veritable hot-bed of infectious, drug-resistant diseases and thus a favorite place for researchers.
Our flight landed (with unusual "authority") in light rain and our Intrepid guide, Kean, was there to greet us as we walked out from the terminal. From there, it was about a 15 minute van ride to the hotel, a snappy check-in, and we were on our way via tuk-tuk to dinner at Annadya. We used dinner to cover the next day's plan, scowl at some drunken Australians, and get to know each other. The quick way to share the photos is via a slide slow, so here it is!
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After our little walk-around and tuk-tuk tour, we met the other three at the National Museum to tour the sculptures and artifacts there,mostly from the Angkor and Pre-Angkor periods, and largely excavated during French colonial times. It was a very impressive display that reminded me somewhat of one of the arms of the British Museum or the Louvre--only these things had NOT been stolen and taken to the colonizing power's country. We couldn't take photos inside--just on the outer courtyards--so that save a lot of photo time for me! From there, we walked around the city more, including a stroll through another local market that allowed us to be splashed by snake head fish ready for the kitchen, to see plenty of exotic fruits and vegetables, and also to see more chickens in various states of "market readiness." We next stopped in at another Buddhist monastery that was being rebuild in various stages, and then came back to the hotel to clean up and check out before going to lunch and then catching our flight to Siem Reap.
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Senh (pronounced "Sing") met us at 0830 and we went immediately to the Royal Palace for the first of our tours. Here are a few of the better (IMHO) photo from that tour--showing the opulence of the royal family's palace--kind of like a smaller version of Beijing's Forbidden City.
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At the Embassy, we were met by the Asst Defense Attache', Maj TJ Cerullo (USA). TJ was a great host and set up a meeting with reps from the US Agency for International Development, Politico-Economic Sections, and the Peace Corps. We had two full hours with these four and it was time well spent. Each of them briefed us on their current activities and discussed with us projections and priorities. We had plenty of questions and they just couldn't have been more informative and helpful. We learned about US priorities there (human rights, political stability, education, and food and health stability and availability) and how Cambodia is slowly changing and improving in the face of overwhelming corruption and decades of single-party rule with little real democracy.
From there, we returned to the hotel--again via tuk-tuk ($3 each way for all of us)--and got to see the sights and sounds of the main drag in PP. We quickly changed clothes into more casual wear and headed out with our guide from Mango Tours, Mr Senh (Sing), and our driver, Peap. They had cold water for us (which was greatly appreciated) and they took us to Rombeng for lunch. Rombeng is part of a group of training restaurants that is a functioning non-governmental organization (NGO) that trains young people on-the-job to enter the service industries. Rombeng gave us unquestionably the best $10 Lunch I've ever had and some amazing, exotic, and delicious dishes. We had the set menu (see photo) and then ordered two exotic plates on top of that--the fried tarantula and the stir-fried red tree ants with beef filet.
As might be expected at a training restaurant, the service was outstanding and the food was wonderful. We even had a chance to sample a couple of local beers and some other fare.
From Rombeng, we spent the next three hours touring three local (not tourist oriented) markets of Phnom Penh. The first (Orussey) was by far the most "local" and was the most jumbled and "aromatic" market I've ever seen. It was probably closest to the Mercado in Addis Ababa or the Oweno Market in Kampala, Uganda, in terms of, um, how shall I say it... being adventurous. The chicken/duck "arrival and processing area" had us all wishing that we had facemasks--or BSL3 suits. The next one (translates to "Golden Dragon") was really a wholesale center and we saw just enormous amounts of fruits and vegetables in stalls changing hands. the final one was the Russian Market and it catered a little closer to what tourists like, allowing us to buy a couple of t-shirts and other souvenirs. There were plenty of other attractions, there, too, like motobike parts,fresh crabs, pork, silver, fresh and dried fish, etc.
We then went to the banks of the Mekong (after overcoming amazing traffic gridlock) for a dinner cruise on the Mekong. Unfortunately, it rained nearly the whole time, but the food and drink were good and the conversation with Sing was even better. He amplified what we heard that morning from Embassy personnel about the state of his country and was very generous and accommodating in answering our many questions. We made it back to the hotel just a little after 8pm. I took a shower to remove the remnants of the Orussey Market and several layers of sweat, while the cadets headed to the pool.
To save sometime, I'm just going to post all of the photos from the day into one big slideshow. You can see them individually, too, on the website HERE!
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We're just awaiting the flight to Seoul now whilst I watch the starving cadets feed their faces. Luke just bought two huge Q'doba burritos. I informed him that they will feed him on the plane, but that having about three pounds of burrito should allow him to sleep (hibernate?) uninterrupted for several hours. Hansena is less ambitious and has only on giant burrito. Annie and Winston are having sushi--against their trip leader's recommendation. They seem intent on losing the "last one to get sick" pool quickly.
In the meantime, the Delta agents are checking our passports and were (happily) able to issue us our boarding passes for the final Seoul-to-Phnom Penh leg of our flight that's a Korean/Delta Air code-share flight. Tim enow to get some walking in while all of my electronic devices get fully charged for the next flight. It's about 11:17 time-wise, so we get into Seoul/Incheon at about 1508 Sunday afternoon--that's currently set at about 30 minutes early. That's it from North America for the next 20 days or so...
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Just tried to check us all in on-line and got my first surprise of the trip... It seems that our first leg (Alaska Airlines to Seattle) isn't an "international carrier" and they said they can't check us in for the international part of our flight, so they can't check us in on-line at all. No biggy because we have to drop bags, right? Well, then the agent said that we MAY be forced to reclaim our bags at SEA and then RECHECK them with Delta for our flight to ICN (Seoul). What fun. Good news: We have a 3+ hour layover at SEA anyway, so that would give us something to do. Flexibility is the key to airpower--and so is showing up early. I'm going to call the shuttle van people and we may leave our house 15 minutes earlier just in anticipation of additional "surprises" when we all arrive at DEN. ;-)
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There's more info on EC's work with volunteers in Cambodia and their overall program in Cambodia here in their 2013 Annual Report.
Here's an excerpt:
I'm receiving a nice wide-angle fisheye style lens as a loaner from Mike Cutler of Canon Imagery. I used it in France last year, too, and it's lots of fun. Here are a few examples of what it can do...
Anyway, I'm looking forward to using it at Angkor Wat and the other temples.
It's difficult to decide what lenses to bring, since they're pretty heavy. But, I think that I've settled on Canon's 70-200mm f/28L IS Mk II, 50mm f/1.8, 24-105mm f/4L IS, 16-35mm f/2.8L Mk II, and the fisheye. I'll also bring along my 2X teleconverter in case I need something to extend the 70-200mm for birds and wildlife. I'm also bringing a second body, my Canon 7D, as I mentioned earlier, I think, so one of the cadets can have fun with it--and to have something in case conditions claim my 5D. Both use the same batteries and mount, so that's nice.
All of my stuff is preliminarily packed, though I know I'll repack tomorrow after comparing what I have with the cadets. We'll also hit the Credit Union tomorrow to change lots of our $20 bills for smaller denominations.
That's about if for now. We'll check in tomorrow evening when everyone's here.
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Siem Reap and Angkor Wat – 4 days
Itinerary
Day 1-3: Siem Reap June 25th – 27th
Today you will be transfer to the airport for your flight to Siem Reap (Flight K6 117 departing at 1800). We will collect you from your hotel at 15:30 for your transfer to the airport.
PICK UP HOTEL: The Plantation Hotel
On arrival in Siem Reap, you are met on arrival and transferred from Siem Reap airport to your centrally located hotel. This evening, your group leader will arrange a trip briefing and followed by optional group dinner.
Explore the temples of Angkor, beginning with Angkor Wat - easily the most famous of the temples.
Move on to Angkor Thom to see the Bayon with its 216 smiling stone faces. Stop for pictures at the photogenic South Gate before lunching Khmer-style in a local restaurant. After lunch, visit the beautiful Ta Prohm temple, made famous by the Tomb Raider film. If time permits, end the day climbing one of the oldest buildings in the Angkor complex, the brick temple of Pre Rup.
Take a trip through the countryside to the small village of Kbal Spean and see rural Cambodian life in action. Embark on an easy jungle trek to the River of a Thousand Lingas. See Hindu sculptures carved into the river's granite banks more than a thousand years ago. Next up is the Angkor Centre for Conservation of Biodiversity, home to various animals that have been saved from trafficking including gibbons, anteaters and the bright-eyed lorus. After enjoying a tasty Khmer lunch, head to the temple of Banteay Srei and, if time permits, explore the former monastic complex of Banteay Kdei to enjoy sunset at the picturesque reservoir of Sra Srang.
Included activities:
- Internal Flight (Phnom Penh to Siem Reap)
- Entry Fee to Angkor Archaeological site (3 day passes)
- Tonle Sap Lake
- Guided tour at Angkor (2 days)
- Floating village and countryside tour
- Short Trek at Kbal Spean
- Angkor Center for conservation of Bio-diversity visit
Day 4: Phnom Penh June 28th
Travel by Remork (Tuk Tuk) on some village roads heading to the Tonle Sap. Along the way, we stop at local markets and pagoda and also try some local snack. Arrive at the lake, take a boat trip around the lake to see floating villages and get a taste for life ruled by monsoonal rains and water-based agriculture. Take the back roads on your return to town, stopping at a local village to pick up Khmer snacks and paying a visit to a modern Buddhist monastery.
Note: The water level at Tonle Sap Lake in June low. If it is unsuitable for boat trip, then we might replace the tour with countryside or temple tour instead.
Check out time from the hotel is 12 noon. In the afternoon transfer to Siem Reap airport for your flight to Phnom Penh. The flight departs at 1640 and arrives into Phnom Penh at 1725.
Arrival in Phnom Penh, you are transferred without leader/guide to hotel in Phnom Penh City.
]]>Intrepid specializes in small group independent, experiential travel. You get out of the touristy areas, meet people, take the slow trains, stay in the 2-star places, eat the local food, and have a blast. Our guide for the train trip, Masha Rogozhina, is still a friend and we look forward to traveling with her again someday.
Anyway, Intrepid also books private groups, which is how we're traveling (with our own dedicated guide) and how we did the train trip in 2011. Our trip is very close to their regularly scheduled "Secrets of Angkor" Trip, actually. We're just adding flights from PP.
We're really looking forward to this part of the trip as Angkor Wat is a bucket list item for almost everyone.
]]>Back to our itinerary... After the Embassy Tours and Briefings mentioned in an earlier post, we're going to use a local company (Mango Tours Cambodia) to show us around the city for about a day-and-a-half. Like many of you, I'm a TripAdvisor addict and I found them there. Here's the itinerary they have set for us right now:
Day 1 – Monday, 23rd June 2014 – Market Tour/Sunset Dinner Cruise
Our guide will meet you in the lobby of the Plantation at 12:15 and return you there approximately 20:00/20:30. The first stop is lunch at a local hospitality training center for former street youth where we can sample delicious and safely prepared Khmer cuisine.
Let’s spend some time at the markets! Depending on your interests, we will take you to authentic Cambodian markets such as Psar Orussey, Psar Dam Go or Psar Tuol Thom Phong (Russian Market), and to the more secluded back streets where individual stores sell jewellery, antiques, and clothes. Be sure to tell your guide what you’re most interested in seeing. Mango Cambodia does not make commission arrangements with retailers, so we never deposit our clients in vast shopping emporiums or tacky souvenir shops - but we do know where to shop off the beaten track.
We will go directly to the port following the afternoon tour for the sunset dinner cruise.
Day 2 – Tuesday, 24th June 2014 – Phnom Penh City Tour
Our guide will meet you in the lobby of the Plantation at 8:30AM and return you there approximately 16:00PM.
We explore “the hidden pearl of Asia” with a guided tour of the city stopping at sites of interest along the way, including the spectacular Royal Palace, Silver Pagoda (Emerald Buddha), the pagoda at Wat Phnom, the Independence Monument and the recently unveiled statue commemorating the late King Father (Sihanouk). For an insight into Cambodian religious life, visit a local temple in time to witness the Buddhist monks’ traditional pre-lunch chants (not guaranteed).
After “lunching for a cause” at a local hospitality training centre for former street youth (sister restaurant to previous day – different menu), we continue our tour of Phnom Penh by taking a sobering walk through Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum (S-21). Here there are stark and moving reminders of Cambodia’s recent tragic past. Our expert guide will explain the historical, political and social context of the bleak period of Khmer history which followed the fall of Phnom Penh in April 1975. Then continue on to Choeung Ek Memorial, one of the infamous Killing Fields, where the Khmer Rouge executed around 17,000 of the estimated 2 million Cambodians who perished under the Pol Pot regime.
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Anyway, we ARE getting up at 0-dark-30 on Saturday 21 June to leave from our house via shuttle bus to Denver airport. There's no quick way to Cambodia and our route will take us from DEN to SEA to ICN to PNH (Denver-Seattle-Seoul-Phnom Penh for those of you that don't know your airport codes). We arrive late in the evening on Sunday 22 June and will go straight to our hotel have what I'm sure will be a simple and easy trip through customs and then a transfer to our hotel.
Since the cadets will get ample time to sleep during the flight(s), we're not going to bother with any silly "rest and recovery time." Instead, we're starting out right away the next morning with a visit to and tour of the US Embassy in Phnom Penh, hosted by the Defense Attache' there. We're planning to get a country brief from the staff there and also visit with USAID folks.
After lunch, we'll begin our first touring of the city, led my a local/regional company call Mango Tours. We'll spend 1.5 days with Mango Tours (as a private group), visiting the Markets and Landmarks of Phnom Penh, cruising in the evening Monday on the Mekong, and also visiting the Killing Fields and other important cultural and historic sites.
On Tuesday evening, 24 June, the DAO has graciously invited us to a barbecue dinner at the Cambodia National Defense University. We're looking forward to meeting officers in the Cambodia military to learn about the professional military education, their local security challenges, and the relationships they have with the U.S. and other nations.
The next morning, we're free to tour the city on our own, but that afternoon we depart for Siem Reap and a three-day tour of the temples of Angkor Wat and the areas around Siem Reap and Tonle Sap. More details on that later.
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Here are a few more books on Cambodia from our reading list, too.
Children of Cambodia's Killing Fields: Memoirs by Survivors | Pran, Dith |
The Last One: An Orphaned Child Fights to Survive the Killing Fields of Cambodia | Yann, Marin R. |
Pol Pot: Anatomy of a Nightmare | Short, Philip |
Surviving Cambodia, The Khmer Rouge Regime | Lim, Bun T. |
Alive in the Killing Fields: Surviving the Khmer Rouge Genocide | Nawuth Keat |
When Broken Glass Floats: Growing Up Under the Khmer Rouge | Chanrithy Him |
Cambodia's Curse: The Modern History of a Troubled Land | Brinkley, Joel |
A Short History of Cambodia: From Empire to Survival | Tully, John |
The Elimination: A survivor of the Khmer Rouge confronts his past and the commandant of the killing fields | Panh, Rithy |
Escaping the Khmer Rouge | Chileng Pa with Carol Mortland |
The Pol Pot Regime: Race, Power, and Genocide in Cambodia | Kiernan, Ben |
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I think I've hit the jackpot with this year's travel group. Here's some info on each:
C1C Winston Anton Sanks is a 23 year old of African-American and Native-American descent studying Astronautical Engineering. He is currently commander of the Cadet Space Operations Squadron and cadet in charge of the Cadet Wing STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math) Outreach Club. He spends much of his free time controlling satellites and inspiring youth to study STEM fields - in between driving and modifying his 2002 Subaru Impreza. He hopes to serve as an astronautical engineer in the Air Force.
C1C Dylan Montana Juedeman is an Aeronautical Engineering major from Alamogordo, New Mexico with a variety of personal interests, including botany, entomology, geology, paleontology, and humanism. Actively involved in various clubs, he is the squadron commander of USAFA’s Arnold Air Society squadron, volunteers with the STEM club and at animal shelters, builds and flies RC planes with the Model Engineering Club, and has designed and built high-power rockets with the USAFA Rocket Society. C2C Juedeman strives to become a pilot for the Air Force, and travel the world to experience Earth’s diverse cultures and geography.
C2C Hansena R. Vangen is a small town farm girl from rural Wisconsin. She participated in sports and clubs in high school, milked cows on the weekend, graduated as valedictorian and then came to the Academy. Since being here, She has continued her love for music by playing the euphonium in Drum and Bugle Corps and participating in Blue Bards, earned her jump wings, learned how to ski, and ran the Falcon 50 Miler Ultra-Marathon. She is a Foreign Area Studies with a focus on Africa and wants to be an Intelligence officer after graduation.
C2C Anne Von Seggern hails from League City, TX. She moved 11 times in her life, including to SHAPE, Belgium and Heidelberg, Germany. This experience abroad provided her the opportunity to be immersed in different cultures and draw from new perspectives. In her travels, she learned to speak French, German, and Spanish. She is currently studying Russian at the Academy and is Political Science major with emphasis on international relations. She hopes to utilize her language skills in service to her nation as a United States Air Force officer.
C2C Lucas Stensberg is from the North Shore of Chicago and attended New Trier High School where he had a radio show with a friend and ran Track and Cross-Country. He is an active member of the cadet Freethinkers Club and enjoys playing team handball—a totally new sport for him. He also loves to go out snowboarding on the weekends. Lucas is a Geosciences major and hopes to go to pilot training after graduation.
]]>We quickly revectored our trip by contacting the NGO that we'd decided to work with (Developing World Connections). As it turns out, they have an operation in Cambodia as well as in several other nations, so I e-mailed the DAO in Cambodia and got a very warm welcome. In a matter of hours, they had tentatively approved our trip and we quickly changed our reading list's focus from East Africa to Southeast Asia.
Our cadets (more about them later) took all of this in stride and have done a lot of prep work since our early stumbles. We spent the Spring Semester reading about Cambodia, getting vaccinations, arranging flights, researching things to do and see in Cambodia, and acquainting ourselves with the on-site NGO with which we'll be working, Equitable Cambodia. We've also been communicating through our group Facebook Page and welcome all supporters of our trip to join us there to see our progress.
I'll stop for now and gather some photos and more data for my next entry...
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