The Lost Backpacker

Oktoberfest Munich Tips (No Reservations Needed!)

2012-09-26T22:10:00.004-07:00

Oktoberfest Munich: Paulaner Tent

Its 7am. The crisp September morning air contrasts with the stifling crowd that is starting to build. For breakfast, I’ve had a half liter of beer, picked up along the way while walking towards these hallowed grounds. It was only appropriate since I was standing with throngs of revelers, waiting patiently for the Schottenhamel Spatenbrau beer tent to open. Yes, it is Oktoberfest season in Munich, it is a Saturday, and my friends and I have no reservations.

Making it to Oktoberfest in Munich has been on my travel list, and fortunately for me, 2011 shaped up to be the year that I would fulfill this wish. Last fall, I had the opportunity to study abroad in the western Swiss town of St Gallen, which happens to be a quick 3-hour train ride from Munich.

By 8am, a large crowd has formed around the entry we were at. My friends and I were about 15 meters from the “gate”, where a line of bouncers had formed, holding a rope along the entire entryway. By 8:20am, the crowd was getting restless. We were pressed against each other, and to the people around us.

Crowds waiting to enter the Schottenhamel tent

A little after 8:30am, the bouncers started letting people in one at a time. If you were standing along the rope, the bouncers would point at you. When given that signal, you were allowed to dip under the rope, and enter the tent. Try jumping across before you are given the signal, and you will be sternly yelled at, and pushed back.

I was among the first of my friends to be let in, and I immediately ran inside looking for a table. Even though I was among the first couple of hundred people to be let in, all of the open tables had already been taken. I had no choice but to secure a table that was reserved from 4pm onwards.

Interior view of the Schottenhamel tent

The rest I guess is history…or should I say debauchery! If you are considering visiting Munich during Oktoberfest, I highly recommend visiting the fair grounds, and experiencing this historical tradition first hand. Even without reservations, you can still have a great time. Here are some tips for first timers.

Tips for attending Oktoberfest Without a Reservation:

Arrive early! Know which tent you want to be in, and head straight to that tent and get in line. (On a weekend, you probably want to be in line by 7:30am or earlier!!)
Some of the larger tents have multiple entry points (usually along the side and back of the tent). It might be worthwhile to walk around your tent of choice to find the entrance with the shortest line.
Have a plan to find each other once inside the tent. The first person through the guards should rush in to secure a table. Don’t waste time waiting for your friends behind you.
Go for the open tables first (tables without a paper taped to the top). Usually, they are located in the middle of the tent right around the stage.
If all open tables are full, go to the nearest “reserved” table and secure it. You can tell a table is reserved by a piece of paper taped to the top with the reservation on it.
Read the reservation. Often, the table is reserved from 12PM or 4PM onwards. Either of those options still gives you free reign to use the table for 3 or 7 hours before you need to vacate it!!!
Be friendly to and tip your waitress. By the 2nd round, our waitress volunteered to ask her manager to let us have our (reserved from 4pm onwards) table for the entire day. If this is not offered, it never hurts to ask!!!
Once you have a table, make friends with the people on the tables adjacent to yours. If there is room on your table, allow others who don’t have a table to share it with you. What goes around…comes around.
Raise a glass and enjoy!!! Ein Prosit…ein Prosit…Der Gemütlichkeit!

First Round!

Its not even 9am yet!!!

The World We Travel In

2011-08-21T22:04:00.000-07:00

Children on the Streets of Aleppo Syria

What a difference a year makes! Just a little over 12 months ago, I was concluding a trip that took me through a spiritual roller coaster in India, an archeological tour in Egypt and Jordan, a pilgrimage along the silk route in Syria and Lebanon, and reliving the grandeur of the Ottoman Empire in Turkey. Back then, one chapter of my life had ended, and the next one – as a graduate student in Los Angeles – was just beginning.

Today, a new chapter beckons once again. I am about to move to Switzerland for the next four months as an exchange student. Without any doubt, I will be taking this opportunity to visit parts of the European continent that I have yet to set foot on. Poland, Romania, Serbia and perhaps Bulgaria. I also hope to visit some of the many friends I have sprinkled throughout the continent.

But as I write this blog entry, the world is again is a very different place from what it was just a year ago. Back then, I recall standing on a knoll on the far western reaches of the Egyptian desert at the Siwa Oasis, looking over palm trees and the endless expanse of sand towards Libya. Today, reports in the news indicate that the government of Moammar Gadhafi in Libya is on the verge of collapse, with rebel forces moving triumphantly into the capital Tripoli. Siwa was also in Egypt, an Egypt that was under the rule of Hosni Mubarak at the time.

Most shocking for me has been the news that is trickling out of Syria. Last year, I reported how Syria boasts architectural and archeological wonders unlike any I have seen, people that were both welcoming and friendly. Early this week, I listened with disbelief as the news on the radio reports that the Syrian military is plummeting gunfire and rockets on the city of Latakia, the same city of Latakia that I spent four whole days at – relaxing and chatting with students and professionals at a literary café, while listening to live jazz music; the city with beautiful expanses of golden beaches along the sun soaked Mediterranean coastline.

So much has changed, and I often wonder about the many wonderful people I met throughout that trip. How are they doing? Are they even still alive? My trip through Egypt and the Middle East last year had been well timed. Given the situation in the region right now, I would not have been able to make that same trip this year. Throughout that journey, I learned the virtues of patience and tolerance. I learned that we are all, no matter what we are doing right now, on a journey of a lifetime! It is really up to us to make the most of it! If there is a place that you have always wanted to visit, do it now, because it might not be there if you wait. Keep dreaming and happy traveling!

STAMPED

2010-09-23T19:08:00.000-07:00

It has been awhile, since I have updated this blog, and I apologize for the tardiness. After a whirlwind journey through India and the Middle East, I found myself back at home in Singapore for barely a month, before starting on another adventure...this time, it is back to school at the University of Southern California (USC) for a Masters in Business Administration (MBA).

On the side however, I have also been moonlighting as a Producer for a brand new Adventure Travel Television Show titled STAMPED! This is a show for young travelers, by young travelers, and especially for the backpackers around the world!

Do support us, by visiting our website: www.stampedtv.com, as well as "Like" our Facebook Page.

The website and blog is our way of connecting with you, the audience. Check back often for updates and developments, and follow along as we take this project from concept to fruition. Expect frequent updates from the production team, crew, and our host Jessica Felice, as they blog about their experiences. We will also take you behind the scenes with exclusive video and pictures from our destinations.

Happy Travels!!!

Hiking in the Qadisha Valley Lebanon

2010-06-14T22:25:00.000-07:00

Overlooking the town of Bucharre, Qadisha Valley Lebanon

“I have to stop and adjust my bag. It is unbalanced and there is something hard poking my back!”
Rummaging through my day-pack, I find the culprit: a bag of cucumbers I brought along as part of a picnic lunch spread.“Hahahahaha!” Laurence bursts out laughing hysterically. “Now that you are no longer being raped by a cucumber, can we move on?”

After almost two months traveling through the arid deserts from Egypt to Syria, a few days of hiking in the Qadisha Valley of Lebanon is a welcome change! Here the area is covered by lush green forests, and the air feels fresher. All along the valley are thundering waterfalls and serene monasteries, set among fruit and olive groves. As this is a predominantly Maronite Christian area of Lebanon, the towering minarets and frequent Islamic call to prayers, typical in the rest of the middle-east, are replaced by soaring steeples and church bells. Red-roofed villages with quaint squares and outdoor cafes line the rim of a deep valley, giving the whole area the look and feel of a European alpine resort.

Staying in the town of Bcharré, most of the main sights of the valley, including the highest peak in Lebanon, trails to the valley floor, and one of the last remaining strands of old growth cedars, are all easily accessible. The best (and sometimes only) way to travel between the villages is by hitchhiking, and many of the friendly locals are more than happy to oblige by picking up hitchhikers. Some memorable hitchhiking experiences here involve squeezing two people into the front passenger seat of a peanut seller's station wagon, whose rear seats and trunk were completely filled with all kinds of nuts and dried fruits, and riding with a painter whose truck reeked of leaking gasolene..all the while watching him attempt to light a cigarette and thinking we could go “Boom!” at any minute!

After two grueling days of mostly uphill trekking, including a failed attempt to hike up to the highest peak in Lebanon (due to an unreliable hand drawn map), I am starting to discover muscles in my butt and calf area that I never knew I had. None of the trails in the area are marked, and some are overgrown with weeds.

The entire Qadisha Valley region still feels somewhat rustic, somewhat untouched. Maybe it is because we were off the main tourist trail, and the only foreign travelers I've seen in the area are backpackers. Maybe it is the relaxed village atmosphere, or the solitude of the mountains where goatherds and their herds roam free. Standing high on the peaks looking down into the valley below, the late afternoon sun slowly descends and low clouds roll in engulfing the lowlands in a thick fog, one cannot help but imagine why some consider this area to be one of the most beautiful places in all of Lebanon.

Another Cup of Tea

2010-06-08T07:07:00.000-07:00

Waterwheels in Hama, Syria

“Is salaam 'alaykim!”, I greet two men sitting on their front porch with the commonly used Middle-eastern greeting of “peace be with you” as I walk by. Nodding and a waving back, they smile and respond, “Wa 'alaykum is salaam”, and all of a sudden, I find myself being invited in for another cup of tea. This would be my fourth glass, all with strangers who I had just met, and I have only been wandering around the city of Hama for just a little over 3 hours.

Some of my most memorable experiences while traveling through the middle-east have been meeting and interacting with the hospitable and friendly people of the region. Earlier in day, while walking along the Orontes River, photographing the ancient norias or water wheels that dot its banks, I am drawn to the voice of a little child screaming “heeello”. Turning around, I see a young boy, peering curiously at me from behind an iron fence. Returning the greeting, I wave back at him,which only prompts him to scream “heeello” a few more times. Behind him, his grandfather is lounging on a plastic chair in front of a little hut along the water's edge, and he is waving at me to come on in and sit with him. Not wanting to be rude, I oblige, and I am offered a cup of tea.

Although the grandfather spoke no English at all, we were still able to exchange greetings and a few basic niceties with each other. I found out that he is a carpenter, and the little hut that we were at is his workshop. His job is to repair and restore the ancient waterwheels in Hama. Soon his sons, who also work there joins us, and through a mix of basic English and Arabic, I learn further that his family has been performing this task of repairing and restoring the waterwheels for generations. And in the past, the wood used to come from the forests of Syria, but due to deforestation, the wood now mostly comes from China.

I sat chatting with this family for over an hour, trading stories of my family with theirs, and even going as far as discussing politics, religion and how tourism in Syria is affected by global economics – all the while using only a simple mix of English and Arabic. Being invited to a cup of tea and having the opportunity to interact in such an intimate setting with a Syrian family that could not be more different from my background was indeed fascinating. This is the reason why I enjoy traveling, to have the opportunity to expand my global perspective through encounters like these. As I got up to leave, the grandfather takes my hand, and tells me that if I ever returned to Hama, I must find him right here at this same spot again, and instead of paying for a hotel, I must stay with him and meet the rest of the family. Truly remarkable.

Waterwheels in Hama Syria

However, occasionally my attempt to speak Arabic goes horribly wrong, often leading to confusion or down right hilarity. When arriving into Damascus, Syria from Amman, Jordan, Laurence and I shared a service taxi with two middle aged Syrian women. They didn't speak any English, nor we Arabic, and conversing was next to impossible. Pulling out the Arabic phrase book that Laurence carried with him wherever he goes, I attempted to break the ice by asking them a few common civilities like “How are you?” in Arabic. After I had exhausted all the questions in the chapter titled “First Encounters”, I moved on to the chapter on “Family” and asked the two ladies casually, “Inti mitgawwiza? (Are you married?)” - knowing full well that I probably butchered the pronunciation.

After starting at us blankly for a few seconds, the ladies started pointing at both Laurence and I and proceed to giggle amongst themselves, speaking rapidly in Arabic. Turning to me, Laurence narrows his eyes in a state of realization and whispers quietly to me, “I think you just told them that we are married...to each other!”

Hitchhiking to Mesopotamia

2010-05-31T09:03:00.000-07:00

It is Friday, a bad day for traveling, and in particular hitchhiking as it is the traditional day of rest in Islamic Syria. Not only are there fewer buses and public transportation running because all offices and shops are shuttered, most of the local population are also staying home with their families.

Sticking our thumbs out horizontally, making the internationally recognized (or so we thought) sign for hitchhiking, Laurence, Helen and I are walking along a deserted stretch of country road, about 10km northwest from the town of Abu Kamal along the border of Syria and Iraq. We had just left the ruins of Mari, and we heading west towards Dura Europos. The occasional car or truck going by are speeding past us at breakneck speed, showing no indication that they had seen us, or had any intention to stop. It was mid-day, and the sun was beating down hard. Suddenly, a tractor with several women on board appears out from the fields on the south side of the road. We wave frantically and catch their attention. The women smile and wave back, but they were just crossing the road and heading to the fields on the other side.

It would be another 10 minutes before we finally flag down a truck, by waving up and down with the palm of our hand (which is the customary way to hitchhike in Syria). Running up to the cab, we shout out the name of the town we were heading to in Arabic, and the elderly driver nods and waves us up into the cab.

The ruins of Mari contain some of the oldest and most significant archeological finds of our time. Dating back some 5000 years old, over 25,000 clay tablets have been found here, unlocking the history of the earliest of human civilization. Still an active archeological site, the main ruins are covered under a protective tent, and significant artifacts are still being unearthed.

Sitting high on a desert plateau, the Roman fortress city of Dura Europos, with its imposing gate, overlooks the Euphrates river. From the top of the cliffs, the ruins offer commanding views over the Euphrates, as it meanders gently through the plains below. Beyond the river on the other side, stretching out as far as the eye can see is the fertile valley between the Euphrates and the Tigris – the ancient land of Mesopotamia, the cradle of civilization!

As it has been since the earliest of human civilization, farms line the Euphrates on both sides of its fertile banks. With the urging of farmers down in the valley waving at us, we climb down a set of cliffs to the fields below. The cool clear waters of the river seem so inviting under the sweltering heat of the Syrian desert, but our intention to strip down and jump in was cut short when the caretaker of the ruins (who had been following us) shows up suddenly and sternly instructs us to get back up as tourists were not allowed down on the farms.

How the whole incident played out was a little odd, and we were practically escorted back to the gate by the caretaker. My assumption is that with the border of central Iraq (that is closed to foreigners) just over 20km away, they did not want foreigners wandering off the beaten path and interacting with the local farmers in the area.

The area around eastern Syria is well off the main tourist path, and aside from a few backpackers, there are not a whole lot of foreigners in the area. This is also the area where the United States government have alleged that the Syrian authorities have been supplying insurgents in Iraq with weapons and ammunition. My travels through eastern Syria and along the Euphrates however have only been met with the open arms of Syrian hospitality – from the friendly men at the coffee shops, to the farmers, and especially the truck drivers who picked us up and brought three hitchhikers safely to our destination.

The Rise and Fall of Palmyra

2010-05-27T09:03:00.001-07:00

The end was near, and she could smell it in the air. Most of her men – men who went into battle with her, who fought and won in the conquest against Rome and the capital of the Province of Arabia – now lay dead or dying. With the army of Roman emperor Aurelian now encircling the city, the once great city of Palmyra lay desolate. Most of its population have fled into the hills and desert, leaving only its defiant Queen, Zenobia and a few hundred men holding off the advancing Roman cavalry. In a last ditch act of willful defiance, Zenobia, refusing a generous surrender offer from the Romans, rides off in the dead of night on a camel, heading west towards Persia to seek military aid.

Palmyra, mentioned in ancient texts dating back to the 2nd millennium BC, grew in prominence and prosperity during the 1st and 2nd Centuries AD, during the time when the Romans were expanding their empire. Due in large part to its unique location set between two mighty empires, the Romans in the west and the Persians in the east, Palmyra grew to be a major stopping point in the old Silk Route, commandeering all trade between Europe, Mesopotamia and the Far East. By levying taxes on the traveling caravans, the city accumulated untold riches, and built bigger and grander temples, with a great colonnaded avenue running through the center of the city.

The city's colorful history reached a peak when its sitting ruler, Odainat was assassinated, and his second wife, Zenobia (who some believe killed her husband) ascended to the throne. When Rome refused to recognize her as the rightful ruler and sent an army to dethrone her, she met the Romans in battle and defeated them! She went on to lead her army against the capital of the Province of Arabia in Bosra, even going as far as Egypt, conquering and putting all of Syria, Palestine and large swaths of Egypt under her rule!

Unable to stand such outright defiance, the Roman Emperor Aurelian sent a battalion towards Palmyra, this time defeating Zenobia's troops and laying siege on the city. With Zenobia on the run, the once great city was torched to the ground. Zenobia was later captured by Roman forces along the Euphrates river, and carted off to Rome to be put on trial.

Arriving into Palmyra on a bus from Damascus, the final few kilometers from the bus station to the center of town required some creative hitchhiking. First, on the back of an ice truck to a small ice factory, where the friendly owner invited me into his home for a cup of tea, and then hanging off the back of a tomato truck for the journey to the edge of town. Walking the final kilometer or so to the hotel through several neighborhood blocks, friendly locals constantly waved 'hellos' and 'welcomes', as kids of all ages swarmed around me, eager and excited to have their picture taken.

The massive ruins in Palmyra, Syria stretches for over 2 square kilometers!

Having been captivated by the history of Palmyra and in particular the story of Zenobia, I woke up early the next morning to catch the ruins at sunrise – a wonderful time of the day when the low hanging sun casts long shadows between the standing columns and bathe the crumbled buildings in a warm orange glow. Most striking about the ruins for me, was how large of an area they covered, consisting of an entire Roman city stretched out over several square kilometers. Anchored by a hilltop castle on one end, and the Temple of Bel on the other, the city in between hosts structures of everyday Roman life, including public squares, fountains, baths, residences, tombs and temples.

Walking down the grand colonnaded avenue, it wasn't hard to imagine how this once great city might have looked like during Zenobia's reign. In my opinion, with a little Hollywood magic, the story of the rebel queen with a remarkable plot line involving valor, action, drama, murder and love, will no doubt make a successful summer blockbuster, casting Angelina Jolie in the title role. In the end, as Palmyra falls and the city lay in smothering heaps, Zenobia is trialed and paraded down the streets of Rome, bound in gold chains. Later freed, she remarries a Roman Senator and lived out her days happily ever after.

Through the Lens in Damascus

2010-05-24T01:12:00.000-07:00

View of Damascus, Syria from atop Jebel (Mt) Qassioun. It is believed that when the prophet Mohammed gazed down upon Damascus from this mountain, he declared that he only wanted to enter paradise only once – when he died – and so refused to enter into the city. Vying for the title of the oldest continuously inhabited city on earth, the Damascus of today is a modern metropolis, cohabiting happily with an ancient old city. From ultra modern venues developing a young, bustling and vibrant art and music scene, to the labyrinth alleys and fragrant bazaars selling anything that can be traded and sold, this is a city that has outlived civilizations and outlasted empires.

The souqs or bazaars in the Old Town are a maze of alleyways that stretches for kilometers. Here, you will find shops selling everything from clothes to jewelery to toys to spices. This picture was taken in the Islamic quarter of Old Town, as evident by the way the women are dressed.

Man selling teas and other spices.

One of the many spice and herbal shops in the old souq. Oblivious to international law and the endangered species act, you can find everything from dried starfishes, turtles and even the skins of wolves and tigers with their heads intact!

A butcher working on a lamb carcass while his shoppers look on.

Right after snapping the previous picture, I turn around to see these two butchers waving at me from the next store. After the customary hellos, they ask me to take their picture. All around the souqs, friendly locals will constantly try to talk to me in the few words of English that they know, and invite me in for a cup of tea. I've had more people say “hello” and “welcome” to me than any other country I have visited.

Right around the corner from my hotel, a lone VW Beetle parked in an alley. All around town there are hundreds of narrow alleys that you can wander around and get lost in. And as one of the safest and friendliest countries I have ever visited, wandering these alleys was something I felt very comfortable doing.

With 36% of its population under 15, there are a lot of children in Syria, and you cannot escape them whenever you are wandering through the neighborhoods. While hiking up Jebel (Mt) Qassioun, swarms of kids would run up to me, wave, and say hello. I caught these two, who I assume to be siblings, sitting on the front steps of their house.

One of my favorite pictures. Also while hiking up Jebel (Mt) Qassioun, I hear footsteps coming up behind me. With my camera hanging around my neck, I turned around and snapped this picture without looking through the viewfinder. Only later when looking at my pictures on my computer, did I realize I caught this kid in mid-stride and in mid-air as he was skipping towards me!

While visiting the Umayyad Mosque, I was waved over by three elderly gentlemen and invited to join them while they were relaxing under the shade along the arches flanking the courtyard. One of them spoke perfect English, and I ended up spending about twenty minutes with them. In this picture, the oldest of the three is turning over to his friend, listening to him translate what I was saying.

The Storyteller. Almost a dying trade, the art of storytelling can still be found in the old quarters in Damascus. Here, Abo Shadi, the resident hakawati (storyteller) at the Al-Nawfara Coffee Shop reaches a climax in his story, picking up his walking stick, swinging it around and smacking it down on the side table for dramatic effect. Although the whole story is recited in Arabic, just hearing the rise and fall of his voice as he retells the story, his big expressions and animated gestures, was enough to make it an entertaining hour!

The Al-Nawfara Coffee Shop packed with people enjoying a late night tea or coffee while puffing on a nargileh (water pipe).

The courtyard at the Al Rabie Hotel, where I stayed at in Damascus. Converted from an old Damascene house, courtyards such as this were a central part of the house, where the families would sit and relax, often by fountains or pools. Here, fellow travelers that I met are having breakfast together.

Outside of the Old Town, Damascus is faced with the same traffic congestion as any other city. However, the city is well organized with wide clean streets and modern infrastructure befitting of the modern global city that it is.

Damascus has a thriving art and music scene. This picture is from the opening night of a Salvador Dali exhibition at a local gallery. While I was in Damascus, an European Film Festival was also going on, and I was able to catch a free screening of an award winning Polish film.

This picture of colorful fruit, vegetables and pickled items laid out on display at the local fruit and vegetable market sums up my experience in Damascus. A colorful city full of surprises! A burgeoning youthful population that is adding a fresh new vibe to a city that has preserved its heritage (by some accounts) for over 5000 years.

“To Damascus, years are only moments, decades are only flitting trifles of time. She measures time, not by days and months and years, but by the empires she has seen rise, and prosper and crumble to ruin. She is a type of immortality.”
-Mark Twain, The Innocents Abroad, 1869

Road Trip Jordan (Part 2)

2010-05-19T00:42:00.000-07:00

For Part 1 of Road Trip Jordan, please click here.

“Umm guys, I think we've just been locked in the castle!”
“No way!” exclaims Tom, as everyone leans over the edge, looking down towards the gate.
“I think Ken's right, the gate is closed and there is no one there!” Jay replies.

Taking advantage of our high vantage point, Tom points to an area along the north-west side of the castle, where the wall had partially collapsed, “We could climb out through there.” he says. Looking over, it does seem like a plausible way out of the castle, but one wrong move could send any one of us plummeting down 50 feet off a cliff!

It has been a long day, and having already “escaped” out of one castle earlier in the day, did we really have to escape out of this one too? Heading towards the exit, Laurence, Philip and Tom find a flimsy construction scaffolding along the east facing wall, leading down to a steep retaining wall (that we could probably scramble down), and onto a ring road circumventing the old castle. But before any one of us risked climbing onto the scaffolding that was over 30 feet high without any safety equipment, common sense got the better of us, and we decided to try the main exit, hoping that someone would be there to let us out.

Walking towards the exit, we could tell that the gate was indeed closed. With the thick iron grills filling the entire archway, there was no way we could climb over it. Coming around a bend, the whole gate comes into view, and leaning against the outer wall, partially hidden from view, was the castle attendant grinning from ear to ear and smoking a cigarette. Somehow, I get the feeling that he knew where we were all along, knowing that we could see him walk away from the top of the castle walls. Unlocking the thick iron gates, we were freed – once again – relieved to be let out, and ending the day on a high!

The Dead Sea

Standing at the lowest point on earth at 400m below sea level, I gaze across a calm, clear, mirror-like lake. Across in a distance, are the lifeless barren peaks of the West Bank. The heat of the blazing sun is starting to feel unbearable, and wading into the cool salty waters of the Dead Sea offered a welcome reprieve.

Unwilling to pay an arm and a leg to visit one of the resorts along the Dead Sea, we found a secluded spot along the Dead Sea Highway, parked along the sandy shoulder, and hiked down an embankment to a quiet rocky beach along the Dead Sea. Floating effortlessly on my back, the silence is broken as Laurence and Tom dives head first into the water, surfacing to cries of agony as the salty waters burn their eyes, turning them bright red.

Spending just a few minutes in the water, my body starts to burn all over. Every graze, cut, and mosquito bite that I've been scratching all over my body has swelled up, turning bright red from the salt burning into the raw skin. After quickly posing for pictures typical of any visit to the Dead Sea, such as reading a book while floating on our backs, we call it quits, rinsing ourselves off with bottles of fresh water brought along for this very purpose!

Been there! Done that! And one more check off my 'things to do before I die' list!

Slip and Slide at Wadi Mujib

Moving through another canyon, another Sig. This one, like the one at Petra, is narrow, about ten meters wide on average. The cliff faces are streaked in the same bursts of orange and pink, dancing in the mid afternoon light. However, unlike the Sig in Petra, where the Nabataeans built dams and aqueducts to divert the water, we are wading through about a foot of rapidly flowing, crisp, clear, fresh water! One of the few inlets of fresh water into the Dead Sea, the Wadi Mujib Nature Reserve hosts a dazzling array of plants and wildlife, anchored there by this little stream, cutting its way through the canyon.

Taking advantage of the cool, clean, fresh water to wash the salt off our skins and hair, we hike two kilometers up through the narrow canyon. Along the way, small whitewater rapids, cascades, and natural slides. Around every bend, a surprise. Culminating at the end is a waterfall. Over thirty meters high, a torrent of water pours down from a crack in the canyon above. Like kids in a playground, we climb on the rocks, going behind the wall of falling water, jumping and splashing in the natural pool, and getting knocked around by the currents.

With no pictures to show, I make a mental note to get myself a waterproof camera for my next trip.

More Car Rental Woes!

After leaving Wadi Mujib, we continued driving north along the Dead Sea Highway, looking for a shady spot where we could have a picnic lunch. Having identified a site and parking along the side of the highway, we were surprised when a gray car suddenly pulls up along side ours. To our even bigger surprise, Ahmad, the service taxi driver who recommended his 'friend' the rental car guy to us jumps out! Seeing the five of us, he starts shaking his head, and goes on to reprimand Laurence and I for taking three more people along on the trip, claiming that it was illegal to carry more than 4 persons in that car! Was he following us? Spying on us? What was he doing hundreds of kilometers from his home in Petra, where he claims he is from, on a Saturday anyway?

“We rented the car...and we paid for the car. How many people we take with us is our problem!” Laurence argues.
“And besides there are 5 seat belts in the car, which means that legally, we can carry five people!” I chime in.

Refusing to get into an argument with Ahmad, who by now is on the phone with Bayan, we tell Ahmad that this issue is between us and Bayan, and is none of his business anyway, leaving him standing on the side of the road on his phone and walking off to have our lunch.

During the drive to Madaba, Laurence pours through the entire rental contract, and nowhere in there does it say that the maximum occupancy was four. And besides, we have driven through multiple police check-points over the last two days, and not once were we stopped for carrying five people. Knowing that Bayan was certain to ask us for extra money for carrying five people, we prepared to fight it out!

Getting into Madaba, we made sure to arrive at our agreed drop off point, a side street next to a popular hotel in Madaba, right on time, so as to not give Bayan any other excuse to charge us more money. Arriving over an hour late, Bayan first complains about how expensive it was for him to travel all the way to Madaba from Petra to pick up the car. Our response: That's your business – we agreed to a price, and we're sticking to it.

Next he tells us that he was going to charge us 20JD more for carrying a fifth person. And at this point, a full on argument ensues.

“You never told us that we could only carry four people. You agreed to a price, a price for renting the car for two days, not the number of people in the car, and then you raised it by 15JD, now you want to raise the price again? Is that how you run your business? You realize we will NEVER recommend you to anyone else ever, and in fact, we'll tell people not to rent from you!” Laurence argues.
Responding to Laurence, Bayan responds, “This car, not for five people. Two okay, three okay, four okay, but not five!”
“But you never told us! These are things that you need to tell the renters when they rent the car, not after the fact!
Jumping in at this point, I add, “There are five seat belts in the car, and I've rented cars all over the world, and as long as every occupant has a seat belt, we are not breaking any laws.”
“But not in Jordan!”
“Well then, show me where in the contract does it say that? If it is that important, it should be clearly stated in the contract!”
“Or you need to tell us that!” Laurence adds.

Realizing that he is getting nowhere with us, Bayan turns to a Jordanian passerby on the street, and rattles off to him in Arabic, clearly bad mouthing us and pointing to us! Losing my temper, I immediately jump between Bayan and the passerby, shouting, “Why are you getting someone else involved? This is between you and me! Don't be getting strangers involved!”

At this point, Bayan starts complaining about the condition of the interiors of the car. Pointing to the mud stains on the rear floor mats and food crumbs on the seats, which in my opinion, was making much ado about nothing, for the interiors were about what you would expect after a two day road trip that involved outdoor activities.

After arguing for about 15 minutes, we finally come to a compromise. Five more pounds for the fifth person to make the total 100JD! Agreeing to the deal, Bayan hands me back 150JD, a refund for the 250JD deposit we had to pay when we picked up the car. In the heat of the moment, I completely forgot about the 4JD we paid to get the brakes fixed, but in the big scheme of things, that wasn't anything to cry over either.

It is infuriating whenever an agreed upon price, even a price that is printed on a contract is a moving target, and can be renegotiated. Typical of the Middle-East, and many other parts of the world, I've actually seen this happen to both tourists and locals alike. The only difference is that locals are used to dealing with situations like these, and they have more leverage with unscrupulous business owners. I'm glad we stood our ground and fought hard, and overall, we made it out alright! 100JD for two days of car rental is about the standard going rate, and after splitting between five guys, it was well within my travel budget.

Glad that this ordeal was finally over, we left Madaba, catching a ride in a minivan taxi for the capital Amman. The last two days have been quite the adventure. Five people, five countries, one shared experience. In a day, we would all be going on our separate ways, we might never see or speak with each other ever again. And as for me, I will be crossing borders again, this time, on the road to Damascus.

Road Trip Jordan (Part 1)

2010-05-14T00:25:00.000-07:00

The following is an account of a road trip through Jordan, from the town of Wadi Musa, just outside of Petra, up along the King's Highway, to the capital Amman.

The Players (from left): Herb (Jay), a chef from Austria whose real name is Herbert, but because he impersonated someone else when I first met him, I never knew what his real name was until we got to Amman, so for the purpose of this post, I will continue to call him Jay; Louis-Philippe (Philip), a student from Montreal, Canada with a very royal French sounding name but answers to Philip; Laurence, a student from Buckinghamshire, Britain whom I've traveled with for several weeks now, and have been mentioned before in previous posts; Tom, a loud Italian from the Northern Italian Alps region who earns his keep working in the family farm during the summer months so that he can travel the globe the rest of the year; and me, the Lost Backpacker and designated driver. Some other important characters: Ahmad (not his real name) – because I cannot remember his real name – a service taxi driver; and Bayan, the car rental guy.

Preface

Hitchhiking from Wadi Rum to Wadi Musa (Petra), Laurence and I were picked-up along the highway by a service taxi driver, Ahmad – a seemingly friend and chatty middle-aged man with a growing pot-belly. After a short negotiation, we agreed to pay him 10 Jordanian Dinars (JD) – equivalent to US$14 – for the 1.5 hour ride, about what it would have cost us to take the bus, but with the convenience and speed of a private car.

As with most conversations with taxi drivers throughout the middle east, our conversation soon turned to how long we were going to stay in Jordan, and how were we going to get to the places we want to go to. This always then leads to an offer to take us to all the places we mention for a fee. In his defense, Jordan is a relatively hard place to travel around cheaply. Long distance public transportation is nonexistent or unreliable at best, and most budget travelers end up hitchhiking their way up or down the King's Highway, where most of the major sights lie, or join a 1-day organized tour rushing through all the sights. Laurence and I had ruled out any possibility of joining a tour, and had been weighing the option of renting a car, allowing us to visit all the major sites over a leisurely 2 or 3 days. When we brought this up to Ahmad, he immediately tells us that his “friend” runs a rental car company, and he could get us a car. When quizzed about how much that would cost, he calls his “friend” – Bayan, and hands the phone over to Laurence.

After a quick conversation, we get the basics. Pick up in Wadi Musa, return in Madaba (about 1 hour outside of Amman – so we don't have to drive in the chaos of a big city) for 40JD a day, including all insurance coverage. “Hmm...not bad”, I thought, especially if we can recruit a few more people to split the costs. We tell Bayan that we will think about it, and let him know in a few days.

Over the next couple of days, we decide that two days was sufficient, and we had recruited Philip, Jay and Tom to join us on this road trip, splitting the cost five ways. Calling Bayan to arrange for the car, we are informed that the price now is 95JD for the two days, 15JD more than what we initially agreed on! Used to having to deal with this infuriating practice of bait and switch pricing, and frankly too tired to put up a fight over what really amounted to 3JD more per person over two days, Laurence and I agree to the new price and collected the keys to a light metallic green Hyundai Accent.

And We're Off

Packing five guys, five backpacks, lunch, water, and all of our gear into a Hyundai Accent was no easy task, but miraculously, we manage to fit everyone and everything in without anyone having to sit on someone else' lap!

Leaving Wadi Musa early on Friday morning, I quickly learn the rules of the road in Jordan. First, use of the honk is necessary and recommended! When honked at, it could mean a friendly 'hello', 'hey, I'm passing you', 'thanks for letting me pass you' or 'GET OUT OF MY WAY!' Second, two lane roads are wide enough for three cars, so driving three abreast is perfectly normal. And third, passing another car around blind corners on mountainous roads with no guardrails is a perfectly acceptable practice (remember, the roads are technically wide enough for three cars)! So when going around a blind corner on a two lane road, do not be alarmed when you suddenly see a bus passing a watermelon laden truck heading straight for you. There is no need to frantically swerve out of the way, for they will somehow manage to squeeze between the cliff and your car, going at 100km/hr, without causing a scratch or taking out your side mirror!

Escape from Shobak Castle

Crawling on our hands and feet, we inch our way down the steep incline of a subterranean secret passageway. Any remnants of stairs, or notches cut into the near vertical tunnel to provide any form of footing has long eroded away! Lit only by a headlamp and a hand-held flashlight, we slip and slide down the sandy pitch-black tunnel, kicking up clouds of dust, turning all of our clothes, skin and hair a pale yellow. One wrong move could lead to a domino effect, sending those in front of you sliding uncontrollably down into the pitch black hole! All of a sudden, I hear a frantic cry from behind, and the telltale sounds of someone losing their footing! Bracing for impact, I grab at whatever jagged rocks I can, hoping that I won't be taken down as well. First, a rain of sand and small rocks hit me, followed by back to back whizzing sounds as two rather large objects fly by my ear, bouncing off the tunnel walls, cartwheeling down into the black abyss below, and then silence! “Phew! That was close!” Tom exclaims, with hands and feet spread out, gripping at anything he can to stop sliding. “But I think I just lost my sandals!”

Shobak Castle, built by the Crusader King Baldwin I in AD 1115 sits on a grassy knoll about 40km north of Petra. As one of the lesser visited castle ruins on the main tourist trail, it was practically deserted when we arrived, and free to enter! Scrambling through dark dungeons and remnants of vaulted arches, we spent about 30 minutes following the directions in the Lonely Planet guidebook locating a crusader cross, etched into a doorway inside of a ruined church on an east facing wall! Finding this cross was like a scene right out of the DaVinci Code, with five of us scouting out every doorway and scouring every east facing wall with a flashlight. When we finally did find the cross, it was rather underwhelming, measuring only about six inches across, it was faded from hundreds of years of weathering.

The highlight of Shobak Castle has got to be exiting the castle grounds through the secret tunnel. Not for the faint-hearted or claustrophobic, we managed to make it to the end of the passageway in one piece, without any more mishaps or lost sandals, and finally surfacing out of a manhole via a ladder at the bottom of the hill.

Spare Brakes?

“Shit! I think we have a flat!” was my reaction as soon as I heard the telltale woosh woosh woosh sound coming from the front right tire. Immediately pulling off to the side of the road, we jump out and inspect all four tires, strangely finding them still fully inflated and intact! Back in the car, we move on, and the sound mysteriously disappears. We were on the way to the city of Karak, to visit the Karak Castle, we had just departed the Dana Nature Reserve, where we stopped briefly for a picnic lunch overlooking a deep rift valley that was formed when the tectonic plates pulled apart.

Just outside of the medieval walled city of Karak, the strange sound reappears. This time however, I notice that the sound gets louder whenever I hit the brakes, positively indicating that we are having brake problems! Since this could potentially lead to a very dangerous situation, given the narrow hilly streets of Karak, we all agree to immediately find a workshop to get the problem fixed.

Finding a workshop, that happened to be open on a Friday (the traditional Muslim day of rest) was surprisingly easy. Explaining the problem to a mechanic that didn't speak a word of English was a whole different matter! “Faramil (the Arabic word for brakes)...Faramil broken...errr...Faramil Kaput!” Tom yells while animatedly pointing at the wheels, drawing a blank look from the mechanic and laughter from the rest of us. “What language is 'Kaput' anyway? Is it an internationally recognized word for broken?” I ask. Only after a lot more pointing, and a quick drive up and down the street to let the mechanic hear the sound, were we reasonably satisfied that he knew what the problem was.

Calling Bayan to report the problem, and to make sure that he would be covering the cost of fixing the brakes, he tells us to look for the spare brake in the trunk. “Spare brakes? I know you have a spare tire in the boot, but are you sure there are spare brakes in there too?” Laurence asks.

Pulling all of our bags out of the trunk and piling them on the sidewalk, we lift the cover, and lo and behold, there together with the spare tire and accessories is a box of spare brake pads! I guess this happens enough that people in Jordan carry spare brake pads. Fortunately, the mechanic was able to quickly rectify the problem, and with the car back in business, we continued on our little adventure.

Karak Castle

One of the more complete and well preserved of the Crusader Castles, Karak Castle, unlike Shobak, is on the main tourist trail, and busloads of tourist visit it daily. Fortunately, due to our unscheduled pit stop, we did not arrive till about an hour before close and most of the groups of tourists were leaving as we were entering.

Wandering through what used to be stables and barracks for the soldiers that lived there, we ended up at the far southern end of the castle grounds. Climbing up a set of hidden stairs, and then scrambling up a crumbled wall, we found ourselves perched high atop the fortified southern wall of the castle. With nothing between us and drop-off of over 300 feet, we had commanding views of Wadi Karak, all the way to the Dead Sea, overlooking an area thought to be where the sinful towns of Sodom and Gomorrah, as described in the book of Genesis, once stood.

Descending next into the bowels of the castle, where a prison was once located, we find rows of tiny cells, lit only by a small slit on the back wall, or through a single hole in the ceiling, sending a dramatic beam of light into the room.

Staying well past closing time, we decided to climb up to the northern castle walls on our way out, overlooking the modern town of Karak, the dry moat, and the Ottoman's Gate - the main entryway into the castle. Looking down towards the gate, I see the attendant locking up, and walking across the bridge that was spanning the moat, heading into town.

“Umm guys, I think we've just been locked in the castle!”

...to be continued.

Petra

2010-05-09T15:18:00.000-07:00

For over a thousand years, the Nabataean Kingdom welcomed travelers, traders and visitors to the magnificent rose-red city of Petra, with the offer of safe passage, supplies of food and water and a place to rest for the night. Hidden amongst steep canyons in present day Jordan, the entire city sat at the cross-roads of ancient commercial trade routes, controlling all trade north towards Damascus and Europe, west towards Egypt and Africa, and south into the formidable Arabian desert towards India and the rest of Asia!

Spending three nights and two full days in Petra, I was able to take my time, and visit all of the major sights at my leisure. Some of the highlights include, arriving through the Siq (canyon), bathed in colorful streaks of pink and orange, and catching a sliver of a glimpse of the magnificently preserved “Treasury” though a narrow gap in the canyon walls; hiking up to the top of the canyon opposite from the Treasury to get a whole new perspective of the iconic structure; scrambling up an unmarked trail through an overgrown ravine to discover a deserted overhang on the cliffs above the Royal Tombs for a picnic lunch and a nap in the middle of the day; and hiking up to the High Place of Sacrifice, and down the back side of the mountain.

The Nabataeans were a desert tribe indigenous to the area. As master sculptors, they carved tombs with wonderful facades into the canyon walls, employing elements from Greek, Roman and Egyptian architectural styles. Because they lived primarily in tents, the actual city where they lived is no longer in existence, leaving only the remnants of the tombs and temples which they built around.

Walking through the ancient ruins of what remains today, Petra has surprisingly changed little from the time of the height of its influence. The rhythmic trotting of horse drawn chariots as they move through the narrow confines of the cobbled stone Siq still echo through the canyon walls. It continues to host visitors from all over the world with hawkers and coffee shops still lining the streets selling, food, drink and wares (mostly touristy souvenirs) to the visitors. Back at my hotel, I am sitting around a table having dinner with a group of backpackers representing France, Canada, America, Austria, Italy, Holland and Britain. All night long, we share jokes about travel mishaps, exchange travel tips, befriend each other on Facebook and extend an open invitation for each other to visit our home countries in the future. In so many ways, the city of Petra today has remained true to the original. A cosmopolitan city attracting people from all over the world; a center for the trading of ideas and opinions across cultures. If anything did change, it has only evolved and adapted itself to fit the needs of the 21st century traveler!

Summiting Mount Sinai

2010-05-05T12:49:00.000-07:00

It has been a continuous uphill climb for over an hour. The air is brisk and cool to my face, but my body is starting to break out in a light sweat. Suddenly, I hear a shout from behind, a Bedouin guide is leading a camel up the same path and about to run me over. Moving quickly to the right to let the guide and camel pass, I lose my footing and trip on a rock. In a move more befitting of a ninja, I somehow manage to stumble, while bracing with two fingers on a strategically placed rock, and swinging my day-pack in the opposite direction to keep my balance, preventing a certain face-plant onto a pile of fresh camel excrement! Pleased with myself for pulling off that near miss, I straighten my back, adjust my pack, and was about to continue up the hike when all of a sudden, blrrruuuup...a blast of hot, moist, pungent air hits my face. The camel, now in front of me just farted in my face!!!

Fortunately, none of my group seems to have noticed this embarrassing moment in the dark. Hiking together with me are Laurence from Britain (who I first met in Aswan, Egypt), Connie and Terry from California and Diana from Korea. It is three in the morning, and we were traversing up the biblical Mount Sinai with hundreds of tourists and pilgrims, young and old, some carrying infants in their arms to catch the sunrise from atop the mountain where God appeared to Moses and handed him the Ten Commandments.

Reaching the summit after a two and a half hour hike, high on adrenalin and no sleep, we reach a small barren wind-swept knoll that is packed to the gills with people! Dressed in nothing more than a light jacket over a sweatshirt damp from sweat, the howling winds atop the summit chills me to the very core, stripping all feeling from my fingers within minutes! Where is the fire and lightning of Moses' Mt. Sinai as described in the bible when you need it? With sunrise and its resulting warmth over an hour away, the five of us succumb, and pay one of the enterprising Bedouin hawkers E£20 to rent a thick wool blanket to share. Huddled and crouched together against a wall to protect from the wind, we pull the blanket over our heads, forming what must seem like a shivering bundle of human bodies when viewed from the outside.

After what seemed like eternity, the moment we've all been waiting for came. Slowly, the sky around the horizon starts to lighten, turning the moonlit night sky paler by the minute. With the range in front of us shrouded in an early morning mist, the first rays of the rising sun begin to peek over the highest peaks, casting a warm orange glow all around, and onto the jagged barren cliffs behind us. A flurry of clicks and flashes erupt, as hundreds cameras go off, recording this moment in time. “Ah!” I thought to myself, “there goes the fire and lightning!”

With fingers still numb from the cold and shivering uncontrollably, I snap a few pictures and begin heading down the mountain with the rest of the crew. In the light, the never ending train of people slowing hobbling down the steep incline, some carrying bags of belongings and crying babies, and the devout whispering prayers and singing hymns, looks like a scene straight out of the bible, as Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt! Taking an alternate and faster route down the mountain, a few of us descended down the 3750 “Steps of Repentance”, a rocky stairway build into a steep gorge by a monk as an act of repentance, leading directly into the St. Katherine's Monastery below.

Founded in 330AD, St. Katherine's Monastery was built around what was believed to be the burning bush where God appeared to Moses and where the remains of St. Katherine, a martyr from Alexandria who was tortured and beheaded for her beliefs, is interred. A small fragment of St. Katherine's bone is on display to the public. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, the monastery's library is revered by religious scholars all over the world for its collection of priceless manuscripts and scrolls, and is the world's oldest continuous functioning monastery.

Walking through the hallowed grounds of the monastery, it is quite hard to fathom that three of the world's major religions, Christianity, Islam and Judaism, all have their roots in this vicinity. Following the crowds of pilgrims through the Church of the Transfiguration and arriving at a jam at what is believed to be a descendent of the Burning Bush, I was surprised to see a rather large tree, nothing resembling the bush or shrub that I had in my mind! Crowded around the Burning Bush, a group of religious pilgrims stood in silent prayer. Breaking the silence, an Englishman with a strong accent exclaims, “That looks like a blackberry bush! Back in England, there are so many of them we dig them up and burn them in our gardens. Oh what the irony!”

The Burning Bush

Into the Blue

2010-04-29T07:31:00.000-07:00

Blue Hole, Dahab, Egypt

Entering through a narrow crevasse in the reef, one by one, we descend through a space just wide enough for one diver. Hemmed in, and viewed through the dive mask, you get the feeling you are riding down a magical glass elevator, with jagged rocky outcrops coming out at you from all directions. Looking closer, you realize that each rocky ledge is filled with all kinds of life. Juvenile fish darting out of the way, a trigger fish picking at algae and coral off an edge, and a lone lionfish lying still in wait for its next meal! Reaching a depth of about 28 meters, we come to a natural arch in the rock. Swimming under the arch which acts like a doorway, we enter into the big blue abyss. In front of you, an unimaginable expanse of deep sapphire blue, and in a distance, faint shadows of schools of large fish. Turning around, you are faced with a sheer vertical underwater cliff – the geographical boundary of the African continent! Rising all the way up to the water's edge, and plunging to a depth of over 800 meters, while spanning to the left and right as far as the eye can see, a wall of living breathing coral and an explosion of colorful fish greets you! This is the Red Sea, and I am at the outer cliff face of the Blue Hole dive site in Dahab, Egypt.

The Red Sea is famous for supporting a huge amount of marine life, and Dahab, Egypt, a backpacker's haven along the eastern shore of the Sinai peninsular, is particularly known for its excellent diving. With no rivers running into it, and closed in with deserts all along its perimeter, the Red Sea boasts a very high salinity content, second only to the Dead Sea!

Together with Dec and Tuni, both in the British Military on break after a tour in Afghanistan, we follow our dive guide Paddy, a certified Dive Instructor with the Red Sea Relax Dive Center as we swim south along the cliff face. This was our fifth dive together, and in my opinion, the most spectacular one so far! Every square inch of the cliff face is covered in an burst of colorful life. From Blue and pink tipped staghorn coral stretching out, yellow and white soft coral waving with the current, bright orange sea anemones with a family of resident clown fish nesting in its tentacles, to huge yellow lettuce coral spanning some five meters across. Competing for our attention with the wall of coral are schools of brightly colored fish in every imaginable color! A Green Trigger Fish biting off chunks of coral, bright blue and green Parrot Fish grazing on a rock, yellow and electric blue Royal Angelfish moving slowly through branches of coral, and countless Butterfly Fish, Lionfish and lone Moray Eels poking out of their little holes. Moving effortlessly with the current, schools of bright orange fish with blue eyes swim right up to our dive masks and dart away, seemingly as curious of us as we are of them!

Swimming over a little ridge along the reef known as 'The Saddle', we enter into the infamous Blue Hole, a spot known to have claimed over 70 diving deaths. A roughly oblong hole hugging the shoreline, the Blue Hole is a natural sinkhole on the sea floor about 100 meters across at its widest point and drops to a depth of 120 meters. Almost all diving accidents in the Blue Hole occur because the divers go deeper than the recreational diving limit. We remained at a shallow 15 meters as we swam along the northern rim of the hole. Coincidentally, the Aida BBH Freedive Competition was going on in the Blue Hole at that time, and we witnessed freedivers swimming down along a guideline, disappearing into the big black chasm below with only the air in their lungs and without any tanks!

All too soon, it was time to surface, and I had to leave this magical watery world behind! For any traveler to Dahab, I would highly recommend the Red Sea Relax Dive Center, and in particular, our guide and instructor, Paddy, for his enthusiasm, sense of humor, knowledge of the local topography and marine life, and focus on safety! Taking one last look out into the blue expanse before getting out of the water, I quietly vow to myself that I shall return...and hopefully, it would be sooner rather than later when I do.

The Curse of Baksheesh and Overcharging

2010-04-28T23:19:00.000-07:00

Author's note: I have met plenty of friendly and honest Egyptians throughout this trip, some of whom have even been mentioned in this blog in previous posts. However, Egypt's economy largely remains dependent on tourism, and in many of the more popular tourists sites, a few bad apples amongst the population still regard tourists as a walking money machine. Here are just some of my personal experiences and annoyances that I've had with them.

In addition, the Egyptian currency is the Egyptian Pound. Any references to 'Pound' in this post refers to the Egyptian Pound (as of this writing US$1 = E£5.54), and 100 piastres make 1 pound.

Any traveler to Egypt will quickly learn the word “Baksheesh”, the request for a tip, or a hand-out for services rendered. While I have no problems tipping generously when when good service is provided or when a staff member goes above and beyond their call of duty to assist, I get terribly annoyed when baksheesh is requested or expected, sometimes even forced upon you, when little to no service was provided.

Take the toilets at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo for example. Coming out of the bathroom stall, I find the attendant standing up against the door of the stall, blocking me from exiting with a hand outstretched asking for baksheesh! Feeling intimidated, I hand him one pound, and went about my business. Right outside the bathrooms, I see a sign in English I hadn't noticed before: “Please do not tip the bathroom attendant. - Cairo Museum Management”. Feeling a little stupid, I treat this incident as a lesson learned.

Another time where baksheesh is frequently requested is at a historic monument, where guards will let you into 'closed areas' for a little baksheesh. However, it is hard to tell if the area was actually closed to the public, or if the guard simply put a stick across the entryway to make it seem inaccessible, only to earn a few extra pounds by letting willing tourists into these so-called “forbidden areas”. I have to admit that I've succumbed to the pressure and paid more than a few guards a few pounds, only to get access to that perfect picture, or a closeup view of the wall paintings on a few occasions. Almost every time though, I feel bad afterward for encouraging this bad practice and behavior. I guess we, the tourists, are part of the problem as well!

The one time I refused to pay any baksheesh was inside of the tombs in the Valley of the Queens. Because I visited the site on a bicycle, and timed my arrival in between waves of tour groups, I found myself alone in many of the tombs with the guard standing inches from me, breathing down my back. All of them were eager to explain every symbol, and image on the walls to me for a little baksheesh. As soon as I realized what was going on, I flat out told them that I have my trusty Lonely Planet guide with me, and that it does a great job of explaining most of the highlights of each tomb. “You can stand there and explain all you want, but I am not giving you any baksheesh!” I said. Most leave me alone after that!

What is probably worse than the constant asking for baksheesh is the blatant over-charging of tourists and the lack of fixed prices for anything. In the morning, a bottle of water could be 2 pounds, and in the evening, the same bottle in the same store will cost 5 pounds! The best felafel sandwich I've tasted in Egypt is from a little street-side stand in the souk (bazaar) in Aswan. However, for three days in a row, I paid a different price for the felafel each time! On the first day, I asked for one felafel and was charged 2 pounds for a sandwich made with half a pita. The next day, I ordered two felafels and was charged 5 pounds for two halves of a pita sandwich. On the third day, I was back again, and ordered one felafel and without waiting to be told how much it was going to be, I just handed the guy 2 pounds. This time, in return, I received two halves of a pita sandwich! Perplexed at the seemingly inconsistent prices, I later asked a local working at the hostel front desk how much a felafel should cost. And his answer: One felafel consists of one pita (two halves of a pita sandwich) and it should cost 1 pound! Oh well!

My biggest pet peeve right now is the practice of short changing. And this has happened to me on several occasions, from street side stores, to seemingly nice and reputable restaurants, and even at a museum ticket booth! Handing over a 200 pound bill at the Temple of Kom Ombo for a ticket that should only cost 60 pounds, I was casually handed a ticket and change in the amount of 40 pounds. I was ready to just pocket the change and walk off, when at the corner of my eyes, I notice the ticket agent hiding something under the ticket booklet. Something felt wrong and I took the extra effort to count my change at this time, realizing that I was 100 pounds short. I immediately questioned the agent about it, and only then, with a slight embarrassed smile for being caught, he pulls out the 100 pound bill from under the ticket booklet and hands it to me!

Since that incident, I always count my change before I leave any store, and I've found waiters to be the most prevalent at the practice of short changing. Even when service and taxes have clearly been added to the bill, I have caught waiters short changing me anywhere from 5 pounds to 30 pounds. While on the way to catch a bus out of Luxor, I stopped to purchase a to-go or take-away meal for the bus ride. Two days ago, at the same eatery, I bought this same meal for 10 pounds, but this afternoon, the bill came up to 12 pounds! Too tired to argue over what really amounted to a few cents back home, I let it slide and handed over a 20 pound bill. At first, the cashier handed me back five 1 pound notes. I looked at him, shook my head and demanded three more pounds. He opens the drawer, picks out two more pounds in 50 piastres denomination and handed the coins to me. Still short of 1 pound, I shook my head again, stood my ground, and demanded one more pound! Ordinarily, I wouldn't have cared, and would have let the 1 pound go, but after constantly being over-charged and short changed for the last month, I have had enough! Furthermore, I know I've been over-charged for this meal already, did he really think he could short change me as well? Only when I refused to move did he finally relent and pulled a 1 pound coin out and handed it to me! Unbelievable!

Tour de Luxor

2010-04-24T05:13:00.000-07:00

West bank of Luxor, overlooking the Valley of the Kings

Thebes, once the greatest and richest city in the ancient world, capital of the New Kingdom, and religious cult center of the God Amun. It boasted some of the largest and grandest temples ever built. From the sprawling Temples of Karnak, with its 134 massive towering pillars in the great hypostyle hall, a 3km long avenue of Sphinxes linking it to the Luxor Temple on the east bank, to the treasured royal tombs of Pharaohs in the Valley of the Kings and Queens on the west bank, present day Luxor has been hailed as the largest open air museum in the world!

If you are like me, and adverse to large tour groups and crowds, the best way to visit all of the sites around Luxor (in a very budget friendly way) is by bicycle! A bike will only set you back by E£10 (about US$2) per day, and you can take the public ferry across the Nile to reach both banks for E£1 each way. (DO NOT pay for a round-trip as round-trip tickets on the ferry do not exist, and it is a trick by the operator to cheat tourists of a few pounds!!!)

Taking in all there is to see in Luxor is best spread out over a few days. On day 1, I decided to stay on the east bank, visiting the Temples of Karnak, Luxor Temple, Luxor Museum and Mummification Museum. Day 2 was spent on the west bank visiting the Valley of the Kings, Temple of Hetshepsut, Ramesseum and the Colossi of Memmon. And on day 3, I went back to the west bank again to finish off visiting the Valley of the Queens and the Temple of Habu (Medinat Habu). All of the monuments open their doors at 6am, so I was up at the crack of dawn, rented a bike and peddling uphill towards the valley at first light! Not only was it much cooler to be riding at that time of the day (current mid-day temperatures in Luxor reach a high of 40ºC or about 100ºF), but I was able to time my visits to each of the monuments, arriving between the waves of tour buses, and was rewarded with a full 30 minutes in the tomb of Amunherkhepshef by myself, slowly admiring every detailed paintings on the richly decorated walls.

Pictures are not allowed in any of the tombs, but here are some pictures and a brief description of some of the sights around Luxor where pictures were permitted.

The Temples of Karnak site stretches for over 2 square kilometers. This is one of the side chapels within the Temples of Karnak complex.

Avenue of Ram headed Sphinxes in theTemples of Karnak.

Great Hypostyle Hall - Temples of Karnak. Covering 5500 sq meters, with 134 massive towering pillars, it is considered one of the greatest religious structures ever built. Notice the scale of the pillars relative to the people at the bottom of the picture.

Active archaeological sites can be found all over Luxor. Here, sphinxes are being dug out and reassembled to form a 3km long "Avenue of the Sphinxes" linking the Temples of Karnak with the Luxor Temple.

Part of the "Avenue of Sphinxes" laying haphazardly in ruins on people's front yard!

Backed by ruggard linestone cliffs, the Temple of Hatshepsut is dedicated to Hatshepsut, the first female Pharaoh in Egypt's history.

Temple of Hatshepsut

Ramesseum - Another one of Ramses II's great temples

Ramesseum

Colossi of Memnon - All that remains of the Memorial Temple of Amenhotep III, which if standing would be the largest temple complex ever built in Egypt!

Medinat Habu - Memorial Temple for Ramses III

Beautiful carvings and hieroglyphics set among ruggard cliffs at the Medinat Habu

19th century graffiti left by tourists and treasure hunters at the Medinat Habu

Cruising Down the Nile...Cleopatra Style

2010-04-22T09:16:00.000-07:00

Sitting on the side of the felucca, I let my feet drag along the clear, emerald green waters of the Nile. Looking down, seaweed and water grasses sway in the current, and little fishes dart between their foliage. After a quick swim in the waters to cool off, lunch is served. Today, it would be fresh Nile Perch, caught by Nubian fishermen barely hours ago, with a side of rice and a salad of fresh tomatoes, cucumbers and arugula. Cooked and served fresh on board, the meal is capped off with Karkady – a sweet delicious Hibiscus flower tea. With a full stomach, the gentle rocking of the felucca as it sails along makes my eyes heavy. Soon, it would be time for a nap. While I drift off to sleep with the sounds of lapping waves against the side of the felucca, I hear the attendant loading the cooler with beer and ice, ensuring that they will be perfectly chilled when I awake. Ah...even Cleopatra never had it this good!

Meeting up with Dairn and Yolanda (Yodi), the Canadians I met in Siwa, and joined by Christa, Yodi's sister, we arranged for a private cruise down the Nile from Aswan to Edfu on a felucca, a traditional wooden sail boat popular in the eastern Mediterranean region. For three days and three nights, we sailed and floated, stopping to swim in the cool, clean waters, visiting remote Nubian villages and islands and marveling at the temples of Kom Ombo and Edfu. The captain of the boat, Morad, a laid-back easy-going Nubian, owns his own felucca and would only take independent travelers on his boat, refusing to work with tour groups and Egyptian guides. Always smiling, he would constantly ask us if everything was good and break out singing the Bob Marley classic, “Everything's Gonna Be All Right" while smoking his sheesha.

All along the banks of the Nile, a lush green belt of palm, fruit trees and papyrus grasses hug the water's edge, slowly giving way to brown, barren, desert hills. Occasionally, ancient ruins would lay crumbled and abandoned along the banks, marking the spot where they have stood for thousands of years! It is not inconceivable to image Mark Anthony wooing Cleopatra with this very same view while on a romantic cruise down the Nile.

With an ungraceful belly-flop splash, we all make a running dive into the Nile from a pristine sandy beach off the Western bank. For an instant, the air is sucked out of your lungs and your skin tightens with pins and needles all over. The water is surprisingly cold, perhaps made worse when contrasted with the warm, dry breeze blowing from the North. Our daily swim in the Nile offered us a chance to wash off, and gain relief from the mid afternoon heat. Captain Morad was always ready to comply with our requests for a swim, and would anchor the felucca at some of the best swimming spots along the way. Aside from the occasional plastic bottle and trash floating by, I was pleasantly surprised at how clean and clear the water of the Nile is, with visibility of about 2 meters, it is teeming with fish and other wildlife.

Being a Nubian, Captain Morad would stop at various Nubian villages along the Nile to visit his friends. Greeting us with a welcome party of village kids chanting “Hello!...Hello!”, the friendly villages would invite us on shore for a picnic lunch of stewed fish and bread, and show us small facets of traditional Nubian life, including their baby pet crocodiles! These little farming communities grow a variety of fruit crops, from mangoes to bananas, and various vegetables – still relying on traditional farming techniques such as cow-powered water pumps and donkey-powered plows.

One of the biggest highlights of the trip was visiting the camel market in the town of Daraw. Every weekend, camels are brought in from Sudan to be sold and traded to buyers all over Egypt! Hundreds, possibly thousands of camels lie waiting in herds while their owners huddle with potential buyers, negotiating and bargaining for the best possible prices. Those animals that get sold are led off in long caravans on foot, or loaded onto trucks to be driven to their new homes (or to the slaughterhouse).

Going on a felucca cruise is without a doubt the best way to see the Nile and the communities that live along its banks. We were indeed fortunate to have found Captain Morad as other travelers we met after our cruise told us of unscrupulous feluccia captains who would quote ridiculously low prices to lure the unsuspecting budget traveler, only to nickel and dime their way through the entire cruise by providing only the most basic of necessities, and charging extra for everything else! Captain Morad however, was upfront with the costs. There was never any hidden charges and he provided us with some of the best home-cooked food at all-you-can-eat quantities. Spending three days on a felucca is definitely not for the faint-hearted. There are no facilities on-board, and do not expect to be able to take a hot shower. Using the bathroom means doing what ancient Egyptians have been doing for all eternity, and yes, mosquitoes do come out at night! But for those brave enough, they will be rewarded with relaxing days sailing on the peaceful Nile, breathtaking views with scenery unlike any other, and a glimpse into a disappearing culture and lifestyle of the ancient Nile settlers that have changed little since the Arabs invaded Egypt, ushering in an era of Islam, over a millennium ago.

Great Temple of Ramses II

2010-04-15T23:59:00.000-07:00

Carved out of solid rock, the Great Temple of Ramses II with four giant seated statues of the Pharaoh himself guarding the entrance is without a doubt one of the greatest monuments in southern Egypt. The real treasures however, lie in the interior of the temple. More huge statues carved into the pillars, reliefs and hieroglyphics depicting the Pharaoh at war and of his family and the gods carved onto every square inch of the interior walls! It was indeed unfortunate that pictures were not allowed inside the temple.

The only downside to visiting the Great Temple of Ramses II and the Temple of Hathor next to it, is that because of terrorism in the past directed at tourists in southern Egypt, security is tight, and the only cost effective way to travel to Abu Simbel (where these temples are located) from Aswan is to follow a tour and ride in a police escorted convoy to see these sights. Getting up at 3am, a tour bus picks you up and gather at a staging area with about 50 other buses, coaches and vans. The convoy is then broken up into smaller groups of 5-10 vehicles, and escorted 300 kilometers south to Abu Simbel. While they do a good job at staggering the arrivals so that the wait at the entrance wasn't too bad, you still have about 50 buses worth of tourists arriving at the site and trying to see the same thing all at once! Because the convoy has to leave together, escorted back the same way we came, you are only allowed a little less than two hours to visit the site. While the time was sufficient to see everything, I felt rushed, and the constant stream of people entering the temples made the interiors unbearably stuffy, reeking of sweat and body odor.

All in all, the temples were spectacular, and I am glad I made it all the way this far south to see it. However, I wish I could have stayed longer, and experienced it at my own pace and at my own time.

Temple of Hathor

Life on an Oasis

2010-04-14T03:33:00.000-07:00

After eight perilous days trekking through the desert, all food and water had just about run out. Parched and blistered by the scorching sun, the small expedition of several men pull out a tattered papyrus map, and confirm their position with the help of the constellations. Far out on the horizon, a faint glimmer appears. Was it just a mirage? A trick of the mind? Slowly, as the sun rises over the eastern sands, the silhouette of palm trees begin to show. They did it! They made it across the desert, and found the Oasis of Siwa. It was 331 BC and with them, the young conqueror of Egypt, Alexander the Great had set out to Siwa to consult with the Oracle of Amun, who would later declare him the son of Zeus - solidifying him as the rightful ruler of Egypt.

2341 years later, in the year 2010, on Sunday April 4th to be exact, I am deposited at a dusty little mud-brick bus stop just off the town square. Groggy and tired from an all night bus ride from Alexandria, I orientate myself and confirm my position with an iPod touch loaded with a map of Siwa, and the latest PDF version of the Lonely Planet guide. Trekking the last few hundred meters into the center of town, I find a room at the recommended Palm Trees Hotel. I did it! I made it across the desert, and found the Oasis of Siwa.

Located far out on the western Egyptian desert by the Libyan border, Siwa had been isolated for thousands of years, developing their own unique Siwi language and culture that still exists today. The first paved road into the town was only completed in the 1980s. Many of the families that live here continue to practice sustenance farming, growing their own fruit and vegetables on family owned plots of land. It is not uncommon to be invited into homes for a cup of tea, laced with a sprig of fresh mint from the gardens. A predominantly Muslim town, this outward pouring of hospitality is brought about by the teachings of the Qur'an, where guests are to be treated as a messenger from God himself.

Siwa is the kind of town that runs on its own pace and on its own time. Most shops stay shuttered till well past 10am, and during the Friday afternoon prayers, don't expect any businesses to be open! The main industry here are date and olive plantations, and now increasingly, tourism. While much of the local population still travel by donkey cart, they are now forced to share the road with a growing amount of jeeps and buses catered for the tourists.

Drawing tourists to Siwa are its pristine fresh water springs that bubble out of the desert sands. Over 300 springs feed the many pools to bathe in, irrigate the land, and fill the massive (salty) lake Siwa just outside of the town center. My days in Siwa were spent eating some of the freshest and sweetest fruits and dates, swimming in Cleopatra's Spring and Fatnas Spring, both easily accessible by a short bike ride from my hotel, and visiting the many ruins and tombs around town, including the famed Temple of the Oracle. The Oracle of Amun, here in Siwa, was once regarded as the most powerful Oracle in all the ancient lands, prophesying the rise and fall of many great world events and Pharaoh dynasties over the centuries. Alexander the Great was believed to have made several trips here to Siwa during his reign to consult with the Oracle.

Temple of the Oracle

After about four days of doing basically nothing, I was about ready to leave town and see the rest of Egypt. On my first attempt at buying a bus ticket out, I was turned away and told to come back later in the afternoon. I never made it back to the bus station that day, so I stayed another night. The next day, I was on my way to try the bus station again when Omar, a friendly Egyptian from Cairo stopped me on the street and asked if I wanted to go on a desert safari, splitting the cost with him and his girlfriend, Frea from Holland, and two Canadians, Yolanda and Dairn, whom he met earlier in the day. With nothing to lose, I agree to this serendipitous invitation, and stay a few more days. Siwa is turning out to be Hotel California: We are all just prisoners here, of our own devise!

Sitting on the edge of a huge sand dune, our daredevil driver Tash Tash turns around, gives an evil laugh, and guns the engine, dropping the Toyota SUV over the edge. Like riding in a roller coaster, blood rushes to your head, and your stomach sinks. Cheers and laughter abound (with some squeals of fear), we race down a near vertical drop at top speed! The dunes here are part of the Great Sand Sea, a vast expanse of sand dunes that stretches 800 kilometers south-west into Libya. Aside from this thrill ride, the desert safari brought us to various hot and cold springs, and a prehistoric seabed littered with shells and fossils embedded in a bedrock of limestone and salt. These minerals in the sand turn many of the lakes in the area salty, and at Lake Shiatta, where we stopped for lunch and a swim, it is so salty you could float on your belly with your hands and feet in the air!

Unfortunately, Siwa is not going to stay this way for long. The increase in tourism has brought about irreversible change, from pollution to cultural dilution. The native Siwi language never had use for the world “stealing”, until it was added recently, and the traditional way of building using blocks of limestone and salt sealed with mud, keeping the interiors cool in the desert heat, is giving way to modern techniques using brick and cement, which are unsuitable for that climate. However, the last straw for Siwa, and its many historic monuments might in fact be climate change. Increased rainfall in the last 20 years has eroded and dissolved more of the mud-brick fort and Temple of the Oracle complex than any war or natural disaster ever did over the last 3 millenniums!

Wrong Way to Nowhere!

2010-04-09T23:55:00.000-07:00

Since leaving India, I have been sick. Sickened first by diarrhea at Rishikesh, and then by an onset of a cold soon after. Even as I was leaving Delhi, on the way to Cairo, I was nursing a splitting headache, a sore back, and intestines that churned and gargled every couple of hours, feeling like they could explode any minute! And arriving in Cairo, with its smog filled air, noisy streets and sweltering heat, provided no reprieve at all. That was when I realized that I needed to rest. The last month was spent moving at light speed across India, and now, I needed a time to recharge, to eat right, and to get some much needed sleep!

Setting my sights on the Siwa Oasis on the far western fringes of Egypt by the Libyan border, I was drawn to tales of crystal clear springs, endless date palm, olive and fruit groves, and a town where donkey carts outnumber motorized vehicles. Being the most remote, and purportedly most tranquil and beautiful of all the Egyptian oasis, I knew that this was the place for me to recuperate.

After consulting the travelers bible (Lonely Planet), I decided on the most reliable route to Siwa, by first taking a train up to the port city of Alexandria, and then catching a scheduled overnight bus west to Siwa. The train from Cairo to Alexandria was fast, clean and relatively inexpensive. At just over 2 hours long, it was a quick ride. Stepping out of the train in Alexandria, I was hit with a blast of cool refreshing air! The Mediterranean was right at its doorstep, and I was beginning to feel better already! But there was no time to enjoy it. I had to get to the bus station to see if there are any more seats left on the last bus that evening to Siwa.

Ignoring all the taxi divers along the platform asking me if I needed a ride, I heading straight to the street in front of the train station, looking for a shared minibus that would take me to the bus station. The ride should only cost E£1 (about 20 US cents), and I was determined to get around on a tight a budget as possible. Stopping by the first minibus along the pavement, I yelled to the driver, “Bus station?” He immediately nodded and signaled me to get in. But before I hopped on, I re-confirmed with the guy manning the door that I want to get to the bus station. He exchanged a few versus in Arabic with the driver, and waved at me to get on.

Twenty minutes into the ride, and I was beginning to worry. Alexandria is not a very big city, and the bus station couldn't be this far away. My worst fears were realized when the city slowly gave way to suburbs, and the suburbs to an endless expanse of desert. I wake the guy nodding off next to me, not knowing if he spoke any English at all, and blurted out, “Where is this bus going?” He looks at me like I am mad, and responds with the one word I did not want to hear: “Cairo!”

“WHAT!?!? Cairo? I don't want to go to Cairo! I want to go to the bus station!!!” I yell. The whole bus is now awake, and the passengers around me are having a heated conversation with the bus driver. A passenger behind me translates what the bus driver is saying, “He says he is taking you to the bus station in Cairo.”

“No, no, no! I don't want to go Cairo. I just came from Cairo. I want to go to the bus station in Alexandria. To catch a bus to Siwa!”

Only after a few more exchanges with the bus driver, translated by the guy sitting behind me, and agreeing to pay the full fare of E£22, did the driver agree to let me off. I was let off at a rest stop, a gas station along the freeway to Cairo with instructions to flag down any minibus going the opposite direction back towards Alexandria.

So here I am, stuck in the middle of nowhere, playing chicken once again as I dart across six lanes of freeway (with backpack and all), to get to the opposite side of the road, hoping that someone would take me back to Alexandria! Fifteen minutes of flagging at every moving vehicle coming at me turned out in vain. Most of the minibuses going by were full, and everyone else was wary of the strange foreign traveler on a freeway in the middle of nowhere. When the Persian King Cambyses sent an army of 50,000 men from Thebes in 525 BC to destroy the Oracle of Amun in Siwa, his entire army vanished into the desert, never to be seen or heard from again. Was I about to suffer the same fate as Cambyses' lost army?

Just as I was ready to cross back towards the gas station and either call for a taxi (if one came out this far), or get help some other way, a figure appears out of the haze of desert dust and freeway fumes - a good Samaritan, who spoke no English at all! With a dose of divine intervention and lots of made-up sign language, I somehow manage to explain my predicament to him. Grabbing my hand, he leads me about one kilometer up the road, to an exit junction on the freeway, where minibuses were stopping to pick people up! He went as far as to stop every minibus in sight, and spoke with every driver until he found a minibus willing to accommodate me and my backpack to the bus station in Alexandria!

Grateful and relieved that I made it to the bus station in one piece, I buy a seat on the last bus to Siwa, and slump down onto a wooden bench feeling exhausted. The bus station was no more than a plot of bare dirt, with a a few broken benches on one end under a makeshift shelter. Staring at the ticket in my hand, it is entirely in Arabic! Does it say destination Siwa? Or someplace else? Learning my lesson, I know I should double check...but that will have to wait. Right now, I'm going to just sit for awhile, and then find some food, and a bathroom. After all this, Siwa had better be worth the trip!

Pyramids of Giza

2010-04-09T02:32:00.000-07:00

Standing with the Pyramids of Giza in front of me, I close my eyes, and for a moment, I was transported back 4000 years, when these great monuments of Egypt's astonishing past were being built. Slowly, the din of the city is starting to fade away. The hordes of tourist in front of me become workers, and their tour buses become the huge rocks that would form the foundation of the great Pharaoh's lavish palace for his afterlife! The constant honking become the crackle of whips, and that annoying tout on camel back, asking me if I want to go on a camel ride, is a royal Pharaoh Guard on a chariot. Alright, I'll be the first to admit I have a vivid imagination, but this is my way of dealing with the touts, and the swarms of tour-bus tourists that descend on the Giza plateau everyday!

Fortunately, because I arrived early, on a personal car arranged by the hostel I was staying at, I was able to beat the crowds and stay about 20 minutes ahead of a pack of tourists that arrived on tour buses soon after me. Because of that, I was able to snap some amazing pictures of the Pyramids. For a few minutes at each vista, I felt like I was the only person there. When it got too hectic, I found solitude by hiking south-west towards the Pyramid of Menkaure. That far out, the crowds drastically thinned out, and it offered a unique photo opportunity with all three of the great Pyramids of Giza in a row. In the late morning, I set out to explore the Tomb of Khentkawes. Again, the tourists somehow never made it out here, and I had my “Indiana Jones” moment discovering hidden passages, intact sculptures, and carvings of a bygone era.

Cold Coffee and Health food

2010-04-02T21:27:00.000-07:00

Below are a couple of blog worthy posts from India that I wasn't able to get to while I was there.

Cold Coffee

In many places in India, finding a good beer or alcoholic drink can be a challenge. Two of the main religions in the country, Hindus and Muslims, regard intoxication as a evil tarnishing of the soul. But capitalism and the tourist dollar occasionally wins out, and many restaurants do secretly serve alcoholic drinks, just don't expect it to be on the menu. You have to ask for it, and sometimes, in some of the stricter states, restaurants will serve their beers incognito by putting it into a tea pot.

The best part about the whole experience is that when the check comes at the end, beers are often listed as “cold coffee” and hard liquors as “hot-cold coffee”! Bring me another cold coffee please!

Health Food

Here is something amusing I found listed in a menu in Agra. Health Food: Mash Potato with Butter! Someone needs to send a memo to Weight Watchers informing them to update their charts!

Am I Really Still In India?

2010-03-31T10:08:00.000-07:00

Arriving into New Delhi, I was expecting the worst. Articles and fellow travelers portray Delhi as a congested, crowded, dishonest tout-filled city choked in a smog of pollution. However, the Delhi I find is modern, clean, and bustling - an ancient capital city on the brink of an urban revival.

As the host of the 2010 Commonwealth Games in October, New Delhi, is in a frenzy of infrastructure improvements. Many of the British era colonial buildings around Connaught Place are getting refurbished with a new coat of paint. I have not seen this many people sweeping the streets anywhere else in India, and shockingly, there are trash cans located conveniently all over the city! For the first time in weeks, while riding in an auto rickshaw around the city, I don't have to hold my breath. Thanks to a program to convert all auto rickshaws to run on compressed natural gas instead of diesel, the pollution associated with the Delhi of the last decade has largely disappeared!

The area around Old Delhi is still plagued with congestion around its narrow streets. But the many bazaars in that area surpasses all other bazaars and markets I have seen anywhere else in India, both in size and scale of their offerings. From spice markets to cotton alley, jewelery to stationery, the entire district is a kaleidescope of wares from all over India, crammed into narrow alleys reminiscent of Varanasi.

The Metro system in Delhi is by far the city's crown jewel. Superbly clean, modern and efficient, it could easily hold its ground against the some of the world's best like London's Tube and Singapore's MRT, making New York's subway look terribly third world! Not to mention, it is possibly also one of the cheapest metro rides in the world, and the automated machines wouldn't charge you more, just because you are a foreigner!

Walking along the Rajpath, with the President's residence on one end, and the India Gate on the other, one could easily mistake it for the Washington DC mall. With impeccably manicured gardens, wide boulevards, reflecting pools, and huge colonial government building, this is the capital that the British rulers of India's tumultuous past built.

Just like the rest of the city, the people of New Delhi is a clash of extremes. Coolies in Old Delhi carrying huge loads of commodities on their heads, while bankers in suits and ties are trading futures along Parliament Street. While the young and the hip are sipping coffee at countless coffee shops, and dancing the night away at clubs more befitting of Las Vegas, their parents are sipping chai and chatting with friends on the sidewalk.

New Delhi is a melting pot of everything uniquely Indian. Old and new; colonial and contemporary; punctuated with peaceful gardens and rowdy bazaars. You can find 30 Rupee thalis, and 30 Dollar entrées within blocks of each other. Like many places all over India, New Delhi is ready to be reborn. A rebirth that will make it one of the great modern cities of the world!

City of Gold

2010-03-31T09:50:00.000-07:00

Imagine a land where all men are equal, regardless of race, religion, nationality or social status, the buildings are made of gold and marble, and anyone can stay and eat for free when you are there. Now add in a dose of typical Indian idiosyncrasies like pushing and shoving, massive crowds, and where foreigners are treated like celebrities, and you have pictured the Golden Temple in the city of Amritsar.

The Golden Temple is revered by turbaned Sikhs as Sikhism's holiest shrine. Set in the middle of a large pool, the copper and gold clad gurdwara glistens in the evening sun. Around the pool is a marble walkway intricately framed by a columned veranda and inlaid with a mosaic of patterns. Walking around the marble walkway, the friendly Sikhs will constantly come up to you initiating conversation.
“What is your name?”
“Where are you from?”
“Snap?” (The universal request to take a picture of or with you)
After about the 20th “snap” request, I am beginning to feel like the subject of an episode of TMZ.

However, to truly experience the Sikh hospitality and the all-inclusive nature of the Sikh religion, one has to stay in the free pilgrim dormitory and eat at the free kitchen when you are at the Golden Temple (donations welcome and recommended). All pilgrims are housed in large complexes adjacent to the temple. The dormitory is basic, but clean and comfortable. There is a separate section reserved for foreigners with about 30 beds available. Standing guard outside the “foreigner's dorm” is a ferocious yellow turbaned guard welding a spear! At night, when all of the beds have been filled, blankets are laid out in the central courtyard, and all over the temple complex, allowing every Indian pilgrim a place to rest for the night.

The massive dining hall with hundreds of volunteers cooking, cleaning and serving pilgrims can only be described as organized chaos! Feeding an estimated 40,000 pilgrims each day, it runs continuously from about 4am in the morning till well past midnight. The dining hall has two levels, each about the size of ten volleyball courts. As you enter the dining complex, you are handed a molded metal tray, a water bowl and a spoon. Following the surging crowds, you are then pushed towards a set of doors. As soon as the doors are thrown open, there is a stampede to get in! Pushing and shoving, a thousand pilgrims rush through several small doorways and run to claim a spot on floor mats laid out along the length of the hall. Within minutes, the entire hall is filled, and an army of servers come along scooping heaps of dal, curries and handing out chapatis to the hungry diners. You may eat as much as you want, and seconds are readily available, but in less than 10 minutes, guards come around urging diners to finish up and leave towards the far end of the hall. In an act of supreme efficiency, an automated floor cleaner appears and wipes the floor clean, sucking up any spilled curries, chapatis, or the stray slow-eater before the next surge of hungry diners may be accommodated.

The Sikh philosophy of equality, voluntarism and charity is truly remarkable. Everything at the Golden Temple from the dormitories to the kitchen operate through volunteers and donations. Even a Maharajah once sat and ate with the commoners in the community kitchen when he visited the golden temple. If this model can be replicated to soup kitchens and shelters around the world, hunger and homelessness may become a thing of the past.

Showers of Blessing

2010-03-29T22:02:00.000-07:00

The following story is really too funny not to share! At this point, I am not really sure if I have the best of luck, or possibly the worst! But one thing for sure, the many Gods in India are having a great time playing tricks on me!

Leaving Rishikesh, I was on my way to see the famed Sikh Golden Temple, and the journey would involve taking a local bus back to Haridwar and then catching a 10 hour train ride to Amritsar. Having cleansed my soul by bathing in the Ganges just days before, and having gotten two Ayurvedic massages in as many days, I was basking in both spiritual and physical bliss.

As I was walking out of the Bandari Swiss Cottage, down the hill to catch an auto rickshaw to the bus station, I suddenly felt a rush of warm liquid hitting my head. It flowed down the side of my face, soaking my t-shirt and began trickling off my arm. I jump to the side and look up, curious to see where it was coming from. Staring back at me, are two bright pink cheeks. There, sitting high on a branch, a monkey had just pissed on me!

With my friend Bron in stitches, I shrug and wipe what I could off my face. “Just another day in India!”, I say. It would be 14 more hours before I could wash it off.

The Big Dip – Kumbh Mela, Haridwar 2010

2010-03-28T10:51:00.000-07:00

Approximately every three years or so, when the planets are aligned in a specific way, the Kumbh Mela festival is celebrated, and Hindu devotees from all over India make a pilgrimage to one of four holy sites to bathe in the Ganga (Ganges) river. The sites are determined by how the planets are aligned, and this year, the location is at Haridwar, and the festival is celebrated from Jan 14 to Apr 28, with eleven specific dates chosen as the holiest and most fruitful days to bathe in the river.

The origin the Kumbh dates back to a time when a fierce and bitter battle between the Devtas (Gods) and Asuras (Demons) churned the primordial seas and a Kalasha (pot containing the nectar of immortality) was recovered. To prevent the Asuras from claiming the Kalasha, the Devtas hid this pot in twelve locations. Four of these locations are believed to be on earth, namely - Haridwar, Prayag, Ujjain and Nasik, while the rest are thought to be in heaven. During the struggle over the Kalasha, it is believed that some drops of nectar fell onto these four earthly locations, who each plays host to the Kumbh festival approximately once every twelve years.

So when in Rome...or should I say Haridwar, I worked up the courage (with a lot of encouragement from my friend Bron) to do what the locals do, and bathe in the river. Hindus believe that bathing in the Holy Ganga during the Kumbh cleanses the bather of all sin and evils, and grants them salvation. Figuring that I could probably use some good Karma and a break from my recent spate of bug-in-my-food episodes, I strip down to my underwear, and wade into the Ganga, drawing looks of amusement from a rowdy group of Indian guys who seem more interested in taking pictures with me, than of their own chance at attaining salvation.

Located in the Himalayan foothills, the waters of the Ganga at Haridwar is a lot cleaner, and refreshingly cool, in contrast to the suffocating humidity in the air. It is estimated that over 10 million devotees will bathe in the Ganga at Haridwar over the course of the festival.

Being that this was one of the eleven holiest days to bathe in the river (March 24), the banks were filled with the religious making their dip. At around 4pm, a special ceremony involving Nada Sadhus (Holy men, regarded as saints by Hindus who leave their families and abandon everything – including clothes - to devote their lives to God) was performed. Their Guru, dressed in nothing but a bright silver chastity belt made offerings of fruit, flowers and milk to the Mother Ganga. Stark naked, with long dreadlocks and covered in gray ash, the Sadhus wait patiently on the waters edge, observing the ceremony. All of a sudden, with a bang of drums and the clash of cymbals, all the Sadhus jump into the river together, frantically splashing around, kicking off their ceremonial afternoon bath to cheers from the crowd and a rain of marigold confetti.

After the bathing, the festivities continues as the crowd surges toward the main street. Lead by a troop of traditional Indian drummers, the naked Sadhus entertain the crowd in a parade down the main thoroughfare. To the beat of drums and loud music blaring from loud speakers fixed atop a car, they prance around, doing handstands and cartwheels, and mock displays of sword fights. The crowd is enjoying it, chanting, clapping, and dancing on the streets.

Moving through the sea of people, I am unusually calm. I am being pushed on all sides, but I just move with the flow, smiling, laughing and cheering with the crowd. Maybe I am getting used to the craziness that come with all Indian cities; maybe the refreshing dip in the Ganga lifted my mood; or maybe there is some truth to the powers of the Ganga after all – I feel lighter, happier, as if all the anger and impatience in me has been washed away.