Heading to the desert is a craving for me, as the sun begins to return but the days are still filled with snow I start to crave the feel of sandstone under my fingers and the smell of new sage. This want for land that is both scrubbed clean and busy with life has been with me always, but until I met the desert I did not know what it was.
A misplaced feeling for someone growing up along the eastern seaboard I always associated my unrest with the bare trees of February and March. I translated this as anger at their starkness, how could I know I was craving something that I had never known.
Then after my first long winter in the southwest mountains of Colorado, a friend invited me to go for a hike in a near-by canyon in March. We were less than an hour from the five feet of snow that stood around our houses but in Sand Canyon I had soon tied my jacket around my waist and was letting the sun warm my forearms.
On that day in that canyon I understood what I had been longing for. And then, as if I had always known it I constantly craved the desert. Every day off I would search out new spots where I could taste and touch the desert.
The desert of the Southwest is not a sandy one; this is not the Sahara or Gobi. Our desert is a dry place but not without life. It is filled with yucca and sage, mice and coyotes and much more. It is a busy place filled with life. But it is still a place of extremes. While it may be close to ninety in the mid-day sun it can drop to below freezing in the dark.
The animals, plants and people who make it their home have spent thousands of years learning to adapt and live together. Unlike the leveling of New England the Southwest could not be tamed, instead those who chose to live there had to learn to live with what the land gave them.
I will always be a guest in the desert, my need for it is seasonal. As the Vernal Equinox approaches I can feel it grow in my bones but once the ground thaws my focus shifts and the desert only seems a nice memory, a place I was as a tourist visiting but not seeing.
Then deep in the summer months when the desert is too hot for me I remember it again, if I did not visit that year, my longing returns in my dreams. But I dream of the desert of March not August and so I put the need aside letting it grow until the following winter when it will blossom in me earlier as if to give me time to plan better, to get my body out into the desert 'or else'.
If you want to taste the desert I suggest going to Utah, to Moab and the surrounding area. Arches National Park is a good starting point, it is a little sterile with paved roads and guard rails in some places but the views of the naturally formed arches are beautiful. Try to catch Delicate Arch at sunset or by a full moon and walk one of the primitive trails.
For a longer, less populated trip I would suggest the slot canyons of the Eastern edge of the San Rafael Swell. Here you can camp on BLM near the entrance to one of a few different canyons. You can spend the day, usually alone, in the canyons among the sandstone walls and looking out on the layers of color that make up the reefs above. These canyons vary in sort, some are winding sandy paths that reach all the way through the Swell while others have sections so narrow that you can touch both walls and drops that have you scrambling over cliffs five or six feet high. Each one has its own beauty unlike another’s.
Remember the desert is a harsh place, you will need to bring water in with you and since it is hot and dry you should be drinking a lot of it. At the same time, flooding is a threat in the canyons. Make sure you know what the weather is going to be before you enter the canyon, flash floods do occur and when they do there is no place for you to go. Don't be scared off but be cautious in canyon country.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Trekking the Lycian Way
Watch out! Here comes another one. We're walking down the boardwalk in Oludeniz, Turkey which also doubles as a paragliding landing zone. It's no wonder people leap from the surrounding mountains and glide down to a soft beach landing, into this bay that's one of the most photographed areas of the Mediterranean coastline.
Oludeniz
Oludeniz means "dead sea" in Turkish. The actual town is named Belcekiz, but if you walk a couple hundred meters down the beach, you reach a peninsula of sand which creates a sheltered lagoon. The still, deep blue water behind this spit of land is the "dead" calm sea.
Campgrounds on the lagoon provide quiet places to relax, with or without the family. Bring your tent or rent a fully equipped caravan or camper trailer. Back in the town of Belcekiz, you can choose from a range of hotels. A clean midrange bungalow in a garden setting with AC, TV, and private bathroom costs around $35 USD a night for two.
Visit Direct Holidays for cheap Turkey holidays and all your travel needs.
Besides the beautiful beach and bay, the reason we came here was to trek along the Lycian Way. It's a meandering trail that follows the contour of Mediterranean coast of southern Turkey. While the 300 km trail itself was opened 1999 it is comprised of paths that are thousands of years old. Take a month and hike the whole trail to Antalya, or pick smaller sections to explore over a few days.
Lycian Way mapOne of the many highlights along the way is Butterfly Valley. This section of the Likya Yolu (in Turkish) is over 300 meters above the water. Start at Faralya and hike the down steep trail about 45 minutes to reach Butterfly Valley on the coast. Vertical cliffs on both sides of the narrow beach define the valley. Hippy expatriates raise over 40 organic foods and try to escape the real world in this mostly self-sufficient Walden. Hold those ropes tightly when climbing back up to the main trail. This side trip is not for the faint of heart.
On the small plateau at Faralya you will be greeted by the sight of George House, a family run inn with bungalows for travelers to stay and communal meals to bring back that hiking energy. Hasan is the host and son of the owner. He is a kind man and his family create a comfortable environment to relax. This is a popular lodge so make reservations if you can.
Finding a place to stay isn't always about reservations. In many villages, families welcome trekkers into their private homes. They'll flag you down along the trail, lead you home, clean up their bedroom, and sleep in the kitchen for the night. Dinner and breakfast are included, which are often delicious, but pale in comparison to the experience. You leave knowing you helped a local family, most of whom are simple farmers living off the land. Roads and electricity have just arrived at some of these villages.
Along the trail are historic towns and ruins like Letoon and Xanthos. Xanthos is a mini version of Ephesus, with an amphitheater where gladiators fought in Roman times. See beautiful tile mosaics and Lycian tombs without jockeying with tourists for a position to take a picture. The Chimaera or eternal flames of Mount Olympos are another popular destination with tree houses overlooking the Mediterranean.
Mediterranean Sea coast
The most stunning part of the Lycian Way are not specific places or ruins but the way you start to get used to life here. It isn't uncommon to spend a few hours with a stranger walking along the trail as they commute home on foot; you are the one visiting after all. The list of stunning views is endless but it's the smaller moments that you remember. A meal shared with a family on the side of the road where conversation is a mix of pantomime and a few shared words. Walking through the olive groves seeing the ripe fruits hanging down on the branches will return to your mind with every olive eaten. Or maybe it's the herds of goats whose ancestors have walked these trails since ancient times.
Oludeniz
Oludeniz means "dead sea" in Turkish. The actual town is named Belcekiz, but if you walk a couple hundred meters down the beach, you reach a peninsula of sand which creates a sheltered lagoon. The still, deep blue water behind this spit of land is the "dead" calm sea.
Campgrounds on the lagoon provide quiet places to relax, with or without the family. Bring your tent or rent a fully equipped caravan or camper trailer. Back in the town of Belcekiz, you can choose from a range of hotels. A clean midrange bungalow in a garden setting with AC, TV, and private bathroom costs around $35 USD a night for two.
Visit Direct Holidays for cheap Turkey holidays and all your travel needs.
Besides the beautiful beach and bay, the reason we came here was to trek along the Lycian Way. It's a meandering trail that follows the contour of Mediterranean coast of southern Turkey. While the 300 km trail itself was opened 1999 it is comprised of paths that are thousands of years old. Take a month and hike the whole trail to Antalya, or pick smaller sections to explore over a few days.
Lycian Way mapOne of the many highlights along the way is Butterfly Valley. This section of the Likya Yolu (in Turkish) is over 300 meters above the water. Start at Faralya and hike the down steep trail about 45 minutes to reach Butterfly Valley on the coast. Vertical cliffs on both sides of the narrow beach define the valley. Hippy expatriates raise over 40 organic foods and try to escape the real world in this mostly self-sufficient Walden. Hold those ropes tightly when climbing back up to the main trail. This side trip is not for the faint of heart.
On the small plateau at Faralya you will be greeted by the sight of George House, a family run inn with bungalows for travelers to stay and communal meals to bring back that hiking energy. Hasan is the host and son of the owner. He is a kind man and his family create a comfortable environment to relax. This is a popular lodge so make reservations if you can.
Finding a place to stay isn't always about reservations. In many villages, families welcome trekkers into their private homes. They'll flag you down along the trail, lead you home, clean up their bedroom, and sleep in the kitchen for the night. Dinner and breakfast are included, which are often delicious, but pale in comparison to the experience. You leave knowing you helped a local family, most of whom are simple farmers living off the land. Roads and electricity have just arrived at some of these villages.
Along the trail are historic towns and ruins like Letoon and Xanthos. Xanthos is a mini version of Ephesus, with an amphitheater where gladiators fought in Roman times. See beautiful tile mosaics and Lycian tombs without jockeying with tourists for a position to take a picture. The Chimaera or eternal flames of Mount Olympos are another popular destination with tree houses overlooking the Mediterranean.
Mediterranean Sea coast
The most stunning part of the Lycian Way are not specific places or ruins but the way you start to get used to life here. It isn't uncommon to spend a few hours with a stranger walking along the trail as they commute home on foot; you are the one visiting after all. The list of stunning views is endless but it's the smaller moments that you remember. A meal shared with a family on the side of the road where conversation is a mix of pantomime and a few shared words. Walking through the olive groves seeing the ripe fruits hanging down on the branches will return to your mind with every olive eaten. Or maybe it's the herds of goats whose ancestors have walked these trails since ancient times.
Lake Placid Olympic Village
Lake Placid is best remembered by most people as the location of the “Miracle on Ice”, when the United States Hockey Mirror Lake at Dawnteam made up of amateurs beat the mighty Soviet team during the 1980 Winter Olympics. This small village in the beautiful Adirondack Mountains of New York State actually hosted the 1932 Winter Olympics as well, and while the town continues to market their Olympic past to tourists, there are plenty of other reasons to visit the area. Plenty of outdoor sports, restaurants, shopping, and locally crafted brews top the list.
While most would consider winter the best time to visit the area, it’s really quite a great place to visit at any time of the year. With no major airport nearby, you’ll be driving, so make sure to get off the highway and take some of the winding one lane roads through the countryside, following gurgling rivers through forests and mountain vistas waiting to be photographed. Much of this is National Forest land, and plenty of trails are accessible right off the road for hiking or snowshoeing depending on the weather. The small towns in the region make their living off of tourism, so you’ll pass plenty of outfitters offering guided fishing, canoeing and kayaking, snowmobiling and cross country skiing trips.
Mirror LakeOnce you make it to Lake Placid, you’ll be confronted by an out of place conglomeration of chain hotels and outlet stores on the main drag along the banks of a brilliant lake. Strangely this lake is not actually Lake Placid, but the smaller Mirror Lake. Hidden among these trappings of tourism though are some individual shops, hotel and restaurants worth seeking out. One of my favorite shops is the Lake Placid Clock and Watch Company that offers tons of authentic Black Forest Cuckoo clocks, as well as German beer steins, a great place to browse.
We stayed at the Golden Arrow, the only hotel with actual lake frontage (the rest are across the street for some reason). The Golden Arrow is a family owned hotel started by immigrants from Southern Germany, and they even have a clearly stated environmental mission statement that includes building a “green” roof, offering perks for those who travel to the hotel by means other than car, and a recycling program for guests. Our room had a balcony overlooking the lake, and was more moderately priced than most of the other large hotels.
The variety of restaurants in town is extraordinary for the middle of nowhere, with many ethnic cuisines represented, especially if you get off the main drag. Italian is very well represented, and there are five places all owned by the same family emigrated from Bosnia, all of which get great reviews but only one I can attest to personally, Jimmy’s on Main Street with a very traditional Southern Italian menu including a wonderful antipasto. One of my favorite finds was Mykonos, a Greek restaurant with all of the specialties of that ancient cuisine and desserts to go with it. Plenty of vegetarian options are offered, and one of the best Tsatziki’s I’ve ever tasted…garlicky, creamy and lots of it. If you ask the locals where they go, they’d probably say the Caribbean Cowboy, a small, hard to find place with an eclectic fusion of Caribbean and Mexican dishes like Roast Vegetable Tamale Pie, Jerk Chicken or a Southwest Spiced All Natural Pork Loin with a Mole sauce.
The locals would also tell you that central New York has some of the best artisanal hand crafted beers in the States. Whiteface GondolaThe place most tourists go in town is the wood paneled, somewhat stuffy, Great Adirondack Steak & Seafood Company where they make a full lineup of beers including a good Abbey Ale and a seasonal Barleywine, best enjoyed on their large front deck. A couple blocks off of Main Street, in a small house overlooking Mirror Lake, is the lower key and local Lake Placid Pub and Brewery, offering lots of excellent brews alongside traditional pub fare. This place is famous for Ubu Ale, a dark English Strong Ale, but they had a strong seasonal French Farm-style beer while I was there called Biere de Garde that I just had to get a growler of to go.
If eating and drinking isn’t enough to keep you busy, there are actually other things to do. As one would expect of a two-time Winter Olympic host city, there are plenty of facilities for winter sports. This includes a dizzyingly high ski jump that you can take an elevator to the top of, a bobsled run you can pay to ride down with a professional rudder man, and a luge run you can do on your own. There are two hockey rinks in the Olympic facility that host regional hockey, speed skating and figure skating tournaments as well as doubling as a conference center. Touring and Snowmobile trails abound and a small ski area called Whiteface is a few minutes away, which also has a modern gondola up to the second highest peak on the mountain. As is typical these days, it doubles as a mountain bike haven in the non-snow months. You can even take lessons in the biathlon on the shooting range.
When there is no snow on the ground, you can enjoy plenty of hiking or mountain climbing with trails criss-crossing the area. Tons of rivers and lakes offer scenic fishing, canoeing and kayaking. There is a public park in town with tennis courts, a walking and biking path around Mirror Lake, and most of the indoor winter activities are open year round. Fall offers a very special experience with the Adirondacks changing into a huge variety of deep reds and yellows all around you. With all of these options, Lake Placid makes a relaxing and scenic place to visit no matter what you like to do. World Class food, eclectic and outlet shopping and any outdoor activity you can think of in a sleepy mountain village.
While most would consider winter the best time to visit the area, it’s really quite a great place to visit at any time of the year. With no major airport nearby, you’ll be driving, so make sure to get off the highway and take some of the winding one lane roads through the countryside, following gurgling rivers through forests and mountain vistas waiting to be photographed. Much of this is National Forest land, and plenty of trails are accessible right off the road for hiking or snowshoeing depending on the weather. The small towns in the region make their living off of tourism, so you’ll pass plenty of outfitters offering guided fishing, canoeing and kayaking, snowmobiling and cross country skiing trips.
Mirror LakeOnce you make it to Lake Placid, you’ll be confronted by an out of place conglomeration of chain hotels and outlet stores on the main drag along the banks of a brilliant lake. Strangely this lake is not actually Lake Placid, but the smaller Mirror Lake. Hidden among these trappings of tourism though are some individual shops, hotel and restaurants worth seeking out. One of my favorite shops is the Lake Placid Clock and Watch Company that offers tons of authentic Black Forest Cuckoo clocks, as well as German beer steins, a great place to browse.
We stayed at the Golden Arrow, the only hotel with actual lake frontage (the rest are across the street for some reason). The Golden Arrow is a family owned hotel started by immigrants from Southern Germany, and they even have a clearly stated environmental mission statement that includes building a “green” roof, offering perks for those who travel to the hotel by means other than car, and a recycling program for guests. Our room had a balcony overlooking the lake, and was more moderately priced than most of the other large hotels.
The variety of restaurants in town is extraordinary for the middle of nowhere, with many ethnic cuisines represented, especially if you get off the main drag. Italian is very well represented, and there are five places all owned by the same family emigrated from Bosnia, all of which get great reviews but only one I can attest to personally, Jimmy’s on Main Street with a very traditional Southern Italian menu including a wonderful antipasto. One of my favorite finds was Mykonos, a Greek restaurant with all of the specialties of that ancient cuisine and desserts to go with it. Plenty of vegetarian options are offered, and one of the best Tsatziki’s I’ve ever tasted…garlicky, creamy and lots of it. If you ask the locals where they go, they’d probably say the Caribbean Cowboy, a small, hard to find place with an eclectic fusion of Caribbean and Mexican dishes like Roast Vegetable Tamale Pie, Jerk Chicken or a Southwest Spiced All Natural Pork Loin with a Mole sauce.
The locals would also tell you that central New York has some of the best artisanal hand crafted beers in the States. Whiteface GondolaThe place most tourists go in town is the wood paneled, somewhat stuffy, Great Adirondack Steak & Seafood Company where they make a full lineup of beers including a good Abbey Ale and a seasonal Barleywine, best enjoyed on their large front deck. A couple blocks off of Main Street, in a small house overlooking Mirror Lake, is the lower key and local Lake Placid Pub and Brewery, offering lots of excellent brews alongside traditional pub fare. This place is famous for Ubu Ale, a dark English Strong Ale, but they had a strong seasonal French Farm-style beer while I was there called Biere de Garde that I just had to get a growler of to go.
If eating and drinking isn’t enough to keep you busy, there are actually other things to do. As one would expect of a two-time Winter Olympic host city, there are plenty of facilities for winter sports. This includes a dizzyingly high ski jump that you can take an elevator to the top of, a bobsled run you can pay to ride down with a professional rudder man, and a luge run you can do on your own. There are two hockey rinks in the Olympic facility that host regional hockey, speed skating and figure skating tournaments as well as doubling as a conference center. Touring and Snowmobile trails abound and a small ski area called Whiteface is a few minutes away, which also has a modern gondola up to the second highest peak on the mountain. As is typical these days, it doubles as a mountain bike haven in the non-snow months. You can even take lessons in the biathlon on the shooting range.
When there is no snow on the ground, you can enjoy plenty of hiking or mountain climbing with trails criss-crossing the area. Tons of rivers and lakes offer scenic fishing, canoeing and kayaking. There is a public park in town with tennis courts, a walking and biking path around Mirror Lake, and most of the indoor winter activities are open year round. Fall offers a very special experience with the Adirondacks changing into a huge variety of deep reds and yellows all around you. With all of these options, Lake Placid makes a relaxing and scenic place to visit no matter what you like to do. World Class food, eclectic and outlet shopping and any outdoor activity you can think of in a sleepy mountain village.
Festival International de Jazz de Montreal
Living in Central Vermont, I'm only a couple hours drive from one of the more unique and captivating Canadian cities, lovely Montreal. St. Louis Square FountainSet alongside the St. Lawrence River, this town forty minutes across the border in the province of Quebec is dominated by a French Canadian heritage evident in the language, the food, and the overall European feel of the city. Filled with sidewalk cafes, bistros, and a large population of people from everywhere, Montreal is a world class melting pot, and the perfect host for the annual summer jazz festival (Festival International de Jazz de Montreal).
The Jazz Festival offers hundreds of different concerts, representing the spectrum of jazz and blues from traditional to Dixieland to Quebecois to Caribbean and African. The majority of shows are free and held in the middle of a large outdoor area of the Latin Quarter (a.k.a. red light district), a four block radius of Ste-Catherine, President-Kennedy, Bleury and St-Urbain streets. Either a blessing or a curse depending on your perspective, officials chase the typical colorful characters of the area away for the duration of the festival, although some of the less conspicuous clubs continue to operate during that time. The remainder of the shows are relatively expensive headliners at some of the larger venues, and lesser known acts at a number of jazz clubs around town.
In the outdoor area, there are four stages set up, all showing different acts simultaneously throughout the day and evening. One would think the sounds would collide and create a real cacophony, but the layout is well designed and one can definitely distinguish the different music as you move from stage to stage. The crowds are reasonable during the day, and it's a great time to chill out and experience the atmosphere. Buy a shot of Grand Marnier in a Dixie cup, and some Poutin and enjoy the bands, most of which will play again later that evening. For those unfamiliar with Poutin, this is a uniquely Jazz Festival SignFrench Canadian dish with French Fries topped traditionally with a brown gravy and whole cheese curds, although it's also possible to find more gourmet and unusual toppings. More and more people file in as the days go on, and by evening, the square and stages are lit up in all colors of neon, and the headliners whip the large crowds into a frenzy with their passionate playing.
Since the outdoor area is free, you can come and go as you please, which is a good thing because the area has tons to explore. We stayed at the clean and cheap Auberge Le Jardin d’Antoine, perfectly located at one of the major intersections of the Latin Quarter, rue Saint-Denis and rue Sherbrooke. Restaurants, shops and bars line rue Saint-Denis and continue North into the quieter neighborhoods of Plateau, Outremont and Mont-Royal or South into Vieux-Montreal (the old town). All the cuisines of the world are represented here, and in good weather, there is plenty of outdoor seating.
Just north of the hotel along Saint-Denis is the quiet and local Square St. Louis, a small park surrounded by beautiful townhouses, with a centerpiece Victorian fountain and benches to watch the world go by. Continuing further north goes through shaded neighborhood Rue St.-Denisstreets with narrow three story houses similar to the Brownstones of downtown Boston or Brooklyn. Cut over ten blocks west and head up Avenue du Parc, with Montreal’s namesake Parc Mont-Royal on your left, and a wonderful variety of ethnic eateries and markets, particularly Greek and Latin American. On any trip to Montreal, it’s vital to get fresh bagels, claimed to be the original bagel (despite the protestations of Manhattanites), and the best place for this is St. Viateur's Bagels. This tiny shop is open 24 hours a day, and there is almost always a short line. The bagels are bagged for you right off the line, and they’re still warm and absolutely perfect. Make sure to check out the Greek bakery around the corner as well (on Rue du Parc and St. Viateur Ouest) for fantastic pastries and coffee.
As many times as I go to Montreal, I continue to find new places to explore. The Jazz Fest is a great free event to build your trip around. See as much free music as you like, and spend the rest of the time getting to know this friendly and diverse city, historic, multicultural, and most assuredly French.
The Jazz Festival offers hundreds of different concerts, representing the spectrum of jazz and blues from traditional to Dixieland to Quebecois to Caribbean and African. The majority of shows are free and held in the middle of a large outdoor area of the Latin Quarter (a.k.a. red light district), a four block radius of Ste-Catherine, President-Kennedy, Bleury and St-Urbain streets. Either a blessing or a curse depending on your perspective, officials chase the typical colorful characters of the area away for the duration of the festival, although some of the less conspicuous clubs continue to operate during that time. The remainder of the shows are relatively expensive headliners at some of the larger venues, and lesser known acts at a number of jazz clubs around town.
In the outdoor area, there are four stages set up, all showing different acts simultaneously throughout the day and evening. One would think the sounds would collide and create a real cacophony, but the layout is well designed and one can definitely distinguish the different music as you move from stage to stage. The crowds are reasonable during the day, and it's a great time to chill out and experience the atmosphere. Buy a shot of Grand Marnier in a Dixie cup, and some Poutin and enjoy the bands, most of which will play again later that evening. For those unfamiliar with Poutin, this is a uniquely Jazz Festival SignFrench Canadian dish with French Fries topped traditionally with a brown gravy and whole cheese curds, although it's also possible to find more gourmet and unusual toppings. More and more people file in as the days go on, and by evening, the square and stages are lit up in all colors of neon, and the headliners whip the large crowds into a frenzy with their passionate playing.
Since the outdoor area is free, you can come and go as you please, which is a good thing because the area has tons to explore. We stayed at the clean and cheap Auberge Le Jardin d’Antoine, perfectly located at one of the major intersections of the Latin Quarter, rue Saint-Denis and rue Sherbrooke. Restaurants, shops and bars line rue Saint-Denis and continue North into the quieter neighborhoods of Plateau, Outremont and Mont-Royal or South into Vieux-Montreal (the old town). All the cuisines of the world are represented here, and in good weather, there is plenty of outdoor seating.
Just north of the hotel along Saint-Denis is the quiet and local Square St. Louis, a small park surrounded by beautiful townhouses, with a centerpiece Victorian fountain and benches to watch the world go by. Continuing further north goes through shaded neighborhood Rue St.-Denisstreets with narrow three story houses similar to the Brownstones of downtown Boston or Brooklyn. Cut over ten blocks west and head up Avenue du Parc, with Montreal’s namesake Parc Mont-Royal on your left, and a wonderful variety of ethnic eateries and markets, particularly Greek and Latin American. On any trip to Montreal, it’s vital to get fresh bagels, claimed to be the original bagel (despite the protestations of Manhattanites), and the best place for this is St. Viateur's Bagels. This tiny shop is open 24 hours a day, and there is almost always a short line. The bagels are bagged for you right off the line, and they’re still warm and absolutely perfect. Make sure to check out the Greek bakery around the corner as well (on Rue du Parc and St. Viateur Ouest) for fantastic pastries and coffee.
As many times as I go to Montreal, I continue to find new places to explore. The Jazz Fest is a great free event to build your trip around. See as much free music as you like, and spend the rest of the time getting to know this friendly and diverse city, historic, multicultural, and most assuredly French.
Rainforests of Ecuador
Driving rain pelted our open canoe as we forged our way up the Rio Napo further into the rainforest, driven slowly by the Thatched Hutgentle hum of the outboard motor. Our waterproof high tech fancy shells and hiking boots quickly succumbed to the elements, while our guide's simple garbage bags and bare feet served them perfectly in the humid and wet weather. The Rio Napo is a tributary of the Amazon, and this was the beginning of a three day trip into the jungle outside of Coca, a retired oil boom town in the deep interior of Ecuador.
The South American Explorers Club in Quito is a great resource for information including travel reports by fellow explorers, several of which pointed us to a tour guide named Wimper Torres operating out of Coca. We attempted to call to make arrangements, but were told simply to make our way to the little town and ask for Wimper when we got there. After taking an overnight bus over a single track rutted dirt road, we reached the town which consisted of a few square blocks of dirt streets and wooden planked sidewalks. There were a handful of stores selling crafts and staples, basic restaurants and the surprisingly nice Hotel Auca, where we negotiated a triple room, and inquired after Wimper Torres and were told that he'd find us later in the day.
After walking around town and having a simple almuerzo (a fixed lunch menu) at the Residencial Lo Janita, we returned to the hotel to find Wimper waiting for us. On the bus, we had met a couple guys from Japan also canoelooking to do a rainforest tour, and since it's cheaper the more people you have, we decided to go in together on the trip. We flagged down a passing flat bed truck, and accompanied him to his home on the outskirts, where he spread out a map of the area and we discussed what kind of trip we wanted to take. We decided on a three day trip where everything was included for 30USD per person per day. He needed to buy provisions so we made arrangements to meet the next morning at the docks.
The next day we met Wimper and his nephew Irwin, and after a visit to La Oficina de Comandante, where we had to get permission for the trip (a formality) and leave our passports during our trip, we loaded our gear and supplies into an eleven meter outboard canoe. We pushed off from the shore, and began our slow five hour trip upriver, immediately met by torrential downpours limiting visibility. The river presented a variety of hazards from sandbars to trees, but the experience of our guide on these waterways showed and finally, we turned off into a maze of small lagoon waterways where we were sheltered from the rain by the canopy overhead and could talk with our guide who pointed out numerous colorful birds.
We finally reached a hut that would become our home base for the rest of the trip. It stood about five feet above ground on stilts, had no walls, a sixty foot square bamboo floor and a pitched roof made of palm leaves. Wimper strung two ropes across the hut, over which we hung thin mosquito netting to sleep under. There was a simple outhouse approximately fifty feet from the hut, a trip to which was quite an adventure at night as you needed to climb down the ladder and then navigate through the forest to find it. It was a creaky shack with a hole and it was best not to think about what was above or below.
We spent the next two days exploring the forest by canoe and foot, and View of Lago de Paranalearning from Wimper and Irwin about the jungle, its native peoples and the changes taking place in the area. The oil industry, while not unwelcomed by the people as it brought a measure of prosperity, had disturbed the ecosystem and driven most of the large animals further into the forest. The Quechua and Yasuni Indians of the area were subsistence farmers and fisherman, although there was a bit of the wider world mixed in with a prevalence of Western style clothing, jewelry, and sometimes even generators and appliances. These people were living in both worlds.
We went fishing one afternoon, using simple six inch pieces of bamboo with fishing line and a hook. We caught a Piranha and Irwin caught a very large Jaguar fish, both of which we cooked and ate that night. Wimper cut the Jaguar fish into rings and fried it along with rice, plantains and French fries, which made for a very tasty dinner indeed. Each day for lunch, Wimper made a fresh salad of onion, cucumber, tomato, canned tuna and lime juice, after which Wimper washed our plates in the river, which was disconcerting, but we never got sick.
We hiked through the forest teeming with plant life, learning from Wimper about medicinal plants and symbiotic relationships between floras. We visited a large lagoon called Lago de Pirana, and climbed a circular staircase to the top of a giant tree, affording views of the endless rainforest canopy. At night, we practiced our Spanish talking with Wimper about all kinds of things, and one of the things I remember most was Wimper saying that he really enjoyed guiding Americans because we were always interested in our surroundings, and always relished the food put in front of us, perceptions we were more than happy to perpetuate.
After a tiring but satisfying three days, we retraced our route. We took our guides out to their favorite restaurant, the Monte Carlo, where we enjoyed a multicourse meal and a final conversation. Our trip into the Amazon Basin was over, but it was a wonderful experience made more special by choosing a small group, a local guide, and basic accommodations. Most people choose Brazil for this kind of adventure, but Ecuador offers a smaller scale way to enjoy the uniqueness of a journey into the rainforest of South America.
The South American Explorers Club in Quito is a great resource for information including travel reports by fellow explorers, several of which pointed us to a tour guide named Wimper Torres operating out of Coca. We attempted to call to make arrangements, but were told simply to make our way to the little town and ask for Wimper when we got there. After taking an overnight bus over a single track rutted dirt road, we reached the town which consisted of a few square blocks of dirt streets and wooden planked sidewalks. There were a handful of stores selling crafts and staples, basic restaurants and the surprisingly nice Hotel Auca, where we negotiated a triple room, and inquired after Wimper Torres and were told that he'd find us later in the day.
After walking around town and having a simple almuerzo (a fixed lunch menu) at the Residencial Lo Janita, we returned to the hotel to find Wimper waiting for us. On the bus, we had met a couple guys from Japan also canoelooking to do a rainforest tour, and since it's cheaper the more people you have, we decided to go in together on the trip. We flagged down a passing flat bed truck, and accompanied him to his home on the outskirts, where he spread out a map of the area and we discussed what kind of trip we wanted to take. We decided on a three day trip where everything was included for 30USD per person per day. He needed to buy provisions so we made arrangements to meet the next morning at the docks.
The next day we met Wimper and his nephew Irwin, and after a visit to La Oficina de Comandante, where we had to get permission for the trip (a formality) and leave our passports during our trip, we loaded our gear and supplies into an eleven meter outboard canoe. We pushed off from the shore, and began our slow five hour trip upriver, immediately met by torrential downpours limiting visibility. The river presented a variety of hazards from sandbars to trees, but the experience of our guide on these waterways showed and finally, we turned off into a maze of small lagoon waterways where we were sheltered from the rain by the canopy overhead and could talk with our guide who pointed out numerous colorful birds.
We finally reached a hut that would become our home base for the rest of the trip. It stood about five feet above ground on stilts, had no walls, a sixty foot square bamboo floor and a pitched roof made of palm leaves. Wimper strung two ropes across the hut, over which we hung thin mosquito netting to sleep under. There was a simple outhouse approximately fifty feet from the hut, a trip to which was quite an adventure at night as you needed to climb down the ladder and then navigate through the forest to find it. It was a creaky shack with a hole and it was best not to think about what was above or below.
We spent the next two days exploring the forest by canoe and foot, and View of Lago de Paranalearning from Wimper and Irwin about the jungle, its native peoples and the changes taking place in the area. The oil industry, while not unwelcomed by the people as it brought a measure of prosperity, had disturbed the ecosystem and driven most of the large animals further into the forest. The Quechua and Yasuni Indians of the area were subsistence farmers and fisherman, although there was a bit of the wider world mixed in with a prevalence of Western style clothing, jewelry, and sometimes even generators and appliances. These people were living in both worlds.
We went fishing one afternoon, using simple six inch pieces of bamboo with fishing line and a hook. We caught a Piranha and Irwin caught a very large Jaguar fish, both of which we cooked and ate that night. Wimper cut the Jaguar fish into rings and fried it along with rice, plantains and French fries, which made for a very tasty dinner indeed. Each day for lunch, Wimper made a fresh salad of onion, cucumber, tomato, canned tuna and lime juice, after which Wimper washed our plates in the river, which was disconcerting, but we never got sick.
We hiked through the forest teeming with plant life, learning from Wimper about medicinal plants and symbiotic relationships between floras. We visited a large lagoon called Lago de Pirana, and climbed a circular staircase to the top of a giant tree, affording views of the endless rainforest canopy. At night, we practiced our Spanish talking with Wimper about all kinds of things, and one of the things I remember most was Wimper saying that he really enjoyed guiding Americans because we were always interested in our surroundings, and always relished the food put in front of us, perceptions we were more than happy to perpetuate.
After a tiring but satisfying three days, we retraced our route. We took our guides out to their favorite restaurant, the Monte Carlo, where we enjoyed a multicourse meal and a final conversation. Our trip into the Amazon Basin was over, but it was a wonderful experience made more special by choosing a small group, a local guide, and basic accommodations. Most people choose Brazil for this kind of adventure, but Ecuador offers a smaller scale way to enjoy the uniqueness of a journey into the rainforest of South America.
The American Flea Market
On weekdays this square of concrete fills and empties with the regular intervals of the school bell, as one group of junior high students is traded for another. They mill around during recess and stand uncomfortable in their shorts for games of kickball and handball during gym class. It's a space every city kid has inhabited, an urban field of tan and black, faded paint lines of a baseball diamond or four square court. This particular yard is only blocks away from New York's Central Park, the only color here are the taxis passing by. But early Sunday morning a transformation happens in this spot, and in many other school yards across the country. Folding tables are unpacked, hand-made and vintage wears are laid out, stacks of apple crates driven that morning from the Catskills are taken from trucks. By ten the once empty school yard has become a vibrant flea market, as it has been for twenty-two years.
Markets and Bazaars can be found all over the world, in many towns they are the main source of commerce, but here in the United States where you can find what ever you want at big box stores 24 hours a day, the flea market fills a different need. People come not out of a need for a particular thing but for the joy of the search. You may leave with a few things in your bag, but you bring away from it a sense of connection, a return to our collective past. Where else can you sift through bins of buttons to find a matching one to your grandmother's sweater that has hung in your closet for a decade unworn, and two minutes later watch a woman expertly twist lengths of silver into a pendant while she talks to the four people who are looking at her booth?
As a teenager I would come to this market to escape back in time as I browsed the old magazine ads from the twenties and thirties and to watch the people. I can still capture that feeling when I enter the cafeteria where more tables stand, and the room smells of old paper and school lunches. Some of the same vendors are here as when I was young. New ones have joined them filling spaces left by vendors who have died or moved on, becoming equally as timeless no matter what they are selling or how old they are. As I finger costume jewelry and dressing table mirrors a young orthodox guy haggles with the coin dealer and a Korean mother and daughter browse the movie paraphernalia. The room is full of conversations but they are buffered by the tiles leaving me to drift into the past.
Each row at the market is filled with tables and booths, discount underwear next to African tapestries, rare coins beside personalized 'while you wait' dog food bowls. The goods that are sold are not staples but the market itself is a step aside from our usual life. Here people slow down and browse. We start conversations with strangers over old tea pots and yards of ribbon. Old women with shopping carts and teenage girls both look at the same sweaters hung on wheeled racks. Being here I want to create the stories for the people around me, give them lives. Maybe it's a sweater the old woman wore when she was young and still traveled in packs, as the girls who dance around her do.
At another flea market in a rural area I find myself on my knees digging through a damp box of old metal tins. This market is in the middle of a strawberry farm. On either side of the market area are acres of berries waiting to be picked. My son has wandered away from me and is exploring a pile of stuffed animals that is taller than him. By the time I have caught up to him he is running towards a couple of girls who are selling zucchini. The wares at this market couldn't be more different. The people here are as well, but there is still the same feeling, of people searching for something, not an object exactly. We find a pair of pajamas for him and a few tins for me, oh no we've spent three bucks.
As we walk through the field to our car we are stopped by an older gentleman with dark blue jeans and a tractor cap. He is one of those people who looks as though they are busting at the seams of their skin, his face is rosy and he is smiling. "I remember taking my son with me when he was that age. Now," he points to a man and small boy in matching blue sweatshirts, "All three of us come."
Markets and Bazaars can be found all over the world, in many towns they are the main source of commerce, but here in the United States where you can find what ever you want at big box stores 24 hours a day, the flea market fills a different need. People come not out of a need for a particular thing but for the joy of the search. You may leave with a few things in your bag, but you bring away from it a sense of connection, a return to our collective past. Where else can you sift through bins of buttons to find a matching one to your grandmother's sweater that has hung in your closet for a decade unworn, and two minutes later watch a woman expertly twist lengths of silver into a pendant while she talks to the four people who are looking at her booth?
As a teenager I would come to this market to escape back in time as I browsed the old magazine ads from the twenties and thirties and to watch the people. I can still capture that feeling when I enter the cafeteria where more tables stand, and the room smells of old paper and school lunches. Some of the same vendors are here as when I was young. New ones have joined them filling spaces left by vendors who have died or moved on, becoming equally as timeless no matter what they are selling or how old they are. As I finger costume jewelry and dressing table mirrors a young orthodox guy haggles with the coin dealer and a Korean mother and daughter browse the movie paraphernalia. The room is full of conversations but they are buffered by the tiles leaving me to drift into the past.
Each row at the market is filled with tables and booths, discount underwear next to African tapestries, rare coins beside personalized 'while you wait' dog food bowls. The goods that are sold are not staples but the market itself is a step aside from our usual life. Here people slow down and browse. We start conversations with strangers over old tea pots and yards of ribbon. Old women with shopping carts and teenage girls both look at the same sweaters hung on wheeled racks. Being here I want to create the stories for the people around me, give them lives. Maybe it's a sweater the old woman wore when she was young and still traveled in packs, as the girls who dance around her do.
At another flea market in a rural area I find myself on my knees digging through a damp box of old metal tins. This market is in the middle of a strawberry farm. On either side of the market area are acres of berries waiting to be picked. My son has wandered away from me and is exploring a pile of stuffed animals that is taller than him. By the time I have caught up to him he is running towards a couple of girls who are selling zucchini. The wares at this market couldn't be more different. The people here are as well, but there is still the same feeling, of people searching for something, not an object exactly. We find a pair of pajamas for him and a few tins for me, oh no we've spent three bucks.
As we walk through the field to our car we are stopped by an older gentleman with dark blue jeans and a tractor cap. He is one of those people who looks as though they are busting at the seams of their skin, his face is rosy and he is smiling. "I remember taking my son with me when he was that age. Now," he points to a man and small boy in matching blue sweatshirts, "All three of us come."
Classic Cairo
When my friend suggested that our next biannual trip be Egypt, I have to admit I wasn’t overly excited at the idea. I mean, I love the food and the ancient and exotic cultures Spice Stand in Khan el-Khaliliof the Middle East, but I also had visions of swarms of tourists driving past the Sphinx in their air conditioned buses. To mitigate the imagined crowds, we chose to go in March, after the high season ends, and our plan worked beautifully. I found Cairo to be very calm and relaxing, sort of like life is a warm summer day over and over, its people stoic but shy, and aside from the truly famous things like the Pyramids at Giza, we encountered very few tourists.
We stayed in the Ezbekieh quarter of the city, about twenty miles east of the Nile and the tourist strip, close to the peaceful Ezbekieh Gardens, Opera House, Central Railway Station, and downtown commercial drag. Walking around the immediate hotel area was extremely pleasant, with a marked absence of touts, a plethora of coffee houses (ahwe), and local places to eat. The coffee houses are filled with men at outdoor sidewalk tables, enjoying sheesha (waterpipes), shai ala bosta (tea) and a game of dominoes, watching football (Champion’s League was going on) or just talking. Women are rarely seen in the coffee house, but otherwise are plentiful on the streets, some wearing the hijab and some not.
The sheesha are hookahs with water in the base, flavored hot coals in a metal bowl on top, and multiple hoses for patrons to draw on. Packaged plastic tips for the hoses are provided, and properly done, smoke is inhaled and blown out the nose slowly. The hot coals are infused with traditional or apple flavored tobacco in a special cooker, and stoking the hot coals is a serious art. The tea is sweet and refreshing, but make sure you ask for shai ala bosta, as otherwise, you are apt to be given a lipton tea bag instead of the wonderful black tea served with granulated sugar and a sprig of fresh mint (nana) that really enhances the experience.
Sphinx at Giza From the street carts to the communal restaurants, the food was wonderful. Alcohol was not served anywhere, except one tourist restaurant we ended up at. There was actually a liquor store around the corner from our hotel, but buying beer and smuggling it back to our hotel felt oddly inappropriate here. Primarily we either had kebab of some kind from street vendors, or one of our favorite experiences was at a typical restaurant near our hotel, where they didn’t produce any food, but rather, provided a menu of all kinds of things, which a runner then went and got from one of the street vendors. We had some of the best falafel (tammiyya) that I ever had, made right next door on a large round griddle, as well as several staples like tahini and baba ganouj. English was very rarely spoken, and often the menus were in script anyways, so eating was a challenging but rewarding experience, and fantastic for a vegetarian.
The Khan el-Khalili is a very large market in Old Cairo, with miles of vendors selling everything from rugs and spices to household wares on narrow unpaved streets clogged with throngs of people. Haggling is the norm, but most things are very cheap by Western standards. Near the market is the beautiful Al-Azhar Mosque. The walls and chambers were Spartan or adorned with beautiful tile work and rugs, but far less pretentious than their Western church counterparts. Behind the mosque was a neighborhood of small streets, too small for cars, and as we got progressively further in, there was a feeling of danger confirmed by several people who basically told us to go back, which we did. Whether this was just a dangerous part of town like all cities have, or a seat of fundamentalism (and hatred of the West) was unclear, but it was the only time we felt nervous in Egypt.
As we found everywhere in Egypt, our interaction with the locals was limited, both by language and possibly our status as infidels. Aside from a few friendly conversations, most of our contact was with aggressive or deceptive hawkers. One of the joys in traveling is meeting people from other cultures and spending time learning from each other, and we are conditioned to expect that when someone is friendly and starts up a conversation, that it is genuine without ulterior motive. In Cairo this was really not the case. Over and over, we had pleasant conversations with people including those our own age, that blatantly or subtly, always (I really mean always) ended at someone’s shop being shown wares and expected to buy them.
Of course, one can’t avoid the tourist things completely in Cairo, and despite the crowds and touts, we had to go to see the Pyramids at Giza. Felukka on the NileTake the subway to Giza, and then take a taxi from the subway to the Pyramids complex. While majestic, the pyramids are unfortunately empty shells at this point, with all of the artifacts long ago shipped off to a museum in London or Cairo. Expensive tours of the inside of the structures are available, but offer little beyond saying you’ve done it. Guards surround the structures to prevent further degradation, but they supplement their income by accepting bribes, so a little baksheesh and you can do anything short of using a hammer and chisel. Hordes of tour buses filled the parking lot providing plenty of reason for the hawkers to descend on the area like locusts.
The other big tourist area is near the Egyptian museum along the Nile, where the area is actually barricaded off and only foreigners and those serving them are allowed. Here one finds the trappings of the West with the Hilton, Hard Rock Café, TGIF and a multitude of other global chains. One reason to go there though, is to ride in a felukka, a traditional sail boat still used to travel the Nile River. Going out for about an hour at sunset is a stunning experience, gliding past the shores of this ancient river where so many others have gone before. It’s a perfect ending to a trip into the fascinating and historic past that is the Egyptian capital of Cairo.
We stayed in the Ezbekieh quarter of the city, about twenty miles east of the Nile and the tourist strip, close to the peaceful Ezbekieh Gardens, Opera House, Central Railway Station, and downtown commercial drag. Walking around the immediate hotel area was extremely pleasant, with a marked absence of touts, a plethora of coffee houses (ahwe), and local places to eat. The coffee houses are filled with men at outdoor sidewalk tables, enjoying sheesha (waterpipes), shai ala bosta (tea) and a game of dominoes, watching football (Champion’s League was going on) or just talking. Women are rarely seen in the coffee house, but otherwise are plentiful on the streets, some wearing the hijab and some not.
The sheesha are hookahs with water in the base, flavored hot coals in a metal bowl on top, and multiple hoses for patrons to draw on. Packaged plastic tips for the hoses are provided, and properly done, smoke is inhaled and blown out the nose slowly. The hot coals are infused with traditional or apple flavored tobacco in a special cooker, and stoking the hot coals is a serious art. The tea is sweet and refreshing, but make sure you ask for shai ala bosta, as otherwise, you are apt to be given a lipton tea bag instead of the wonderful black tea served with granulated sugar and a sprig of fresh mint (nana) that really enhances the experience.
Sphinx at Giza From the street carts to the communal restaurants, the food was wonderful. Alcohol was not served anywhere, except one tourist restaurant we ended up at. There was actually a liquor store around the corner from our hotel, but buying beer and smuggling it back to our hotel felt oddly inappropriate here. Primarily we either had kebab of some kind from street vendors, or one of our favorite experiences was at a typical restaurant near our hotel, where they didn’t produce any food, but rather, provided a menu of all kinds of things, which a runner then went and got from one of the street vendors. We had some of the best falafel (tammiyya) that I ever had, made right next door on a large round griddle, as well as several staples like tahini and baba ganouj. English was very rarely spoken, and often the menus were in script anyways, so eating was a challenging but rewarding experience, and fantastic for a vegetarian.
The Khan el-Khalili is a very large market in Old Cairo, with miles of vendors selling everything from rugs and spices to household wares on narrow unpaved streets clogged with throngs of people. Haggling is the norm, but most things are very cheap by Western standards. Near the market is the beautiful Al-Azhar Mosque. The walls and chambers were Spartan or adorned with beautiful tile work and rugs, but far less pretentious than their Western church counterparts. Behind the mosque was a neighborhood of small streets, too small for cars, and as we got progressively further in, there was a feeling of danger confirmed by several people who basically told us to go back, which we did. Whether this was just a dangerous part of town like all cities have, or a seat of fundamentalism (and hatred of the West) was unclear, but it was the only time we felt nervous in Egypt.
As we found everywhere in Egypt, our interaction with the locals was limited, both by language and possibly our status as infidels. Aside from a few friendly conversations, most of our contact was with aggressive or deceptive hawkers. One of the joys in traveling is meeting people from other cultures and spending time learning from each other, and we are conditioned to expect that when someone is friendly and starts up a conversation, that it is genuine without ulterior motive. In Cairo this was really not the case. Over and over, we had pleasant conversations with people including those our own age, that blatantly or subtly, always (I really mean always) ended at someone’s shop being shown wares and expected to buy them.
Of course, one can’t avoid the tourist things completely in Cairo, and despite the crowds and touts, we had to go to see the Pyramids at Giza. Felukka on the NileTake the subway to Giza, and then take a taxi from the subway to the Pyramids complex. While majestic, the pyramids are unfortunately empty shells at this point, with all of the artifacts long ago shipped off to a museum in London or Cairo. Expensive tours of the inside of the structures are available, but offer little beyond saying you’ve done it. Guards surround the structures to prevent further degradation, but they supplement their income by accepting bribes, so a little baksheesh and you can do anything short of using a hammer and chisel. Hordes of tour buses filled the parking lot providing plenty of reason for the hawkers to descend on the area like locusts.
The other big tourist area is near the Egyptian museum along the Nile, where the area is actually barricaded off and only foreigners and those serving them are allowed. Here one finds the trappings of the West with the Hilton, Hard Rock Café, TGIF and a multitude of other global chains. One reason to go there though, is to ride in a felukka, a traditional sail boat still used to travel the Nile River. Going out for about an hour at sunset is a stunning experience, gliding past the shores of this ancient river where so many others have gone before. It’s a perfect ending to a trip into the fascinating and historic past that is the Egyptian capital of Cairo.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)