Jay Davidson

Spain

2012-01-24T01:46:00.000-08:00

Tétouan, Morocco to Ceuta, Spain
Sunday, 22 January 2012

I headed out of my hotel for a new adventure: a border crossing within Africa but to a country that is not in Africa. Sounds confusing, doesn't it? Well, it is.

I was headed to Ceuta, which is an autonomous city of Spain, but located on the continent of Africa. The land mass is surrounded by Morocco and the sea is the Mediterranean to the east and the Atlantic to the west.

The means of conveyance was called a grand taxi. The "grand" referred not to the size but the distance, as compared to a petit taxi, which is local. Placement in the vehicle is along the lines of West Africa: two people in front, next to the driver, and FOUR in the back seat. I was the last person to get in.

Fortunately the trip was short - about forty-five minutes to the border. As we got closer to Ceuta, I could see that the area was built up with resort hotels. Barcelo and Club Med are already there, with Sofitel and Ritz-Carlton under construction. Much of the distance there was a promenade along the coast, but it was mostly deserted, as this is off-season. I imagine that in the warmer weather, it must be quite crowded around here.

The taxi deposited me at the border and then I walked through it, got my exit stamp from Morocco, and entered the European Union without even leaving the continent of Africa.

I shared a taxi with another guy heading into town, and it was evident from the prices that I had already crossed the frontier: about $1.50 to travel for forty-five minutes within Morocco, compared to $4.50 to travel for fewer than ten minutes in Spain.

Hotel prices are much higher, too, but no complaints about that, as I am happy to be in a European atmosphere and virtually undetectable as I walk down the street.

Ceuta
Monday, 23 January 2012

The strangest thing has been happening here: drivers are stopping for me as I cross at intersections! This is not something that happens in the rest of Africa!

In fact, there are occasions when I reach intersections to cross and I can tell by the license plates that the drivers who stop are from Spain and the ones who drive right through are from Morocco.

It's been a lot of fun walking around town and the area in general. Everything here looks very much like Spain and not at all like the rest of Africa.

In the morning, I went into one of the phone company offices and got a SIM card for my phone, so now I am in business for making and receiving phone calls here. I sent out a bunch of text messages to friends who are waiting for me in Sevilla, Gibraltar, Malaga, and Madrid.

I took a hike up to the fort area that is evident from the main part of town. It was a pleasant walk and I got some great views from up there.

One funny thing happened at the post office today. Early in the day, when I went there to get some stamps, it was quite crowded, so I left. Then, during the siesta time, 2:00 to 5:00 PM, I went in there and was the only customer in the entire place.

I saw that there were three stations staffed, so I headed to one of them. All three employees were just sitting there with nothing to do. The guy I approached would not accept me without my pushing on the machine for a ticket to indicate that I was the next customer to serve. And then, when I asked for stamps I learned that he didn't have any! If the post office doesn't have stamps, who does?

He sent me off to one of the tabac stands, which are places that sell tobacco, magazines, and that sort of thing. But the tabac stand that I went to didn't have stamps, either.

Ceuta to La Línea and Gibraltar
Tuesday, 24 January 2012

I went back to the post office to see about sending the postcards. I thought that if they didn't have stamps, they may be able to print a sticker to show that the postage had been paid. Instead of that, though, they had a rubber stamp that they inked up and put in the corner of the postcards.

At 1:30 PM I took the fast ferry from Ceuta to Algeciras. Charles came to Algeciras to pick me up and then gave me a lift to La Linea, where he lives (full name of the town: La Línea de la Conceptión). First he helped me find a hotel and then, once I was settled there, we drove across the border to Gibraltar.

It's remarkable how both Gibraltar and Ceuta function, considering their proximity to cultures that are so different from them.

Ceuta is surrounded by Morocco and looks totally Spanish. Gibraltar is attached to Spain and appears completely British. In each of these spots, the shops, food, and currency are the same as they are in their faraway homelands, rather than in their nearest neighbors.

There are crossovers, however. In Ceuta, all signs are in Spanish. There are Moroccan people and though one mostly hears Spanish spoken, it is possible to hear people speaking Arabic. In Gibraltar, the signage is almost exclusively English, but lots of people are speaking Spanish, and I have even heard people speaking Arabic.

La Línea and Gibraltar
Wednesday, 25 January 2012

Crossing the border is a simple matter, especially as a pedestrian. Yesterday, in Charles' car, we just flashed our passports. Today I walked across. Most of the agents on both sides of the border don't even take a close look at passports. There is no stamping at all.

I walked around Gibraltar and then back to La Linea, where I walked around some more.

After work, Charles picked me up at my hotel and took me on a drive. We visited an area called Sotogrande, which was nicely built up and located on the water, and then were off to Castellar de la Frontera, where there were beautiful views of the area.

La Linea to Sevilla
Thursday, 26 January 2012

It's a four-hour bus ride to Sevilla. Off I go. Just got a call from my friend Jesus, telling me how to get to his place by local bus from the bus station.

As we left La Linea, I saw a sign on the sign of the road indicating that Sevilla was 190 kilometers away. Doing simple math, it seemed that a direct route there would take fewer than two hours. It was obvious that it would not be a direct route.

Almost three hours later, a sign on the side of the road indicated that Sevilla was 116 kilometers away. Not a direct route -- that is an understatement. Several times during the trip, I looked on a map to see if I could find the names of the towns where we were stopping. It was definitely the local, not the express, and absolutely the roundabout way.

In any event, I arrived in Sevilla at 4:06 PM and easily found the bus that Jesus told me to look for in order to find his place. He was so funny: confident that I would remember exactly where to go since I was here in 2000, but I have to say that it was all a blur. There was absolutely nothing about it that looked familiar. If he had told me that he had moved to a new place, I would have believed him!

We walked to a nearby grocery store to buy provisions for dinner and then spent the rest of the evening chatting and catching up over what had happened in our lives during the last eleven years. (Our e-mails have been skimpy and in frequent - just enough to be able not to lose track of each other, really.)

Morocco

2012-01-22T01:39:00.000-08:00

Malta to Tunis to Casablanca to Marrakech
Sunday, 8 January 2012

It was a long day, but in the end it all worked out much more smoothly than I had anticipated.

The first flight - Malta to Tunis - left Malta International Airport about ten minutes early! It was my third Tunisair flight during the last month. So far they have been two hours and thirteen hours late for the previous flights, so I wasn't expecting to leave early or on time.

It does beg the question, though: how is it that they can manage to be on time from a European-based airport but not from an African one? Just wondering.

Even if they had been a few hours late, that was not a concern to me because my layover in Tunis was five hours, so I had time to spare for that leg of the journey.

When I made it through customs and immigration in Tunis, it was way too early to check in for the Casablanca flight, so I had a nice leisurely lunch in what seemed to be the fanciest restaurant at the airport. In any event, it was the only one I encountered that accepted credit cards, and what I wanted to do was use up all my remaining dinars and then pay the rest with the credit card. That approach usually works out pretty well for me, and I was able to do it here, too.

After that late lunch, I got to the departures board and saw that the Casa flight was next to be announced for check-in, but no ticket counters had been posted yet.

When they finally listed the ticket counters where one could check in, several of us waiting went there only to see that they weren't even staffed yet. And once an employee eventually showed up, she had trouble logging into the system. It's just amazing to me that anything works around there!

When the agent tagged my luggage, she told me she was checking it through to Marrakech. I just hoped we would both make it together.

At the Tunis airport, near my cluster of departure lounges, there were two chairs set up for chair massage, but nobody available to do the work. A young twentysomething Tunisian guy, a fellow passenger on the flight to Casa, saw me sitting there, asked if I was waiting for a massage, and then said he would look around to see where the workers were.

I gave up waiting after about an hour and went into the departure lounge, which the passengers of my flight were sharing with those of a flight going to Nouakchott and Dakar, scheduled to leave five minutes after we were.

Our plane showed up about twenty-five minutes before we were supposed to take off. This was the critical flight of the day for me because I had only one hour between my scheduled arrival in Casa and my departure to Marrakech.

I looked around for the kid who was on my flight and saw he wasn't there. I thought I would go look for him to tell him that our plane had arrived. In so doing, I found him talking to the two women who had finally arrived to do the chair massage.

It would be a while before we could board, so I had time for a ten-minute neck-and-shoulder massage, which felt great.

By the time we left, the plane for Nouakchott had not yet arrived.

I kept an eye on my watch once we landed: fifty minutes until my flight left. We didn't pull up to the terminal to de-plane. We had to get onto a bus to drive us there. The bus took the slow and scenic route around the perimeter of the airport. By the time we got off the bus, I had thirty-five minutes.

Racing through the terminal, I showed a worker that I had a boarding pass for a flight to Marrakech. He told me to follow the red line to the domestic terminal. In so doing, I was bypassing the customs area and now going to a domestic flight. I arrived at the boarding lounge precisely at the moment the doors were opening up to load people onto the plane headed to Marrakech. Whew!

I was needlessly concerned about not having gone through customs and immigration, as everyone on the plane had to do that once we arrived in our destination.

My luggage made it with me, and friends Judy and Richard were at the airport to take me into town. I felt quite lucky indeed to have made it!

Judy and Richard's apartment is in the same building as a hotel; it is in the hotel portion where I am staying.

Marrakech
Monday, 9 January 2011

By mid-morning, one of the hotel employees showed me where Richard and Judy's apartment was. Richard and I caught up a bit there. It had been twenty-five years since we had seen each other! Then we went to his "office" for coffee - "office" being a local cafe.

We took the bus from their neighborhood in Ville Nouvelle to the older part of Marrakech, and walked around a bit. At one point, I saw a guy with a little pushcart selling small, round, flat disks of what looked like bread. I got one, and it was faaaaabulous! I am going to be looking for these in the days to come.

Richard and I walked over to the Hotel Mamounia, where he wanted to get an English newspaper. What an amazing hotel that is! He then took the bus back and I had a leisurely walk. It's been eleven years since I have been here, so I was happy to get a more detailed look.

In the evening, we had dinner in Judy and Richard's apartment and I had a chance to speak to one of their sons when he telephoned. The boys were something like eight and ten years old when I saw them last; now they are both married and one of them has two kids of his own.

Tuesday, 10 January 2011

In the morning I walked over to the train station to get my ticket for the trip to Fes. I'll be leaving here on Friday.

Whereas in Tunisia there was not a huge amount of difference in the prices of the train tickets, here it is greater. A second class ticket costs 195 DH (about $22.57) and a first class ticket costs 295 DH, which is $11.57 more. But the price difference will be worth it because not only is it a seven-hour trip, but with a first class ticket you get a reserved seat, but with a second class ticket, if the train fills up, you may not even have a seat. That could be unbearable for seven hours.

I met up with Richard and we went to Jamaa al Fna, the wide plaza that is the heart of Marrakech, for lunch. After that, he went back home and I walked around the souqs for a while.

I took lots of photos and eventually bought a pair of slippers.

Wednesday, 11 January 2011

Judy had the day off, so we headed to three historic sites within the medina of old Marrakech. First up was Musée Dar Si Saïd, which has lots of objects of Moroccan culture on display. The building itself is gorgeous, with several small courtyards and a large variety of ceramic tile on display.

Palais el Bahia used to be a royal palace. Now there is no furniture in it, but, once again, lots of gorgeous tile work on floors and walls, with courtyards, fountains, and detailed ceiling beams.

On the way to Palais Badia, our last site of the day, we were walking through a plaza when a young man called to Judy. He was Omar, a former student of hers, who runs a shop. He invited us in to see his wares. Judy was totally confident that his prices were way beyond reasonable, and she knows her stuff here, so I got a few items as gifts.

Palais Badia is really the remnants of Palais Badia. It was still fascinating to see where the gardens, walkways, and rooms once were.

In the evening, we had dinner at Judy and Richard's place. Very pleasant to have a nice home atmosphere in a strange country!

Thursday, 12 January 2012

After a leisurely morning, I decided to head to the medina for one last visit. I got on a bus that took a turn at a place I was unfamiliar with, so I thought I was on the wrong bus. Eventually, it led to an area along the northern walls of the medina, and I got off there, thinking that eventually I was bound to run into a place that looked familiar.

It took a bit of doing, but I eventually came upon a small plaza that I had seen before, and from there I was able to continue where I needed to go: the Earth Cafe, a vegetarian restaurant I had seen the day before.

After lunch I headed to a hammam to see about getting a massage. When I spoke to the guy who ran the place, I told him that his English sounded really good. He told me that he had lived for twelve years in the USA. I asked him where. San Francisco!!!!

Considering this guy's great English, I explained to him that I needed the concentration of the massage on my shoulders and neck. What better person to explain to the masseur exactly what I have not been able to convey during the other hammam sessions.

In the end, though, the masseur did just what he wanted to do. You just can't win with these guys!

During the entire time that I was there, the music playing was Kenny G. I thought that was funny.

In the evening, before going out to dinner with Judy and Richard, I was able to use some of their kitchen tools to prepare my lunch for the long train ride tomorrow. I got some good whole grain bread, vegetables, and olives - things that would not likely be sold as lunch on the train. It's best to be prepared than to leave it to chance and have to eat whatever shows up on the little trolley that will no doubt be pushed along down the center aisle of the train!

*****
There's one thing I have been curious about with regard to revisiting Morocco. My first time here (end of 2000-beginning of 2001), I had just been in Portugal and Spain. As for modern conveniences, I didn't detect much difference from Portugal and Spain in that regard. The food was every bit as good, the hotels were as nice, and it was just as easy to get around here as it was there.

It was my first time in Africa and my first time in an Arab country. What did bother me at that time was the persistence of the guys selling things in their shops, beckoning to passersby to come in and take a look at their merchandise. That approach was annoying and hard to take.

Then, during my Peace Corps service, many of my fellow Volunteers came to Morocco for vacations and they were not only blown away by such amazing food choices (you have to remember that this was in comparison to Mauritania), but totally unfazed by the merchants. For them the contrast to Mauritania was so much greater than it was for me to Spain and Portugal.

It's all a matter of perspective, isn't it?

Now, eleven years since my first visit, I can see that the insistence on the part of the shop owners has died down quite a bit. This makes it a lot easier to walk down the street or through the souks. Yes, they still greet and try to get your attention, but it is much easier just to say hello, thank you, and keep on going.

Marrakech to Fez
Friday, 13 January 2012

From the time I got on the train the entire space was dominated by a little toddler whose parents had already well taught her the efficacy of pitching a fit when she didn't get what she wanted. It was one thing after the next with her.

It took about an hour for her to tire, and then the Demon Princess finally fell asleep, giving everyone a respite from her shrieks and howls. At around noon, we came to stop at a station and all of them got up and left to get onto another train, with her kicking and screaming all the way out. Mashallah!

Other than that, I was happy to be in first class. The seats were much more cushy than second class, and that was important, since it was a seven-hour journey. The second-class compartments were anywhere from six to eight people, closed off by a sliding door.

I don't have a guidebook for Morocco. Judy copied some pages for me from their Fodor's guide. Sorry to say it, but it is totally inferior to Lonely Planet. I guess I am just used to the Lonely Planet format.

When I arrived in Fez, I had little to go by with regard to hotels, but I finally found one on my own, and it is fine. Most important to me was a place that has heat, and I got a room that has an air-conditioning/heating unit in the room.

It was still light, so I went out to walk around the town a bit. The main artery through Ville Nouvelle has a wide swath for pedestrians in the center, and it is quite nice, with lots of fountains, benches, trees, and plants.

In Marrakesh, I had shopped at the Acima supermarket, so I asked for one of those, in order to get some wine and other provisions. All worked out well.

Fez
Saturday, 14 January 2012

I headed towards the medina and thought I would walk around a bit on my own. I was approached by a few guys who wanted to be my guide, but I declined their services.

Near the university, a couple of younger guys greeted me in English, and they were just being friendly, not hustling, so I sat down to chat with them.

One of them, Mohammed, offered to show me around and told me he did not want any money. I was pleased to have that offer, but I know that I will give him some before I leave.

The Jewish cemetery was closed for shabbat, but the synagogue, now in private hands as a museum and not used for religious services, was open, so I was able to see that. It is quite beautiful.

Mohammed and I had an enjoyable afternoon together, and I was happy to buy his lunch for him.

When we parted company, we set up a time to meet tomorrow.

On the way back to my hotel, I decided to see if I could find the area where the hotel was the last time I was here. It was a challenge because the area where I am now - Ville Nouvelle - was a place I didn't even see the last time I was here. Eventually I found it. There was no point really - just trying to see if my mind could get it to work that way.

Sunday, 15 January 2012

Mohammed was right on time to meet me this morning, and we headed to the Jewish cemetery. There was a gravestone I was looking for because I saw it when I was here in 2000 and it impressed me. It was inscribed to a teacher and expressed the gratitude of his students. At that time, I was using film in my camera and didn't take nearly as many photos as I do now with the digital camera.

In the end, though, after making several loops within the cemetery, I could not find it.

Mohammed and I went to the Cafe Clock for lunch. It was highly recommended by John in Marrakech. It turned out to be a good choice.

King Mohammed VI is in town this weekend, and the security around his palaces is beefed up. (Evidently there are four palaces in Fez alone!)

As Mohammed and I were approaching the Ville Nouvelle, the police became much more animated than they had been. Along came the royal caravan. I wasn't quick enough with my camera; I was able to get a shot of the rear end of the king's vehicle.

Fez to Rabat
Monday, 16 January 2012

It was just a little under two and a half hours from Fez to Rabat on the train. This particular run, the 9:50 train, was one of the faster ones.

I opted for the first class again. On the first leg, to Meknes, I had a six-seat compartment to myself. Then, for the remainder of the trip, there was one other person in there with me.

Peggy was at the train station to pick me up and take me to her and Bill's home. There was yummy lentil soup for lunch.

By the time Bill and I finished doing the dishes, it started to rain, so I had no motivation to leave the house.

When the rain stopped, Peggy and I went out to the supermarket and then came home to have dinner. It was so relaxing and enjoyable spending the evening at home with them.

Tuesday, 17 January 2012

I headed first to the Russian embassy to see about my visa to visit Russia this spring. The consul was very pleasant and asked me if I had resident status in Morocco. When I told him I didn't, he explained that by Russian law, they would not be able to grant me a visa within a country where I did not have resident status.

This is a little morsel of information that the guy at the embassy in Nouakchott never told me. Had I known that, I never would have even tried to find the Russian embassy in Malta or Morocco.

In any event, much of the pressure is off concerning my getting the visa overseas. Originally I was going to be home in San Francisco for less than one month. But now I am going home earlier and will be there for ten weeks, so that should be plenty of time to arrange for the visa, especially since there is a Russian consulate in San Francisco.

I headed downtown to have a walk through the medina. It's not as ancient or interesting as the ones in Marrakech or Fez, but was enjoyable just the same.

I then walked to two places I had never been to in Rabat: the mausoleum of King Mohammed V and the kasbah.

The mausoleum is quite lavishly built and has some beautiful architectural features, as well as guards on horseback and in magnificent uniforms.

The kasbah is set right against the ocean, and is a picturesque setting.

After wandering around there for a while, I had a rendezvous with Ian. We went out to get some beers. On the way to getting our refreshment, I ran into Amel on the street. We had spoken earlier on the phone and were planning to get together the next night for dinner, but just happened to run into each other downtown on Rue Mohammed V.

Before I went to bed, I posted on Facebook that I had run into Amel. I was curious to see if there would be much reply when I got up the next day.

Wednesday, 18 January 2012

I was quite surprised to see the Facebook replies in the morning. Not only were there many mutual friends sending their greetings to Amel, but there was somebody else - Ryan - replying that he is now living in Rabat. I didn't know that he was here and he didn't know that I was visiting.

I love when that happens on Facebook. I need to remember to keep trying that! It worked in Zanzibar, too!

I stayed in the Rabat suburbs today and happily wandered about. There are spacious boulevards with nicely planted medians. It has a nice feel to it.

In the afternoon, I purchased food to make for dinner at Peggy and Bill's. It was nice to have a kitchen in which to cook.

I prepared ratatouille and pasta, with a salad of cucumbers and carrots. Peggy also invited Amel to dinner, so it was nice having some time for all of us to socialize together.

Rabat to Tétouan
Thursday, 19 January 2012

Peggy gave me a lift to the train station on her way to work. It was so nice to have spent some time with her and Bill, not to mention being able to leave town with clean clothes!

The trip was to take five hours. After the first three, I knew I had to get off at Assilah to change trains, so I was ready for that.

When the time came, somebody at the station came over to me and guessed right off the bat that I was American and started speaking to me in English. That is quite unusual in these parts, as people usually begin by guessing a long list of European countries before they even consider that I may be from the USA.

I told him that I wasn't staying in Assilah, and that I was going onward to Tétouan. He said that Assilah is much nicer than Tétouan , and that Americans like it so much because of the beaches. First of all, I don't care for beaches. Second of all, who is going to spend time on a beach in cold weather like this?

It's a good thing I asked him on which track the train for Tétouan was going to be arriving, because it was then that I learned that there was not going to be a train for Tétouan - that I had to leave the station and get on a bus.

The ticket had said "Supratours" on it, but I had no idea what "Supratours" meant. It turned out to be the name of the bus company that was taking us to Tétouan . We rode through Assilah on the way out of town, and I was happy not to be staying in that small place. Tétouan would have to be better and livelier than that!

It was a nice bus, very uncrowded, and the highway was well paved. Part of the time we were on a four-lane toll road, and then we left it to head to higher elevations for Tétouan, on a two lane road that was also nicely finished.

Instead of two hours, the bus trip took about an hour and a half. I took an immediate liking to Tétouan, and my first job was to get a hotel room. I found a very attractive three-star hotel very soon, and asked to see a room.

When I saw that the price for the room, as listed on the posted chart, was 450 DH (about $52), I said that I thought it was too high and that I would look around elsewhere. The guy asked how many nights I was going to stay. I said three. He said he could lower the price to 400 dirhams.

I looked at the room and said it was nice, but I would look around elsewhere first. Then the receptionist lowered the price to 350 ($40). At that point, I decided that I didn't want to be looking all over the place for another room, since this one was so nice, and I accepted the newest price.

While I have negotiated other prices in this part of the world, I was unaware that these hotel posted prices were negotiable. In other places, I have seen prices, said that they were too high, and was not given a counter-offer. But it is off-season, and I imagine that it is better to have some income than to leave the room empty.

My room is on the fourth floor, also known as the second floor. The ground floor is 0, the next floor up is known as restaurant, the next one after that is first, and then comes the second floor.

Tétouan
Friday, 20 January 2012

Breakfast was a carbohydrate festival, comprised of bread in eight different forms, from rolls to croissants to pancakes to the fairly typical flattened discs that I have come to appreciate. I got the opportunity to taste a few that I had seen in the marketplace but had not, as yet, sampled.

I spent a leisurely morning around my hotel room. It was so nice, I didn't feel compelled to leave it in such a hurry. Besides, I am going to be here two more days and there's not all that much to see, so why rush things?

Before I left the hotel, I asked the receptionist and other male employees in the lobby how much it should cost for a haircut. The general consensus was that I should pay no more than thirty dirhams, but I may be able to get one for as little as twenty. Armed with that information, I headed to the medina to see if I could get my hair cut before all the shops closed for Friday prayers.

I passed several barbers and also saw lots of picturesque sites in the medina. Most of the barbers had a few guys waiting to get their hair cut and I didn't feel like sitting and waiting, so I thought I would just find a guy who was not working at the moment and then go with him.

That turned out to be easy to do, as I eventually saw a guy whose shop measured about the square footage of two side-by-side bathtubs. When I asked him what his price was, he said fifteen dirhams. Considering what the guys at the hotel said, it didn't make sense to me to try to negotiate a lower price, so I went with that.

He was pretty good, but not quite on-target as the barber in Tunis. He cut off a bit more than I wanted, but it was still in the acceptable range. At least I am good to go until after I get home to my own haircutter in San Francisco in about a month.

In walking around, I have been seeing several signs in Spanish. We are close to the northern border of the country. A few people have been greeting me with, "Hola" instead of "Bonjour," thoiugh, incredulously, somebody greeted me with, "Bon appetit."

Some shops started to shut for the Friday prayers period, so I headed back to the hotel room for a while. It's such a nice room that I am enjoying my time there.

After 2:00 I headed out again and walked to the outskirts of the newer part of town before going to the medina again. This time I took an alternate path and had no idea where I was going, but thought I would figure it out once I exited the medina, wherever that would be. As I left, I saw a sign that said that the gate was Bab Noider. A quick look on my map told me that I had covered a wide swath on the city's east-west axis and that I was now only a short distance north of my hotel. It was very easy to find my way back, once I was in the newer part of town.

Saturday, 21 January 2012

I went back to the medina again. I'm finding it endlessly entertaining and there are very few tourists around. It's my last full day in Morocco, and I am looking forward to being able to walk down the street undetected as a foreigner and not sticking out as much as I am here.

My first destination of the day was up to the kasbah, which overlooks the city and has some beautiful views of the surrounding area.

The kasbah gate was ajar and some other guys were going in. When I was approaching, somebody asked me what I wanted. I said I was just walking around and then entered. While I was in there, a guy told me that this space belonged to the Royal Army. I didn't see any soldiers around, and then just continued to walk as I wanted to.

It's about time I made the anarchistic approach work for myself, as the locals make it work for themselves. People here pay no attention to stop signs, red lights, or no-smoking signs. They just do what they want, with little respect to any authority. So I just walked into the kasbah because I wanted to and didn't pay attention to anyone who questioned me. No problem with that, as it turned out.

On the way downhill, I entered the medina from the upper area. A few locals spotted me and asked where I was from. When I told them, they gave me warm greetings and said that America was wonderful. This is overwhelmingly the response that I get when I introduce myself.

There was a local museum I wanted to see, as well as a showplace for artisan objects. Both were closed. But when I passed by the Musée Archeologique Tétouan, it was open for business, so I entered in order to see some of the objects in there: jewelry, cookware, and many tile floors and walls.

Sunday, 22 January 2012

I am off to a geographically curious place: part of Spain on the mainland of Africa. Tune in to the next blog and find out about it.

Malta

2012-01-03T10:34:00.000-08:00

Mellieha
Monday, 2 January 2012

Piotr took me for a walk into town during the morning. We went to the bakery, the main church, an overlook from the church, a big hotel, and finally a stop for coffee before heading back to his place.

After some lunch we headed out again, this time into the countryside, which was quite pleasant.

Piotr is an engaging guy, extremely knowledgeable and intelligent. It is a enjoyable to hear him talk about any number of topics: history, economics, politics, local culture. He has it all well within his grasp. I could listen to him for hours.

Though his place is quite modern, there is no central heating system, much like a typical San Francisco home, and he has no space heaters.

There is also not any hot water. While there is a water heater, Piotr has chosen not to turn it on. He takes his showers at a nearby hotel. In the evening, I went there with him so that we could get cleaned up.

The indoor temperature at night got down to 55F/13C, so that was a bit nippy!

Tuesday, 3 January 2012

It was supposed to rain today but the first thing we saw was bright sunshine. Piotr decided to do some laundry in his washing machine and I appreciated the fact that he included a few of my items. We hung them on the outdoor clothesline to dry.

I headed out on my own today. I had two tasks to accomplish: (1) finding the Russian embassy so that I can get my visa for this spring and (2) getting a hotel once I leave Piotr's place, so that I don't overstay my welcome and in order to have some alone time.

While I was waiting for my first bus, the clouds formed and it started to rain. So much for clothes drying today!

The bus system here offers a weekly pass that one can buy on the bus for twelve euro, which is pretty good, I think. I bought the pass when I took my first bus ride and now don't have to worry about tickets for the rest of my stay.

En route to the embassy, I was able to stop in Mosta to see the church there. It has a dome that Piotr said is the third-largest unsupported dome in the world. In 1942 a bomb was dropped onto it. The bomb went through the roof, landed on the floor, and never was detonated. Nobody was hurt. A replica of the bomb is on display in one of the rooms of the church.

I found the Russian embassy and, in so doing, learned that it was closed this week for "national holidays," so I am going to have to put off my Russian visa until I get to Morocco. I also found a hotel in Valletta, so I will move on out there tomorrow.

In the evening, Piotr had a rendezvous with a friend, so I was at his place by myself. I prepared a large pot of soup and also washed the dishes.

As I was cooking and cleaning, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of gratitude. There was so much to be thankful for! I was being trusted to be alone in the home of a person I had met fewer than 48 hours earlier. There was food to eat, a roof over my head, and a budding new friendship with a highly intelligent and articulate person.

Mellieha to Valletta
Wednesday, 4 January 2012

I took my wet clothing off the clothesline. It was saturated with water - wetter than it was when it first came out of the washer.

Off I went to Valletta, capital of Malta. My hotel is an easy walk to the central place from which most of the bus lines eminate, so it should be fairly easy to make it to all the points I want to see during the next few days.

First thing I did was take a nice hot shower and hang up my wet clothes so that they could dry.

I have been back and forth from Mellieha to Valletta one and a half times now. I have noticed that each town has plenty of unusual and distinctive architecture to keep my busy for the rest of my time!

One of the features of homes here is that people give them names, complete with plaques to tell everyone what they call their home. This is in addition to a house number and street address. Here is a random sampling of the way people name their homes: Bartolo, EverGreen, Shalom, Victoria, Mon Reve, Thanks God, Mejova, Panderosa, St. Anna, Arcadia, Hyatt, Oklahoma, Paola, Flora, Massabielle, Maple Leaf, Hail Mary, Jelda, Ix-Xatba, Lunzjota, Savoy, Gloxinia, Villa Carmel, Bablo.

There are also many showings of religious symbols embedded into the exterior walls of the homes, as well as on display in front windows. It is evident that the residents here take their Catholicism quite seriously.

My destination today was the city of Rabat, which is home to Mdina, the ancient walled city on a hill. What an amazing place! I took dozens of photos and thoroughly enjoyed my time there, both in the old city of Mdina and the newer Rabat.

Valletta
Thursday, 5 January 2012

I headed to an area known as The Three Cities. They are near Valletta and located on the opposite side of the water, so it is easy to see them from Valletta and to see Valletta from them.

Each of the cities is known by two names - one old and one modern. But it is hard to tell which is which. There are Bormla (Cospicua), Il-Birgu (Vittoriosa), and L-Isla (Senglea). In addition to them, I visited an adjacent town named Kalkara.

Everything there is quite picturesque indeed, especially with the views onto the water and over to the other communities.

Friday, 6 January 2012

In my travels between Mellieha and Valletta, I had passed through Sliema and near St. Julians. They seemed rather nice, located on a bay. So I decided to spend some time there today.

The huge advantage of being in Valletta near the bus station is that I can get buses easy to anywhere on the island. My desitations were close by anyway, so that made it easy.

As my bus was nearing the end of the line in St. Julians, my eye caught a sign on a sandwich board in front of a building: CHINESE MASSAGE. I made a mental note as to the building location, so that I could go back there.

St. Julians is an area that caters to tourists, and there were a few chain restaurants: Pizza Hut, Burger King, McDonald's and Wagamama. I went for the Wagamama noodles as my lunch.

From there, I was off to get that massage. The price list included exactly what I needed: neck and shoulder massage for thirty minutes. Relief was on the way!

The gal working on me had very strong hands and it did not take her long to find the trouble spots that have been giving me problems for weeks. The hammam masseurs in Sidi Bou Saïd and Houmt Souq had been clueless, but this gal was right on the money within just a few minutes.

It hurt like hell at first, as there were some serious knots up there. But even halfway through the massage, when she returned to that area, we both noticed the huge difference she had already made when she said, "Better already."

It was great walking around for the rest of the day without that nagging pain! I enjoyed the area, even though it started to rain a bit. It must be really nice in the summer.

When I stopped to take a look at some flyers in the window of a real estate agency, I was standing there for a few minutes, just to see some of the local offerings: locations, numbers of rooms, prices - that sort of thing - when a young man came out to introduce himself to me and offer his services, should I ever decide to buy property here. Not likely that I would do that, but it was nice of him to offer.

Saturday, 7 January 2012

Plan A was to meet Piotr at Golden Bay and take a walk around there. When I got there and waited a while, seeing that Piotr wasn't there, I eventually asked at a restaurant if I could use their phone to call him, only to find that he wouldn't be able to make it.

I snapped a few shots and then got on a bus headed towards Villetta. It was just too cold and windy right there at the shore. On the way back to Valletta, I made several stops along the way, getting on and off buses frequently.

I enjoyed the day, using the local bus system as my own hop on-hop off buses for getting from place to place.

Valletta to Tunis to Casablanca to Marrakesh, Inshallah
Sunday, 8 January 2012

I have three flights for the day:

12:45 Malta to Tunis, arriving at 13:55 - on Tunisair
18:55 Tunis to Casablanca, arriving at 20:40 - on Royal Air Maroc
21:40 Casablanca to Marrakesh, arriving at 22:25 - on Royal Air Maroc

So far, Tunisair has been two hours late from Nouakchott to Tunis and thirteen hours late from Tunis to Malta. Let's see how they do on this. Fortunately, with a five-hour layover in Tunis, I can manage a late arrival of a few hours.

Royal Air Maroc is not known for its punctuality, either. If the first flight is on time and the second one is late, I will make it to Marrakesh. But who knows how this will work out?

My prediction for the day is that I will make it to Casablanca but not to Marrakesh. In any event, I am beginning the day with a calm attitude and the without any strong attachment to the idea of arriving in Marrakech on time.

Stay tuned to find out what happens.

Tunisia

2011-12-31T00:57:00.000-08:00

Sidi Bou Saïd and Tunis

Friday, 16 December 2011

There was one advantage to my flight's arriving two hours late: instead of being at the airport at the scheduled 5:00 AM, we were there at 7:00 AM.

In any event, it was a long night's journey into day, and though I may have dozed off a bit on the plane, it was anything but a restful sleep.

Going through immigration, we were faced with the same situation as has happened almost everywhere I have arrived: of the twelve stations where customs officials could have been posted, only two were open. This made for a long and arduous process.

At least my baggage was there when I went to pick it up, so that was good. There were ATMs available, so I got some Tunisian dinars (DT), and off I went to find a taxi to my hotel.

Janine and Melanie were here just a few weeks ago, so Janine gave me some advice for getting a taxi: rather than pay a higher price for a taxi within the airport, walk across the street and pay half of that.

Stephen, who is living here, said that he usually pays 15 DT for a taxi to Sidi Bou Saïd from the airport. Using the Janine method, I was able to get one for 8.

I had tried to make an online reservation with the hotel, but they never replied to my request. I sent a message to my friend Sabi, asking him to call for me. Evidently, he didn't do it, because there was no reservation. That turned out not to be a problem, though, as there was a room available.

It's a beautiful little hotel, with rooms centered around a courtyard. Everything is nicely appointed, and I am very comfortable here.

My first task was to find a hammam (public bathhouse) because I needed to see about getting massage for my left shoulder. When I found the hammam, down the hill from the main part of town, I learned that I needed to have had my own towel and soap with me. So I trekked back to the hotel for that.

The massage was so-so. I tried to direct him to that shoulder, where I needed the most attention, but he had his own agenda. Massage in a Tunisian hammam is not a warm-and-fuzzy experience: one lies down directly on a slab of marble, so that means that any kind of pushing from the masseur presses you directly into the stone. I thought he was going to break my ribcage.

Another noteworthy aspect of the hammam experience is that nobody walks around nude. The men wear their underwear or shorts.

I did manage to get a little relief, though.

In the afternoon, I took the local train to Marsa to see about getting either a sweater or a jacket. If the weather keeps up like this - temperature in the low sixties/high fifties - I am going to get some good use out of this for the next few months.

It's a bit like San Francisco in the winter, as it is the same Mediterranean climate. I had left a jacket at my father's in New York. Just as well, as if I had brought it with me, I would have been carrying it with me during the last month.

I didn't find anything suitable so will have to keep looking tomorrow.

There are vineyards in Tunisia, so it is possible to drink wine here. Many Muslim countries I have visited are like that. But I did not see wine for sale in bottles anywhere. I am going to have to figure out that one.

In the evening, I went to a restaurant near my hotel and had a glass of wine, which was very nice.

By evening, considering the lack of sleep, I could hardly keep my eyes open. I got into bed at 8:00 PM.

Saturday, 17 December 2011

I must have slept more than ten hours, so that was great.

Breakfast is included in the cost of the room, and it is comprised 100% of things I would never consume at home: white bread with butter, egg, yogurt, orange juice, caffeinated coffee or black tea with milk and sugar. I am a strong vegetarian but a weak vegan, so I ate it all. Besides, there were no shops nearby where I could have purchased fruit, my preferred breakfast.

What a stark contrast this is from Mauritania! Everything here is very European in appearance. With its location on the Mediterranean, if it weren't for the Arabic on the signs this area could be mistaken for Spain, Italy, or Greece.

I went to the Bardo Museum in Tunis. It is famous for its ancient Roman mosaics. I had thought that I was there during my previous visit, but nothing about it looked familiar, so maybe I never went there.

As I neared the museum, it was just about noon and I thought it would be good to get some lunch, rather than to be walking around inside on an empty stomach. I stopped at a place to ask if there were any vegetarian dishes, and the staff recommended a plate of couscous with vegetables. Sold!

As I approached the building an armed guard signalled to me that I should not approach what I thought was the museum. I asked if that was the museum. He said it was not. I asked him what it was. He would not tell me. I said, Oh, so you don't want me to know what that is.

A man standing nearby, who overheard us, steered me in the direction of the museum's unmarked temporary entrance. It was from he that I learned that the other building was the Parliament. I could understand not being allowed to enter the Parliament, but what earthly reason would the guard have for not letting on what it was?

The main portion of the museum is being renovated, simultaneous to a new expansion that is under construction. Only a small portion of the main building was open, but what I saw was magnificent. Under this renovation, all the walls look pristine. Everywhere one walks, there are beautiful mosaics to see, both embedded in the walls and on the floors as well.

It's possible to see some of the restoration work in progress; though the rooms are closed off to visitors, the contents are visible. In one such room, a worker signaled to me that I should enter a room that was off-limits. He wanted to show me a wall that I would not have been able to see otherwise.

He then showed me an anteroom behind a barricade, and let me peek at the walls back there. As I was leaving the room, he held out his hand for his tip. He asked me for 1 DT ($.70), which I was happy to pay.

On the main floor, I could see an unlit hallway that led to the new wing. At the other end, there were some people walking around. I asked a guard if those were visitors to the museum, and if they were, how could I, too, get in there.

He said that they worked for the museum. It seemed that that was the only answer I needed in order to know that I would not be able to get in there. But then he pulled aside the rope that served as a barrier to the hallway and he indicated that I should follow him down there so that I could see it.

He led me to what will be the new entry hall of the museum, once this area is opened next May. It is spacious, bright, and will be a magnificent gateway to these works of art.

On the way back towards town, I got off the tram at Place de la Republique, which seemed to be a likely place to shop for a sweater or jacket.

In trying on a few garments in one of the stores, I noted that the zipper pulls are on the left side. In the USA, that generally indicates an article made for women. There were really no pieces that grabbed me, and I was not interested in getting something that cost about $50, which seemed to be the lowest price for anything suitable.

I then stumbled upon an area that looked like a flea market. One of the tables had a jumble of jackets on it. When I asked about prices, the man in charge indicated that on one pile everything was 1 DT ($.70) and on the other, they were 3 DT. Wow! That would be amazing to find a jacket for such a price! But there was really nothing that fit or looked appealing.

Further on down there was another guy with two tables of jackets. I asked about his prices and he said 5 DT. That would be all right, too, if I could find something decent for $3.50.

Eventually I came upon a jacket that was a little large for me, but otherwise was all right with regard to color and style. In handing over a 10 DT-bill, I expected to get back either a 5 DT bill or coin (they have both). To my great surprise, he handed me not only a 5 DT bill, but four coins of 1 DT each. Unknown to me, I had picked this jacket from the pile where everything cost 1 DT, not 5. I was pleased with my purchase.

When I got back to my hotel, I sent a text message to an American acquaintance who has been living in Tunis for a few months. I asked if he could fill me in on what was proving to be a closely-guarded secret: where do you buy a bottle of wine around here.

He called me back and told me that he had heard there was some at the supermarket in town. I had been there, but hadn't seen any. He said that you had to go “downstairs” to get it. Armed with this new morsel of knowledge, I headed back down the hill to see if I could find the stairs in the supermarket.

In walking the perimeter, I eventually came upon a sign overhead, which pointed to an area that was marked “alcoholic beverages.” It wasn't downstairs but behind a door that was controled by a guard.

Once in there, I saw many shelves of beer and wine. This little room was doing brisk business, as more than a dozen customers, almost all of whom were young men in their twenties, were purchasing beer and wine. All transactions were completed right there within the room so that nobody shopping anywhere else in the store would have to be witness to either the product or its purchase.

Quick observations for the day:

In addition to local music, I have heard several songs from abroad. Today, while walking down the street, I heard Sade singing “Smooth Operator.” In the restaurant where I had lunch I heard Louis Armstrong's “Wonderful World.” On two separate occasions, I heard versions of “Bessame Mucho.”

Smoking is terrible here. My guess is that at least 90% of men over 18 smoke, and they do it just about everywhere. The only place that seems to be off-limits is on trains. As for everywhere else, all bets are off!

Sunday, 18 December 2011

This makes the second day in a row of intermittent rain. I didn't have much to do in the way of agenda, so I headed to Tunis to see the medina, the old market area. I had one small item on my list: if I were to see an electronics shop, I could get a plug adapter. I must have left mine at Melanie and Alassane's.

I was mighty happy to have my newly acquired jacket, as it was cold (probably in the mid-fifties, in terms of Farenheit).

There were a few shops open in the medina, but I remember it being much more lively than that. I imagine that Sunday would be the reason why so many of the shops are closed. I didn't need anything from the shops, but was greeted and beckoned to come into many of the shops. I just had to nod, wave, and keep walking.

I found a place for lunch where I could get a tasty couscous with vegetables. I think that that is going to become a mainstay for me. Add a little bit of the harissa (hot sauce) and that spices it up quite a bit.

On the train heading back to Sidi Bou Saïd, it was about 3:30 to 4:00 PM and there was a group of teenage boys playing around, getting off the train and then getting back on at the same station. I have seen this a few times here: they get off the train and then try to get back on just as the doors are closing. With their bodies wedged between the almost closed doors, they run alongside for a while and then one of them in the train manages to open the doors all the way so that the one on the outside can get in.

Aside from the person at the head of the train who is operating the controls, there doesn't seem to be any police or conductors to keep tabs on what is going on with these kids. Nor do any of the adults bother to say anything to them

It was at one of the stops, with the doors of the train open, when one of these kids made a mad dash towards me, grabbed my backpack as it sat on my lap, and then jumped off of the train as the doors closed behind him.

To say I was surprised is putting it mildly. And not just surprised, but bleeding, because when the backpack was snatched out of my grip I was holding it (somewhere - not sure where) in such a way that a nice chunk of skin next to the fingernail of my right hand middle finger came along with it.

So, what was I to do?

This kid and his friends could manage to get anywhere as the train continued to travel. They could get on another train going in either direction and be long gone by the time I got back to them.

I got off at the next station, in order to see if there were a police stand nearby. A man at the station asked me what I was looking for and when I told him, he took me down the street to a shop, where a shopkeeper pointed out a station.

The police in that station were absolutely unwilling to do a thing. They didn't get up, they didn't offer to write a report. “Not in my job description” was their attitude.

So I went back to the station where I had gotten off and then got on a train headed back to the station where the kid had gotten off.

I told the ticket-sellers what had happened, and they made a phone call, ostensibly to some kind of authority. In the meanwhile, in preparation for filing some sort of police report, I made an inventory of what had been stolen:

In addition to the backpack itself (my brand-new TIMBUK2 pack that was designed to carry a laptop in a separate compartment), there was a pair of sunglasses, a pair of reading glasses, travel umbrella, cell phone charger, the part of the plug leading from my netbook computer to the outlet, the new plug adapter, Janine's Tunisia guidebook that she had lent me, a bottle of water, one and three-quarters dark chocolate bars, a pen, a mechanical pencil, and a couple of souvenir keychains from San Francisco.

My immediate concern were the reading glasses and the netbook plug. I am traveling with a copy of the prescription for the glasses, so I can replace those, but that could be expensive. Would I be able to find the cord I needed in order to recharge my netbook? If not, I have only a few hours to go, and then it will be useless until I can find another one.

I made a phone call to somebody I know who is employed by the State Department and is currently living in Tunis. He asked if I still had my passport and credit cards. When I told him that I did, he advised me that filling out any kind of report would be a waste of time and that I shouldn't even bother.

Alternately sucking at and dabbing at the blood dripping from my finger, I decided to get on the next train headed to Sidi Bou Said and see what I could do to get my head into a better frame of mind - one that would help me get through all this.

My first approach was to take a look at the positive aspect of what was going on, and to count my blessings: I was alive; I am in good health; I have wonderful family and friends who care about me; I have a nice home; I have a comfortable life; I have the resources to replace the stolen items and then keep on traveling; I didn't lose my passport, credit cards, or anything more valuable.

I told myself that whenever my thoughts went to the incident, that I would do my best to direct them back to the sense of gratitude. That was going to be my best approach. We'll just let the universal forces take care of the kid, as they will do a better job than any police report can do.

It was not easy to keep my focus on the bright side, but I did keep trying to do that. It was also not easy to sleep, but I did manage to get some sleep.

Monday, 19 December 2011

More rain! And it's even colder than yesterday!

After yesterday's event, I had a sense of nausea going through me. I didn't even want to leave my hotel room. But it was clear to me that in addition to reminding myself to focus on the positive, it would not be good to avoid people. I needed to get out into the streets, deal with people, experience that there are more kind people than evil ones, and give myself a chance to get back to “normal.”

Once in downtown Tunis, I headed to the place where I had gotten the plug adapter yesterday. It was a little shopping center where all of the shops had electronics and their peripherals. On the way there, I stopped at a shop that sold cell phones. They said a new charge would cost 20 DT ($14). I had a feeling I could do better, so I moved along.

I got to the elecronics mall and saw some plugs with converters in one of the windows. I showed mine to the salesman and asked if he had the part that went from the converter to the outlet. He said yes. But by “yes,” he didn't really mean that he had it in the store - just that he could get one for me. He could! And he did!

When he returned with it in his hand, he told me that it would cost 15 DT. Rather than show my glee that such an item was so easy to find, I said that the cost was too high. He said it wasn't too high. I asked if he would take 10 DT ($7) and he held out his hand for the money.

The next store I went to had a phone charger for 10 DT, half the price of the first store, and the guy held firm on that price.

It took quite a while to find a place in the medina that didn't see only leather items. I finally found one with an array of canvas bags and backpacks. I was surprised at the guy's low starting price for a decent backpack (25 DT, $17.50), but I also realized if that was where he was starting, then I could get it for less than that.

I didn't even have to say anything to ask for a lower price, as he started lowering it all by himself: first 20 DT and then 15 DT ($10.50). It is a plain black pack with an Eastpack logo (that is a popular European brand), but it is most assuredly not a genuine Eastpack item.

The trickiest replacement item was definitely going to be the Tunisia Lonely Planet guidebook in English. I eventually found a store that had some Lonely Planet books, but it was in French. And there was, of course, no bargaining for this item, as the price was clearly marked on the label. Oh, well, I guess I am just going to have to practice reading my French in addition to speaking it.

Once I got the book, I put it in the backpack and then took of my coat, put the backpack on, and then put the coat on top of it. No taking chances on the train this time!

In walking about, I stopped into an office of Tunisair to see about flights to Malta. Since I am this close, I thought I would see about going there. Flights run only on Sundays and Wednesdays. I am going to have to see how I can fit that in, or possibly try to see if I can find a different airline for the flight.

During the few times that it rained today, I did all right with putting up the hood on my jacket. For the time being I think I will be able to do without getting another umbrella. I must have at least three or four travel umbrellas at home anyway.

In the evening I had a nice dinner with Stephen, whom I originally met in Washington, DC in 2009. He is now working here and enjoying it very much.

Tunis to Sousse

Tuesday, 20 December 2011

I made it to the train station area in plenty of time to be able to get some lunch. The train was scheduled to leave at 12:05 and the ride was going to be a bit more than two hours, so I thought it best to eat some lunch before the ride rather than wait until I arrived in Sousse.

I had my heart and tastebuds set on lablabi (also written leblebi, pronounced lub-LUB-ee), which is a chickpea soup in a light broth. There is a bit of a procedure involved in finding and eating lablabi.

Not all restaurants serve it, but it is easy to spot one that does: there is a display of distinctive lablabi bowls somewhere near the front of the restaurant. Sometimes they are in straight stacks, with the open bowl facing up and sometimes they are face-down, stacked like a pyramid. Occasionally you'll see just one of these bowls on a table in front. That's all they need to do to let everyone know that they have lablabi.

When I peered into a restaurant to see if they had the telltale bowls, one of the workers came up to ask me if he could help me. It was a really nice large and clean place named Oui Oui. I asked the man if they had lablabi and he was delighted that I not only knew what it was but that it was something I wanted to eat. He went straightaway to the window that opened up to the kitchen, said something to the staff inside, and everyone came to the window, looked out to me, and smiled.

I had the choice between the large size (1,300 DT, $.91) or the medium (1,200 DT, $.84). I felt like living large, so I sprang for the bigger one.

The procedure for preparing it goes like this: the server brings over the bowl with some baguettes. The customer tears the baguettes into pieces and puts them in the bowl, then returns the bowl to the server, who ladles the hot soup into the bowl. You can ask for additions of an egg, olive oil, or other condiments, depending on the restaurant. Harissa (hot sauce) also goes in there, usually without even asking; I love that harissa! Then the bowl is returned to the diner with two large soup spoons, which you use to mix everything up. The bread is softened when it soaks up the liquid.

There you have it: a meal that tastes good, feels good, and is especially welcome during these cold days. (In fact, on a few occasions, when I have asked for lablabi, the reply was something along the lines of, “It's cold, isn't it?”

(I should explain something about the money. Note, above, that I mention prices of 1,300 and 1,200 DT. First of all, they use the comma instead of a decimal point to indicate a portion that is less than a full dinar. Secondly, the dinar is divided not into cents or centimes (100 to the dinar) but into millimes, indicating a thousand to the dinar. So half a dinar is not 50 centimes but 500 millimes. It takes a bit of getting used to.)

From the restaurant it was a short walk to the train station. The train not only left on time, but took a little less time than scheduled. I was in Sousse by a little after 2:00, under sunny skies. It is about as cold as Tunis (10C, 50F) but the ground is dry, so it appears not to have rained here recently.

I found my hotel easily, checked in, and headed out to deal with two chores: getting new reading glasses and purchasing my round trip ticket to Malta.

There appeared to be a citywide optician siesta in progress. While all the other stores were open for business, the eyeglass shops were closed. Once they began to open, I checked out a couple of shops. I found that the price range for reading glasses was anywhere from 100 to 250 DT ($100 to 175). I never need high fashion name brand frames; just the basic ones will do. I eventually found a pair that I liked and cost 110 DT (after the discount that the shop owner offered).

I was surprised at the answer when I asked when they would be ready: in fifteen minutes! I wasn't expecting that “in about an hour” type of reply. I placed my order and set out to the office of Tunisair.

I bought the round trip ticket to Malta. The schedule is not the greatest, as Tunisair flies there only on Sundays and Wednesdays. Round trip is about $200. Last night when I checked online to see if I could find any better prices, expedia.com came up with an Air France round trip for just under $1,000! I'm sticking with Tunisair.

My next challenge will be getting to Marrakech from Tunis.

By the time that was accomplished, I went back to pick up my glasses, which were ready and waiting for me. But it was a big moushkila (problem) when I took out my Visa card to pay for them. Despite the fact that the shop door was plastered with Visa decals, it seems they never expected anyone to take them up on the offer. “The machine is out of order," explained the shopkeeper. Bullshit!

He then told me we could go to the bank. I didn't know how that would work, but went along with him to see what he had in mind. At the bank he pointed me to the ATM and asked me to withdraw money from there to pay for the glasses.

I told him I didn't want to do that. What's the point of using a credit card if you are going to take money from an ATM all the time? He asked me how I pay for a cup of coffee. Do I use a credit card for that?

No, I told him. I do withdraw money from ATMs from time to time, but wanted to use the credit card for this.

Then, knowing that he must be rather chummy with some of the other merchants who are his neighbors, I suggested that we go to one of their shops, I pay that merchant the 110 DT, and then the two of them work out some sort of transfer between them. That is what transpired. Done!

By that point I had been in town for only two hours and had gotten these major tasks accomplished, so that was good.

I spent the rest of the afternoon walking around in the medina and found a place with a delicious couscous with vegetables.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, the man at the front desk had told me when I checked in that he would find out the password for the wifi, but evidently the person with the password was not to be found. It took quite a bit of looking to find an Internet place, and when I found one, I learned that I could not use my own laptop, which put me in the position of having to use the awkward French keyboard.

Let's see if there will be a password at the hotel tomorrow.

Sousse
Wednesday, 21 December 2011

A sign in the hotel indicated the hours during which breakfast was served. When I went to the lobby for breakfast, I learned that they don't serve breakfast any longer. (Then why is the sign still up? Never mind. Why ask why?)

In any event, that turned out to be in my favor, as I was able to buy my own fruit rather than eat stuff I did not want to eat.

There are three museums here, but one of them (Musée Archeologique de Sousse et Casbah) is closed for renovations. The Musée Privé d'Art Contemporain is on the outskirts and I decided to walk to it, mostly as a means to pass time. With not much to see and with plenty of time during which to see it, there was no use rushing around.

En route I stopped at the bus station to find out about transport to Djerba, my next destination. There is a bus at 10:30 AM that arrives at 6:00 PM. I was surprised to learn that it would take seven and a half hours, because Janine said that it took eight hours from Tunis, and I am already two hours away from Tunis.

One other alternative is available, and it is called the louage. Louages are minivans that connect most of the towns and cities. They don't run on fixed schedules, though. They leave when they are full. Upon checking into it at the louage station, I found I would have to take a louage to Gabès (three hours) and then another one to Djerba (a little more than an hour). This seems like a better alternative to me, as it would involve much less travel time.

The Musée Privé d'Art Contemporain, also called Dar Am Taïeb, is remarkable. It is filled with the work of one man: Taïeb Ben Hadj Ahmed. There are sculptures of stone, wood, and iron, as well as assemblages of mosaic tiles and other materials. I really enjoyed both the home in which it is shown, as well as the work itself. (Check it out at www.art-tunisie.com.)

Still with plenty of time on my hands, I decided to walk back. In so doing, I passed the southern end of the medina and decided to enter so that I could follow the walls along the interior. At one point I was in an area where there were lots of open doors with women standing just inside the doorways. I grew suspicious when these women began to greet me, as it is almost unheard of for a woman here to initiate a conversation with a man she does not know. In order for a woman to do that she would have to be a...

Hmmm....

And then I noticed that there were lots of guys milling about in the narrow lanes outside of these doors. Thus I came to understand that I had stumbled onto the local version of the red-light district. I hightailed it out of there and decided to follow the walls of the medina on the outside.

When I got back to the hotel, the man who promised me the password was there, but he didn't have it yet. He said he would have it by late afternoon. I told him he said he would have it by morning. He made a phone call and then got it for me. When he gave it to me, he made me swear that I would not give it to anyone else. (To whom would I give it?)

I was feeling a bit paranoid while walking around, because of Sunday's incident on the train. If I take a picture, I am sure to use my camera when nobody is near enough to be able to snatch it out of my hand; instead of walking around with a backpack, I keep my guide book in my jacket pocket. I feel as if anyone can come up to me at any moment to attack me. I guess this is understandable and I hope that it subsides soon.

Thursday, 22 December 2011

There was only one more thing I wanted to see in Sousse: the Musée Dar Essid, located in the medina. It turned out to be a good choice, as it is the home of the former beys (mayors) of Sousse, and is elegantly appointed.

There were rooms for the bey, his first wife, his second wife, children under the age of ten, and children older than ten, as well as servants' quarters.

From there, I took a walk through the medina. After that, I walked north along the beach area, which is where all the tourist hotels are. It's a newer part of town and more European in appearance. There seem to be lots of apartments for sale, with signs in English and French.

On the way back to my hotel, I saw a sign in a hotel around the corner from mine on which they advertised having a hammam and massage. When I inquired about it, they showed me to a place across the street, which made me feel suspicious.

I went up there and they asked me when I wanted to come by. I said I could be there in half an hour. I wanted to go to my room and leave all my money there, except for the cost of the hammam and massage.

When I got back, they led me to a room to change, and then to the hammam, but it was not a real hammam. It was a portable steam room that was neither very comfortable nor very hot. After sitting in there for a while, I decided that this place was just not legitimate, so I got dressed and left.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, the Internet stopped working. It had been great the day before, and because of the connection, there was plenty to keep me busy during the evening. I have to admit to being an addict in that regard. Being able to write and post the blog, post photos, and to both read and send messages really helps me to keep my spirits up.

Sousse to Houmt Souq, Djerba
Friday, 23 December 2011

I was at the louage station by 8:00 AM. A full louage had just left for Gabès (which I have so far heard pronounced both as GEB-bis and gah-BESS), so I became the first person in this new vehicle. Despite the obvious disadvantage of having to wait for seven other people to fill the louage so we could go, there is one important up-side to being the first person in an empty louage: you get first pick of the seats.

My inclination is to sit in the front. I tested the seatbelt to see if it worked, and found that it did. That was going to be my seat.

The driver informed me that the area next to him was two places, so I knew there would be somebody next to me. I was surprised when a woman came to claim it; she would be sitting between the driver and me, two strange men. In Mauritania that would be unheard of, but things seem to be a little more open here in that regard.

Our eighth and final passenger arrived at 8:49, and that galvanized everyone into action, from hanging around outside the vehicle to getting into there places. A full louage ready to leave the station signalled the arrival of a guy in a yellow reflective vest, who proceeded to collect 300 millimes ($.21) from all the passengers.

Though I could not understand exactly what everyone said, it appeared that this request for 300 millimes triggered a brouhaha that pitted one of the passengers against the man collecting the money. The other passengers seemed to be both supporting and trying to calm down this guy objecting to the additional 300 millimes, while several of the louage drivers and people working in the garage were trying to calm down the guy in the vest. When they pulled him away from the vehicle, the driver saw his opportunity and made a getaway.

The people had arrived one by one to the vehicle when it was filling up. Nobody had seemed to know anyone else, nor had anyone said a word to each other. But the event at the station evidently had become a bonding experience that had instantly made them best buddies. The chatter continued almost non-stop for the entire trip. I imagine that they are all Facebook friends by now.

The first two hours we were mostly on a toll road with two lanes of traffic in each direction, making really great time. Then we had to leave that and were subject to the slow traffic, donkey carts, and other problems usually associated with two-lane highways.

We stopped at a security point and a police officer collected everyone's identity cards, disappearing with them for about ten minutes into his station. Shortly after that, we had a rest stop.

Though it was only 11:08 when we stopped, and we were supposed to be in Gabès in an hour or so, I thought it best to seize the opportunity to have lunch. I am getting into a rut: couscous with vegetables. But I do enjoy it, so why not keep it going?

Two of the women had something to eat at the same table with the driver, but all the others sat in the louage, and I realized once I sat down to eat that they were all sitting there watching me. “Look at the gringo. He eats couscous. Isn't that funny? Hahahahaha.”

At this point, I have had couscous and vegetables in at least four or five different restaurants in Tunis and Sousse. It has always cost three dinars. I don't know if there is a national set price for this, or what, but that just has always been the price. So I didn't even ask the price this time. I simply handed the cashier a five-dinar coin and held out my hand for the change.

He put a one-dinar coin in my hand. I thought, Hmmmmm. I am just going to keep my hand here and see what happens. He looked at me, put his hand back into the register, and then put another one-dinar coin in my hand.

Because of the pokey traffic, it took until almost 1:00 to get to the Gabes louage station. I went to the ticket booth to get my ticket for Djerba, and when I got to the louage, saw that the last seat was just being occupied. For the second time, I became the first person in a new louage.

This time the front seat was for one person, and I was it! Once again, I was the only person in the vehicle wearing a seatbelt. This is something that people chuckle about here. Let them laugh. I am using the seatbelt if it is there!

Standing around in Gabes waiting for the car to fill, I could feel that the air was a little warmer than it has been since I arrived in Tunisia. I didn't need my scarf or jacket.

We left Gabès at 1:41 and arrived at the ferry queue at 2:58. There seemed to be a few ferries working, but as I counted vehicles coming off, I could see that they averaged about 17 to 21 per ferry. We had to wait for two ferries to load up before there was enough space for us to get on.

Buses evidently have the right to skip waiting in line. I saw one drive to the head of the line while we were waiting. Then, just as we were about to get on the ferry, a bus came along and cut in front of us. Fortunately, once the bus boarded, there was room for our louage and one more car behind us.

When we arrived on Djerba and left the port area, I could see that the line for the ferry on that side was humongous. Maybe the reason for the long wait was because it was Friday evening and there were many people leaving for the weekend. In any event, I should consider that when I leave Djerba; perhaps taking a bus would be the best move in order to avoid a long wait.

We arrived in Houmt Souq at about 4:00. Had I waited for the bus, I would have still been traveling.

The hotel I had picked out from the guidebook was close to the louage station, so that was convenient. It's the largest room yet, and very pleasant. Wifi access is not free, but it is a very reasonable 4 DT ($2.80) a day.

(When I signed onto Facebook I read about two Peace Corps Volunteers who had just died in a car accident in Mozambique. I don't know if they were wearing their seatbelts or not. That story further galvanized me to be sure not to take any chances in these louages and taxis. Let the other passengers laugh. I don't care.)

I took a walk through the town and found a supermarket, but they didn't sell any wine. When I asked where I could find one, they told me I had to go to the "zone touristique," which is the area near the coast where all the big and fancy tourist hotels and resorts are. I was considering not even going near that part of the island, but I guess now that I will.

I understand that more tourists than locals may be interested in buying alcoholic beverages, but at the supermarket in Sidi Bou Saïd, I was definitely the only foreigner buying alcohol.

Houmt Souq
Saturday, 24 December 2011

I received an email from Richard and Judy in Marrakech, confirming that it would be all right to arrive on the day I was suggesting. Now I have to get to a travel agency so I can pay for my reservation.

I found a travel agency in Houmt Souq. They were able to reconfirm my reservation. They accept credit cards and - no surprise! - their machine is out of order. So how do I pay for the reservation? I said I would be back on Monday to see about this.

I took a taxi to Midoun, the second-largest city on the island. In the main part of town there are several little shopping centers selling tourist souvenirs and displaying large signs that say "FIXED PRICES" in English, Spanish, French, and German. I guess there are lots of tourists that don't want to haggle, and would prefer knowing that the price is fixed.

Before I left Midoun, I found a place selling lablabi, and that was great! I know I am going to start making that at home!

The weather is the nicest today since my arrival in Tunisia: full sunshine and temperatures about 18C/65F. For much of the day it was too warm to wear my jacket, so I had to carry it with me, but I didn't mind that at all.

I decided to walk to the zone touristique. Once again, I had not much to do all day and plenty of time with which to do it. Once I reached that zone, it was quite apparent, as the median in the road became much more lushly planted. Do they do that only for the tourists? Are tourists the only ones who enjoy greenery?

I was curious to see what the guidebook referred to as a mix of Las Vegas and casbah. In all, though, it was fairly tastefully done, with picturesque architecture and nicely planted grounds.

Before I left, I was able to find a supermarket that had a small side room where wine and other alcohol were sold. Once I did that, I started looking for a taxi, as I didn't want to carry around those bottles.

Sunday, 25 December 2011

There is a hammam in town, where the sign says that they offer massage. Hours for men are until noon, so I went there right away in the morning.

The masseur and I had many problems communicating, as we were each attached to our conflicting agendas. He wanted to do his typical program, which included his client's reclining on the hard marble surface and a complete defoliation using a scratchy loufa mitt.

I wanted him to concentrate on my shoulders and back.

I continually directed him to my shoulders and back, and I also insisted that I wanted him to work on me in a sitting position. He wanted me to lie down on the marble slab, use the loufa mitt, and do the defoliation thing.

We continued to be at odds with each other, and the result was that I was not very satisfied with his work.

From there, I headed back to my hotel to get ready for a day of sightseeing.

My first stop was the town of Guellala, where I wanted to see the museum that shows the heritage of the island (Musée Guellala, also called Musée du Patrimoine). The museum is comprised of a large number of dioramas that show various aspects of life here, complete with costumes and depictions of local objects.

From there, I walked into town and had lunch: couscous with vegetables.

There were not a lot of taxis circulating after lunch, so I walked along the road to my next destination. Eventually a bus came along and I told them that I wanted to go to the town of El-Riadh to see the synagogue of la Ghriba.

The bus let me off in town, and when I asked a taxi driver if he could take me to the synagogue, he pointed me towards the road and said it was walking distance.

The synagogue was gorgeous and quite distinctive. I have never seen one quite like it. There was a large outer room for the women and a smaller inner room with bimah for the men.

I had seen a postcard of the synagogue when I was here seven years ago, but I didn't have time to make it to this part of Tunisia during that trip.

From El-Riadh it was easy to get a taxi back to Houmt Souq.

Monday, 26 December 2011

I stayed in town for the day. There were two little chores I needed to take care of and also two sites I wanted to see.

I began by trying to take care of paying for my plane ticket to Marrakech. I went to the travel agency and asked if their credit card machine was working. It was not. No surprise there. So I asked how they wanted me to deal with that.

They said they could send me to another agency that had a credit card machine, and that one of their employees would walk me there, as it was only a five-minute walk. Before we went, however, they thought to call to see if the credit card machine was working. As it turned out, it was not.

That left me to my own devices, and I simply walked around looking for more travel agencies. The first one I went to booked only tours in Tunisia. The second one booked only hotel reservations. The third was the charm. They accepted Visa and their machine was in working order. Mashallah!

The plane ticket was printed, I paid for it, and off I went.

In order to get there, I had to walk by a museum that I had wanted to see: Musée du Patrimoine Traditionnel de Djerba (Djerba Traditional Heritage Museum). I stopped in there on my way back, and I was really glad that I did. The sign on the door indicated that it was constructed in 2008, and they did a magnificent job in both the construction of the building as well as display of the artifacts. I am always as interested in the museum building and the methods of display as I am in the items being shown. This little gem of a museum did not disappoint on any level. Displays were done artistically and everything was a pleasure to look at.

Once that was done, I was able to take care of my second chore: repairing the sole of my right sandal. The funny thing was that I had already seen at least a dozen shoe repair guys set up in various parts of town, but when I saw them I didn't need any of their services. Now that I needed to find one, I couldn't remember where they were nor could I manage to run into one.

It was just a matter of time, though, and I eventually saw a guy sitting with the usual shoe repair set-up on a box in a corner of a little alley. It didn't take him long to put the glue where it needed to go. When he was done, I just handed over a dinar, thanked him, and he was satisfied.

From there, I went to Borj (Fort) Ghazi Mustapha, which should properly be called the remains of what was once the Borj (Fort) Ghazi Mustapha. I did my best to enjoy that and took what I hope will turn out to be some artistic photos of some of the stone work and curves of the ruins.

I had just left the fort and was sitting on some steps across from the entrance when a youngish couple came by and started a conversation with me. Thus I met Amir and Fernanda, an international couple if ever there was one. Amir is a Lebanese American born and raised in Germany, while Fernanda is a Brazilian. They met in Chile three years ago and are now living and working in Toulouse, France.

We walked around and bit. They asked if I had been to the synagogue, and I told them I had been there yesterday. Amir suggested that after they went to the museum in Guellala and the synagogue, that we meet for dinner this evening in Houmt Souq.

Off they went to see the sights I had seen yesterday, while I hung around town myself. They came to call for me at my hotel when their tour was over and we headed out to have some dinner. I had told them about lablabi and they were keen to give it a try. We all enjoyed that.

They wanted to go to a bakery, so I showed them one near my hotel. We were in there when my phone rang, which was odd, since I know very few people in Tunisia. It was Tunisair calling, to tell me that my flight to Malta on Sunday, originally scheduled to leave at 10:45 AM has been postponed to leave at 7:45 PM. One thing I do not need is an extra nine hours in Tunis, especially since I will have to check out of my hotel by around noon.

From the bakery, we walked around a bit until Amir and Fernanda went by taxi to their hotel so that they could prepare for their trip to the Sahara tomorrow.

Djerba to Sfax
Tuesday, 27 December 2011

Off I went to play louage roulette for the last time during this trip. When I arrived, I was the fifth of seven passengers needed to fill the vehicle. It took forty-five minutes to get the other two.

It took less than half an hour to get to the ferry terminal, and when we arrived, we were at the end of an exceedingly long line waiting for the ferries. Several of the passengers left the louage to walk around, rather than sit in there for what seemed would be a long time.

As I made my way to the docks I could see that part of the problem was that only two of the five docks were in use. Ferries at the other three sat idle. Eventually it took an hour and a half of waiting so that we could make the eighteen-minute crossing to the mainland. If there were ever a place that could use a bridge, this is it!

Once we arrived at the other end, it appeared that another aspect of the problem was that there were only forty-one vehicles on the other side waiting to get to Djerba, contrasted to significantly more waiting to get off the island. Perhaps that was a reason why they didn't have more ferries going. But these are things that a casual traveler will never understand. Why ask why, right?

The next three hours and twenty minutes were spent playing leapfrog with the slow cars ahead of us, as is typical when there are only two lanes for traffic. When oncoming traffic was light, we would finally make it beyond the slowest vehicle on the road, and then it was just a matter of minutes before we were stuck behind the newest slowest vehicle on the road.

Once in Sfax, I got a taxi at the louage station and went directly to the hotel I had chosen from the guidebook. For the first time this trip, there was not a single room available. They had a suite, which seemed to be excessive for my use. In the end, I decided to take it, as they said that there would most likely be a single room available tomorrow.

Once I got in I could see that, yes, the suite was definitely way more space than I needed. A family of four would have been comfortable in there, as there was a main bedroom with large bed as well as a sitting room area with two single beds. All the finishings were nice.

I wanted to go to the Tunisair office to be sure that I understood the phone call correctly and that this was not signaling a permanent schedule change for the flights to and from Malta. I have to get my Malta to Tunis flight so that I can arrive in time to get my flight to Casablanca and then Marrakech.

Sfax is not only the second city of Tunisia, but according to the guidebook, it has hardly any tourism at all. The medina is supposed to be the best-preserved one in the country, and, once again according to the guide book, there is not even one shop with tacky souvenir items in there.

All of this made it sound attractive to me. In fact, I felt as if I was hardly noticed as I walked around. One of the byproducts of tourism is that it begets lots of shady guys lying in wait to make their move on tourists. There seems to be none of that here, with the notable exception of one shady-looking guy who tried to chat me up on the street, wishing me welcome and then asking, "Francais? Deutsch?" and, when I wouldn't answer him, he followed me into an outlet of Monoprix, the French supermarket/department store chain.

I continued to ignore him and then simply walked away. I had gone in there to see if there was any wine, but didn't see it. As I continued to walk around, I saw two bars. When I went in, there were plenty of guys sitting around drinking beer, but there was no wine for sale in the bars.

When I got back to the hotel, I asked the receptionist if there was anyplace in Sfax to buy wine. He told me that Monoprix had it. I said I had been in there and didn't say it. He said it was in a "depot" just next door to the entrance.

When I went back to the store, I noticed that this area looked to me like a loading dock. But towards the back, set off the street by about eight feet, was a small window at which a man was taking and filling orders for alcoholic drinks. Yes, it's there. You just have to know where to find it and what it looks like.

Sfax

Wednesday, 28 December 2011

I needed a couple of postage stamps, so went to the huge main post office downtown. They serve people in the order that they take numbered tickets from a machine. There was a huge number of people waiting. They were on #174 and I had taken ticket #206. Of the sixteen service windows, there were workers at nine, but only five of those nine were waiting on people.

As I sat there and looked at my ticket, I started to think that I was in the wrong waiting system, in that at the bottom of my ticket, it said, "OP FINANCIERE," which I meant to understand as "financial operations," meaning NOT stamps. (This is one of many countries where the post office includes banking and other financial services.)

By the time they were up to #199, I went to somebody sitting at a desk and told him I wanted stamps. Was I at the right place? He told me to go to window #14 and that I didn't need a numbered ticket to go there.

Everyone was all clustered at window #14: nothing like the orderly system of being called with your number. But it didn't take long to get the stamps, and off I went. Now I know a little more about these post offices.

When I got back to the hotel from that, I was able to change rooms to one of the singles. It's hard to believe that both rooms were even in the same hotel! The smaller one was not quite as nicely finished off as the suite, but at half the price (40 DT instead of 80 DT), it's much better.

Then I made my Sfax medina debut. I was not in there for more than a few minutes, when a bunch of little kids, seeing that I had a camera, began posing for me and asking me to take their pictures.

A few minutes later, when I was in the terrace area of the southeast corner of the medina, one of them tracked me down there and indicated that he wanted me to go with him. He led me to a small restaurant where his father sat drinking beer with two other guys.

Other than that, I was hardly noticed as I made my way through the medina. Not one shopkeeper bid me to enter and look at his items. Nor did I see any tourism souvenirs for sale.

Thursday, 29 December 2011

City hall is also the site of the archeological museum (Musée archéologique), and that was my first stop after I brought my laundry to one of the nearby shops on which the signs read "Pressing" to indicate that they clean and iron clothing.

The museum consists of four rooms on the ground floor of the city hall, which is a little gem of a building. Some of the mosaic tile floors are on the floor and some of them are mounted on the walls.

I was the only paying customer in there, and one of the employees took it upon herself to show me around a little bit, explaining that all the artifacts were found right here in Sfax and the area around it.

When I had finished seeing all four rooms (which didn't take very long), the same woman saw me looking up the building's central stairway. She said I could go up there, and then led the way. There was a beautiful central room under the rotunda.

She also opened the doors to the room where the local governing body (along the lines of the city council) meets.

It was only 10:00 AM by the time I had seen that building, so I thought I really had to pace myself in order not to be finished seeing everything too soon in the day.

Next I returned to the medina, where there were two more museums to see. First was the casbah, built into the southwest corner of the medina itself. The first thing I noticed as I approached the area was that the courtyard area in front of the casbah serves as a market for used clothing, where all sorts of items were being displayed on tables.

The casbah is home of the Musée d'Architecture Traditionnelle, in which there are many samples on display of floors, columns, ceilings, tiles, locks, door knockers, hinges, keys, wrought iron, and other building elements and techniques that have been used in the Sfax area.

There was one more museum to see and it wasn't even noon yet, so I decided to leave the medina and walk in the area near my hotel. I saw a men's clothing shop that was having a sale on long-sleeved dress shirts. Anticipating warmer weather, I had taken mostly short-sleeved shirts with me, and only one with long sleeves. I decided I would get another long-sleeved shirt, since it looks as if there is more cool weather ahead for the next few months.

I should learn a few more French words related to clothing and its care. This morning at the pressing shop, I tried to explain the concept of wash-and-wear to the woman who was itemizing the articles I was handing over to her. In trying to explain that the shirt didn't need ironing, I told her it would be ready to fold up if taken directly from the dryer.

The same vocabulary would have been helpful when buying the new shirt. Was it wash-and-wear? At home, I don't buy shirts that require ironing or dry cleaning. But it's anybody's guess what this one will look like after it is washed. The label says "100% coton" and that it was made in Tunisia, so that part is good. I have some 100% cotton shirts that don't need ironing. Here's hoping for the best..

After relaxing in my room for a while, I headed back to the medina, this time to take in the Musée Dar Jellouli des traditions populaires. According to the guidebook, the building itself is as much of a sight to see as are the artifacts on display.

As usual, the guidebook was right. The building, with its internal courtyard, was beautiful, complete with typical ceramic tiles and stone work. The rooms were devoted to showing clothing, furniture, and artifacts of typical Sfax homes during the years.

Sfax to Tunis

Friday, 30 December 2011

The train to Tunis is supposed to take a little under four hours. There are three classes of service: second class (12,450 DT = $8.71), first class (16,800 DT = $11.76), and comfort (17,900 DT = $12.53).

With only $3.82 difference between second class and comfort, I decided to give the latter a whirl. I had already taken a two-hour trip from Tunis to Sousse, and that was pretty squeezed in. Let's see if "comfort" really is comfortable.

The departure was set for 11:15 AM. It was an awkward time with regard to meals. It was a bit early for lunch before the trip, but if I didn't eat, that would mean more than four hours without food: unacceptable!

I stopped at a lablabi place I found near the station, where I have already eaten three times. It was my farewell to Sfax lablabi.

I arrived a little early for the train and found that it was quite full. The comfort section - all sixteen seats, set up with four sets of two seats facing each other - was full. Good thing I had purchased the ticket in advance!

I could see that there were minimal differences among second, first, and comfort classes. In comfort, the seats were padded and there were working shades on most windows. In comfort, all seats were two-facing-two, whereas in first class, they were all facing the same way, except for the very center of the car that had the two-facing-two arrangement.

There was heat in the comfort section. That was a good idea for a day like today. There was also space behind the seats for luggage, and that was good.

Within fifteen minutes of departure from Sfax, a shouting match broke out in the first class area. All arguing was in Arabic so I couldn't tell what the problem was. In any event, the passengers in the first-class compartment were not exhibiting first-class comportment.

It eventually dies down, though, and all was relatively quiet after that.

About halfway through the journey, when we were in Sousse, another brouhaha ensued. This time, I was able to pick out a few French words within the Arabic: "confort," "premiere," and "seconde" were noticeable.

I asked the young man next to me what the problem was. He explained that there were people in the first-class compartment who had second-class tickets, but the second-class section was sold out, so they had moved there. Where was a conductor when you needed him?

A conductor eventually showed up. When he checked the ticket of the young man opposite me, he found a second-class interloper who had made his way into comfort. The conductor told the young man to leave, and he did.

In all, we were about forty minutes late arriving in Tunis. I found my hotel easily, and when they displayed the price of the room on the screen, it was cheaper than their Internet rate. No complaints about that.

Saturday, 31 December 2011

It's a bit colder and much wetter in Tunis than everywhere else I have been in Tunisia.

I headed out into the streets with only a few small chores to take care of: getting some help in finding the right way to dial some foreign numbers on my phone, getting a large bottle of water, and getting a haircut.

I usually ask around for prices before I do something like get a haircut. At the hotel front desk, they said it should cost three or four dinars. So when I walked into my first barber shop and they quoted a price of five dinars, I said thank you and left.

In the second shop, the barber said it was three dinars so I stayed. I was able to use one of the very few Arabic words I know - pronounced "SHWAY-uh" - to indicate that I wanted my hair cut very little. I used my thumb and forefinger to indicate about one or two centimeters - in any event, less than half an inch.

When the barber had some hair in the comb and was ready to cut, it was twice what I wanted to be cut off and I was able to tell him to stop. He finally got it and I got a satisfactory haircut.

Then, as I walked around, I made eye contact with a gentleman who introduced himself as Ahmed. We walked around a little bit and I told him I was going to get some lablabi for lunch. In fact, I already had a restaurant in mind because I had eaten there before. He wanted to steer me towards one that he knew, which was fine.

He didn't eat anything. He said he didn't like lablabi. He chatted with the restaurant owner while I ate.

In our conversation, he said he worked at the Bardo Museum as a security guard. He is 52, single, lives with his mother, and it didn't take long for him to come out to me as being gay.

Once we left the restaurant, he said he wanted to get a coffee or a beer. I said that that was fine with me, but I didn't want either one, as the lablabi was quite filling. I said I would just sit there while he had whatever it was that he wanted. I had my camera with me and asked if I could take his photo, to which he agreed.

Outdoor cafes are very much part of the culture in Tunisia. I imagine they are more enjoyable in warmer weather. But despite temperatures around 15C/55F, they are always populated, and I have yet to see one of those outdoor heaters that are popular in other countries.

Ahmed took me to a bar that had an outdoor seating area. As soon as we walked in, I found that the smoke was overwhelming. I told him that I couldn't stay indoors - we had to sit outside. I then learned that while it is legal to serve and drink alcohol here, it would have to be inside the establishment, as it cannot be served or consumed in the area on the sidewalk.

During our time together, Ahmed showed me a couple of papers that I was unable to read because they were in Arabic. One was supposedly the paper informing him of his current vacation time, which ends on Monday, and the other was an ID card, supposedly from the Bardo Museum.

He told me that I should be careful of young Tunisian guys, as they were looking to rob tourists

He also asked if we could exchange phone numbers, and we did.

He had a beer, then another, then ordered a plate of cheese cubes, and when the third beer was delivered, the bill came along with it. He looked at me, said it was 11.5 dinars, and asked if that was all right.

I said he didn't have to check the price with me, since he was the one drinking it. It was then that he made it clear he expected me to pay the bill.

Now this all came together and I realized it was some sort of a set-up in which he expected all along for me to pay for whatever it was he was eating and drinking.

I told him I didn't realize that that was his game. I got up and left.

Thinking back now, there were several red flags: (1) Saying he worked at the Bardo Museum, one of the few workplaces a foreigner would know about, (2) showing me papers in order to "authenticate" who he is (and, now that I think of it, if that Bardo ID were legitimate, it would most likely have had at least the word "Bardo" in Roman letters), (3) warning me about younger guys, thus making him appear to be my "protector."

In all, no harm was done. Just a fascinating experience. If stuff like this didn't happen, I wouldn't have as much to write about, would I?

Since we parted company, he has called me twice, and each time I have turned off the phone when I saw it was from him.

This incident brings up many questions for me: How trusting should I be? Is it worth the trouble to try to befriend local people? What's a few bucks here and there in the name of friendship?

Sunday, 1 January 2012

"If you CAN change the situation, there is no need to be unhappy. If you CANNOT change the situation, there is no use in being unhappy." - Shantideva

I saw this post on my friend Laura's Facebook page. True! Tunisair has changed my departure time to Malta from 10:45 AM to 7:45 PM today, thus giving me an additional and unneeded nine more hours in Tunis, which meant that I had one less day to see Malta. No sense in stressing over this since I could not change the situation!

Iheaded to the front desk to see about the check-out time and to paymy bill. While I was waiting there I happened into a quartet ofdelightful guys, each from a different country: Diego from Holland,Christian from Argentina, Yannick from France, and Jim from the USA.

Theyhad just arrived in Tunis and were checking into the hotel. We struckup a conversation and eventually spent the next several hourstogether, except for Yonnik, who had just arrived from France andneeded to take a nap.

Ienjoyed spending the hours with them, and it turned out to be awonderful way to pass the afternoon until I headed to the airport.

WhenI got off the tram and arrived at the bus station for the airport bus, I could see that the station was already withinwalking distance from a distinctive monument that was only blocksfrom my hotel! That was funny!

Upon arriving at the airport and checking the departures board, I could see that myflight, already nine hours late, was now going to be another hour anda quarter late!

Inchecking my bag, I was directed to the customs station, where peopleand their luggage were being admitted one by one to a small room sothat their bags could be opened up and inspected. I had never seen thatbefore.

Whenit was my turn, the agent asked me my profession, saw my passport,and then said I should just go straight to the bag collector, withoutany need to examine the contents of my suitcase.

Whilemy bag was being tagged, I asked why the flight was going to be yet another hour anda quarter late. The agent said it wasn't going to be late; it wasgoing to leave on time. Yet there was still a flashing red messagesaying “EN RETARDE” and showing the new departure time at being21:00 instead of 19:45.

As I was waitingin the departure lounge, at 19:22, I saw a new message posted about our departure time. We were going to be delayed yet again, thistime to 21:40. A man waiting in the lounge told me that he learnedthat there will be one small benefit of our delayed flight: instead of thesmall propellor plane we were supposed to be taking for the one-hourflight, we would be on a larger jet, which would cut down the flighttime.

When I hadlearned of the original nine-hour delay, I sent an email to Piotr, myhost in Malta, to let him know about it. He had already sent meinformation about how to get to him by bus from the airport, whichwould have been quite easy at noontime.

My concern aboutarriving so late was that the buses may not be running at the newarrival time. Piotr had a good alternative: Malta Airport Transfers,which works on a system similar to Super Shuttle in the USA, in that theycollect any number of people from the airport and take them to their destinations.

That seemed likea great idea to me, and I immediately made my reservation online.Once at the airport, when I learned about the new delay, I sent Piotra text message and he wrote back to tell me that it was a good thingI had that airport transfer reservation, as the company would keeptrack of the delay and have somebody there to pick me up and take meto his house! All of this would occur, no doubt, after the last bus left the airport. Yes, it was a good thing I had made that reservation!

So far, I havehad no on-time flights with this airline: two hours late fromNouakchott to Tunis and now eleven hours late from Tunis to Malta.One week from today, I return to Tunis, where I will have a five-hour layoverbefore catching my flight to Morocco. Will I make the Moroccoconnection? Stay tuned and find out!

There was noInternet connection at the airport, but when I get one, I am going tobe sure to make some online comments about Tunisair on thetripadvisor.com website!

Another joke:the aiport public announcement system continually broadcasts inArabic, French, and English that it is expressly forbidden to smokeanywhere in the airport. This advisory is uniformly ignored by passengers andairport employees alike.

At 21:40, therewas still no plane in sight. A few airline employees were sittingnext to what would have been the doors leading outside the terminal,but they made no effort to make any kind of announcement to us. Then,at 21:50, the flashing “RETARDE 21:40” message on the monitor inthe lounge was simply replaced with “RETARDE,” as if to say, “Wegive up trying to predict our departure time."

This flight was being referred to as TunisairExpress. Tunisair Express, indeed: make that Tunisair Distress.

At 22:00, theflight number and destination were gone from the screen altogether, replacedwith the words AEROPORT INTERNATIONAL TUNIS-CARTHAGE (just in case we had managed to forget where we were, I suppose).

Shortly afterthat, one of the men at the desk next to the door got up to make an announcement to us: ourdeparture gate had been changed. Now we were to go to gate 56, at theopposite end of the airport. At least that was some sort of forewardmovement!

Everyonegathered our belongings and off we went, arriving at gate 56 to findthat nobody was there to process us. It took a while for the same twoemployees to make their way behind us to gate 56, where they found alocked door leading onto the jetway. They started making phone callsto see about getting it opened, which took about five minutes, atwhich point a security officer arrived. Then, they had trouble logging into their computer. What a bunch of clowns!

We were finallyadmitted to the plane, where we were admonished to hurry up to getseated so that we could depart. That's right! We should hurry up!

We pulled awayfrom the gate at 22:24 and were finally off! The flight took aboutforty minutes, during which we were not offered so much as a drink ofwater.

I made itthrough passport control with no problems. On the way to get mybaggage I stopped at an ATM to get fifty euro. Then, all baggage hadto be screened through one of those airport X-ray machines. Afterthat, there was one more hurdle: currency control.

An agent askedme how much money I had with me. I told him what I had just takenfrom the ATM. He asked me if I knew the law about money. I told himno, I did not know anything about it.

He informed methat I was not allowed to enter Malta with more than 10,000 euro(probably worth something like (US$14,000). I assured him I hadnothing close to that with me. He said that was okay, and I was goodto go.

The Malta Airport Transfers driver was waiting with my name on a piece of paper and we were good to go! I love when that happens smoothly.

We arrived at Piotr's place shortly after midnight. It was good to arrive at my destination and to be warmly greeted by my host.

Mauritania

2011-12-11T11:43:00.000-08:00

Nouakchott, Mauritania

Saturday, 3 December 2011

Erin and the taxi picked me up at my hotel at 5:10 AM. From there we went to get Janine at her hotel. For our trip to Nouakchott, here is the timeline:

5:32 AM, left Janine's hotel

9:30 AM, passed through St-Louis

11:10 AM, arrived at Rosso, Senegal

12:05 PM, crossed the Senegal River and arrived at Rosso, Mauritania

12:17 PM, left Rosso, Mauritania

2:08 - 2:56 PM, tea break on the side of the road

4:24 PM, arrived at Melanie's house in Nouakchott

On the Senegal side, we were in a taxi that Erin had arranged in Dakar. On the Mauritania side, her Peace Corps host family brother, Sidi, met us for the trip to Nouakchott.

Arrival in Rosso, Senegal

We missed the ferry because it was filled with about a hundred camels.

Erin and Janine on the pirogue we took across the Senegal River.

It was so helpful to have had Sidi there to facilitate our passage through customs because the agents needed to know how we were getting to Nouakchott and also wanted the license plate number of the vehicle.

I was especially appreciative to be traveling with Janine and Erin. They were amiable travelmates and it made the journey pass so much more enjoyably than it would have been if I had been traveling by myself.

First sighting of the Mauritanian flag at the port of Rosso.

Welcome to Rosso, Mauritania

Upon arrival in Nouakchott, I was able to do something that was impossible the last time I was here (2006): use my ATM card from home to get local currency from a foreign bank. At that time, the only banks in Mauritania were Mauritanian and you could get ouguiya only from your local account - not from a foreign one. Now there are several foreign banks that dispense ouguiya, which are withdrawn from one's home bank account.

When I got the money, I had another surpirse: there is now a bill worth 5,000 ouguiya. Upon arrival here in 2003, the largest note was worth 1,000 ouguiya (a little more than $3). In 2004, the government printed its first 2,000-ouguiya notes (almost $7). This is a huge advancement, now with a bill worth almost the equivalent of $18!

All of us are staying the home of Melanie and her husband Alassane in Nouakchott. It's very spacious. It's great to see her, which is for the first time since I left Peace Corps in 2005. She cooked a wonderful dinner for us, and Chris, from the group before ours, came over for the evening.

I have spent the last seven nights among five different places, so I will be ecstatic to be in the same place for the next twelve days.

Sunday, 4 December 2011

I woke in the middle of the night with the sensation that I was starting to catch a cold. I am traveling with an amazing product called Zicam, which helps to shorten colds and make them less damaging, if taken at onset. I began taking the Zicam.

It was time to get out into the world! Melanie had to go to work (the work week here is Sunday through Thursday). Janine, Erin, and I walked to the downtown area to get SIM cards for our phones. We split up for a while so that I could get a chore started.

During my time in the Peace Corps, I wrote four long poems that many of the Mauritanian staff really enjoyed hearing. I brought hard copies of them so that they could be bound into books to give to them during this visit. I needed to start looking for printers who could do the job.

The first printer gave me a price of $28 per book, so I laughed that off and left his shop. The second was significantly more reasonable, a just under $5 per book. I decided to stop shopping around and leave it with him. I had one example of what the bound book should look like when completed, and I showed it to him. He told me that it would be ready by 4:30 PM tomorrow.

I left the shop feeling that (1) it would not be ready when promised and (2) it would not be completed properly - he would find some way to mess it up.

Erin, Janine, and I met up again downtown so that Cheikh Gueye, the much-beloved Peace Corps Volunteer Coordinator, could pick us up and take us to his house for lunch.

He and his family has been living there for four months, and we were all amazed at the magnificence of it. It was the most beautifully finished and furnished home I have ever seen in Mauritania

It was fabulous to see Cheikh. I never heard a single PCV say an unkind word about him. He was always patient and helpful with every Volunteer.

We had a delicious lunch of one of the staples of Mauritania: tcheubijin. It's a dish in which the main ingredient is fish, but there is also rice and vegetables. I had a special vegetarian plate made for me.

After socializing for a while with Cheikh, he dropped me off downtown and brought Erin and Janine back to Melanie's place. While I was walking down one of the main streets, I heard somebody call, "Jaaaaaaaaaaaay!!!" in a loud voice. It was Ndieme, who first joined the Peace Corps as receptionist and then assisted in the finance office. She spotted me and then ran across the street to say hello.

I was on my way to see my friend Lamine who works at the French Red Cross. Just before I got to his office, a car was making a right turn at the corner where I was waiting to cross the street. As I waited for a car to make the turn, the driver and I locked eyes and we were both surprised. It was Abderrhouf, one of my former students. He pulled over so that we could talk for a bit and exchange phone numbers.

Lamine at the French Red Cross was surprised and delighted to see me. He was just finishing work for the day, so we decided to meet tomorrow.

I went to one of the grocery stores to see about buying a few things. When I left there, I noticed a woman whom I always thought of as "my peanut lady." We never knew each other's names. She was usually near the entrance of Super Marche Salam, and she was the one from whom I always purchased my peanuts. I couldn't believe how excited she was, as she stretched out her arms to embrace me.

Towards the evening, I met my friend Mamouni at the Sahara Cafe and also saw Ghaleb, my friend who is the co-owner. After we had something to drink, Mamouni took me for a ride around town and then to show me his office.

We have talked from time to time during the last several years, and he has been telling me that he was calling from his office. I had no idea what to expect, thinking it may be a small room somewhere. I was greatly surprised and impressed to see that he has rented an entire building, which used to be a home, for himself and his many employees. He had certainly been working hard during these last few years, supplying companies with both cleaning and security services.

Monday, 5 December 2011

In the morning I paid a visit to my friend Lamine. While I was at his home, he showed me a photo of his youngest son. Lamine informed me that this son's name is Jay. This was the first I heard that I had a child who was named in my honor.

Lamine gave me a photo of Jay when he was a baby, and he also gave me an outfit - shirt and pants.

As I walked Lamine to work, I heard somebody call my name. It was Cheikh Boubacar, who used to be the IT specialist at Peace Corps. It's clear I would never be able to sneak into Nouakchott unseen.

Mamouni and I made plans to eat lunch at the Cafe Sahara. When I arrived he wasn't there yet. The only other people in the cafe were an American woman seated with a South African woman.

While I was waiting for Mamouni, Hacen, who was my friend Kristen's counterpart for her work here, came into the cafe to pick up lunch to go.

When Mamouni came in, he first noticed the two women who were seated there. He went over to them and it was obvious that they were already good friends. Thus I met Natalie from Ohio, who is married to a Mauritanian, and Nerissa, from Cape Town, who runs a clinic here and is married to a diplomat.

During our conversation, I learned that Mamouni had already told Nerissa all about me. Mamouni does that: when he befriends people he likes - especially those who speak English, as he is an avid fan of Americans - he tells all of us about he other. (I know the names of many of his American friends, and when I was in Washington in September, I managed to meet one of the PCVs who served here after my time.)

As they say, it's a small world: when Nerissa and I became friends on Facebook later that day, I learned that we also had two other friends in common.

As Mamouni drove me to Marche Capitale, he began to make plans for when we would see each other tomorrow. I told him about the old orange juice commercial in which the slogan was, "A day without orange juice is a day without sunshine." Then I replaced "orange juice" with "Mamouni." He liked that.

At Marche Capitale, I stopped first to see Hassan, a fabric merchant, to get his advice with regard to a recommendation for an embroiderer and advice as to how much I should pay. He told me the project should cost about 500 UM (about $1.78). That sounded good to me.

I went to the area where there were lots of embroiderers. One guy quoted me a price of 5,000 UM, ten times that price, and I knew I could only laugh it off and walk away.

A teenage boy standing nearby saw this encounter going on and told me he would take me to somebody. They guy he took me to said he would charge 1,000 UM. Even though it was double the suggested price, I thought it was still reasonable and I had no interest in fighting with the guy to get a lower price.

He told me to come back tomorrow at noon for it.

Then I was off to pick up the poetry books I had left the day before. Would my predictions come true that they would be both late and wrong? I am afraid to say yes. Parts of the book were scattered all over the shop. When I asked to see what one of them looked at, I learned the the printer ignored the direction I had given, telling him to make it look exactly like the sample I gave him. Instead of printing both sides of each sheet, he printed it so that each page was one-sided.

In doing so, he used twice as much paper as he should have. Though it was wrong, I realized that it would be a huge waste of paper to make him to it over. Besides, the people who are going to receive this will not care about this small difference between the copies and the original.

I walked back to Melanie and Alassane's place, sat down, and collapsed into a heap. I had been ignoring both the fractured toe and my cold, forcing myself to walk, walk, walk, and not stop.

I tried on the outfit that Lamine had given me, and I also asked Erin to take a photo of me wearing it. I thought that he would appreciate a copy of the photo before I leave. When she took the photo, Erin asked me, "Are you wearing black underwear?"

I told her that I was. The fabric is lightweight, and it is possible to see right through it. One thing is clear: I am not going to leave the house like this. As it is, the outfit already looks like pajamas! What to do? I wanted to wear the outfit tomorrow when I go to Lamine's house for lunch.

Tuesday, 6 December 2011

I needed a lazy morning in the house. I promised myself not to push as hard today, so my toe and my cold could get a break.

Mamouni picked me up around noon and dropped me off near Marche Capitale. The embroidery work was not ready. Surprise, surprise. The guy with whom I had left it told me that his machine couldn't do the work, so he had left it with another person and I was to come back tomorrow.

I picked up the poetry books. At least the job is done!

In my walking around Nouakchott, I needed to buy some telephone credit. All phone companies here operate on the pay-as-you-go system. There are guys who sell cards with phone credit sitting on almost every street corner and many places in between. The old system that operated last time I was here was that one would purchase a card with a certain value, unwrap the card from its cellophane packaging, scratch off a code number (like a lottery ticket), call a phone number, and then enter the code into your phone.

Now there is a new system. The guy who sold me the 1,000 UM worth of credit asked me for my phone number. When I gave it to him, he entered it, along with some other information, into his phone, and, Voila!, the credit appeared directly onto my phone. This new system eliminates the need for producing all those plastic cards that continue to litter the streets of Nouakchott.

I had lunch at Lamine's house, which was an opportunity to meet his children, including my namesake. That was very nice. Lamine was appreciative that I wore the shirt he gave me, and he was also extremely understanding about why I was not wearing the pants. After lunch, instead of walking back to Melanie and Alassane's, I took a taxi - my first one here for this trip.

Towards the evening, the plan was for my former student Tidiane came to pick me up at 5:00 and take me to his house so I could spend some time with him and meet his wife. A little before 5:00, he wrote that he was at a clinic with his wife and that they would be a little late. "A little late" turned out to be 7:10, which was fine with me because I didn't have any other plans for the evening.

Tidiane now works as a safety trainer at a gold mine that is being developed and run by a Canadian company. The work schedule there sounds bizarre to me: everyone works from 7:00 AM to 7:00 PM for fourteen days in a row, and then they get one week off at home. The company pays for and provides transportation to and from Nouakchott, as well as housing and food when the workers are on the job. I can't imagine having to work twelve hours a day for fourteen consecutive days.

The problem turned out to be that we would be at their house during the time of preparation for dinner. Since I wasn't originally going to be there for dinner, there was no need to mention my vegetarian diet. But with dinner in the works, I thought I should bring it up.

They were planning a meat-based dinner. Tidiane sent his young cousin out for some fruit, which I said would be totally fine. In conversation with Tidiane's work colleagues, one of them told me, "I know a man who is a vegetarian. He is from Austria." And, in response, I was able to tell the name of said Austrian vegetarian. It was the man who moved into my apartment when I moved out in 2005. Small world. You'd think this was a village of a thousand people instead of the large city of more than two million inhabitants.

As is appropriate, any visitor to the household is welcome to eat. This included a few friends who had dropped by, as well as a cousin who entered the apartment just as we were sitting down to dine.

At the end of the meal, that cousin, named Racine, gave me a ride back to Melanie and Alassane's neighborhood. I am so grateful to be able to stay there. It's a wonderful way of recharging my batteries after being out in the world during the day.

It was a really nice day. I was out for a bit, but took it much easier than the last few days.

Wednesday, 7 December 2011

Mamouni picked me up this morning to take me to breakfast at a Tunisian cafe. From there we went to his office and hung around for a while.

Then something scary happened, and all I can say is I am grateful to be alive to write about it.

I was crossing one of the busiest streets in Nouakchott. I was in a pedestrian crossing and passing in front of vehicles that clearly were stopped for their red light. As I crossed this one particular car, his light changed from red to green. Despite the fact that I was directly in front of him, he simply started to drive. He hit me in the area below my right hip.

I grabbed onto some of the metalwork above his hood, and that kept me from falling to the pavement. Had I fallen down, the damage could have been significant, as there was one more lane of traffic, and I would definitely have been in the path of the adjacent car that was starting to move forward.

I had a minor bruise, and my arms hurt a bit, but there was really no significant damage. I hurt a lot more and for a longer time about a month ago when I stubbed my toe against the leg of a piece of furniture.

At noontime, I went to pick up the piece of embroidery that I left the day before with a tailor. When I arrived, Tailor #1 took me to Tailor #2 so I could retrieve it. The look on the face of #2 was not encouraging. He abandoned his outdoor sewing machine - right there in the middle of Marche Capitale - and indicated that I should follow him.

At first I thought we were going to another part of the marche, but then he led me across the busy street. Where could we be going? I really got concerned when he flagged down a taxi. Seriously? This small job, costing less than $4, and whatever profit he was going to make, was going to be diminished by the price of the taxi fare.

We headed in the direction of the neighborhood known as Cinquieme and stopped in a narrow alley in front of the shop where the work had been done. The embroidery was not to my liking, but it is not so bad as to have messed it up altogether. (I am being circumspect here because the job is for an upcoming special occasion and I want to be sure that it is a surprise.)

Less than thrilled, I paid Tailor #2 in front of Tailor #3 and left the shop so that they could divide up the money as they saw fit. Since I was going to take a taxi back to Melanie and Alassane's, I offered to give #2 a ride back to his part of town, dropping him along the way.

I met my ENS (Ecole Normale Superieure, the teacher-training institute) student David for lunch and it was wonderful to spend some time with him. He insisted on buying me lunch, which made me uncomfortable because of the economic inbalance of the situation. And then we went to his home to socialize with his friends and so he could show me the English textbooks he is using at the school where he teaches.

I was socializing in the house with Erin and Janine when I got a call from Abderraouf and Selme, two of my adult students from NEC (Nouakchott English Center), who wanted to meet at a cafe right away. (Why plan ahead? This is Mauritania?) I had a little time before I would be going out to dinner with Melanie, Janine, and Erin, so off I went.

Abderraouf works for a governmental agency that manages the country's water supply, whereas Selme is in a ministry dealing with the environment. This enabled us to be able to speak about these topics, of which they are quite knowledgeable and with which they are strongly involved.

One of the wonderful innovations in Nouakchott since my last visit is the existence of Ethiopian food. The cook is named Sisay and she runs the operation out of her home. I went there with my Peace Corps friends, and a several other Americans showed up, too. It is a regular Wednesday evening event here. Yay!

Also showing up to dinner was Ginger, from Peace Corps Mauritania 2006-2009. She has job-related work in Mauritania for this week. How about that? That made six of us RPCVs there at the same time. When Mamouni called to ask what I was doing, I told him I was eating Ethiopian food. No surprise that he knows Sisay, so he came over and had dinner, too.

Thursday, 8 December 2011

When I got up, I noticed that the bruise I have from yesterday is minor. I did a worse job on myself a few weeks ago when I stubbed my toe.

Mamouni picked me up around noon and took me to visit Nerissa at her clinic. She has done an amazing job preparing a meticulously clean and friendly place to care for patients who need health care. While we were there, I asked Nerissa if she knew of anyone who was a massage therapist. I thought it would be a good idea to have my neck, arms, and shoulders worked on, since they were a bit sore as a result of the car incident the other day.

Not only did she know of a person, but he was scheduled to come to her house tomorrow morning. Natalie usually has her massage after Nerissa's but Natalie wasn't going to take it tomorrow, so I was able to take that spot. Fabulous!

I went to lunch with Mamouni, Nerissa, and Natalie and then hung around with Mamouni at his office.

In the evening, Delia, who is in Nouakchott as an English Language Fellow and is teaching at the ENS, where I taught, arranged for a dinner at the Nouakchott English Center, where I also taught. Several of the people I had wanted to see did not show up, but it was an enjoyable event just the same.

Since Delia is also a vegetarian, she arranged for appropriate food for us for the dinner. Lucky for me, it was Ethiopian food from Sisay, the same cook who prepared last night's dinner. Fabulous: Ethiopian food two nights in a row!

From there, I went to join everyone who was staying with Melanie and Alassane, including our hosts themselves, to the home of Daouda, one of the amazing Peace Corps staff members who helped all of us to adjust to life here.

While in a taxi on the way to Daouda's, we were in some very slow Thursday night traffic (this being the beginning of the weekend) on the outskirts of town. I just happened to look out the window to my right and I saw in the lane next to me that the nearest car was being driven by my friend Halifa. I had tried to telephone him, but his phone number has changed since the last time I was here.

He signaled to me to get into his car so that he could take me where I needed to go, but Daouda had already spoken on my phone to the taximan driving me, so he could direct the driver to his address.

Halifa's and my car became part of the traffic jam as we pulled over to the side of the road in order to exchange phone numbers.

It was great seeing Daouda and his family in their home. His adorable two-year-old daughter Miriam (Mami) entertained all of us with her antics, playing with around with anything in sight, such as cans of soft drinks, bowls of tangerines, her mother's scarf, and all that.

Friday, 9 December 2011

In the morning I headed to Nerissa's house for the massage. It was quite good, especially once Valenino, the masseur, found the knot that seemed to be the epicenter of problems in my left shoulder.

From there, I headed to TLC (The Learning Center, an English-speaking school) for their winter carnival. My friend Aziz had told me that he would be volunteering there, so the main impetus for going was to see him. Melanie and Alassane were there, with Alassane dressed up like a clown, and I also saw Meghan and Thierno, a couple I had met when I lived here.

Meghan and Thierno invited me to lunch at their place at 3:00. Since I had some time until then I headed to the Sahara Cafe to see Ghaleb.

While I was there, a man and woman walked into the cafe and the man, looking at me, asked, "Jay Davidson?" How would he know who I was?

They introduced themselves and Jeffery and Eloisa, both of whom live here. Jeffery explained that before they came to Mauritania, they did some research on the Internet and found my blog. He said that they were at a gathering last night, at which somebody mentioned that I was in town.

Jeffery was pretty up-to-date, too, in that he asked me how I was doing after the car accident.

From there, I had an enjoyable lunch and conversation with Meghan, Thierno, and their children Jaya and Shimsadeen. Meghan served here in the Peace Corps from 2000-2002. We know lots of the same people, and Thierno is also related to my friend Ibrahima in San Francisco.

In the evening, everyone was in Melanie and Alassane's living room, socializing and watching a movie. I was working on this blog and having a difficult time manipulating photos. As I followed instructions for inserting photos into the spots where I wanted them, they were starting to show up in places where I didn't want them.

At one point, I clicked on a misplaced photo and then on the "Delete" button, so I could delete it from the spot where I didn't want it. As a result, in addition to deleting the photo itself, I deleted the entire rest of the blog!

Yikes! Everything from last Saturday on was now gone!

Had I been at home and working on my iMac, I'd have been able to use Time Machine to go back in time and get an earlier version of it. But I didn't see any recourse for finding what was now gone.

As an act of desperation, I put up a new post on the blog, asking if there were anyone following it who may, somehow, have the content that had been posted.

I went to bed upset with myself, thinking that I would have to reconstruct everything I had written since my arrival in Nouakchott.

Saturday, 10 December 2011

Mamouni came by in the morning to pick me up for breakfast at Cafe Tunisie. During the last week, I have been drinking coffee at the house, since there is both non-dairy creamer and almond milk there. But when I left the house, the coffee hadn't been brewed yet, so I had some at the cafe.

I don't know what was in that coffee. It was really high octane! I have been feeling jittery and anxious all day.

Before Mamouni brought me back to the house, we took a ride down the Nouadhibou road so that he could show me the site of the completely new University of Nouakchott and a new sub-city that is going to be built in the area between the Nouadhibou road and the Atlantic coast.

It is amazing out there! The difference between the existing ramshackle university and this new one is remarkable. It is being funded by the government of Kuwait. The new sub-city is being underwritten by Qatar.

Mamouni's pride in his city and country were evident as he showed this to me. I remarked at this pride and he replied to me, "I love this dirty place."

The high point of the day was a gathering chez Melanie and Alassane. Melanie had the foresight to invite all former Peace Corps staff to her house so that we could see each other and spend time together.

I have the highest regard for the Mauritanian Peace Corps staff. They were friendly, helpful, and warmhearted. In short, they were some of the most wonderful people I have ever worked with.

Once everyone was gone and we had cleaned up, I got onto the Internet to check my e-mail. To my surprise and delight, two people wrote to me to say that they had read my plea about the lost blog content, and they sent it to me!

Many thanks to my friend Rafał in Poland and to Jeffery, the gent I met yesterday at Sahara Cafe. Now I don't have to spend the next few days trying to reconstruct everything I had written!

The problem with photos continues, however. They are showing up in the wrong place again, and on the one occasion that I tried to delete a photo, I once again deleted the content.

As a result, I am going to have to eschew the posting of photos - for Mauritania, at least. Maybe if I start a new post (in Tunisia, for example) and have photos with it from the start, I will be able to get them into the right places.

As the evening progressed I felt worse. There was something going on that was affecting me more than the coffee I had drunk in the morning. I felt like I could vomit, but I couldn't get myself to do it. Where are those Kardashians when you really need them? Fifteen minutes of watching their show would have done the trick.

Nurse Erin had a thermometer and I had a fever of 38C, which is about 100F, so that is not awful but there is still something wrong.

As I tried to relax in bed, the only problem was that somebody nearby was having a big celebration, complete with the loud, strident, arhythmic, atonal Mauritanian music. Fortunately I had a solution. When I went to bed I plugged in the fan. I didn't need the breeze from the fan, as the temperature was quite comfortable, but the noise of the fan was able to drown out the music.

Sunday, 11 December 2011

I slept about ten hours last night and woke up feeling much better. It would probably be best to stay in all day, but I have made plans to visit a family for lunch. It would be more problematic to reschedule than to get dressed and go out.

Janine is off to Dakar to get her flight home. Alassane and Melanie are off to work. Erin is out doing her research. I am in the house by myself, just taking it easy.

When I took my temperature this morning, it was 37.3C, about 99F. That is on the upper end of normal.

At ab out 1:30 I left the house to go to the Socogim PS neighborhood for lunch with the Wane family. It was good to see everyone. Little Mamadou, seven years old, was born when I was living here. And there is a little sister that was born a few years ago. They are wonderful people and I was happy to spend some time with them.

Some of the older kids in the family speak a little English. They have been studying it in school. I asked Ami if she could show me the books that they are using for English, as I was curious about what they would look like. Remembering back to my time here in the Peace Corps, there were no English books at all. The only means of instruction was the copybook method: teacher writes on the board, students copy that into a notebook, and that's it. Now you have an English book!

As I was looking through the first-year English book, titled STUDY ENGLISH, I had a funny sensation: Gee, this looks familiar.

Of course it looks familiar! I wrote it!!!!!

No joke! Kristen, a PCV from the year before mine, were part of the small team of people who were given the task of writing the first-year English book. It took us two years to do the job, mostly because the Mauritanian members of the group were extremely undependable in showing up for meetings and following through with the work they needed to accomplish to get the job done.

Many were the days when Kristen and I would manage to get a small amount of direction as to how to proceed with the book and then take off to the Peace Corps bureau so that we could spend the next several hours at their computers writing and laying out the content of the book.

The real kicker on this is that on the title page of the book are the names of Kristen's counterpart, my counterpart, one other person (who truly did the least amount of work on the project and missed the most meetings), and that is it! Our names are totally missing, as is any credit given to the Peace Corps or US government, who provided our services.

One of the early lessons is about introducing oneself. By the end of the lesson, the students are supposed to be able to say their name, where they are from, and where they are living now. There is a long list given to them for practice. The list includes name, origin, and current location. From seeing an entry such as "Pierre, France, Nouadhibou," they are supposed to be able to create a sentence such as, "My name is Pierre, I am from France, and I am now living in Nouadhibou."

One of the examples on this list is: "Jay, United States, Nouakchott." They left that in!

The last I had heard, when I was here in 2006, the book had not been printed because the Mauritanian government did not have the money to do the job. I could see in this printed version that the printing was done in Lebanon, so I guess they found funding from the Lebanese government.

The most important thing, of course, is that the job is finally done and that our many hours of work did not go to waste.

While I was in the home of the Wane family, I got a call from Mohamed, one of my former students, inviting me to dinner at his home tonight. I was still not feeling my best, but thought that I really should go, in that he has to leave town for work tomorrow and this will be the only chance I get to see him.

Mohamed came to get me in his own car. That is a rarity here: a person other than a taximan who owns a car! It was wonderful having dinner with Mohamed at his home. When I first met him in the spring of 2005, just before he went to the USA to study on a Fulbright Fellowship, he was single, spoke some English, and had practically no computer skills.

Now Mohamed is married, has a young daughter, has an undergraduate degree from a US university, speaks excellent English, and has a great job in community relations with the same Canadian mining company that many other Mauritanians are working for. He is able to provide well for his family and, thanks to his recent education, is well prepared to do both the community relations work and the English translating that he needs to do for his job.

It's wonderful for me to see how successful he has become and also to know that I was helpful to him along the way. Mashallah!

Mohamed's wife Benna prepared a totally vegetarian meal for us: huge salad and a tasty tomato and leksoor, which is an onion sauce on a platter lined with crepes. It reminded me of Ethiopian food. When I told him how much I enjoyed it, he said that it was a typical Mauritanian dish. But I had never seen or heard of it before.

Monday, 12 December 2011

I had lunch with Alassane, who used to work with the Peace Corps and is now working with the US embassy. During the meal I discussed with him the situation concerning not giving credit to Kristen, me, or the Peace Corps in the English textbook that I saw yesterday.

I thought that perhaps there was some political or other reason for this, such as disassociation with the US government. That was all I could come up with.

Alassane told me that there would really be no reason for this point of view. To him, it was a simple case of people taking full credit when they should have shared it with others. He suggested that this should be addressed with the Ministry of Education. The perfect person to do this would be Bagga, who was not only my boss at Peace Corps, but is also extremely well connected in the Ministry and also highly respected.

I wrote Bagga an email concerning this, and we shall see what he has to say.

In the afternoon, I stopped in at the office of my friend Mohamed, whom I had not yet seen. He has a pretty important position in an international company. Thanks to his excellent English and some education in the USA, he was able to secure this job. Since my last visit here he is now married and has a daughter.

He introduced me to a colleague who recently got back as a Fulbright Scholar in Ohio. This young man, too, was able to get his job in this company because of his English skills and US education. It is clear that these skills are becoming increasingly important for Mauritanians who want to work in the international business sector.

In the evening I went to dinner at a Camerounian restaurant with Delia, Nancy, Eden, Barbara, and Denny. Barbara and Denny started teaching English at the University of Nouakchott around the time that I arrived here in 2003. When I saw them I told them if I were they, I would now be singing, "Still crazy after all these years."

Barbara said that she really notices a big difference at the University, now that Peace Corps is gone. Having those Volunteers teaching English was crucial to the early preparation of the Mauritanians who are taking English and who are going into the teaching field.

Tuesday, 13 December 2011

I began the day with a visit to Delia's classes at ENS (Ecole Normale Superieure), the teacher training institute where I taught a class for two years.

Delia has one group of teachers who are in their first year, so these are people whom I did not know. But I was delighted to see that there were at least half a dozen of my former students who are now participating in a program through which they are doing some additional training. It was great to see some familiar faces!

When I left the ENS, I walked to Mamouni's office. On the way, a guy came up to me in the street and started to talk to me. It was not in a touristy area where that sort of thing usually happens, so it surprised me a bit. Then he mentioned Baba, a friend of mine who was living here when I was, and who is now married to an American. It turned out to be Souleyman, Baba's younger brother, who recognized me from my visits to their home in Toujounine on the outskirts of Nouakchott.

I hung around Mamouni's office for a little bit, and then when he had to go to the bank I took a ride with him. He dropped me off at the Sahara Cafe, which was very uncrowded today. My friend Ghaleb had done the cooking today, and he treated me to a delicious lunch of soup, cooked veggies over rice, and hummus.

While there, I struck up a conversation with two other forigners who introduced themselves to me. One is an ambassador (I won't mention the country). When he told me his name, I recognized it. Oh, I told him, it was you who had the party last Thursday night? Yes, this really is a very large small town, and everyone knows what is going on. In addition to people talking about going there beforehand, I had also seen several Facebook friends mention the party in their posts.

I am still not operating at 100% capacity as a result of whatever that was with my stomach on Saturday, so I decided to head back to the house and spend the rest of the day there.

Wednesday, 14 December 2011

Since Saturday, I have felt a bit better, but there is still something wrong. It's a vague dis-ease in my stomach and I am just not as energetic as I usually am. There is also a very slight occasional ache in the back of my head.

There is still no vomiting. Until this morning there was no diarrhea. But the loose bowels began this morning. Though loose, they are not any more frequent than usual. It's quite a time lag since the onset of whatever is going on with me.

I know full well what USUALLY happens when I get intestinal parasites, as it has been virtually identical in previous Mauritania incidents, as well as in India, Ghana, and Myanmar: I am so weak I can hardly get out of bed, and the diarrhea is much quicker to start flowing than it has been this time.

This morning on Facebook, Janine, who was here with me during the last week, is now home and she posted that she has parasites.

That got me to thinking that perhaps I do, too.

I have some Cipro. When I was in the Peace Corps, the medical officers used to hand them out as if they were Tic-Tacs. I have since come to learn what a strong medication that is. Erin, whose mother and sister are nurses, tells me that her mother usually advises a wait-and-see approach to taking anything like Cipro. But haven't I already waited and seen? Or do I hang in there yet another day with trying to figure out what is going on?

If I were going to be here for a few more days, I could go to some sort of a lab for analysis. But I leave here tomorrow night for Tunis.

I ventured out of the house at about 10:30 AM so that I could meet my former French facilitator, Ali Dieng, in the downtown area. While I was waiting for Ali, a familiar face from the past approached me. It was Oumar, who used to be a bartender at the Moroccan restaurant. Like so many people, Oumar is looking for work and wondered if I could help.

Ali and I had a little something to eat together. I have an appetite, especially for carbohydrates. I had hummus and bread, with weak tea. After we ate, Ali drove me over to NEC, where I was supposed to teach a class today at 5:00. I wanted to leave a message for Sagna to tell him that I was not feeling well enough to teach. My timing for stopping by was good, as I was able to see Diack (pronounced "Jack"), who was not there last week.

Ali had not been able to attend Melanie's party last week, so he didn't get a copy of my poetry book. Since he is an excellent English speaker, he really would be able to understand and appreciate what I had written. I suggested that we stop at the US embassy so I could see if NDieme was there; I had given her the originals of the book so that she could make copies. She also had the last printed copies, and if there was one left, I could get it for Ali.

Alas, all the printed copies were taken by now. NDieme offered to scan the original and send it to Ali as an e-mail attachment.

It's a good thing that I had to get to the embassy, though, because on previous visits there, I had been looking for one of the guards, Mohamed Salem, so that I could greet and chat with. This time he was there, and it was great to see him, though briefly.

I have been meaning to write about a fascinating traffic maneuver that I have seen here several times during this visit. First of all, the number of traffic lights has increased significantly during the last five years. Drivers are extremely impatient with traffic lights. We are talking about people whose heritage for generations goes back to being desert nomads. There are neither traffic lights nor vehicle codes in the desert.

Imagine, then, if you will, a long line of cars waiting for a red light to turn to green. And waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

Eventually drivers towards the back of the line start honking their horns, perhaps thinking that when the noise gets loud enough, the light will make the necessary change to green.

But the light is not cooperating. It is still red.

Caving to peer pressure from the drivers lined up behind him, the lead driver eventually ignores the fact that the light is still red and drives through the intersection.

Have you ever experienced anything quite like that?

Wednesday evening around here means going to Sisay's for Ethiopian dinner. I can't imagine a more enjoyable evening: lots of nice people to socialize with, as well as tasty Ethiopian fare.

Upon return to Melanie and Alassane's home from Sisay's, the security guard came over to me with a small shopping bag: a gift that had been delivered by Cheikh Gueye. It was a beautiful new outfit made of indigo cloth.

I swear, if I didn't know better, I would say that Cheikh's goal in life is to make me cry (as a result of the kindness that he consistently shows me).

The fabric is thick and will definitely not fit in my suitcase. Melanie offered to mail it home to me. Mashallah!

Thursday, 15 December 2011

The last twelve days here have flown by!

I spent part of the morning getting ready to get out of town tonight. Everything is assembled and almost ready to go when the time comes.

I headed over to the Sahara Cafe for a bite to eat and to say good-bye to Ghaleb. While I was sitting there, in walked Sidna, who was the Peace Corps director of training. I hadn't seen him yet, and there he was! It certainly seems that all I would have to do in order to meet or see everyone I need to meet/see is to sit all day in the Sahara Cafe. Anybody I need to know is going to show up there eventually.

When I got back to the house in the afternoon and checked my e-mail, I had a reply from Bagga, the Associate Peace Corps Director to whom I reported during my time here. He was weighing in on the situation concerning Kristen's and my name being omitted from the STUDY ENGLISH textbook. He had quite a bit to say about the situation concerning Kristen's and my name not being on the book that we co-wrote.

First of all, he said that it did not surprise him because he has experienced the same kind of frustration in his work for the Minister of National Eduction. He was part of a team that wrote two books in forty-five days in 1999. In the first printing his name was on the books, but in subsequent editions, his name no longer appeared on them.

He considered the omission of our names as "a mere lack of awareness of what it means to recognize the others' contribution and acknowledge it. Copyright culture is still foreign to most people's minds."

He went on to say that despite the fact that there have been at least five Directeur Generaux presiding over IPN since the early 2000s, they have changed neither the original preface or name of the original Directeur General under whom a large number of books has been written and published. "Don't they want to write new prefaces? Don't they want their names on the book? I think it's pure neglect and lack of innovation," he adds.

The conclusion? "So all what this amounts to is the 'système' and you've been part of it and you know it: nothing is truly systematic in the système!"

Bagga, Kristen, and I do agree on one important matter: at least the books have been printed and are in use!

I have been feeling much better today. One of the indicators that I am ill is that I lose any desire to have a glass of wine in the evening when happy hour rolls around. Today was the first day since Saturday that I have had the taste for some wine.

And it's a good thing, too, as I have been invited to a cocktail party this evening!

Mamouni picked me up at Melanie and Alessane's place. I was ready, luggage and all, to head to Nerissa's for the cocktail party, and then onward to the airport. It was a delightful party, held outdoors next to the swimming pool, with good food and drink, as well as enjoyable people to talk to.

We got to the airport at about 10:30. It was the same disorganized mess that it always has been. The bathroom is filthy and the seats are uncomfortable.

Our plane was nowhere in sight by the time we were supposed to take off. People here must have assumed that everything would be late: some people showed up forty-five minutes after the departure time, and were still there before the plane was.

By the time we boarded and departed, we were a full two hours behind schedule. Just as well, really, as our scheduled arrival time in Tunis was 5:00 AM.

Senegal

2011-12-02T07:04:00.001-08:00

New York to Madrid to Dakar
Saturday, 26 November to Sunday, 27 November 2011

The flight to Madrid from New York went smoothly. I wasn't thrilled that I had more than nine hours to spend in Madrid before the flight to Dakar, but I have learned not to complain when being routed like this when redeeming frequent flyer miles. In the long run, it's nice to have a break between these flights, and this one gave me enough time to get into town for several hours.

I spent some time in Madrid in 1986, having just been to Barcelona for three weeks. I had fallen so madly in love with Barcelona that, at the time, I didn't care for Madrid very much. Since then I have spent only a few hours there: in August of 2010 I was routed through there (once again, redeeming miles) and had to spend one night before catching my plane to Boston.

At that time, my friend Alex and her husband Luis picked me up at the airport, brought me into town where we had some food and drink, and then drove me to my hotel. It was such a short visit then, so I was eager to see it again - this time by day.

Since then Alex has had a baby, but I didn't want to make a hurried trip to see them for such a short time. At the end of this trip, I will be leaving from Madrid, so I will see them and meet the baby in March.

Welcome to a closed tourist information booth at the airport in Madrid

My luggage was checked through to Dakar, which left me with only my carry-on backpack. I put it in a storage locker at the airport so that I could walk around unencumbered. There is a sleek metro line that goes to the airport, so it was a simple matter to get into town to walk around.

I was delighted to have some time to walk around the streets of Madrid. The architecture is beautiful and I will take lots of photos when I return in March.

I had a small meal in a restaurant near the Gran Via. The bill was less than ten euro, so they wouldn't take a credit card, so I left to find an ATM along the Gran Via. One machine after the next was out of order. I must have tried four different banks, and none of them worked.

It was a good thing I had some US cash. I changed a $10 bill at a money exchange place, so it all worked out.

It was good to get out and walk around a bit. I didn't have much in the way of warm clothing, though, as I had left my sweater and jacket in the USA, since I was not going to need them for most of this trip. In March, if it is still cool, I can buy something new, but I am certainly not going to need these items for the next few months, so why carry them around?

One immediate change that I noticed was that it was starting to get dark in Madrid about 6:00 PM, as compared to 4:30 in New York. It was nice to have the extra light.

Upon checking in with Iberia, I learned that I had been upgraded to business class. I love when that happens. There were only three of us passengers in the cabin that had eighteen seats.

We were kept on the jetway for about twenty minutes while the plane was being fueled, so that gave us a late start. The flight took four hours and forty minutes (6:30 PM to 11:10 PM Madrid time) and the Dakar time zone is one hour earlier, so we arrived at 10:10, rather than the aticipated 9:35 PM. We were faced with too few agents to process the passengers of our flight, which led to a yet a further delay.

Johan, my host, had advised me that I should pay 2,000 FCFA (West African francs, with the current exchange rate being approximately 500 FCFA to one dollar) for the ride to his place, but I couldn't get a driver to do it for under 3,000. I also specifically told the driver that I wanted that price to include a call to the friend to whom he was delivering me.

When we got there and I handed over a 5,000-FCFA note, the driver gave me 1,000 change, not 2,000, and refused to hand over the remaining 1,000. Welcome to Senegal and WAWA (West Africa Wins Again).

Johan is a Couchsurfing host, originally from Belgium, and has lived in Senegal for a long time. I even came to learn that he has a Senegalese passport in addition to the one from Belgium.

My arrival coincided with a Dakar-wide shutdown of the water delivery system. Only places with their own water supplies have running water. At Johan's place, there was no service. Johan didn't know how long this would last.

While there was no water in the apartment, there was one spigot for the building where it was possible to collect water in large containers. I helped Johan fill up a few of these and tote them upstairs to his place.

Dakar
Monday, 28 November 2011

It was well after 1:00 AM by the time I got to sleep. I couldn't believe that I slept until 11:30 AM. I hadn't slept very much on the flights, so I was really exhausted.

There was still no water running, so all I could do was take a quick rinse before getting dressed.

The cashier sits in a cage next to the rear door of the bus.

I was happy to walk around Dakar for the afternoon. I had a few agenda items to take care of: a few sewing projects, getting a phone that I can use for this trip, and having lunch at Ali Baba, my favorite restaurant in Dakar.

It was easy to find a tailor, as there were several at the Peterson bus station, the destination of the bus from Johan's house. Once I got to the street where Ali Baba was located, I recognized it, as it is one of the busy commercial streets downtown.

On the menu at Ali Baba, I noticed something that hadn't registered before: their spelling of hummus was “homos.”

It's a funny thing about the telephone situation. When I bought my new phone at home last May, I intentionally purchased one that accepts SIM cards, so that I could use it overseas. When I had it unlocked at the Verizon Wireless office in San Francisco, one of the Verizon employees put it back the wrong way and it got jammed in there.

In thinking about getting a new SIM card for calls here, I was concerned that the same thing could happen again: somebody not familiar with this phone putting the card in there improperly. On the one hand, I could give it a try. On the other, though, I kept on having a feeling that said, Don't mess with the phone. Get a new one to use in Africa.

I have learned to trust these feelings. It's hard to know what could have happened, but I decided not to take any chances. So I got a cheapie little Nokia phone that I will be able to use in Senegal, Mauritania, Tunisia, and Morocco. If I didn't already know people in these places, I could do without a phone altogether. But this makes it significantly easier to be in touch with people who live here. And it wasn't all that expensive, either. The phone, SIM card, and a good deal of credit cost less than $35.

I made my way to the French Cultural Center and found a seat near an electrical outlet so that I could charge up my phone. Then I ordered my first Gazelle (beer) since arriving here. I had been looking forward to that Gazelle!

I have only a few phone numbers for Senegal, but I spent a little time entering them into the phone. This Nokia model is a lot like the one I had when I was in the Peace Corps, so it brought back a lot of memories. It is so absolutely basic, though, and I could see that in just the seven months that I have had my smartphone, I have become quite accustomed to all of its functions and superior abilities.

Johan is not only a Couchsurfer, but the organizer of regular meetings for local hosts and visitors. Just my good fortune, there was a gathering set for Monday night at the French Cultural Center. A baker's dozen of people showed up, representing Austria, Belgium, Senegal, Germany, France, Japan, UK, and New Zealand. It was an enjoyable first evening in Dakar, with an enjoyable group of folks.

My host, Johan (from Belgium), with Sven (Germany), and Leo (UK)

At the end of our time together, Johan collected everyone's money for their food and drinks. He compared the bill to the items that each person had ordered. In so doing, he found that we were charged for one meal more than what we had ordered.

When he told me that, I told him that just a few weeks ago, in a Senegalese restaurant in New York the same thing had happened: we were charged for twelve meals, even though there were only eleven of us who had eaten.

Johan said that they do this all the time in Senegal. If you don't catch the extra meal, you pay for it and they make that much more money. If you do catch it, they simply smile and take it off the bill.

When we got back to Johan's, the water was still off. But in the middle of the night, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I noticed that the floor in there was wet, indicating that somebody had taken a shower. I was able to flush the toilet and run the water in the sink, so that was good news.

Dakar to Toubab Dialaw
Tuesday, 29 November 2011

The return of the water was short-lived. When I woke up, I saw that it had stopped running again, so I got dressed without taking a shower and decided that this would be a good day to go to Toubab Dialaw (Dialaw rhymes with “hollow” and the beginning sound is a “j.”) I had been considering this earlier, thinking that it would be good to see another place in Senegal. The people I was going to see in Dakar are not yet available: Janine got in yesterday and is attending a conference, Brian returns today from Cambodia, and Erin returns tomorrow from the USA.

I went to look in my little notebook to be sure of where I needed to go. That's when I discovered that I didn't have it in my pocket. Where could it have been? My two thoughts were that I had either left it on the table at the French Cultural Center or it had come out of my pocket when I reached for money in the taxi last night. You know, it's really true: we do more to inflict trouble on ourselves than other people do in their actions towards us.

I thought this through. In the long run, there wasn't a huge amount of information in that notebook. I was more annoyed at myself than at the loss of anything important.

Once out on the street, I opted for a taxi to the Pompiers station; that would be so much easier than having to negotiate the standing-room-only bus with my luggage and backpack. My intention was to get a seat in a sept-place (a seven-seat vehicle) that was headed to MBour, and I would get out along the way to take a taxi collectif (shared taxi) onward to Toubab Dialaw.

My arrival at Pompiers had both a good aspect and a bad one. For the good news, I was fifth of the seven people needed in order to allow the taxi to leave the station. On the bad side, though, the only remaining seats were in the very back row, which is elevated higher than the other rows. As a result, if I kept my head erect, it hit the top of the car. I could only avoid contact by bending over a little bit.

The first four people were waiting patiently in the car. Seeing how uncomfortable I would be, I told the driver I would wait until we were ready to leave in order to get inside. It was only between five and ten minutes before that happened, so that was good.

Once in there, I knew I would have to choose my position carefully, as I wouldn't be able to move very much during the course of the trip.

Fortunately, it was only an hour and a few minutes before I was dropped off in Diam Niadio, the “garage” (parking lot) where there were other taxis making local trips. I found another collectif, which already had most of the passengers in it.

I took that taxi to the end of the line, garage Toubab Dialaw, which was also the end of the paved road. Once I tried to make my way to the area where the hotels were, I could see it would be impossible: my rolling suitcase is fine on pavement, but those wheels don't turn very well in sand. I needed to get yet another taxi.

I don't have a guidebook for this part of the trip, since I will be here for such a short time. But I had notes in that little notebook, and didn't remember any of the names. The taxi driver started naming hotels for me, and one of them rang a bell: Mimosa. I don't know what the plant looks like, but the mimosa I like is the orange juice with champagne. One of those would be nice right about now.

The first things I was looking for in a room were running water and electricity. I saw a room that I liked and was a decent price (10,000 FCFA - about $20), but when I turned on the light switch and the water faucet in the bathroom, nothing happened at either place.

“Right away,” said the man who showed me the room. “They are working on it right now.”

I told the guy that I wanted to be able to take a shower right away. He said I would be able to.

A response like that always begs the question of whether it is really going to happen right away or they are just telling me what I want to hear. I was leaning towards the latter, but thought I ought to give him the benefit of the doubt. (Stupid me!)

Within a few minutes, somebody appeared with a bucket of water. That was not a good sign. Yes, I was able to clean up. But the shower was not working, and that is what I had been looking for and promised.

After my bucket bath, it was getting to be lunchtime, so I ordered vegetarian spaghetti in the h hotel restaurant. After that, when I returned to my room for a while, there was still no electricity or running water.

I took a walk around the town, which has plenty of souvenir stands. Of course, I was warmly welcomed by all the vendors, who wanted me to come over and take a look. There is really nothing I wanted to buy, but I was friendly to them and chatted a little bit, thinking it was better to do that than simply walk away. But the whole process became tedious in short order, and I made my way back to the shelter of my hotel and room.

Scenes in Toubab Dialaw

By mid-afternoon, there was electricity but no running water. I jumped on the chance to charge up my netbook, so that at least if we lost power again I would be able to use that and write for this blog.

I took a quick look at the funds in my wallet, just to be sure I had enough for the hotel, meals, and all that. In doing so, I discovered that I had made the mistake of not checking earlier, when I was in Dakar and there were ATMs available.

I had just enough for the hotel for two nights and a few basic meals, but no more than that.

What to do?

With not a lot of cash, a boring little town where the only thing to do was be a patsy for the vendors, unreliable supplies of water and electricity, and no Internet (despite the hotel's sign that clearly said there was free Internet), my choice was clear: spend only one night here and return to Dakar tomorrow.

In the afternoon, I opened the suitcase to get things organized in there and in my room. I was delighted to find the little notebook I thought I had lost. But when I went to my backpack to find the 2011 calendar book, I discovered that it wasn't there! It was possible, but improbable, that I had left it at Johan's place, but I felt that it was more likely that I had not properly zipped up that compartment, and the little pouch fell out.

This was depressing to me, considering that it was the second time during the last three months that I have lost my calendar book. (For the full story of the first incident, read the blog entry that immediately precedes this one.)

I really was feeling too stupid to live! In all, it was not as bad as the first loss. But these things add up, take their toll, and make me start questioning my sanity and whether I should be let out of the house any more.

By dusk, the power went out, the water was still not running, and the mosquitoes were descending on me. No doubt about it, I was miserable and didn't know how I would be able to make it through the night.

The hotel staff brought me two anti-mosquito sprays: one for the room and one for my body. They were immediately effective, so that was a relief. It was about 80 degrees in the room, which wasn't awful, but was infinitely better when the fan was working.

After sitting in the room for a while, the lights came back on. I asked one of the staff to bring a bucket of water so I would be able to bathe in the morning. When he brought the water, he turned on the shower faucet and, Voila! There was running water.

That was all well and good, but I was still planning to leave tomorrow.

Toubab Dialaw to Dakar
Wednesday, 30 November 2011

The walk from the hotel to the collectif taxi stand (the call it a “garage,” but it is really just a gathering place on the street) is not very long, but the road is not paved and is very sandy. My suitcase if fine when rolling, but too heavy for me to carry. Whereas you can get a ride to the hotel area from the garage, because that's where the taxis are, it's not easy to do it the other way around. Since no taxis congregate near the hotels, you either have to walk to the garage or wait until one happens to come by.

I saw a group of tourists getting into a pickup truck at a hotel down the street and I approached to ask if I could get a lift to the garage. One of the tourists nodded yes to the driver. My intention was to sit in the open bed of the pickup truck, but a guide accompanying the group gave me his seat and took my luggage with him into the open bed.

Once I was at the garage, I was besieged by drivers who offered me the possibility of driving me directly to Dakar instead of taking a taxi to the highway, and then another vehicle onward.

There were three people in a sept-place, so I would have been the fourth, and we needed only three more. The guy who drove me yesterday from the garage to the hotel told me it would take some time for that to happen. I told him, “Je n'ai que temps,” (The only thing I have is time) and he didn't have any reply to that.

Then he continued to offer me that personal service of a ride directly to Dakar. I told him I didn't need it, but I was curious about the price. It was 15,000 ($30). He then did something I didn't understand at first: he told me to get into his car and he would take me to Diam Niadio, where I could get a ride to Dakar.

This was extremely puzzling, as it made absolutely no business sense for him to take one person at 500 FCFA, when he could be taking a full car for 3,500 FCFA. I agreed to go, curious to see what he had up his sleeve.

Once we were driving he continued to try to sell me on the ride to Dakar. His price came down to 13,000. I told him that I was still not interested.

Then, when we reached another small town that could have been about halfway to Diam Niadio, he made a U-turn, picked up a few passengers who wanted to go to garage Toubab Dialaw, and flagged down another taxi to take me the rest of the way.

My guess is that he was willing to take the gamble with me: there was a chance that he could sell me the trip to Dakar, and he was willing to take that chance. When it didn't work out the way he wanted it to, he was outta there.

One of the drivers at the garage Toubab Dialaw had told me that there were no sept-place cars going from Diam Niadio to Dakar. I would have to take a bus.

Once I was at the highway, I crossed to the side where the traffic was heading to Dakar. A bus was there, and it was jam-packed with people. When I declined getting on there, saying that it was too full, the fare collector told me that there were seats. I couldn't see where, but I decided to investigate.

Imagine a not-quite-full-sized school bus that has fold-down seats so that there are people sitting where the aisle would be. That's what this was. I'd guess there were about twelve rows of seats, two people per seat, and one person on each fold-down.

Since the fare collector cannot walk down the aisle to get money, the system is that people pass it along to him, just as he passes change to them. I handed a 1,000 FCFA note to the person behind me and pretty soon I got back a coin for 500. So this bus ride was going to cost about a dollar.

Oddly enough, even though the seats were fairly close together, there was plenty of room above my head, which made the ride much more comfortable than the sept-place taxi. A small downside to this, though, was that we stopped everywhere to collect and discharge passengers. Whereas the ride yesterday took only an hour and three minutes, the return to Dakar took an hour and forty. No big deal. The only thing I have is time.

Once we got to Dakar, we were at a bus terminal I had not seen before, so I didn't know how to orient myself. As is my usual practice, I asked somebody who was not a taxi driver how much it should cost to get to the downtown area. This gives me an idea of a reasonable price, so at least I have the necessary information when I negotiate with a driver.

The guy I asked was getting off of my bus. He told me to follow him. He said we could get into town for 1,000 FCFA. I thought that was fine. He started negotiating but couldn't find a driver to accept that price. Eventually, he asked me if 1,500 was all right. I said it was, but I wanted to know if that was the total amount or per-person. He said it was the total.

When we got into the taxi, I thanked the negotiator for doing the bargaining for us and said that I would be willing to pay 1,000 so he could pay 500, rather than splitting it exactly in half. Then he opened his hand and showed me that all he had in there was a coin for 25 FCFA, indicating that he had none of the money, and that I would be paying the whole thing!

That wasn't really a problem, as I would have had to pay it if I was traveling by myself. So he got a free ride out of it, and I was totally fine with that.

I checked into the first hotel I looked at, and then was able to get some lunch and pick up the items that were being sewn for me (longer pockets in a pair of pants, a zipper added to my travel sleep-sheet, and a few other little odds and ends). En route to the tailor I passed the hotel where I had stayed in 2004. I had forgotten the name, but when I saw it (Hotel Al Baraka), I remembered it immediately.

I decided to move there tomorrow; it's a much nicer place and since they have their own water tank, there is not a problem with having water cut off.

In the evening I was further encouraged to change hotels tomorrow. As it turns out, the alley area underneath my window is a gathering place for some rather colorful ladies and their friends. Everyone was talking loudly well into the night.

Scene from my hotel window: it's a hooker hangout by night and a chic dining establishment by day

I walked into a bank to see about getting some change. Making change is a big problem here. Only in large stores and restaurants would you dare to try to pay with the largest note, 10,000 FCFA ($20). All other times, it is best to have exact change or expect only a small amount of change.

I wanted to get some 100 FCFA coins at the bank. In exchange for one coin of 200, one coin of 500, and one bill of 2,000, I wanted to get 27 coins of 100. The bank teller told me that she could give me seven coins in exchange for my two, but not twenty for the note.

If the bank doesn't have change, who does?

Dakar
Thursday, 1 December 2011

The water wasn't running in my hotel room, but that didn't matter because I intended to get dressed, check into the Hotel Al Baraka, and take my shower there.

That is exactly what happened, and I was thrilled beyond words. It's amazing how much I appreciated something that, at home, I usually take for granted. It was my first hot shower since Saturday.

My camera battery needed recharging. When I plugged the charger into the wall, the little green light didn't go on. I thought that the problem was that there was no electrical current converter, so I went to look for one in one of the shops. When I got to a shop that had one, the owner showed me the converter that I would need. And then, he asked if he could take a look at the charger itself.

When he looked at the charger, he told me that I didn't need to buy his converter: I could recharge the battery without one. He demonstrated by plugging it into one of his outlets. I guess that the outlet I tried to use in my hotel room simply didn't work well. So the problem was in the hotel, not with the charger I had.

I was impressed that the guy, who could easily have made the sale, declined doing so because I didn't need his item.

I met Erin for lunch at Chez Loutcha, a Senegalese-Cape Verdian restaurant that not only had a huge menu with plenty of vegetarian options, but a special room reserved for non-smokers.

That's not something you see every day in Africa!

With Erin in front of Chez Loutcha

In talking with Erin at lunch, I learned that I had simply been at the wrong hotel in Toubab Dialaw, and that the one that she (and everyone else) went to and loved was right across the road from the one where I had been.

After lunch, I was walking around with Erin and asked her if she had developed any strategies for dealing with all the hustlers that approach foreigners in the street. She said that they never bother her. Then, one after the other, as we walked, they approached both of us. Am I a magnet for these guys?

I went with Erin to her apartment for a little bit and then wandered about by myself on the streets. One random guy approached me and it didn't seem like he had anything to sell. But he did have a point to make, and I learned a new and beautiful word in the process.

He told me that even though Senegal is 95% Muslim, there is acceptance of all religions here. All people are respected and considered equal. He told me that the government gave land for the building of a church and that the church, in turn, constructed a mosque.

He called this approach Senégalité, which is a beautiful blending of the words Senégal and égalité (equality). I love that!

I headed down one of the main shopping streets with the intention of finding a replacement for a clasp at the end of a chain that I usually wear on one of my belt loops. It had broken just a few days ago. At first I thought I would have to wait until I got home to get a new one, but then I considered that I may as well look around for it here.

Every other person on the street is trying to sell something or another, and some of them find it difficult to take no for an answer. One guy, Talla, attached himself to me. I told him I had no use for the (ugly) sand paintings he was trying to sell. Though I made it clear I wasn't going to buy anything, he kept walking with me and talking.

I thought, well, if he is going to be here, he may as well be useful. I showed him the broken clasp I wanted to replace and, of course, he knew exactly where to go to get a new one.

We arrived at a congested market area, and he started talking to some guys. We showed the clasp I wanted to replace, and Talla dispatched the guys to find a new one. In a short amount of time, one of them came back with one of the same style, but it was much too small.

Then, one of the guys came back with a clasp that looked very sturdy and was certainly suitable, but he was asking 12,500 FCFA ($25) for it. I laughed at the ridiculous price, knowing that I could get one of these at home for about $2 to $4.

I said that it was not worth more than 2,500 ($5) and that was all I was willing to pay. I told the guy I didn't need it that badly. Talla and I walked away, and the guy kept following us. The further we walked, the lower the price got: ten thousand, eight thousand, six thousand, five thousand, four thousand, three thousand.

A new one of these would have been fine, but I was serious about not needing it that much. Finally, about four blocks away from the point where the negotiations began, the guy with the clasp said, "Donnes-moi l'argent," ("Give me the money," meaning that he had agreed to my price.

I knew I was dealing with two inviolable principles of bargaining: (1) a merchant is never going to agree to lose money on a deal and (2) if a prospective buyer names a price and the merchant meets that price, the buyer is obliged to complete the purchase.

So, right there in the middle of the street, we finalized the transaction.

As Talla and I walked away, I noticed an odd feeling in my right pocket: my pen had made its way through the pocket and was now touching my thigh. I thought it best to get this repaired as soon as possible, before the hole got any larger. I showed Talla what had happened and, of course, he knew exactly where to find a tailor.

The problem, of course, with having to repair the pants one is wearing is that one is going to have to sit somewhere without pants until the job gets done.

Talla took me to a tailor shop and we explained the situation. They took me to the back door of the shop and led me to a courtyard where I could remove the trousers and wait while the job got done. An elderly man sitting there did not hide his surprise at seeing a white man taking his pants off. I could have been embarrassed, I guess, but I was more struck with the comical nature of the situation.

The pocket was mended in short order, and the tailor reinforced the other one as well. I imagine the job could have cost about 100 FCFA (20 cents), but when the tailor asked for 500, it was one price inflation that I thought was reasonable and I was willing to pay.

One side of the street was lined with jewelry showcases. I saw several pendants shaped like the continent of Africa and I was curious about their cost. I didn't want the chain with it for wearing around my neck. I wanted just the pendant, so I could put it with the collection that I call Peace in My Pocket.

The idea behind Peace in My Pocket is that it is a place where I keep symbols of a variety of the world's religions. If they can coexist peacefully in my pocket, they can do the same outside my pocket, in the world at large. It's a hope that I carry along with me wherever I go.

I walked up to one of the jewelry showcases and inquired about one of the silver pendants, expecting that the merchant would give me a starting price, which is what usually happens. But this guy wouldn't give me a price, which made me feel uncomfortable, since I didn't have any kind of starting point.

My intention was to get at least one price and then do some comparison shopping. That's usually how it works.

The merchant introduced himself as Amadou, and when he learned that I was from the USA, he began to speak with me in pretty good English. He told me he was going to New York soon, as he had a cousin in New Jersey. (Who doesn't have a cousin in New Jersey?)

I told him where he could find a Senegalese restaurant in New York.

In the course of our talking, I showed Amadou the collection of symbols, Peace in My Pocket. Once he saw that, he said that he sincerely wanted me to have Africa with me in my pocket, too. He wanted me to name my price. I was still resistant to doing that, since it is a backwards way of bargaining.

We went back and forth between bargaining and kibbitzing about a variety of topics. I thought that the only way I was going to make it out of there was to name a ridiculously low price that he would refuse, and then I would be done with the whole thing. So I said I was willing to pay 4,000 FCFA ($8). To my surprise, he accepted that offer.

With Amadou, who sold me the Africa charm to add to Peace in My Pocket

After Talla and I left Amadou, Talla told me that Amadou had told him in Wolof that the minimum price for that pendant should have been 10,000 FCFC, but that the price didn't matter to Amadou because he wanted me to have it, and that I was a good man.

Talla further added that Amadou is a very rich man, with many houses.

Peace in My Pocket, including the new pendant in the shape of Africa
as well as the new clasp to hook onto my belt loop

Before I bid good-bye to Talla, he hit me up for a contribution to the charity for which he was selling those (ugly) sand paintings. I had to make a judgment call: was he really doing it for the benefit of an organization of handicapped kids (a charity that would pull at the heartstrings of just about any foreigner) or was he doing it for himself? At this point, it didn't matter. By this point he had spent probably up to two hours with me and had been very helpful. So I gave him some money.

I stopped by a pharmacy to see if they may have a product that could help with a small problem I have been dealing with. Almost three weeks ago, when I was in New York, I stubbed the littlest piggy on my left foot. It has been swollen and painful ever since. The pharmacist thought that the bone in there had been fractured. He advised me to get a bandage so that I could tape it to the toe next to it. I bought a roll of some bandaging and began to tape the two toes together. Right away I could feel some relief from the pain.

In the evening I met Brian for dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant. Brian served in Peace Corps Mauritania a few years before I did and we have several mutual friends, though until this evening we had not met in person. Thank Facebook for these connections!

With Brian at Lalibela Ethiopian Restaurant

Friday, 2 December 2011

I had debated whether I would go to Gorée Island today, but ultimately decided against it, as I just couldn't face all the salesmen I would inevitably meet. I settled in for a quiet day in and around my hotel, working on writing up the blog, posting photos, and getting a few small souvenirs to take with me -- nothing too big because I am going to be on the road for a few more months to come.

Dakar street scenes

My hotel has decals on the door advertising that they accept American Express and Visa credit card. When I went to the front desk to pay my bill, the clerk gave me the response I anticipated: paying with a credit card is a problem. "Don't you have cash?" he wanted to know?

Sure, I could get the cash. By the same token, when I pay with credit cards I get mileage on my airline accounts, so that is how I build up enough mileage to take as many free trips as I do.

He said that the machine that they use for accepting credit card payments has been malfunctioning during the last few weeks. He tried to use it, but the verification process didn't work out. In the end, I had to go to the ATM to get the cash.

Putting my Buddhist learning into practice

2011-09-06T09:18:00.000-07:00

I have been a member of a Buddhist sangha (congregation) since January 2010. Because it is based in San Francisco, where I live, and I travel about half of the time, my attendance has been sporadic. Concurrent with attending the Sunday morning sessions, I have done some reading about Buddhism.

What strikes me about what I am learning is the depth to which the Buddhist practices and beliefs have matched what I already knew and felt before I became a member of this sangha.

To give just a small taste of these beliefs, I can enumerate three of them for you as a means of explaining where my thoughts are:

★We increase our happiness when we detach ourselves from material possessions.

★Suffering is both inevitable and optional. We inflict much more suffering on ourselves with our own behavior than others ever cause us with their actions.

★We increase our own happiness when we release expectations from other people and situations.

Buddhist beliefs cover significantly more ground than that, but for the purpose of this piece, I believe that that is enough in order to give you an idea of my state of mind during the last two and a half months during which I have reflected on the situation at hand.

The focus of this selection is about all three of these beliefs: detachment from material possessions, our inflicting more suffering on ourselves than other people ever do, and releasing expectations from other people.

Here, in a nutshell, is the crux of my latest self-inflicted suffering:

On the first day of September, I left my 2011 calendar book in the seat pocket of the plane on my flight from San Francisco to Chicago.

That sounds simple and rather benign, doesn't it? It's, after all, just a little book with appointments and all that kind of stuff, right? What's the big deal, especially with only four months to go for 2011?

And yet, when it happened, I saw the situation differently and have been agonizing over it ever since the loss. (I can admit, though, that during the passage of time, the grieving has diminished.)

I will begin by explaining that I have kept every calendar book since I started using them. My oldest one is from my junior year in college, the 1967-1968 academic year. Somehow I am missing the one for 1972 and I can't say I remember getting worked up over not being able to locate it.

The format of these books has changed over time, from the academic year model at the beginning, to the calendar year format starting in 1973. (Or it may have been 1972, but I'll never know that.)

Once I left the academic year model, I was able to fit all of my appointments in the month-at-a-glance format until 1982, and then switched to the week-at-a-glance layout. In 1992 I switched from a smaller booklet, about the size of a checkbook, to one that measured 5 1/2" by 8 1/2" and consisted of three-hole punched pages for placement in a looseleaf binder that I carried around. I used those for twelve years; 2003, the year I retired from teaching, was the last time I used that style.

When I returned home from my Peace Corps assignment in 2005, I was able to return to a simpler life with fewer appointments, and have been using the week-at-a-glance format ever since.

I was delighted to find the 2011 book that I was using. It was distinguished in that Saturday and Sunday were allotted equal space on the two-page layout. The left-hand side of the book had spaces for notes, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday; the right hand side had the four remaining days of the week. There was no longer a need to squeeze both days of the weekend in a space equal to one of the other days during the remainder of the week.

In recent years, traveling as much as I have, I have used the space on each day as a means to note the name of the place where I stayed that night and the names of the people I was visiting. Additionally, all my flight and other transport information was included.

These have become reference books for me. During my visit to Quito, Ecuador in 2009 I had a tailor make a small zippered bag for my calendar book. Along with the calendar book I kept a small ruler and mechanical pencil in the bag.

Yes, one thing was certain: I had most definitely become attached to the ensemble and the information contained within.

The events concerning this loss were as follows:

As I sat down in my aisle seat on the Southwest Airlines flight from San Francisco to Chicago Midway, the teenage boy in the center seat asked his mother in the window seat if she had a pencil to use on one of the puzzles in the back of the Spirit Magazine. (It being the first day of the month, all the issues were new.)

Mom didn't have a pencil, but I did. I fished out the little zippered bag, gave him the pencil, got into my seat, put on the seatbelt, and stashed the bag in the pocket of the seat in front of me.

I also had my reading glasses in the seat pocket at some point, but had the presence of mind to fish them out before I left the plane.

I didn't realize until I had gone through the security area that I had left something on the plane. Getting back to the plane was laborious, made all the more difficult because I was randomly selected to go through a more thorough security search, which delayed me even more.

When I got to the gate the door to the jetway had been closed and the plane was pushing back.

I filled out forms at the Southwest Airlines baggage office at CChicago Midway and I obtained the phone number of their office in San Francisco, the next destination of the plane.

Once in Chicago, I headed to Millennium Park for the opening performance of Chicago Jazz Festival. I was seated in the first row of a section that had a wide aisle between it and the section in front of us. During the second half of the performance, I noticed on the ground in front of me that there was a piece of paper that looked like money. I could see a "5" in one of the corners. When I bent over to pick up the bill I could see that there was not only a "5" but a "0" after it.

My first thought was, I would give up this fifty dollars in an instant if I could have my calendar book returned to me.

When I checked the next day with the Southwest Airlines baggage offices in Chicago Midway and San Francisco, I learned that nobody had found or returned the book.

★Suffering is not only inevitable, but we inflict much more suffering on ourselves than others cause us. True enough. I was continuing to inflict suffering on myself. I tried to calm myself down by reasoning that I was healthy, had the same number of body parts after the flight as I had before, nobody had dies, and that I had no reason to be upset.

Yet I was upset.

★Our happiness is increased when we are detached from material possessions. I was absolutely attached to having this calendar book. Therefore I was not happy, because I did not have it.

★Our happiness is increased when we can release expectations from other people and situations. I was totally dependent on other people to come through for me: airline employees who would go the extra mile for me in locating my book or a random passenger who would find it, look in the front for my address, and take it upon her/himself to return it to me.

I continued to hold out hope that somebody who either worked for the airline or sat in the same seat where I had sat would find the calendar, see my name, address, phone number, and e-mail address on the front page, and be diligent about contacting me and getting the book back to me. After all, I thought, I would do that if the situation were reversed.

As I write this, it is now two and a half months after the fact. The passage of time has helped me to feel better. It has also helped me that during this time, I had a forum at which I could discuss this situation. The discussion happened on the 30th of October at my sangha. I was one of two people who was asked to speak to our membership as part of what they call a dharma duo: two of us talking about not only the teachings of Buddhism but how we have incorporated them into our daily lives.

Turning my attention towards gratitude has helped me. I continue to reflect on how fortunate I am to be healthy, financially secure, and with a lot of people who care for me.

I am now able to laugh at myself for having placed so much value and significance on such a small item.

As one of the sangha members pointed out to me in the discussion that followed my dharma duo talk, another way to look at this is that I have now paid the price for some bad kharma I inflicted on others in the past. That is now taken care of and gone.

The most significant learning came to me with the understanding that these teachings are relatively easy to understand when they are not referring to specific life experiences, and then more difficult to grasp and appreciate when they become more personal.

Life continues to be a learning experience. The learning, the growing, the maturing, the understanding, the path towards enlightenment: none of these ever ends.

Never say never

2011-04-08T11:45:00.000-07:00

I have recently done something I said I would never do. This has made me think about other things I said I would never do, but have eventually done.

Here they are, all five of them, in the order in which I have done them:

Teach elementary school

It's funny to think back and remember that for most of my teaching career I was teaching kids of the age I once said I would never teach.

I was in eighth grade when I decided that I wanted to become a teacher. I greatly admired the teaching and organizational skills of my social studies teacher and I was fortunate to be his student again in ninth grade. In eleventh grade I had an amazing English teacher who helped me to decide that I wanted to teach English. I put the two together, and thus when I began my undergraduate work, my goal was to become a junior high school English teacher.

The way that education majors did their course work at the time (1965 - 1969), the system was set up so that I had to make a decision: choose what was then called the “early secondary” track, which required that I have two student teaching assignments (one in junior high and one in an elementary school) or take the secondary track, which would require only one student teaching assignment, and I could choose whether it would be junior high or high school.

The choice was clear for me. I said that if I ever decided to leave the junior high school, I would rather move to high school than elementary school.

When I started teaching, though, I was overwhelmed with the sheer number of students I had to work with. Every day, 180 kids entered my classrooms; there were five classes of English and one homeroom, each with thirty students. (As a new teacher, I didn't have a fixed room, so I taught in classrooms where another teacher taught all day but was out of the room during a prep period.)

Having that many students was difficult for me. After three years of work in that school, I heard of an experimental program in another junior high, where teachers taught only four classes of twenty-two students each, had full-time teacher's aides, and worked in a team with the other teachers in the same program. I applied to transfer to that school, and was accepted.

That was certainly a better situation for me, but I started to feel like I wanted to be with one group of kids all day in my own classroom, and the only place for that was elementary school. In the meantime, I had been taking graduate classes and formally made my major elementary education.

To test out how it would work, I took a leave of absence without pay and worked as a substitute teacher in elementary schools. To my delight, I found the little ones to my liking.

My first placement in elementary school began in 1975, when I took the plunge and taught kindergarten with a team of two other teachers. From then until my retirement, I taught only in those earlier grades.

In retrospect, I see that the elementary school was the best place for me. I enjoyed having one class of kids with whom I worked all day. There was flexibility not having bells ringing every forty-two minutes, signalling the change of classes and a new group of kids.

Own a car

I can remember only one time that I ever wanted a car. It must have been sometime around my junior year in college, which would have made me about 20 years old in 1967. The car in question was one of the new models that Volkswagen produced as a departure from its popular Bug: the Fastback. I even had my eyes set on a particular color: powder blue.

The desire didn't last long. At the time I had my heart set on moving to California when I graduated from college. Los Angeles and San Francisco were the leading candidates for places where I would consider living. As I did my research about both cities, San Francisco won out, in part because it was a city where I would be able to get around without owning a vehicle.

I moved to San Francisco in 1969 and was able to navigate around town rather nicely without a car. In 1990, I met a man who became my partner. The following year we moved to Palo Alto, a city about 35 miles south of San Francisco.

The year we moved, I was on sabbatical so I didn't have to deal with the commute right away. When I restarted work in San Francisco, I managed at first to do the daily commute without a car by riding my bicycle to the train station, taking the train into San Francisco, a bus from the train station to the Muni Metro, and then a streetcar to my school. This process took an hour and a half each morning. I was able to arrive at school daily at 8:30, a full hour before school started.

The trip home took two hours: walking to the train station, taking the train to Palo Alto, and then riding my bike home.

I toyed with the idea of quitting my job in San Francisco in favor of beginning all over again in Palo Alto. Ultimately, I decided against that because it would have meant contributing to a different pension system and starting from scratch on the tenure track. By that time I had more than twenty-two years into the old system, and it seemed best to stick with it.

When I became dissatisfied with my school and transferred to another one, I was faced with a dilemma because the new school started at 7:50 AM, so I would have to leave home much earlier, and the train schedule didn't line up as well for me.

Thus, in 1994 at the age of 47 I purchased my first car. I was the owner or co-owner (with my partner) of three cars from that time until 2002, when I returned to San Francisco after we split up. Since then I have been happily car-free. I will add, though, that I have a friend from whom I can sometimes borrow a car, and I also have a membership in Zipcar, a car-sharing service.

Now that I am retired, I am reaping the benefits of having kept a job in the same school district and, therefore, having contributed to the same pension system. It seems to me that it has all worked out for the best.

Ditch my landline phone in favor of a cell phone

Anyone who has used both landline and cellular phones has experienced the difference between the two. Landlines are more reliable, but you can't use them when you leave the house.

I have never been a fan of carrying around a phone in my pocket. I understand the convenience if you have an appointment to meet somebody. Other than that, I have always been happy to wait until I get home to listen to messages and return calls.

For a while, I used pay-as-you-go phones during domestic travel and maintained my home number on a landline. I wasn't thrilled with paying for two services. One of the problems, though, was that the phone numbers on my pay-as-you-go phones expired once I got home and didn't use the service for months on end.

It meant that for every domestic trip, I would have to get a new phone number and tell people that the previous one had changed. Pain in the neck!

With the ability to transfer my landline number to a cell phone service, I made the switch. Anyone who had had my home phone number can continue to reach me on the cell phone at the same number.

I am still not a huge fan, considering how unreliable cellular technology is, what with the dropped calls, missed calls, and general undependability of the service.

But it is the way it is, and since September 2009 I have had only the cell phone and no landline. When I am home, in order to keep from using up all my minutes, I often use Skype to make calls from my computer. I also don't carry the phone with me wherever I go. Much of the time when I am home in San Francisco, I leave the phone at home unless I am going to meet somebody. Otherwise, it stays home.

Switch from being vegetarian to being vegan

I became a vegetarian in 1971, so it was a lifestyle choice with which I have been quite comfortable for many years.

During my visits to Japan in 1982 and 1987, I spent quite a bit of my time with local hosts. Not wanting to offend any of their offers of hospitality at mealtime, I ate the sushi and sashimi that was put in front of me.

Other than that, I have been able to maintain my vegetarian regime. In fact, one of the reasons I have not returned to Japan since then is that I would not want to inconvenience any hosts with whom I were to stay.

I have some dear vegan friends, and have told them on several occasions that I felt that eschewing milk products and eggs would be too strict a diet for me. I enjoyed eating cheese and omelettes. I felt I had already given up enough by being a vegetarian.

All of this changed when I read the book Skinny Bitch. After reading about the treatment of the animals from which we get our eggs and milk products, and when I learned about what these products do to our bodies, I became committed to giving up these foods.

In the little more than a year since I have made that switch, I see that this is much easier to maintain at home than when traveling overseas. It is particularly challenging in developing countries, where there are not always a lot of choices.

For that reason, I have sometimes eaten eggs for breakfast, simply because the other available options (watermelon, bread made with white flour) have not been appealing to me and are not nutritious.

Overall, though, I am quite pleased with the choice of maintaining a plant-based diet.

Take a cruise

My travel has always been independent and individual. From what I had heard about cruises, there were many features that did not appeal to me. Among them are the need to have a large and fancy wardrobe, including formal wear, and the prolific overeating that everyone always talks about.

With copious amounts of time for travel, the places I tend to return to are European cities that I enjoy. But when I look at a world map I still want to visit every place I have never seen.

Last year, one of the places where I saw that I had no personal experience was the Caribbean. I knew, of course, that there were no large cities with art museums in this part of the world, so it was doubtful that I would want to spend a lot of time in any one place. Not enjoying beaches and other natural environments the way so many other people do, I thought that the best way to visit the Caribbean would be to have a sampler trip: short visits to lots of different places.

It seemed that the most efficient and cost-effective way to do that would be to take a cruise. I did some research online and found a cruise that was departing from San Juan, Puerto Rico and visiting a total of eight different ports. In thinking about the cost and logistics that it would take to visit each of these places as an independent traveler, I decided that the cruise would be an option I could consider.

Now that I have experienced it, I can say that it turned out to be a good choice. I didn't have to worry about getting from one island to another, as the ship took care of that. And I didn't have to think about finding hotels or restaurants, as that was well taken care of on the ship.

What is still on my "never" list?

There are a few things I have never done and hope never to do:

Use marijuana, cocaine, LSD, or any other illegal drug.

Smoke tobacco or any other substance.

Drive a motor vehicle in a foreign country.

I'm sure there must be more. If I think of any, I will post them here.

Puerto Rico

2011-03-26T06:41:00.000-07:00

San Juan

Friday, 4 March to Monday, 7 March 2011

The flight from Miami to San Juan was a little late, but that seems to happen a lot.

On the plane I struck up a conversation with the guy sitting next to me. He works for Verizon, my cell phone provider, and I asked him why it cost so much more to make calls from Puerto Rico than from other places in the USA. He said that it didn't, that it was part of my plan. I told him that I had spoken to a customer service representative who told me that it would cost $.69 a minute to make calls from here.

Don't you hate it when different people from the same company can't get their information to agree?

I had my phone service switched off before I came here, so I had no way to contact my host from the airport. While we were waiting for our luggage, I asked the Verizon guy if I could use his phone to call my CouchSurfing host Silvia to let her know I had arrived.

When I picked up my rental car, I headed to Silvia at her friend's place. My GPS couldn't find Puerto Rico. As soon as I typed in "P" to show where I was, Pennsylvania popped up. Not even close. But somehow it eventually worked and I found Silvia.

We were near the University district and went to one of the local bars for a while. I enjoyed talking to Silvia, a medical student at the University. She is very intelligent and a good conversationalist.

When it got to be time to go home, I followed Silvia and her friend Richie in her car. She showed me around the house and to my room. Then she and Richie went back to the area where we had met.

I got into bed shortly before 1:00 AM, which is late for me. Shortly before, the dogs started to go at it, singing antiphonally, the ones on one side of the house responding to the ones on the other. A little bit later in the night - 2:20, to be exact - the roosters started their crowing all over the neighborhood. It is strictly suburban here, and a gated community, but that doesn't mean an absence of roosters.

On Saturday, I did a little (but not much) exploring of Old San Juan. My main purpose was to scout out a hotel for the week following my cruise. I eventually saw one online and then visited it on Sunday to book the room. What I really loved about it was that the restaurant there is vegetarian.

The weather here has been warm and sunny. The temperature has been in the low eighties and the humidity in the low seventies.

It's an unusual mix of South America and USA here, with some USA business, some from Spain and South America, most signs in Spanish, people speaking Spanish and English, and, of course, the American dollar.

Off I go on my first-ever cruise, which is for eleven days in the Caribbean. I will post it all when it is over.

For the sake of chronology, insert the post Caribbean Cruise right here. After the cruise I returned to Puerto Rico for one week:

San Juan
Friday, 18 March 2011

I got to the airport by about 9:00, picked up the car, and then was at my hotel too early to check in. I filled time by doing laundry, having lunch, and connecting to the Internet at the hotel.

Before I left for the cruise I had noticed that I was within walking distance of a synagogue, Temple Beth Shalom, The Reform Jewish Congregation of Puerto Rico. In the evening I went to services there.

I found the services to be delightful, with most of the melodies exactly as I know them. This is not always the case. Though some of the congregants spoke Spanish, the service was conducted in Hebrew and English, so I was able to understand most of what I experienced.

Another distinction I felt here is that I was welcomed as a newcomer by many of the people I met. This is also not always the reaction to new people in the midst of the community.

When the rabbi introduced himself to me before the service, he asked if I would be willing to do a reading during the service, and I said I would. He called me and all other congregants by name throughout the service when it was time to do our readings.

Saturday, 19 March 2011

I spent the day in a trip to Ponce, the second city of Puerto Rico. The trip took about an hour and a half to get there, and en route I saw the mountainous interior of the island.

I was attracted to Ponce by information that I had read about its museum, Museo de Arte de Ponce. I found the museum to be a treasure and well worth the trip, as it contains both ancient and contemporary art, as well as a range of works in a wide variety of media. I was happy to see that it had corporate sponsors of some of its galleries (notably Coca Cola and Walmart).

After my visit to the museum, I walked around the center of the town and also on a newly-constructed boardwalk near the sea.

Sunday, 20 March 2011

I spent part of the morning figuring out how I was going to get to the island of Vieques, off the eastern shore of the main island.

It proved to be difficult. The ferries don't run frequently. Furthermore I am not allowed by my car rental agency to take their car on this ferry. If I went to Vieques, then, I would have to leave my car on this island and then rent another one on the other side. That means having two rental cars simultaneously.

One of the attractions in Vieques is Bioluminescent Bay, in which some of the sea creatures glow at night in the water. In order to see that, though, I would have to stay in Vieques after the last ferry goes back to the main island. That means renting another hotel room there, even though I have paid for my room in San Juan for the week. In addition to having two rental cars, I would also have two hotel rooms!

That seemed to be an awful lot of trouble and expense to see a bunch of fish that glow in the dark. In the long run, practicality ruled the day and I decided not to go to Vieques.

I took a drive instead, and went for a visit to a funny place that intrigued me when I saw it on the map: Levittown. I had known that the Levitts had built communities in New York, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania, but was unaware until I saw a map that there was a Levittown in Puerto Rico.

Curious to see it in person, I made that my afternoon destination. I found the homes to be quite different in style from those in New York. Some appeared to be original in their design, though several were beautifully modified and had a contemporary rather than a dated appearance.

Monday, 21 March 2011

My destination today was El Yunque National Forest, a rainforest on the eastern end of the island. Okay, it was nature, so it didn't hold my interest for too long. I walked a little, drove a little, took some photos, and then left.

Tuesday, 22 March 2011

Some of the addresses here are driving me crazy. I have entered them into the GPS and gotten a reply that it does not exist. Part of the problem is the habit of naming parts of San Juan with neighborhood names (Hato Rey, Santurce) as if they are cities in their own right rather than as “San Juan.” (That would be similar to giving out city names as “Union Square, CA,” “Upper East Side, NY,” or “Waikiki Beach, HI.”

I wanted to walk to the Museo de Arte de Puerto Rico, as I thought it was close by. But when I entered the address - 299 Avenida Jose de Diego - into the GPS, I came up with three different locations for the same address. Evidently, there are three different addresses listed as 299 Avenida Jose de Diego in San Juan, and each had a different ZIP Code.

Which reminds me: several times when I make purchases using my credit card, the cashier says something to me that sounds like “SEEP-co.” I didn't know what SEEP-co could mean, but eventually I figured it out: that is the local pronunciation of “ZIP Code.” Oh, yes, “Mi SEEP-co es nuevo cuatro uno uno cuatro.”

I looked on a map and saw that it was, indeed, close to my hotel, so started to walk there. It was raining lightly when I began the walk, but about halfway there, the sky opened up and the rain was coming down too heavily for me to be protected by my umbrella.

I ducked into a cafe, thinking I could pass some time there until the rain eased up a bit. After ordering something, I was standing at the counter and singing to myself along with the Beatles tune that was playing on the sound system. As I was doing that, I made eye contact with a guy who was doing the same thing. I could see he was about my age. He said something to me about remembering when the Beatles sang that.

He spoke not only an unaccented English, but it sounded to me like there was definitely a New York influence in his speech. He introduced himself as Michael and I joined him at his table.

During our conversation, I learned that he went to PS 22 in the Bronx which, coincidentally, was the same school where I went to kindergarten. We were never there at the same time, as I was there for only one year, and he is three years younger.

From the cafe, Michael showed me to a nearby restaurant for lunch. When I asked for a vegetarian option, Michael told me about mofongo, a plantain dish that can include any number of additions to it, and I ordered one with vegetables.

After lunch it was not too far to the Museo de Arte de Puerto Rico, which I enjoyed quite a bit. The building itself has been recently remodeled and is a gem. The art spans many years, from precolonial days to contemporary pieces. Galleries had been sponsored by Placido Domingo, Macy*s, and Johnson & Johnson. The theater had been named after the late Broadway actor Raul Julia.

One of the exhibitions had an explanation of experiences being felt my many Puerto Ricans: in the mainland USA (mainly New York, where there is a large population), they are looked down-upon by other Americans as not being “real Americans.” Meanwhile, if they come to Puerto Rico from New York, they are frequently referred to as “nuyoricans.”

Michael lives just a few blocks from my hotel. At about 5:00 PM I went to his place and had some wine with him and his wife. We had an enjoyable three hours socializing.

I asked Michael about the social acceptance of Puerto Ricans coming here from New York, and he concurred that locals don't consider them to be fully integrated into local society because their speech is different because they didn't grow up here.

Wednesday, 23 March 2011

I was walking to the laundromat in the morning, when I saw a couple coming in my direction on the sidewalk. As I passed them, the man said to me, “Jay?” I was surprised to hear somebody recognize me in such a far-off place. He didn't look familiar at first. He took off his hat and sunglasses, and then told me he was the rabbi from Beth Shalom, where I had attended services on Friday.

What a remarkable guy to be able to remember me from my brief time there!

I drove in the morning in the direction of Old San Juan. Traffic was impossible; there is lots of road work.

The capitol building is magnificent. I had an enjoyable visit inside, marveling at the workmanship of the wood, glass, tiles, and marble. I was able to view the rooms where the Senate and Representatives meet when they are in session.

From there, I went to the San Juan National Historic Site, the Castillo San Cristobal, an old fort. I then walked around in Old San Juan, a beautiful old area that has now been transformed by adding dozens of shops selling the same souvenirs to all the tourists that come through every day.

The day before, Michael had told me that there was a supermarket, Freshmart, that has a prepared foods section with a lot of vegetarian options, so I planned to go there with him for lunch.

At my hotel, just before I was leaving for lunch, one of the employees told me about the specials in the restaurant. I told him I was going to Freshmart for lunch.

He asked me, “Where are you from?”

When I told him, he replied, “Then that is like having lunch at Safeway.” He went on to tell me about the specials at the on-site vegetarian restaurant, and listed the dishes - mostly fish - that they were serving. I asked why there was fish in a vegetarian restaurant. (Some people think fish is a vegetable.)

I told him I already knew that Freshmart was a supermarket, but I had made the choice and Michael was waiting for me to pick him up.

Freshmart was not as spiffy as Whole Foods Market, but the food was excellent. I was happy to have made that decision.

Thursday, 24 March 2011

In the morning, I took an early drive to Old San Juan, hoping to get there before the traffic would become unbearable. There was still road work being done en route.After my visit there, instead of running in the Ocean Park neighborhood of my hotel, I did it in Parque Luis Muñoz Rivera, which is not too far from the capitol and Old San Juan.

I returned to Freshmart for lunch, and then was off to the Museo de Arte Contemporáneo de Puerto Rico. The building had been a junior high school and was built around a central courtyard. It's a delightful design. Museum guards sit outside of the doors to the galleries (former classrooms, many of which have been enlarged by removing walls that once stood between the classrooms), and they go into the galleries only if there are visitors inside.

The main exhibition at the museum was fabulous. I am sorry that I was not able to take pictures of the pieces I really liked. I wanted to buy the catalog of the exhibition, but it was sold out and there will not be any more for a while.

The photo I really wanted was my favorite work, a painting. The canvas was headed with “inglés dictado #1” (English dictation) and the manuscript not only perfectly captured that of a novice writer, but a person who is, based on English spellings, a native speaker of Spanish. You would have to see this in person to appreciate it, but I will write the text:

domineichon is in fact
e lleneral stroctiur of
pawer jus ramifiqueichons
and consecuencés can
somtaims bi faund
disending tu de moust
ricalcitrant faibers of
sosayeti.

Michel Fucó

The works in the exhibition, entitled “Caribes Globales” (Global Caribbean), celebrate the Caribbean experience of artists from this region of the world. I was happy to read through the remarks by Marianne Ramirez Aponte, Executive Director of the Museum, who wrote, in part:

“There is not a more ambiguous zone in the Americas than the so-called Caribbean. Its complex history of multicultural colonization, its character as point of transfer to richer zones, its topographic atomization given its nature as archipelago and not as terra firma, characterize the Caribbean as a fragmentary space, hard to embrace, almost incomprehensible....

“As colonial transfer points, these Caribbeans sustained a constant flux of inhabitants that added themselves to the original inhabitants: Europeans from all the nations that participated in the conquest of the Americas, Africans extricated from their diverse tribes to become part of island slave corps, and, eventually the Asians displaced from their colonizing metropolis, such as the Hindi that came from Great Britain....

“Global Caribbeans acknowledges the enormous creative power prompted by relentless multiculturalism, by the isolation and oversight forced upon these lands by their metropolis, and by the reality of constant travel and population displacement. Caribbean and also Global when plunging into that to-and-fro between the islands and their metropolis, the artists represented in this show evince a two-pronged awareness that respond to their cultural and geographic rift that promote a problematic gaze focused on an ever-disappearing reality. The expatriates of yore, the kidnapped victims of slavery, the sailors who abandoned their ships to stay here, the adventurers who wanted to be a part of the American quest, are reborn today in these artists who, in their constant returns, own the perplexed gaze of those who assume life as an endless voyage.”

This really pulled together for me some of what I had been noticing and feeling since I have been in the region during the last five weeks: the melange of cultures reflected in the people, their languages, and their appearance.

I had already noticed some of the hybrid aspects of life here: the American influence of mainland businesses that have been established here, the use of the US dollar, most product labels and many books in English, as blended with all road signs in Spanish, banks and telephone provider that I have seen in Spanish-speaking countries, and the obsession with security that is prevalent in Latin America (many security guards in evidence, as well as windows and doors covered with iron bars on many houses).

In the afternoon, while I was driving to the Condado area, I heard the Spanish speaking radio announcer say the name Barbara Cook (though his pronunciation made it sound more like “Bahbahrah Kook”). She sang a few songs and, in turn, introduced Josh Groban, whose voice I was now hearing for the first time. When I reached my destination, I didn't want to leave the car. I found a parking place in the shade next to a park, and stayed in the car for about half an hour, until the program was over.

I walked leisurely around the Condado area, just west of my hotel, and enjoyed the stroll. In the evening, I returned to the restaurant where I had tasted mofongo for the first time, and that is what I ate for my farewell dinner.

*****
Not related to anything else I have written here, I will mention that there are three maneuvers in local driving that set drivers apart. Yes, they occur occasionally in other places, but they are much more commonplace in Puerto Rico than anywhere else I have been:

(1) On the highways, there is far from universal compliance to the norm that the right lane is for slow-moving traffic, despite regularly post highway signs advising drivers of this. The slowest drivers tend to travel either in the middle or left lane (of three lanes going in the same direction) or in the left (of two lanes headed in the same direction).

(2) On city streets, when making a left turn that involves having to drive across lanes of oncoming traffic, there are lots of drivers who do not wait for the road to be reasonably clear of oncoming cars. Rather than wait for an opportunity to have plenty of space in which to make the turn comfotably, drivers speed up and make the turn when the oncoming traffic is what I consider to be dangerously close to them. I am surprised there are not more head-on collisions as a result of this practice.

(3) You're driving on a two-way street, looking for a parking space. You spot one, but it is on the opposite side of the street. You have to find a way to make a U-turn or go around the block and hope that the space is still there when you get there, right? Not in Puerto Rico! The common practice here is to wait until there is no oncoming traffic and then go across to the other side of the road and park. It doesn't matter that you've driven against the flow of traffic or are parked in the opposite direction of the cars already parked there.

Friday, 25 March 2011

My alarm was set for 5:30 AM so I could arise, get ready to leave the hotel, and then arrive at the airport in time for my 8:00 departure. But some rude and noisy occupants on my floor in the hotel were returning to their rooms at 4:30, and they woke me up. I couldn't get back to sleep.

With all that extra time to get ready, I decided to check e-mail, which is something I would not have done had I awakened later, as there would not have been enough time.

I had two e-mails from American Airlines, and I could tell from the headline of one that it was not good news: “Your flight has been canceled.” I was originally routed from San Juan to Miami at 8:00 AM and then onward from Miami to Tampa at 12:15 PM. It was the second flight that had been canceled.

The other e-mail informed me that I was now scheduled to travel from San Juan to Tampa at 7:40. Wow, I thought: a direct flight, and twenty minutes earlier! Much better!

I switched into high gear so I could be sure I got to the airport, return the rental car, and make the earlier flight.

The counters were understaffed at the airport, but I made it to my gate at 7:10, the printed check-in time. To my surprise, there was nobody at the gate. How could we be leaving from Gate 7 in half an hour and there's nobody at the here?

I asked an airport worker if the gate had been changed. She looked at my boarding pass and then told me something I had not even noticed: my departure time was 7:40 PM, not AM. I was now a full twelve hours early for my flight!

I was pissed at myself for not having noticed this. I had checked out of my hotel room and returned the rental car only to spend the day at the airport! In point of fact, the car needed to be returned by 9:00 AM anyway, or else I'd have to pay for another full day.

When I went to the American Airlines counter for assistance, I learned that they could get me to Miami earlier in the day, but there was a strong possibility I would not be able to leave Miami, as there had been an explosion of one of their fuel tanks yesterday, which was the reason why so many flights to and from Miami were being canceled. Even though I would have to wait twelve hours in the airport, my best option was to wait for that direct flight to Tampa.

I thought I would ask if it would be possible to stay in the Admirals Club during that time, even though I am not a member. The agent looked me up on his computer and saw that I have a membership in their frequent flyer program. He made a call to the Admirals Club. I was in! That made the day much more pleasant.

I spent much of the time using the Internet to label and organize my photos for this trip.

The flight to Tampa left an hour late and I arrived there at 11:37 PM. By the time I got my luggage, picked up the car, and drove to my cousin Liz's house, it was almost 1:30. I got into bed shortly after that, having been away for twenty-one hours. That was a long day!

Caribbean Cruise

2011-03-18T10:00:00.000-07:00

San Juan, Puerto Rico

Monday, 7 March 2011

At about 11:30 AM I arrived at the dock to check in my luggage, along with hundreds of other people. I was quite taken with the enormity of the vessel, the Celebrity Millennium..

From hearing the people talk around me, it seemed like quite an international crowd. Then, when announcements were made, we heard them successively in English, French, and German.

Shortly after noon, we were able to get our key cards which also double as our identification during the cruise. The check-in counters were opposite a duty-free shop where we were able to purchase alcohol to bring on board.

I had read in the ship's information before the cruise that it was forbidden to bring our own alcohol on board. They had also said that if we purchase it at any of the ports, it will be taken from us and then returned during the last night of the cruise.

Having learned this, I asked the people at the duty free shop why they were selling items that we could not take on board. They told me that we were allowed to purchase two bottles at a time per cabin, and then added that we could come back as many times as we wanted in order to make further purchases, as long as we bought only two bottles at a time.

That seemed like a good idea to me, as I had wanted to be able to have my usual red wine in the evening. Shipboard prices were significantly higher.

I got my first two bottles of wine and then headed up to the buffet in the Ocean Cafe where lunch service had begun. I was most favorably impressed by the variety and quality of the food on offer. There were plenty of vegetarian and vegan choices.

In walking around the ship, I came upon one of its self-promoting posters in the main lobby. It stated that according to Conde Nast Travelers, five of the ten best cruise ships in the world are run by Celebrity, and one of those five is the Millennium. It looked like I would be in good hands!

After lunch, I headed down to the parking lot so I could return my car to the airport. That was fairly easy, as it was not terribly far away. I then took a taxi from the airport to the ship.

(I had already checked with Avis to see if I could return the car to their office near the port, but when the guy at the office looked at my contract he said that the price I was paying was so deeply discounted that I would not be allowed to do that.)

I was happy with my stateroom. I had intentionally chosen what they call an inside room (meaning that it has no windows). If I were to design my own home, I would be sure to have a bedroom with no windows. I was looking forward to having no light in the morning. And, considering my last two weeks in Cuba and Puerto Rico, I was also looking forward to the absence of barking dogs and crowing roosters.

These eleven days will be the longest time during this two-month trip when I will be in the same place. I unpacked everything into drawers and the closet, then set out the toiletries. It's nice to put away the luggage for a while.

There is quite an extensive publication delivered to the rooms daily. Called “Celebrity TODAY,” it highlights all the ports, entertainment, on board activities, and shore excursions.

One of the inserts into the publication was a questionnaire concerning our needs for disembarking: would we be staying in San Juan, needing to get to the airport, or whatever. When I returned it to the appropriate desk, the employee there asked me at what time between 8:30 and 10:30 AM I would like to disembark.

I had thought about how busy it would be with two thousand people trying to get off the ship at the same time, but I didn't realize that we were going to be making appointments for our departure. It does make sense, though. I chose a 10:00 AM departure time.

On a bulletin board near the front desk, I saw announcements for meetings of various groups. There was one saying that Friends of Dorothy would be meeting at 7:45 each night in the Martini Bar. Maybe I will check that out.

When I signed up for the cruise, I had a choice for dinner seating at either 6:00 or 8:30. I chose the earlier one. There is a requirement for what they call “smart casual” attire at dinner, with the exception of the two nights designated as formal.

They can just forget about my wearing anything formal, which for men is defined as “tuxedo, suit or dinner jacket with slacks.” I have none of that stuff with me. Fortunately, the Ocean Cafe on deck 10 always allows casual wear for all meals.

For tonight, though, I thought I would check out the Metropolitan Restaurant and see what it was like. I am seated at a table with nine other people, six of whom showed up for dinner tonight. The six who did show up were three couples.

Even though the food on the restaurant menu is probably more highly valued by some people because it is fancier, there was not the same variety that I had seen at the casual buffet. I also think that the elaborate place settings are ridiculous. Who needs four forks, four knives, three spoons, and six plates?

I also found it tedious having to sit there in between courses, making small talk. No, I am not a fine dining aficionado. I prefer to get in, eat, and get out, which I can do in about twenty minutes on my own, but which takes two hours this way. I wouldn't mind a two-hour meal if I were with friends or family.

The next night was going to be a formal night and I told everyone I was not going to show up. Ned, one of the guys at the table, offered to lend me a tie. I thanked him and told him I didn't have a jacket or dress shoes, either, and that I would just go to the Ocean Cafe for my dinner.

Even though the cruise is pre-paid, there seems to be no limit to the number of additional services you can purchase: wine packages, soda and bottled water packages, spa treatments, dinner reservations at another restaurant where you pay for the meal, and the like. Internet access, depending on the package one chooses, costs anywhere from $0.42 to $0.65 a minute.

I saw that there was also an acupuncture treatment room, so I inquired about it because I have been having some shoulder pain. I had seen my doctor in January and he had ordered a shot of cortisone, but this still needs some attention. The acupuncturist told me that the fee per treatment was $154.

You know something? That shoulder is already feeling better.

(I have been negligent about doing the exercises my doctor gave me to help the shoulder. If I do ultimately decide on acupuncture, there is a place half a block from my home where I can get treatments for $50 each.)

Overnight: San Juan, PR to Frederiksted, St. Croix, USVI - 107 nautical miles*

St. Croix, US Virgin Islands

Tuesday, 8 March 2011

*Do you know the difference between nautical miles and land miles? Nautical miles are more expensive.

The uppermost deck has a jogging track. When I went up there at about 7:00 for a morning run, I found that there were several people already walking, with a few runners as well. We were already at our port for the day, with disembarking to begin at 8:00.

There are two main towns on St. Croix, population of 53,200 (which I have always pronounced in the French manner, but learned that it has been anglicized to sound like “Saint Croy”). We were docked on the western edge of the island at Frederiksted, the smaller of the two. Christiansted was a bit more than half an hour away, on the north shore and towards the east.

All of the shore excursions are optional, and none of the fees are included in what we have paid for.

I decided to take the taxi van from Frederiksted to Christiansted. These vans seat up to sixteen people, each of whom pays $16 for the round trip ticket. There is no set schedule for the departures; as soon as there are enough people to fill up a van, it leaves - just like Africa!

One of the first things I noticed is that driving is done on the left-hand side of the street. It's the only US-governed place I where I have seen that. Furthermore, the vehicles are left-hand drive, rather than right.

Our driver drove one-handed all the way to Christiansted, as he held a microphone in the other hand, so that he could give us a non-stop commentary en route, and he included about everything little morsel of information he possibly could, whether it was pertinent or not. He told us who owned many of the business, such as a woman who owned all the school buses and “the Arabs” (he didn't get more specific) who owned most of the grocery stores. He pointed out each Kmart and told us which one was the largest, as well as which one sold only appliances. He even showed us the best shop where to get new tires and have a car engine rebuilt, which I thought was quite comical.

Christiansted is located on the water, within view of a few smaller islands that have resorts. One of the points of interest is Fort Christiansvaern, which is operated by the National Park Service. From the fort, we could see the two other islands - St. Thomas and St. John - that comprise the US Virgin Islands.

I walked around town a bit and saw one Internet shop, where the price for connection was $3 for every fifteen minutes. I thought that was rather high. I stopped in at the public library and was able to connect there by paying $1 for half an hour, which was sufficient time for the day.

I went into a few churches and a cemetery, as well as walked around a few of the streets. There were lots of souvenir and jewelry shops, none of which I needed.

At about 12:30 I boarded the taxi to return to Frederiksted. We were stopped at a traffic light when I noticed a banner welcoming participants to the University and College Women's Lacrosse games. I was quite surprised to see the seal of my alma mater on the banner.

Once back in Frederiksted, I boarded the ship to have lunch. Every passenger goes through security screening every time, which is much like airport security except you don't have to take shoes off.

The kitchen staff here does a great job of changing things up for meals, with new items on offer for each lunch, as well as the usual salad bar. At lunch I sat near two guys who struck up a conversation when they noticed the fragrance of the tea that I had brought with me. They are performers in an a cappella group, On Point, and told me when they would be performing that evening.

After lunch I wandered into town to have a look around. There are a few charming buildings. parks, and the waterfront.

There may be points of interest on the two other Virgin Islands, but I could say that after this brief journey, I had seen what I needed to see here. I was satisfied with my choice of taking this cruise, as the combination of hotel room, food, and transportation would most certainly have been more costly per day if I were island-hopping on my own.

In the evening, I checked out the Martini Bar and found no Friends of Dorothy in evidence, so I went to the show by On Point, the a cappella group, which I enjoyed very much.

Overnight: Frederiksted, St. Croix to Basseterre, St. Kitts - 155 nautical miles

Basseterre, St. Kitts

Wednesday, 9 March 2011

While I was running around the track in the morning, I noticed another huge passenger ship, the Grand Princess, was coming into the port. That would no doubt increase the population of Basseterre today!

Before I left Puerto Rico, I went online to check out what currencies are being used at each of the ports where we will be disembarking. Four of our destinations use the East Caribbean dollar, a currency I had never heard of. I wanted to be able to get some from an ATM, so I needed to know what the relative exchange rate is with the US dollar. It's about EC$2.69 to US$1.

I fully realize that I could make most purchases in either US dollars or by credit card, but I wanted to be able to get some souvenir bills and coins. The bills that came out of the ATM bore the likeness of Queen Elizabeth II, as do all the coins. In fact, the images on the coins are identical to the ones on the coins in the UK and other countries under the monarchy.

There is no passport control at the dock. I imagine that they do this for passengers on cruise ships, which certainly makes the process quick and convenient.

Even though Internet here cost $4 an hour, which is relatively expensive compared to prices I have seen in developing countries where I travel, it seemed very cheap compared to the prices in St. Croix and on board the ship.

The dock area is totally geared toward shopping. It reminded me of Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco, and I don't mean that as a compliment.

I was more interested in seeing the shops that the locals use rather than the tourist shops. In entering two of these, I could see that Southeast Indians comprise part of the merchant class here.

After walking around during the morning, I decided to head back to the ship for lunch. I have plenty of space in my passport, so I wanted to get my passport stamped. Somebody at the dock showed me where the immigration office was, and I got the rubber stamp there, which gave me a new bit of information I had not known about. I had thought that the name of the country was St. Kitts and Nevis, but the stamp shows it as St. Christopher and Nevis. The paper bills show a map that includes all the islands that use this currency. There, too, these two islands are referred to as St. Christopher and Nevis.

The list of activities on board is staggering. Most of it is not anything I'd be interested in doing (Jameson Whiskey tasting, computer lessons, basketball free throw, golf challenge, trivia contests, dance classes, daiquiri tasting, etc.), but this afternoon there were two events at that same time that I was curious about. One was a television producer talking about her experiences in finding talent for talk shows and the other was a tour of the ship's kitchen operations.

I called the guest services desk and learned that the kitchen tour, “The Heartbeat of the Operation” is going to be repeated another time, so I went to the small theater where the TV producer spoke. She did a good job in keeping everyone's attention.

After dinner (I skipped the fancy assigned-seats version in the Metropolitan Restaurant), I went to see comedian Don Gavin in the main theater. He was introduced as having been on television, but I had never heard of him. I enjoyed his show - very funny guy.

They've really thought of everything here. I realized that I had left my room card in the room, so I went to the guest services desk to see how I would get back in. In no time, the employee there was able to create a new entry card which could be used one time to enter the room.

Joaquim, the attendant who is supposed to be servicing my room, seems a bit disappointed that I haven't let him in to do anything. As with hotels, when I arrived in my room I put the DO NOT DISTURB sign on the door and leave it there. I don't need anyone to make the bed, change the towels, replace the barely-used soap, or turn down the bed. I find that doing this while I am not in the room feels invasive.

Overnight: Basseterre, St. Kitts to Roseau, Dominica - 147 nautical miles

Roseau, Dominica

Thursday, 10 March 2011

It was within the last year that I had even heard of the country of Dominica (pronounced doh-mee-NEE-kah). It was at a Peace Corps Regional Office event in Oakland where I met a woman who had served there. I had to clarify when she told me the name of the country: Is that somewhere other than the Dominican Republic? Indeed, it is.

I arrived, then, at least having heard of the country and knowing that the Peace Corps had an active program there, but not knowing anything else about it.

Upon my arrival, I could already see a stark contrast between Roseau, the capital, and the previous ports where we had docked. Whereas Basseterre, Frederiksted, and Christiansted had been spiffed up a bit, Roseau had no pretensions of being primed and painted for the cruising trade. That aspect certainly didn't deter me from walking about and looking around.

Furthermore, in the other cities, interaction with the locals was usually limited to eye contact, nodding, and greetings. Here, there were lots of touts in the street, most of whom were trying to get cruisers to join them for tours to the island's destinations. There was another ship docked as well, which meant that these four thousand or so people trolling the streets represented quite a lucrative earning potential to the inhabitants.

Even in this short period of time since departure on the cruise, I have noticed that there is an inescapable sentiment that I face whether I am walking around the streets or dining on board the ship: the disparity of wealth between the haves and the have-nots. You may think that the ship offers shelter from this. On the surface, it does. But all it takes is a closer inspection of the name tags worn by members of the crew. In addition to their names, they show countries of origin, which include Pakistan, Honduras, Bangladesh, India, Philippines, Jamaica, Indonesia, Russia, Ukraine, Cyprus, Moldova, and Romania (among others).

These crew members come from countries where people face daily impoverishment. I can only imagine what goes through the minds of the dining room staff when they clear the plates of the many diners who have taken more food than they could possibly eat, and are now discarding the remainder. I wouldn't be surprised if their thoughts turn to their families and/or home villages, where all of this food could feed many of their people for days on end.

I joined the group at my assigned table for dinner. When it came time for dessert, I declined having any but stuck around the table. One of the couples, Roxanne and Mike, is celebrating their wedding anniversary this month, and their son arranged for a surprise small cake (only a little larger than a tart, really) on which was written 'Happy Anniversary.”

While everyone was eating the dessert s/he ordered, the waiter, Ari, returned with small pieces of the anniversary dessert for everyone. Roxanne told him, “Don't forget Jay,” to which he replied, “He can't have any. It has cream in it.”

I thought it was funny that he was so hip to the vegan program, and that he had also taken on the responsibility of being sure that all of my food fit with the program. Truth be told, if he had served me a piece of that dessert (it was so small I could have polished it off in one bite), I would have eaten it.

I was preparing to go to the evening show when my phone rang. It was the associate head of housekeeping, who expressed his concern that my room had not been cleaned. He asked if he could come to see me. I said okay.

He arrived at my door a few minutes later, and when he looked inside, he could see that the bed was made and that everything was orderly. Once again, he said it was unusual that I had the DO NOT DISTURB sign up the whole time. I told him that I didn't need anyone to clean up for me and that I had everything I needed. That was the end of that.

The show was a singer named Jayne Curry and she was backed by a seven-piece band. She did a terrific job singing songs that I enjoyed hearing, and with which I was mostly familiar. With good stage presence, lighthearted chatter between the songs, and excellent musicians, I enjoyed the show quite a bit.

Overnight: Roseau, Dominica to Castries, St. Lucia - 100 nautical miles

Castries, St. Lucia

Friday, 11 March 2011

I was very slow in moving off the ship this morning. During breakfast, I ran into Ned and Diane, who are seated at my dinner table. They invited me to join them, and we got into lengthy conversation. When Diane left the table at 10:30, Ned and I continued talking even more.

By the time I got showered and dressed, it was after 11:30. I thought that if I got off the ship soon, I wouldn't last long in town before I was hungry for lunch, so I went to the Ocean Cafe for something to eat. I was thinking of it as Lunch, Part 1.

I could see from my walk around our ship that there were three other large cruise ships docked here.

I liked the feel of Castries, which has several tourist-oriented businesses close to the port, but once I was away from there, it seemed like a small city with lots of people going about their business. It was neither overly cutesy nor ramshackle.

In walking around town, I found the few things I was looking for: a postcard, postage, the place where I could get my passport stamped, and Internet.

Once I had achieved all of that, and was taking in the sights of the streets, I spotted a woman, coming in my direction, whose shirt bore the Peace Corps logo. I could not resist stopping her and asking if she was a PCB. Yes, she was.

We stood on the street and talked for quite some time. She had recently moved from a rural area to Castries. where she now lives. She explained that the relatively prosperous appearance of Castries is deceiving - that this is a very poor country, and that Peace Corps is quite justified in being there. She also told me that Castries is known for being a dangerous place, and that there have been nighttime robberies at knife-point. Recently, in light of this situation, the Peace Corps has offered the possibility of Volunteers being able to live together if they want to. That sort of approach is unusual, as Peace Corps generally prefers that the PCVs integrate into the community rather than spend their time with each other.

When I got back on board, at about 3:00 PM, I headed straight to the Ocean Cafe for Lunch, Part 2. By that time, most of the operation had been shut down, but there was still a fully-stocked salad bar, and that's what I was going for anyway.

I didn't need too much to eat anyway because dinner was only three hours away. The food really does get you in its grip here!

I had dinner at my assigned table. I realized that one of the advantages was that the portions were more controlled.

At 8:20 I saw the a cappella group again, and then at 9:00 was a double bill of Don Gavin, the comedian from two nights ago, along with singer Jayne Curry from last night. I thought that Don's set was even better this time, and I didn't care as much for Jayne's selections this time.

Overnight: Castries, St. Lucia to Bridgetown, Barbados - 121 nautical miles

Bridgetown, Barbados
Saturday, 12 March 2011

We were warned in our daily newsletter that it is strictly forbidden to wear camouflage clothing or have any other items using the camouflage pattern in Barbados. I have never heard of this anywhere else in the world. It made me wonder, though: How would they even know you were wearing it? Who enforces this law? The fashion police?

We also got a warning that smoking is strictly forbidden in many public places. I was happy to hear that.

My initial impression of Bridgetown was immediately positive. The cruise ship terminal is bright and airy with free wifi connectivity and free rest rooms. What's more, the immigration office and post office are right there in the terminal so I didn't have to scurry around for post card stamps or a souvenir stamp for my passport.

The ship gives us maps so that we can navigate easily in town. I usually keep it in my pocket until such time as I need it. I like to wander about aimlessly, seeing where I wind up by chance.

It was easy to run into the Parliament buildings. In the small museum attached to one of the buildings, I learned that Barbados has the third-oldest Parliament in the entire Commonwealth.

Though it is a Commonwealth country, the money does not bear Queen Elizabeth's image. They use the Barbados dollar here, whereas St. Kitts, Dominica, St. Lucia, and Grenada use the Eastern Caribbean dollar.

After my enjoyable walk around town, I returned to the ship for lunch and then to the cruise ship terminal to use the Internet. There were several cruise ships in town, and the terminal was filled with crew members from various ships, squatting or sitting on the floor, using their laptops.

Twice during the day, we received notices from the Captain of the ship informing us that several people on the ship had contracted Noroviruses, causing gastrointestinal illness. Up until this point the crew had already been obsessed with hand-cleaning. There are crew members stationed at the entry of the ship when we return from shore excursions, ready to give each person a squirt of disinfection. They are also at the entrance to each dining room.

Along with this notice, they have begun to step up their actions. I have seen crew members spraying and wiping down all handrails, elevator buttons, and stateroom door handles.

I ate dinner at my assigned table. Towards the end of the meal, Ariyawan, the waiter, came to me to show me the menu for the following night's dinner. Nothing appealed to me, as all of the vegetable dishes included not only cheese but some kind of fruit or fruit sauce with it. I love fruit but I don't want it mixed in with my vegetables, as is the current worldwide culinary trend. So if they put apricots and feta with the asparagus, and I order that dish without the feta and apricots, that leaves just asparagus. I'd rather just go to the Ocean Cafe and serve myself something more substantial.

In the evening, the Celebrity Theater featured a song and dance show called Boogie Wonderland, which was comprised of music of the disco era of the seventies. The cast was talented, chose enjoyable music, and the show was a huge hit.

Overnight: Bridgetown, Barbados to St. George's, Grenada - 162 nautical miles

St. George's, Grenada
Sunday, 13 March 2011

The cruise ship terminal in St. George's had free wifi Internet, except for one small problem: it didn't work very well. I could sign onto Facebook but couldn't get my e-mails, as all my attempts to log on kept on showing that the page was not available.

Furthermore, since it was Sunday, most businesses away from the port were closed, and I didn't see any Internet shops.

I usually call my father via Skype on Sunday. Yesterday at the port in Barbados, I was able to log onto Skype and thought, I'd better call today since I don't know if I will have a connection tomorrow, and that is exactly what happened.

I walked along Carenage Harbour and up through some of the hilly streets. It's the hilliest place I have seen since I left San Francisco. Several churches and other prominent buildings are left with only parts of their structures standing, as there was a devastating hurricane here a few years ago.

In the evening, the entertainment was a show called “Light at the Speed of Sound with Mike Price.” He has come in first place in the International Juggling Championships. And rightly so, with the amazing handling of balls, pins, and machetes. The finale of the show was amazing: with the lights turned off in the house, everything he juggled glowed with colors that changed throughout the time he was tossing them around. Quite enjoyable.

*****
The amount of paper they use on board this ship is phenomenal. There are personally addressed envelopes at my stateroom door almost every day, inviting me to not-to-be-missed sales events such as:

Watch Extravaganza
Citizen, Fossil, Guess & Anne Klein watches
Save up to 40% off US retail
Offer valid for tonight only

Grand Unveiling
Chocolate Diamonds
Le Vian Chocolate Diamonds
from the Argyle Mines of Australia

St. Petersburg Collection
Creations by Theo Fabergé and Sarah Fabergé
To commission one you had to be a Tsar...
To own one you had to be Royalty...
To see one you had to be a Member of the Court...
To own them today you simply have to visit Boutique C

Swiss Watch Seminar & Sale
Brand new arrivals
Save up to 15% off US retail on Tag, Tissot & Longines

Today I also received a bill showing me the current totals I owe for my gratuities. I had already been advised by Celebrity, “For your convenience, we will automatically add gratuities for your restaurant and stateroom services to your on board SeaPass.” They then went on to enumerate the amounts to be paid, and the personnel to whom they will be paid. These are all per day/per person:

Waiter, $3.65
Assistant waiter, $2.10
Assistant maitre d', $1.00
Stateroom attendant, $3.50
Other services personnel, $1.25

This totals $11.50 per day per person. According to the statement, we also have a deadline of the 16th at noon to decline payment of any of these gratuities. Even though I am not using any of the stateroom services and I don't go to the sit-down restaurant every day, I will let these stand as they are. Perhaps a cruise is not the most environmentally friendly way to travel. At the same time, I imagine that a good portion of the funds being paid to the crew is going to be sent as remittances to their families, thus supporting an untold number of people in small towns and villages all over the world.

I have walked the streets of their countries and seen the signs: Western Union and MoneyGram, the places where their relatives collect the funds sent from the overseas workers.

Over the next two nights: St. George's, Grenada to Willemstad, Curaçao - 441 nautical miles

At sea
Monday, 14 March 2011

In a way, it's a relief not to be released onto yet another port. During the last seven days I have been in six countries, including two foreign outposts of my own. Am I going to be able to keep them all straight at the end of the trip? Fortunately I have downloaded photos from my camera each day, and dated them, so I will be able to distinguish the differences among St. Croix, St. Kitts, and St. Lucia.

We have disgorged from the cruise ships into the towns like so much pus oozing out of an infection. Enough for now. Good to have a rest before two more new places.

I began the day with a jog on the treadmill in the gym. I had done that the day before, too, and was getting the hang of it, so decided to do that instead of running around the track.

At breakfast I ran into Lynette and Mike from my dinner table, so I ate with them. They told me about something I had not read about in the daily paper: there was going a special event, called the Sea Day Brunch from 10 AM to 1 PM. After breakfast, I went to my room to shower and change. Then I went to brunch, where I ate with Mike and Rebecca, also from my dinner table.

All that eating, and I still wasn't feeling full. I guess that's because I was eating lightly: breakfast was only fruit and brunch was mostly vegetables. The display of food at the brunch was phenomenal, with large ice sculptures, elaborately carved fruits, and fancy arrays of all kinds of food. I guess they do this during the days we are at sea because it provides a diversion that we would otherwise have only from a shore excursion.

There is a lot of art on board the ship, with some small signs that mention an art tour that is available. I went to the guest relations desk and asked about the art tour. They gave me a brochure and an iPod. I had never used an iPod before, so I had some trouble operating it. I didn't even know how to make the sound louder on it.

It's quite impressive to see the wealth of art here by internationally known artists: Chihuly, Vasarely, Warhol, Indiana, Rocha, as well as a lot of people whose work I had never seen before.

In the afternoon, when I was reading in my room, I started to fall asleep. What could be making me so tired after having slept nine hours last night? I had an nap for about an hour, which is rare for me.

Favorite T-shirt of the day:

I don't want to.
I don't have to.
You can't make me.
I'M RETIRED

I had dinner with my assigned tablemates and then, in the evening went to the show at the Celebrity Theater: the comedy and magic of Keith Fields. All of the entertainment had been so outstanding that I didn't want to miss this either.

I found the show to be so-so. It was certainly not the high caliber of the other entertainment that has been here so far.

Continuation tonight: St. George's, Grenada to Willemstad, Curaçao - 441 nautical miles

Willemstad, Curaçao
Tuesday, 15 March 2011

Before I left the ship, I let housekeeping know that I wanted some attention to my room, which was for the first time since we left San Juan. The bottom sheet of the bed is not fitted, and I have been struggling with trying to get it tucked in properly. I thought I would ask for the professional help available.

It was evident before we even left the ship that Willemstad looked different from all the other cities I had seen so far on this cruise. The architecture of many of the buildings was decidedly Dutch, very similar to what I have seen in Holland itself.

The currency unit is the Netherlands Antillean guilder. At the ATM, my first choice was that of language that I would use for the transaction: either English or Papiamentu. I had never heard of Papiamentu before. I tried to get twenty guilder, but found that bill withdrawal had to be in multiples of either 25 for guilder or it was also possible to withdraw US dollars in multiples of 20.

The two bills of lowest value were 25 and 10. The coins are 5 and 1 guilder, then cents for 50, 25, 10, 5, and 1. One of the distinctions of the coins is that the ones for 5 and 50 cents are square. You don't see that too often. Off the top of my head, I remember a few old coins from India in that shape.

I satisfied myself by walking around town most of the morning and into the afternoon. I found two synagogues: one was still functioning as such and the other has been transformed into an office building.

Many of the signs in town were multilingual: English, Spanish, Dutch, and a language I could not figure out - probably Papiamentu, as mentioned above.

When I mailed a postcard at the post office, there were three slots for all mail: Curaçao, Netherlands, and the rest of the world.

It wasn't easy finding an Internet connection, but I did find one eventually. While I was there I downloaded a new book from Amazon.com to my netbook. I just love how easy that process is.

I took a liking to Willemstad, what with its Dutch architecture and European feel.

Almost every port capitalizes on pirate-themed merchandise to sell to tourists. My favorite T-shirt along these lines was one I saw today:

The beatings will continue
until morale improves.

On the return trip to my stateroom, I ran into Joaquim, my assigned attendant, who thanked me for letting him clean my room. He was so enthusiastic, it was almost as if he had won the lottery. Of course, he did more than make up the bed. The ship has a “Save the Waves” policy, which attempts to be environmentally friendly. Leave the towels on the floor, and they will be changed; hang them up and the attendant will leave them. I left all my towels hung up, but Joaquim changed them anyway. He also replaced the perfectly good small bar of soap with a new one, which I thought was unnecessary.

In the afternoon I finished a book I had downloaded to my netbook last week. Titled My Korean Deli: Risking it all for a Convenience Store, it is Ben Ryder Howe's story of purchasing a store in Brooklyn, as a partner with his Korean wife's family. I thoroughly enjoyed his writing and his story lines.

After dinner at my assigned table, I went to the evening's entertainment, featuring David Meyer playing a hybrid instrument, the xylosynth. It is played like the xylophone and has components that make it into a synthesizer that can sound like many different instruments.

David was a fabulous entertainer, putting energy and enthusiasm into his performance. He is quite the showman. Most of the time, he had two mallets in each hand. For two of the numbers, he was accompanied by his wife, Dawn, whom he met when he was performing and she was dancing on another cruise.

Overnight: Willemstad, Curaçao to Oranjestad, Aruba - 74 nautical miles

Oranjestad, Aruba
Wednesday, 16 March 2011

I apologize for making this sound so stupid, but I was happy to know that this is the last port on the cruise. It has been one country after the other: including the US territories, we have visited eight countries in nine days. Basta!

Even with that, Oranjestad is an inviting place, as was Willemstad, Curaçao. It is clean and also has a European feel to it, except for its location in a tropical climate. Many of the people here speak Spanish, as we are not very far off the coast of Venezuela.

The lure of Aruba seems to be centered in shopping. In addition to the small souvenir shops that specialize in T-shirts, fridge magnets, and the like, there is an upscale shopping mall with famous high-priced labels such as Cartier, Louis Vuitton, and the like. It was also the first Starbucks I have seen since leaving Puerto Rico.

Once again, I declined any tourist-oriented excursion in favor of walking around the town and seeing what it was like. I had my usual list of activities to accomplish: get an assortment of money, then buy a postcard and stamp, get some Internet time, and walk around to see what the buildings and people looked like.

Dinnertime tonight was formal, so I didn't go to the Metropolitan Restaurant, but dined at the Ocean Cafe instead. There were a few other casual diners there, but it was evident that most of the people were going for the formal wear.

The evening show was called iBroadway, and it included the sixteen energetic and vivacious singer-dancers, accompanied by the ship's orchestra. It was a lively and enjoyable show of Broadway-based music. I wasn't a fan of some of it, as it was skewed more towards what was popular than what I find to be good.

Overnight: Oranjestad, Aruba to San Juan, Puerto Rico - 475 nautical miles

At sea
Thursday, 17 March 2011

There is a wonderful byproduct to being at sea rather than having arrived at a port of call: no hurry to do my stretches and exercise, get showered and dressed, have breakfast, and get into a new place.

It was a relaxing day. I had a late breakfast, did some reading and writing in my room, and then went for lunch. It would be very easy to get used to appearing at a place and having a huge variety of food ready to eat, eat it, and then leave without cleaning up.

At dinnertime, I didn't feel like putting on long trousers, so I went to the Metropolitan Restaurant in my shorts. I didn't get in. I was busted at the door, told that I was not allowed to wear shorts there.

My choice was either to go back to my room and change into long trousers or go up to the Ocean Cafe for dinner. I did the latter.

There was a final show tonight, which featured a few of the entertainers who had previously performed: Keith Fields, the comedian/magician, who was much better tonight; David Meyer playing the xylosynth, who was, once again, amazing; and Pete, the cruise director, who sang two songs.

It was a delightful way to end the cruise.

Continuation tonight: Oranjestad, Aruba to San Juan, Puerto Rico - 475 nautical miles

San Juan, Puerto Rico
Friday, 18 March 2011

We had to be out of our staterooms at 8:00. Breakfast was being served from 6:00 to 8:30.

Two thousand people leaving the ship at the same time could be chaotic, especially with luggage. There was a plan to collect luggage from staterooms the night before in order to bring it to the dock. But I kept mine with me. Even though I was scheduled to leave the ship at 10:00, they let me off a little after 8:00 because I hadn't checked my luggage.

I am now in San Juan and will enjoy the area for a week.