Africa Archives - Page 5 of 9

Africa Uganda

Kampala, Uganda

Kampala, Uganda. I arrived in Entebbe (the closest airport to Kampala) after a 40 minute flight from Kigali. A new country. I had already gotten my East Africa Tourist Visa so there were not formalities other than the checking of my yellow fever vaccination certificate. I took a taxi from Entebbe to Kampala, which took about an hour. Kampala is bigger than Kigali. The traffic is crazy. On the way we passed various poor areas and haphazard markets. I took a few pics from the taxi window.

Once in the city centre, Kampala is organized and busy on one side of Kampala road, and organized chaos on the other. I was staying at the Shumuk Hotel and Apartments. When we pulled up to the run down and otherwise nondescript office building I was certain we had the wrong place. There wasn’t even a sign.

But I did have the right place. It is a run down office building but with short and long term apartments for rent on the top two floors. The rooms weren’t fancy but they were clean and I had a full, small apartment. I was satisfied.

Plus, the location was great. I could walk to tons of cafes, restaurants, craft shops, and the aforementioned organized chaos. Unlike Kigali, it did not have the punishing hills.

I walked and browsed and ate. I also saw the ugliest bird I have ever seen. Hands down. The Maribou Stork. They are everywhere in Kampala. They are huge – they can have wingspans of up to 12 feet and they have these hideous faces, like bird-corpse-dinosaurs. I tried really hard to get a good picture of one, but this is the best I could get. The stupid thing kept evading my camera. If I looked like that I would do the same.

The next morning, I got up early and went for a coffee at a big Kenyan chain coffee shop. Sitting there with my Americano, who should walk in but the guy from Delhi that I had met in Goma days earlier. I know it happens, but it always surprises me to run into the same person randomly that I crossed paths with in another country. We made plans to have dinner and did indeed have an excellent dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant in a posher area of town.

In the meantime, however, I had arranged a boda boda (motorcycle) tour of Kampala through Walter’s tours, which I recommend. Kampala is short on major sights, but this takes you from place to place on a motorcycle, so you get to see a lot in a fun way.

Richard, my guide, and I went to the Bahai temple and the big mosque. At both sites I got a little more info than I needed, but they were nice buildings. At the mosque, I climbed to the top of the huge minaret in the ankle length modesty dress they outfitted me in, for the views of the city.

We went to the palace, which one cannot enter, but I got a lot of very interesting history and then walked through a beautiful garden area to Idi Amin’s torture cells.

There isn’t much to them: a concrete tunnel with rectangular cells, but they were very creepy. Hearing the stories of how many people were killed there (16k-19k) through various methods from electrocution to suffocation (from cramming people into the cells). The walls are still covered in hand prints and writings in blood, dirt, and excrement from the prisoners. And there are bats. Lots of bats. And at least one femur.

From there we went to some market areas and ended up at the old taxi park, which is a cluster of white minivans parked in am impossible tangle.

We got a seat at a cafe overlooking the taxis and the streets below, which was very interesting. Watching the vans get out, baskets of grasshopper snacks for sale, vendors of everything imaginable, and stands were people trade old/worn currency for new looking currency for status, apparently.

It was a good day. I finished up with a nice dinner with my new friend from the Congo, and finally a cigar.

At this point in the trip I had been on the go every day and it was time for some relaxation, so the next day I was going to Jinja.

Africa Democratic Republic of the Congo Rwanda

Return to Rwanda

I left the Democratic Republic of the Congo and crossed the border into Rwanda on foot using my East Africa visa, which would allow me to move back and forth between Rwanda and Uganda. The rest of the day, and the most of the rest was pleasant but unremarkable.

I did laundry at the air bnb I was staying at in Gisenyi – very necessary as I had taken on a certain odor. I lazed about in a hammock and had dinner at Cafe Calafia, my aforementioned new favourite cafe, with the cozy interior, beautiful garden exterior, and excellent menu. After that I returned to my air bnb where I walked in on (unbeknownst to my host) a tremendous bout of yelling and domestic disturbance. I’ll spare the details, but I found it quite unpleasant and so I went for a walk and then sat outside smoking a cigar with my headphones on until things subsided.

The next day I did not, as planned, take a 5 hour bus back to Kigali but opted for the 2 hour private car at 10x the price. It just sounded so much more appealing. Is this what happens as travellers get older? Do we spend some extra money for some extra comfort? I don’t like to think about it that way, but I did appreciate that I was enjoying a coffee and cigar in Kigali at a time when I would otherwise have still been on the bus.

This time in Kigali I stayed not at the Nest but at the Discover Rwanda Youth Hostel. (Applying the broad definition of “youth” apparently.) I like to try different places and explore different areas, which is why I chose the hostel. It had a swell patio for eating and chilling out with other travellers, I must admit it was not as nice as the Nest, which was about the same price.

I went for a long walk up and down Kigali’s punishing hills and ended up at a lovely cafe, where I had a cigar that I bought the previous month in El Salvador (making me feel like quite the jet setter / douchebag) and a french press of excellent coffee. Also soup.

I struck up a conversation with a girl also traveling alone who was from Washington State. We chatted and then left together, walking to a bookstore with a rooftop cafe, where we stayed until it was dark, swapping travel tales.

Unable to find a single moto driver who knew where my hostel was, I walked back in the dark (thankfully remembering my way). At the bottom of the final big hill, I did get a moto to drive me up the last bit for a few cents.

So not much happened on these days aside from transit and casual strolling, but it was most pleasant and welcome, as the next day I was off to Uganda.

Africa Democratic Republic of the Congo

Masisi, the Alps of the Congo

Following my day exploring Goma, I was collected at the Ihusi Hotel by Cide, who would be my guide and companion for the next 2 days. I had booked an overnight tour of the Masisi region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo through Kivu Travel. (Website here.) After my gorilla plans fell through (see my previous DRC post) I still wanted to see something of the Congo in the time that I had and Masisi looked amazing. And there was no way I could have managed this without having it organized through a company, as the Masisi is not exactly set up for independent travel. Kivu Travel was super helpful and kept checking in and confirming that all was well and that I was taken care of.

But before Masisi, a boat ride.

Cide dropped me off on the shores of Lake Kivu, placing me in the hands of a 4 man crew on a rather basic wooden boat. We set sail, at first past the shores of Goma, which gave a great view of the otherwise invisible posh homes, and then we sailed farther into the lake.

The plan was to visit a coffee farm, which sounded good, but mostly I just wanted to sail around. And sail we did, for about 2 hours before reaching the farm. It was very peaceful. We saw only a few small canoes type boats and a couple of ferries.

Reaching the farm, I was handed off to a fellow (whose name I cannot recall) who very carefully showed me the coffee farm and explained the process from planting to sending off for roasting. It was surprisingly interesting. I have been to coffee farms before, but they just sort of showed the trees and then explained about the different varieties. This was not a tourist show; it was an actual, working farm and I have to say that it was sobering to see how much hand labour goes in to coffee, just at the farm level. I mean, I guess I knew it, but I never really thought about it. Every single bean, hand picked, hand peeled, washed, hand sorted, dried, etc all by hand. Plus all the planting, replanting, roasting, etc.

It was really interesting and reminiscent of my rice realizations in SE Asia. For all the mechanization we have available, some things are still painstakingly made by hand.

Back in the boat, we sailed for close to 3 hours until a pretty area appeared before us, marked by Cide’s white SUV. I was deposited on the shore, where we had a picnic lunch of vegetarian sandwich, avocado, and bananas. I told Cide that in North America we are crazy for avocados and that in restaurants we will pay $10 or more for a slice of toasted bread with butter and avocado. His eyes went wide and he didn’t stop laughing for a solid minute. I can’t say I blame him.

Then we drove, higher and higher into the mountains. The landscape started out as a beautiful green patchwork of farm lands, then smoothed out into rolling, velvety hills dotted with farm animals. This is the Masisi region.

It was stunning. Like something out of a painting or a picture book. If it weren’t for the villages, which are definitely African, it could easily be the Alps.

Just when I thought I could not be any more impressed, we arrived at this charming farmhouse set on a hill overlooking the valley and with beautiful gardens. This is where I was to stay.

My room was enormous and I had a living room with a fireplace and private balcony. No electricity or internet, though they ran the generator at night for lights and the fireplaces were lit for warmth. It was so perfect.

Cide and I sat overlooking the valley and were served a teapot of warm milk from the cows below. I had a cigar.

We then walked into the valley and the village past the dairy farm, flocks of sheep, errant goats, and parades of geese. Horses grazed. People laboured. Children played and peeked curiously at me.

It was all so lovely.

The best part of the walk was visiting the home of this one grandmother who had 3 tobacco plants in her garden. Cide said she grew them for herself, to dry and smoke. She didn’t speak English or French, but Cide translated. I gave the woman one of my cigarillos. She tried it but was not impressed, saying hers was better. Her friend agreed. The woman then got some of her dried tobacco and rolled me a small one and offered it to me. It was a bit on the moist side, but was good. Cocoa-y.

After that, we returned to the house and were fed an enormous dinner. I briefly dozed by the fire and then went to bed.

The morning brought a massive breakfast with a view of the valley.

We then walked down to the dairy farm, where free roaming cows were being milked. I tried my hand at it with limited success.

From there we visited the “cheese factory” which is just two guys in two rooms making cheese without any mechanization. The cheese is good. Like a tangy gouda.

Finally we went for a walk through the main village, where we were followed by throngs of children, curious and friendly, all giving thumbs up and asking for photos, which they then looked at and laughed hysterically.

Finally, we returned to Goma and I crossed the borders back to Rwanda. It was a perfect couple of days. I liked the comparative bustle of Goma, but Masisi was magical. A peaceful mountainous dairy farming region was not what I thought of when I thought to visit the Congo, but I am glad I made my way there.

Africa Democratic Republic of the Congo Rwanda

Goma – Holiday in the DRC

This whole trip to Rwanda, Uganda, and the Congo started because I decided that I wanted to see the mountain gorillas in the Congo’s Virunga Park. I planned my itinerary around three days to be spent in that park.

Virunga has its problems: bandits, poachers, armed groups hiding out, violence. Dozens of the game wardens, who work to protect the park, have been killed recently by the bad guys. But it was only when a British couple was kidnapped in the spring of 2018 that they decided to close the park until 2019. That is probably the right decision from a security perspective, though it has been devastating to the tourism businesses in the area. And, of much lesser importance, it left me with an altered holiday. But I decided I would still go to the Congo and see something; because once I get an idea, it is difficult for me to shake it.

Getting to the Democratic Republic of the Congo is difficult now that the park is closed. It is hard to get a visa; you have to be invited and will have to provide some combination of your bank statements, itinerary, plane tickets, a letter from your employer, etc etc. It was much easier when the park was open as they could provide the letter of invitation and cut down on some of the other red tape and you just had to pay them and fill out a form. But that is currently not an option, so I found another way.

[If you are not interested in the details of the visa process, skip the next three paragraphs. There is a dearth of practical information on this, so I am including it.]

After a lot of googling, I started emailing tour companies and hotels to see if any of them could assist with a letter of invitation. Most did not respond at all and only one said he could help. Christian runs walking tours of Goma (the town just on the other side of the border). You can find his website here. He was great. He sent me a form, had me sign a promissory note for the the cost of the visa, and emailed me a picture of a certificate to show at the border. I figured it was 50/50 that the picture of the document would equal a visa. But it did!

I walked to the Rwandan immigration building and easily got my exit stamp. I then walked to the DRC building, stopping several times to have my temperature checked and to wash my hands as loudspeakers blared recorded ominous sounding warnings about Ebola.

At DRC immigration, they scrutinized my form and passport and asked me a number of questions, but at no point was it equal to or worse than the treatment one receives at the hands of USA or Canadian border guards. About 10 minutes later, I had my visa. The only remaining stop was the desk where they screened my yellow fever vaccination card. (Tip: the certificate must include your name, birthdate, and passport number in addition to the usual vaccination info. Without that info, you will not be allowed in. I had written my passport number on that morning, but that was good enough.) They asked me many of the same questions, and took my temperature again. (Finally after all these years of carrying that certificate on my travels, I was finally asked for it. I was pleased.)

The Democratic Republic of the Congo (the DRC, aka Congo Kinshasa, aka the Congo – there is another Congo next door, called, confusingly, the Republic of the Congo. They both used to be called Zaire.) is not super touristy to say the least. The main draw is the gorillas, but they can be seen more safely in Uganda and Rwanda. It regularly shows up on lists of the most dangerous countries in the world. (#9, according to the last list I saw.) Since the end of colonialism it has suffered years of civil war (which is ongoing), armed conflict between various groups, assassinations, general political instability, corruption, and foreign corporate meddling. Google it. It’s bad. The DRC is rich in the stuff everyone wants: wood, oil, diamonds, cobalt, etc. It should be rich, but has suffered due to its natural resources combined with its lack of military and political security.

So as I planned this trip, I found myself checking the DRC news each day. It was grim. Ongoing conflict, plus a new and as of this post, escalating Ebola outbreak, which they are having difficulty combatting due to the conflict. Some actual headlines in the weeks before my trip…

So, yeah, I was nervous, but I still wanted to go, and I know from past experience that “dangerous” countries are not as dangerous as they seem in the news.

So when I crossed the border, I didn’t know what to expect. What I found in Goma, was a rough city with an unusual number of machine gun toting people, but people just going on with their lives. It wasn’t chaos, though it wasn’t orderly. I could imagine things spinning out of control quickly, but nothing like that happened whilst I was there. Aside from some fancy houses, which are for the politicians and diplomats (and which may not be photographed), Goma is just quite poor.

It sits next to active volcanos, which have reduced the city to rubble, as recently as the 2000s, so a good part of the city is just rough, black lava rock. It also sits on the edge of Lake Kivu, which is a beautiful lake, but is also due to explode. Seriously.

One thing that really stuck out to me was the great number of white, safari style, SUVs, each with the name and logo of a well known NGO: Unicef, Doctors without Borders, Save the Children, etc – basically all the organizations you mean to donate to, but never do. And of course, there are UN trucks and soldiers everywhere, which is apparently one of the only things that keeps Goma from becoming really violent. Almost every non-local person is there for work.

I checked into my hotel, the Ihusi, which I picked because it is just steps from the border and on the lake. It has all the amenities you would expect from a fancy hotel, but it is pretty old and dated. That said, I was delighted to have hot water, a tv, in suite coffee, and a pretty spot by the lake. (Now that I know that Goma is not in fact a veritable war zone, I probably would have booked one of the cheaper and nicer hotels a little farther from the border.)

I didn’t spend long at my hotel though, as I was going on my walking tour of Goma. The walking tour really turned out to be mostly a boda boda (motorbike) tour due to the distance between sites, but it was good. I was with a local fellow named Arsene and his brother, who tagged along. A note about the bodas here: they are very affordable, but while the driver may wear a helmet, the passenger does not and the roads are known to be dangerous.

We went to what I later realized was really the only crafts market in Goma. (I should have bought more!) There I picked up a mask and heard the stories behind many others.

From there we walked past the 3 traffic circles, which is a thing. Only one of them is permitted to be photographed; the one with the gold man with the chukudu.

A chukudu is a wooden, oversized scooter, ubiquitous in the DRC. They also use them in Rwanda, but they are everywhere here. They’re odd. They look like something out of the Flintstones. On flat surfaces, people kneel on them with one leg and push with the other. Going up hills, they are just pushed – often while carrying tremendous loads. And downhill they are ridden. I don’t think they have brakes.

Anyway, the gold one in the roundabout is a symbol of how hard work is necessary in life.

Many sites in Goma, from buildings to markets to some streets cannot be photographed without a permit or at all. Plus, people really don’t like to be photographed without express permission. So that is why nearly every photo in this post either involved asking many people if it was ok to take a picture, or, they are pictures I snapped while clinging to the back of a motorbike, traversing jagged lava rock. So the pics are rough, but interesting, I think.

The tour was good because aside from sites, like markets, a cave, a beach etc, we got to ride the motos past many interesting areas.

The sites themselves are not remarkable, except perhaps for the fact that they apparently are the best of what Goma has to offer. For example, I was given a tour of an old and fairly decrepit ferry and a market that sells used shoes.

It was great though and I was able to ask my guide all sorts of questions. We finished up the outing with a meal at a local buffet style eatery where I had plantains, rice, potatoes, and what I was told were celebrated Goma beans.

In the evening, I decided to see how the ex pats live and took an expensive taxi ride to a charming restaurant called Le Chalet. Great food and ambiance. Not expensive. It is remarkable to think that this place is in Goma, in the Congo.

I had a Romeo y Julieta cigar and a curry and chatted with a fellow from Delhi who was in town on business. Solar energy. It was all delightful.

But then it was dark and I had to return to my hotel. I asked the restaurant to call me a taxi, but one of the waiters offered to take me on his boda for a fraction of the price. I was in. I soon regretted that decision as we were hurtling though the dark, un-lit streets, through the chaotic traffic…and passing everyone. Seriously, it was just way too fast. The ride was long enough that I had time to imagine all the ways I might die: a dog running out, a patch of loose gravel, another vehicle getting too close, a surprise pothole…all sending me flying in the air and then crashing to the ground. But obviously that didn’t happen. I survived the near death experience and paid for the privilege.

It was a great first day in the DRC. The next day I would leave Goma for calmer climes. (I’ll save that for the next post.)

Africa Rwanda

Kigali to Gisenyi

I like taking the bus, provided it isn’t too long a journey. The bus from Kiglai to Gisenyi is only 3 hours, but after my 36 hours of travel to get to Kigali 24 hours prior, I just wanted speed and comfort. So I hired a driver and it was worth every penny spent.

The drive was magnificent. Sprawling fields and round hills in every shade of green spread out in the vista below the road, which twisted past towns, farms, and generally lush scenery. I took pictures from the car windows but occasionally asked the driver to stop for photos.

In Gisenyi (aka Rubavu) we found the Dian Fossey hotel, which was not where I am staying, but it is the best landmark from which to find my Airbnb. Unlike Kigali, Gisenyi does not (seem to) have numbered or named streets, but it is small enough that this seems manageable.

I am staying at the home of a Canadian woman who has lived in Africa for many years. I don’t feel right posting pictures of her home, but it is lovely, gated with a big yard, a friendly dog, rabbits, three decks, and hammocks. Very comfortable.

I set out to look around. Gisenyi’s appeal seems to lie primarily in is proximity to the border with the DRC and the fact that it is in a beautiful area, along the huge Lake Kivu.

The town itself is fine. Pretty streets, very green, with a nice lakeside park. Walking along the shore you can see The Congo just a short swim away.

The businessy area is interesting in a way, but not for any particular reason other than that it is a new place to explore.

I walked around and then had a glass of fresh milk at the Maison du Lait.

From there I walked along the lake and meandered around, chatting with various people, until I found the best cafe: the Cafe Calafia. Set in a charming house at the top of a small hill covered in vegetable gardens and tropical trees. Great food, wifi, and terrific outdoor seating, where I had a cigar with my smoothie. I am here again as I write this.

I went out for dinner in the evening and visited with the woman with whom I am staying. A relaxing evening. I don’t think I would recommend Gisenyi as part of a holiday unless you have a specific reason for coming here. It is nice, bit not amazing. The best part is the drive here. But I DID have a reason for coming here; and the next day I would go to Goma.

Africa Rwanda

Kigali

In Kigali, Rwanda after over 36 hours of travel. I won’t go into a great amount of detail, but my flight from Vancouver was delayed by 6 hours, which would have caused me to miss my connecting flights. The airline couldn’t get me on a new flight for 3 days, which would have derailed my whole trip, so I hastily booked the next flights I could find to get to get me to Kigali as soon as possible to when I was meant to arrive. My flights took me from Vancouver to Montreal to Casablanca to Brussels to Kigali. In Casablanca I had to run at full speed to check in and to the gate. Had I not been traveling with just a carry on I never would have made it. But I did make it. My near travel disaster reduced to mere a travel anecdote.

In Kigali at 7:00am I met briefly with the friendliest border guard ever who confirmed that I had successfully paid for my visa in advance and I was picked up by a driver from my hotel.

I was still in a bit of a dash though as I had booked a day tour of the city, which was leaving at 9:30. So I went only briefly to my hotel: a welcoming guest house called The Nest in the Nyarutarama district.

The area is really nice. Mostly semi affluent residential with restaurants dotted throughout. Super safe, excellent for walking.

I don’t usually do tours, but I was only to be in Kigali a short time and Kigali seemed difficult to navigate on foot or transit. The things I wanted to see were all spread out and the whole city covers an erratic network of steep hills, so getting shown around seemed like a great idea. The company is called Go Kigali and the day was awesome. We met at the Marriot, where I had time for a breakfast cigar before heading out. There were 5 of us that did the day tour and we had an excellent guide. It was like having friends for the day. Friends I paid to hang out with me.

Our first stop was a local milk bar. They are everywhere and serve as a centre of daily life for many people. They serve milk, fresh from local cows, milked that day or the day before. The milk is served cold, warm, or fermented. There is actually a good article about them on Culture Trip, if you want more information.

We had the cold and fermented milk. Both were delicious and tasted nothing at all like supermarket milk. The guy whose place it was owns the cows from which the milk came. Single origin milk. To be clear, I do not drink milk, other than the almond variety. It is easily 25 years since I had a glass, but it was good.

From there we went to a local market and ate passionfruit, tiny bananas, mandarins, and tree tomatos. One member of our group struggled when live poultry was shuffled past us, as she has a bird phobia. Had trouble walking past them without being shielded. In her words (more or less), birds are unpredictable and can’t look at you straight in the face, and therefore should not be trusted. It was entertaining (and the fact that I felt that way surely makes me a monster).

We drove up mount Kigali for the excellent views, but due to a sudden, short, and punishing downpour, no views were had. We went to the Gaddafi mosque and learned about how the people who took refuge there were saved during the genocide.

Lunch at a local spot consisted of green bananas cooked with peas and carrots, spinach, beans, rice, various meat and fish dishes, and mango passionfruit juice. This was followed by excellent coffee at Question Coffee, growers and roasters. Female owned and operated.

The penultimate stop was at a lake where we took a small local boat (slowing taking on water and being bailed) to a poor neighbourhood on the other side. We were asked not to take pictures when there. It was definitely poor, with mud houses and rough dirt paths on the side of a hill, but it was also clean and tidy and all the people friendly, despite us being a bunch of weirdos walking through their neighbourhood. Apparently the city is moving people out of these neighbourhoods to make way for new developments – all part of the government’s goal to clean up amd modernize the city. I don’t know if that is a good or bad thing, but I am glad that I saw it before that happens.

Finally, we went to the genocide memorial. Even knowing and having studied it, it was informative and depressing. I don’t tend to feel much when I visit monuments or memorials to human tragedy. I’m not upset or moved to tears, as some are, but it stays with me – mainly our insatiable tendency to be horrible to one another. And the fact that we never seem to learn enough to stop being horrible. As I move about the city, I find myself doing mental math, trying to estimate how old my taxi driver, guide, or guesthouse manager was in 1994. Wondering what horrors they personally experienced. Because they must have been affected by those events. But it is not the sort of thing you can ask in passing.

I parted ways from my group and went back to my neighbourhood for a walk and dinner. Kigali really is lovely and unlike other African cities I have visited. It is so clean and orderly. Sidewalks, traffic rules followed, no litter. Plastic bags banned for environmental reasons. There are women whose job it is to sweep up leaves by the roadside. Apparently it is less corrupt than many European countries. 68% of the people in its parliament are women. I’m aware there are other stories and concerns, but on its face, it is very impressive. Now, I always say that my favourite cities are messy, disorganized, and chaotic, and that is true, but Kigali is lovely. The sort of place I can imagine living. Of course, I’ve only been here 2 days.

Africa Switzerland Tunisia Tunisia Trip 2018

Forced Relaxation in Tunis & Zürich

I returned to Tunis late and awoke the next morning with the beginning of a cold. Annoying, but inevitable when traveling, I suppose. The only good things were that I really didn’t have anything I needed to do in Tunis and I was staying at a fancy hotel (as has become my way; finish the trip somewhere slightly posh). I was staying at the Hotel Royal Victoria, right at the entrance to the medina, with a view of the square form my private balcony. I had a tv and my own bathroom and hot water. Luxury!

In the morning I gorged myself on their breakfast buffet (cold be dammed, I’m not missing out on a free breakfast).

And so, it being my last day, I decided to do some shopping. I find I am less and less inclined to buy things for myself. I have nowhere to keep them and even though that [insert exotic item] might look tempting when in the souk, when I get home, the gloss is gone and I realize that the item doesn’t fit with my real life. But I did haggle my way through the market and pick up a few items to be gifted. It was fun, but my cold was getting worse and my energy wasn’t great.

Despite that, I was determined to get a good walk in, so I picked a destination – the belvedere park – it was quite a way out of the centre but a good walk through streets away from the tourist-geared cafes and shops. It just felt like a regular city.

Belvedere park is a lovely green area with a zoo, as it turned out. I’m opposed to zoos generally and felt a bit conflicted about whether or not to go, but ultimately I did. I can’t say that part of me isn’t interested in seeing the animals, but i would rather it be under different circumstances. These were animals, exotic and otherwise, in too small cages, swimming in circles, or lying listlessly. That paints maybe too bleak a picture, but it is true. I enjoyed myself anyway.

(That picture of the guy and crocodile amused me, like why would anyone need a warning not to play catch with crocodiles?)

I walked back to my hotel, went into the medina for dinner and shisha, and spent the rest of the evening watching movies on tv in my room.

I woke up at 3:30am as I had an early flight, i slept for maybe an hour, owing to a fever, crushing headache, and an inability to breathe through my nose. I flew to Zurich and walked to my airbnb lodging, not far from the main train station, between there and Kreis 5. A charming apartment called home by a boyfriend-girlfriend architect couple from eastern Europe.

I felt like garbage, but it was a gorgeous spring day, so i walked to and around Kreis 5, a sort of former warehouse type district now populated by art galleries, eateries catering to foodies, and, on the day that I was there, an urban bicycle festival and a neighbourhood yard sale. The area is quite nice. In fact, Zurich really grew on me in my last couple of days. The historic area is beautiful and great to see, but these other neighbourhoods felt more authentic and I was charmed by them. Zurich doesn’t seem to me like an exciting city, but it is very attractive and so peaceful. Everything it quiet. There are no horns honking, no radios blaring, no loud conversations, no loud transportation. It’s almost eerie, but kind of nice. There is a lot of bike riding, people having wine at cafes, and picnics. It all seems like an ideal city. It is true that i prefer my cities dirty and chaotic, but this kind of grew on me. Or maybe it was just the fever.

I didn’t really do anything, but I walked, through that area and the into the old city. I thought about hitting a cigar lounge or going for lunch somewhere quaint, but I was feeling increasingly ill so i returned to the flat in the afternoon and spent the rest of the day and night in my room, listing to podcasts and trying to sleep through what seemed to be the flu.

Being sick at the end of vacation, which always seems to happen to me, is inconvenient but in a way it is also kind of nice to be forced to spend a day or to actually relaxing, which I would not do on my travels unless forced. And the rest was just what I needed to feel better for the next day when I would go to Liechtenstein.

Africa Tunisia Tunisia Trip 2018

Departing Djerba

Day three on Djerba. I had (have) a 5:00 flight, so I just planned to have a relaxing day. Of course I woke up early with the first call to prayer announcing morning. I just lazed about. Had a slow breakfast. Decided to go on a walk. I was delighted to find that one of the main streets, which had been empty since I arrived had been transformed into a bustling marketplace that spilled out onto the side streets.

It wasn’t a touristy market, but one for locals. Shoes, clothing, fabric, pots & pans, spices…just regular stuff but it was a lot of fun to walk through. The merchants still tried to sell me their goods, usually calling out to me in Russian to catch my attention. It was the same thing in Turkey. I really should learn Russian for how often I am mistaken for a national. (Except in Ethiopia and Burkina Faso where I was often mistaken for Japanese.)

I talked with some locals who lamented the lack of tourists since the revolution. It is true that there are not a lot of them here, which has been lovely for me to avoid crowds, but it must be so difficult for the people who rely on tourists for income. Seriously, people should come here. It is beautiful and filled with history and culture. And it is easy to travel in. And cheap.

Back to the market. At the other end of the street was the —- fort sitting at the edge of the sea. I walked the ramparts and looked around before heading back to the area around my hotel. I did a little shopping, had a lunch of vegetable ragout, smoked some apple shisha, and headed to the airport.

It was a good, final day in Djerba, which I have loved. What I don’t love is that my flight back to Tunis is delayed by an hour so far, with no information as to when it will depart. This is the fifth TunisAir flight I have taken and they each have been delayed by more than one hour. Another was cancelled altogether. The airport here doesn’t exactly have amusements. One cafe with a few sad looking sandwiches. No shops. No wifi. (I will post this when I am back in Tunis.) on the plus side, I have books, music, and podcasts, and have caught up on my postcard sending. I don’t really mind the delay; I didn’t have any plans for this evening in Tunis except for enjoying my slightly posh hotel room. I shall use this time, stranded at the airport, to do what my mother would advise, which is to relish in the opportunity to relax and do nothing, for there is noting to do.

EPLIOGUE
My flight ended up bring cancelled. And so was the next one. They arranged for a new flight but not everyone could get on. Overall, I spent 8 hours at the airport. Not agony, but far from idea. I did mean a British/American woman and her Tunisian fiancé who were trying to get to Tunis for their wedding, which ensured them a spot on the plane. We also told the airport check in people that I was a bridesmaid at the wedding, which got me on the plane as well. On the plane, I learned from a Tunisian/German man that the taxis in Tunis were on strike. This would have delayed my arrival in Tunisia by hours, but the man connected me with another Tunisian man sitting in front of me, who said his wife, who was picking him up, would drive me to my hotel. And they did. Now I am in Tunis, already forgetting about the huge airport delay and looking forward to tomorrow.

Africa Tunisia Tunisia Trip 2018

Around Tataouine

My second day in Djerba I hired a driver to take me off of the Island to the desert to go To Tataouine and the surrounding area. We drive off the island (there is a bridge / a sort of a road that the Romans built apparently) onto mainland Tunisia. The landscape grew more and more deserty, with just small, dry shrubberies and clusters of palms.

Our first stop was at a salt lake that rivals the dead sea for its salt content. The shores were glimmering white, crusted salt flats.

From there we drove to Tataouine, after which the Star Wars Tatooine took its name. Huge chunks of the early Star Wars movies were filmed around Tataouine and on Djerba. I think one can organize a tour of just the filming sites.

One of the Star Wars sites is Ksar Ouled Soltane. (It was some slave quarters in one of the original films – I don’t know more details, but I’m sure there are a about 5000 websites with that information.) A ksar (or ksour) is an old fortified village. Amazingly, it was totally empty. You would think there would be an admission fee, a souvenir stand selling key ring light sabres, and a coffee shop called ‘Java the Hut’…but I had the place to myself. It was so cool to wander around and climb up the staircases, looking out over the desert. Definitely cinematic. There are many other Ksours in the area, each with their own George Lucas connection, but they all look pretty much the same, and having only one day, this was the one I picked.

After that we drove to an abandoned hilltop village with a white mosque. I don’t know the name, but the steep climb afforded good views.

Next the driver (Nasr) and I had lunch at a huge, soulless restaurant that obviously catered to bus tours. The atmosphere was awful (and it is, based on my experience, the only non-smoking restaurant in the country) but the food was good. Vegetable couscous with Harissa, baguettes, and olives.

I then connected with an English speaking young man from the ares who took me on a walk through the Berber village of Chenini. It is partly inhabited by a large Berber population, but the draw is the now abandoned villages built high into the mountain in around the 11th or 12th century. My guide, who was not at all winded by the steep climb, told me all about the history and how the structures were built to protect against invaders.

He also knew the good spots for photos.

The place was pretty quiet. I saw only two other tourists.

Before falling asleep in the car I saw camels and one canine (the driver said it was a jackal). I woke up in time to take in a few more views of desert and the lake before being dropped off back in Houmt Souk. It was a long day of driving and I was exhausted. I don’t know how sitting in a car most of the day makes me more tired than walking all day, but it does. So I had dinner of vegetable tagine and a cigar before going to bed early.

If i had longer, or if i had decided to spend my time differently, I would have gone on a camel trek further into the desert, which would be great, though I know from experience that doing so solo with a non-English speaking guide can be a bit too quiet for my liking. I bet the stars would have been lovely though.

Africa Tunisia Tunisia Trip 2018

Djerba

I flew from Montasir (the closest airport to Sousse) to Djerba, an island on the south west coast of Tunisia, between the Mediterranean and the gulf of Gabès. Djerba is known for its relaxed vibe, its beauty, its string of beach resorts on the east coast, and for having both Jewish and Berber populations.

I caught a taxi to the capital of Djerba, Houmt Souk and to my hotel, the Hôtel Erriadh Djerba. My hotel is perfect, an old funduq located next to the souq and bordered by appealing squares. It is covered in tiles and the rooms surround a whitewashed patio with flowering vines and singing birds.

I basically just went to bed that night, but the next day, after breakfast in the patio, i went out to explore. Houmt Souk isn’t full of must see attractions. The delight is in the wandering. Market stalls, sunny squares with cafes and juice stands, colorful shops, carpet vendors, and tucked away mosques, all gleaming white in contrast to the blue sky.

There is no hustle here; it just feels chill and beachy, even though the beach is still a short drive away.

It is also small, so after a few hours I had seen all of the bits I needed to see (and would see it all more, since this is where I am staying) so I took at a taxi to the town of Erriadh. The appeal there is the synagogue and a display of street art.

There is, apparently, one of the largest or last remaining Jewish communities in North Africa on Djerba and there is the El-Ghriba synagogue, the oldest in North Africa. It is the most heavily secured site I have visited on this trip, with metal detectors and machine gun guards at the entrance. The building itself is beautiful, blue and tiled, with silver plaques (sort of like those Mexican milagro charms).

From there I walked to the town centre. The town itself is nothing to see, but behind the main street, in the residential alleys there is a terrific display of street art. The art was created as part of a project called Djerbahood in 2014 or 2015 in which artists were given liberty to decorate the white washed streets. It was delightful. There are no signs and no map, so you basically have to wander the streets looking for paintings. It is like a treasure hunt.

Many of the paintings are worn, but are still worth seeing.

From there, it was still early enough, so I decided to catch a taxi to the Zone Touristique on the west side of the island, where all of the resort hotels line white sandy beaches. I don’t care for the beach, but I thought maybe a drink on a terrace would be nice.

It was a long drive, which I enjoyed, but once we arrived at the zone I was disappointed. Yes, there is the beach, but the resorts are these massive, gated structures – not at all welcoming to non guests – along a stretch of highway. It isn’t really walkable (at least not pleasantly) and it just all felt remote and unappealing. (If you are a resort person, they look like wonderful places, but to me they seemed like giant, land locked cruise ships. Yuck.) So I had the driver turn around and take me back to Houmt Souk. I had shisha in a square and watched a cat attack my hookah each time the water bubbled.

It is so peaceful here at night after the day time tourists from the resorts have left. Quiet and almost magical.