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Around the World 2022 Asia Bangladesh

Foiled plans on a Pleasant day in Dhaka

My third day in Dhaka, a Thursday, was originally to be the one where I would travel outside of the city to see Sonargaon. I had planned to go on that day and researched the bus routes, but as it turns out, those sites are closed on Thursdays (not that this information was available anywhere online that I found). So I moved my planned trip to Friday and decided to spend Thursday visiting various museums on foot. The thing is, they were also closed on Thursdays, a fact that was also not communicated online or anywhere outside of the signs on the museum doors. So I didn’t see any museums in Dhaka, but I did enjoy walking to them. Being flexible and easy going manages to keep me pretty content while travelling. (If only I could import more of that easy going nature into my non-travel life.)

The excitement of the city streets that I experienced on my first day was still there, so I was happy to be out and about. I felt free and happy as I walked from my hotel according to the route I had chosen. I bought some sweet lentil ball snacks from a little bakery and tea from a tea stall and had a little snack in the shade under the trees.

I walked first towards the Bangladeshi parliament building, Jatiya Sangsad Bhaban, designed by Louis Khan and built between 1961 and 1982. I knew I wouldn’t be able to enter the grounds, but I wanted to get a closer look from the gate. It is this super modern, quasi brutalist structure that seems totally out of keeping with anything one would imagine about Bangladesh. It looks like it should be in a Soviet country.

I walked around it, taking shelter under some thickly leafed trees (along with everyone else) during a short but powerful downpour. I then crossed the street and walked through a park where locals were strolling and relaxing under the trees or diving off the bridge into the small river below.

I walked to the various museums that I would not be able to visit.

Foiled, I walked to the New Market and wandered around there for a while, which was pleasant. I walked across an overpass where I got a terrific view of the exhilarating chaos of the market area outside the market.

I saw some new things, including horses pulling carriages covered in mirrors and jewels. I assumed they were for weddings or something ceremonial, but I found out that they are part of the regular public transportation system. Like you can take a bus, a taxi, a tuk tuk, a rickshaw, or a jeweled carriage. Like Cinderella. I tried to take pictures, but couldn’t get any good ones.

One is rewarded for walking in Dhaka; rewarded with little things that might be missed if on your phone in a rickshaw or whizzing by in a vehicle. I saw a monument that was basically a giant machine gun, endless portraits of, Bangabandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, the country’s first prime minister (for less than a year, as he was assassinated in a coup in 1975), a monument to rickshaw pullers, kids playing cricket, cute cafés, and some sort of … Siamese twin dog? I’m still not sure about that last one. I saw a dog – or two dogs – but they were definitely physically connected at the hips and had suffered some serious physically trauma to their back(s). It was really weird and disturbing, but I like weird, and I wouldn’t have seen these things if I wasn’t wandering aimlessly.

All of this walking (and it was a lot, like over 20 km that day), took up most of the day. I walked back to Ambrosia guest house where I was staying and had a cigar in the garden before heading out for dinner in the area at a restaurant that was upstairs. I forget the name, but it had leafy patios going up and up, like a tree house. There evening air was so pleasant after the heat of the day.

I slept soundly with plans for my actual visit to Sonargaon, transpiring in the morning.

Around the World 2022 Asia Bangladesh

A Day in Dhaka

For my second day in Dhaka, Bangladesh I had hired a guide. It seemed unnecessary, in a way. On my first day I had seen and experienced so much and satisfies myself that Dhaka is perfectly fine to explore solo, but it turned out to be a great idea. Having a guide met me get a little deeper into Dhaka, to see things I wouldn’t have found on my own, and it was nice to have the company.

I booked the tour through Bangladesh Eco Adventure and had Afridi as my guide. He was great, as was the tour. I was so happy that he didn’t pick me up in a car. We started out on foot from my guesthouse and hopped in a tuk tuk to get to the market during the busy market.

Tuk Tuks

The tuk tuks in Dhaka are a little different. First of all, they call them CNGs, which stands for compressed natural gas. Unlike the colorful tuk tuks of SE Asia, or Dhaka’s blinged out rickshaw, they are a stately grey. The most notable thing though is that they have cages. When you get in the back there is a metal cage separating you from the driver, and there are cages on the sides, which are locked from the outside. So it is like a little deathtrap. (You can unlock the doors yourself from the inside if you slip your fingers through the cage, so you aren’t entirely confined.) As with tuk tuks everywhere, haggling pre-journey is essential.

Kawran Bazaar

We snaked and jerked through the traffic to the Kawran Bazaar market. And what a market! So lively and crowded, busy and colorful. Piles of produce, sacks of spices, stalls of house wares, labyrinths of raw meat. It was terrific. Men with huge, flat baskets carried fruits and vegetables, apparently acting as porters or personal shoppers for wealthier residents.

Afridi took me into the dark corridors at the heart of the market, where the lighting is uniformly green, to hide imperfect limes and squash. There were bricks of amber colored sugar and mandalas of tobacco leaves. Deeper inside were freshly beheaded goats, still leaking blood onto the floor, and blacksmith areas, where young men beat white hot molten metal into knives.

We also walked through the areas where many of the vendors live, at least during market days. Tiny bunks separated with tarps and repurposed rice sacks. From the roof we got a view over the market.

Alongside the market were train tracks, also busy with less organized commerce.

*me, on the wrong side of the tracks in Dhaka*

Dhaka University

From the market we caught another tuk tuk to the University, which was an impressible Mughal structure surrounded by a green respite. We walked around the grounds and had a bite to eat (lentils and rice) at the outdoor cafeteria. We mostly looked at the art department where there were rows of busts, sculpted by the students, graded, and then mostly left out amongst the gardens. Afridi said this is partly to do with the ban on Muslims making art depicting the human form. It was a lovely spot.

*University lunch spot & mobile libraries*

*me in front of a particularly colourful mural at the University*

Back to the Old City

We took a tuk tuk to the old city, where I had been the day before, but we stopped for local tea from a street stall and drank it in the courtyard of the policeman’s barracks.

*Tea time. Weirdly, served in a “Canada” mug.*

We visited the famous “Star Mosque”, which is beautiful but was under construction, so I didn’t see it in all of its glory. It is amazing the stunning and small mosques hidden in the ramshackle Old City streets.

*A view of the Star Mosque. Not visible are the many stars.*

To the River

We then walked to the river’s edge, near where I had been before, but this time, I got to go out on a boat. It was a comfortable, relatively small, flat-bottom boat paddled by a single boatman.

We floated along the river past commuter boats and ships. It was heavenly. There was a perfect breeze and was quiet and relaxing. The boat ride also took us past factories – the sort that make those cheap, disposable clothes and that both provide jobs and subject workers to horrible conditions. Yeah, those.

All along the river people went about their business and enjoyed the weather. I saw two very little girls standing on the end of a boat, holding up in front of then a small piece of torn cardboard; they repeatedly posed and smiled at it – pretending to take selfies.

The Ship Yards

We docked on the other side of the river and hopped out to explore the shipyards where enormous commercial ships were being repaired and painted. To look for defects or thin spot in the metal, men pounded on the ships’ hulls with hammers, creating a loud cacophony.

We also saw people making enormous propellors by digging the mould into the dirt and then pouring molten metal into it. Once cooled, they smoothed off the rough spots. All of this done without any protective gear of course. Most men wore sandals.

Back on the boat, we went to the other side and had lunch at a local spot near the courthouse where I met several barristers on break. Once I mentioned I was a lawyer the conversation turned to work before I naturally flowed into a chat about Islamic black magic and horror movies.

Wrapping up (and a few more photos)

It was an excellent day that left me exhausted and full.

My first two days in Dhaka had both exceeded my expectations. Not every place can do that. I went to bed excited for day three, where I had almost nothing planned.

Around the World 2022 Asia Bangladesh

Discovering Dhaka, Bangladesh

I like cities, better than nature if I am being honest. Sometimes when I pick a city to visit it is because it has something specific I want to see, but sometimes I am just curious about a city itself. Dhaka, Bangladesh was one of those cities. I had little on a list of ‘sites’ to see in Dhaka; it was just the city itself that appealed. Everything I read about it suggested it would be either a lively chaos or a miserable cesspool. (Seriously, most people had nothing but negative things to say about it.) Either way, I knew it would be interesting. I’ll just say now, I loved it. I loved it instantly and throughout.

It started the moment I stepped out of the airport, having flown there from Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. People crowded, shouting, pushing perilous towers of beaten-up luggage, cars bumper-to-bumper, instant heat and smells of people and exhaust and perfume. Terrific.

I got a taxi to take me to my accommodation. Dhaka is notorious for its traffic, and we did spend a little time crawling along, but I didn’t mind because everything was exciting. The overcrowded buses that looked like they had been through 50 years of bad driving, the tuk tuks, bicycles, rickshaws, and trucks, all jockeying for position. I’m sure that if I lived there, I wouldn’t be so enthusiastic, but as a new arrival, everything seemed new and thrilling.

And then we pulled up to the high gate of my accommodation: the Ambrosia Guest House. I can confidently say I would not stay anywhere else in Dhaka. There are no hostels to speak of and most of the budget hotels look grim. The fancy hotels look generic and are in a dull part of town, but this Guest House is in a perfect location for a walker like me, just off a main road but slightly tucked away with a beautiful garden oasis. I had a big private room, use of the common areas, and enjoyed breakfast each morning with the other guests. In the evenings, I had a cigar in the garden.

But I didn’t travel to Dhaka to luxuriate in gardens. So out I went.

The streets in Dhaka are wonderful madness. Endless traffic with a parade of colourful rickshaws, creating a cheerful din of handlebar bells. Old, repurposed, red double-decker buses from the UK. The regular city buses, so beaten up but painted with colourful patterns and sometimes with whimsical hearts or birds. And of course, bicycles, tuk tuks, and people on foot, like me, all moving together. It is chaos, but it works.

Everything is loud, from the voices to the horns and bells, to announcements made over loudspeakers about, presumably, things for sale at the central market.

It is colourful. Not just the buses, but the people, many dressed in bright local or traditional clothing, stalls selling fresh flowers, businesses covered in a riot of multicoloured signage that can only come from a lack of regulation.

Nothing is orderly or slow. It is all terrific and exhilarating.

I walked for a bit, stopping for coffees or teas. I wandered through book stalls and shops at the market and meandered around taking it all in.

I then hailed a rickshaw to take me to the edge of Old Dhaka. That was fun. I discovered later that I paid about 10x more than I should have, but the price I paid was still like $3 cdn, so it was cheap – especially since I was paying for a slightly-built human being to pull me by the power of his own cycling whilst I rode in my sparkly rickshaw seat like a king.

I was dropped off at the Dhakeshwari Temple, a candy-coloured Hindu temple. I can’t tell you much about it, but it was busy with worshippers and had altars of slightly fearsome, slightly comedic looking gods.

From there, I wandered towards the Lalbagh Fort. It wasn’t difficult to find. Buildings in Old Dhaka are not that tall and eventually I saw the walls and the tops of the fort ahead of me. The entrance fee was negligible and well worth it. The fort structures inside are fine. A bit like the Red Fort in Delhi or the Lahore Fort in Lahore, but much smaller. The real treat are the grounds, lovely expanses of green with beautiful flowers.

It was all locals (and me) inside, everyone enjoying the serenity. It was there though that I discovered the Bangladeshis’ fondness for selfies. I couldn’t go a few feet without being asked to take selfies with people. One person asked me to hold their baby for the photo. (I declined that. I’ve never held a baby in my life and was not to start with a stranger’s child.) Eventually I had to start declining the selfies or I would never get where I was going. People asked me where I was from and, smiling, wished me happy travels in Bangladesh. Both the selfies and friendly greetings happened everywhere. Even people that spoke very little English would manage to ask me where I was from and say, “thank you”.

From there I visited the Armenian church, a pretty buttercream and yellow church surrounded by trees. I was let in by the caretaker who unlocked it and was happy to show me around. (All my pictures were lousy, but it is worth visiting.)

I stepped out of the church and was trying to decide which direction to walk next, when a young man approached me. He spoke English and asked me where I was from and if I was lost. I explained I was just looking around and he suggested I walk to the river and told me the way. He gave me his business card and said that if I needed anything, to contact him. That too was not the only time that kind of hospitality happened.

I did walk down to the banks of the Bariganga River. The river is the life of the city, connecting it to the rest of the country. The waterways are filled with passenger ships, cargo ships, and little boats transporting people and goods. It is as energetic as the streets. I sat on the banks of the river, smoked some cigarillos and watched the action. I did not go out on a boat that day but did the next.

After that, I continued to walk the streets of Old Dhaka. Old Dhaka is, well, the oldest part of the city. The streets are narrow, sometimes not even wide enough for cars. The buildings are in poor repair and the streets are lined with shops, restaurants, small mosques, and tons of food vendors.

Mysterious fried snacks filled with vegetables or meat, sweets, fresh juices, overly sweet tea, fruits, plates of curries and biryani. I ate some things where I was able to discern that they were vegetarian. I assumed I would get some sort of food poisoning not matter how careful I was, so why not go down enjoying the local food? (Amazingly I did not get sick on this trip.)

I walked back to my hotel, getting there after dark.

On the way back I saw something I had not expected. I was on a busy street with sidewalks and there was a man lying down. I hadn’t seen this yet in Dhaka, so it caught my attention. Plus, the man was lying in an uncomfortable position…with his eyes wide open…and not moving. I stopped. Also not moving: his chest. I know what a dead person’s open eyes look like and this was it. No one else was stopping, so I walked to the corner, where there was a group of policemen. I approached them and tried to say what I had seen, but they didn’t speak English. I tried to communicate through miming. I pointed, then leaned back with my arms crossed over my chest. Made a slashing movement in front of my throat…but they didn’t seem to understand. So I carried on. At that point it wasn’t exactly an emergency situation, and I did what I could. It was a little jarring to see death in the middle of a city that feels so alive, but you can’t have life without death. You just don’t often see it.

I had only been in Dhaka a half a day but saw so much. I finished the evening in my hotel’s garden with a cigar, reflecting on all of it.

A few practical comments:

As I discussed in a previous post, I did have to get a visa ahead of time, but there was no other hassle entering the country.

Dhaka is inexpensive. Like, really cheap. You can obviously spend more if you want to go to western-style restaurants and cafes, but just walking around, taking local transport, and eating at casual places or on the street, you would struggle to spend $10.

This is one of those places where you should have cash. I brought a mix of Euros and US dollars and exchanged them for Bangladeshi Taka as needed. I did try some ATMS just to see if they worked. Some did. Some didn’t. You can’t expect places to take cards unless they are more upscale.

I felt completely safe, day and night. It is so busy and there are always people around and they are exceedingly helpful. No one was rude or leering or threatening in any way. Probably the only risk is tripping or stepping into a hole in the sidewalk.

It was really hot and humid. Staying clean was impossible. That said, despite the heat, it felt good. There are so many trees and often a nice breeze, especially near the river.

Most people didn’t speak English but often there would be someone around who would speak it a bit if you really need to communicate.

In case I haven’t made it clear: I thought Dhaka was awesome and was happy to have more days ahead.

Europe Germany Riga Long Weekend

Munich Layover Part One

Latvia for a long weekend in May

It was the May long weekend, and I had an extra day off. There was no question that I was going somewhere, but where was the question. For the May four-day weekend in April I went to Malta, which meant that, for variety, I should have gone somewhere other than Europe, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about Latvia. I don’t even know what I was thinking except that 1) the only Baltic country I had been to was Estonia (and that was years ago) and 2) they have incredible art nouveau architecture in Riga. The tipping point in favour of going was when I saw that I could spend a long layover in Munich on either end of the trip, and I hadn’t been to Munich. Flying to Riga for a long weekend from Vancouver isn’t exactly a budget fight for a long weekend, but not terrible and being in Riga is a bargain, so I booked the flight.

Layover in Munich

I was excited to have a layover in Munich – two layovers actually. Six hours each. Long enough to see something of the city. I arrived at about 1:00 pm and power walked my way through the airport, through immigration, where the officer told me, looking through my nearly full passport “you travel too much”, and to the S-Bahn station. (As an aside, this was the final trip that I took with that passport, as it was full – 6 years into its 10-year lifespan. I wear that as a badge of honour.)

The S-1 and the S-8 both go to the city centre of Munich and come every 10 minutes or so. The ride takes about 40 minutes. To save time, I had pre-purchased my train ticket online. (This was not really necessary. I could have bought it from a machine easily, but like I said, it was a 6-hour layover. Every minute counts.)

The Marienplaz Station is the one right in the centre of the old town and coming up the escalator from the station into the sunlight, was a delight. Germany! I was immediately surrounded by beautiful old buildings, street musicians, and throngs of people. It was a hot spring day and even if all I had had time for was a coffee in the square, that would have been satisfying. But I had time for a bit more.

I had done a bit of map review before my flight, so I had a rough plan about where I wanted to walk. I didn’t stray too far from the main square, gawking at the Neues Rathaus (the new town hall) and Alte Rathaus (the old town hall) before walking around the food stalls of the Viktualienmarkt, picking up a perfect sandwich to munch on.

I didn’t linger anywhere too long, but enjoyed wandering around the area, having a coffee, buying a cigar at a little shop, enjoying the architecture, and poking my head into shops and churches.

With a 6-hour layover, I comfortably had 3 hours in the city, so was never totally relaxed. My pace was brisk and I checked the time a lot, but I had a good time and made mental notes (also some actual notes) about what I would do when I returned in 3 days’ time.

I took the train back to the airport where, thankfully, there were no extraordinary queues, and was back in time to duck into a lounge at the airport before boarding my flight to Riga. Next stop: Latvia.

Albania Europe Iraqi Kurdistan/Albania trip 2022

Museum Hopping in Tirana, Albania

Back from my long day trip to North Macedonia, I had about a day and a half left in Tirana.

I think that two days in Tirana is ok, but a bit tight if you want to go to museums and galleries, which I did. What this meant was that on my second day in Tirana, I didn’t have time to lose. My alarm went off early. (Yes, I set an alarm on vacation. I don’t travel half way around the world to sleep.)

I left the Tirana Backpackers Hostel and set off. First thing had to be first however, and I went to get the requisite covid PCR from a place that looked more like a cosmetic surgery office or a Kiehl’s store, with a gaggle of young looking, beautiful women in short dresses and white lab coats. I would get the results later. Negative.

I started off at a cafe. Fuelled by espresso I made a bunch of stops. I’m not going to recount all the museums I went to in detail and some of the ones I didn’t go to I missed because they were closed. Tirana has lots; I picked from what was available.

National Museum: interesting to get some insight into Albanian history. In poor repair and scruffy, but worth visiting. Educational and I felt like they needed the money.

Bunk Art 2: There are two Bunk Art museums. One in Tirana’s centre and one not. Bunk Art 2 is the further out one. I look an easy bus ride, which was fun in its own right. Bunk Art 2 is excellent. A great history lesson about the long reign of Enver Hoxha and his brutality and paranoia, the latter of which led him to build underground bunker tunnels all over the country – 173,371 to be precise, built obsessively and to Albania’s financial detriment. (Let that sink in: 173,371 underground bunkers in a country slightly smaller than the US state of Maryland.) Bunk Art 2 is a museum built into one of these huge bunkers, very far underground. It is super interesting and also an experience, given that it is a bit claustrophobic and creates atmosphere with music and sounds throughout its rooms and tunnels, but stops short of being too theatrical. Definitely worth a visit.

Bunk Art 1: Honestly, Bunk Art 1 was a bit anticlimactic after Bunk Art 2. It is more of the same, but smaller. You can’t beat the location though and if you buy a ticket for Bunk Art 2 No.1 is included.

*cold war bunker and a pretty pink building*

The House of Leaves: You think I would have been tired at this point by learning about Hoxha’s dictatorship and his tools of surveillance and torture, but I wasn’t. The House of Leaves is a former centre for surveillance and investigation turned museum. Really creepy and interesting. Lots of information and artifacts about secret bugs and cameras, prison and brutality. There is a list posted of favourite torture methods of the regime. I’m still thinking about that.

To cleanse myself of the historical horrors, I walked in the sunshine over to an outdoor food market area and sniffed my way around various treats.

I went for a long walk to nowhere in particular and went for dinner and a cigar at this small outdoor area of international restaurants and cafes.

I had planned to finish the day at Perla Tattoo & Bar for some live music but it was having some guy’s birthday party that night (as best as I understood). It was just as well. I was exhausted. I went back to the hostel and hung out in the chilly courtyard.

The Next Day

I was flying out the next afternoon, which gave me the morning. I decided to take a leisurely approach. I had breakfast at the at the café at the Opera house building on the square. I had this very tasty Albanian breakfast dish. A kind of a savory porridge made from a grain and topped with white cheese and crunchy bread.

I had a cigar and walked next door to the bookstore, where there is a good selection of English books. I bought a couple of novellas by celebrated Albanian author Ismail Kadare.

I visited Et`hem Bey Mosque (the mosque on the square), which is uncharacteristically painted with scenes of fruit, trees, and scenery.

*buskers (and a dancer!) outside the mosque.*

I then went walking in search of street art murals. Tirana has a lot, but they are scattered around. I found some information online and planned a walking route that would take me to some of them and down some different streets. I stopped for coffee.

It was a pleasant way to spend the first half of the day.

I left Tirana feeling like I had done it justice in the time I had. Had my itinerary played out as I planned, I would have spent another 24 hours there, but due to a change of an Albania Air flight, I was instead flying to Belgrade, Serbia.

Asia Iraq Iraqi Kurdistan/Albania trip 2022

A Tea House and a House of a Different Sort in Erbil

My third full day in Erbil bears no mention. I got a covid test at 7:30 am then returned to my hotel room and worked until 6:30pm. This was not planned but could not be avoided. I was especially thankful for the fact that that I had been upgraded to a big room and that I could smoke cigars in it. I killed a handful of the Romeo y Julietas I had bought at duty free. But that is not interesting. What is interesting is my fourth and final day in Erbil.

I had already seen most of the sights of Erbil, but I had a few more wanders and things planned for my final day.

I started with an early morning walk to the Jalil Khayat Mosque. One thing I had not done was seen inside any of the mosques in Erbil, and there are lots. Not getting a lot of tourists (or maybe because they don’t want tourists poking around) they don’t keep the mosques open outside of prayer time – and then at prayer time I was not allowed in. But I had seen pictures of the inside of the large and beautiful Jalil Khayat Mosque and had read that if you got there early you might be allowed in. So I walked there, which was pleasant. I arrived and the high gate around the mosque was locked. I saw a few men walking around inside of the gate and quite far from me, but was unable to persuade any of them, with my smiles and friendly waves, to let me inside. At least the outside was nice.

I wandered back to the citadel and the square and then into the bazaar to look for the Mam Khalil tea house, which everyone said was a ‘must visit’. Mam Khalil has died in recent years, but the tea house that he opened in the bazaar in 1963 lives on. It took some looking around the labyrinth of stalls and circular aisles, but it was worth the hunt (Even if en route a nice-looking man in a suit tried to use google translate to politely (?) ask me if I was interested in sex. I wasn’t. I was interested in tea.)

Mam Khalil’s teahouse is a charming den of curved roof nooks and tucked-away seats, with nearly every inch of the walls displaying framed pictures of family and friends, and visitors of all levels of notoriety. I had a couple cups of tea and smoked a bit while taking some sly pictures. (Pictures are clearly allowed but I still felt odd about it, as it was full of locals going about their day.)

Fueled by tea, I walked to the market, separate from the bazaar but nearby. This is where people are buying their food. Long rows of colorful fruits and vegetables, nuts, fish, and a display of meats, complete with severed animal heads on display. (My favourite, just because I love the gruesome nature of it.)

It was great for a wander. I was invited to sit with one man, who spoke no English, at his little stall selling bales of cigarette tobacco. He rolled me a cigarette and I felt obliged to accept (I don’t smoke cigarettes and never have. I am strictly cigars and, when in certain countries, shisha), but I didn’t want to be rude.

I finally found the money changers’ part of the market. It is something to see. A large aisle of men with piled of currency – foreign and Iraqi Dinars – trading. The neat thing is that there is zero security and the money is just sitting out in high piles. Sometimes a man will just wander off from his money table and leave it there unguarded. No one seems concerned. Plus a lot of the older notes still have the faces of fallen or ousted dictators. The thing is, they aren’t crazy about photos, which is why I don’t have any to share. It’s just as well. More fun to see it in person. I could post the gps co-ordinates to find it, but I’m not going to do that either. The search is half the fun of it.

I walked to Minara Park, which was not much to see, as it wasn’t quite spring, so it was fairly brown, but there is the Mudhafaria Minaret, built in the 1100s. Not all of it remains, but it is still tall and impressive.

Other parts of the park have some statues and hedge animals, but it just wasn’t the season for it and had a depressing feel. I bet it would be lovely in spring. Another reason to visit the park in better weather though is that there is this cool cable car lift that takes you from Minara Park to another park, passing over part of the city, but it was not running at this time of the year.

I went on a long aimless walk, which I enjoyed, but then it was late afternoon and I was ready for a rest. I took a taxi to La Casa Del Habano in the ‘Christian area’ of Erbil. La Casa Del Habano is the main Cuban cigar chain of stores and lounges selling cigars as authorized by the Cuban government. I was quite excited that there was one in Erbil…except there isn’t. I knew if from as soon as the taxi pulled up out front. It had the sign and the logo, but it was a little off. Poorly made. A slightly wrong shade of burgundy. Inside it was blatant. Selling alcohol and cheap goods. And the cigars were all counterfeit. Bad ones. (How I know this is 25 years of smoking and years working in cigar stores, writing for cigar publications etc.) It was not just the cigars that were knock offs; the whole store was. But I was there, so I took a shot and bought a cigar anyway. Sometimes a fake Cuban is still a decent cigar and sometimes it is banana leaves and floor sweepings. This was somewhere in between.

I sat on a sofa in the store, disappointedly puffing on a fake Partagas No. 2 when I started chatting to a local guy named Ali. We got to talking about various things. He told me about his family: his relationship with Islam, his wife, kids, and mistress. Somehow, he ended up telling me that in this neighbourhood there is a red-light district of sorts. I don’t know how this came up, but I was interested. He told me that in the Christian area there are brothels operating out of massage parlours, which sounded quite familiar. He said he doesn’t frequent the places for illicit purposes (uh huh), but that you can go there for shisha and tea as well. He invited me to join him. I know that sounds like a bad idea, but he seemed harmless and affable and there was no way I was going miss out on visiting an Iraqi brothel.

It was just on the next block, though he pointed out several others. The downstairs looked like a semi-legit massage place, but upstairs there was a bar (not sure if there was alcohol), a decorative swimming pool, and tables. At the tables were men smoking shisha and drinking tea. And there were women sitting and smoking shisha and then wandering around to meet the visitors. When a man met a woman he liked they disappeared for a time into one of the massage rooms, where the price was negotiated. It was all very similar to how these places work at home in Vancouver, including the price. (I won’t explain how I know that.) I talked with some of the women, most of whom spoke some English. On the day that I was there, most of them were from Lebanon, and I met one woman from Thailand. All pleasant and friendly and, thankfully, all of age.

I stayed there for about an hour, smoking shisha, watching the goings on and chatting with Ali and the women who worked there. It was a pleasant environment actually. I don’t know why I was surprised that there are ‘massage parlours’ in Iraqi Kurdistan, but I was and happy to see that, on the surface anyway, it seemed to be a place of legitimate business. (I know that you can never know what is going on behind the scenes, but that is true of workers in a variety of industries, especially for women and women from countries that are developing or in some form of strife.)

I want to be very clear that I am not recommending that people go hang out at a brothel in Erbil as part of their travel itinerary any more than I am recommending that one should visit a counterfeit La Casa Del Habano (I’m not). This is simply an account of what I did on a given day. I am also not making any declarations about whether these women have agency or are exploited or anything else. I have thoughts about it, but I’ll save that for a future blog: “Wandering North’s Feminist Think Pieces.”

I said goodbye to Ali and caught a taxi back to the centre where I had a cup of tea and yet more shisha at Matchko Tea House. I sat streetside and watched the nighttime goings on. A family sat next to me and insisted on sharing their cashews.

It was a great visit. There is certainly more to see in Iraqi Kurdistan, but four days and five nights was a long time for me and it was time to move on. To wander North, as it were, to Albania.

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A Final Day in Dakar

My final day in Dakar, Senegal was a good one. There is something nice about when you have done the things on your list for a city and then can just freely explore with no expectations and see where it takes you. That was my day. (Truthfully, I did spent about half of the next day in Dakar before flying out, but I didn’t do anything noteworthy.)

I went out before breakfast to get a covid test. It was cheap and relatively efficient, but I got to the clinic very early before there was a big queue.

Nose freshly swabbed, I had breakfast at the hotel and hit the market. I browsed around and haggled over some west African wax print fabric with the ‘speed bird’ print on it, which was destined to be cushion covers in my office back home. A lot of fabric prints have meanings in different countries in West Africa. The ‘speed bird’ print means various things in different countries, including ‘money comes and money goes’ or something like ‘when the hunter learns to shoot straight, the bird learns to fly without stopping’. That was fun. So many interesting patterns to browse through.

I also bought a painting. I haven’t been buying much in my travels recently. (My home décor is minimalist, and my office is already bursting with odds and ends from my travels.) But in Dakar they had these paintings that are done on the underside of glass and I thought they were quite unique, so I bought a portrait of a regal-looking, older African woman in orange clothes.

I decided I hadn’t had enough markets apparently, so I left the arts and crafts market and went headlong into the more local market, past the shops and stalls selling clothing, fabric, and household items, past the colorful buses, until the market became more of a labyrinth of tarps and tents, with outdoor cooking, and, well, really just a lot more poverty. I didn’t take pictures of that part of the market, because, while very interesting, I really stuck out and didn’t want to seem like a gawker.

Around the edge of that part of the market was the Dakar Grand Mosque, which is quite attractive and has a 67 m tall minaret. I might have been more taken with it, but it is very much in the style of the mosque I had just visited in Casablanca days earlier, but smaller, so appreciated was diminished a little.

From there I walked to the Musée des Civilisations Noires, which is a very modern museum (opened in 2018) designed to celebrate Africa’s contributions to the world. It is pretty great. There are some detailed displays on the origin of man and African technical and scientific achievements, but the best part was on the upper floors where there was an excellent mix of (primarily west) African traditional masks and works of art with modern art. It was so good. All they are lacking is a café.

After that I walked rather aimlessly, stopping for a bite to eat and a cigar at a rather posh Lebanese restaurant, and then discovered that there was a decently stocked Cuban cigar store just around the corner from my hotel. I was not out of cigars, but still picked up a few. (I can’t visit a cigar store and not get something.)

On my way back to the hotel for what I felt was a well-deserved nap, I say that there was a concert happening that night at the Institut Français. I bought a ticket. It was the Medicine Man Orchestra. The concert took place at a great outdoor stage – a proper stage and seating, but outside, under the stars with bats and birds overhead. The Medicine Man Orchestra was a little difficult to describe. On their website they say: “Medicine Man Orchestra (MMO) is a time adventure, swinging between ages, dimensions, cognitive or cartographic geographies. It is a show that takes you to the limits of multiple realities. Advanced audio-visual technologies provide the gift to carry you away as in West Africa, beside venerable griots, as in the fancy european clubs of avant-garde electronic music.” That is kind of apt, actually. There was electronic music, mixed with more traditional music, particularly percussion. There was dance. There were video projections of computer-created landscapes and designs. It was cool. And well attended.

I had a cigar and a juice at the café there and then headed back to my hotel. It was late – for me anyway. I had plans to go to bed. I was leaving the next day. On my way back though, I walked past a doorway that had excellent jazz pouring out. Live jazz. I paid cover charge of about $2 and went in. An unremarkable room, but with a jazz quartet playing, people, eating, drinking, and smoking. Everyone was a bit dressed up and having a good time. I stayed for a while and had a small cigar and a couple of virgin mojitos.

What else could you want for your last day? It was wonderful, and wrapping it up with a couple of spontaneous concerts was perfect. It was a great end to a great trip that took me to Mauritania and Senegal (two new to me countries) with short stays in Paris and Casablanca. I flew out, already day dreaming about where I would go next.

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Touching Down in Dakar, Senegal

I arrived in Dakar, Senegal in the middle of the night from Casablanca. Not my favourite thing. Arriving at night is so disorienting and robs me of any ability to get a sense of my surroundings. This uneasiness was compounded by the fact that the new international airport for Dakar is about 50 km from the City through complete darkness. During my taxi ride with the two young men who agreed to drive me for a reasonable price I wondered if I was being abducted until my sleepy brain remembered that I have maps.me on my phone and saw that we were indeed on the right path. They were nice guys who played music videos on a screen mounted on the dash and smoked cigarettes.

I got to my hotel sometime around 1am. I was staying at the Hôtel Ganalé; a small hotel in the absolute centre of the city of Dakar (the area called the Dakar-Plateau). As it turned out, I had been upgraded from my regular room to a suite on the roof, complete with my own rooftop patio. It was great, though I didn’t really appreciate it until the light of day.

Senegal was my 70th country, I believe (country counting being an imprecise endeavor). I picked it because it is close to Mauritania and, after my week there, which was amazing, but a bit rough, I thought it would be nice to hang out in relatively urban and modern Dakar. Senegal is in West Africa, bordered by Mali, Mauritania, Guinea, and Guinea-Bissau, with the sliver country of The Gambia entirely within its borders. Senegal is quite frequented by tourists and is known for its music scene, surfing, and, once upon a time, the Paris-Dakar rally. It is a poor country, but in Dakar there is a lot of wealth on display, with the true poverty a bit hidden in certain areas. The official language is French, but most people also (or instead) speak Wolof or one of the other common local languages.

There was no particular sight that I went to see in Dakar, I just picked it more for the vibe and proximity to Mauritania. It proved to be a good choice.

On my first full day, after a filling breakfast at the hotel, I set off walking. I meandered around the streets. The area around my hotel had a lot going on: cafes, shops, mosques, and the Institut Français. I walked a few blocks to the Musée Théodore-Monod d’art Africain IFAN. Dakar has a lot of museums and galleries, but I picked this one for a start as it was manageable in size and had a good selection of West African traditional art and artifacts. It was great and nice to see West African museum pieces on display in West Africa as opposed to in the museums of the once upon a time colonizing countries.

From there I walked the city with less intention, soaking up the lively atmosphere and appealing architecture.

It was hot and humid. I went from a clean and freshly made-up human to a sweaty beast within minutes. Putting on a covid mask whenever I went indoors did not help. But the weather felt good. Healthy.

I walked down to the sprawling market area where arts and crafts, textiles, clothing, and household wares are sold. I didn’t buy anything that day but enjoyed my browsing and dialogues with the vendors.

I spent some time relaxing with a cigar and bissap juice at the Institut Français, which is just an oasis in the city.

The people I met in Dakar were friendly and outgoing. Before I went, most of what I heard from others and read suggested that I would be endlessly hassled while walking around; that I would be bothered by beggars and hounded by touts. It wasn’t quite like that. I don’t recall seeing beggars – or at least none that approached me. I did have men come up to me and speak to me out of curiosity or offering their services as guides, but it wasn’t a hassle. I never felt bothered by it. I certainly never felt unsafe, which was another thing I had been told to expect – that especially at night one should not walk about the city. It seemed fine, with the usual precautions I employ of awareness, confident walking, and sobriety. With all of the restaurants and music venues, what a shame it would be to not go out at night.

That said, my first night, I did spend mostly inside, apart from a dinner out at a Korean restaurant, where my “vegetarian soup” had octopus tentacles lurking in it (particularly disconcerting as I was reading HP Lovecraft at the time).

It was a great first day.

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Casablanca Layover

I love a long layover. Enough time to get out of the airport and see something, walk around, and return to the airport exhausted but satisfied. Casablanca is one of those places, like Amsterdam, Istanbul, or Seoul that is a common long layover place, and where it is easy to do a lot in a short time. I had 18 hours in Casablanca on my flight from Nouakchott, Mauritania to Dakar, Senegal and I was delighted.

The last time I had a Casablanca layover I had only 7 hours; this time I could more and at a less frantic pace. Admittedly, I was a bit nervous about covid and whether it would slow down the airport process, but it didn’t really; they just glanced at my vaccination papers and ignored my negative test results. I hopped on the train and a short ride later I was in central Casablanca at the Casa Port Station. It was about 7am at that point and, because the airport in Casablanca does not have luggage storage, I booked a hotel room at a modestly priced hotel across the street from the train station and used it to stash my bag for the day and have a shower.

It felt great to be in Casablanca. It was a little bit cool, which felt great after the heat of Mauritania. And it felt great to be in a city that felt, well, more like a bustling North African/European city than Nouakchott.

The city was just waking up. I walked past the fruit vendors and sellers of fresh pomegranate juice and found my way to a Parisian style café for an americano and croissant; chairs facing street side and everyone smoking.

I walked over to the fish market and chatted with the men arranging their creatures for sale. I nearly tripped over some giant swordfish, their bellies slit open and their eyes wide and black.

I spent a couple of hours walking around the city and then went into the medina area; the labyrinth of narrow streets that are the oldest part of the city.

I had been to these places before, but I was more leisurely this time and it was delightful. Snacking of fresh fruit, drinking tiny coffees, stopping for some shisha and a conversation.

I came out of the medina near the sea and went to the Hassan II Mosque. Built in 1993, it is one of the largest mosques in the world and sits gleaming white right on the edge of the sea, with waves crashing alongside

It certainly looks like a new mosque, so it doesn’t have the charm or patina of a historic building, but it is quite impressive. Visiting it requires taking a tour, which I found very slow, but it did impart some interesting tidbits – like that the roof is retractable or that it is so big that you could fit the Notre Dame inside.

After that, I walked along the corniche and talked with a man who worked at my hotel and was heading home, and then I just wandered a bit more, poking around in shops and looking at some street art before having diner and heading back to the airport.

Honestly, by that point I was exhausted. After all, I had landed at about 6am and had been on the go ever since and had only slept maybe two hours the previous night. My next flight was also a short one to Dakar, so I didn’t get much sleep the next night either and the whole thing left me arriving in Senegal exhausted. But it was so worth it. Who needs sleep when you can you can spend the day in a new city?

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Return to Nouakchott

From Nouadhibou to Nouakchott

It was the morning after my adventure on the Iron Ore Train. I awoke in my hotel in Nouadhibou with no great urgency. I needed to travel to Nouakchott that day and I didn’t know what time the bus left for the ~8 hour journey, but I just couldn’t be bothered to rush. By the time I showered and got downstairs I confirmed the bus had left. Secretly, I was happy. I didn’t feel like crowding into a hot minibus. I wanted comfort, likely as a direct reaction to the rigours of the train and pre train experience (after all, before the ride on the iron ore train I spent one night sleeping rough and two nights sleeping outside without running water or bathing). Desirous of speed and comfort, I inquired as to whether it would be possible to hire a car and driver and by the time I finished my breakfast, there was a car waiting.

The drive was great. My driver took the time to point out the sights. There weren’t many, but we saw the sea and the border crossing to the quasi country of the Western Sahara and a few small towns. Mostly though it was just sand and camels and I had seen a lot of that the day before, so when sleep got the better of me, I let it.

About half way into the journey, the driver asked if we could make a stop at his friend’s house in a small town by the roadside. Of course.

We exited the highway into a small town of newish but modest houses, sandy streets, and herds of free roaming goats. We entered a house and were greeted by four guys about to have lunch. We sat on the mats on the floor in an otherwise empty room and out came the tea. Tiny sugary tea cups were passed around and cigarettes were smoked as we chatted. Two of them spoke English, which was a treat for me as I could take a break from struggling with my very basic French.

A large platter of rice covered with pieces of meat and a smaller platter of rice with potatoes and carrots appeared. The driver had called ahead and told them I was a vegetarian. They also gave me water and a yogurt drink to take with me. Another example of startling hospitality to add to those I have experienced over the years in unlikely places.

After lunch we returned to the road and, about 7 hours after we left, we were in Nouakchott.

My remaining days in Nouakchott

I stayed somewhere different this time: the Maison de Jaloua. It is a lovely bed and breakfast in a white two level house on a sandy residential street just off a main road.

My room was a huge private room with my own bathroom and, gloriously, a big bathtub. This was a real bonus as I was still finding iron ore residue from the train on my body.

The hotel had a pretty garden seating area for meals and, as it turned out, housed one of the better restaurants in the city.

I had it for four nights.

Usually I write about my travel experiences on a day by day basis, but I don’t think this is necessary for my remaining three days in Nouakchott. They were pleasant, but primarily relaxing, days. I had seen ‘the sights’ of Nouakchott on my first visit. This round I just explored nothing in particular by foot and at a leisurely pace.

Each day I went for a long walk in a different direction, seeing what I could find. I had coffee and cigars at local cafés, lingered in air conditioned markets, revisited the main outdoor market, and sought out local artists.

On the art front, that took a bit of digging. There is a gallery/café Gallerie Zeinart, which looks amazing, but it was closed the days I was there. I did find a smaller place, Art Gallé, which was opened and is run by Amy Sow, a local painter and sculptor. It’s small but very cool, with an exhibition space and a café. I chatted for a long time with a young photographer and met Ms Sow. A pleasant respite from the heat and aimless walking.

I had a covid PCR test, which was required not for my next destination, but to leave the country. The process was simple. At a health centre you arrive before it opens and write your name on a piece of paper found under a rock on the sidewalk outside the gate. When they open they administer the tests in the order of names. It was fast, I got my results in 24 hours, and it was free. This is astonishing as in Canada, where I live, these tests start at $200.

That’s basically what I did in those last days. I was really taken with how peaceful Nouakchott is for a capital city. I can’t say that it is overly interesting or beautiful, but it is calm and pleasant; it feels very safe and the people are great. No hassles. no problems.

I loved my time in Mauritania. I can’t say that I would recommend it for a casual traveller or a first time trip to West Africa, but for off the beaten path travels, untouched desert vistas, hospitality, and once in a lifetime train travel, it ranks highly.

I left Mauritania with a flight to Dakar, via a day in Casablanca.

Tag: markets

Tuk Tuks

Kawran Bazaar

Dhaka University

Back to the Old City

To the River

The Ship Yards

Wrapping up (and a few more photos)

Latvia for a long weekend in May

Layover in Munich

The Next Day

From Nouadhibou to Nouakchott

My remaining days in Nouakchott