Mosque Archives - Wandering North

Balkans Trip 2023 Bosnia and Herzegovina Europe

At the crossroads in Sarajevo

I flew to Sarajevo from Zagreb. Sarajevo wasn’t supposed to be the highlight of my Balkans trip that year, but it ended up being just that.

*Sebilj in Sarajevo (Ottoman wooden fountain)*

Arrival in Sarajevo

Sarajevo is the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina, the country that has been many things. I will not even attempt to describe the history of the geography of this part of the world and the many conflicts that led to it being what it is today, but in a nutshell, when Yugoslavia broke up in 1992, following the collapse of the Soviet Union, it was divided up into a series of states including the Socialist Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina. When that Republic had a referendum to decide whether it should further subdivide, the Bosnian War broke out. A localized conflict between Bosniaks, Serbs, and Croats which became an international armed conflict complete with war crimes and genocide. It was probably inevitable. A perfect storm of conflict that dealt with history, culture, geography, and religion. It is probably still the thing that most people think of when they think of Bosnia and Herzegovina.

I arrived very late at night in Sarajevo and was picked up at the airport by a guy and a gal who run a tour company in the city (Meet Bosnia Tours). My hostel had arranged for them to pick me up because there wasn’t proper transportation at that late hour. I later looked them up and saw that the guy had given Bill Clinton a walking tour of Sarajevo, complete with pictures on the website. I decided that I would do their free walking tour the next morning.

I was staying at the Franz Ferdinand Hostel. It was cheap and centrally located and really felt more like an apartment than a hostel. I had a private room with a small bathroom and a shared kitchen in a hallway where there was a timeline of the events of World War One marked on the floor. My room was near the Battle of the Marne.

Morning walk

The next morning, after a good night’s sleep, and thankfully not dreaming about over half a million dead European soldiers, I went out into the city. Sarajevo is so intriguing. Divided by the Miljacka River, it is also divided between East and West. Sarajevo was the administrative seat of both the Ottoman Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and it displays its divided past proudly. One side of the city feels a bit like Turkey, with mosques and narrow streets cafes selling Turkish coffee and baklava with carpets and shisha. The other side has churches, ornate buildings, cafes selling Viennese style coffee and cakes, and more western European style streets. It quite literally feels like the best of both worlds.

scenes in a divided Sarajevo

The first order of business, of course, was coffee. Bosnia has its own coffee, Bosnian coffee, which is very similar to Turkish coffee (for the reasons just described), but the preparation is a little bit different.

I had a coffee (delicious) and wandered around the square, visited a church, and started to explore the streets. I walked along the river, which is very picturesque with numerous bridges old and new. I crossed to the other side. And meandered around residential streets. Rough looking but well cared for buildings, flowers, a bit of street art. There were some curious statues of circus performers strung across the river. I stopped to browse booksellers setting up along the river before making my way to the appointed spot for my free walking tour.

A tour through history

I haven’t done one of these free walking tours in a long time. I think they are excellent opportunities to learn a little bit about a city and the history and pay only whatever you think is appropriate for a tip, but often the schedules don’t suit me, or I’d rather just explore on my own. But the history of Sarajevo is so complicated, and the current state of things is still contentious, and I really hoped to learn something from the tour, so I joined. I’m glad I did. I got all the information that I could have wanted, including about how there are still tensions in Bosnia and Herzegovina. Some people would prefer the country to fracture further into newer smaller countries, and ethnic and religious differences are still a source of strife. The only downside of the tour was that it was enormous. There were about 30 people, and while I made a point of always being up at the front of the group, it was a bit too large and could have been a little bit faster paced with a smaller group; but it was free, friendly, and informative.

Armed with my new knowledge, I really appreciated the city even more. I notice the bullet holes that cover so many of the buildings. Some have been completely repaired, others simply plastered over so you can so you can still see where they landed, and some have been left as reminders of the not-so-distant past. There are places, like in front of the cathedral, where bullet holes and mortar shell damage is marked by red paint as a reminder of those who died on that spot. It is one of those places where the war is so recent that when you walk around you realize that everyone that nearly everyone you see either lived through or fought in the war or has parents who did. So the scars, like the bullet holes, were still fresh.

*bullet holes and markers of death at the base of the Sacred Heart Cathedral*

There are, as I understand it, several very good museums in the city about the war and the genocide and those experiences. Unfortunately, because I was only there for a short time, just two days (and one spent visiting Mostar) made the choice to skip the museums. If I were going back, they would be top of my list.

In terms of historical sites, I think my favourite spot was seeing the place where Gavrilo Princip stood when he assassinated Archduke French Ferdinand on 28 June 1914. In case you don’t already know, I like history. I even have a degree in it (which doesn’t mean that I know a lot it just means that at one point I studied it a bit) and the First World War is my favourite war. I know it’s weird to have a favourite war, but for a variety of reasons that I’m not going to go into in this post, I’m fascinated by World War One. To see the spot where 19-year-old Gavrilo Princip the Archduke Franz Ferdinand (and his wife), was amazing. This is the act that set into motion the First World War the end of the empires of Europe, and really the start of the modern 20th century. As a cynical friend said to me “if it hadn’t that act, it would be something else that started the war.” That’s true, but it wasn’t something else; it was this, and the spot itself is fascinating.

There’s a small marker which is very politically neutral. This might seem surprising given that it is a marker of an assassin and murderer, but as the tour guide explained to us Gavrilo Princip’s legacy in the country is divided. Some people view him as a hero and others as a terrorist or anarchist. So the marker does not refer to the moral quality of his act, it simply notes that this is where it happened.

*the assassination happened at the foot of this bridge (the Latin Bridge), at the corner of the pink building*

More walking and sights

I spent most of my time in Sarajevo doing what I always do walking around taking insights looking at interesting buildings and historical spots, drinking coffee and smoking when I can. The coffee in Sarajevo was great the food, for vegetarian it wasn’t so great, and at this point I was entirely sick of burek, the ubiquitous Balkan greasy cheese pies.

I had a cigar and coffee and the excellent Cafe Divan, hidden away in a pretty courtyard, thick with smoke.

I visited the Gazi Husrev-beg Mosque, and wandered the streets.

Abandoned bobsled hike

One thing I was excited to do in Sarajevo was to explore the bobsled track on Trebević Mountain. In 1984 Sarajevo hosted the Olympics, and as part of that, they built a bobsled track on the mountain. Due to years of neglect, and probably the war, the bobsled track has fallen into ruin. Just across the river you can walk and follow the signs to the cable car and for a small fee it will whisk you up the mountain. (The cable car, originally built in the 1950s, was completely destroyed during the war, but was rebuilt in 2017-2018.) The ride is 9 minutes long, whisking you 500 meters up, and when you finish you are 1164 meters high on Mount Trebević, with excellent views of the city.

*near the stairs leading to the gondola*

From the gondola, you can go hiking on the mountain or follow the signs to the bobsled track, which is what I did. Almost immediately I ran into another girl (Canadian and traveling solo), and we decided to walk along and then hike back up the track together. I was thankful for the company.

The bobsled track is excellent, particularly if you love abandoned places and graffiti, which I do. It winds through the mountain and is completely covered in graffiti. In places it is intact, in other places it is broken. Effectively, you walk to the bottom of it and you have to hike back up to the top which seems a bit punishing in the heat, but it’s not too long and it is certainly a good exercise. Apart from a couple other people we passed, we were entirely alone on the track, which gave it a bit of a delightfully eerie feel.

Zlatna Ribica

Following way descent from the mountain, and parting ways with my short-term companion, I made my way to one of the best bars I’ve ever been to. Zlatna Ribica. (Goldfish.) In the centre of Sarajevo but, it’s not something that you would likely stumble across if you were just walking around as it is a bit tucked away. It is a delightful tiny bar, warm with browns and golds cluttered with objects and antiques. It feels like the sort of place that you might go to have your fortune told by a mysterious old woman. There was soft jazz music playing and a cool goth girl serving drinks when she wasn’t knitting and smoking cigarettes. I asked for the menu, and she brought me a deck of cards. Each card had written on it in sharpie a drink. There were two people in there smoking cigarettes which was amazing to me, because, while smoking on patios in Sarajevo was certainly allowed, I hadn’t seen anyone smoking inside. I asked the girl if it would be possible for me to smoke a cigar inside and she simply shrugged and said in deadpan heavily accented English “Why would it not be ok?” And that’s when it became my favourite bar. I had previously wondered where to smoke cigars in Sarajevo? I had found my spot. I sat in there and smoked a cigar and had a drink and listened to the music and was the happiest I had been all day. And it was a good day to start with.

Wrapping up Sarajevo

I had three nights and two days in Sarajevo, which probably would have been enough time to really do it justice, except that on my second day I wanted to visit Mostar, and did, so everything that I’m describing in this post is what I did on day one. The following morning, I went almost immediately to Mostar, and I got back in the afternoon and spent my final evening in Sarajevo wandering the streets, eating local food (I found some vegetarian dumpling dish), smoking shisha, and trying to cure a recently onset cold with local apricot and honey brandies. This was before taking a bus to Montenegro.

I just loved Sarajevo. Just a wonderful combination of cultures in a historically fascinating place. I could definitely go back.

Asia Asian capital trip 2023 Brunei Darussalam

Brunei Darussalam

I flew from Manila to Bandar Seri Begawan, Brunei. It was one of those places I knew little about but decided to go to because I was in the area, so to speak. I would be there for about 36 hours, which was just right, I think, for a visit to the capital. Since Brunei is a bit lesser known, here are some fast facts…

Fast Facts

Brunei Darussalam (Or just ‘Brunei’, if you’re cool) is a teeny tiny country on the island of Borneo (surrounded by Malaysia) in South East Asia. It is a bit bigger than Luxembourg, but smaller than Rwanda. Most of it is rain forest. About 500,000 people live there. It was controlled by the British until 1984 when it gained true independence. It is a Muslim country. The capital is Bandar Seri Begawan, which is where I was visiting.

I feel like the things that Brunei is most famous for its (1) being wealthy [oil]; and (2) the Sultan. The Sultan of Brunei, Sultan Haji Hassanal Bolkiah Mu’izzaddin Waddaulah ibni Al-Marhum Sultan Haji Omar ‘Ali Saifuddien Sa’adul Khairi Waddien (or Hassanal Bolkiah ibni Omar Ali Saifuddien III for short), is currently the longest serving monarch in the world. He has been on the throne since October 1967. (When he assumed leadership, Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was a brand new album.) The first time I heard of him was in the 1990s when a lawsuit was filed in the US alleging that he invited beauty pageant winners to Brunei and then kept them as sex slaves. (The lawsuit was dismissed because he’s the Sultan.) Here’s what seems to be verifiable about him: He loves excess and pomp and circumstance (a visit to the museum is a must do – the palanquin alone is worth a glimpse because of its scale). In the 2010s he adopted Sharia law into the penal code. Although he ultimately rolled back things like death by stoning and amputation, it’s still pretty strict. It’s illegal not to attend Friday prayers if you are Muslim and alcohol is banned.

Back to the travel report…

I arrived in Brunei at about midnight. The border crossing was easy and I went to take a taxi to my hotel. The thing that proved problematic was paying for the taxi. There was no public transportation at this time of night so the taxi was my only option. The issue was, I didn’t have any local currency (Brunei Dollars) and all of the currency exchange facilities at the airport were closed. I tried the two ATMs at the airport and neither of them worked with either of my two cards. Fortunately, I had a stash of US dollars on me and so I approached two of the taxi drivers that were hanging around out front of the airport (the only two taxi drivers that I found) and I negotiated a ride to my hotel. It was a little bit frustrating because I didn’t have small enough bills and so I ultimately ended up overpaying I think for the taxi ride. So my advice is when arriving at the Brunei airport late at night, make sure you have cash in small denominations (and in perfect condition – the taxi drivers would not even accept bills with creases).

I arrived at my hotel the Qing Yun Resthouse Bandar, which is perfectly located right across from the waterfront in a very central location and it’s also extremely affordable. It was brand new and spotlessly clean however my room didn’t have any windows, which was less than ideal. Whatever, I would only be there one day.

*windowless room at Qing Yun Resthouse Bandar*

The man working at the hotel (the only person I saw at the hotel) also didn’t speak English. Brunei is one of these places where English is not widely spoken and I had (admittedly) made little to no effort to learn any Malay, so communication sometimes was a challenge, but again I relied on my excellent charades and awkward smiling.

The Terrestrial Sights

My initial impression of the capital was that it was not that impressive. It just looked sort of ordinary. That initial impression was softened as I saw ‘the sights’ and explored a bit more.

On my way in from the airport I had passed a couple of incredible looking mosques by the side of the highway I never did make it back to them. I tried to snap a couple of pictures from the taxi window and failed miserably but even in the blurry captures you can still get a sense of the grandeur of them.

My first stop was the big Omar Ali Saifuddien Mosque. The Omar Ali Saifuddien Mosque is definitely the most recognizable site from Brunei, and rightly so. It’s spectacular. It looks like something out of a fairy tale; huge, white, golden gleaming, and sitting in the middle of a pond; every angle of it is astonishing. It’s not astonishingly old, however; It was built in the 1950s.

I walked around it and attempted to snap a couple of selfies and then eventually went inside for a look at the interior which was lovely. The men outside who were working on the grounds were very friendly everyone wanted to know where I was from and to chat as best we could.

The thing that was a little bit disappointing about Brunei was that when I arrived it was cloudy and raining, which I figured would spoil my photos. How wrong I was! My favourite photo of the big mosque ended up being the one with the stormiest looking skies. The clouds lifted and the sun came out later and I went back to take more photos, but I didn’t think those had the same atmosphere.

I went to the Royal Regalia Museum. There is more than one museum, but I only went to the one. It’s worth going to learn about the history of Brunei and the Sultan and look at the artifacts and riches of the Sultan and his family.

The Aquatic Sights

Beyond that, and without leaving the general downtown area of the capital, there isn’t much else to do in Brunei itself – on land. There are however some excellent excursions that can be made on the water. From the waterfront there are boats floating around and as I walked along the waterfront several of them would slow down and call out to me to see if I wanted a ride. One man who spoke a little English engaged in conversation with me and I told him I was interested in seeing the floating village and the mangrove forests and he agreed to take me out. I forget the exact price, but it was quite cheap.

We went out for about an hour or so, first through the water village of Kampong Ayer. It’s a small village located on the water (houses on stilts and floating structures) just off the shore from the capital of Brunei. About 10,000 people live here. Apparently, it has been a village for centuries, although at this point the houses all look quite new.

We sailed around the village looking at the different houses. We didn’t stop anywhere to visit anyone, although I understand that is possible.

From there we went into the mangrove forests past thick walls of green trees. Going this way was quite interesting, and it gave us a view of the Sultan’s palace rising above the treetops, shining white.

One of the great things about going into the mangrove forests in Brunei is that if you’re very lucky you’ll see the proboscis monkeys, otherwise known as the ‘big nosed monkeys’. It was pretty extraordinary: we didn’t have to go very far before we saw them up in the trees; maybe about four or five of them. They were sitting and hanging out and sort of jumping from tree branch to tree branch, and I could definitely see their noses which were in fact, well, kind of like penises or potatoes, and very large. I tried to get some photos but they were all useless. This is the best one:

The only other wildlife that we saw on this trip was an alligator who had drowned and was floating belly up in the river and was quite bloated. I’m not going to post that picture because it’s very gross.

The under-looked thing about taking a boat out in Brunei is that if your boat captain is cool (and mine was), you can smoke on the boat. In addition to alcohol being banned in Brunei, smoking is pretty much banned. It’s not illegal to smoke, but the smoking restrictions are so severe that I couldn’t find a place enjoy a cigar. You can’t smoke inside or on sidewalks or on patios or balconies or in parks or on paths… And I was told that you will be found and you will be fined. As far as I understand it, the best place is to get a smoking hotel room, and those do exist; but I didn’t have one of those, so I was delighted to get to smoke on the boat, even if it was just cigarillos and not a full cigar.

Back on Land

After my boat adventure, I had lunch at a little cafe near my hotel which was quite nice, and I chatted with the owner as I was the only person there. We talked for about an hour, and he gave me his feelings about living in Brunei, which seemed to be lukewarm at best.

I spent the next couple of hours just walking around the city.

I visited a picturesque Chinese temple: Teng Yun temple.

It was at this point that I felt like I had really done everything I wanted to do in Bandar Seri Begawan, and I was satisfied that my flight was leaving that night. I had dinner at a local restaurant, Curry and rice that I think cost me about $2.00. It was delicious.

And that was my trip to Brunei. A lot of people had said that it wasn’t worth going to, but I don’t agree. I think every place is interesting and every place is worth visiting – some places for a short time and some for a longer time. I feel like I did Brunei justice. I wouldn’t go back, but I’m glad that I went.

I slept for a short time in my hotel room waking up at an ungodly hour to catch a flight to my next destination: Kuala Lumpur.

Asia Asian capital trip 2023 Philippines

Manila: Markets to Mausoleums

My second day in Manila was better than the first. I had already explored Malate, Intramuros and the areas in between. On day two, I went to Chinatown and the Chinese Cemetery.

Chinatown (aka Binodo) lies just across the Pasig River and to the right from Intramuros if you are looking at a map. There were numerous ways to get there, but I took the LRT, which was very easy and super cheap (about 30c CDN). The only downside was that they required (at the time) that you wear a face mask, which surprised me in 2023, but I fashioned one out of my scarf and that seemed to be good enough. The train ride was nice because it was high above the ground and gave glimpses over the city and into more modest looking neighbourhoods.

From the train (LRT) stop at Carriedo Station, I was just around a corner from a large, oldish church (nicer on the outside than inside), and an excellent market area. It was just what I wanted. Very busy streets with vendors selling produce (including more excellent fruit), household items, and hot dishes of the mostly meaty variety.

I filled my bag with mangosteens and settled in at a stall where one of the women spoke English and hooked me up with a plate of something tasty that seemed to be vegetarian.

It was a really good area. I saw women selling special “wishing candles” – like prayer candles, but different colors, each for a different type of blessing. That was different. I don’t believe in that sort of thing (and I didn’t need any candles) so I didn’t make a purchase. I thought ‘oh what a quaint belief to think that you can wish for things through candles’…and then my briefly judgmental mind realized that this is precisely the purpose of blowing out birthday candles.

From there I walked around Chinatown a lot. I didn’t have a particular objective; I just walked the streets. It was very hot, and I used that as an excuse to duck into a few cafes. There were lots of picturesque streets and churches to keep me occupied.

As well, there is a mosque (Masjid Al-Dahab or the ‘Golden Mosque’) that women and non-Muslims can enter (prettier on the outside than the inside).

After Chinatown, with a stomach full of mangosteens and red bean buns, I hopped on the train again. This time I was going to the Chinese Cemetery (from Abad Santos LRT station it is an easy walk to the South Gate Entrance). I had earmarked that as something I might visit if I had the time, and I did, so I went. I am glad I did.

The Chinese Cemetery is the second oldest cemetery in Manila, and it is huge (over 50 hectares). The reason to go is not necessarily because there are famous people buried there (there are some, but none who were known to me); rather, the purpose of the visit is to take in the spectacle of the grave sites or shrines. Themselves. It looks like a city, with streets lines with what look like proper houses (big ones), but they aren’t houses. They are the burial places for families or individuals. Some of them you can look into and there are chandeliers, photos on the wall, and marble floors. They looked like posh foyers. But they’re graves.

One had sad American country music playing. Another had dogs inside. Presumable (hopefully) someone was there visiting.

Mostly the place was empty and quiet. A bit eerie, but in a nice atmospheric way.

You can actually rent bicycles and ride around, which would have been nice, and there are guides who will find you and offer you guided tours of the grounds if you would rather learn instead of just gawk. I think it is worth a visit. Even if you don’t like graveyards, it is a nice place for a quiet stroll.

This took up much of the day. I took the train back to Malate and went to the Sheraton Hotel because I read that they have a rooftop bar and I thought it might be a place for a cigar. Well, they do have a rooftop bar, but it was closed. What I did find was a rooftop smoking area for hotel guests. I wasn’t a guest, but no one was around, so I went outside and found the most delightful rooftop oasis area. A little waterfall and tropical trees and plants, tables and chairs (and ashtrays) with a view over Manila. Very civilized. I sat down and enjoyed a cigar. (Ok, and took a selfie or two.)

*Don’t i look like I should be staying at the Sheraton?*

At one point a man joined me and chatted with me (assuming I was likewise staying at this fancy hotel and not sharing bathrooms and my hostel down the street). He invited me out later, but I declined as I was flying out that night (which I was), but I assured him I had had a wonderful stay at the hotel (which, in a sense I did).

I spent the next couple hours at my hotel, packing and enjoying a final meal on the roof top patio of my true accommodations before taking a taxi to the airport. Onward to Brunei.

I am glad I went to Manila, and I am happy with the two full days I had. I could have filled a third day, but I felt ready to go. I do think I might return to see something of the natural beauty of the Philippines, but not any time soon. There is still more I want to see elsewhere.

Europe Sudan-South Sudan trip 2022 Turkey

24 hours in Istanbul

I was flying home from Juba, South Sudan, capping off my Sudan/South Sudan trip. It had been glorious. It had been exotic. It had been hot. So, on my way home, I was delighted to have a 24 hour layover in one of my favourite cities: Istanbul. Istanbul is great for a proper visit, but after that, layovers, from short to long, are excellent. Pop into the city, even for a few hours, smoke some shisha, get lost in the Bazaar, ride the ferry from Europe to Asia and back again…there are so many excellent options. I was glad to be back.

The thing that was different this time was that there was a new airport and the metro line connecting it to the city was not complete (update: the train is now running), so I had to take a taxi. It took longer than the train would have, but it was a nice drive with views I had never seen. Best of all, the driver and I smoked in the cab on the ride. How civilized. How wonderfully old fashioned.

I arrived in Istanbul just before sunset, to beautifully overcast and golden skies and flocks of seagulls cresting on the wind. The air felt blissful. I loved the heat of Sudan, but the cool, moist air of a November evening in Istanbul was welcome.

I ditched my backpack at a cheap, central, and unremarkable hotel and went out into the evening. I walked over to the square between the Blue Mosque and the Aya Sophia and took in the views. I didn’t go into the Blue Mosque this time but did go to the Aya Sophia. There was no queue and since I had last visited it has been changed from a paid entrance ‘museum’ to a free entrance mosque. Regardless of what they are calling it, it is one of the most beautiful interiors I have ever seen.

I walked around some more and had a feast of Turkish appetizers for dinner, along with some shisha, tucked in under a blanket on a patio.

In the morning, I had breakfast at the historic “Pudding Shop”. I had seen it many times but never gone in. At whatever ungodly hour it was that I was out on the hunt for coffee, it was the only place open. It has a fascinating history. Its nickname is the Pudding Shop, but is actually called the Lale Restaurant and was opened by two brothers in 1957. In the 60s it became popular for travelers, and was the meeting point for hippies and vagabonds on their routes east into Asia. It had a bulletin board for people looking for rides and it had a bohemian vibe apparently, with books and bands. It doesn’t have that vibe now, but is still comfortable, with good food and a Turkish diner vibe. Lots of news articles and photos to look at. It’s more of cultural/historical interest these days, but I would go back.

With a stomach full of coffee and lentil soup, I walked over to the Grand Bazaar for a wander, which is always a delight. I had a couple of Turkish coffees and looked around. After that I continued to wander, but was mindful of the time and traffic.

I got a taxi back to the airport with enough time to enjoy the lounge.

And so ended my trip to the Sudans and my 2022 travel year. It was a good one.

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.

Albania Europe Iraqi Kurdistan/Albania trip 2022

Albanian Arrival

I arrived in Tirana, Albania on a flight via Istanbul from Erbil, Iraq (Kurdistan). It was still covid times, but the requirements were decreasing, all I needed was a PCR test to leave Iraq. Albania was, apart from a curfew of sorts, was restriction free. And I was glad for it.

Alania only really came on my radar as a travel destination in 2020 when it was one of the few countries to have almost no covid restrictions. I read about it and it looked interesting, so I picked it as my next destination after Iraq. But I didn’t really know much about Albania, I realized as the trip drew nearer. The bits of reading I had done to plan the trip and some snippets of history, but otherwise, my references to Albania were pretty much limited to the depictions of Albanians in the first two “Taken” movies (sorry, Albania) and that it was the country against which the US waged its fake war in the movie “Wag the Dog.”

The individual countries of the Balkans are still relatively new and, in my lifetime, went from the USSR to Yugoslavia to what they are now, which is still evolving. Look at Kosovo. Admittedly I haven’t kept up with the countries and cultures of the region. I was in Bulgaria in 2019, but that was pretty much it.

All this lack of knowledge made my visit to Albania all the better as I was so curious about the museums and the history, as opposed to being blasé about it because I feel like I’ve heard it all before. I was eager to cram a lot of knowledge and history into my brain in my time in Tirana. But first, I needed to get into town.

My flight landed in the afternoon. I changed some Euos into Albania Lek and walked out of the airport. I was confronted by a row of waiting taxi drivers. All 50+ in age. Each wearing a leather jacket. They had faces that said “I am unhappy to see you.” and “I’d rather be drinking.” They smoked cigarettes with hands that looked like they had been used to hammer in nails. They weren’t rude at all; just tough, and matter-of-fact. A local guy later reminded me that all men of a certain age have all fought in war and are ‘hard’.

I stayed in a private room at the Tirana Backpackers Hostel. I recommend it. The location is perfect; maybe a two minute walk from the main square and surrounded by cafes and bakeries, restaurants, and amenities. The hostel itself has a very welcoming hippy vibe and is strictly vegetarian (i.e. no meat allowed and group veggie meals prepared each evening). I was walked around and introduced to visitors from all over the world, each of whom seemed genuinely happy to see me. It felt a bit like an orientation to a friendly cult, but I was in.

The hostel is in a cozy old house with a ramshackle backyard, welcoming living rooms, and a sweet dog. My room was chilly, but my bed came with at least 100 heavy blankets and I felt snuggly and ready for sleep when the time came.

On that first day I walked around the main sights and got my bearings. My original plans had me spending 3.5 days in Tirana, but due to a flight cancelation that became 2.5 days and one of the days I would spend in North Macedonia, so I really had only 1.5 days in Tirana. It proved to be fine, but I was busy seeing stuff.

Tirana makes a decent first impression. It is not super beautiful but feels interesting and alive. And it feels like it is evolving – rapidly. Objectively ugly, yet appealing to me communist era apartment buildings were mingled with new, modern architecture. Actually, Tirana’s skyline was dominated by cranes when I was there. New high-rises going up everywhere. Discussions with residents confirmed my question, which was ‘who can afford to live in these places?’ Answers were not forthcoming.

I strolled around the main square (Skanderburg Square), taking in the varied architecture. On the square, most notably is the Opera House, which also has a good bookstore and restaurant, the National Historical Museum, and an unusual mosque. The museum has an excellent mosaic on the front, but it was under repair when I was there, so I had to make do with a picture of it. Presiding over the square is a huge statue of Gjergj Kastrioti (aka Skanderburg), the military hero from the 1400s who led a rebellion against the Ottomans and who is legendary for his battle prowess.

I walked past a massive, nearly complete mosque under construction and looped along the river to find the Pyramid of Tirana. The Pyramid is (was) one of Tirana’s most famous sights. It was built in 1988 as a museum to honour the recently deceased Communist leader/dictator Enver Hoxha. After the fall of communism, it became a conference centre and later was used by NATO in the war in 1999. It fell into disuse for many years but sat empty and covered with graffiti. Sort of a broken monument to former times and photo op for backpackers. When I was there, however, the Pyramid was being gutted and incorporated into a new commercial building. Preserving a bit of the dark past and merging it into the future. It was surrounded by high construction walls, but a security guard let me in to walk around, telling me I was beautiful. Some women get jewelry or dinners – I get invitations to off-limits construction sites.

I had a coffee and some nibbles at the Kometiti café, which is delightfully filled by antiques and has a great atmosphere and then walked past the House of Leaves (more on that later) and visited a large, new church.

It was getting to the time when the museums and whatnot were closed but I was happy to just get a sense of the city on foot. I talked with one young man in the square about the city and the construction and where I should wander.

I ended the day at the Radio Bar, which was recommended. Honestly, I didn’t love it, but my time there was improved by the fact that I could smoke my cigar inside (a non-Cuban cigar, I forget the name, that I had purchased in Erbil days earlier) and that I spent my time talking to a young duo of friends from Albania – she a law student in Germany and he a medical student in Tirana. They were good company gave me lots of insight into the impressions of young people in Albania (which, according to them, and in a nutshell, is that most want to move to other parts of Europe) and cynicism about government.

It was a good first day. I didn’t visit much inside, but that would change on day 3, when I would hit as many museums as I could. I didn’t stay out late, as technically the bars and restaurants were still under an early closure curfew due to covid. (The only restriction that Tirana seems to have.) Plus, I had to get up early for a long day trip to North Macedonia.

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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.

Africa Mauritania Senegal Trip 2021 Morocco

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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Chinguetti, Mauritania

I had arranged for a driver to take me to Chinguetti from Atar for the day. There is a mini bus that goes each morning, but nothing is guaranteed to return to Atar later in the day, so a driver seemed prudent. I mean, worst case scenario, you get stuck in Chingeutti overnight, which would be ok, but I had plans to hop a train and I wasn’t going to risk missing that.

We left after I had breakfast at my accommodations (Nescafé and a baguette – I was like 4 days into the trip at this point and already sick of baguettes). My driver seemed pleasant, but he didn’t speak English or French (and I could not speak his language), so who knows. Despite knowing we could not communicate, he would, from time to time, try to talk with me, which inevitably just ended in an awkward moment of smiling and silence.

The drive to Chinguetti was about two hours into the desert; we went over some small, vegetation-free mountains, and then we were very much in the Sahara. The sands formed dunes and blew across the road, sometimes covering it completely. Camels wandered by.

*Views from the road. The bottom one was the road for a time.*

Four times each way we were stopped by the police and I provided my fiche (passport photocopy and other information). Unlike on the drive to Atar, no bribes were required.

We reached Chinguetti, which is a proper and cute small town, but the reason for visiting it is the historic part.

Chinguetti dates back to about the 1200s, founded as a trading stop on routes across the Sahara, and is the holiest place in Mauritania and, overall, an important holy place for Islam generally, as it was used by people who were unable to complete the journey to Mecca. There is a mosque from the 13th or 14th century that is pictured everywhere, including on the currency.

(Oh, just a digression about Mauritanian money: the currency is called Ouguiya and is abbreviated as UM or MRU [though prior to 2018 it was MRO]. Fine. But what makes it very confusing is that in 2018 they changed the value of the money so what was previously 1000 UM is now 100 UM. The problem is, about half of the time that you ask for the price of something, you are given the old money price. After a few days it becomes apparent when someone is speaking in terms of old money or new money, but initially, when you aren’t sure what anything costs, it is a problem. Like, I took a taxi and it was 500. That’s like $16 CDN. That didn’t seem right, but also the alternative of it being 50 UM (or about $1.70 CDN) didn’t seem right either. It was the cheaper one. When in doubt, just had over the lesser amount.)

The old part of Chinguetti is a pretty labyrinth of one story stone buildings and winding pathways, all filled with sand. There are no paved or even dirt roads. Just sand. In fact, one of the reasons for which Chinguetti has been in the media in recent years is that, apparently it risks being lost to the encroaching sands of the Sahara, as the result of climate change (natural or man made).

Not only would the historical sites be lost, but also of concern are the five (or so) libraries that are in Chinguetti, each of which houses (in one of these ancient mud or stone brick structures) fragile old texts, often religious. Each of these bibliotheques has a keeper to watch over them and also show them to tourists, if there are any around. I was lucky to be able visit one the day I was there. In pre-pandemic times, I probably could have visited more.

*Library photos. One shows me holding the key to the library door.*

Fortunately, there was a young guy around who could translate between me and the librarian, which was good for learning about what I was looking at, but also because the librarian liked to make jokes, which I would have otherwise missed out on.

I went for a bit of a walk around the town, taking pictures of the endlessly appealing simple buildings resisting the sandy drifts. Around Chinguetti was just…nothing, just expanses of empty desert.

Before heading back to Atar, we stopped at a pretty little guest house operated by a French woman and Mauritanian man. The woman brought us coffee and water, gave me wifi access, and sat and talked with me about Chinguetti and Mauritania, where she had lived for almost 20 years. She refused to accept any money.

If you have more time or are keen, you can go farther into the desert from Chinguetti to a beautiful oasis or take long camel treks. I did neither of these things, however, and headed back to Atar.

I had dinner in the town, where I was already known on the streets as Dale from Canada. Word travels fast. Apparently it had been a week or two since they had seen another traveller. At one point I went into a shop looking for batteries and they had none, but ten minutes later, a guy (not the guy from the shop) ran up to me in the street with the batteries I needed. Anonymity was impossible, but everyone I countered was really nice and I didn’t feel like I was being scammed or hassled.

Dinner was what would prove to be a typical vegetarian meal in Mauritania: salad of lettuce and tomato, baguette, and French fries. If you eat meat, that meal would come with a fried whole fish or piece of grilled chicken. Camel and goat meat may also be options. That night I bought a cucumber, oranges, and bananas from the market, just for a little variety.

Back at Inimi, the electricity had been restored, though the water was hit and miss. This marked two days I went without bathing. I slept well inside my cabin this time, as the AC was working. I was excited for the next day, which would be the whole reason I came to Mauritania in the first place: my journey on the Iron Ore Train.

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Nouakchott, Mauritania

I picked Mauritania for my travels first because of the opportunity to ride atop a train through the Sahara, and second because it is so seldom visited. That always makes me curious about a place. Also, I knew little about it, and what better way to learn about a place than to go there.

A bit about Mauritania

It is a huge country in West Africa, largely covered by the Sahara and is both one of the least populated (~4.6 million people in an area roughly twice the size of Spain) and least visited countries in the world. It is poor, filled with many historically nomadic groups and its capital, Nouakchott, is quite new, only having been founded in the 1960s.

There isn’t much here in terms of tourist sights. It’s primary draws are the desert and the lure of the remote and mysterious. That and the Iron Ore Train (more about that later).

It is a Muslim country. The main language is Arabic (though a specific local version) followed by local languages, like Wolof, then French. English is not common. I can speak enough to French to get by in common situations, though understanding people is often difficult. The few pleasantries in Arabic that I have in my repertoire go a long way.

Mauritania is also a bit troubled, as any visit to Wikipedia will tell you. Aside from the poverty and encroaching militant Islamist groups, primarily around the borders with Algeria and Mali, there have been some acts of violence, including one (very bad one) of which I am aware against a group of tourists in 2007.

Mauritania is (unfortunately) notable for being the last country in the world to outlaw slavery (in 1981) and they only criminalized it in 2007. Despite that, it is a country where slavery still flourishes. Estimates say 10-20% of people live as slaves. There is something of a caste system between people of different ethnic groups. I haven’t quite got a grasp on that. And there are some troubling stories of the treatment of women, including force feeding young women (or girls) to fatten them up to make them more desirable for marriage.

Of course I have not seen these bad things in my travels, unsurprisingly. I am glad for that, but I think it is important to acknowledge that they are there. In my experience so far, everyone has been kind, hospitable, and helpful. I recognize that I will never see the whole picture of a country in a short visit.

Arrival

I arrived in Nouakchott, Mauritania after almost two days of travel, including my long layover in Paris. It was late and I wanted only to get to my hostel and settle in. Mauritania has a visa on arrival process, which is great, though it means often hours at the airport standing in queues. Covid has not approved this situation. Leaving the airplane, I power walked to immigration, grabbed the paperwork and filled it out while standing in line. I was person number two. A small victory. I was soon though the process and had in my passport a new visa with the least flattering picture of myself I have seen on a government document.

I was picked up at the airport by Sebastian, the proprietor of my accommodations, who also picked up a friend of his; a woman from France who had lived in Mauritania for many years, and her dog.

We arrived at the Auberge Triskell at close to midnight and I spent the next hour or so relaxing and chatting with my hosts in the lovely garden.

The Auberge Triskell is super. It has private rooms in the former grand home of a Mauritanian pop singer and on the roof it has tents and bungalows. It was very comfortable and in a great location. Sebastian speaks English and was helpful in assisting with onward travel. And it is very inexpensive.

Also staying at the Auberge was an Italian man in town on business, a Greek fellow travelling solo, and a Math teacher from Paris also travelling solo on a break from school.

The First Day in Nouakchott

My first day in Nouakchott was busy. I saw pretty much everything the city has to offer. I spent it with the Parisian Math teacher. As it turned out, he had the same basic plan I did for sight seeing and he was keen to walk, so we ventured out together.

We started in the centre ville and went to the National Museum of Mauritania. It is a modest museum with artifacts and ethnographic displays. Worth a visit (especially for the modest entrance fee of about $1.50 CDN). We were the only visitors at the time.

From there we walked to the Grand Mosque. We were not permitted to enter, but it was indeed grand from the outside.

Nouakchott is good for walking. Surprising to me it was rather calm; not a chaotic, crowded city like others in West Africa. The traffic is not bad, crossing the street is easy and there are often sidewalks. Sidewalks are one of those things that one thoroughly takes for granted until they are gone. You can’t really go for a leisurely walk when you are dodging traffic at every step.

The streets are navigated by cars mostly, with a few yellow tuk tuks, donkey carts, and, occasionally, motorcycles.

We wandered over to the Moroccan Mosque, which is very pretty. We were not only allowed to enter but were given a personal tour by some guy who seemed to be in charge. He really seemed more interested in promoting Morocco than Mauritania, but it was a good conversation.

Our religious visits done, we headed to the market; a sprawling outdoor grid of covered stalls, mobile fruit carts, butchers preparing goat and camel meat, date salesmen, textile vendors and tailors, and women selling peanuts and freshly fried balls of dough, often with meaty centres (I didn’t have the meaty ones but the plain ones were delicious). I love markets so this was a treat.

People for the most part here do not want their picture taken. Art one point a man was unhappy when i took a photo of his donkey. So I kept my market photos few and broad. Sometimes though people were keen for it, like this one vegetable vendor who requested a photo. I thought she looked like a queen on a throne of vegetables.

The textile vendors were very visually appealing as they were mostly blue. Most people here have stayed with the traditional Mauritanian dress of long robes and a long scarf, worn around the neck, around the head as a kind of turban, or wrapped around the entire face, with the exception of the eyes as a protection from the sane, which is everywhere. (Only the main streets are paved.) When the fully face covered men add a pair of sunglasses they look just like the Invisible Man trying to blend in.

We ran a few errands. A SIM card for the Math teacher, some fruits to take back to the rooms, and finding a bank machine that would accept our foreign cards – a feat that, when accomplished, resulted in me doing a lively dance, much to the amusement of onlookers.

We walked back to the Auberge for a 20 minute rest, then walked out to the high street to catch a taxi to take us to the sea. On the way we got a bit turned around and asked a family where we needed to go. They were seated on the side of the sandy street, under an awning, cooking up some meat over a fire and cutting up onions to have with the meat and baguettes (as far as I can tell, the only form of bread widely consumed in the country). They gave us directions, but also immediately invited us to join them for their meal. We declined, as we were on a mission, but this is the sort of hospitality that seems to be common here. That sort of thing never ceases to amaze me.

Nouakchott has a busy fishing port with colourful wooden fishing boats similar to those I saw in Ghana. We were there in the afternoon, just in time to watch the hauls and boats being brought in.

It was beautiful and the breeze from the sea felt incredible after the heat of the city centre. We watched the action and the waves and then walked down to the actual beach that people used for recreation – not swimming as the sea is too strong, but exercise and sitting in groups, hanging out. There were also a couple of camels and horses.

On the way back I saw a ghastly form on the sand and immediately yelled out twice “What the fuck is that?!” What is was was the grossest and most interesting sea creature I have ever seen in real life outside of an aquarium. About four feet long, with a beak like face, beady, evil eyes, and a flat, angular body. I learned later that it was a snub-nosed guitar fish, in the ray family. Like something out of a nightmare.

We popped into the building where the fish were weighed and sold, and to the outdoor place where they were cut up and gutted, the floor covered with a thick carpet of scales.

We managed to find a car (I am using this term in its loosest sense, as the vehicle barely had the structure of a car, with its rear end dragging on the ground and its doors only partially operational) to take us to the vicinity of the Auberge.

We had a bite to eat at an indoor, air conditioned restaurant near a cluster of embassies. I was delighted to see ashtrays on the tables.

I spent the rest of the evening, chatting in the garden with Sebasitan and the other guests, making plans, swapping travel tales, and discussing how after living in Mauritania, returning to France seems unappealing.

I slept well, happy with the day, and with plans to head west in the morning for Atar and adventures in the desert.

Tag: Mosque