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Asia Pakistan Pakistan/Oman trip 2020

Sufi Night in Lahore, Pakistan

My third day in Lahore I had planned to see more of the city and spend the evening watching dervishes whirl, but the day did not go as planned. The illness I had come down with the night before persisted. I did make it to Sufi night, but that was about the only thing I did.

Still Sick

I spent most of my day in my little, windowless hostel room. I had a fever, I was freezing cold, and I ached all over. I was nauseous and got up to go to the bathroom, which was not attached to my room and lacked basic facilities. Fine when you’re well; but very inconvenient when you’re sick. I just laid there, with not even enough energy to read.

Finally, in the early evening, I went for walk down the block to a market to buy toilet paper and water and I went to a restaurant with a patio. I ordered a platter of assorted vegetarian, Pakistani dishes. I had no appetite, but I figured I should eat something so I had nibbles of the dishes, leaving most of it. I at least wanted to try some local food. It was very good. I wish I had been hungry.

Some pictures from my outing:

That night – Thursday night – was “Sufi Night”. I was going no matter what.

Sufi Night

Every Thursday night, followers of the Sufi faith in Lahore gather at a few places, including the shrine to Sufi Saint Shah Jamal, for an all night gathering of music, dance, and prayer. I went with the manager of my hostel. I am glad I did. I could easily have taken a tuk tuk to the shrine, but it would have been intimidating and I would not have gotten as close.

The shrine was on a crazy busy but small street lined with shops. People and tuk tuks pressed in. I had to cover my head well before we entered the area and I kept it covered, I didn’t see any other obvious foreigners and few women.

We walked into and through the marble shrine and to the back of it, where a couple hundred people gathered outside under some large bodhi (peepal) trees. There were lights strung up and fires burned. The air was thick with incense and hashish smoke.

In the clearing in the middle of the people was a group of musicians, notably drummers, wearing log red robes with drums like wine barrels hung in front of them by a sash around their necks. They beat on their drums with hook-shaped implements, creating the rhythm that drove everything and everyone around it.

The clearing was filled with maybe 15 men; each dressed in a single color, barefoot, spinning. Some of them spun constantly, some spun intermittently. Arms out, head slightly back. Eyes closed or open, but intensely focused on something. Others danced, stomped, thrashed, swayed, kicked legs, waved arms, rolled heads, twitched hips. It was fascinating. Even a little unsettling at times.

My companion forced us right up to the front. We were seated cross-legged on the ground; sometimes just a few inches from a foot or knee.

The dancers seemed unaware of the crowd or each other. Like they were in a trance. Some of them wore bells that made them part of the music.

The crowed swayed and nodded to the beat. It was easy to become entranced just watching (though obviously not to the same degree). Occasionally someone from the audience would join in, briefly.

The most extreme thing I saw was one young man who had been dancing and spinning, kneeled down and began pounding his forehead into the ground along to the music. Someone eventually put some cloth under his head to prevent him from doing more damage to himself.

A couple of times one of the drummers took to the clearing and, while continuing to drum the beat, spun around fast; never losing the pulse of the music.

It was hypnotic and fascinating.

I took photos, but they are all a blur. Literally.

After about 2 hours I had to insist we leave. It just continues until dawn (theoretically) and people come and go. My unsettled stomach insisted that we leave when we did.

I think this is a ‘must do’ if visiting Lahore. If I had been feeling better, I would have liked to wander around the shrine and the neighbourhood more, but what I saw was great.

Winding up in Lahore

I will add that the next day in Lahore was my last. It was the day I would have gone on a day trip out of the city, but I still felt awful. I took antibiotics, but again, I spent most of the day in bed, going out in the late afternoon for a very slow walk to a local park around a library (?), where I sat outside and sipped at a coffee.

That was it for Lahore for me. Not as action packed as I had planned, but yet it was thoroughly satisfying. I look forward to returning to Pakistan someday to see more, but on this trip that was it. I would have one night in Doha and then I was back to Vancouver.

Asia Pakistan Pakistan/Oman trip 2020

Amazing Lahore, Pakistan: Cobra Doctors to Hair Fire

I arrived in Lahore, Pakistan from Muscat, Oman in the morning with some excitement and trepidation. Pakistan is off the established tourist trail – which is a great part of the reason that I chose it, but I still had some apprehension, including: would I have any problems with my e-visa at the airport? I had heard so many stories of visas being denied or difficult to get, but I had gotten mine on the first try online. It seemed too easy. Surely they would flag me at the border for questions and hassles.

The airport’s immigration section was pure chaos. As soon as people arrived in the building they ran towards the immigration desks and pressed in clumps. There didn’t seem to be separate desks for nationals and foreigners, so I queued (or rather, clustered) with everyone else. But soon I was summoned to the desk for diplomats and whatnot. They looked at my e-visa printout (bring your print out!) and stamped my passport without question, and I was off.

I haled a taxi from the airport to my hostel. The driver, who spoke a little English, said he knew the place, but clearly did not, as we drove in circles, before I finally convinced him to call the hostel for directions. His English was ok, but not so good that I could explain to him that I thought the hostel was on the mall, near the museum. He had little interest in my printed maps. He seemed to focus much of his attention on telling me how beautiful I was and leaning in a little too close, patting my leg. I was irritated. Really, this is how my trip starts? With a leering taxi driver? I just started being a bit rude, and he backed off and eventually dropped me off at my hostel.

I had booked the Lahore Backpackers Hostel, which had pretty mixed reviews, but it was a good price, had a good location, and a big rooftop patio, which I figured it where I could enjoy an evening cigar. Both at the moment and in reflection, I had mixed feelings about the place. It looked bad. It may be clean, but is so old and scruffy that it doesn’t look it. My room was like a little cell with a window that looked out onto the desk of the manager. The kitchen and bathrooms were best avoided, but functional. No toilet paper even. That was the bad. The good was exceptional hospitality, a great location, and good wifi.

Upon checking in, I was furnished with tea and a plate of tasty rice and daal. The manager, Sajjad, and assistant manager were great. Super friendly and helpful. They also organized various walking and driving tours for guests, which was handy. But the place was still a bit icky.

On reflection, unless a better budget option opens up in an equally good location, I would recommend the Lahore Backpackers Hostel for the price, location, hospitality, the camaraderie of fellow backpackers, and all the outings they can help organize – but just know what you are getting.

I checked in and then hit the streets. If my initial impressions in the taxi and hostel were not the best, it was all washed away by the delights of walking the city. Lahore is one of those places that just left me exhilarated. It quickened my pulse and piqued my curiosity. It was a riot of color, sound, and bustle. The traffic was congested and loud. People milled about the cars and tuk tuks to and from markets and shops. From the sidewalks, people sold all manner of things, but most notably (to me anyway) fish, vegetables, and bright, wet chains of fresh marigolds and roses.

I visited a street that was well populated by street doctors – not professionally trained doctors, but natural healers and self-taught medicine men. They were lined up in the area between the sidewalk and the row of fish and vegetable sellers who say along the roadside. I met with and observed a couple of dentists, one pulling a tooth from a stoic old man, another fashioning a false tooth. Another was an ear doctor who proudly showed me his home made medical kit. Another was a man at a cart populated with liquids and objects in jars, as well as several fat lizards, some dead and some soon to be dead, waiting to become a potion. The man beckoned me over, lifted up a basket and produced a live cobra, from which he would use the venom in concoctions. I watched as he mixed bits of dead lizard with other odds and ends and boiled it in a small pot for one of his patients. It was all SO interesting. And lest you think I was intruding, the men called me over to show me what their practice was, invited me to watch, and asked me to take pictures.

The willingness, indeed, eagerness, to be photographed was surprising – particularly after being in West Africa recently, where no one wanted to be caught in a picture. I wandered into a labyrinth of fish sellers, who called me over for pictures. One man even posing repeatedly, each time with a new fish.

I took a tuk tuk to a vegetable market area, which was like many others I had seen, but the volume of produce was something extraordinary. Massive cauliflowers and bales of spinach piled high.

A man approached me from I know not where and placed a thick marigold wreath around my neck. It was a lovely gesture, but it was wet and heavy and made me even more conspicuous than my white skin and all black ensemble. I felt very conspicuous and thought “How long do I have to wear this?” The answer: just until I got into my next tuk tuk, where I hung it from the frame, of which the driver seemed to approve.

I walked in to the Old City, which is a walled centre part of Lahore. Old; dating back to about 1000, but still very active today. It is so easy to get lost, but you will find your way to a gate again, and getting lost of part of the fun. Maps of this area are useless.

I climbed to a high mosque for views of the streets.

Upon descending, I was invited to take tea with some men at a bone setter’s clinic. Unlike the street healers, this was in a small storefront, though the medicinal practices seemed equally non-traditional, at least from a western perspective.

I wandered around, delighted by everything I saw.

Everyone was so nice and hospitable. No one was hassling me for cash or aggressively trying to sell me things. They just seemed happy to have me visit (or they ignored me altogether.

One other cool thing was that the manager from my hostel took me to see an area where the commercial trucks are decorated. In Pakistan, the trucks used to transport goods are elaborately painted and decorated with embossed metal panels, flowers, animals, and garlands. They are tall and extraordinary. This area showed where all this tricking out carries on. One man invited me into his truck to see the velvet seat covers and sparkly garlands inside. He did grab my ass as I exited the truck and I scolded him like you would a dog that had peed on the carpet, with a pointed finger and stern “NO”. It irritated me for a moment and then I moved on.

I should say that the ass grabbing truck driver and the leering taxi driver were the only unpleasant issues of that variety that I had; and in neither case did I feel unsafe, just annoyed. Everyone else was exceedingly kind and hospitable.

My final stop that day, with the manager from my hotel was to a tiny hair salon where the specialty is hair cutting…with fire. We entered the salon where two hair dressers and one customer (and a few of his friends) – all young men – were about to start. First, they put some thick goop on his hair and then they LIT IT ON FIRE. While it was burning the stylist combed through the hair quickly as the fire burned off, presumably, the ends of the hair. The whole thing lasted 15-20 seconds. Honestly, I’m not sure it made that much difference to the hair, but it was crazy.

That took me to the evening. I grabbed some dinner from a street vendor who sold rice and curried things for the equivalent of a dollar or two.

I spent the late evening chatting with two other travelers at the hostel. They were both long-term travelers. One a Scottish woman in her 60s on the road for several months. The other a Belgian guy in his 20s cycling from Europe to South East Asia. Pakistan doesn’t attract your typical 19-year-old gap year backpacker.

I slept in my dismal room soundly, satisfied with all I had seen that first day and excited to see more the next day. As it turned out, the next day would be the last good day I would have on that trip. As settled in on that first night I was about 24 hours away from getting very sick.

Africa Benin West Africa Trip 2019

Ouidah

Leaving Grand Popo was something that initially concerned me. There is nothing there. No taxi to call, and when I mentioned it to the hotel they didn’t offer to get me a car to anywhere but they said it would be “no problem” for me to get to Ouidah – my next destination (also in Benin, just a little down the coast). I took a last look at the sea and walked to the small road. Within seconds a moto driver was speeding me to the main street, where he dropped me off in front of a shop? A cafe? I don’t know, but there were two guys out front and I told them I was headed to Ouidah. They flagged a car – their 2nd attempt was successful – they told the driver I was going to Ouidah and the driver offered me a price that was so low I felt no compulsion to haggle. And just like that I was in a random car (not a proper taxi) with 5 guys speeding down the road.

The ride wasn’t exactly comfortable; with a sweaty body pressed into me on one side and the car door on the other. The compression of passengers acting as a de facto seat belt, I suppose. But the drive was an hour at most and for the 50c or so that I was paying I was quite happy. They asked me where I was going and I gave them the name of my hotel, which was right on the main road, so they dropped me off out front. Easy.

The name of my hotel changed twice, I think, between booking and arrival, but ultimately it was called Hotel DK. And it was weird.

Upon arrival I kind of wanted to leave. It is huge and run down and abandoned-looking. I couldn’t find anyone as I walked around reception, the kitchen, the dining room, the creepy, empty murder pool. Just as I was wondering why I booked the place and how I would find another hotel with no wifi, data, guidebook, or human assistance, a young man popped his head out. Seemingly from a nap.

He showed me to my room. My tiny, airless room of questionable plumbing and security, but which weirdly had lovely, ironed and embroidered, monogrammed sheets.

It was a weird place. I can’t recommend it, but it was cheap and the staff were great. They made me meals and ensured I had what I needed. And it was technically walking distance to the town centre, if you like a long walk.

Enough about the weird hotel. I was in Ouidah for voodoo. It is the literal or de facto centre and origin of voodoo in West Africa, which basically means the world. They have a big voodoo festival each year, though I was not there at that time. I wanted to see pythons and…well, that was the draw as i headed down the coast.

I visited a small museum, which had a good, guided tour about slavery and Portuguese influence.

From there I was heading towards the Python temple, but was sidetracked by a parade and festival. It was the festival of the city. I couldn’t find out much information about it, but it amounted to a lot of music and dance performances and much of the people in the city outfitted in clothing made from one common fabric, which had the name of the festival on it.

I then went to the Python Temple. Let’s be clear: there are a lot of voodoo temples with pythons, but this one is open to tourists and curious wanderers. They don’t give a bunch of information about voodoo, but they do explain some things before letting you into the inner python temple.

I was the only person there at the time and so i had a lot of time to play with the snakes….and take photos, of course. It was cool. The pythons are let out into the community periodically to feed and they return, allegedly. And if one shows up in your house, it is good luck.

After I had my fill of snakes, I wandered around a while. Ouidah is a pretty little town. I could have spent an extra day I think, but I was happy with the time I had.

I visited the small but excellent Foundation Zinsou, which is a very stylish modern art museum showcasing African artists and with a great cafe. I hung out there and chatted with a Brazilian girl also traveling solo.

There is a historical slave route in Ouidah that leads to a door or no return on the sea, But I opted to not do that, having seen so much in the way of similar sights in the past days; instead, i wandered around some more.

I rested for a bit at a bar…no, not a bar. A collection of tables and plastic chairs under some trees where beer was sold by ladies walking around with baskets. I don’t drink beer, but it was such an inviting place that i bought a bottle of sugary “juice” and enjoyed my cigar with the buzz of people, the shade, and the hypnotic drum music that loudly played. I tried to blend in, which was impossible.

Checking my map and relying on my internal sense of direction , i decided i would walk back to my hotel along some leafy, rural roads. It was hot and after about a half an hour, red faced, lost, I emerged on the main road from the fields and asked the two women i saw if they knew my hotel. They looked at me like i was nuts and after some initial communication difficulties, they drew to my attention that I was in fact standing in front of my hotel. At least i know my sense of direction is in tact, even if my eyes fail me.

I spent the night ay my weird hotel, where there was one other person staying – a guy, traveling solo, maybe a bit younger than me. He had no interest in chatting, but i filled the evening with dinner outside and a cigar and an intensive map study to prepare to the morning’s journey to Cotonou.

Africa Togo West Africa Trip 2019

Togoville

My third day in Togo I went to Togoville. At this point I had been on the road solo over a week and the idea of giving myself over to a driver and guide was appealing. Fortunately, I had run into a guy, a guide, in Lomé the day before. He seemed like a good guy and the price was right, so I made plans with him.

He picked me up in the morning and we drove to Agbodrafo and visited the slave house, which is a small house near the sea that was built in the 1830s, after slavery was made illegal, so that Europeans could continue to kidnap and ‘export’ slaves despite the ban.

*commemorative art outside the slave house*

Weirdly, it looked like a regular house, except that under the floor boards was a space about 2 m high where slaves were kept while waiting for the boat to come for transport. Very interesting and, as with the slave castles in Ghana, troubling.

We walked down to the sea and watched the place where the ocean collides with the lake and the fishing boats unloaded their cargo.

We then drove to the Hotel Le Lac Paradis, which sat on the shores of the lake (Lake Togo), of which Togoville was on the other side. The hotel sells you a ride across the lake and back in a pirogue, so theoretically, if you can get to the hotel on your own, you could hire a boat to Togoville. (I didn’t note the exact price, but I recall that the boat was very cheap; maybe a dollar or two.)

The ride across the lake was very pleasant, past fishermen, crab traps, and boys swimming. I wish I had thought ahead a worn a bathing suit, as it would have been heavenly to have a swim alongside the canoe.

At Togoville, we landed on shore and I paid a fee for a guide and to visit the village. That was a lot more expensive than I expected. I think it was 30,000 cfa and they would not budge on the price. There are no ATMs at the hotel or the village, so take cash. I had enough, but I started to feel worried that I would be out of pocket.

I loved visiting the village. There is a cathedral built in 1910 by the Germans (Togo was once a German colony, before it was a French one) and a shrine to where someone once saw a vision Mary on the lake, but other than that, this is a voodoo village.

We walked around and everywhere there were Legba. Legbas? Not sure of the plural. I am also not sure if Legba is the name of the voodoo shrine or the spirit it represents. Anyway, they were everywhere, providing protection and a place to sacrifice animals, as was evident by the blood and feathers on and around them. They were a bit creepy but very cool.

Also a bit creepy were bouquets of entrails nailed to some of the houses by the door for protection purposes, where they would stay for about three days.

There were also voodoo trees, some acting as courts, where the guilty would be made to walk around the tree 7 times at which point their lies or guilt would be revealed.

The village was pretty quiet, but we did see some people. My guide taught me to say a few greetings in the local language, Ewe, which either caused shock in the recipients of my greetings, or peals of laughter. But they understood me.

*me at the monument to German-Togolese friendship*

There were voodoo houses containing pythons and practitioners of voodoo, but I could not enter those. I had told my guide early in the day that I wanted to have a voodoo experience – whatever that means. I wanted to see something weird or amazing. At the end of my tour, the guide said something was arranged and ready for me. I asked how much it was as I was pretty much out of local money on hand. I did have a stash of Euros, but I was on a budget and relying solely on cash, so I wasn’t keen to break into that. My guide said the price depended on a number of factors but that the middle price was about 200,000 cfa (that’s over $400 cdn). I was unable to contain my shock. I politely declined. This clearly disappointed both my guides and the fixer who had arranged whatever it was that was planned, but I firmly said ‘no merci.’ I would have inquired about the price earlier but I had no idea that anything was actually being arranged.

voodoo house (yes, there are pythons inside)

So I never did have my voodoo experience. I am ok with that, but I can’t help but wonder what they would have done for $400. Maybe a series of cheap magic tricks, or maybe…something truly inexplicable. I’ll never know.

I spent the evening reflecting on the day as I smoked a cigar and drank fruity mocktails in a karaoke bar in Lomé while young Togolese women practiced their dance moves in front of a mirror to, amongst other things, “Jailhouse Rock.” A fittingly odd end to an unusual day. The next day I would travel to Benin.

Africa Togo West Africa Trip 2019

The Gruesome Menagerie: The Fetish Market of Lomé

My first full day in Lomé I planned to go to the Akodessawa Fetish Market (aka the Marché aux Fetiches aka the Marché des Féticheurs) and, mission accomplished, I did go. The fetish market in the Akodessawa area of Lomé is, reportedly, the largest fetish market in the world. (For clarity’s sake, we are talking about a voodoo market selling items for rituals, not a marketplace of latex dresses and ball gags.) This was, in fact, the thing I was most looking forward to in Togo.

One of the main things that drew me to West Africa on this particular trip is that Togo and Benin are the birthplace of Voodoo (as it is known in the Americas) or Voudou, Vodun, or various other iterations (as it is known in Togo and Benin) – I’ll stick with the common American spelling. Today about half the population identifies as a practitioner of this spiritual practice, and, I am told, even many of those who identify as Muslim or Christian will still turn to Voodoo when they need help or protection.

There will be a lot of Voodoo references in the future blog posts for this particular trip. But on this day, I went to the Fetish Market in Lomé.

To get to the market from central Lomé, hail a moto from any street. It should cost 500-700 cfa (that’s around $1 cdn). You can ask the driver to wait for you and drive you back if your French is up to it. There is really nothing else to see right around the market, so having your driver wait might not be a bad idea. I didn’t want to feel rushed, so I sent mine away.

The market is not that big, but there is a lot to see. As far as I could tell, this is a legitimate fetish market. Locals were there shopping and seeing the Voodoo practitioners, but it also welcomes tourists. Tourists pay a fee of the equivalent of a few dollars, which includes a guide. You could go without the guide, but you really wouldn’t learn anything.

My guide was great. He explained to me that the dried creatures on display, with a few exceptions, were all to be sold and used in rituals or potions; often grounds up with plants or other natural items.

Ringing the market were displays of carefully laid out dead things: birds, snakes, chameleons, insects, monkeys, rodents, dogs, lions, apes, etc. Some were whole; most were merely heads.

In one area there were some freshly severed animal heads drying in the sun. (I’ll not post the picture of that.)

There were also some things they had on display only because they were old specimens of creatures that could no longer be legally killed, like a hippopotamus skull, a lion cub head, and a fully dried baboon).

Now, I love this kind of dark, gruesome stuff, so I was fascinated. However, I am not unaware of the fact that all of this is a collection of animals who were killed for spirituality (which, as an atheist, I give no practical merit to). That is a lot of senseless killing. And as a vegetarian, it does give me pause…but then I remember that people kill animals for all sorts of stupid, selfish reasons: for entertainment, for food, for fashion, for byproducts of the pet industry…its all morally reprehensible, but I am not above it as I still wear leather. So I left my judgment aside and indulged in my curiosity about this cultural and spiritual practice.

I did visit one of the Voodoo practitioners. He (through my guide) explained what many of the items were that he had in his tiny, dark hovel. I selected a couple of items and had them blessed (that’s not really the right word) for certain uses. One for luck. One for protection in travel. I don’t believe in it, but it was neat. I had to say and do some things and then the Voodoo man rang a bell and said some chants over the items as they lay in a calabash.

And I left, with my magic charms in tow (but without any severed heads) and feeling slightly more knowledgeable about Voodoo. I had not had my moto driver wait for me, but a guy from the market walked with me to the main road and stayed with me until we hailed a moto that agreed to take me back downtown (500cfa).

*Me at the fetish market with a chameleon and with one of the Voodoo practitioners*

There certainly is a tourist element to the market, but it is a real place for people without cameras and questions. And honestly, I am glad it does welcome tourists or it would have been rather difficult, if not impossible, to ask questions, poke around, and take pictures. It is certainly worth a visit.

The next day brought more voodoo with a day trip from Lome to Togoville.

Asia Myanmar (Burma)

A Picturesque Bridge & Bothersome Pervert

My second day in Mandalay I started by taking a tuk tuk to the U Bein bridge, which is on the outskirts of the city. The drive was pleasant and the bridge picturesque, with a cluster of outside drink vendors and souvenir hawkers at one end.

The bridge is apparently the oldest and the (once?) longest teakwood bridge in the world. That is such an oddly specific category that it failed to impress me. Honestly, one could skip the bridge. It is quite pretty, but not amazing. Still, I am glad I went. The scenery was lovely and the drive was nice.

I had the driver take me back to my hotel after, but stopped along the way when a temple of note popped up roadside and generally snapped some puctures from the tuk tuk.

I went to the Zegyo market, or at least part of it (it is massive) and poked around and walked the streets around the market, which were bustling with commerce.

In the afternoon i did a walking version / variation of a suggested bicycle route in the Lonely Planet. This was a good walk as it took me through some more interesting neighbourhoods had I had seen the previous day in Mandalay. There was a really pretty path along a small river with small houses on one side and people doing laundry or having beers by the river.

The only downside to this walk was one guy who fan ahead of me on a part of the path that had the river on one side and only a high fence on the other. I saw him facing into the trees and I assumed he was peeing, but as I passed, I saw through my peripheral vision that he turned to face me and was masturbating. Moaning and whatnot. I ignored him and walked by. He ran ahead of me and did the same thing. Again, I ignored him. After that second time, he ran up behind me and said “Hey!” I turned around and he was standing there in the middle of the road, dick out, in his hand. Like he thought I hadn’t noticed him before. He took a step towards me and I walked towards him, yelling, “You get the fuck away from me or I’ll cut your fucking throat!” As I said that last bit, I motioned with my thumb across my neck. He obviously got the message and ran away. I carried on with my walk, initially annoyed that this pervert interrupted my stroll and forced me to unleash upon him with with vitriolic death threat (albeit an empty one – I didn’t even have a weapon). But I quickly put it behind me.

I crossed the river and walked up to and along the bank of the Irrawaddy River, to a tallish hotel with a rooftop bar, where I escaped the sun for a while with a cigar and a virgin piña colada.

I took a tuk tuk back to the hotel (it had been a long walk and I had no interest in doing it in reverse).

I spent the evening on the rooftop of my hotel reading and smoking. Ready to get up super early to catch a boat to Bagan.

Mexico North America

South of the Border: Luche Libres in Mexico City

I ended up with a four day long weekend and I was determined to go somewhere, but none of the near-to-Vancouver destinations appealed, so I looked for cheap flights to destinations that I could manage in a not-quite four day trip. And here I am en route to Mexico City.

I booked my ticket with about a week’s lead time so I didn’t do my usual months of study and preparation. I feel underprepared, but it’s kind of exciting. I realized, as I hurriedly scanned my newly purchased Lonely Płanet that I don’t actually know very much about Mexico. Just pop-culture stuff: Chupacabra. The Three Amigos. Frida Khalo & Diego Rivera. The Tijuana Brass. A handful of writers…not much about the history or politics, aside from the fact that there were Aztecs and Mayans, but I don’t know much about them. I went to Tijuana with my mother and sister when I was 11 and that was awesome. It was the first different place I went. I remember donkeys, little girls selling chicklets, and the market where I was first introduced to the concept of bargaining – the price isn’t really the price? Young mind blown. I bought a skinny leather necktie. (It was the ’80s.) And I’ve never been back. Until now.

You won’t find me at a beach or resort, but Mexico City looked like it would satisfy my travel needs. A big city with lots to explore, culture, history, inexpensive everything, and maybe a little dangerous? Great. (Actually, I think the rumours of danger are overblown, a least in comparison to other cities I’ve been, but who knows? As I write this preamble, I am still on the plane from Vancouver.)

[several hours later]

I arrived at my hostel, the Casa San Ildefonso, in the centre historico, by metro. The metro system here is great. It’s not fancy, but it’s comprehensive, fast, and cheap – a ride anywhere is 5 pesos, or about 30 cents. The thing i like best about it is that each station has its own logo. Apparently, when it was built the literacy rate was low so they gave the stations names and pictures. From the airport to my hostel this was my route in pictures: kangaroo, squirrel, water twins, water pipe, aloe, church tower, pyramid, skyscraper, shoulders man, handsome man, church, decapitated Chaplin, eagle.

I walked across the Zocalo square, flanked by impressive buildings and easily found my lodgings. Simple, pleasant, and very cheap.

I went for a walk and found the Los Vegetarianos restaurant where i finally tried mole sauce. Weird and gross at first, but then I decided I loved it.

I got in at about 5:00 and part of me just wanted to hang out, but Friday night was my only chance to take in a uniquely Mexican event: lucha libres. (Mexican wrestling) I hopped the metro to the Arena Mexico. The area was a bit rough looking, but felt totally safe. The streets were lined with food vendors, cooking up savoury snacks, and vendors selling wrestling masks. Divey bars spilled cervesa holding patrons and live rock music onto the street. I wished i had gotten there earlier to explore, but i had a show to see.

I bought a ticket, mid range, for about $13 cad and entered a big stadium filled with people and noise and roving snack and beer sellers. The show was…crazy. Lights and smoke machines. Scantily clad, curvy girls danced to rock music as each wrestler was announced to cheers. The costumes were elaborate. Wings, capes, silver boots, spandex pants with stars and skulls, and teeny speedos.

The idea is this, there are good guys (Technicós) and bad guys (Rudos) and they fight one-on-one or in groups. It is all choreographed but is quite impressive. They are like gymnasts or acrobats. The crowd goes crazy cheering and booing and yelling rude chants. Kind of like a bizarre pantomime.

I stayed for about and hour and a half, but left before it was over. I got the idea and it was quite late. I took the metro back. It was packed. It took me three tries to get on and we were crammed in. It wasn’t bad though; I was easily the tallest person in my end of the car and people were polite. They do have cars for women and children which are less full (and smell better).

Back in my ‘hood, I went for a walk around midnight (still feeling safe) and had a cigar. It was a great first day, even if it was only about 8 hours.

Asia Indonesia Indonesia Trip 2017

The Chicken Church on Java

I had booked a driver to take me to Borobudur and Prambanan, but the night before i found on a random 2010 blog post info about a church shaped like a giant chicken in the jungle, not far from Yogyakarta. The story is that in 2009 a guy in Jakarta had a vision from god, who told him to go to the forest and build a non-denominational church shaped like a giant dove. He did, but it ended up looking like a giant chicken, which is why it is commonly known as the chicken church. (It is formally known as either Gereja Ayam or Bukit Rhema.) Obviously i had to go. Why had i not heard about this? Why wasn’t it in the Lonely Planet? Why isn’t everyone talking about this?

I didn’t have any luck communicating my desire to my driver due to our insurmountable language barrier, so i drew a picture, which he understood, i think you’ll agree it is spot on.

We drove through some lovely rural areas, past some pretty little houses, past people working in the fields, to the bottom of a steep hill. And at the top, surrounded by lush green forest, was the structure. It did not disappoint.

Apparently it was unfinished and abandoned for several years, but is now a legit attraction. The inside of the head and neck is painted with cartoony pictures warning of ever day sins like sex and smoking and drugs.

Under it is a small network of carved tunnels and private prayer rooms. And best of all, you can climb stairs to look out of the bird’s beak and then up to a platform atop the crown on its head for some terrific views.

Amazing. Most people i spoke to either didn’t know about it or said it wasn’t worth visiting. Oh how wrong they were.

Africa Burkina Faso Burkina Faso Trip 2016

Burkina Faso Village Hospitality

My final full day in Banfora started as did the day before: roosters and coffee. I made a little coffee at the house once i got over my fear of the gas stove, and then returned to the local corner cafe for an espresso. Today all of the men were filling out their racing forms. There are gambling kiosks here everywhere painted with pots of gold and horses head. People (men) bet on horse races in France hoping to win big. They din’t get to see the races, not even on TV. It seems to be a popular pastime. I was asked to assist with picking horses. The only one that jumped out at me was La Baguette Magique.

My guide picked me up on the moto and we headed on a dirt road through fields of sugar cane for Domes de Fabridougou. Similar to the Sindou Peaks i saw yesterday, but more round and less pointy. Still, it was nice to go on the hike. It was so serene and beautiful and hot, but dry. We hiked and sat on the top of a dome and took in the view and i had a smoke, trying to be in the moment as much as possible. On a dome, in Western Burkina Faso.

We left and, much to my surprise, made a stop in my guide’s village, near the domes. This is where he grew up until he was 15 and where most of his family lives, including his mother and daughters. About 25 people live in the small collection of tiny huts in the middle of the fields under a huge tree. Some smoke French, but all spoke in a local, tribal language (not Moore, something else).

This was some serious, rural poverty. Not all the kids has clothes and those they had were in very poor repair. No water or electricity. No phone, no lights, no motorcar. But they were very friendly and hospitable. They swept off a place in the dirt, clearing it from debris, and laid out a straw mat for me to sit on. Several of the women and children started making lunch for my guide and i. While they cooked i sat and watched women tend to the children and the women and children doing each other’s hair in braids. I tried to make some small talk, but mostly it was a lot of smiling.

After that my guide took me to two more unexpected stops. First was a visit to a ritual sacrifice area for the animists, of which he is one. Around a beautiful pool ringed with ricks and trees the ground was thickly carpeted in white chicken feathers. It looked like snow. The trunk of one tall palm tree was thickly hung with ropes, which were tied on to skulls, jaw bones, goat legs, and what looked like the skin of a cow’s face and head. From other trees and from the rock wall around the pool were more ropes dangling bones, skulls, and rocks. All for sacrifice and offerings or protection.

It was really interesting but it really looked like something out of a horror movie. Like if Leatherface and the Blairwitch collaborated on a little outdoor decorating.

Near the sacrifice area was the waterfall, which is a ridiculously picturesque series of small waterfalls and green, tropical pools. Had i been prepared i could have gone swimming. It was so beautiful it looked like something created for a film or Disneyland.

I usually don’t want a guide because i prefer to do things myself, but this was a time when i really could not have seen everything i did had i just been alone.

The ride back to Banfora from the village was terrifying. It was dusk to dark. The road was so bumpy that at times i bounced off my seat. We dodged small goats, a large lizard, and regular size pigs. We brushed shoulders with herds of cows. Not only was it dark and treacherous, but it was windy and the dirt road coughed up a haze of orange. I was certain that i would die, but was delivered to my lodging safely, and quite filthy.

I spent the rest of the evening chatting with Marion, the owner of the house at which i stayed and playing with the many kittens and puppies.

Banfora was delightful. Full of outdoorsy retreats and adventures. The next day i would return to Ouagadougou.

Asia Nepal Nepal Trip 2016

Pashupatinath

This morning i went for coffee and a lassi and then haggled my way into a taxi to Pashupatinath, an important Hindu temple and surrounding area on the banks of the Bagmati River. The temple itself though was not the draw. What makes the site so interesting is that on the banks of the river dead bodies are ritually cremated and then their ashes scattered in the river.

The site itself is interesting to explore, as the river banks are dotted with temples and shrines, with sadhus (elaborated decorated Hindu holy men) lounging about, Hare Krishnas speaking with spiritual gurus, and monkeys scampering. And then there are visitors, like me.

I felt like kind of a dick when i entered through a side entrance and found myself shoulder to shoulder with grieving families right at the side of the pyres. I watched as two bodies were carried out, covered in golden cloth and marigolds and laid on the pyres and as they were then covered with straw and set alight. I didn’t stay too long in the particular spot and i felt so conspicuous – plus, i wanted to take photos but would dare doing so in the thick of things, so i moved up above the activities and then stood on a bridge over the river.

You can see in the picture above the blackened feet and head sticking out. It didn’t smell bad but was so smokey that it was difficult to breathe in some places.

I saw it all a bit out of sequence, but before the bodies are laid on the pyres, they are carried to another part of the river and their feet are dipped in the water, to make sure they are really dead, i was told.

Leaving Pashupatinath i went to Bodhnath, which is the largest stupa in Asia and is a centre of Tibetan Buddhism, sadly the spire on top of the dome was damaged in the earthquake and had to be taken down. Reconstruction in underway. While this did diminish the beauty of the monument, the area was still a delight with Buddhist temples and monasteries and inviting shops selling handicrafts, incense, and tea. Incense burns everywhere as do tiny butter lamps.