Food

Search For Truth In Egypt

Posted on by Laughingnomad

Cafes and Food
You can have what Bob calls “mystery meat,” which in Egypt is called kebab-lamb or chicken sliced from a vertical spit-very good in pita bread. Kofta is ground meat peppered with spices, skewered and grilled. You can find delicious spit roasted chicken. Tagen is a stew cooked in a deep clay pot with onions, tomatoes and rice or cracked wheat. Stuffed cabbage leaves are called mahshi karumb. Fried fish is great. Kushari is tiny noodles, tomato juice, lemon and onions looking somewhat like a soup.

We were welcomed into one empty cafe and graciously given the best seat upstairs near a window where we could look out on the street while eating kushari, a “traditional Egyptian dish” as the proprietor called it. He gives us an idea that if we could get away from the sellers that the Egyptian people would be wonderfully hospitable and gracious. We were touched.

In certain cafes men sit, play backgammon and smoke sheesha pipes.

Luxor
No knobs on anything in the hotel. Had to lift the toilet lid to figure out how to flush and while leaning over the toilet tank the fan blades from the fan above fell off and konked me on the head before bounding into the tub. Lonely Planet uses Budget, Mid Range and Top End for classifying hotels and this was a MidRange which I think is a pretty good gauge of the local economy. Takes money they don’t have to clean and repair.

Ongoing Search for Truth
When I was in college, ironically, a book by the great theologian Martin Buber called “I and Thou” gave me my first understanding about bridging the gap between the “I” and the different “thou.”

More recently cross cultural writers have been writing about the concept of “the stranger” describing our fear of the “different” as a genetically built-in survival response mechanism that is a healthy one when used to keep ourselves safe, but if we are not aware of our subtle responses on this level and let it operate when it is inappropriate then we can be very damaging to each other. Ahdaf Soueif writes in English and the theme of her autobiographical novel “In The Eye Of The Sun” is the notion of foreignness. Her latest novel “The Map of Love” was shortlisted for UK’s Booker prize.

Thinking about all this reminds me of an experience I had years ago when managing a student foreign exchange program. I gave a party for all the exchange students in my home and wanted to include some older students to provide perspective so I went to a local private University and was referred to three foreign students who happened to be from Saudi Arabia. While inter-viewing them I was told by one that our culture and our values were “ugly” to the Muslim “as if you took a lid off a garbage can and looked in!” The way he said it made me shiver. I didn’t invite two of them to the party even after they complained that American were not friendly and that as students here for the last two years they had never been invited into anyone’s home. If not to the party, I should have invited them to my home. The third did come to the party, cooked a fantastic chicken dinner for the students and is my friend in Salem still.

Athens Greece

Posted on by Laughingnomad

pjSwKsKjPzr5gOYYAx9PKM-2006172111649438.gif

Landed in Eletherios Venizelo airport and everyone clapped as is often the custom around much of the world.

Took a one hour bus ride from the airport to Monastiraki Square Station at Syntagma Square in Athens. Walked down Ermou St. to Hotel Pella at the edge of the Plaka (old town). On our fourth floor balcony we had a direct view of the Acropolis that is beautifully lit at night. But in spite of the hardest beds of any in Europe and the street noise outside making it impossible to sleep without ear plugs. Nellie, the hotel manager from Bulgaria made our stay there a very pleasant one.

For dinner we gorged in the Plaka at the Egnokapta Restaurant. We had an eggplant casserole, spanokapita, val and onions, beet greens, peppers, yogurt and cucumbers, wine and afterward Greek coffee (that tastes like coffee grounds). Our watier-an older gentleman who assumed the authority of one who might own the the art of table- waiting made our meal even more pleasurable. As we were eating Bob looked around and wondered if any of the people there was a direct descendent of Aristotle…?

Olympics
The summer Olympics to be held in 2004 in athens is a matter of great debate among the people here. Because Greece is such a little country, and even though Athens will be greatly improved, the people are worried about the expense of maintaining all that is left once the Olympics are over. Soon an election will be held for a new mayor and local TV programs are filled with animated discussions about a new tax that is proposed to fund the improved infrastructure for the city. A new metro stop is being constructed below our hotel balcony and streets are torn up-workers working around the clock everywhere. Even though Greece is politically liberal, the people are generally very conservative and you get the feeling they enjoy nattering.

A bit of irony in these days: A T shirt saying that the fundamental Principles of Olympism is a philosophy of life exalting and combining in a balanced whole the qualities of body, will and mind. (From the Olympic Charter)

Went to Suyntagma Square to observe a demonstration and listen to Greek music supporting the Palestinians in the war with Israel. There was a huge picture of Arafat hanging at the square and our hotel proprietor told us that Greece will always support whoever it perceives is the “underdog.”

While surveying the scene, we stood and watched another drama-the street hawkers, mainly black African immigrants, selling sunglasses and purses on the blac market. Whenever the two police would walk up the street all the sellers would pick up their stuff and run and hide- then when the police passed they would all come back and within seconds be back in business again. Bystanders seemed entertained by the nightly game.

On the way back to the hotel we strolled through the Plaka looking for a place to eat and stopped to buy a small cylindrical shaped pillow for my train rides from a rug shop. On discovering we were American, the owner vented for 20 minutes about the stupidity of 9/11 and how it hurt the whole world economically because “when the US is in trouble all the countries are in trouble-like dominoes-so 9/11 hurt all of us! Look, the country is empty of tourists and my rug shop is empty!” He angrily called the people who commit these terrorist acts “barbarians.” He said in 3000 years of our history there has always been war between armies-not this barbaric stupidity- and on top of all this my 45 year old brother-in-law had a heart attack and died and I have to support my sister!” We found it difficult to find anything encouraging to say.

Illustrating the civilizations, myths and religions that flourished in Greece over a period of more than 1,000 years, the Acropolis, the site of four of the greatest masterpieces of classical Greek art – the Parthenon, the Propylaea, the Erechtheum and the Temple of Athena Nike – can be seen as symbolizing the idea of world heritage. It is an UNESCO World Heritage Site.

St. Peter’s House

Posted on by Laughingnomad

The Vatican City, one of the most sacred places in Christendom, attests to a great history and a formidable spiritual venture. A unique collection of artistic and architectural masterpieces lie within the boundaries of this small state. At its centre is St Peter’s Basilica, with its double colonnade and a circular piazza in front and bordered by palaces and gardens. The basilica, erected over the tomb of St Peter the Apostle, is the largest religious building in the world, the fruit of the combined genius of Bramante, Raphael, Michelangelo, Bernini and Maderna. It is an UNESCO World Heritage Site.

In 1965 I had missed seeing the Vatican because I refused to stand in line three hours. So we took the Metro across the Tiber River to the stop near the Vatican and noticed that the trains in Rome are completely covered-every square inch-in graffiti-so much so that Bob thought that the local government had commissioned it! Not!

After 23 years of Catholic education for Bob and 16 for me, we approached the Vatican in complete ignorance-we knew next to nothing about the Vatican or the Pope-probably says something about being Catholic…or Polish. The Polish never did like being told what to do-and neither did Bob’s ancestors-German immigrants to the Ukraine.

We learned that the Vatican occupies 108 and one half acres within the confines of Rome. It is a separate city with it’s own postal service and does a brisk business selling its postcards and stamps that must be mailed in their own mailboxes. Seeing this made it hard to picture the Catholic church that once wheeled and dealed as the mightiest power in Europe.

St. Peter’s Basilica and the Cupula
St. Peter’s is called planning for the “long term. Planning for the short term is Oregon’s Governor Barbara Roberts being given a hard time because she wants to put a nice rug and some cherry wood furniture in the Archives building! I said as much to a Canadian standing next to me at the top of the Cupula (the dome on the top of the basilica) after climbing 350 stairs and suffering claustrophobia from the slanted walls. I told my Canadian friend that I thought the world was trying to tell us that our values are in the wrong place. His answer brought me up short “Yes, we are so practical yet because we are such a young society. We are still developing and building. Other ancient societies have already had their chance to learn what is important in life.” So now, while we name buildings after politicians and businessmen, Rome names it’s airport after Leonardo da Vinci!

The confessional area was lined with priests hearing confessions in many languages. Bob tried to find out if it was customary to give an offering. I asked him if he was planning on going…he said he didn’t need it at which I shot him the big poof of air that the French taught me how to do.

Meanwhile, Bob was watching the sun coming in one of the windows high in the nave magically illuminating all of one particular statue-the one of St. Helen. He wondered aloud if St. Helen “had something to say” to him-probably, he said brightly, “to keep up the good work!”

Sistine Chapel
Would take weeks or months to absorb everything in the Vatican museum and all the rooms of art (Bob was pretty energized by the modern religious art). In the half hour we were in the Sistine Chapel, Vatican monitors shushed us every 2-3 minutes which really raised Bob’s hackles! He said it reminded him of Sister Mary Barbara! But I said I thought the noise may be damaging to the art. Besides, I told him it shouldn’t be a circus in there. I just got a harumph in reply.

Before taking the Metro back to the hotel we stopped at a small cafeteria run by three energetic young guys who served up pizza, rice stuffed tomatoes in a great pomodoro sauce with those tiny noodles and a veal dish with another kind of pomodoro sauce at our streetside table. Either we were very hungry or this was the best food in Italy!

The New Young Brits

Posted on by Laughingnomad

In the train, before crawling into my compartment, I stood out in the hall and had a great conversation with a bright energetic young Brit (Richard) attending Cambridge. He had been traveling by himself on college break all through Morocco. (There were thousands of European students on college break traveling all over Europe during this time.)

He explained, when asked, that in Britain at these schools you pick a subject and then only study that subject-and his subject was Modern History. He was full of questions about my 1965 trip to Europe and about my activities during the Viet Nam War. He was fully aware that in the U. S. more Viet Nam veterans have committed suicide since the war than all the 40,000 men who died during that war.

At first I thought Richard was French because he was speaking so fluently in French with someone else in another compartment but he explained that he grew up bilingual.

My generation in America has grown up with a view of Britain as the great colonialist country but perhaps it’s citizens have learned a great deal from it’s own history and Britain now has one of the most culturally sophisticated generations in the English speaking world. The upcoming generations of Americans would do well to learn from them-indeed it must especially if we are to learn how to get along with the rest of the world. But it won’t happen without exposure to other cultures on a pretty broad scale and at a pretty young age. For example, Richard’s first travel experience was at the age of 15 when he was sent to India alone by his parents for several months. What parents do you know that would allow their 15 year old children the same experience-alone? Richard said that words cannot describe the feeling you have when you step off the plane for the first time in Bombay-and you only have a first experience one time-he noted-and you never forget it.

He left me thinking that if this generation of youngsters will be in charge of the world in the next 20 years we will be ok.

The next morning we took a ferry from Tangiers to Algeciras; ate at a great family run Tapas Bar around the corner from the train station-snails in tomato sauce, Potato Ruso, fried calimari, seafood salad in mayonnaise sauce and beer and then took the train from Algeciras to Madrid. Arrived 10pm in Madrid and picked up another night train to Barcelona. Same kind of sleeping compartments as night before in Morocco but hey-we’re old hands at this now! Even got to sleep in middle beds in the compartment and no one shut the window!

The Atlas Mountains

Posted on by Laughingnomad

pjSwKsKjPzr5gOYYAx9PKM-2006172104421567.gif

We took an excursion trip south and east past incredible green terraced fields and old Berber kasbahs (ancient Moroccan self-contained communities made out of the rust colored mud of the countryside)-seemingly idyllic-to the Atlas Mountains.

Our group consisted of Bob and I, a young couple from New Zealand in their thirties-one a computer/internet analyst and his partner a pharmacist, another couple about our age from Boston. He had been the president of a University in Iran before the Shah was deposed and she obviously was also well educated. He was able to escape and she soon after. He now teaches theoretical physics at a University in Boston. The fourth couple was young-he a music major at a California school. The last two were a couple of great guys from Italy that we called �The Italians! who gave us some menu items we could order when we got to Italy.

On the way to the Sahara we passed over the Atlas Mountains (about 12,000 feet) and through the towns of Tinerhir and Boumalne. The first night we slept in a small Berber Hotel that was in the process of being renovated at the head of the Dades Gorge. The room was cold with a concrete floor but offered
several very thick heavy blankets-like the blankets used on the camels. The evening included a walk up an incredibly beautiful gorge and a dinner of Chicken Tangine. Oddly there were only two small pieces of chicken for every four people but otherwise it was very good. In the morning we had a breakfast of rolls, coffee, butter and jam before continuing on to Erfoud and then to Merzouga. We stopped in Kassah for lunch. (The cafes with the best toilettes get the most tourist business!) We all had beef kabobs and moroccan salad (tomatoes, cucumber, olives, onions) and water.

In the afternoon we walked through a Berber kasbah. We took a trail through the fields to learn about tribal farming; then walked through the kasbah and into a building where some women weavers presented their carpets. Bob was a sitting duck by this time and we are now the proud owners of a small Berber carpet.

By evening we reached an area where we were put astride camels that walked single file for a couple hours at sunset through the largest sand dunes in the world (the Al-chabbi sand dunes) to a Berber tent camp. One rides a camel on a big thick blanket just behind the camel�s hump with the pubic bone rocking back and forth against the hump. I told Bob to be careful or I�d trade him in for a camel! The Berber guy leading the trek cautioned the men to be careful of their ‘iggs.”

The encampment consisted of cloth tents joined together with heavy blankets and pads on the ground. Two good looking young Berber men cooked delicious Tagine with beef, carrots, onions and potatoes which we ate sitting in a circle on the ground with bread and our hands in groups of four. They served orange slices sprinkled with cinnamon and mint tea for dessert. Afterward the boys played Berber beats on the drums. Roosters from a nearby encampment woke us up at a breathtaking sunrise over the dunes.

The next day offered an eleven hour brutal van ride back to Marrakech with a short stop to eat lunch on a terrace at a small restaurant in Tirhan. We both ordered a �hamburger� that turned out to be a stew of tiny meatballs in tomato, onion, eggplant mixture. It surprised the heck out of us but was very good.

A few hours out of Marrakech we were pretty nervous about the narrow and curvy mountain road and we begged the driver to stop and take a break-which he did. The roadside stand had fresh Tangine, soup mint tea, coffee and soft drinks. The very friendly older man standing behind the food bench was offering me a small bowl of soup for 1.5 euros when I heard the driver in a scolding voice tell the food seller to charge 5 euros.

In Marakech that night the Ali Hotel was full because there was a holiday that weekend (we never did figure out what it was.) There also was an international meeting of some kind in the city during this time. So we stayed in the Hotel Eddakhla-a pretty basic hotel on a pretty rough street with a lot of beggars, no lift-just stairs-very deep and steep and narrow and on top of that the WC and shower was down on the first floor. The room had a sink and bidet but was very stuffy with no window to the outside. Bob bristled when a young man at the desk demanded his passport �for the police,� Bob of course thinking he wanted to take the passport which would violate rule number one: never give up your passport to anyone for any reason!

Ate dinner at one of the hundreds of eating stalls set up in the square every night that serve harira, kabobs and fish stews. Some of the stalls specialized in goat head meat-complete with whole goat heads set up in a row for viewing-that was patronized almost entirely by the locals. However, we sat at a stall that was probably set up to attract the tourists. We had beef kebobs peppers, spinach, fish, moroccan salad olives and mint tea. It was the worst meal in Morocco and Bob was very offended when the waiter slammed a small tin plate down on the table and demanded a tip. There goes those filters again!

How people experience a country seems almost accidental at times!

Pink And Tent-like Marrakech

Posted on by Laughingnomad

Founded in 1070–72 by the Almoravids, the Medina of Marrakesh remained a political, economic and cultural centre for a long period. Its influence was felt throughout the western Muslim world, from North Africa to Andalusia. It has several impressive monuments dating from that period: the Koutoubiya Mosque, the Kasbah, the battlements, monumental doors, gardens, etc. Later architectural jewels include the Bandiâ Palace, the Ben Youssef Madrasa, the Saadian Tombs, several great residences and Place Jamaâ El Fna, a veritable open-air theatre. The area is an UNESCO World Heritage Site.

There is no chance of an American avoiding his/her cultural filters in a country like Morocco-just as I suspected! “Lets Go” travel guide describes Marrakech as a city of immense beauty, low, pink and tent-like before a great shaft of mountains and the book is right on. Its an immediately exciting place especially around the central square, Djemaa el Fna, the stage for shifting circles of onlookers who gather around groups of acrobats, drummers, pipe musicians, dancers, story-tellers, snake charmers and comedians.
Read More

Paris

Posted on by Laughingnomad

From the Louvre to the Eiffel Tower, from the Place de la Concorde to the Grand and Petit Palais, the evolution of Paris and its history can be seen from the River Seine. The Cathedral of Notre-Dame and the Sainte Chapelle are architectural masterpieces while Haussmann’s wide squares and boulevards influenced late 19th- and 20th-century town planning the world over. The banks of the Seine is designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The outstanding handling of new architectural techniques in the 13th century, and the harmonious marriage of sculptural decoration with architecture, has made Notre-Dame in Reims one of the masterpieces of Gothic art. The former abbey still has its beautiful 9th-century nave, in which lie the remains of Archbishop St Rémi (440–533), who instituted the Holy Anointing of the kings of France. The former archiepiscopal palace known as the Tau Palace, which played an important role in religious ceremonies, was almost entirely rebuilt in the 17th century. Notre Dame is an UNESCO World Heritage Site.

We have been in Paris less than 24 hours and have had many adventures already!

We found a cute little Basque restaurant last night-Bob had squid in its own ink and I had cassoulet. Soon many French men started arriving-all of them gorgeous and interesting looking-place was dripping with testosterone and Bob laughed at what he called “my flushed face.”

We sat next to two young girls from Boston who were going to the Univ of Paris. When I asked them if they were going to marry a Frenchman they pulled faces and said-No, they definitely were not! They were going to go home and marry an American! I told them I had read that in the 60’s the feminist movement was strong but that it had virtually died out. They agreed and said that the men won the feminist war in France!

This morning we set out to find an internet cafe. I walked into a book store and asked for internet. The guy pulled a face and kind of spit-more like a big “poof” out of the side of his mouth and held up both hands flat out toward me. So we walked down the street and asked a younger guy at a news stand. He did the same thing!!! “Poof” out of the side of his mouth. I laughed and pointed at the face he was making-he laughed back-he had a little English-he said the internet was for the “young.” Don’t know what he considered himself-he looked to be late 20’s. Then he said France was small and didn’t need the internet and that the post was better. I think he was pulling my leg so to speak. So we laughed and walked away, eventually finding our treasure.

Bob is amazed at all the little green maintenance men with green brooms riding in green little trucks and on green motorcycles!

We had asked the manager at the hotel we were in in London what advice he had for us in France since he had worked here for 2 years and was going to Nice to work soon. He said that in rural France to try to pronounce French with a sarcastic tone and “they will like you better!” He said that people in rural France regard Parisian French as “snooty.” What do we know. We still have to find out how to get on the train!

Trekking in Kyrgyzstan

Posted on by Laughingnomad

7Z3XBdt3hLmJjqkmk2I6k0-2006190120654814.gif

The fall of 1995 Bob and I joined an REI adventure tour company based in Seattle Washington on an 18 day trek in the highest and most dramatic part of the central Tian Shan mountain range of south Kyrgyzstan in Central Asia.

Uzbekistan Airways, flying in from New York, landed in Tashkent Uzbekistan where we visited a couple from our home town of Salem Oregon who happened to be there as volunteers for USAID. We had told our friends via email where we would be staying, but upon failure of the phone system, they simply slipped a note under our door, a local custom in lieu of telephones, letting us know where and when to meet them.

When we arrived at a restaurant parking lot to board the bus, to our dismay, we found several Uzbekis hovered over many and myriad motor parts lying on the ground. “Have some tea,” they said as they pointed toward a nearby tea house, “and we will be ready soon!” Riiight…we thought. To our relief, after watching them reassemble the inner workings of the motor for an hour, we were motioned back to the bus by Peter, our trip guide.

To reach the trekking area in Kyrgyzstan it was necessary to cross a small oddly carved out thumb of Tajikistan from Uzbekistan. However, the two countries don’t get along and when we arrived at the Tajik border the guard held up the bus…apparently wanting baksheesh to let us pass. Peter was adamant about not wanting to set a precedent of paying them off so there we sat in the hot sun, eating the best melon we have ever had in our lives to quench our thirst. Finally, Peter had the driver take a roundabout road across the Fergana Valley to reach our staging area in Kyrgyzstan where the driver had to pull some very crooked logs over a stream to get the bus across…we chose to wobble across on our feet.

Aksu.jpg

The trek included walks up breath-taking beautiful stream-filled and flowered valleys and over high ridges to more valleys. Shepherds from their permanent homes in the lowlands summer their sheep and horses on the grassy mountain-sides. Sheer glossy Ak-Suu peak, one of the world’s best extreme rock-climbing destinations that had just before opened up to climbers since the fall of the Soviet Union glinted at the head of the glacial valleys. The first sobering day saw a climb team carry out a dead British compatriot that had fallen off the peak.

nomads.jpg

As we leisurely meandered up the trails, children of the local nomads would come running, sometimes with a kettle of tea or chay in their hands, yelling “pen!” “pen!” Have pen? Pens and paper are the most prized gifts, although Peter discouraged us from giving the kids anything…preferring to have them see us as friends rather than a rich Western source of material goods.

Alaska.jpg

Peter’s favorite “gift” was to bring photos of the locals that he had taken on previous treks in the area. The amazed smiles and giggles of the nomads that had never seen themselves in a picture was tear-jerking.

twoincentralasia.jpg

Every couple days, locally hired shepherds carried our gear on horses over narrow mountain trails to succeeding camps…the trek trip just before ours losing a horse hundreds of yards to a river below. We would set up our own tents. The potty was a hole dug out behind some rocks. In the mornings chay (tea) was brought to our tents to get us awake. In the evenings, Victor, our Russian cook, would wok up a delicious dinner like stew of spicy laghman (noodles) with cabbage and lamb bought from the locals. Dumplings (chuchvara) fresh yogurt (ayran) and home-made bread with raspberry jam and butter (sary may) kept us filled up.

After dinner at night, Peter, in real life a young non-practicing attorney from Colorado, would regale us with his rock climbing and trekking stories. One day he stumbled across a friend on the trail, a professional climber from Idaho who was checking out the newly opened climb area. A motivational speaker in the states, he mezmerized us that evening with a story of an Annapurna climb in Nepal during which a Russian climbing partner became disoriented and insisted on going up the line instead of down during a storm. The Russian was never seen again. Right at the climax, before we could find out what happened to the poor climber, we saw a huge lingering flash of red hot color fill the western sky! Only later, reading an English language paper in Istanbul Turkey on our way home, did we find out that it was the Russian manned space flight returning to earth in Kyrgyzstan.