Summer Sojourn

2023-07-28T13:49:25Z

For the next six weeks, I will be traveling. I left my company with the taste of ash in my mouth and now, without clear direction or ambition, I find myself wishing for motion. I will share this motion with you, dear reader.

Hopefully, this will not be a wretched travel blog. I was 20 years old the first time I flew. That naïveté does not mean that I do not enjoy traveling. I have been lucky enough to live abroad for work on several occasions, and I loved it. However, it’s important to recognize that regular travel in any egalitarian sense is a truly modern phenomenon. The historical context alone is enough to make travel precious. And sharing it with you is a privilege.

My objectives for this trip are as follows:

1. See my friends
2. Live in each city (lots of walking, no hotels, cooking with local ingredients, etc)
3. Complete my writing project
4. Crash incubators/co-working spaces to see what the locals are working on
5. Touristy things

I hope you will follow along as I try to capture some interesting moments. At a minimum, they will be interesting to me. I should mention that, in travel, I have been influenced by the following books: Going Abroad, The Art of Travel, the works of Thoreau, Conrad, Tolkien, and of course, Mary Pope Osborne 😉.

2023-07-31T13:49:25Z

I’ve been fasting since Friday and just drank a cup of coffee. In a fasted state, coffee hits you like an overly affectionate elephant. The KLM meal had little appeal. At least I have an exit row, even if it came with a reprimand:

“You are very tall,” said the Dutch stewardess.

“Yes.”

“You should have purchased an exit row.”

“I heard KLM has good legroom…” I try half smile. I get a pursed lips back.

“Would you like an exit row?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Next time, you should plan ahead. How tall are you?”

“6’8.” This earns me a smile.

I spent most of last night cleaning the apartment. The weather was moody in San Francisco. The moon was almost full and glowed balefully behind fast-moving clouds. The combination always makes me think of witches on broomsticks. Yesterday I was hungry, but I still slept well. In contemplating an imminent journey, there is agitation that steadily grows until I reach the airport. Then something snaps and I’m in it. I don’t mind the lines or security. I don’t mind the bustle. It’s all part of the mystique and expectation for me.

For those who fly every week, I’m sure it’s a completely different experience. But for me, I’m 20 again and taking my first flight to Boise. Everything is novel. Every face around me is worth examining. The boredom and discomfort is the toll that must be paid for adventure. And paying it in full is a test of one’s mettle.

It is ten hours before my layover in Amsterdam, an airport rich in memories. I won’t be sleeping. I will be reading and writing.

2023-07-31T5:40:55Z

I was just handed a cookie. I really want to eat this cookie. But I know if I eat it, hunger will rear its ravenous head.

I won’t eat the cookie. I just wanted to share the internal battle with you.

It wasn’t a battle. The cookie never stood a chance against my iron will. In fact, I will peel back the wrapper and smell it. It feels very soft and smells of shortbread. I love shortbread…

2023-08-01T05:50:01Z

I have not eaten the cookie

2023-08-01T05:51:26Z

I ate the cookie 😕

2023-08-01T05:52:26Z

I didn’t actually eat the cookie. For those who were hoping I would eat it, shame on you! The rest of you, go eat a cookie.

2023-08-01T09:14:15Z

AMS Airport Wifi is a horror.

I’ve never fasted for 72 hours while staying awake for 24. I feel myself entering an almost trance like state. I had plenty of time to contemplate this while taxiing. I believe Rembrandt started and completed one of his self-portraits while taxiing into AMS.

2023-08-02T04:39:56Z

I’m locked in a patio in Alaçatı.

Since mornings are so sleepy here, I expected I will be trapped for a while. I wanted to write this morning, but I can’t help but think there are better ways to deal with writer’s block. Legend has it that Douglas Adams’ publisher would lock him in a room if a book fell too far behind. I doubt that helped. This is the same man who wrote:

I love deadlines! I love the whooshing sound they make as they go by!

I reached Alaçatı at 11:30PM last night, or 26 hours after I left my apartment. The last leg of the journey is a bit hazy as sleep deprivation set in. It involved a lot of transfers:

Apartment(🚄) => SFO (✈️) => AMS (✈️) => IST (✈️) => IZMIR (🚌) => Alaçatı

I made a mistake in Istanbul. There are two airports. Initially, I had not booked the last leg to Izmir, unsure if I was going to spend a few days in Istanbul. When I finally booked the flight, I forgot to check which airport.

After getting through customs, I stood for several minutes, blearily looking at the departure screen, trying to find my flight. After an embarrassing period of time, I realized I was in the wrong airport.

Turkish Airlines ticket desk was helpful in a surreal sort of way:

“Hi, I have departing flight from SAW to IZMIR at 18:45. Can I can that moved to a flight from here (IST)?”

“No problem, there is 19:00. Does that work for you?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Ok, let me get that processed for you (…time elapses). I’m sorry, it looks like it’s too late to transfer your existing flight. We can only do that within one hour of departure. Would you like to purchase a new ticket?”

“The 18:45 flight?”

“Yes”

“It’s 17:30”

“Yes.”

“So that’s more than an hour from now.”

“Exactly.”

I double take. Her confidence is unsettling. I play back the conversation in my head, trying desperately to discern what I’m missing.

“So my original flight departs in 75 minutes. I would like to move my ticket to a new flight, which departs in 90 minutes. But I can’t do that because your policy is no changes within 60 minutes of departure?”

“Yes.”

“I see…” I sway a little in the reality distortion field. My mind flows like a Dali clock. Change of tactic — I smile at her. “Can you make an exception this once?”

“Let me see what I can do, sir.” Customer service trumps reason every time.

2023-08-03T02:52:49Z

My body is unwilling to let me sleep for more than five hours. As far as it is concerned, when I go to sleep at 11:00PM in Turkey, it’s 1:00PM in San Francisco. That’s a weirdly long nap, which I awake from feeling — weird. The adrenaline and pleasure of travel mostly overwrite the fatigue, but when it strikes, it’s like stepping in wet cement.

This is Alaçatı as seen from an abandoned hotel on a hill.

Not visible are the beaches which make this town such a desirable destination. There will be plenty of time for that. I am staying in one of the older sections, where the streets are cobbled and the buildings lean in. The land is arid, butt the streets are fragrant with floral notes and warm spices.

Yesterday, I managed to escape the patio and broke my fast on a ‘simple’ Turkish breakfast. It puts the English breakfast to shame in both diversity, and dynamic range. Eggs, cheeses, breads, olives, tomatoes, jams, clotted cream, honey and strong tea. I have never broken a fast more amicably.

Before the sun became too hot, I started walking the streets. Being a tourist town I quickly recognized Russian, French, Italian and Germ, but the majority is Turkish. There is a degree of conspicuous consumption here that lacks the refinement of European metropolitan dwellers. So far, I’ve found the cats more endearing than the people.

For lunch, it was a family restaurant in the countryside. The food was good, the company better, and the afternoon was wiled away engaging in wide-ranging conversation. At some point, my friend and I went south, where we watched young wind surfers struggle with meager breezes.

Today, I’ll be making a day trip back into Izmir. It’s the third largest city in Turkey and has the deep history (as in deep time) that I love.

2023-08-04T05:02:27Z

I slept seven hours last night and woke up with the sun. That feels excellent. The morning is blissfully quiet and cool compared to the days. In the afternoon, I measured the cicadas at 75 decibels (the volume someone might say, “look out for that bus!”). Now, there are only owls the friendly sounds of owls.

Yesterday, I walked through Izmir for several hours. The sun had an intensity that felt at once heavy and sharp. The city is less majestic than Istanbul — less classical with more modern developments. Driving in from the south on is struck by a wall of mid-century condominiums. After construction, they created a seamless barrier that suffocated the city from sea breezes.

I stopped at the Agora first. This market from antiquity is now an ‘open air’ museum — basically permission to climb all over the ruins without consequences. Water still flows out 2000-year-old terracotta pipes and graffiti is discernible above stalls describing the trader’s goods. In the raised courtyard, stone and pillars lay in piles. I was tempted to walk off with my very own bit of piece of rubble 🙃. The place feels uncared for, like Legos a child has lost interest in.

Less than a mile from the ruin is Kemeralti. This bazaar is a pulsing throng of goods and people, and the ideal place to visit should one find themselves in need of both a wedding dress and fresh mullet. I was accosted several times by “My friend! Where are you from?” I would then be prodded to purchase a ‘Rolex’, or Prada t-shirt or some other trinket. Their persistence was only matched by their disappointment when I would, at last, manage to extricate myself.

I walked in Izmir for several hours, looping out to the waterfront and then North to the park and further still to a posh neighborhood full of malls and fine cafés. I daydreamed about triremes in the harbor and litters winding their way down the street. Perhaps Homer once walked nearby, pondering his work on the Iliad.

2023-08-05T09:41:06Z

I’m burnt. Not the it’s painful to move kind of burnt — more of the went swimming in beat juice kind. According to my friend, I started the day as beyaz peynir - white cheese (don’t feel bad, I laughed too). Despite being slathered in sunscreen, I knew I would not go unscathed. Fear not, after a week of this, I plan on being bronzed and beautiful 😎.

I have noticed the Turkish make a very deliberate effort not to look at me. I am told looking someone in the eyes is considered very forward. I would start to believe I was invisible, if not for children who peer up at me, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

The beach is called Ilıca Plajı. It was my first time on the Aegean or any sea for that matter. The water was as calm and clear as a lake, belied only by its brininess. I waded out 300 ft before I could no longer touch the bottom. The temperature was more like a suburban pool than the ocean, but the salinity made it much more buoyant.

Vendors came by selling boiled corn, fresh mussels, and coffee. I will go in search of colder waters to the south of this peninsula.

I passed this billboard on my walk to the beach. It for a hotel. The woman casually drapes out of an Instagram story, sporting thousands of likes.

It captures the character of this place and hints at the zeitgeist of a generation. The demand for social capital is probably generationally invariant — our parents and their parents also vied for prestige and recognition. What has changed is the speed that the currency of social capital can be moved. It can be updated many times a day and stretch across continents. As cringy as this advertisement may be, at least it’s honest about these values.

My evenings have been forming a routine. I’ve been sitting in a corner of the cocktail bar to write. I’ve been working on a more involved writing project. The more time I spend time on it, the more I realize the scale of an undertaking (I will share more later).

I have my laptop, notebook, and occasionally a glass of wine. The hours of evening drift by, researching, jotting notes, and drafting scenarios until fatigue creeps up. I’d like to fantasize that, out here, I’m living out the life of a Hemingway.

Today I will avoid the sun. I will hide away in a breezy cafe and work start re-adding my old essays.

2023-08-06T05:53:11Z

Yesterday, I wandered around the Çeşme bazaar. This was splendid. It spans many streets and is erected overnight, which adds to its sense of novelty and freshness. Aside from the farmers market, there are hundreds of stalls selling textiles, glasses, jewelry, soaps, shoes, and tool. There was no aggressive selling, just bustling activity. I wanted none of it, but I loved seeing all of it.

Today It’s overcast and windy. This is a relief after the persistent 95F days. I will hike south to quieter beaches, colder water, and caves. If you don’t hear from me, it will be because of the sirens. They need to eat too.

2023-08-07T07:08:22Z

Walking is simply the best way to explore a new place. To drive is to conform. The paved streets enable people to get from A ⇾ B. If you want to see what everyone else sees, then by all means, drive to your destination. By walking, you are guaranteed to take paths others will not. In this case, the drive was eight miles of highway stretching south from Alaçatı to obscurer beaches.

As a pedestrian, a highway is exactly where I didn’t want to be. Instead, I was forced to find side roads and country trails. This conspired to produce my favorite day thus far.

Initially, sticking to the north of the highway, I walked through farmland and dirt roads that Google Maps frequently got wrong. I was forced to double back when a ‘road’ ended at a fence or farmhouse. But there were grapes along the shoulder, bird song in the air, and the few people I passed all waved.

The farmland ended, and I was briefly forced back onto the highway. I escaped into a gated community. Magnificent homes hugged the coast. Some stood abandoned and desolate, like little salvaged Titanics. No one waved here.

I crossed the highway a third time to a dirt road that wend into brown, arid hills. A little over a mile up this road, I reached a gem — the wastewater treatment facility. I enjoyed the sensory feast of a truck dumping raw sewage. This is why we walk, folks!

Google Maps indicated a road but beyond the facility, it was little more than a trail. The landscape was severe, littered with shrubs and rugged pines. I went off-trail to investigate some limestone foundations. I told myself they were Ionian ruins (they were most certainly not) and congratulated myself on the discovery. Further on, I met and greeted a tortoise. I complimented him on his fine shell and wished him bonne chance in his acquisition of leafy greens.

After a couple more miles, the azure coast emerged. Looking due south, there was nothing but blue. The beach was small and littered with tents. I found a cliff to perch on overlooking the sand. I hid under my towel from the blistering sun that had punished me all morning. I drank the last of my water. Staring out at Aegean, I listened to this - I hope you will enjoy it too.

2023-08-09T12:43:37Z

I’m penning this from Grinders Café on the island of Chios. It is a short ferry ride from Turkey. Upon learning this, I knew it was a journey I had to make. This is my first time in Greece. I can confidently report that Assassin’s Creed Odyssey does not do it justice.

For an American passport holder, there is no visa requirement. Getting the Cesme Harbor was the biggest hurdle. The ferry only runs at 9:00. At 8:00 the taxi app returned no results. By 8:30 I was jogging down to the street in search of one. I made it to the port and through passport control with a few minutes to spare.

The Ferry

The ferry was late. Winds of 45mph were whipping the Aegean into a frenzy. We could not sit on the front deck because of the waves. Most of the passengers huddled inside the 60ft ferry. A few brave souls positioned themselves on the top deck behind the bridge.

Leaving the harbor, the waves were already topping six feet. We traveled due west, but as the turbulence grew they turned starboard, into the crests. By the halfway point, the waves exceed ten feet. The deck bucked, and the sea roared, but the railed provided a secure hold. What fun! Positioned behind the bridge, I was shielded from most of the surf that broke over the deck. The wind dried the spray until my skin was covered in a film of salt and my hair was like old straw.

Only six passengers remained outside. Three seemed to be enjoying the ride as much as me. One poor girl wretched and then dry heaved. Her boyfriend dutifully filmed her contortions.

In the clouds of spray blown up by the wind, a rainbow danced. It moved perfectly with the ship, as if following us from the depths of the dark blue Aegean. I suppose it would be mermaids, not leprechauns, at the end of this one.

Sheltered by the island, the water was calmer. As we pulled into port, one of the passengers came up to me.

“Can I Airdrop you some photos?”

“Photos?”

“Yes, I took some of you. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Thank you!”

Chios Chios is fantastic. Is it fair to say that it feels like a working town? The café culture is vibrant but occupied by middle-aged men and women instead of tourists. In groups of four or five, they sit around wooden tables, in canvas chairs, with iced coffees in hand. They belong here in the same way your quirky neighbor belongs in her favorite rocking chair. The streets are clean, and every storefront is occupied. The air is perfumed with summer buds and sweet pastries.

The Castle of Chios is epic. Its ruins spread over many acres, and the houses of streets have been built into them. These streets are narrow and intimate. I walked along the crenelations and turrets and once marveled how old and new can be so intertwined in this Old World.

The coast is equally beautiful — immaculate beaches with few occupants and ancient windmills fallen into ruin. The adventuring was fueled by very good espresso and the best gyro I have had in my life.

Some lovely blue eyes have been peering at me as I’ve been writing. I’m going to go talk to them.

2023-08-10T14:54:42Z

While walking or biking, I’ve always preferred loops over backtracking. As I sit in Izmir’s airport, I think I understand why. Retracing my steps from Alaçatı to Izmir (and soon to Istanbul), feels like I am rewrapping a gift.

The unwrapping experience is veiled promises and breathless anticipation. This is at the heart of any new adventure. But now the gift has been unwrapped. I know its contents, and however fondly, they now dwell behind me. To backtrack is to relive that moment of anticipation, but in reverse. Rewrapping is melancholic. Robert Frost understood:

..knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back.

But endings are beginnings. Soon I will start my red eye south, first to Dubai and then onto Kampala. Wish me luck!

2023-08-11T14:54:42Z

Dubai is an absurd city. It’s 6:00 AM and the temperature in the shade is 102F. The shape of the sun is barely visible through the thick haze on the horizon. Every time I’m here, I think of Tatooine! I don’t even like Star Wars!

Sunrise in the air over Saudi was special. Through my window, I watched the colors evolve. What started as a band of dried blood changed into a sublime pastel: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, and black — dark and under saturated yet distinct. It makes up for not sleeping.

2023-08-12T06:59:24Z

Another sleepless flight. I reached Kampala mid-afternoon, got settled in my Airbnb, and was treated to a great Indian restaurant by my friends. By 7:00 PM I was inert, and I slept soundly for 12 hours.

Kampala looks like a metropolis and Jungle got into a boxing match but neither could get the upper hand. I am staying in Kiwafu which is a neighborhood between downtown Kampala and Lake Victoria. From here, the hilly city is a continuous blend of green foliage and red roofs. As cities go, It is as far from the cement jungle of New York as one can be.

As one zoom into the streets, the harmony gives way to controlled chaos. The roads are uneven, and potholed with inconsistent shoulders. There are three motorcycles for every car and everything smells of the residues from inefficient combustion cycles.

This doesn’t feel oppressive. The breeze is continuous, and the weather is temperate as we are 4000ft above sea level.

This morning, the air is particularly cool, so a layer of pale smog clings to the city. I will go exploring towards the lake today and bring back some fresh fish for ceviche.

2023-08-14T08:07:49Z

I tried to buy a kilo of filleted tilapia at the fish market. The conversation went like this:

“How much for the fillet?”

“Brother, 80k (21 USD)”

Double take - “Brother, for 80k I could get you filleted”

Grin, pat on the back - “12k (3.2 USD)”

Notes

• In Kampala, I am a Muzungu — a white foreigner
• In two days I have been proposed to three times (once by the sister of the fishmonger).
• Gaddafi Mosque is beautiful, and the minaret provides the best view of the city.
• Like old Byzantium, Kampala was once the city of ‘seven hills.’
• A Rolex is a chapati-wrapped omelet that you can purchase on the street for 50 cents. It feels like something I could have gotten in Delhi.
• The coffee is, unsurprisingly, delicious.
• When it rains, everything smells of green foliage.
• A day spent with friends is a day well spent.

On the people The average age in Uganda is 16. This is one of the several facts I’ve been considering as I try to make sense of my impression of this place. There is some indiscernible quality that has gradually won me over. The vitality and vigor of Kampala seem to run deeper than than what’s attributable to age. I don’t suppose everyone wakes up and shouts “carpe diem” and yet the energy is not far off.

Consider a particle simulation where each particle is a person. In a rural location, collisions are rare but there is stickiness to them. For example, in high school, I worked for a farmer who, upon a serendipitous meeting with his neighbor, could fall into a 30-minute conversation.

As you move to larger cities the simulation changes. There are many more particles. They move faster, collide frequently but interact less. The stickiness factor goes down. At the extreme, individuals can pass through each other as if they don’t exist. Hence the ‘solitude of a crowd’ phenomenon that we have all experienced walking through Times Square.

In Kampala, I am witnessing both high collision and high stickiness. They manage to live in urban density without loosing the rural interactions. People notice the individuals around them through countless greetings and gestures. Personal spheres touch and blend and pass. Instead of cold particles, it behaves like a warm fluid. It’s really nice.

2023-08-17T11:19:39Z

I’ve been cafe hopping and visiting co-working spaces in Kampala. Most of time has been writing. This is what I’ve been working on.

2023-08-18T07:29:18Z

Notes

• The mosquitoes have not been an issue. My bed has netting but I’ve stopped using it. They don’t find me tasty.
• The water is not potable. Most households use jibus (20-liter jugs). You can exchange empty containers for full ones at most markets.
• Cash is king here. Only high-end establishments take credit cards.
• Few people have bank accounts. Everyone uses their phone for transactions. The cellular provider handles transactions over SMS. Little stands across the city exchange cash for this mobile currency.
• The boda (motorcycle) is the most common form of transportation. It costs less than a dollar to travel almost everywhere. No one wears helmets.
• Most cooking at home and all cooking on the street is done with charcoal. The gastronome in me has no issue with this.
• Despite Uganda being one of the safest countries in East Africa, there are many guns. The police ride around in trucks with seats welded to the bed. They carry assault rifles and big machine guns. Most establishments and apartments have a guard armed with a rifle. I have not heard any gunshots since being here.

2023-08-19T07:29:18Z

Entrepreneurship in Kampala - TODO

A summary about visiting co-working and incubator spaces in Kampala and coming away feeling depressed.

2023-08-20T07:29:18Z

In Searched of a Kitchen Knife - TODO

A summary about spending an afternoon in search of a proper kitchen knife and realizing that they do not exist in Kampala. Also the story of getting absolutely railed in the acquisition of a pipe.

2023-08-21T07:29:18Z

Yesterday we set off to Mabira Central Forest Reserve. It’s 30 miles east of Kampala or about two hours by bus. We left for the bus terminal at 7:00 and arrived with an hour to spare. We took the opportunity to grab some roadside rolexes and coffee. The bus, we were assured, would depart at 8:30. At 8:20, we returned to the bus terminal to find this very bus rolling out of the lot. Thirty seconds later and our day would have gone very differently.

Sharing is Caring

The bus ride was ordinary except for two interactions I found remarkable. The mother behind me was nursing. She fell into a conversation with the woman behind her. Without hesitation, she handed over her baby. Her neighbor played with the child for some time before passing her to a third woman.

The bus stopped occasionally to scoop up more passengers. At one such a stop, a mother handed her young boy to the bus conductor, but did not board herself. The conductor took the child, looked around, and asked a well-dressed man to take the boy. Unfazed, the man put the child in his lap. Later, he procured some juice for him. We got off before I could learn how this story would end.

Given my Western biases, these interactions struck me as novel. This level of trust and communal child care would be uncommon in an American town, let alone a city of five million. And this is on a continent where child abduction is a non-trivial issue. Pretty wild.

The Resort

We got off the side of the road where the highway cuts through Mabira Forest. The bus was instantly swarmed with street sellers proffering grilled meats and cold drinks. Transactions took place through the bus windows.

Google Maps did not display any hiking trails. My friend suggested we stop at a nearby lodge and ask for guidance. There we learned, indeed, there are no hiking trails. There were some waterfalls to the northeast. I traced a route connecting two small villages in the heart of the forest. The guide was amused but confirmed that route was possible.

We started back North. We stopped for some roasted meat that had accosted the bus earlier. Chickens were quartered, skewered, lightly salted, and grilled over charcoal. Sticks of gizzards are prepared similarly(gizzard is underrated). Anything grilled this way is delicious.

Village and Jungle

Passing through the first village, we were immediately swarmed by children. The smallest, some five and six years old, took up a chant.

“Muzungu! Muzungu!” Their older brothers followed us at a distance. The more courageous ones closed the gap. One recited all the English he knew.

“123, ABC!” 

Another instructed his friend what to say to us.

“I - don’t - understand - English … I - speak - Luganda.”

Our escorts guided us to the outskirts of the village in a skipping, laughing procession. At the fork, they waved goodbye and I thanked them for the protection.

Although we were within the forest reserve, the neighboring villages’ outskirts had been transformed into farmland. It was a permaculture paradise, with coffee and banana trees growing amongst corn and sugarcane. 

There was no cover from the sun so we were grateful when the forest closed in around us. It was cool and lush under the canopy. Going by just smell, I don’t think I could distinguish between this place and the woods of New England. There were familiar ferns in the underbrush. Evergreens mixed in with the unfamiliar trees of the jungle. Along the trails meandering off the main road, the forest floor was alive with the activity of countless moths and butterflies. 

Further along, we were interrupted by rustling overhead. Red-tail Monkeys were swinging around the canopy with relish. They could effortlessly jump two or three times their body length. The crossed the the road, paying little heed to us and went along their merry way.

Before reaching the village of Sese the silence was broken four-bit version of Fur Elise. A bota rolled up with a large cooler strapped to the back. It was the ice cream man! We acquired some homemade popsicles. 

Sese was similar to the first village though the locals were a little more reserved. We bought some water from them and rested under the canopy.

I lay on my back with my bag and a pillow. Looking up, we identified two more species, the Mangabey and Blue Turacos. The Turacos were large, gorgeous birds. In flight, their wings displaced a lot of air. The wingstrokes thrummed like medieval blacksmith bellows. 

The edge of Sese intersected high-voltage power lines that cut across Mabira. I assume they ran back to Kampala. The land had been clear-cut to construct the power lines, and the locals had wasted little time turning this into more farmland. We turned west and followed these lines, under a beating sun, to the falls. 

The Falls

Griffin Falls was underwhelming. It is a tourist destination for camping, zip lines, and archery. There was an entrance fee to the falls and a waiver to sign if we wanted to explore without a guide. After walking thirteen miles to get to this place, this last mile felt insulting. We were tired but my companions insisted that we had come this far, we might as well finish.

I was even more annoyed when we reached the water itself. Yes, there are falls — we could hear them a good way off but we could smell them from almost as far. The water was brown and putrid with the distinct aroma of animal waste. It was clear from the trail condition that few ventured down to the water. Likely, they only came for the zip lines, a safe distance above. When I scrambled down the ravine to the water’s edge, the smell became so repugnant that I quickly retreated.

I was ready to write off this destination as a total failure as we started back. In one clearing, a zip line platform was unoccupied. It stood 30 feet up one of the trees and metal spikes had been driven into the trunk. My friend looked at me.

“Don’t let the intrusive thoughts win,” he said.

Of course, the intrusive thoughts won. It was a satisfying climb and a great view, easily redeeming some of the disappointment of the falls.

Winding down

Back at the entrance, we waited for bodas to take us back to the highway. We sipped cold beverages and rested our tired feet. Around 6:00 our motorcycles arrived and we started the four-mile ride back. The surrounding land opened up into lush, fertile farmland. It was the golden hour. The road was deep red, the hills verdant green, and the sky a pale blue. From the back of the bike, the scene rolled on in an unobstructed procession. It was the finest landscape I have seen on this trip.

After we reached the highway, we stopped at a local restaurant. They served us heaping plates of matoke, cassava, yams, rice, and spinach. In another bowl was a half chicken in its broth. After a 15 mile hike, the variation of starches was deeply satisfying and delicious. 

The road home was congested and my stiffening muscles protested against being immobilized by the bus. We made it back to Kampala a little after eight. 

On Adventure

Yesterday was great. In my opinion, the reason for this is due to a lack of careful planning. Total randomness while traveling, and you risk getting stranded, harming yourself, or worse, harming others. Pure choreography, and you have an experience devoid of novelty or adventure.

Yes, you can hike where other people hike. Yes, you can eat at restaurants that you know are good. Instead, try rolling the dice. Give me street food and the path not taken. Give me a little chaos. After all, “One must have chaos in oneself to give birth to a dancing star.”

2023-08-22T05:21:38Z

Packing the bags once again. Another set of bittersweet goodbyes. One more adventure to go. I wish I could take soil with me from these places. It is the ideal memento for traveling to distant lands. Unfortunately, that’s banned.

My taxi driver today said something interesting. After I recounted what another driver had said — how things were worse since the British left — He laughed and then grew thoughtful. He told me this:

I don’t think that brother has traveled. I have been lucky enough to have traveled to other places. I know how good this place this. The land. The climate. The people. It’s easy to dream about how good other places are until you see them. Uganda is beautiful. I will never move away. 

Maybe I can sneak some soil in my shoes.

2023-08-22T14:59:44Z

The Uber to the airport was late picking me up. To my horror, he tried very hard to make up the time. In Uganda, playing chicken with oncoming traffic seems to be a valid driving strategy. My heart rate was pegged to the speedometer, and I closed my eyes when that passed 150 KM. The rust bucket was shimmying so violently, I could have brushed my teeth without moving my hands. 

We made though. I thanked the driver and recommended he get his wheels aligned.

Onto Addis and then Cairo. I’m landing at 3:00 AM, so I am going to be awake if PT folks want to catch up.

2023-08-23T02:15:21Z

Another all-nighter. These are getting less fun. Three weeks in and city hopping is not soaking my system in adrenaline like it used to. I guess I should’t be surprised.

2023-08-23T02:45:57Z

Cairo is humid. Currently, it’s only 7:30, so the air is cool. Somehow, I knew exactly how it would smell. Outside the airport, the texture of the air reminded me of my Grandmother’s home in Oceanside, Long Island. In downtown Cairo, I’m reminded of New York. The wide avenues and mid-century, looming, cement buildings feel familiar.

Now I have to stay awake until my Studio is ready. Three weeks in to my travels, there is a little fatigue setting in. The desire to just stay in a café is and read a book more pernicious. But with a little will, this impulse is easily overcome. Cairo strikes me Deep city. There will be much to see.

2023-08-24T05:41:11Z

We walked along the Nile for a few hours yesterday. The breeze was wonderful across the Qasr El Nil Bridge (guarded by lions). The New York vibe persisted, as I was reminded of the East River. The heat is as relentless as it is consistent. In military fashion, it advances from a pleasant, humid morning to a dry, feverish peak at 3:00. By mid-afternoon, the asphalt and cement have absorbed countless BTUs, and they pin the temperature at over 100F until the sun goes down in the evening.

Walking through this is a slog. I will need to get all my exploring done in the morning and reserve the afternoon for museums and writing.

Time to look at some mummies. I have made some important notes about this:

2023-08-25T08:24:26Z

Wi-Fi in Cairo is very frustrating. It is both slow and inconsistent. I reported the Wi-Fi was down to my Airbnb host. Ahmad came by to fix it. He disconnected and reconnected to the network on my MacBook and refreshed the page. When I told him that didn’t change anything, he said it was working now. This was true, so I asked him if it would continue to work.

“Inshaa Allah”

Fair enough.

Highlights from yesterday include exploring the Egyptian Museum in Cairo and the Citadel. The Egyptian Museum was in flux. There were pallet jacks on the move and entire hallways lined with half-packed displays. The age of the museum was readily apparent. Some exhibit labels were yellowing paper within paint-spattered, wooden frames. They could have been 100 years old. They were written in Arabic, French, and English — in that order. Many of the displays were inconsistently lit. Despite this, it remains an impressive museum. Countless stone and wood sarcophagus are in the open air. Only the mummies (of which there are few) and the more delicate artifacts (weapons, jewelry, ceramics, papyrus, etc.) are behind glass. There is nothing stopping one from running one’s hands through the hieroglyphics carved some 5000 years ago. 

I would recommend a guide if I was to do it again. The exhibit labels are short and sporadic and the layout of the museum is not intuitive. The artifacts cover the Pre-Dynastic through the Hellenistic but I found it difficult to visit them in chronological order. 

I think one of the things that impressed me most was the replication of eyes in the statues and tombs. They layered multiple, clear/translucent minerals to create hyperrealism. The other was the Tutankhamun exhibit. I remember being deeply frightened by a documentary about the curse of Tutankhamun as a young boy. Twenty years later, I was a few inches from these very same artifacts. They do not dissapoint.

Later in the afternoon, my friend took me to the Citadel. It is a massive compound housing multiple museums and mosques. From my time in India, I could tell the fortress itself was Ottoman. We were not allowed on the battlements. We visited the military museum, which included “The Greatest Warrior in the world.”

My friend took me to a traditional Egyptian restaurant for dinner. This was a pleasure! There was grilled liver, Kofta, Ocra, Molokhia, Tahini, and fresh bread. The highlight for me was a dish served in a clay pot. Inside was offal and dolma braising in a bone marrow broth. If you ignore the ingredients, it almost reminded me of eating a ravioli. The grape leaf serves the same role as the pasta. For those who a squeamish about the ingredients, try it with your eyes closed — the flavors are excellent! 

2023-08-28T05:19:44Z

Feta Cheese

Feta used to me my least favorite cheese. Turkey and Egypt have changed my mind. Why can’t we make feta this delicious?

Escape Rooms

Who doesn’t love a good escape room, particularly when there are mummies armed with chainsaws?

2023-08-29T06:23:21Z

Here is the obligatory post about visiting the Pyramids of Giza. I did not go inside the pyramid of Khufu because I prefer to keep my vertebrae intact. I did most of my exploring from the back of a camel. There was no spitting or biting. In fact, I believe I have formed a strong friendship with Michael Jackson, the camel.

Getting to the Pyramids is an exercise in patience and urban navigation. Most pictures of the Pyramids of Giza fail to communicate how they are nested into the edge of the metropolis. Looking one way, there is desert — looking the other way is urban sprawl. Adding to the complexity, there are many road closures in the area due the construction of a metro extension.

I was not immediately awestruck standing next to one of the Seven Ancient Wonders of the World. Given the worn, irregular condition of the stone and people scurrying at the edges, I was thought of ants attacking a piece of bread.

I daydreamed about what they would have looked like when the polished white limestone was still intact. This would be a great application for AI + augmented reality. Give me goggles that overlay what the world could have looked like given an arbitrary period. It would be like H. G. Well’s The Time Machine if the machine was only a camera (which would also avoid all the time paradoxes). I could set the goggles to 2000 BC and see glowing white sandstone and a gilded capstone. Tell me that would not be great!

As we looped around Khufu, we were accosted by a man on his camel. Never have I been more taken for a ride while also being so pleased to be taken for a ride. What started as a picture with the camel became me sitting on the camel became me being led on the camel became a full tour — a progression that took only 60 seconds.

As I mentioned before, this Camel’s name was Michael Jackson and yes, he can moonwalk (I asked), though I did not witness this. For $20 we were led around the pyramids through the dunes to The Sphinx. The two brothers leading us were friendly and engaging. They have been providing this service since they were ten.

It was disconcerting, at first, to be lifted so high off the ground. But Michael won me over. He was very responsive to any motion of the lead. The last time I rode a horse was in the Forest Service, so my memory is a little foggy, but I am confident horses are more comfortable. The camel’s gate is a swaying one. So much so that after a few minutes of riding, my Apple Watch asked if I wanted to record my “elliptical exercise.” The back is broad, even for me, and in shorts, quite chafing. The camel smells of wet grass and ammonia. Highly recommend!

The Sphinx is the more mesmerizing of the ruins. It feels more like the Argonath in LoTR - stoic and magisterial. There is a famous painting of Napoleon staring up the Spinx after his conquest of Egypt — One conqueror staring at another through eons — joined in space but separated by time.

Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

2023-09-02T06:30:37Z

Cairo Market

Brass, Onyx, mother-of-pearl, mahogany, camel bone, wool. Pharaonic carvings, furniture, game boards, rugs. Sellers like hawks. “Where are you from?” “Come sit, have some tea, we will make a good price” “I like you” “Brother from another mother”

Don’t expect good faith negotiations. One seller runs off on request and returns with tobacco pipe. It is used and made of cheap materials — 3000 pounds! It is not worth 300.

I’m in search of a mother-of-pearl chess board. The seller produces half a dozen to consider, and we arrive at a lovely, raised, 14 inch board paired with wooden pieces. He is wrapping it up for me before he even names the price. 9000 pounds! We are far apart. I try to walk out. He grabs me. He reminds me, again, that we are brother’s from another mother. I want to tell him my father would probably agree. His price falls like water in a colander. It’s 2200 before I leave for good. Likely, I’ve still overpaid.

We stop for pigeon. They are stuffed with brown rice, giblets, onion, all spice, and cinnamon. They are grilled until the skin is glassy. Sparse on meat but every morsel is delicious.

Cairo Night

1:00 AM — too many people to count. A young boy touches my hands. Flowers, only ten pounds. A vendor plies his belts from a cart to every man who passes. Twelve roller skaters, holding each other’s wastes in a long chain, snake their way through the traffic. The one in the lead is playing a tambourine.

Cafes sprawl into the street, more crowded than trains. The occupants, in metal chairs, lazily consuming Turkish coffee and strong, sweet tea under a thin vapor of hookah smoke. Young girls spoon ice cream out of cones.

The shawarma skewers, once as wide as pigs, have been shaved down to pencils of meat. They are now too distant from the grill to brown.

Passing the fruit seller and everything smells of the orchard — mangos slightly past ripe. A man runs up, grabs my wrists and anoints me with some axe spray. Two for one. For a minute, I can’t smell anything anymore.

A car clips a motorcycle. The biker kicks the door in retaliation. Rude words are exchanged. Both are lost from sight in the torrent of people crossing the street. Cars don’t stop. Pedestrians slip across the lanes in a half dance, half game-of-frogger. Bright boats glide down the Nile, oriental music competing with the street sounds.

If New York never sleeps, than Cairo has chronic insomnia.

2023-09-03T06:17:11Z

There is simply no substitute for writing while near to the sound and smell of surf. Alexandria is the sublime, cherry-on-top to a very fine shake. The Mediterranean here is a perfect blend of the Atlantic I know from my childhood and the Aegean that I have recently discovered. It is at once green and gray and blue, and the waves break vigorously. If Tolkien had a port in his mind’s eye when conceiving the Grey Havens, it would have to be here.

Here is a moment in time for you all…

2023-09-04T22:19:12Z

I spent a blissful hour in the café, I walked two blocks to the Bibliothèque Alexandria. I’m using the French name because it captures the majesty of the place better than the English. Bibliothèque is a cool word — I just looked it up. French use the Greek root for book (biblio), while English uses the Latin (liber).

The library was opened in 2002 as a memorial to the ancient Library of Alexandria. It’s built in the same spot. The facade is a gray monolith, carved with Latin, Greek, Arabic and Egyptian hieroglyphs. The roof over the reading hall stretches over an acre.

Inside, it is even more magnificent. The stacks descend multiple floors, interlaced with desks and reading areas. There is something church-like about grand libraries. It could be as simple as the vaulted ceilings and solemn silence.

The philosophy section was all the way at the bottom. I walked by rows of students, hard at work over wooden tables, and felt a pang of nostalgia for academia. The shelves were only half full. I rifled through the section on Nietzsche.

That evening, I found a rare bar and enjoyed my first cold beer while in Egypt. As the sun set, walked back to the Corniche, the waterfront promenade. Hundreds were arranged along the walk, as the sun set over the western edge. I listened to Comptine d’un autre été and hopped from pylon to pylon.

Alexandria Day Two

I was drugged in a very nice way. That was around noon. Now I’m at the airport, waiting for a 4:00AM flight back to the States. I started the day at the Citadel of Qaitbay. In the early morning the air was humid and still and the attraction mostly empty. It’s an Ottoman fortress, in pristine condition, built over the original location of the lighthouse of Alexandria. The parapets were closed for renovation, but I had no problem climbing through the rest of the structure.

By 10:00 I was heading south to visit the Roman Forum. On the way, I asked an Egyptian man with dark classes and a New York cap if he could recommend a good café. He said he thought I looked Egyptian (a suspicious comment) and asked me if I would like some proper Egyptian coffee.

Ishmael was a diving instructor, a fast talker and a self-described “bad Muslim.” He was proud of Egypt, critical of Cairo, and wanted me to understand how inclusive and open-minded a place Alexandria was. His next dive was in the evening, so he offered to tour me around. There was something slightly unsavory about the man, but his self-effacing manner led me to give him the benefit of the doubt.

We walked through the narrow market streets. He pointed out ancient Synagogues, now repurposed, but the Star of David still visible on the wall. We walked around the Roman ruins (he advised skipping going inside). Around noon, he asked if I was hungry. We could go to the fish market, pick out the fresh catch of the day and have it prepared for us on the street. I agreed and told him I would be pleased to treat him. He was offended and told me, no, Egyptian hospitably would prevail.

The market was crowded with fishmongers. I selected a sea bass which was grilled to perfection. He ordered shrimp, calamari eggplant, and rich tomato broth. As we finished our meal, he offered to smoke. I accepted and insisted that I preferred ‘Egyptian tobacco,’ not something flavored. He was amused by this and said I was more Egyptian than he was. We were brought tea and a hookah.

A few minutes later, I found my mouth very dry, and I had a growing sense of dissociation. Ishmael was studying me carefully and smirking. “Are you feeling good?” he asked.

I glanced at the Hookah that I had been blithely puffing on for the last ten minutes.

“Is there hash in this?” I asked.

His smirk grew wider. “The finest Moroccan hash! I can get you some more for a very good price.”

I shook my head. “I’m a social smoker,” I heard myself. “I don’t want to buy any.”

With each refusal, his demeanor changed. Lunch was suddenly very expensive. Smoking was very expensive. In fact, I should pay for it all. Ishmael, my brother a few minutes ago, who offered to host me in his home, had forgotten about Egyptian hospitality.

Nonplussed, I threw some bills on the table and left. The hash was very strong, and my tolerance was low. My throat felt thick and the sun was suddenly a searing blowtorch against my skin.

At the train station, I stood in line and felt like the only foreigner. They called the English-speaking teller over. I asked how much for a ticket to Cairo. 40USD, I was told. That’s more expensive than a taxi. I tried another teller and got the same response. Annoyed, I ordered a taxi for 25USD. I wanted to experience a train in Egypt, but a combination of feeling scammed + doubling the transit time + being very high and wanting to leave, changed my mind. I learned later that the Egyptian policy is to charge foreigners 750% premium for train tickets. This is insane!

I got back to Cairo just in time to pick up the bespoke suit I had tailored and head to the airport. If anyone is in need of a tailor in Cairo, I can wholeheartedly recommend, Orange Square.

2023-09-05T22:19:12Z

The 4:00 AM Air Egypt flight was a social experiment. The flight was at first two hours and then three hours delayed. An hour after the original departure time, there was still no plane in sight. Air Egypt had not even marked the plane as delayed.

The issues began in the boarding area. The temperature in the in Cairo night was 80 degrees. The temperature in the boarding area was 50 degrees. Many of the passengers were in T-shirts and shorts. After an hour, families were huddled together for warmth. No one knew who had control of the HVAC system. We were told to contact the Egyptian Ministry of Civil Aviation.

Sixty minutes after the scheduled departure, Air Egypt announced that the flight was delayed. They did not update the flight status online. Thirty minutes later, a cart was rolled out with boxes of biscuits, crackers and water. The passengers swarmed like crows. It was mayhem with pushing and shoving with individuals grabbing dozens of portions.

I paced for the entire delay, not wanting to sleep. Luckily, I had a sweater, so went unaffected by the cold. An American walked up to me with a smile. “Is that sweater available for rent? I’ll pay top dollar!”

A 12-year-old girl sat shivering next to her mother. I pointed to my suit jacket. “May I give you my jacket?”

She looked nervous. “No, thanks!”

Her mother, asking her what I had said, and arrived at a different conclusion.”Yes, Yes, Thank you, Yes!”

I handed her the suit jacket, and she disappeared into the folds like she had stepped into a tent. Elsewhere, there were many acts of kindness. Personal blankets were shared. Many of those who had secured kilos of biscuits for themselves began to share them with their neighbors. Adversity begets camaraderie.

We finally boarded three hours after scheduled. The crew looked completely exhausted before we even departed.

2023-09-07T15:04:03Z

That’s a rap, folks. I’m writing this last entry from Penn Station. The Amtrak station was renovated a few years ago, the result is very nice. Best of all is that fast Wi-Fi. In the last two days I caught up with friends, took a quick trip out to Princeton, ate a bacon egg and cheese and stopped at Zabars to bring some treats home to the family.

Ten thousands words and twenty thousand miles later, here we are. I have a wedding ahead of me and then back to the real world. Thanks for following along!

The Road goes ever on and on 
Out from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
Let others follow it who can!
Let them a journey new begin,
But I at last with weary feet
Will turn towards the lighted inn,
My evening-rest and sleep to meet.