Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Namibia
Stretching some 400km x100km the sand dunes of the Namib-Naukluft National Park stand as a good reminder of the power of nature. Yesterday Peter and I accompanied by my roommate and friend Dylan (a girl) spent the day traveling by Yamaha 4x4s known to us as dune buggies, to the remote location of Sandwich Harbour. Sandwich Harbour is located some 70km from Walvis Bay our port town and accessible only via beach and dunes. We had two dunes buggies for the three of us and our outstanding guide Moses. Peter and Dylan took turns driving one and I took the passenger seat in Moses buggy and drilled him with questions about the fascinating natural history of Namibia as well as getting his take on southern African politics. For a young African man from a rural village and no university education he was wise beyond his years. By the end of our day with him I was both totally mesmerized by the intricate workings of mother natural as well as plagued with a killer head ache from all that my brain had absorbed (information and direct sunlight) over the last 9 hours. I can only hope that in some form I can try to transcribe some of what had me totally captured.
First it is necessary to imagine glaciers in Africa, which in 100-degree heat wasn’t easy for us. These glaciers that are of importance for the sake of my story were once located in what is now the Kalahari Desert located in today’s Botswana and the northern part of South Africa. With the recession of these glaciers the massive sandstone the existed underneath slowly was ground down into sand. In the form of sand it was then blown and washed into the Orange River basin and carried all the way out to the rives mouth at the Atlantic coast. Here the sand built up and was then blow north by the Beguiles (sp?) Current, thus beginning its build up along the Namibian coast.
Little life is apt for such a climate but the few flora and fauna that have managed to survive have made vital adaptations that enable their survival. Ants and beetles have adapted by having longer legs that allows them to be even a millimeter more removed from the scorching sand. It is said that this millimeter can decrease the temperature exponentially. You find little vegetation that has learned to retain well the precious water that falls infrequently on the dessert. One of these plants is the !nara, pronounced with a click of the koikoi language. The !nara comes in both female and male plants, the female ones produce a potent fruit. The pollination uses the wind to spread the love. This plant is so well conditioned for such a desolate place we were able to see a 500 year old !nara plant that had roots that stretched some 40-50 meters. The age can be determined by movement of the dunes (it is estimated that the dunes move roughly 10cm a year) that in turn exposes the roots. Not entirely sure on the processes but Moses seems confident on the aging.
These dunes offered something entirely different that my previous experiences with the profundity of nature. I don’t know if its the absence of “vegetation clutter“ if you will that leaves you with a quite simple beauty of the yellow sand and blue sky or if it is the unfathomable fact that these mammoth dunes that span as far as the eyes can see are made up of itsy-bitsy particles of sand but I do know that I was entranced in a way that I haven’t been before. So utterly impressed with yet another earthly phenomenon that seems so…out of this world.
First it is necessary to imagine glaciers in Africa, which in 100-degree heat wasn’t easy for us. These glaciers that are of importance for the sake of my story were once located in what is now the Kalahari Desert located in today’s Botswana and the northern part of South Africa. With the recession of these glaciers the massive sandstone the existed underneath slowly was ground down into sand. In the form of sand it was then blown and washed into the Orange River basin and carried all the way out to the rives mouth at the Atlantic coast. Here the sand built up and was then blow north by the Beguiles (sp?) Current, thus beginning its build up along the Namibian coast.
Little life is apt for such a climate but the few flora and fauna that have managed to survive have made vital adaptations that enable their survival. Ants and beetles have adapted by having longer legs that allows them to be even a millimeter more removed from the scorching sand. It is said that this millimeter can decrease the temperature exponentially. You find little vegetation that has learned to retain well the precious water that falls infrequently on the dessert. One of these plants is the !nara, pronounced with a click of the koikoi language. The !nara comes in both female and male plants, the female ones produce a potent fruit. The pollination uses the wind to spread the love. This plant is so well conditioned for such a desolate place we were able to see a 500 year old !nara plant that had roots that stretched some 40-50 meters. The age can be determined by movement of the dunes (it is estimated that the dunes move roughly 10cm a year) that in turn exposes the roots. Not entirely sure on the processes but Moses seems confident on the aging.
These dunes offered something entirely different that my previous experiences with the profundity of nature. I don’t know if its the absence of “vegetation clutter“ if you will that leaves you with a quite simple beauty of the yellow sand and blue sky or if it is the unfathomable fact that these mammoth dunes that span as far as the eyes can see are made up of itsy-bitsy particles of sand but I do know that I was entranced in a way that I haven’t been before. So utterly impressed with yet another earthly phenomenon that seems so…out of this world.
Our new friends...
The pictures below are from in and around Imlil a town in the high Atlas Mountain where the Berber people live. The Berber are the people native to this part of the world and lived in these lands long before the spread of Islam.
It was such a treat to escape the bustle of Marrakech and see an entirely different pace of life...
The boys and I conveniently ran into three other guys who looked just about as lost as us as we wandered the streets of Marrakech in search of the Grand Taxi Station. I thought we were enough of an eyesore with our bright jackets and big backpacks but I am happy to say, I think they took the prize. They were loaded down with skis, boot, backpacks and the likes. It was quite apparent that these guys were headed toward the mountains as well. These three Austrian gentlemen in their mid to late 20’s, Joe, Stefan and Alex became our loyal companions and comedic relief for the next 24 hours. Together we found the Grand Taxi Station, commonly referred to as Bab-er-Rab. It was no more than a parking lot with a rickety fence, on the out skirts of town in the middle of a huge field that was a combination of grass and trash.
We were able to negotiate down to 300 DH for the six or us, roughly $37 dollars for and 1.5 hour drive. That was six of us full sized bodies and all the luggage I spoke of packed in an old Mercedes. It was a tight fit to say the least. Our driver was Simone. A toothless, middle-aged man who in the end proved to be truly delightful man. It took us a little while to feel good about our decision as we ran out of gas within the first 5 minutes of our trip. We thought surely it was a scam as Simone took off with little explanation. A few of us got out of the car to stand guard as we sat in the middle of a bustling Marrakech with skis and bags practically hanging off the car. But Simone was back within a few minutes with gas in hand and we were on our way. Simone was impressive (or lucky) with his ability to drive on handed on some of the most windy, knuckle whitening, ungaurdrailed roads I think I have ever been on…all the while he was able to keep us smiling with his unwavering effort to communicate to us with his French but more successfully his body language. The views were spectacular. The steep and rocky hillsides were scattered with herders and their sheep and goat. Upon our arrival into Imlil we unloaded our bags at the Café Aksoual, a dark and chilled hostel that our friends were staying at. They had won us offer (we decided to stay the night) with their use of the English language, their combined school studies of recreation, high school geography, exercise science and special education, and the fact that they were looking to have an adventure as well. And adventure we did. We set out to explore the hillsides and villages around us. The fog was dense and laying low which made for a mystical afternoon as we walked past donkeys (mountain taxis) adorned with beautiful tapestries, veiled women working the gardens and the occasional herder…all the while hearing calls to worship sung from the minarets of the local mosques. Muhammad a Shepard we came across was perched on a rock up a small river gorge. When turned the corner he came into sight. His legs were crossed under his floor length brown wool coat with pointed hood. He seemed just to be sitting, pondering life. What else do you do in a place where cars, electricity and running water are all next to none? Around him was a plethora of sheep. I admired his contentness as he sat an apparently watched as the fog rolled in and out of the valley. I wonder what consumes his thoughts? Life seems so simple, so practical; the direct benefits are seen of all actions. It’s hard to imagine a life this way. When Muhammad eventually saw us he began to approach while gesturing with his hands to his mouth and pointing in the direction of a far off village. Will a little persuasion to our Austrian friends we convinced them that Muhammad was a decent man and our following him would lead to something good. We traversed a hillside following him until we arrived at his home. It was a cold cement structure with little in it. He took us past the bathroom, kitchen where to women were squatted on the ground washing dishes and preparing food and then into a living room where he then left us for the next 5 or 10 minutes. We had no idea what exactly we were doing so we sat quietly and waited. Muhammad returned shortly with a basket full of walnuts, which he promptly dumped onto the cement floor. He then proceeded to sit down next to them with a scrap of metal in his hand that he used to deshell the walnuts. I sat down next to him and helped sift out the nuts from the shells. When all the nuts where ready and the Moroccan mint tea served we sat around a small coffee table and shared this meal with our new friends. We were so amused with how graciously this old man took time from his day and welcomed 5 strangers into his home. This is a theme so common around the world. It has me wondering what I can do to be a more hospitable person. I wonder if it is that as American we really are less hospitable or if our pace of life that doesn’t accommodate “taking unscheduled breaks” from our busy lives. Who knows?
After an hour or so in relative silence filled with smiles and gestures the three Austrian, Mike, Peter and I bid farewell to Mohammed and made our way back to our hostel. Back the hostel we sat next to the fire and learned an Austrian card game with a deck of 32 cards, one being the Welei, the Queen who was a pig, the bartender and the bartenders’ brother. Can’t say I ever fully understood the game but it was a fun activity that distracted us as we tried to stay warm and pass the time until dinner.
Dinner was prepared for us by the man who ran the hostel. It consisted of couscous, a vegetable soup and copious amounts of bread. When it was ready the six of us, adorning all of our warmest cloths and hats, made our way to the table down stairs. The table was situated around the fire but the large cement room didn’t retain the heat well so we played musical chairs and rotated seats every few minutes. Dinner was filled with more sharing of our lives and we developed our plan from them to “couch” with us in the Northwest. To couch, referring to couch surfing-a relatively new phenomenon that is done via the Internet, was a term that these boys really enjoyed using. They are avid outdoorsmen and so, the Northwest and the activities that abound there are part of their vocabulary and knowledge. It was fun to be able to talk to people in this small mountain village in Morocco about Mt. Baker, Squamish, and the Gorge. Those are just a few of the hot spots they want to hit when they embark on their couching adventure. If you boys are reading this, we are anxiously awaiting your arrival!
It was such a treat to escape the bustle of Marrakech and see an entirely different pace of life...
The boys and I conveniently ran into three other guys who looked just about as lost as us as we wandered the streets of Marrakech in search of the Grand Taxi Station. I thought we were enough of an eyesore with our bright jackets and big backpacks but I am happy to say, I think they took the prize. They were loaded down with skis, boot, backpacks and the likes. It was quite apparent that these guys were headed toward the mountains as well. These three Austrian gentlemen in their mid to late 20’s, Joe, Stefan and Alex became our loyal companions and comedic relief for the next 24 hours. Together we found the Grand Taxi Station, commonly referred to as Bab-er-Rab. It was no more than a parking lot with a rickety fence, on the out skirts of town in the middle of a huge field that was a combination of grass and trash.
We were able to negotiate down to 300 DH for the six or us, roughly $37 dollars for and 1.5 hour drive. That was six of us full sized bodies and all the luggage I spoke of packed in an old Mercedes. It was a tight fit to say the least. Our driver was Simone. A toothless, middle-aged man who in the end proved to be truly delightful man. It took us a little while to feel good about our decision as we ran out of gas within the first 5 minutes of our trip. We thought surely it was a scam as Simone took off with little explanation. A few of us got out of the car to stand guard as we sat in the middle of a bustling Marrakech with skis and bags practically hanging off the car. But Simone was back within a few minutes with gas in hand and we were on our way. Simone was impressive (or lucky) with his ability to drive on handed on some of the most windy, knuckle whitening, ungaurdrailed roads I think I have ever been on…all the while he was able to keep us smiling with his unwavering effort to communicate to us with his French but more successfully his body language. The views were spectacular. The steep and rocky hillsides were scattered with herders and their sheep and goat. Upon our arrival into Imlil we unloaded our bags at the Café Aksoual, a dark and chilled hostel that our friends were staying at. They had won us offer (we decided to stay the night) with their use of the English language, their combined school studies of recreation, high school geography, exercise science and special education, and the fact that they were looking to have an adventure as well. And adventure we did. We set out to explore the hillsides and villages around us. The fog was dense and laying low which made for a mystical afternoon as we walked past donkeys (mountain taxis) adorned with beautiful tapestries, veiled women working the gardens and the occasional herder…all the while hearing calls to worship sung from the minarets of the local mosques. Muhammad a Shepard we came across was perched on a rock up a small river gorge. When turned the corner he came into sight. His legs were crossed under his floor length brown wool coat with pointed hood. He seemed just to be sitting, pondering life. What else do you do in a place where cars, electricity and running water are all next to none? Around him was a plethora of sheep. I admired his contentness as he sat an apparently watched as the fog rolled in and out of the valley. I wonder what consumes his thoughts? Life seems so simple, so practical; the direct benefits are seen of all actions. It’s hard to imagine a life this way. When Muhammad eventually saw us he began to approach while gesturing with his hands to his mouth and pointing in the direction of a far off village. Will a little persuasion to our Austrian friends we convinced them that Muhammad was a decent man and our following him would lead to something good. We traversed a hillside following him until we arrived at his home. It was a cold cement structure with little in it. He took us past the bathroom, kitchen where to women were squatted on the ground washing dishes and preparing food and then into a living room where he then left us for the next 5 or 10 minutes. We had no idea what exactly we were doing so we sat quietly and waited. Muhammad returned shortly with a basket full of walnuts, which he promptly dumped onto the cement floor. He then proceeded to sit down next to them with a scrap of metal in his hand that he used to deshell the walnuts. I sat down next to him and helped sift out the nuts from the shells. When all the nuts where ready and the Moroccan mint tea served we sat around a small coffee table and shared this meal with our new friends. We were so amused with how graciously this old man took time from his day and welcomed 5 strangers into his home. This is a theme so common around the world. It has me wondering what I can do to be a more hospitable person. I wonder if it is that as American we really are less hospitable or if our pace of life that doesn’t accommodate “taking unscheduled breaks” from our busy lives. Who knows?
After an hour or so in relative silence filled with smiles and gestures the three Austrian, Mike, Peter and I bid farewell to Mohammed and made our way back to our hostel. Back the hostel we sat next to the fire and learned an Austrian card game with a deck of 32 cards, one being the Welei, the Queen who was a pig, the bartender and the bartenders’ brother. Can’t say I ever fully understood the game but it was a fun activity that distracted us as we tried to stay warm and pass the time until dinner.
Dinner was prepared for us by the man who ran the hostel. It consisted of couscous, a vegetable soup and copious amounts of bread. When it was ready the six of us, adorning all of our warmest cloths and hats, made our way to the table down stairs. The table was situated around the fire but the large cement room didn’t retain the heat well so we played musical chairs and rotated seats every few minutes. Dinner was filled with more sharing of our lives and we developed our plan from them to “couch” with us in the Northwest. To couch, referring to couch surfing-a relatively new phenomenon that is done via the Internet, was a term that these boys really enjoyed using. They are avid outdoorsmen and so, the Northwest and the activities that abound there are part of their vocabulary and knowledge. It was fun to be able to talk to people in this small mountain village in Morocco about Mt. Baker, Squamish, and the Gorge. Those are just a few of the hot spots they want to hit when they embark on their couching adventure. If you boys are reading this, we are anxiously awaiting your arrival!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Friday, February 6, 2009
Marrakech Part 2
Morocco-Marok
What a fantastic time I had in Morocco. To be honest my expectations were low as we arrived into Morocco a day late after being held up at Gibraltar, where we were trying to take on oil, because of really rough seas. Our stay there had been shortened from four days down to three. This shortness of time in combination with the 12-year-old Heidi’s memories of Morocco from our first voyage didn’t have me to optimistic about any genuine Moroccan experience. I am quite please with the degree to which I was mistaken. The three days that Peter and Michael and I explored were some of my best days of travel…some for no particular reason and other moments will likely become apparent shortly. The ship dropped us in Casablanca, the largest city in Morocco. We made a straight b-line to the train station to catch a train to Marrakech a city located inland that capture more of the traditional cultural and religious practices that characterize Morocco. Mike and I packed ourselves into a cabin, consisting of two bench seats facing one another, with five other passengers. I was thrilled to have the company of three generations of a family…a 7month old baby boy, his mother and grandmother. The efforts of all of us in the car to keep this bundled baby smiling really created a special atmosphere for me. These women who may have looked different to me by their dress soon reminded me of the universal task of childrearing and no matter how different people may be, the stages of life and how we cope with them are all very similar. They loved their little guy like any other good mother would. We also learned the significance of sharing ones food particularly when you are in a confined space, as watching someone eat isn’t considered well mannered…solve that problem by giving everyone food! Another one of those things that I feel the rest of the world has figured out that enhances a sense of community even among strangers.
Our arrival into Marrakech was a good reminder to us of our ignorance linguistically. With no Arabic and maybe one word of French to get by with, navigating became a little harder that it had proven to be in Spain. But have no fear; it only took a little time for us to refine our body language and interpretation skills of French. And I guess I can give credit to the numerous people who (for whatever reason were able to identify us as Americans…weird?!) came to our rescue with a little English assistance. With no real agenda to achieve our ability to take things as they came was really to our advantage. The boys and I enjoyed our hours of strolling and people watching as we headed in the direction of the old town, or Medina as these areas are called throughout the Muslim world. We often questioned if this sort of purposeless movement throughout a place was not using our time as wisely as we could have, it sometimes seems that in order to really see a place it is important to hit the hotspots but we decided that each step we took shed some story of this ancient city, its people and their ways. Having Peter and Michael by my side allowed for great conversation. It’s truly a treat having their company and their perspective on things. They both offer a great comedic relief and reminder of our fortunateness to the sometimes-perplexed Heidi. The walls that lined it and the all that roused the senses marked our entrance into the Medina. The streets turned to alleyways lined with small shops of spices, dates, fresh fruits to cell phones and ipods. If it weren’t for the occasional booth of modern electronics it seems these streets would have been pulled out of the distant past as men and women or traditional garb, the daily prayer echoed throughout and although chaotic, time seemed in no way rushed. All alleyways led to the main square that was filled with snake charmers and trained monkeys doing tricks.
We ran into some Semester at Sea students and despite some hesitation on my behalf the boys convinced me that it would be good for us to branch out and get to know some people. My hesitation has to do with my fear of the potential detraction of others’ ‘and ours time due to our pure power of numbers. Besides a little too much volume in our restaurant it proved to be a great time. The hookah bar followed for another authentically Moroccan experience.
It is dinnertime now but the best is yet to come. The next morning we ventured into the High Atlas Mountains for a spectacular adventure, stay tuned please.
What a fantastic time I had in Morocco. To be honest my expectations were low as we arrived into Morocco a day late after being held up at Gibraltar, where we were trying to take on oil, because of really rough seas. Our stay there had been shortened from four days down to three. This shortness of time in combination with the 12-year-old Heidi’s memories of Morocco from our first voyage didn’t have me to optimistic about any genuine Moroccan experience. I am quite please with the degree to which I was mistaken. The three days that Peter and Michael and I explored were some of my best days of travel…some for no particular reason and other moments will likely become apparent shortly. The ship dropped us in Casablanca, the largest city in Morocco. We made a straight b-line to the train station to catch a train to Marrakech a city located inland that capture more of the traditional cultural and religious practices that characterize Morocco. Mike and I packed ourselves into a cabin, consisting of two bench seats facing one another, with five other passengers. I was thrilled to have the company of three generations of a family…a 7month old baby boy, his mother and grandmother. The efforts of all of us in the car to keep this bundled baby smiling really created a special atmosphere for me. These women who may have looked different to me by their dress soon reminded me of the universal task of childrearing and no matter how different people may be, the stages of life and how we cope with them are all very similar. They loved their little guy like any other good mother would. We also learned the significance of sharing ones food particularly when you are in a confined space, as watching someone eat isn’t considered well mannered…solve that problem by giving everyone food! Another one of those things that I feel the rest of the world has figured out that enhances a sense of community even among strangers.
Our arrival into Marrakech was a good reminder to us of our ignorance linguistically. With no Arabic and maybe one word of French to get by with, navigating became a little harder that it had proven to be in Spain. But have no fear; it only took a little time for us to refine our body language and interpretation skills of French. And I guess I can give credit to the numerous people who (for whatever reason were able to identify us as Americans…weird?!) came to our rescue with a little English assistance. With no real agenda to achieve our ability to take things as they came was really to our advantage. The boys and I enjoyed our hours of strolling and people watching as we headed in the direction of the old town, or Medina as these areas are called throughout the Muslim world. We often questioned if this sort of purposeless movement throughout a place was not using our time as wisely as we could have, it sometimes seems that in order to really see a place it is important to hit the hotspots but we decided that each step we took shed some story of this ancient city, its people and their ways. Having Peter and Michael by my side allowed for great conversation. It’s truly a treat having their company and their perspective on things. They both offer a great comedic relief and reminder of our fortunateness to the sometimes-perplexed Heidi. The walls that lined it and the all that roused the senses marked our entrance into the Medina. The streets turned to alleyways lined with small shops of spices, dates, fresh fruits to cell phones and ipods. If it weren’t for the occasional booth of modern electronics it seems these streets would have been pulled out of the distant past as men and women or traditional garb, the daily prayer echoed throughout and although chaotic, time seemed in no way rushed. All alleyways led to the main square that was filled with snake charmers and trained monkeys doing tricks.
We ran into some Semester at Sea students and despite some hesitation on my behalf the boys convinced me that it would be good for us to branch out and get to know some people. My hesitation has to do with my fear of the potential detraction of others’ ‘and ours time due to our pure power of numbers. Besides a little too much volume in our restaurant it proved to be a great time. The hookah bar followed for another authentically Moroccan experience.
It is dinnertime now but the best is yet to come. The next morning we ventured into the High Atlas Mountains for a spectacular adventure, stay tuned please.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Marrakech
hi mom and dad. greetings from marrakech. made it here on the train today about 2:30ish...have opted to stay here for the night and try to make a day trip to the mountans tomorrow. we hear it is only an hour and a half to Imlil from here. Spen t the afternoon wondering the streets and finally made it into medina (the old town° with small qlley way, venders of all sorts of spices and the square where the three of us remember being before...the snake charmers and trained monkies still draw the crowds. ran into some SASers who pointed us in the direction of a Riad(Les Yeux Bleus); Riad is a bed and breakfast like place; probably a little on the high end for us but we opted for it since it was already turning to night and we were ready to have bags off our backs. the keyboard here makes it challenging to write so this letter is going to suffice as a brief blog post as well. Hope Casablanca was lovely and where ever you end up tomorroz night is a good time. We may even be back at the ship tomorrow night so as to avoid the student rush on the train and in the ship lines on thursday. let us know where you are off to. Lots of love. ps wish i knew french o arabic...i feel quite helpless; more later.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
To all my loyal blogsters...an adequate update from the Atlantic crossing and our days in Spain is on its way...its got to be out by tonight as we will already be in Morocco tomorrow! Today we are bunkering ( taking on fuel) in the midsts of a NWesque rain at the Rock of Gibralter. Some of you may get a kick out of this, you know who you are..."Straight of Gibralter (pause) straight, straight, Straight of Gibralter." So, until then...Peace.
p.s. if any of you feel so inclined to be sending me updates on your lives, the best way to do it is send me emails at hmhoff@semesteratsea.net this is an address I can check for free...facebook, hotmail, gmail and the likes all require us to use up our precious and limited internet minutes.
p.s. if any of you feel so inclined to be sending me updates on your lives, the best way to do it is send me emails at hmhoff@semesteratsea.net this is an address I can check for free...facebook, hotmail, gmail and the likes all require us to use up our precious and limited internet minutes.
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