tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68414040385660351032024-03-17T20:46:08.567+04:00Wildcard travelsAesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.comBlogger154125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-62366898615551733982016-09-02T06:44:00.021+04:002022-03-08T03:34:05.979+04:00Adrenalin Delivery–Big Ocean, Small World
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A few days before we were due to leave, I accompanied our ragtag group to the Times Market in Kailua to pick up something to eat and drink for dinner. I noticed a woman standing outside the market, her head bent intently upon a guidebook. She looked familiar and I realized, somewhat to my shock, that she looked exactly like China, the wife of Steve, one of my fellow J35 crew mates who I hadn’t seen since sometime in the 1990’s. They lived in the tiny apple-growing town of Graton, in Sonoma County, California, and Steve had dropped out of sailing. I wanted to go up to her and say something like, “Excuse me, but is your name China?” But it seemed utterly impossible, so I chickened out. <br />
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The next day, we were at the Kaneohe Yacht Club and I happened to glance at the family sitting at the next table when, again to my shock, I realized that I was looking at a slightly older version of Steve. And there she was, the woman I saw at the market, sitting across the table from him.<br />
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This was more than a coincidence – I believe that I actually conjured them up. As we were anticipating the delivery and its challenges, I had recounted to Mark my most painful night ever of seasickness – and it was with Steve. We were on the J35 <em>Slithergadee</em> (Steve is the guy sitting just forward of the mast) coming back up the coast from the Santa Barbara race. It was the deepest, darkest, earliest hours of the morning and Steve and I were on watch together. The wind was light, the seas were confused, and we were either motoring or trying to sail; it doesn’t matter, either way, we were losing our bearings and, without an auto pilot, spinning in circles. It’s something that happens at night. Without realizing it, you are heading the boat off course and, when you try to correct, you overcorrect, become confused, and start throwing the helm back and forth. Next thing you know, you’re doing donuts.<br />
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It was at that point that my head and my stomach joined forces against whatever seasickness medication I had been taking, which had been working for the past 2 days, and the result was a kind of backlash – like, I was seasick times three – one for each day, all saved up and unleashed at once. I was in so much pain dry heaving that it was worse than childbirth. At dawn, to my great relief, we entered the calm waters of Monterey Bay and I immediately felt better.<br />
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The next leg of the trip took us across from Monterey to Santa Cruz, a day I thoroughly enjoyed. We sailed the whole way, with me driving. Steve took the photo of me above, which he later presented to me, and I have it in a frame in our “sailing bathroom.” It reminds me that, sometimes, following your heart can take you way out of your comfort zone. But eventually, somehow, it’s worth it.<br />
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I went to talk to Steve, and found that he was there with his son, all grown up now and with a kid of his own, and his son lives in the apartments near the yacht club and is a member there. Steve hasn’t sailed since the 90’s. It was so great to see him, but when I mentioned that I was doing the delivery, he gave me a meaningful look and said, pointedly, “And you don’t do well in the ocean.”<br />
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“Yes. And you are one of the people who knows that best.”<br />
“YES. I am.”<br />
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He was telling me to be careful. And, without saying it, asking: <em>What the heck???? </em>I could only explain that I’d gotten better. It was true; I usually didn’t get sick any more in the ocean, but that was always near the coast, on shorter trips. This one was going to be the real test. It was only fitting that Steve would appear at exactly that time, because I knew that now he would be thinking of me, and wishing me luck as we crossed the ocean.<br />
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As we motored away from the KYC docks for the second time, the boat was much quieter, the mood far more serious, than the day before. We reviewed the safety equipment and procedures, including what to do in case of a man overboard situation. As readers of this blog know, we are all too aware that it can happen, and when you least expect it.<br />
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“But,” Mark said, “nobody is going overboard. Because we’re all going to be tethered, all the time, day and night.”<br />
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As we left the channel and Oahu behind, I think we were all heartened that the weather had improved over the day before – now we had sunshine and happy, puffy clouds, not the mist and rain of the day before. The waves were still big, and coming from two directions, but they would settle down in a day or two as we got away from the islands and the effects of tropical storm Darby. That’s what the weather guy said.<br />
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Shana made up a watch schedule. We were in pairs, four hours on, four off, but staggered. So my watches were 6-10 a.m., 2-6 p.m., and 10 p.m.-2 a.m. Mark and Shana were the watch captains, and I would be with Mark my first two hours, and Shana for the second two. Dustin was my other half.<br />
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I was feeling good – not a pang of seasickness the day before, and I had high hopes that I would make it through the first three days and be home seasickness-free. I’d been sitting on the high side for the first few hours, near the wheel as the autopilot drove, feeling fabulous, when, out of nowhere, I suddenly barfed! WTF! I didn’t even feel queasy!<br />
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Then, I got this ringing in my right ear. Like a warning bell. Uh-oh.<br />
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So, here’s the thing. I hear people talk about getting seasick and sometimes they say things like, “I just lost my appetite.” Or, “I felt like crap but I didn’t throw up.” That it NOT real seasickness. I have never read an account of the real deal, and maybe that’s because nobody really wants to read it. YUCK!<br />
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But it’s important to understand the stages, because you can really get into trouble. In fact, there was a boat racing in the Pac Cup this year and they had three crew members get seasick. Two got better, one didn’t – and by the time they were 1000 miles from land, they had a real medical emergency. I don’t have all the details but from what I could gather, it sounds like the third crew member was in a diabetic coma, and they didn’t have the medical supplies on board to help him. Fortunately, this year for the first time, the Pac Cup organizers had contracted with a service to provide remote medical consultation to the racers. The ultimate result was that the US Coast Guard airdropped the needed supplies, and a life was saved. <br />
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I was thinking about this as I started my downward spiral. One of the reasons I had so much trouble that night with Steve was that my stomach was empty, and I got the dry heaves. This sets up a really horrible pattern that is hard to break, and I didn’t want to go down that path. So, I was determined to keep something in my stomach, even if it meant barfing most of it up.<br />
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I started with Coca-Cola (the kind with sugar) and Saltines – which I have never been fond of. After a few hours, the Coke I was drinking began to taste like – guess what? – barf. So then I tried eating an apple. It tasted good, but then – it was applesauce! Ginger snaps and water. More Saltines. <br />
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I was laying on the low side, where I could lean over and, you know. I was in the groove, every hour or so. Then rest. But my watch was over, and it was time to go below. One of the hardest things, for me, is to transition – to literally lift my head and move it to another place. It disrupts everything. But I had to do it, so I staggered below, grabbing a bucket to keep near me, and flopped into a bunk in the main cabin – the one that Mark was supposed to be using. I assumed the survival position, which is flat on my back, perfectly still, with my hands clasped over my chest. Like a corpse. If I didn’t move, I would throw up less often. And that was the key. I had to stay in control.<br />
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I wasn’t doing all the heaving, though – the boat! It was going up, down, banging through waves, shuddering, slapping, and just generally rollicking along. Just moving around, even for an able-bodied person, was a challenge.<br />
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And then. I had to go. To the bathroom.<br />
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When I was a little kid, my dad had a daysailer called a Ford 20, which he brought up to our rented cottage on Lake Huron one year. My grandpa was still alive then, so I was probably 6 or 7 or 8 years old. Dad took me, my sister, my older brother, and Grandpa out sailing. It was a nice day, but not much wind. Grandpa went down below, was down there for awhile, and when he came back up he had the bucket, which he emptied into the lake<br />
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“Grandpa, are you sick?”<br />
“A little, but I’m ok now.”<br />
“How come you didn’t use the toilet?”<br />
“I was sitting on the toilet.”<br />
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And in my young little mind, I got the visual. Poor Grandpa! But he was a stalwart Irishman with a great sense of humor, and we all laughed it off. I guess I grew up to be just like Grandpa.<br />
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Anyway, when my turn came to take my watch, I hauled myself back up and Dustin made me some tea, or something. By this time to Saltines were like dry plaster in my mouth. The hours began to blend, the sun went around in the sky, and I really don’t remember much except that I was inside my head, and my head was focused on what was going on in my stomach. Was it time to eat something or give it a rest? Where was my blood sugar? How dehydrated was I? I could feel myself getting weaker. I knew that, if I got weak enough, the dry heaves would come. <em>That. Can’t. Happen.</em><br />
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It’s one thing to be out along the coast, where you can duck into a port in a few hours. But we were committed for two weeks, two thousand plus miles, and I had to get over this thing. I had to. I knew I could, I hoped I could. I’d always heard that, after three days, everybody always got over it. Would I be the exception? No. That would not be acceptable. I would get this thing.<br />
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That is what was going through my mind.<br />
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At the end of the second day, I said I wanted to stay up in the cockpit all night. I was actually starting to feel stronger, but I just didn’t want to move again. But Shana was worried that I was getting overexposed, to the sun and to the salt spray and air. She was right. Once again, I lurched down below, this time to my aft starboard berth, where I again assumed the cadaver position, happy to have not barfed. When my watch came up, Mark told me to stay below. “We’ve got it covered.” He’s my hero.<br />
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But now I felt really bad – guilty. I hate being sick because it lets the rest of the crew down, and makes their job harder. But at the same time, I noticed that I had pretty much stopped throwing up. So for the next two days, I worked on building my strength back up. Dustin made me oatmeal – so sweet it would normally make me gag, but now it tasted like exactly what I needed – although it took two hours to eat one serving. Then, at some point on the third night, Shana suggested miso soup – brilliant! Little by little, I came back to life. On the fourth day, I was delicate but eating. By day five, I was myself again, but where I was sprawled in the cockpit always looked like a homeless encampment by the time my watch was over. Opened and uneaten packages of snacks, water bottles, cups, and other detritus.<br />
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Meanwhile, as I was wallowing, the boat was sailing, Dustin was catching mahi-mahi, and we were communicating with our shore support – the “weather routing guy” and Shana’s husband, Mark, about our course. I remember, one time, that we were told that we should tack (we were going north, and then we would tack to the east, for home) on August 11th. “That’s a week,” I realized aloud. That’s when it hit me. We were really doing this. A week seemed like a long time but it wasn’t. Not in the big picture. Would we be in these windy, bumpy conditions for another week?<br />
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“As we get further north, the wind will be lighter and the seas calmer.” That’s what they said. It couldn’t stay like this much longer.<br />
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Could it?<br />
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Next up: Halfway</div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-60479073521970964992016-09-01T07:29:00.001+04:002016-09-01T07:40:12.223+04:00Adrenalin Delivery–Start #1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
How many omens does it take? <br />
<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vIvKZJnkyxs/V8eejoK_boI/AAAAAAAAzLU/_zBKcEyHsdY/s1600-h/Shana%252520podium%252520comments_thumb%25255B1%25255D%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Shana podium comments_thumb[1]" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-YMFAdl5XO6o/V8eelXJjojI/AAAAAAAAzLY/KJ41GK9706k/Shana%252520podium%252520comments_thumb%25255B1%25255D_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 10px 15px 10px 0px;" title="Shana podium comments_thumb[1]" width="182" /></a> <br />
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The Pacific Cup parties were over, the awards hauled off, including a 3rd place trophy for Adrenaline. The torrent of Mai Tai’s and beers had slowed to a reasonable flow. Everyone’s thoughts were on the delivery home. When was the best time to leave? <br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-EhG1F6t_sDM/V8eemroRROI/AAAAAAAAzLc/OONzP44rbvI/s1600-h/20160730_120907_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="20160730_120907_thumb" height="180" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-l1aVQxEeHU4/V8eeoNnIFKI/AAAAAAAAzLg/sCHgeq3QHR4/20160730_120907_thumb_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 10px 15px 10px 0px;" title="20160730_120907_thumb" width="240" /></a> <br />
We attended the Saturday weather briefing. “Look at this map; what do you see? That’s right – nothing!” the weather expert said. After Tropical Storm Darby, which had colored our entire two weeks in Hawaii, this seemed like good news. “You can leave tomorrow,” he said, “but the seas might be calmer if you leave on Monday. You’ll have a couple rough days heading north from Hawaii, then things should calm down as you approach the Pacific High.” Yes! Thankfully, the hurricane weather was a thing of the past. Right? <br />
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Then we got some advice from the guys who are experts on the trip home. “If you decide to go swimming, be sure you have a swim ladder, or some way to get back on the boat,” one guy said as he showed a photo of his boat in a calm, glassy sea – taken by a swimmer in the water. Yes! I was looking forward to swimming in the ocean 1000 miles from land! <br />
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He also said – I’ll never forget this – that we should plan to do some boat maintenance during the trip, since there wouldn’t be much else to do. “You could rebuild your winches, or polish up your bright work. There’s no reason why the boat can’t arrive home in better shape than when it left Hawaii!” <br />
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Yes, so, doing a long ocean voyage on a sailboat has been a dream of mine for 40 years, ever since I left Michigan and headed to the West Coast in 1976. There are several reasons why I didn’t do it sooner. The main one is that I have always struggled with motion sickness. As a little kid, I was car sick within 10 minutes. <br />
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Eventually, I got over it enough to sail happily under most conditions. When I started sailing with Dad in the 1960’s, I got sick only when it was rough, on a bumpy reach, or at night. When I started sailing in San Francisco, I was relieved to find that I didn’t get sick at all in the Bay. However, the ocean was a different animal, and it took years to find ways to manage it – medicate ahead of time, keep something in my stomach, sit in the middle of the boat, don’t watch the sky go dark … blah blah blah. It all worked, within limits. <br />
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So, why on Earth was I signing up to sail across the ocean from Hawaii to San Francisco, approximately 2400 miles and about two weeks of sailing? <br />
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My side of the story is that someone suggested I join the almost all-woman Adrenalin delivery crew over a couple of bottles of wine one Sunday at Richmond Yacht Club. Mark was there, and he said something like, “I think you should do it. You’ll be fine.” Over the next few months, the crew list changed and, as I had not so secretly hoped, Mark signed on. Without him I would probably not have gone, but if I had, I might not have survived. <br />
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During the weeks leading up to the trip, my email was filled with plans for the food. While there was one person who was head of provisioning and cooking, he realized that Mark and I like to cook and we were encouraged to come up with ideas for meals we’d like to be in charge of. The boat has an oven, and there was discussion of baking bread; even making homemade tortillas. When I wondered aloud how practical this was, it sounded like we would be motoring through a dead calm for a week, bored out of our minds and looking for anything to occupy our time. <br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-s4-Zvwsk8JA/V8eepaI5ekI/AAAAAAAAzLk/aSu0T7rhz18/s1600-h/PacCup%252520Delivery%252520141%252520%2525282%252529_thumb%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="PacCup Delivery 141 (2)_thumb" height="228" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Dobk9OoQtao/V8eeq2QfmyI/AAAAAAAAzLo/bbNmkHv7hic/PacCup%252520Delivery%252520141%252520%2525282%252529_thumb_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 10px 15px 10px 0px;" title="PacCup Delivery 141 (2)_thumb" width="298" /></a><br />
All of this collective imagery – the swimming, the baking, the boat maintenance – lead me to believe that I was in for a beautiful trip across the Pacific. Sort of. But there was, I admit, another voice inside me saying, <em>Don’t assume anything! “Pacific Ocean” is a misnomer! It can be rough! The sea is a cruel mistress!</em> All I had to do was listen to the stories from the race to understand that. And my better sense told me:<em> Two tropical storms just passed through, and where are they headed? North. And where are you headed? North. Right behind them.</em><br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-P_F6eXkORhs/V8eesiONukI/AAAAAAAAzLs/o5WmnhXCEWU/s1600-h/PacCup%252520Delivery%252520128%252520%2525282%252529_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="PacCup Delivery 128 (2)_thumb" height="180" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-5NP0-wT1TNE/V8eet213XWI/AAAAAAAAzLw/4OQa5gFzeJ8/PacCup%252520Delivery%252520128%252520%2525282%252529_thumb_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 10px 15px 10px 0px;" title="PacCup Delivery 128 (2)_thumb" width="240" /></a><br />
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We set 0800 Monday as our ETD. Leaving the dock at Kaneohe Yacht Club, the energy onboard was high, bordering on frenetic. Motoring our way out of the channel while avoiding the reefs was tricky, but finally we made the last turn, passed the “Chinese Hat” and the last channel marker.<br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-zgYo5Iktvb0/V8eeu-aJuPI/AAAAAAAAzL0/A-6cWEFa29A/s1600-h/PacCup%252520Delivery%252520125%252520%2525282%252529_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="PacCup Delivery 125 (2)_thumb" height="180" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-XQ_b7VDXhjM/V8eewlgem3I/AAAAAAAAzL4/Z-BM5PQjILs/PacCup%252520Delivery%252520125%252520%2525282%252529_thumb_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 10px 15px 10px 0px;" title="PacCup Delivery 125 (2)_thumb" width="240" /></a> <br />
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We’re in the open ocean now!” owner and skipper Shana called out. “From now on, everyone is clipped in at all times, day and night!” Mark went down below to fetch our tethers and, to our dismay and embarrassment, we realized we’d forgotten them. Fortunately, there were a couple of spares on the boat. Still, I didn’t like starting the trip that way. It just wasn’t a good omen. <br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3wwHsahBCIc/V8eeyBtlJXI/AAAAAAAAzL8/zIPZoQDGlnY/s1600-h/20160801_083435_thumb%25255B1%25255D%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="20160801_083435_thumb[1]" height="308" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-JaArphkrZzg/V8eezlbmnrI/AAAAAAAAzMA/acS62C7e4vA/20160801_083435_thumb%25255B1%25255D_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 10px 15px 10px 0px;" title="20160801_083435_thumb[1]" width="242" /></a> <br />
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We got the sails up, and were settling down. The seas were big, and I was glad for the three days of Stugeron vertigo and motion sickness medicine (not FDA approved, not sold in USA or Canada) under my belt. The cockpit was crowded because we were carrying five 15-gallon drums of diesel fuel, which were placed in the main part of the cockpit where people’s legs would normally be. Where you could normally seat four or even six people comfortably, now there was barely room for two, and no room for legs. When we got to the Pacific High and used fuel motoring, we would transfer the fuel to the tanks and move the empty barrels out of the way. But until that happened, there weren’t many places to sit. <br />
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Then, it was time to shut the engine off. Except, it wouldn’t shut off. After several minutes of pushing the shutoff and power buttons, Mark noticed that the engine control panel was dead. “I can shut if off manually, but then I don’t know if I can start it again,” he said. Second bad omen. <br />
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Then another crew member who was down below in the cabin with Mark said, “Hey Shana, there’s a lot of water down here.” <br />
Shana: “That’s normal!” The hatches all leak, and there was rainwater in the boat, which comes in through the mast. <br />
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A few minutes later: “No, there is really a LOT of water down here! Come and look!” <br />
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We had a hose in the stern that had torn, due to someone stepping on it when they were checking the rudder wiggle (another story) a few days before. Now, as the stern came down with each wave, seawater flowed into the hose and was gushing from the rip and flowing into the boat. Bad omen #3. <br />
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“I think we have to go back in,” Mark was saying. “I don’t know what’s wrong with this thing, it’s just dead. We need to get an electrician to look at it.” Meanwhile, people were down below pumping water into buckets, and Shana was taping up the tear in the hose. <br />
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So we turned around and headed back. Although we were only a couple of hours out, the island had disappeared into the clouds and mist. As it reappeared, I wasn’t sure what to feel. I was relieved that we weren’t going to continue with the problems we had. But I wondered if this all meant that the whole delivery just wasn’t meant to be. Would we be able to get the engine fixed? How serious was the leak? And, after seeing how rough it was out there, I would be disappointed if we didn’t go, but would I also be relieved? <br />
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-_tEbnqqWBUw/V8ee07k7ETI/AAAAAAAAzME/EChO-7RoVIs/s1600-h/PacCup%252520Delivery%252520127%252520%2525282%252529_thumb%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="PacCup Delivery 127 (2)_thumb" height="262" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qTdoz8HMI_M/V8ee2VL3UII/AAAAAAAAzMI/tqsZDVTKELY/PacCup%252520Delivery%252520127%252520%2525282%252529_thumb_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 10px 15px 10px 0px;" title="PacCup Delivery 127 (2)_thumb" width="342" /></a>As we entered the channel, I took the helm. Mark was down below, looking at an electronic chart on the computer that showed our boat. And this is when things got really weird, and really tense. I was fairly confident that I knew where the channel was; I had driven on the way out; and I could see the buoys although there are two channels, so we needed to be careful and make sure we were following the deep one. Mark was telling me to turn to the right, when I could clearly see that the channel was to the left, and that’s how I remembered it from a couple hours before. Nevertheless, I tried turning to the right, then he said no, no the other way, and people on deck were giving me directions too.<br />
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I think that he was somehow turned around, giving me directions that were exactly the opposite of what was correct (people who sail with us will understand immediately) but we’ll never really know. What ensued was lots of yelling and changing course, me begging Mark to just come up and look, and me finally refusing to rely on anything but my own eyes. Mark and I don’t fight much, but he’s half Italian and so he yells when he gets excited. Then if I’m right, I stand my ground. I think that, for someone standing around, it could get a little uncomfortable. <br />
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When we got back to the yacht club, they said they didn’t have a place for us to tie up – boats were arriving for a race to Kauai the next weekend. Too bad – we tied up there anyway. But we soon discovered that there wasn’t anybody available to help with our electrical problem, at least not for a week or so. <br />
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Rather than letting it go at that, which meant that the delivery would be postponed indefinitely and Shana would probably have to hire a professional for the delivery at a later date, Mark manually shut the engine off and began to troubleshoot the engine. “I couldn’t help it,” he said later. “I couldn’t stand not being able to figure it out.” After about an hour, he got the engine running again, but now the 12 volt electrical system that ran everything on the boat was down. It turned out that when Shana got the tool box out of the storage compartment she tripped the 12 volt system breaker. With a phone call to Peter Cameron, our J70 boat partner and electronics installer who had worked on Adrenalin, Mark located the hidden breaker and reset it. After running the engine for awhile, the engine control unit, which had apparently overheated, was now staying cool. But it was all still a bit of a mystery as to why it happened in the first place. <br />
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Meanwhile, within an hour of our arrival back at port, one of our crew had decided not to continue with the delivery, was informing Shana, and removing gear from the boat. A second crew member was having second thoughts and, I will admit, I was wondering whether I wouldn’t be happy for the excuse to bail. <br />
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But it was fixed, and we determined that we would give it another try the next morning. We went back to the rented crew house that night, had yet another barbecue attended by an assortment of people who hadn’t left yet, and by the end of the night the second crew member had decided not to make the trip. <br />
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Mark was trying to bargain them back on board, while Shana was deeply disappointed and discouraged. She just wanted to go home, home to her boat, and I volunteered to go with her, leaving Mark at the house. It was raining yet again, but it was a chance for me to settle into the boat. I still, I felt, didn’t know the boat. Sleeping there would settle me in. <br />
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Next morning, as we prepared to leave the dock, I was having some serious mixed feelings. Now we had four. We were four pretty strong people (my penchant for seasickness not withstanding) but, as Mark pointed out, if something happened to somebody we could be in trouble. As Dustin and I stood on the dock moments before we were to cast off, I said, almost in tears, “I’ve wanted to do this for 40 years. I just, I wonder … so many things can happen out there. But …” and Dustin finished my thought: “People have been doing this for hundreds – <em>thousands – </em>of years.” And he smiled this beautiful, confident, 26-year-old smile. Dustin is the same age as some of the 5th graders that I once taught are now. I taught them about the brave explorers, and those lessons are one of the reasons I wanted to do this trip. <br />
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As we left the dock, I knew in my heart that it was going to be a tough trip. The fact that two crew members had decided against going shook my confidence. But. Everyone has a reason for their decisions, and usually more than one. The two crew members who ended up not coming with us had their reasons, including: a bad knee that would have made trying to move around the fuel barrels very painful; a new puppy left behind; the echo of a recently passed father’s caution about going out to sea; and, who knows, maybe the energy of the day before, not least of which was the friction between Mark and me, could have put people off. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t have wanted to spend two weeks at sea with us if that’s the way it was going to be. <br />
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But I did know better. I have been at sea with Mark more than anyone, and I know how he is at sea. He is a rock. Never sick, always strong, and always looking out for everything that is going on with the boat. So I looked at the four of us: Shana, who has sailed the mighty Southern Ocean; young, lithe Dustin, who works on boats; Mark; and me. Of the four, I felt I was the weakest link because of my seasickness. Hopefully, my medicine would take me over the humps. <br />
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And so off we went. <br />
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Next up: how it went for the first few days. It wasn’t easy, especially for me.</div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-63932789865469258592016-07-25T07:06:00.001+04:002016-07-25T07:06:24.307+04:00Living on Aloha Time<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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One of the first things Shana said to Mark and me, before Adrenaline was even tied up at the dock, was something like, "Do you guys want to leave right away?" Do we want to get out of Hawaii ASAP? Like, before the confused ocean seas calm down, before the winds shift in our favor, before we've gone over the boat with a fine toothed comb?</div>
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No way, Brah. We're on Aloha Time!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipvkQuqq2mZpjj2Hnv14yIuI_DA77iXTms4eDXlssA8GOaBTzEPUCE4wIfr2NKjFiWfdKRvgixwMwCN-oohU1pt4n-Dxzb08tzZ18_GWScEGKkpLDlqGg04fRStNmxv6mGJIaljv4fDM/s1600/20160724_110715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipvkQuqq2mZpjj2Hnv14yIuI_DA77iXTms4eDXlssA8GOaBTzEPUCE4wIfr2NKjFiWfdKRvgixwMwCN-oohU1pt4n-Dxzb08tzZ18_GWScEGKkpLDlqGg04fRStNmxv6mGJIaljv4fDM/s640/20160724_110715.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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As Tropical Storm Darby came ashore on Oahu today, the Sunday morning weather people advised everyone to "stay home and watch television." Fortunately, we've moved out of the hotel, and we're now living like locals in a converted garage apartment in Kailua. I walked through the neighborhood to the store yesterday, stopping at a multi-family yard sale at the end of the street. Local color just doesn't get any better than that.<br />
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If I were a local, I would be out at all the cool lookouts, watching the waves. So that's what we did.<br />
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We drove south on the Kalanianaole Hwy toward Koko Head, wondering if the road would wash out, and if we would be able to see anything at all.<br />
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Rain cells have been pulsing through all day but we were lucky, and after the initial deluge, we got a break that lasted awhile.<br />
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On Aloha Time, things happen when they're supposed to.<br />
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Makapu'u Tidepools. Rabbit Island on left and Kaohikaipu Island State Seabird Sanctuary on the right. <br />
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Memorial to a lost surfer. There were warnings against surfing today, but we saw a few die hard surfers out there anyway. <br />
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There were a couple guys out there behind me, but they were usually buried under a wave.<br />
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Despite Mark's warning to not get too close, I put my toes into a tidepool. The water felt warm and silky. I'm dying to swim in the ocean. It hasn't happened yet, but it will. On Aloha Time. <br />
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Red flag day on Sandy Beach</div>
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When we got home to our apartment, I went out in the back yard to look at the lush greenery. I decided to hang out there for awhile and enjoy a glass of wine. About two seconds after I got inside to fetch my glass, it started to HELLA rain. </div>
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So it was not meant to be. No, I was meant to hang out inside, watching television.</div>
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On aloha time.</div>
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Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-83169204465258144092016-07-24T08:04:00.001+04:002016-07-24T08:04:39.353+04:00Another check-off on the bucket List<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b style="background-color: #fce5cd;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is Darby. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Darby is a tropical storm approaching the Big Island to make landfall on the Big Island today with 60 mph winds and heavy rain. It's on track to pass over us here on Oahu tomorrow, Sunday. My first almost hurricane. Check. Don't need to get closer than this.</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">For Darby to become a Category 1 hurricane, the wind gusts would have to increase another 10-15 mph. That doesn't sound like much, does it?</span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="background-color: #fce5cd;">Yesterday we met the finishers as they were escorted into the Kaneohe Yacht Club. When we got there, a group of winners were already Med-tied - stern in, that is - at the dock. Even after such a long and grueling race, the skippers and crews were busy ho sing down the boats, folding the sails, hanging up gear to dry. Just like any other race. </b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://pacificcup.org/16/sites/default/files/MAS!%20Ditch%20run.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: black;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://pacificcup.org/16/sites/default/files/MAS!%20Ditch%20run.jpg" width="220" /></span></b></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Can you imagine sailing to Hawaii in this boat?</b></span></div>
<b style="background-color: #fce5cd;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">This year's race has created at least one legend. Two guys, Mark and Ian, on Mas! a Moore 24 - yes, that's 24 feet - finished the race in 10 days, 14 1/2 hours to take First in Division, First in Group (Doublehanded) and First Overall. This is an amazing feat, and even more so because, well, Moore 24. One of the first ultralight downwind sled designs, its popularity is undiminished since its breakout in the 1970's. To understand the boat and its history, read <a href="https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moore_24" target="_blank">wikipedia.org/wiki/Moore_24</a>. You'll learn that this is in fact the second time a Moore 24 has gotten triple bullets in the Pac Cup. </span></span></b><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="background-color: #fce5cd;">We talked with the skipper, Mark, and helped him fold his sails. The jibs are built so that the bottom portion can be rolled up, making the sail smaller and the clew, the corner that controls the trim, higher. That makes the sail easily adjustable for a huge variety of conditions. You wouldn't really want to use those sails for regular inshore racing - sail shape and performance is somewhat compromised - but what a great feature for the ocean. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="background-color: #fce5cd;">We hung around the yacht club all day, drinking MaiTais and cheering boats as they came in. Just about every boat had at least somebody aboard that we know, but the biggest thrills of the day were seeing Redhead, the Cal 40 that lives in the slip next to us at Richmond Yacht Club, tied up at the dock having finished during the night and taken 1st place in their division ...</b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj96j3x8_VizLte2nlsfHyTBVrW1-bMGIldtMengHnNdXiOOybQ-XJCoEOglMq4pEDjpiYYjla7eVLRk_nvKl4o-vQQk8KY4TkLMYrrMRg56lZp9UUUzNs8aEUVaPh9ypPCZqbwKisuqBA/s1600/20160722_113126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: black;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj96j3x8_VizLte2nlsfHyTBVrW1-bMGIldtMengHnNdXiOOybQ-XJCoEOglMq4pEDjpiYYjla7eVLRk_nvKl4o-vQQk8KY4TkLMYrrMRg56lZp9UUUzNs8aEUVaPh9ypPCZqbwKisuqBA/s320/20160722_113126.jpg" width="320" /></span></b></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="background-color: #fce5cd;">... And greeting Tiki Blue, our neighbor across the dock ...</b></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhs53G_t43R-5yTTjrZtj40Hl5Yqfgq0LJmYqRKeGHm2-3iUYGSO0yVOvu6-dGfCvjDVPLwtJWzPu0IZWE9o4LE9FF0d0y0_-JkmB299_kOqQ3bURHi5TSElTKT51G6XH9CVB1nv802uk/s1600/20160722_154807.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: black;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhs53G_t43R-5yTTjrZtj40Hl5Yqfgq0LJmYqRKeGHm2-3iUYGSO0yVOvu6-dGfCvjDVPLwtJWzPu0IZWE9o4LE9FF0d0y0_-JkmB299_kOqQ3bURHi5TSElTKT51G6XH9CVB1nv802uk/s320/20160722_154807.jpg" width="320" /></span></b></a></div>
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<b style="background-color: #fce5cd;">Gary is this year's Pacific Cup Yacht Club commodore, and a tireless promoter of this race. He almost had us signed up the race Wildcard this year, but we just weren't ready.</b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36KaTH6x4wzWnJCiogrrKlhNNjutFcmm_udj7_c6xFdCOwynMNksHfMtoopmF2khyphenhyphenyv6MBSnF1VBZ9lKduowBfgvRMcIWfBe9Lttkfo4muq5Umyigp8IkxzMQ5DkmREMhuEtpsMN7OYQ/s1600/20160722_155010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: black;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg36KaTH6x4wzWnJCiogrrKlhNNjutFcmm_udj7_c6xFdCOwynMNksHfMtoopmF2khyphenhyphenyv6MBSnF1VBZ9lKduowBfgvRMcIWfBe9Lttkfo4muq5Umyigp8IkxzMQ5DkmREMhuEtpsMN7OYQ/s320/20160722_155010.jpg" width="320" /></span></b></a></div>
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<b style="background-color: #fce5cd;">He loves to tell the stories ...</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDH9foTYu8Lmw7pZZ0gjaTIdjFMJR5L2Yrok0A_Du88H3Q4Z1fi2NR0WBjsusLvABztJhcrTIAn5HHRe2_j4mPIa3306Fo2E9wtwxRJLN-Xpx8QvbTjYuRRQ466KDnYvmQRR0y6r6X_QI/s1600/20160722_153046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: black;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDH9foTYu8Lmw7pZZ0gjaTIdjFMJR5L2Yrok0A_Du88H3Q4Z1fi2NR0WBjsusLvABztJhcrTIAn5HHRe2_j4mPIa3306Fo2E9wtwxRJLN-Xpx8QvbTjYuRRQ466KDnYvmQRR0y6r6X_QI/s320/20160722_153046.jpg" width="320" /></span></b></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica", "arial", sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Gary's wife, Kelly, is one of many spouses out there who support sailors. Kelly was enjoying her stay at the Moana Surfrider, and was a little dismayed that the race ended so fast and she had to move to the crew house! "I was having a great time," she said. </b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica", "arial", sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Of course the biggest event of the day for us was the arrival of Adrenaline! By that time I was having so much fun that I'd lost track of my phone, which is my main camera this trip (it was sitting on a table next to a near-empty pitcher of MaiTais), and besides it was low on battery. It figures. </b></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEIfO_0FaaZeukE9PKcBgc8OjtFXm4OWCkRSyYx89X9C70Ce53Ze-oLksT35LCAA5ZKXrzEitw-LGbJoRz7VI9Dvf6oQvbIj2wXXQUsd8Z5WD6MFBQlA6zcvQPZ5OHfiB6VF2C81i-70/s1600/FB_IMG_1469326176480.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: black;"><img border="0" height="610" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEIfO_0FaaZeukE9PKcBgc8OjtFXm4OWCkRSyYx89X9C70Ce53Ze-oLksT35LCAA5ZKXrzEitw-LGbJoRz7VI9Dvf6oQvbIj2wXXQUsd8Z5WD6MFBQlA6zcvQPZ5OHfiB6VF2C81i-70/s640/FB_IMG_1469326176480.jpg" width="640" /></span></b></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica", "arial", sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Fortunately, there were other "Adrenaline Junkies" around including Vivienne, who captured the traditional arrival photo, with the crew in their Aloha shirts.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="background-color: #fce5cd;">According to today's standings report, there are still about 24 boats out there, and they have slowed down in order to let the storm pass through before they get here. Reading their blogs which are sent to the Pac Cup website, they are reporting beautiful conditions and great attitudes, if not exactly high spirits, as they creep toward the islands. They're enjoying beautiful sunsets and starry nights as the full moon wanes. </b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b style="background-color: #fce5cd;">I suppose we'll have some spectacularly starry nights when we get out there.</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Meanwhile, I've heard today from our Adrenaline skipper Shana (yes, a woman, she owns the boat) that at least some of the boats may need to anchor out to ride out the storm. Normally the boats could all be tied up together in a big raft-up inside the harbor, three rows deep, but not with sustained winds of 60 mph on the way. </b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>As I finish writing this, the system has moved closer to us and we are getting intermittent heavy rains. Apparently the Pacific High, the high pressure system that usually lurks in the Pacific, has moved onto the mainland and you, all our friends back there, are roasting.</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b> Mark and I just returned from a walk to the local market here in Kailua (we've moved into a garage apartment here) to get some ahi poke salad for dinner. Mark picked up a bug on the plane, so he is laying low trying to fight it off, and I am considering renting a bicycle.</b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>I want to go to the famous Kailua Beach, which seems to always have blue sky above it, no matter what.</b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXU7fstGWol5H9Jl6Bt836lbEXElFZErUKOxqeCBNzeGkME9BxYSrm5vPl_8-ekmuiJdV47Bo1hN346yS3cC48BfeFzG0N27m3qRgcm1IkPT2YvRnHFfgRxXAfHPS4ytsmH_dxorfi3mo/s1600/20160721_122759.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: black;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXU7fstGWol5H9Jl6Bt836lbEXElFZErUKOxqeCBNzeGkME9BxYSrm5vPl_8-ekmuiJdV47Bo1hN346yS3cC48BfeFzG0N27m3qRgcm1IkPT2YvRnHFfgRxXAfHPS4ytsmH_dxorfi3mo/s640/20160721_122759.jpg" width="640" /></span></b></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: #fce5cd; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Thanks for reading, and remember: Aloha. It's a lifestyle.</b></span><br />
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Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-88244689981920583922016-07-21T21:58:00.000+04:002016-07-21T21:58:07.946+04:0040 Years on the Bucket List<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="text-align: left;">It's official. We have Pac Cup Fever.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOeDnPkCYcQzwoo-PAPN-GZbrVLPUZJObYUMu5jA36lJZ18NoZlRt1C9M7UQcpCk9fQX7sqfc1MKj5Cbw4T47glNSw2PjYF65yPuiujhyphenhyphenWknTH2Dl6Q8ErkizIljpqYVnTpN9owOYVDMw/s1600/20160720_084722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOeDnPkCYcQzwoo-PAPN-GZbrVLPUZJObYUMu5jA36lJZ18NoZlRt1C9M7UQcpCk9fQX7sqfc1MKj5Cbw4T47glNSw2PjYF65yPuiujhyphenhyphenWknTH2Dl6Q8ErkizIljpqYVnTpN9owOYVDMw/s320/20160720_084722.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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We're signed on to deliver the Santa Cruz 50 Adrenalin home from Hawaii after the Pacific Cup race, which started in San Francisco and finishes in Kanehoe, on the island of Oahu. Doing a long passage in the Pacific has been a dream for 40 years.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EFkDfBsSv15tSY4nBB9FVyjpNMNYmqFKhvuQMjFnNMU3uGksa_OfAWAbTyFsUsikKoE9-a4NAaaNmOBrY-ZTWL_sLYxcyl3srjZWXkN2ZYmW11Uo0JVh4-IgR0OXPwmT1PZOflL8cYc/s1600/image.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3EFkDfBsSv15tSY4nBB9FVyjpNMNYmqFKhvuQMjFnNMU3uGksa_OfAWAbTyFsUsikKoE9-a4NAaaNmOBrY-ZTWL_sLYxcyl3srjZWXkN2ZYmW11Uo0JVh4-IgR0OXPwmT1PZOflL8cYc/s640/image.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">The smaller, slower boats started first. On Thursday, July 13, we watched the start of Division D and cheered Adrenalin and the others as they sailed under the Golden Gate Bridge and disappeared into the mist.</span></div>
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Since then, three named tropical depressions have developed out there, and the boats have seen really big winds and seas. The first boats are projected to finish today, possibly breaking a speed record set 12 years ago. (After I wrote that, the 100-foot super maxi yacht Rio finished, breaking the previous record by sailing 2400 miles to arrive here in an amazing 5 days and 2 hours!) Adrenalin is still a couple of days out.<br />
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Mark and I arrived on the island Tuesday. Even though Mark was born in California, he's never been to Hawaii. His only excuse was that he didn't want to go unless he sailed here. So, a couple of months after I signed onto Adrenaline's delivery crew, he decided to go too and here we are.<br />
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We spent our first night at the Marriott Courtyard in Waikiki which was full of really muscular, tattooed military guys. I must be growing up, or maybe going into my second childhood because I found this guy just as fascinating to look at ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZxankHcMG3tXQFRKW8nBI24Rl3-7ErBTBSsV0N4p2foE5vJpEPvpPTKcjQRjZoEi4Q3_OdZrOnywZdfu42YCxulosZToDDXH0FAAcyCtt02TjMZwajqcIUxxqEbhgrDEJtjr7Qi6NjE/s1600/20160719_172353.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKZxankHcMG3tXQFRKW8nBI24Rl3-7ErBTBSsV0N4p2foE5vJpEPvpPTKcjQRjZoEi4Q3_OdZrOnywZdfu42YCxulosZToDDXH0FAAcyCtt02TjMZwajqcIUxxqEbhgrDEJtjr7Qi6NjE/s320/20160719_172353.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Mark tries to give him a piece of wing but it was too spicy.<br />
This morning we walked around Waikiki, had a great breakfast at Lulu's overlooking the beach (fresh papaya with lime!) and explored the two oldest and most historic hotels in town, the Moana Surfrider and the Royal Hawaiian. Too bad they're surrounded by endless shopping. How many UGGS stores can they possibly need there, anyway?<br />
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If you ever get there, go and see the historic banyan tree in the courtyard at the Moana Surfrider. According to Wikipedia: "<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, 'Nimbus Sans L', Arial, 'Liberation Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">The Indian banyan tree was planted in 1904 by Jared Smith, Director of the Department of Agriculture Experiment Station. When planted, the tree was nearly seven feet tall and about seven years old. It now stands 75 feet high and spans 150 feet across the courtyard."</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); background-color: white; color: #252525; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, 'Nimbus Sans L', Arial, 'Liberation Sans', sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
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Then there is also the mysterious murder of Jane Stanford, wife of California Governor Leland Stanford and co-founder with him of Stanford University. She died of strychnine poisoning at the hotel in 1905; the crime was never solved. Her room was demolished to enlarge the lobby, but perhaps she still visits, and occupies one of the rocking chairs ...<br />
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Yesterday afternoon we rented a car and made our escape to the quieter, windier North Shore. Our duffel bags (you just don't bring hard luggage on a boat!) are so heavy, full of sailing gear for the return, that we can barely lug them more than a few yards so it's a huge relief to have a car to leave them in.<br />
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We drove up through the middle of the island and reached the historic little town of Haleiwa via Hwy 99, where we stopped at one of the many food cart areas, mostly featuring shrimp. It was crowded with people, and most of the conversations I heard included not one single word of English. In all of our travels before, I've always noticed a sprinkling of English, especially among the children - not here.<br />
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Now we are checked into our Marriott Courtyard North Shore, drinking rum drinks with fresh pineapple that we bought at a roadside stand. Mark's Marriott points will be used up after this trip so we'll get to be more creative booking hotels from now on which I will enjoy. We're right next to the Polynesian Cultural Center, which I vaguely remember from the one other time I was here, in 1981. Not sure if we're going to make it inside, as it looks like a full day commitment and we want to greet some of the boats as they arrive. But maybe.<br />
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We'll be here for two nights, and then moving on to Kailua where we have rented a studio apartment for 4 nights. After that, we'll join the other members of the delivery crew, when they arrive next week, in a house in Kanehoe. So we have lots of time for adventures, but we also have lots of work ahead of us - provisioning the boat, helping clean it up, and maintaining and fixing things. The race crew will need to catch up on sleep, and then of course there are parties!<br />
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But first, the boats have to get here, and tropical storm Darby is closing in on the Big Island, then moving north - into the path of the fleet. Things could get interesting.<br />
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More soon. Stay tuned. Till then, aloha.<br />
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Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-44453905074809703052016-04-29T04:30:00.000+04:002016-04-29T05:33:08.885+04:00Wildcard Racing - Man Overboard!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<img src="http://pressure-drop.us/imagehost/images/14677926100240547836.jpg" height="320" width="225" /></div>
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<br />
A few weeks ago, we had a situation aboard <em>Wildcard</em> and heard the words that all sailors dread.<br />
<br />
The Big Daddy is one of the regattas we look forward to every spring. Usually
the weather is mild and the winds light, but if it’s a stormy year – like this
El Nino year has sometimes been – we can be in for some rain, or some big winds.
This year, we had both.<br />
<br />
Before we made the 3-1/2 hour drive “over the hill” from Gardnerville to
Point Richmond, we checked the forecast and saw that it was going to be windy
and raining. In the past, we would be skeptical of the “weatherman,” but now
there are good programs – Mark uses <a href="http://www.predictwind.com/" title="http://www.predictwind.com/">http://www.predictwind.com/</a> and we also
like the MyRadar weather app. They are pretty darn accurate.<br />
<br />
We were planning to sail the smaller J70 <em>Prime Number</em> in the
Saturday buoy racing, and then sail <em>Wildcard</em> in the Sunday pursuit
race.<br />
<br />
Come Saturday morning, it was windy, it was raining, and with just Mark,
Peter, and me, we were one crew member short. In light winds, that can be a very
good thing, but in heavy winds it’s a disadvantage because you don’t have enough
weight to “hold the boat down,” to keep it from heeling over too much. If it
heels too much, the keel can’t do its job as well and the boat slides sideways,
making its progress upwind to the mark slower and requiring more tacks. All the
other boats you’re racing against are guaranteed to beat you.<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="270" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-JRqIzlqdxqk/VyKPaxWtg7I/AAAAAAAAwAI/kO0NxggfiGArb4zkYNdkIVRoCZjAp0aFQCCo/s720/Wabbit%2Bcapsize.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
We watched small boats leaving the yacht club marina, wind whipping. Some of
them came back in, and one entire class, the little Wylie Wabbits, canceled. I
guess they didn’t want to do this all day …<br />
<br />
My confidence was low. Besides not being competitive, what if something
happened? For some reason, I envisioned all hell breaking loose and Mark ending
up in the water.<br />
<br />
Here’s a video of a “crash” on a J70, and then a quick recovery, in San
Francisco Bay. This isn’t that big a deal, but the boat is even harder to
control with only three people. <br />
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SGAqDLIdHQ" title="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SGAqDLIdHQ">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SGAqDLIdHQ</a><br />
<br />
As I was trying to scrub these thoughts from my brain, Mark said, “If I fell
overboard I’d probably have a heart attack or something.”<br />
<br />
That was enough. I said, “I just don’t have a good feeling about this. It’s
not worth it.” And as our friend and Wildcard crew Mike said, “Live to sail
another day.”<br />
<br />
<a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/rp0GXDYiPKAPsquP009NJnOheWwX2X74YJztKRLdF1r4-cIZArxp1Yaz1jc4gZPC7ZVDuQ=w988-h354-no" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/rp0GXDYiPKAPsquP009NJnOheWwX2X74YJztKRLdF1r4-cIZArxp1Yaz1jc4gZPC7ZVDuQ=w988-h354-no" width="400" /></a>We called Peter, told him we were bailing, and
made plans to drive to Santa Cruz for lunch. It’s a <em>really</em> long drive
from Point Richmond, but Mark wanted to go there and see the legendary Santa
Cruz 70 downwind “sled” <em>Merlin. </em>It was something to do.<br />
<br />
<img align="left" src="http://pressure-drop.us/imagehost/images/35381576173859776269.jpg" height="400" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="302" /><br />
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As we drove back north from Santa Cruz through San Francisco, it was raining
like hell, and windy. I looked on Facebook, and people were posting photos of
the carnage – like this torn sail. <br />
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Photo: Mark Howe<br />
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<img align="left" src="http://pressure-drop.us/imagehost/images/48581198292971442451.jpg" height="259" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
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There were plenty of mishaps like this one, called a round-up or broach,
where the wind gusts, the boat is overpowered, and heads up into the wind, out
of control.<br />
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A worse case scenario is a round-down, when the boat rocks back and forth and
wipes out on the other side, with the mainsail flopping over and the spinnaker
pole in the water. The photo below is from the Internet; it’s a classic
round-down, just beginning, before the boat spins and the mainsail, attached to
the deadly boom, swings over, prompting everyone to call out, “HEEAADS!!”<br />
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<img align="left" src="http://scontent.cdninstagram.com/hphotos-xpa1/t51.2885-15/e15/928772_730092743755726_1635489419_n.jpg" height="400" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
<br />
Round-ups are pretty easy to recover from; round-downs, you usually have to
take the spinnaker down. In either case, the boat is pretty much stopped dead in
the water. Hopefully everyone hangs on.<br />
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We had lined up a crew of seven for Sunday including our “secret weapon,” a
big guy named Bob Carlson who would help hold the boat down, making up for the
fact that we were one or two people short. We decided to race, no matter
what.<br />
<br />
<img align="left" src="http://www.latitude38.com/lectronic/img_lectronic_432/2015-02-02_2113_adrenaline.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" /><br />
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<br />
We recruited a guy at RYC that night, and a few more in the morning,
including Joe, our regular bowman, who was going to sail this big ultralight
catamaran called <em>Adrenaline</em> but with the weather, there was no way they
were going out and breaking the boat. <br />
<br />
Suddenly we had eleven. <br />
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<img align="left" height="269" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/hdsfe_bkk9cZeWDpLapjsLrsM6RKrRYJh8WaN-_K9imDVZuGfGn8QKyiJ8w28V1N5XZDpw=w989-h659-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
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We did a few practice tacks before the start, and I noticed that the deck was
crowded and it was impossible for everyone to cross over the cabin top at once.
<em>Wildcard </em>is wide in the stern and narrow in the bow, with a big panel
over the cabin covering the halyards. It’s slick and there isn’t anything to
grab onto as you cross onto the new “high side.”.<br />
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<img align="left" height="302" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/gxBPG8E5s84CQHuhL0b1XvrpSXq7XB-J6llxvlCjbgEuTOY1zgEekw83eA6EK24j7s5syw=w921-h691-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
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With the boat heeling, it’s a tricky maneuver, especially when it’s wet. You
don’t want to cross too soon, or too late.<br />
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After a tack, I saw Bob slide across to the low side and almost go overboard.
The feeling of foreboding returned. But all I could say is, “Stay on the boat!”
and hope for the best.<br />
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The race was underway, the slower boats starting first. Finally we started,
and headed into Raccoon Strait first. In this race, boats sail around both Angel
Island and Alcatraz, in either direction. We were going counter-clockwise hoping
for a big downwind push to the finish. We won it that way last year, albeit on<em> Prime Number – </em>and in a lot
less wind.<br />
<br />
It was gnarly out there, lots of wind and big seas. We clawed our way
upwind through the Raccoon Strait between Tiburon and Angel Island, tacking
within a few feet of the rocky point. I didn’t like being so close! Then we
steamed across the Bay to Alcatraz, turned left, and put up the spinnaker. It
was blowing about 18 knots, we were doing about 9, and talking about a gybe
when, to my horror, I again saw Bob slide across the deck in front of me, feet
first and out of control. He slowed down a little when he got to the lifelines
but went right under them. He was now hanging off the side of the boat.<br />
<br />
<em>Wait, can he hang on?</em> No, we were going too fast. A split second,
and he was bobbing in the water behind the boat, getting smaller.<br />
<br />
Brian, on the winch trimming the kite with me, called out, “MAAAN
OVERBOOAARD!”<br />
<br />
In that moment, I recalled another time I was on a boat when several people
– including me, for a minute or two – overboard. It was a harrowing experience
that I won’t recount here. Everyone survived, and I learned an important lesson.
What do you do first?<br />
<br />
“We have to STOP THE BOAT!” I said. “Joe!” He was already there. “Halyard!
Ready? Kite down!” <br />
<br />
Mark was starting the engine, but keeping it in neutral. We’d had an issue
with lines overboard a few weeks earlier at the Corinthian Midwinters, and the
spinnaker sheet had got caught in the prop – luckily, Mark was able to reverse
and unwind it but that was sheer luck. Yes, Bob was getting further away, but
taking those few seconds to check and be sure that you’re ready for every
maneuver is imperative. You don’t want to start making mistakes. Mistakes can
cost lives.<br />
<br />
Bob was holding up his hand, indicating that he was OK. I knew he would be
fine – both he and Peter are avid whitewater river boarders, used to being in
cold, fast water. We had a crew member, Jamie, assigned to spot him – to
maintain the visual at all times. If you get too far away, you hold your arm out
to mark the direction where you last saw the MOB.<br />
<br />
Kite down, we came about and motored upwind to pick Bob up. As we approached,
Peter started squawking, “Bob! Don’t swim away!” Apparently it looked to Bob
like we were going to run him over!<br />
<br />
The hardest part was getting Bob back onto the boat. Fortunately,
<em>Wildcard </em>has an open transom but still, it took about five guys to haul
him up. Brackets on the transom for the swim ladder were catching on his life jacket. Would the swim ladder have helped? Probably not much, in those conditions. It
would have been mostly in the way.<br />
<br />
When we finally had him back on the boat, sailing home downwind under
mainsail only (running the engine in gear disqualified us from the racing) and
everybody had cracked open a beer, Bob said that it really wasn’t that bad. The
water was 20 degrees warmer than the American River water he’d been in the
weekend before, and he floated high because he’d elected to wear his whitewater
life jacket instead of his lighter sailing PFD. But he did acknowledge that a
person who wasn’t used to being in the water, and who wasn’t wearing as much
flotation and couldn’t get his head above the waves, could panic and aspirate
water. And would be harder to see.<br />
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<img height="456" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/u5CmDbgrO3klktr6P0V0gvjbpURPC9gzHxApx7U4pcwZPeJP_sOko6191FNg19s7Z_uCnQ=w602-h425-no" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" width="640" /><br />
<br />
Here’s a video of river boarding – Bob designs and manufactures the Carlson
River boards. He’s quite famous in the river rat world.<br />
<a href="https://vimeo.com/138495028" title="https://vimeo.com/138495028">https://vimeo.com/138495028</a><br />
<br />
Any time something happens, there are lessons to be learned. We have already
removed the swim step brackets, we have a floating throw rope for rescue, and we
have a little clip-on step that might help a person get a knee up to get on
board. We are thinking about ways to make the cabin top safer – handles or
jacklines to hold onto. <br />
<br />
And I have been thinking about this: one reason we were able to execute such
a smooth rescue was because it happened when the boat was under control, and
everyone was calm and in position. That’s not always the case. I wonder how many
overboard situations occur when all hell is breaking loose, versus how many
happen because of a bit of carelessness. Bob was just – let’s be honest – not
paying enough attention. He thought we were gybing. We weren’t. We were having a
discussion, but we didn’t make the call. Which is another point. Always make
sure your crew is prepared for a maneuver, and the call is clear – every
time.<br />
<br />
Before we even hit the dock, Bob was groaning, “I’ll never live this down.”
He’s right; he won’t. Name jokes aside, these stories do live on forever. But
never mind, because Bob’s been making the best of it. The story is in the
April <em><a href="http://www.latitude38.com/index.lasso" target="_blank">Latitude
38</a></em> magazine, and Bob is autographing copies!<br />
Cheers, thanks for reading, and stay safe.<br />
<br />
<img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-l5B8dczF6Qo/VwjGrE7BzUI/AAAAAAAAvcU/olLsuYZos2A1zOcglXsOqNpz97jeCcMaQCCo/s640/20160406_215442.jpg" /><br />
<br />
<img height="480" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9Q3ZX5KwDck/VyK3Ji1ybBI/AAAAAAAAwBE/jv65ZIhbL_048L7YEgvB17bAzV4sHr0rACCo/s640/Lat38story.jpg" width="640" /><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-67139942805980769422016-04-10T03:45:00.000+04:002016-04-10T22:23:43.050+04:00Death Valley-Blooms, Ballet, and Blues<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<img height="430" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/F2Zjbk1ZER2FHNh3ybPBbDy1BMwoe2bNJ3nfo57ZY6fqL2P0ruMxz-Xv8xa6DUeIUuXP5kW-hP8UPZJQDw2izAnuyP9mJha6m7C51wES1u2R7Yovh2jv-t5M8pCflaMkIk0Lh3FnkpLJbcAv6Q5rsUtNENRChOq1uD5-IxLQl2tB1M0syoLZP9558eGTKhzeDnmIIBKDtSBlJcyTc95fTRs-xUSOBEPOeNf6zFiBadCAbgHo4al0Z0BLAG4xaREndLJZOKM5qXGgp856srF4ETlhBd0ehJq3xOXGEb_eBDQA9FxNMJVNfl1phf6aDG702_wv75sZhuLCtM6vEKRujFzyNEUjY_tEEJJkgphyRie1b9OO52ilxy_X073sixxbmpCC4dF1zG8BoQDBVQdSjLM0LHgvl9zUFjeVqr3MYsU144IEBnV9FBpaW0YxaE5ABefusqK3YjOZA0sunGtGM_9FB7NbVMVU2N9Og6dJH-oMJdPnoMeCq9UCshunKPUTzFNhRR--jrMLYhDCW_AGMYOsuKWRhbN6TKNLwHyrsSJ2mYCQyuvzK_dmLzVDZHLOROu-CQ=w989-h659-no" width="640" /><br />
<br />
Our visit during the Death Valley bloom in late February left me feeling that
we had hardly even been there. In twenty-four hours, all we did was buzz the
main roads. We saw a lot of yellow flowers, but what about all the others, that
were yet to bloom? What about all those trails that we didn’t walk on? The views
we didn’t take in?<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNII8eD7E0Y5xIAiJT73xzA7DC2ZYWB-dXyIab4qoaqruDSZIyLT1fT-8CWv6m4UfvZ1GeDUnsSRkzHyRlp1HlyelGLShl4l9DstIhu9Ff-gd_fSXmW-dFN_HGMuTw-dk-8QL_MGb0xPI/w1082-h659-no/" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
About a week after we got back from that trip, Mark learned that his
Reno-based BMW motorcycle group was going to Death Valley in March, and we were
thinking that we should join them. But soon, that trip was canceled because all
of the campsites and hotel rooms in and near Death Valley were booked. Word had
gotten out that Death Valley was the place to be. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
A little research led me to realize that only one campground at Furnace Creek
takes reservations; all the others are first-come. Besides, there are plenty of
places to camp just outside the park, on public land or in RV parks. We wanted
to take another trip.<br />
<br />
I said, “Believe it or not, I vote for going back to Death Valley. Now there
are more flowers blooming at the higher elevations. Different flowers. We could
take a few days this time.”<br />
<br />
Mark: “Okay. But let’s get into that good campground this time.” The Texas
Springs campground at Furnace Creek, very close to the one we were at last time,
but a huge step up in atmosphere. <br />
We left home on Monday morning – it was painful to leave my beautiful
daffodils, but I knew they would still be gorgeous when we returned – and headed
south on 395. <br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="269" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/ZfToS0VJEdHT23zecnurgyAMvSDaDXJCW_cl5ocsUh21rrLWXpY8IGvgd9HXQc5WdXyK3FDdZ65ZYyvaBtcAuaycpCsAhQoYbupPuOiKN7ma7-fyx2Bd20H8I50GYYNCokcdRgyDk51RYglVdmwpz0E1LBeea6Fj9WhqZeOVANaAzN-wrWVDTGYOHDJkfWqXnB12Z9ui0kA0HZxxPhPTnNvO01w_-xIcA8GEQbz1TFMrG2VfC9eJi6sg_iurmEZyTWgvlCg8VBpmh78i_YnY2GQSy08QeEs526kLmeeRYivVF_RA8SYB9UNhL_sh3Kcgpe7mxmspQ-LQJxbdcReFGAmzM-4vD4Z1xxRw6wSTCqS9bAvNwriI4kEAESwWewHqm5Px86uuSF0uM-CKJnj10jcTmmLHqFYNwkEdxZQrW1WrlDOSX-xIFLgxNZ8gtjxpoDb82QH-q94Qz2mwbXRnkXLE_xI0UmyZFvNWDSIQ1ilgp1UYQRa2sXQK_8mSRTsE7g7jgS2GOZoom5qX0pky0PFvS4vXppXYR5Jiak15UMNOPugAETZfEp58EOo9OKPEuchQYw=w989-h659-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
The weather prediction was for high winds in the Eastern Sierra, and boy,
they were not kidding. The wind was sweeping the salt flats at Mono Lake high
into the air, the lenticular clouds looked like stacked spaceships, and our
little trailer, with Mark’s motorcycle inside, was doing the shimmy. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
When we arrived in Lone Pine, I was still hoping to camp despite the wind,
but Mark seemed to have his heart set on getting a motel room. This happens. He
didn’t like the wind, which aggravated his allergies, and he wanted a shower. I
sulked, I’m not going to lie, but I eventually cheered up when we decided to
have dinner at the Merry-Go-Round, a cleverly converted Chinese and American
restaurant with surprisingly good food – which to me means freshly cooked,
crispy veggies and not a lot of gooey sauce. <br />
<br />
<br />
The next morning we left early, the wind still whipping, which it would until
the next day. Even when it wasn’t that windy, there was sand drifting onto the
road. It reminded us of the sandstorms in the Middle East!<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="269" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/df2MkGqm-OkvuJGaP-Rz3COWQ1JILVTlwAeEchR18mmSQiH6G0O6a4y3qOk23XlJj_2EIQyo3SWTOCGlmKYQPx7w5IFxinCUWmNV_jb7RmiUqTPWjxak-Y2bZpRwgANIReVRDbHgVQjGORU0Yrm6WJ2KW-iZRI--cSeDJA6kajCT9gM0aXyUmpLhz-Z13CYzhjUPD_oHlJQCRNXsaygteCymqkH3cpjmsIM-2FsBXGpGqwmfCJuLOdrnPsa_SwGvgTss82YaJB0KbTxt8u4qgx3wvOwqSWiGZ_GO4_Ed94rg9qgsEiGbjF_Jv8mbQNpl_VHMNhg_weJ-xXIXIIATZQj1U4iGhD4K_4ca_ztSBV1WFsjvaY4mbqF3tIiVAokWauuhT0oHCWK-N7Ha2SVGACw9oMEXVHGtlIKm-Li9eMuTKi8v6RqY0CYDotrFf43DLq93r5nv2l5CGDCFpJ2JWtcXSGlP8WulGF_0uIhTx4P_AMxWXxosThrYylkvzmiKC9kwYgS2lPz_OzFvUW3JonNLbC3heJbZmYOEpM5ICrCQA9U_fdNAyQsuRvCdmrfafUhouA=w989-h659-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
Our strategy was to arrive at Texas Springs at nine or so, and snag a
campsite as people were leaving. it worked perfectly. Every space was spoken for
again by early afternoon. I have to say, the neighbors at that campground were
extremely friendly. More on that later.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We settled in, and I took a little local
hike while Mark napped. Can you spot him, right in the middle of the photo?<br />
<br />
<img height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitCL-PmdyNRRHcM5PipxOxnAPYEfZh7mK-KetByx-zyXWXAi7WE8kHlZ7SbDBLV4hBDB-hfPKc9zatIRcDzdsXKWWcHA6ioVKdXvkPLCIceAkRE1CzE4_7eiCGHryBSAm4KSkrHUuCUgk/w989-h659-no/" width="640" /><br />
<br />
The Texas Springs topography is pretty dazzling, for a campground. You’re
surrounded by geologic formations created by volcanic eruptions and seismic
upheaval, followed by erosion. Death Valley wasn’t always dry – about 4,000
years ago, there was a wetter period. Even now, torrential rains can change the
landscape overnight, and the winds that sweep across the shifting sands of the
valley floor and up through the peaks are a constant force – like a
sandblaster.<br />
<br />
<img height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8Q8nDLxnYvUTO8gxlXYK04e6TAMgtfernyuwP4lcmdGtCYNzmwL4I0tmbdD171b-4aIs51QwPY3oMNbVL0htElHPASH7ySz1lbguYqdjhvdcVvSHdHZ8_EPyb4i1VRoB3vFgD9obr4w/w989-h659-no/" width="640" /><br />
<br />
We were there to see the flowers, but first there were two sights on the
must-see list. We took the motorcycle first to Zabriskie Point, just up the
road from Furnace Creek and an easy walk out to the viewpoint … <br />
<br />
<img height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioPn4jf40GX4R7d56QcMwob2_L3KKJRLKH_CALxO76wGq3THopvU00glCNqeA7ZRN39u6QNKqEbo2FYwaT0SIPFsMXGyVfkbvAglcCBssrqaa0RKHnKYZPqCYmlakiZ-YwnnVhyRK5bFs/w989-h659-no/" width="640" /><br />
<img height="212" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/yJ1uzscBEVfyodx8l0dj7a34fcw71E1jmqzptvDMExym5XcWTNcCb7kM3O6AFTP6yRxSe3OSRgkC6HNyFSgOc6x7MeoFvrTf-D2Ua7wA0z-0Eeqzqy91QKYAbkWOCn-_eiJwGTxx0UgtXJ5gTXm5Jx1Tw1nuy_Q7HNK72zT8VK_Qp4Ms46RsTdw4bFLiUKvbz92Hex-9npOGWCvMgz5_s97nUps_PjYn1ljNX0GOkxNmFgCI4MVpAsDhg3vlZVInroKEJObjg0x_8axf77VV94IZg5C7oODYuBLiBVz6_icB7NLCM3mDldmCzfzHDwNZnJ5E2GIXsc3J4UH2vjJigFzQezfPTxs2vlkZJkOaJXmuZToEQyuWRUDkHDUVybbcQgdn7O_1FRDBz2pKmZBOb_UhsPoK9WYRgNWhtq7NcBBzRTVG-OigvP1szjxnCNG1Zu2K_uFohmilI7iM5Z2n58e80CLfDRNv3gIcl6J3v8BVIzOabK9X8VTpEXZTSy9LoNwu9JaAnY4YnDZeIgNiLjjLAUxDbh89Rk7PWEreUoofwiuru51winZBGTAZDFKoflV4CQ=w989-h659-no" width="310" /><img height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0jn098ZqJIm50fuynsRLPOW7Mdt3KuFzc6iQgyTWD2_vn_U54GSB2livxNz8IerOXoevV07xp4FDq5-pWOz5u-l1sml3x0M5esaGdB9vT2E928h7KkMm6jOxod9pZdc3Kt8bc54RdUo/w989-h659-no/" width="302" /><br />
<br />
… and rode the 13-mile road spur up to Dante’s View, which was a bit chilly
at 5,475’ above sea level coming, as we were, from –100’ at Furnace Creek.
Death Valley is a land of extremes.<br />
<br />
<img height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXYaJ14_qMccTixvlkGfE0lkGKbC5LwxG073LM4wuJBkMwlHTZnjDA55zvUTPoBpEOKySGigutxi_qbu2smpVHFwk0nKLoQoV6eiLXEi4VM1v1RL1sxXxBXqrQmeqjE4I8JNkDCgsaBI/w989-h659-no/" width="640" /><br />
<br />
Looking down into Death Valley takes your breath away. <br />
<br />
<img height="222" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/xYsuPr6qL3etPH-sZbvv5Lf3HiyChbCsP94gmasY-7D42zpqSLTJXWFQXYTLRmIHkiBEMJV2sZ3D6Cwtvv0j7AZ4AH_O_yPDfgWBmmo4zGF_8T0DCBscy9hHvBrS8qR5l3DAsIrcpB8hVUatRfDQn7W7StJyE4MNDBOSL9M0mKO2bNOT3N27jPAsRzccY_JnapY0kkIN8KA84P7cKZ08XwluLXgNwpkeaaL3tEO-ExVxt5tZ0kTUM1hoEpjie_1-4ydFg50mtOA86qwT65umyzYhe6Mt4YbXE-TjZh89zc6VBNPtzfO7aZdT8OINR7ks95TwhQIMS_gUD8a8WEWDZs9d_0931gtcNrF5b_hdkOJlTXGxVPnE5uNV6-YdKfMicX6v9CfPMms3EnIaJclX9y-2m2Qi2NrFMz4XiJRXgPxBwSZ_p_uw46fFa73Wd6GR44AwEmh0YkeOYupUjAekIKDd-ClfOdmogntdsScZmjiRWCopJU8_P-icR9bmG-4MU4HuMmfwQUyKp6eZQyaSSM8NnlLJlgaDe8OE6MBLEOAErKKuCsrRmu357ly6u0mKItLW5Q=w989-h659-no" width="324" /><img height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWHZ-X9F1Od_vkyiAspBHXCAQjAJqFbp5G72QDYFSJ3bkGGL2eE0EHcI3JP_iaNwKT1q8msmC5EJ1hYk_z9UxV_pedJwXwh57IKUPsnmrnI4wcp60o_KVuH956WlWeTN9HvFF5osLoVXE/w989-h659-no/" width="308" /><br />
<img align="left" height="269" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/RSoLbshdWnzmDD67y7WU5mkHoR2_dWACDeBxL-nByfLRn5tNm2ruloCTwMg4mtMAIhJYr-G0HThpiPJlLZcFA_NcmMz0PNu_pTPnuJbvvrb6K40yEcNvpAz7zN4Q_h5_7g3H6wjfZfmHmK6CiCQcKZPzGScfhVm2GepMo5IXffn1-KSOpdu9XK8UN0gySRBZi_U9XbJDo0U69nnykXXbH8y3NdhVJMPosU8S0zK6-zfVNFttS7ztkB8IlarMqeXBZn-F-R9JKneYJBHjeiT5XbULpgT3hbN3lKcUvhlUC6BDVKLiFSHcrNTCaqf5uaz4Kd4DrbWHVMngmwcw327e7dosVqNbI9Z_BWjT-XAgTgHKWPi1unrYNwL4VRNTJ10jpkBzQOoEjGKLJ0Dbzv7GLq5xWbJuZ_iqVSn32Gma_EPTtvXCM1QK1u7gcABf7_aZOaoSPNblRNFqzUXUbZB0rxP2BI4_Jza5xNk88Ae1QXyoFDHIKZRL699-OOToUHsBbKx8Uo21Sdr0ZCrWQt0G26O2ouTE6hgkKx3YDGJsffBFWRpJFy6fEiGgneTeFfpFp4ljRg=w989-h659-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
On the ride back down, we realized that we were riding through another
spectacular bloom, similar to the one we’d seen a few weeks back – only this
one, a couple thousand feet higher. Because we had the sun in our eyes on the
way up, we really couldn’t appreciate the color. But on the way down, with the
sun shining into the flowers, not our eyes – wow. <br />
<br />
<img height="216" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/ZXkUnVG9tbDu5H_wMyu0MDneFj0t9bdlHd1nLTzo-cDLOCgHZkKu55AWFpmx1fpa0IfalbksMPekRNErXiK__AcvIUdb3KZJgx3k0_0KUp3riz3GRmfBORgyGVrK48zjtRD9A3UJY3wih650cSvEWL-XtSMmk8tcDZuFlHDxx1zf4AiX87QNNBop1StTaYkO_Ks26jdkGnewzHpY72FBWC425wu_0GDCjB-ATe0U0Mc38DcqfLGIeJyq2-_6ZTxHOzCFLWlV5QQyCrWrrGFu0u-wOwEHF56zcpFBdQtgjM5rfP9Lu-32cXqbCuvw6DFsn4HZSdK7qphZHkQ34GmfYWCuYN40fjEprMQ0PLfdlSASJ-1WwT46MkeZqCNfdNV-YmjGBI8jKQUJrYiKy18MAfs31JzkxZJa8XEBmhtLsLby-CpbGHTl7JLN0af2ZUTcCScI00pcCXQpFSRqta77VgjtYL5tVSJKHQPnWMFsYdup7ZQ3B-QnGwlkKT2VELx7IEU8R6g8FwBDSmfwAE2_VJrf21D_Eg9Yy3ea054VE4jUZ65z2xjOP3k30cvvym_nNNmBbg=w1002-h659-no" width="326" /><img height="215" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/LXnJCipuD55nYWoHD4_V7e5Sx-Ta-i4-ywaA-mqI4lOA7r3S7YJeh5iXaUuDJK1W2Zq6S8ua5hHrpxlyHB9UIMGLrQotv6Qo_THtacN6ufLF8zxY7bkEtijgm3nu-_3ZNGfGJMV3wiwF-AOogoIzoT2N7Stgz37m658VOGyopbJfwNHA8a-rwQfc43RKag-jX2PuyJ_SqJWhSTZ8Lh9arEF2h-j-4s7K0s7yxn-O3xNzEZFtibZb8bIJcJhJ5H6BMAmFbL1vbEnTNU_s9EvA9-T1AML-_49vdzoIJeVf60jnLnPECyJqC-fotGEsHl9DzLFHb4oevA_4_hcidtWk4fVglc0upHi1cIdTXP4FbgrjZTuMBlqEQDZgUTmsXViZiC-grreh1J_-adygmIHGzMtjuVGObYYH5d8c68ReZWaix3W-WRbR0j-4zZpFSfixxRf_gOKhR1M1eAkpmQcOtOYGUs8wWm1exSBwSsJjQ_z5LLtczSkCNhklyc_SfAQ2qc6sqVAj3bRRFpsV6bCBIzl9wmtA1KfPwmU5BLq-H1yP7rn0i5Yoe3MLALqMjgx95Rnc6g=w989-h659-no" width="307" /><br />
<br />
After Dante’s View, Mark wanted to ride more so we continued on Hwy 190
toward Death Valley Junction. It was getting to be lunchtime, and I kept trying
to convey to Mark that DVJ is all but a ghost town, with zero chance of finding
a café, a market, or even a convenience store but on we went, until we had
arrived.<br />
<br />
Death Valley Junction doesn’t have any of those things mentioned above, but
what it does have is an opera house, and a ballet performance season. Yep, you
read right. Just as we arrived, the receptionist at the Amargosa Hotel – the
only visible sign of human activity in town – was opening the Amargosa Opera
House to a small tour group – $5 a head for a look inside. We bought in.<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqW8_mIl0NN_GbPrXxQLzrPnPSbz_9IY9hZCOrd64-LLX7-oufff84c_ElWYTF_ryfP1nNbHW21TnLe6WoVZM8wdvNag6kWmo3-waCWxz-4sDlf56dKRaCxEAUyMV4zynqcoJyfi1lW8c/w989-h659-no/" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
From the outside of the building, you could never imagine what is inside.
Ballerina Marta Beckett arrived in the 1960s, passing by with her (future ex)
husband, saw the theater, and decided to stay and dance ballet. Permanently.
<br />
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<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6yHomywWM8ljpJiK7st4_FwHird_-z8TqoHNTB1xIRpDNqkigFymqTrp2TM7Y4ZuZAM-3KotAY-hw_mM3C8TqfB9gx7xAwW5JNXNPzlC-Gu-eQsK0oOJaOrqd3plienZm-d0Ag3xNo-I/w989-h659-no/" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
Sometimes lacking an audience, she painted one, populating the walls with all
of the characters of a medieval kingdom. The result is enchanting. Marta
retired from dancing a few years ago, at age 85, but now another ballerina,
Jenna McClintock, who at age 6 saw Marta dance and was inspired to become a
ballerina, has left life in the city to step into Marta’s shoes. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94LZXVFHaGibAaMQPtDh8euV0OaSZiEK8JJ7U3K_HbCOuHIJ8BCQNCFJ5rOjZmlDkoRxn61BBeGsugTrLjhYaEzpiUKduM37Lx2zfr_6udoJaQSEihkOfEwB8XFtcO8EUkz5HblMJdpE/w989-h659-no/" width="640" /><br />
<br />
The story of Marta, Jenna, and their impact on Death Valley Junction is too
rich and compelling to go into detail about here. It’s a story that, today, is
alive with new energy, and new people with hopes and dreams for the town. Please
take the time to read this wonderful write-up by Nevada Public Radio - <a href="http://knpr.org/desert-companion/2016-02/dancer-sands" target="_blank">Dancer in the Sands</a>. Perhaps the next time Mark and I visit
DVJ the restaurant will be open and we’ll take in dinner and the ballet.
Meanwhile, we settled for a couple of still-cool beers what we’d brought
along.<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="235" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/0zD37pLKbyRLa-onI58xyEr5Ce2wPisygx-841vC5iMXpby1ys9o3Evbm9rWyOv5AoS-iFgPs4dnsB2J8aRVsbeu3Uo0c8-7pkeNNGvws5zNMELDSTxbGY8G50jL4yLtB_CxVfsIdZ8C2s_p8aFOieL9cUtLR05Hk0-QFXpipMIk__E3JDGupaObQho9DEuJWEAPkMIAK5RmhqUHLOdjrtKXv2ViZS2Ckka9QXMVDpAR9vn_VLip59CEnQufznvS8Bw_Th1owfR7hrideZfDDU6T38g4wW9Qbp4hTLP9sPfmOG_B-HBtwMe1amwmnOwwbwDB8Oe0WMKd1xvLNbhuU09L_HrzPNlb41VBpTvS6bbP3IFx8nCIwuFmztOjhSNQW1V_HWmdI6lWqG0RnWssTSys3L8PFkiKwe9raTkGeqUkDDjBQbgDxCK8npXPbcM90XR3T3ZrmJpYG2QQaahUsVO1heRQcxTDHvfM5obsnhqYb-tP-fW2WmwolK-M0B4Xxx42suMbPqck7HPft1Ty3D8UAdb7sFPvl-Hg1SlohuhOswcO7PvRhhYoEFZTlAkOnkxNEw=w1135-h659-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
That evening, back at Texas Springs, we had
cocktail hour with our neighbors, with whom we’d discovered we had something in
common – sailing. They’re cruisers who’ve “swallowed the anchor” and are now
living the RV life.<br />
“I cried for a year,” the wife, Mary, admitted when I asked if it was a hard
transition, husband Paul nodding confirmation. “But now I love it.”<br />
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<br />
After dark, at another campsite nearby, two men took up guitars and sang the
blues as the full moon came up. It just doesn’t get any better.<br />
<br />
Next day, we decided to make the Titus Canyon drive – Mary and Paul had said
it was spectacular. Since it was a dirt road, we opted for the truck, not the
motorcycle, and it was a good thing. The <a href="https://www.nps.gov/deva/planyourvisit/titus-canyon.htm" target="_blank">NPS
web page about Titus Canyon</a> says you can do this drive in 2-3 hours, but I
can’t imagine doing it in less than 3 hours. We had perfect weather and, yes, we
did keep stopping to take photos. But we could have stopped much more; there are
several hikes that sound tempting. It’s a rugged 27-mile drive, mostly one-way,
over two passes and through two canyons. <br />
<br />
<img height="236" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/BDNwVhTYhrhmv7nfvOnNGy6FptPeNsnVugM-IKXeh9expoRV9FWtm_4FUtxDJPhCM0LlfnLSTlrTGjrShyhhQaY_gx32SxWXNiONWs6OTz4QdZnWta4KS4veXu0IejuBrIJnYb-NK2JvJdfPC6cbj-rrmUh1rjUlcUkbEoLGekcMBl3vDpl9UZSMwAuEOgx5OO6Qrd0SRh6UPX622LiXp95BNdoQVQaVArvpnSodARaB9yYYRHFyQ8q-V146_7vz7dLKicPOoj8VPNbTzB6vsNkR-xjsPkCq0vIXfbZBHl3a9JHF45YM1dTdpTMcGYfe8WytRBMAaW3FBI9SfEcmltLVEeU8iBP6F5lju4IW-v2yVJlTaOMOibcSIqDpPxjh-Z89f2yFYcfD9A4PsjNokOlOB1IwN5SNbqdCB0Yni2OpgFK7A28md2GuJT68iUa1fRcBJ0bH2VvnJ_UYeUVaM8YolwR6eW49toKt4RI43uEZP94CscPUkui1RXFil5bh1NuA5JlPB66XH_oZ1FLhXGK6V-V-8_7eagjflXE4RRCZ32q16rNm6dbgra8JDkww2Nf8iQ=w865-h659-no" width="304" /><img height="238" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/yCrNPNF0KfEHaiCjwUKFHPxkunb7rw1JCAk5C866jRTMpfkHf7v04PzRjQM_XLl25Xgbfb0DrogP1PF3LdUwg8qy5I8377Ytm_TwJnSEck1WiKBYmxBshg0F2T5yQN2xKySkrbB9NOeccHOZRNe4rBUv6t_yeLupcelDAx2mFcFkgVT9fq3rucQFKyJ9vkpE6Be7pEEN-QtdGkRiZCS1ITtj7F8butSVjqXiI35GqjbJcQua7f4ER7F_iwzlsQLpACejImqk6lDKsBSRtrTd8w1239dGOcljvS5JqI1xmOZUrOyvPHAdAsI-nAgx2997Z-WAbwVr7fOgU03ebaM8UdPbgT06vEgHB-ZuKxD0_aK2JZmxvDRcvMGNkUML8m4IVw20lu05rhpBXBlS4xYpmPdIyFi0OCIx6d_Ey_zaN_FV52lvd9DY2HYBtTMWL6Qqlop3d8I0x34TKMUTTRECblAWmys6E8GUhFlcZdbKR0YrZ6Y_dEpaCHMb6is43aDFfomzKYdswchJJIaBfPMnktIi-2roguHHhPUYZH2VTQucgh5GkS7Gzbagw9Q5Qdk2FLlAAA=w989-h659-no" width="332" /><br />
<br />
We retraced our last month’s drive on the Beatty Cutoff to get to the Titus
Canyon turnoff, just before Rhyolite, which can be seen in the distance as you
approach. I was thrilled at the many displays of blooms on the Beavertail
cactus, also known as Prickly Pear. <br />
<br />
<img height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrovLZavGv5wFAoroXQbhJttajfFLR0hrc60iILFY3YifWpH0AP2cIwAc_LOYZMvztQhvqLApkYjAn3JqbuIRLtgdnpjdpmodKHWflG82drQL6lY1zCHRfHbDgFEvZw6i9fqerIOXEKMA/w1269-h518-no/" width="640" /><br />
<br />
After a few miles of driving across the flat, dusty plateau, we came to
Titanothere Canyon, named after a huge rhino-like fossil found there in 1933. I
kept commanding Mark to “STOP!” so that I could jump out with my camera and take
pictures of Desert Paintbrush framing the ruddy mountains in the background. I
was thinking all flowers, but as we rose higher and higher toward Red Pass, I
began to realize what a treat we were in for.This drive is truly spectacular,
just for the mountains alone, and the flowers were the icing – and decoration –
on the cake.<br />
<br />
<img height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAgJPI9PPwstG-j_G2jJegQhGBwcp5WJtQv6LGq8CHZ_hJO9e_Jdy4AxAusXkaEFexiYi1E_PJ4VuvP8pTl3qi-VPvdGfJT7iSv9vEOz7fBOpXqHmjBXE6PP07S06jGf78379G-Je7d7w/w989-h659-no/" width="640" /><br />
<br />
As we crested 5,250’ Red Pass, it was a little scary to look down at where
we’d just been. <br />
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<img height="430" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18XV-7AHh7few4wEjWNanYA_VWgnw43rY-Hku-aIZk8rKuhRjsCGbwUsyA2e9OW6ot6ufv7L6XzK7U59Yvk32t7yrdhyphenhyphenhhhN594k1dyX8OmK8DblWw0rjd5hmAAVQ3qpfJ6lcLbbc__U/w989-h659-no/" width="640" /><br />
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<img align="left" height="269" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/TIbvEajw8BrMeFLdqQeY6yTlpqMpPMbst3wpgMRnthDZIcS8Aoz5IjH7uHcI9oebKhfn1PpUEPAlbv5zunaVbHUPLSTfgXc_UdWBpPqtvibZrOzUKDbDG8g0Ax4di_0BKSV5gDEfdnxb3BfSQvCNv-6V6PNWcAoT2KoEnItqDI2I9Z6ckkJqexwDwOil12PYzXKjkiZqo7VvmGuCY4OyYbGmUlP8ypTBNwIWWOO25mM3VXmAYd0ntsih3PP-pl4aB-r4LKhmNvTz5FYfx1cLwHkKgCco5t52jRdwJcsrlGhUwAKZ1tepebV23hHris9qgu8UDt4BZmJQvbXxNIi2l1OGjPxXtgmBzoxcK3F5Fxi3Ye0HgtOmvBOCOKcVU8G4QfUPbv6tTx8yyv0JiE5eKQr5cKlLcUpomw3-aUTWvkxhDcghATb2n7ujQ-FM4XFaMxy8NKZqx4l7121GNVkjXKTYuEWml-97jQ-q3gqlA52aIfvHEmmzhutn4v94tGVSdMZ1P3bPjQMvcbsYlb7RSw7HP5ElCFa6UPgGdEf1Y0FfQr7yWhwXXv1eLQM9PuCJVzJR5A=w989-h659-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
We descended into Leadfield and stopped for lunch. This ghost town is one of
those “boom-and-bust” stories that makes you wonder – how could people think
this was a promising place? Supremely isolated, almost impossible to get to
without 4-wheel drive – did they have that in 1926-27? – 300 people came there
to mine a lead deposit which turned out to be a dud. <br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="274" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/0Fsr4vjpwqWwperlX5zV8SN7lGNnuU-o6eadPAt2C8PftyJoY5KJvgqLcyoyPUKwd9w8K09ldJA2erEs061e6wumQwS8rgEFFw3MH5hDa72SvITg18xAgtcwgpYanMdFXp34UY7ykEVtkBA5LvqwsPw8DXz8tQtm6XZUp-wpUQv-EIUNlJscqn0VwNkDtw2ry1NlO_3SMYK07K78XFh5AlhcLFdr5qJV1ynZrcC8ZwOh6C4E1worEecbP-59-ZjhkCK1a0l9d-N0ZqfY9dpHuEPLk-s_F6l6ltq_Vdvwh1Inh2OBZvlSS9o9snWPrpE7MQADHRG0KIeHPTvXE0u5LFPGP33yPBlrE4DO6VxycL4Hr4rPNJ70mkkeXasAdQQFLQUY-B2RvIQRcUJ4_VhthlzQDCgYgqnDLKcYeigBqDjc8C_SPfD2nkUOhBzFtp0B4X9OJ-La6f2aHSOJwX7Bp-HmCJA_0p9iLOdfNee7MBUU4-RshNub5ZjugV5T17jkmES0FVisCSDGEtPvrOIp0IqZeTsV3379DeCkok8gwPz8OsXaeDN9o_kY5_sAECwnG2hRVg=w971-h659-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
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They left behind some very picturesque buildings, including the one we
lunched at. You can explore the shacks and the mines – although the latter comes
with some risk – but we were satisfied with the view from afar. Something tells
me we’ll be back through there again some day. <br />
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<img align="left" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Yh3UTAhasdBXMbs2QOZ3oh5Z06GSIit9ecNJB4Q-OCI1bDG1gva1cLnxshjNyByTYkfZRzHQTvH2MVcs-aHVN_kSEXAao4apGuG5-EDg-nCGJufpcRbTEkRLTNaEJAXA5oNeYlTdOSk/w989-h659-no/" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
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At last, we entered Titus Canyon – which becomes so narrow, I nicknamed it
“Tightass Canyon” – down, down, down we went, past the spring and the
petroglyphs, as the road closed in until we wondered if our truck would make it
through.<br />
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We’d been in a similarly narrow canyon, or <em>wadi,</em> in Oman, and
we recalled that day, when the walls rose up vertically around us, so high we
couldn’t see the top. It also reminded me of the narrow <em>siq</em> you walk
through to enter the mystical, magical city of Petra, in Jordan.<br />
<br />
<img height="218" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/nz3TrwRZdaUs3P7uBJpnlO7ZYkLxoQoGob9LO-ybvDsTtxp-kJY6OthvN3EbPQrATxi_cJlzz65KWaHXtYkIdR7i7CnlHLpmYibJY5yCaO-8Ok5OCfkT1ufVC6J8rpBfJ2ATHHNiHo0LvBJzAvHUNFqM5czS62-604qOjs_bjco3C4azR2ATSCjVMawkTFfOi64czf7npboThUQlsJ8ppk82gSb_cnsXeWUjGLTwQjTgmDiULrj_igoU0PxRckOFuWlxYZZBpzVoxl3_h-vf7VifRz8vaDbPuU45NOOPF4Yar1jImzOZjbY5ebL8V0QH3vc3lKXF8cIYRr6EHgDJDOEL6LzWsZwku7NBW-g-JgosZ9E8iLlWWdog9OZ1_AWF0WU3hr88bg7s38l7BIKhE1jcC17xxgY9x_JvXmmxtEdg3D5i-WwqJrUf3j0cT29fFCHF0pPcKw3zMWlLqMSxiqP72VXnqtj3mqYF_GmC5n8ZGQo6xJV70JYEWr3l9N15PFgxVZxCgRGDsNfmR57-5GGp_ovNBAqutsTGS3QGcA-h5P1kbz24jgD2OlIwIC5vLd95YQ=w1269-h423-no" width="640" /><br />
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About three miles from the end, there’s a parking lot and the road becomes
two-way. We knew we were getting close when we began to see people with cameras
and day packs walking along the road. If you don’t have half a day to invest,
this would be a good option for getting to see at least a portion of this part
of Death Valley National Park.<br />
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We emerged at about 2:00 p.m. and it was another half hour to our campground
We were tired and dusty. There is a beautiful pool at Furnace Creek Ranch, which
is available to campers for just $5 and includes use of the shower, but there
were two problems with that, for me. First I’d forgotten my bathing suit (IDIOT!
NEVER AGAIN!!) and second, there was a line for the two showers. So we deployed
our outdoor shower enclosure, and treated ourselves to our own hot shower. What
HEAVEN!<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="193" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/Lpfr_GW7s1h3UAxh4-3FvKfZmA9sEaNgMR_dBHoEOt9C1w7mVe9bCTveK6QHzHqyQHRBDGBicq39PhQLbTrVOj_HB2knvN5QtZIdjNj2tclfqtYGZ2t0wi5Yhov4yZ9QFnSVJYwFkmP64QDEuM1JKxeBzQEvrBU8jV5hJ4BQXVW_42-reiytPgiGkbEA6lnkMfEmBmOukqTvSLB4n0tJykAmB2wodLurWOWLpMa3WpAvO6rLqUYQgHUzGwR8JJcLa_eOaZB5mL1rfoM4F__aJpYf1hZfdws6D8YLJrezwx3YufUPZt3Ixg9ddMFVCBj6OUq0pLML5ODqYgH-o0ardIkapui9Rp02wCmZvVSKVzteocfkd3y-o1xKQCjAAkocedJ5ZG5tgvQpHERCBZQ8K1nKB7Dm8Y4T7N_1-itmnuX8ToMzlvFffWzI4m5AQy0K59_y_Ve7-w-bTKf27Y80bpVr896DK7mIJEPxZIPwuNAbSlo-nMs6NkzY-9aXUtmkm0HAGM2SZpFk8Dy7BBwpzENIeQOnCT8c3K3k5IWbA-I1u5AJ6RSzTu0OgpKf7ONsImqJfw=w904-h659-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="260" /><br />
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Then, a little motorcycle ride over to the Furnace Creek Inn, for happy hour.
I had a house special Prickly Pear Margarita, and it was one of the tastiest
margaritas I’ve had outside Mexico. <br />
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The ride back to camp was just perfection – warm and soft like a cozy
sweater, and golden. If we hadn’t had a cocktail, we would have ridden
longer.<br />
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<img height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ3-7VwxlUrqw3_rJIGdivcDUjedSvPIj3GvoYbgPx5Fa6Hb0kBwvynEUVmNlvpLZ8EZsdkTExMvzHPF5f2S-fepkY3Al8_PZRoC7vHjEQ1S2UdTv2rr-PJor0xxcdECJUa39rDrOts2Y/w1269-h538-no/" width="640" /><br />
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Back at the campground, I went over to tell our neighbors, the musicians, how
much I’d enjoyed their music. Come to find out, yes, they were professionals.
“Do you ever watch <em>Ice Road Truckers?</em> <em>Deadliest Catch? </em>That’s
my music.” We were listening to composer <a href="http://www.brucehanifan.com/" target="_blank">Bruce Hanifan.</a><br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="269" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/9oik0WBCBBAH6GPGJt4S8f5yU8QkntsDRHFHZ-OPmjsWl8V4_AMf38FwQKFYJU9oBZunt0z-oJ3cYKp9QOSYKB9bsQKVL3CqQh2xEGXZP5N3tOTxuRpx3VRMVAmPxMPE-P7uhPXBGp0L2xsXUo7F4Erq8V1efTmUk65EtDf95aKq_LkY1PxKOwtH0cU_Y1dBVkl-7bOYejUnbto8Kf_DxqJ1UMGzGM_M8wo7Z9AWkYphe63njQFtgZe5XEtK_EyWbSpUP_ObBJ4AH75nMSO8jtD2F58OpzOClQylXocFUwHqC5caFrN3ExzmaSD18KS0980XS4KrPZy-y8CoybM_pQ7CrK8I1x7rjnyOnLCZDK0Ca9tOgPI9d-qAkxhtFXYo4VKvBDI238t52Z20r2Uwr--S0Yke7Tmazt3jE7kFNuaxod4NT6EN61vZ9DOAnKgqymmKdZO8xU06WDQTpb4P_qQkKkfuSeQIMEOSoaM3Sh09U6j9mp1_yYyYzSqhUhiNx6qktXdonf4GzmiSXKb5wowE1-JJ6zMNS4W1Zmd3ir-ibhB-elF3SZVVzYv23LhFTU6NvA=w989-h659-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
After dinner, we found ourselves gathered around their campfire while they
once again played and sang under the full moon. As the night drew to a close, we
sang an improvised “Death Valley Blues” which (as I vaguely remember) I ended
with a verse about the “Titus Canyon Blues.” Something about mountains so high,
and canyons so deep, we might not get out alive. But I gotta get back there
somedayeeeeeee …<br />
<br />
The talent agents have not called yet.<br />
And, there is one last photo, below. For some reason, Blogger won't move it up no matter what I do.<br />
Google is in control.<br />
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<img height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5hPefZc3dVt52J4gBQE694zfnimoJES_UbZghMNtLUHUpW2ah022Etx-E-0e-nO8Myf91dI1n2FWrrrCL9aGqzlg11S61Rfw4_eoplUPVLuJpPdMSujVWFmYuydfyJG1rbXUp_rMjyFk/w989-h659-no/" width="640" /></div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-80302273608249444762016-02-03T03:35:00.002+04:002016-02-03T03:38:53.866+04:00Carnevale di Venezia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I’m reminded of this because it’s Carnival in Venice.<br />
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<img height="480" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-2Da1aFdPUhU/VrEuSUZj9RI/AAAAAAAATHk/-ZO2hF2jPAc/w903-h696-no/Italy%2Bfeb%2B17%2B132.JPG" style="display: inline; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="620" /><br />
<img align="left" height="269" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/--a4yGl2b0Nw/VrEuPj44vaI/AAAAAAAATHo/8ei06GuwrNg/w1044-h696-no/Italy%2Bfeb%2B17%2B129.JPG" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
Back in 2009, we went to Italy in February. One of our stops was
Venice, where we had a fabulous suite at the <a href="http://www.hotelmonaco.it/en/4-stars-hotel-venice/rooms-suites-hotel-monaco-venice/">Hotel
Monaco & Grand Canal</a>, overlooking the gondola dock right next to San
Marco Square. <br />
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<img align="left" height="227" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Fzxemf8iCBk/VrEuMz124AI/AAAAAAAATHc/BvwtQTSpzA4/w455-h696-no/feb%2B17%2Ba%2B083.JPG" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="153" /><br />
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I was enchanted by the Murano glass chandeliers throughout the suite.<br />
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Being a not-very-seasoned world traveler at the time, I had no clue that it
was Carnival until I saw the costumed people posing around San Marco Square.
What a spectacle!<br />
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<img align="left" height="400" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-6VddNsJNwBo/VrEuVgYPrXI/AAAAAAAATHw/26tNyV5nE9I/w473-h696-no/Italy%2Bfeb%2B17%2B135.JPG" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="275" /> <img height="400" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-e1IHx7_INxg/VrEuovy98AI/AAAAAAAATH0/zYg9b3gzHl0/w451-h696-no/Italy%2Bfeb%2B17%2B148.JPG" width="262" /><br />
<img height="602" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-LS7M55FT0-s/VrEudZ8jkII/AAAAAAAATH8/itf3h4ErvGY/w669-h696-no/Italy%2Bfeb%2B17%2B141.JPG" width="579" /><br />
<img height="405" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-BaTRtHjAs3M/VrEuZVTRa1I/AAAAAAAATIE/Kohb9b4qE4c/w1020-h696-no/Italy%2Bfeb%2B17%2B138.JPG" width="582" /><br />
<img height="433" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-pb9HbMdHTVo/VrEuk5ZkfPI/AAAAAAAATII/nxr-YKvues8/w392-h696-no/Italy%2Bfeb%2B17%2B144.JPG" style="margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" width="273" /><img height="432" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Zwebkpd4GOY/VrEunXZMIdI/AAAAAAAATIM/ETX9Lst-YUM/w464-h696-no/Italy%2Bfeb%2B17%2B147.JPG" width="302" /><br />
<img align="left" height="270" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0wYClhcKY5s/VrEvMqMTR6I/AAAAAAAATIQ/SVX6DIeUWcU/w1040-h696-no/feb%2B17%2Ba%2B126.JPG" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
It was pretty surreal, walking among all the costumed, masked people who were
out there posing for photos, never ever saying a word. I kept wondering – are
they real people? It was almost creepy.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="400" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/nP5e1nHy5EhUDXPqfKcgk-Zbeo8R1HltfMxfJGWjJdy-=w733-h791-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="371" /><br />
<br />
And February was not the best weather – it was rainy and very cold. I had to
buy a leather coat and boots in Rome, just to have something warm to wear. Back
then, I wasn’t sure about the stylishness of the boots – Mark said they were
Gestapo boots. Now, everybody has them. But how many people can say they bought
theirs in a little shop in Rome?<br />
<br />
<br />
When we decided to live in the Middle East, we were determined to take a trip
to Italy while we were over there – in our minds it was closer than it was in
reality. Some time when the weather would be warmer, we thought, and things
would be blooming. But it didn’t happen.<br />
<br />
<br />
There is hope. We have our Italian sailing friends who we met in Abu
Dhabi; they go back home to Italy – Marco is from Tuscany, Paolo from Torino,
and Emiliano from Mantua – which is halfway between Milan and Venice. I’ll dream
of reuniting with them in Italy.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, happy Fat Tuesday and Carnevale, wherever you may be. <br />
<br /></div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-72879381991620250252016-01-30T01:02:00.000+04:002016-01-30T01:16:28.277+04:00Joy of Sailing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<img align="left" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQW2rnVVIYxG6P6PcwhrWgnpvkHu5zpyzaIDUdIl6EuAkEaOT8I3L1KS5Fpf_KMZUazvhFkd_t6h2wotmsjly8UmIFQ4Ma9DXvTT7alvbFgp-S4LFafKB2WyTbAR8N0-gLq78_Qvyqk20/w891-h501-no/20150717_143609.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
Last summer, Wildcard went back into the water after some rather extensive
retrofitting, including structural strengthening of the keel box that allows the
keel to lift for trailering, and a new, more efficient rudder (both designed by
<a href="http://www.rodgermartindesign.com/">Rodger Martin</a>.)<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="215" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/nTNNrajqnHEW35_9x-XILDk2aNjixLCGpRs3d_ypzQ5R=w890-h471-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
The carbon and fiberglass work was done by Tom Omohundro and crew at Solution
Marine in Minden, Nevada. This was very handy because it’s only a few miles from
our house, and Mark could be involved in every step. Plus, he became great
friends with Tom and now he goes to hang out at “work” for a few hours every
day, making little carbon doodads.<br />
<img align="left" height="256" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/3YTU9xl8ePnUCdZb8pLDX4ryI081s2P7bra20kCIArAL=w891-h501-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="399" /><br />
The refit took several months, after which Wildcard spent a couple of weeks
getting new bottom paint at Bay Marine in Richmond, CA before finally splashing
and returning to our old slip on C dock at Richmond Yacht Club. It was a long
but important process, because we wanted to fix all potential problems before
venturing out ocean racing.<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="297" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-pqev1N-PQbQ/VqvDEk3DwxI/AAAAAAAAS-k/UgVZwvAso_Q/w696-h513-no/61766733-2015JazzCup-45.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
We tuned up with a couple of club races, and our debut was the Jazz Cup over
Labor Day weekend, a mostly downwind race that starts in San Francisco Bay near
Treasure Island and, after a very short upwind leg, turns northward for a
(usually) downwind run through San Pablo Bay, under Carquinez Bridge and into
Carquinez Strait (gateway to the Delta,) finishing in front of the city of
Benicia.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We sailed a good race despite a critical error at the beginning (we hoisted
our “Big Red” spinnaker on the short hoist halyard), and took first in division
and third overall. Part of the reason we did well was that, with the help of our
guest tactician Jeff Thorpe, and regular tactician Peter Cameron, we managed to
stay in the “good water” – aka shallower, with less current moving against us –
and off of the mud – unlike some of the other boats.<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="269" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/1xzpaEZmnFmG3qXCb1bXpFVN931hCCtnmyC2pAmJNkKY=w770-h513-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
Unfortunately, San Francisco Bay is silting in. What used to be a shallow
spot off of Pinole is quickly becoming a mud flat, and dredges are a common
sight in the channels and marinas around the bay. Boat always go in into the
shallow area trying to get out of the current and the ones with deeper keels get
stuck. The boat on the left is trying everything to heel the boat over while
moving forward into deeper water. They did get off, eventually.<br />
<br />
<br />
In November, the midwinter series began. If we wanted to, between the J70
Prime Number and Wildcard, we could sail pretty much every weekend, both days.
But then we would never get to be home in Nevada, and my bruises would never get
a chance to heal. So we’re focusing on two series: the Manuel Fagundes Seaweed
Soup Regatta, held the first Saturday of the month November through March at
Golden Gate Yacht Club in San Francisco, and a two-weekend event in January and
February at Corinthian Yacht Club in Tiburon.<br />
<br />
Getting the crew together has been both a challenge and a joy. At first,
after having been gone for four years, I was worried about whether we could find
enough crew – and it is hard, getting eight or nine people and putting them into
jobs on the boat. It seemed like we were always short handed for those first
races. Mark isn’t great at reaching out, so it fell to me to think of people to
contact. After scouting around our yacht club without much luck finding regular
crew, I decided to contact some of my old “boyfriends” – the crew I used to sail
with back in the day, before I met Mark.<br />
<br />
<img align="left" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-noc8Wccw6kU/Vd1L4nqagaI/AAAAAAAAQcc/cSPaX7waECs/s512-Ic42/00059_p_rh15alaa69nf0059.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 5px 20px 5px 0px;" /><br />
<br />
Back in the 1980’s and ‘90’s, my friend Lori and I sailed with crews that was
mostly if not entirely male, in our 30’s to early 40’s, and mostly if not
entirely single. Back in those days the racing was close, and the regattas and
the parties, as I remember them, were bigger, and man, I looked forward to those
weekends on and off the water. Those were some good times, and those guys were
my best friends. The times we had.<br />
<br />
Now, some 20 years on, we are all married. All the guys married women who
don’t sail, and their chances to go sailing have diminished. So, I thought, why
not see if any of the old crew can come out and sail on Wildcard with us? So I
asked a few who are still living in the area. They said yes!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="272" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-oBkmO0yoTlQ/VqvMlZw_K7I/AAAAAAAATBE/TzJdFvaJuj0/w625-h469-no/LoriWimerMeBrianGGYC.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="350" /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
And suddenly, here we are, sailing together again! We joke about getting old,
we joke about how much we used to party, and we can still sail together like
it’s been no time at all.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Which brings us to the first weekend of the Corinthian Midwinters, in
January. The weather prediction was rainy with no wind, then some wind, maybe a
lot of wind, and then back to no wind. We drove “over the hill” from
Gardnerville to the boat at Richmond Yacht Club on Thursday, so we could get
everything ready and deliver the boat to Corinthian on Friday and get a good
space at the dock. We’ve gotten pretty good at sleeping on the boat, so we
planned to stay for the weekend – but we booked a hotel for Saturday night
because it’s no fun to sleep in the boat when everything is wet.<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="204" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/Ah6MHC69sxZSYT3DDaBlAxT5rNxblNnuJnlOy7lZGxi7=w897-h505-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="358" /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
What a glorious one-hour cruise from Point Richmond to Tiburon! The sun was
out, the sky was crystal blue …<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWRgNeF-oglUf11BxZkNbUvBZpY9YuGusNcbJ6ZkZPZPFftpUBEM_FqqMkYlNOuTlMgKsHNJzb8cBbKgrkVSOfEinIviPHGUsRQdEwx8TfOj3wwWcVZcKT2MYFmoZhETzHPRUpOYZ4Sc/w897-h505-no/20160115_135945.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="358" /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
… the herring were running in the bay, and birds were everywhere.<br />
<img align="left" height="211" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-PCVppsTWxtw/Vpw7MU8Iw2I/AAAAAAAAS38/VdU9DjbiXNA/w897-h505-no/20160115_160912.jpg" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="358" /><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
We went for a walk and came across this artist who was just packing up for
the day. For a second, I thought we were in Europe! I was impressed with his
painting of the San Francisco Yacht Club harbor. His name is Shpend and you can
find him on Etsy at de Santis Fine Art.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The next day, Saturday, dawned gloomy as predicted. The race committee chose
a long course – a “Bay Tour” that would take us to a mark off of Fort Point at
the south tower of the Golden Gate Bridge called Blackaller, then along the city
front and around Alcatraz to a mark, then around a second mark, and back up
toward Sausalito, around a mark in a notoriously windy place called Yellow
Bluff, and finally back to the start/finish line at the entrance to Raccoon
Strait, between Tiburon and Angel Island.<br />
<br />
After a promising first leg, the wind went wacky. It was coming from the
west, then no, the south, then no, east, wait, north, and all in pockets with
spaces of nothing in between. We were sailing toward a the mark which was just
beyond Alcatraz, while other boats in our division were heading to Pier 39, and
still others looked like they were trying to sail to the South Bay. Smaller,
slower boats were coming up from behind with wind and catching us. The wind
would die, and come up from another direction. We dropped our spinnaker, put up
the jib, then switched sails again.<br />
<br />
<img height="217" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-b5rcGAl5oiM/VquibbLB0dI/AAAAAAAATBU/uQk9Y4bl-h4/w891-h257-no/Wildcard%2Bracing%2BCYC%2B001%2BStitch.jpg" width="684" /><br />
<br />
Sailboat racing in no wind can be amazing, interesting, fascinating and
beautiful. We cracked open some beers and watched the entire fleet, with
colorful spinnakers, converge on the third mark behind us. Boats of all sizes,
somehow, ended up arriving at the same time. <br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="209" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-chHJNGnzAFg/Vqui8M8tV5I/AAAAAAAATBc/PiZK-CB5NPo/w891-h459-no/Wildcard%2Bracing%2BCYC%2B012.JPG" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" /><br />
<br />
<br />
There we were, too, trying to keep the boat moving, get around the mark, and
get away.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
An hour or so earlier, we had seen an orange pilot boat heading out toward
the Golden Gate Bridge, so it was no surprise when we saw the bow of a huge ship
on its way toward us. It was hugging the north side – our side, the side where
all the racers were. That meant that it was headed for Richmond or beyond, not
Oakland. The entire fleet was scattered in the shipping channel – in the ship’s
path – except us. We were off to the left, south of where the ship would
pass.<br />
<br />
<img height="183" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-Cfy2UpoG3Hg/Vqui_YuEAVI/AAAAAAAATBk/gggE--msUPA/w891-h230-no/Wildcard%2Bracing%2BCYC%2B014.JPG" width="676" /><br />
<br />
Usually boats under sail have right of way over boats under power, but
according to maritime law, commercial traffic has the right of way over all
other traffic. There have been several instances, over the years, of racers
getting into trouble for sailing too close to ships. When a ship captain sees
that there is traffic in his path, he issues five or more blasts as a warning
that he doesn’t understand its intentions or that there is danger. In other
words, “get out of my way.” These huge ships are not maneuverable; they turn
slowly and take miles to come to a stop.<br />
<br />
We waited for the blasts, but … silence. It was eerie There was very little
wind – although the boats over there had more wind than we did – and we didn’t
see how they could all get out of the way. But somehow, miraculously, this huge
ship just passed through the entire fleet without incident and without a single
blast.<br />
<br />
<img align="left" height="185" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-V6XGWZZRDkg/VqujHv4Cz-I/AAAAAAAATBs/G43X3tOh0Ys/w891-h404-no/Wildcard%2Bracing%2BCYC%2B017.JPG" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 20px 0px 0px;" width="400" />Later, we heard that one of the skippers hailed the ship by radio and said,
“Captain, what are your intentions?”<br />
<br />
“I intend to hold my course.” He saw a narrow path as the sea of boats
parted, and instead of carving a left turn, as he usually would, he waited until
all the boats were clear. Nice.<br />
<br />
Our advantage of being well above the ship evaporated as the wind coming
through the Gate died, and a different wind came up from the north – to the
advantage of the bulk of the fleet below us. We were stuck in the doldrums
between the two. The 4:30 time limit was approaching and we had no chance of
making it to the finish, even though they had moved it to the mark at Yellow
Bluff. Sadly, we started the engine. At least we could be one of the first back
to the dock – and the free beer.<br />
<br />
And that’s the joy of sailing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<img alt="The ship cuts through the fleet, with Angel Island in the background" height="200" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-iiNccLYRmqI/VqujZSrzqGI/AAAAAAAATB0/fzdRM7r8Erw/w891-h235-no/Wildcard%2Bracing%2BCYC%2B027.JPG" title="" width="683" /></div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-73488028138245768862015-09-20T19:06:00.001+04:002015-09-20T19:09:25.560+04:00Wildcard travels–San Diego Bound<p><a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-BNarSi81Lss/Vf7LQaxOgAI/AAAAAAAAR0M/GDTPZCiusa4/s1600-h/20150209_1221286.jpg"><img title="20150209_122128" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="20150209_122128" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-50zoXlIIiJM/Vf7LR9ddIyI/AAAAAAAAR0U/lJgpfkcPHiM/20150209_122128_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" width="312" align="left" height="195"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>Let’s just pretend that it hasn’t been months and months since the last posting. Since then, we’ve been to Cyprus for vacation during the 10 weeks back in Abu Dhabi, and then we came home but soon we went to France – Paris and Strasbourg; Mark went on to spend a couple more weeks in Abu Dhabi while I stayed on for some “alone time” with Paris. </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-x3FoVYakvCM/Vf7LTPwus-I/AAAAAAAAR0c/qRPwDyETZ50/s1600-h/Claire-and-Lee-Wedding-0233.jpg"><img title="Claire and Lee Wedding 023" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="Claire and Lee Wedding 023" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-m1nx-k5ViD4/Vf7LUjtcjmI/AAAAAAAAR0k/2HmFHaL45Wk/Claire-and-Lee-Wedding-023_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" align="left" height="160"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>Then I went to Alabama, where I met up with my Abu Dhabi besties Donnette and Terry, and then on to Baltimore for my niece’s wedding – where I joined a girl band called the Temptresses with my sister Mary. Mark stayed home and worked on the boat.</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Q3vXOKBzTrI/Vf7LWOxti7I/AAAAAAAAR0s/TCqsOHB0x2o/s1600-h/South-Lake-Reunion-0184.jpg"><img title="South Lake Reunion 018" style="float: none; margin: 0px auto; display: block" alt="South Lake Reunion 018" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eCZwLNuj-5Y/Vf7LYOS455I/AAAAAAAAR00/KadwUyi11WQ/South-Lake-Reunion-018_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="234"></a></p> <p>In July, Mark and I went on a road trip to Nashville and Memphis; we went camping in Montana, Wyoming, and Utah; we went to my 40th high school reunion in Michigan, (where a lot of people said they had read and enjoyed the blog!) and since then we’ve been traipsing back and forth to the San Francisco Bay Area as we finally got Wildcard back in the water.</p> <p>Jeez, so far this sounds like a Christmas letter …</p> <p>All of these trips had very blog-worthy moments, (we caught a Paris pickpocket with Mark’s wallet in his hand and ejected him from the train!) but I could not find enough time to write and maintain the quality that I have come to demand of myself. I have a folder full of barely-started blog posts. </p> <p>But not writing depresses me. So, I’m going to try something different: not so much editing, not so much scrutiny. Not so many photos. Not so many links. I’m going to try for shorter posts. Because, while I am writing for you, dear imaginary reader, I am also writing for myself – the older me, 35 or 40 years from now, who wants to remember all the cool stuff we did. </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-d02zv6lHC5Y/Vf7LZW88VTI/AAAAAAAAR08/9jt57lTnTHw/s1600-h/Wildcard-refit-0013.jpg"><img title="Wildcard refit 001" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="Wildcard refit 001" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-H_loLTPwPnY/Vf7LarqAe8I/AAAAAAAAR1E/QtUZYyj7JzM/Wildcard-refit-001_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" align="left" height="160"></a>So: Wildcard is back in the water!!! We spent a ton of time and money on her, and maybe someday Mark will grace us with a recap of the process. But suffice to say, all her problems are fixed and we have a jewel of a boat. Just as we were paying the final boatyard invoices to paint the bottom and launch the boat, Wildcard’s sister ship in Los Angeles, Celerity, was finishing first in the Transpac Race from San Diego to Hawaii. This was heartening, to say the least.</p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-oFT-9MPb0fs/Vf7Lb42OZ7I/AAAAAAAAR1M/8Up8S2Z_rGk/s1600-h/61766733-2015JazzCup-454.jpg"><img title="61766733-2015JazzCup-45" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="61766733-2015JazzCup-45" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-d1WbUBb9rJQ/Vf7LdO8erqI/AAAAAAAAR1U/EVu7y8JuHH8/61766733-2015JazzCup-45_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="357" align="left" height="269"></a>We raced our first big race a couple of weeks ago. The Jazz Cup starts off of Treasure Island in SF Bay and finishes 26 miles later at Benicia, in the Carquinez Straits which is the gateway to the Sacramento Delta. We had our old friend and Quantum Sails pro, Jeff Thorpe, on board, along with a crew that was … well, we’re good but we were very rusty and our bowman was rather unfamiliar with our setup. First spinnaker set, the halyard was fouled and we couldn’t get a full hoist. But we recovered and, long story short, we won our division and placed 3rd overall in the 94-boat fleet! </p> <p> </p> <p>Now, we’re preparing to drive down to San Diego with our OTHER sailboat, the “little” one, the J70 Prime Number that we own with our Aussie partner Peter (who appears in an early blog post when he came to visit us in Abu Dhabi.) When people’s eyebrows go up I say, “It’s not 70 feet, it’s 7.0 meters! About 22 feet.” We’re sailing in the J70 Nationals, and we were the 50th boat to enter the other day. We expect to be racing against some of the very best sailors in the USA, and probably the world. Olympic class guys (I use that term in a non-gender-specific way.) But that’s what we love about sailing – what other sport is there, where you can be out of shape, even drink during beer the competition, and go to awesome parties where you rub elbows with the best of the best?</p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-phd3VY_FWjY/Vf7LeodyO3I/AAAAAAAAR1c/25fb8A6MpUo/s1600-h/Prime-Number-0013.jpg"><img title="Prime Number 001" style="float: none; margin: 0px auto; display: block" alt="Prime Number 001" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-1OmuiRlgGUg/Vf7LgXsFioI/AAAAAAAAR1k/bkHG4Br9zVk/Prime-Number-001_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="154"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>So … stay tuned, because Wildcard – and her little sister, the J70 Prime Number – are back, and we are traveling.</p> Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-66947663103964097052015-02-01T06:31:00.001+04:002015-02-01T06:59:55.080+04:00Jordan Day 4–Ancient ruins of Jerash<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Donnette’s and my last day of our girls’ road trip in Jordan.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjveBeSW0dOAOk_sFXp6dWf64dhXtU91kZIuOlUN2F36oqZP1mCJtyb8-c1E3mp8VTbQ19oBQMuM1WNbfqby0pN0Jagsz3dJiyOVCY8_mo1TDQnGDq6ztwE67uzdcmMlUcRC4kbwsY_YwQ/s1600/DSC01555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjveBeSW0dOAOk_sFXp6dWf64dhXtU91kZIuOlUN2F36oqZP1mCJtyb8-c1E3mp8VTbQ19oBQMuM1WNbfqby0pN0Jagsz3dJiyOVCY8_mo1TDQnGDq6ztwE67uzdcmMlUcRC4kbwsY_YwQ/s1600/DSC01555.JPG" height="206" width="320" /></a></div>
The drive from Petra in southern Jordan to Jerash in the north – just north of Amman, Jordan’s capital - was about four hours on Route 15, also known as the Desert Highway. It was a boring drive compared to the King’s Highway through the mountains from the Dead Sea to Petra, but after our intense day of driving to Petra, and the intense day of sightseeing there, Donnette and I were ready for a little bit of boring. Further south, if we’d had time to go there, we would have driven through the amazing desert landscape of Wadi Rum. But, alas,we had to head north.<br />
<img src="https://trekjordandotcom.files.wordpress.com/2014/03/map_of_jordan.jpg" style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /><br />
The decision to go to Jerash, which is Jordan’s second-most popular tourist destination after Petra, was a bit spur-of-the-moment. We were booked at the Marriott in Amman for our last night, and when I looked at the map it seemed that the Syrian border was a bit too close to Jerash for comfort. But this was purely psychological,we felt really safe in Jordan, and we decided that at 48km (30 miles) north of Amman, and the same distance south of the border with Syria, a detour to Jerash was worthwhile. We could tour the Greco-Roman ruins and still be able to get to the hotel in time to check in at a decent hour, and have our cocktails, and get some dinner.<br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-drzS7Xjuupg/VM2PgpzDFyI/AAAAAAAAPvk/xqOhcrQ8WOc/s1600-h/DSC01532%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01532" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-_bFRAcjXT7s/VM2PimRIdFI/AAAAAAAAPvs/to5RTVXW0OE/DSC01532_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="160" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01532" width="240" /></a>It was a very worthwhile detour. Ancient Gerasa, as it was first called, was founded around 300 BC –although the area had been inhabited since the Bronze Age - by Alexander the Great, or perhaps one of his generals, as a sort of retirement community for soldiers of the Macedonian army – <em>gerasmenos</em> meaning “aged person” in Greek. It was conquered by the Romans in 63 BC, growing and flourishing as a trading center under Roman rule until falling to the Persians in AD 614.<br />
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A major earthquake destroyed most of the city in AD 749, although small settlements in the area remained. Subsequent earthquakes and wars caused further destruction, and the ruins of the ancient city lay buried until the arrival of German <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oriental_studies">Orientalist</a> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ulrich_Jasper_Seetzen">Ulrich Jasper Seetzen</a> in 1806. Seetzen began excavations, and people returned to Jerash from the surrounding settlements. A Muslim community, the Cirassians, emigrated to Jerash from the Caucasus in 1878, and more people came from Syria at the beginning of the 20th century.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-QAguJL3zM3I/VM2PjTqHO_I/AAAAAAAAPv0/RCvq0MAqAKw/s1600-h/DSC01539%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01539" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-_vjECZBKl1U/VM2PkNT013I/AAAAAAAAPv8/9CT-mBQxQkg/DSC01539_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="240" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01539" width="223" /></a> As Donnette and I got out of the car, we were faced with the question of what to wear, both clothing and feet. It was November, but warm. We were still tired from traipsing through Petra, and I had the idea that, in comparison, this would be a “walk in the park.” I wanted to glide through the ruins in my long skirt and sandals, shaking the stones out like the people who lived there once did. The sandals that I had were really old – I might have even owned them when I met Mark in 1997. They were flat and comfortable, if lightweight. I’d brought them sort of hoping that I could throw them away at the end of the trip. So I put them on and grabbed my long-sleeved cardigan because we were, after all, in a conservative, largely Muslim country and it’s always best to have the option of covering one’s arms.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-v68HqG46iGc/VM2Pk-LI1EI/AAAAAAAAPwE/TuHJCE1kU80/s1600-h/DSC01530%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01530" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-JEigmlMJ3uA/VM2PlmBjckI/AAAAAAAAPwM/7xBtkQCdOps/DSC01530_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="229" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01530" width="401" /></a><br />
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We paid our fee at the souvenir marketplace at the south entrance, which was filled with merchandise that is now all too familiar to us both … <br />
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… and entered the ruined city through Hadrian’s Arch, a relatively late addition built to celebrate the Roman emperor's visit in AD 129-130. Hadrian, whose policy was to defend existing territory rather than conquer more, was named one of the “Five Good Emperors” by Machiavelli. <br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-VMj-851W1Fw/VM2PmHuRUmI/AAAAAAAAPwU/Ws79s3GSYrI/s1600-h/DSC01542%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01542" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-WNjsKbsmqx8/VM2Pm_lJaPI/AAAAAAAAPwc/SsYK3Tr6C3U/DSC01542_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="427" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01542" width="640" /></a><br />
The bones of the city are easy to see and interpret, with well-placed panels giving just the right amount of information and interesting details. <br />
<img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/99/Karta_Jerash.PNG" /><br />
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The Hippodrome, or circus, was the stadium for horse racing and chariot racing. Performances called Roman Army and Chariot Experience are offered twice daily. <br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-J9JAb4-_2GE/VM2PncHkxWI/AAAAAAAAPwk/pXegYe3Y-QA/s1600-h/DSC01550%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01550" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-jCoZsx7LHcM/VM2PoP9yMMI/AAAAAAAAPws/nrISD8PI01I/DSC01550_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="255" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01550" width="640" /></a><br />
Then we strolled the long promenade toward the Forum and the Cardo, a long colonnaded street that was the commercial heart of the city. <br />
All along the way, we saw remains of what used to be workshops and stores …<br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-y0HYGTg5FTA/VM2PoqVcJfI/AAAAAAAAPw0/FAcn-YlucrE/s1600-h/DSC01545%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01545" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-_MnFfOE1Css/VM2PpraY8cI/AAAAAAAAPw8/sZ4S6v4q4_g/DSC01545_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="427" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01545" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-wE5Y4eFwTrI/VM2PqYx8qZI/AAAAAAAAPxE/pPyIrm3jOFA/s1600-h/DSC01558%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01558" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-h6GdaSFVP_c/VM2PrEzHLAI/AAAAAAAAPxM/CxkH1VhgANE/DSC01558_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="307" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01558" width="446" /></a><br />
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… including the remains of an olive oil press.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-6r3CkqBhTH0/VM2PrporzTI/AAAAAAAAPxU/sghxYcYTTow/s1600-h/DSC01564%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01564" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-qIpKv-1tjf8/VM2Pssg4QxI/AAAAAAAAPxY/waVRIgPlst0/DSC01564_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="399" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01564" width="640" /></a><br />
Although it seemed like a pretty quiet day, there were the ubiquitous tour groups gathered in the Forum. We preferred to read the interpretive signs (that cute blonde is Donnette.).<br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-TWavmLsQE4E/VM2PtFriR6I/AAAAAAAAPxk/a3AvILZ26n8/s1600-h/DSC01568%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01568" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-0BIfMcjsTiI/VM2Pt4-oudI/AAAAAAAAPxs/I6cGs_5NYMY/DSC01568_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="420" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01568" width="640" /></a><br />
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Forum</div>
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-PIUGHCSLHlc/VM2PvJHOPBI/AAAAAAAAPx0/NGDEybIvFMk/s1600-h/DSC01572%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01572" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-90MSFkwoJf0/VM2PwIhHf8I/AAAAAAAAPx8/Tjurtf-tDwU/DSC01572_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="412" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01572" width="640" /></a></div>
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We saw the grooves that the Roman chariots made, still visible in the stone, just to the right of Donnette.</div>
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-L4sOCq6LbtQ/VM2Pwj1UUNI/AAAAAAAAPyE/RsjpIxW2up0/s1600-h/DSC01569%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01569" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Hu6pXdudcPw/VM2PxfDRUvI/AAAAAAAAPyM/J5sb5lIKU14/DSC01569_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="418" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01569" width="640" /></a><br />
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Zeus Temple</div>
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We spent about three hours in Jerash, taking photos, soaking up the landscape, and blending into it. It was bigger than we’d anticipated, but we were able to make a pretty complete tour of the walled city which included temples to Zeus and Artemis, theatres, baths, more temples, and churches. And the mosaics! I love the ancient mosaics. <br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-bJWQWfDzbpk/VM2PyJxH23I/AAAAAAAAPyU/UC-M5MI3q9o/s1600-h/DSC01584%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01584" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-sBkCYL7cqJ4/VM2PzqUA1SI/AAAAAAAAPyc/zUncDryUUcg/DSC01584_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="427" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01584" width="640" /></a><br />
From where we stood, Jerash seemed like two cities: the ancient city to the west, populated by visitors and ghosts, and the modern city to the east, which has benefitted from the growth of tourism and the arrival of waves Syrian immigrants and Palestinian refugees. Although it’s not on the UNESCO list of World Heritage Sites, it seems like it should be, or maybe could be someday if they can meet the strict criteria and management requirements.<br />
And then, as we wound down, rested, and got ready for the trek back across the city to Hadrian’s arch and the parking lot, as the sun lowered in the sky, the call to prayer rose up out of the in the east. Muslim communities have mosques everywhere – they are supposed to be only a five-minute walk to pray. The same call was reaching our ears from near and far, so that it resonated, reverberated, and resounded upwards from the mosques dotted among whitewashed modern buildings, over the ancient walls and through the columns, bouncing off of the mosaics of the church where we were resting. It was a sound we hear each and every day in the UAE. But here, it was a gorgeous, timeless, and riveting sound. Without speaking, we both knew that we needed to sit, and listen. And reflect.<br />
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This was Donnette’s and my fourth day of traveling together, and I had noticed several things. First, we were really bonding. Not that we talked a lot, but we just … <em>got</em> each other. We had so many things in common – born in Michigan the same year, and a bunch of other stuff I can’t remember, but was getting spooky … I was kind of feeling like we were soul sisters. If Donnette and I were in high school together, we would still be friends. We told each other some stories about our lives, which at our age means there is a lot to choose from. I was thinking, wow, this is really a great girls’ trip, and what an opportunity to get to know Donnette. Maybe we were lucky that we didn’t get on each other’s nerves (at least not that <em>I </em>know of) but the message is, if you get a similar opportunity to travel with someone, take it. <br />
But what I really noticed was that we stayed together. Now, that may seem an obvious thing to do, but it struck me because Mark and I have developed a bad habit of NOT staying together. We wander away from each other; somehow, we have both emerged as the Pack Leader. But then, I find myself spending half my time looking for him (right, girls?) With Donnette and me, that didn’t happen. Why? I think because we were being friends, and it isn’t nice to ditch your friend. And sometimes, married people who have been together for a long time forget these things. Sometimes you just take each other for granted. It’s that simple. When you travel with a friend, especially a new one, you are more considerate.<br />
Trekking back, we noticed some ongoing excavation sites,had a great view of the Forum from the hillside …<br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-zJ1kE0eefao/VM2P0nHZT-I/AAAAAAAAPyk/La-cFLrt-js/s1600-h/DSC01609%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01609" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-qxKEojWQCNA/VM2P1z8HLiI/AAAAAAAAPys/iogbtIIa-Xo/DSC01609_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="420" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01609" width="640" /></a><br />
… and stopped in at the south theater to hear some Arabic bagpipe music. Bagpipes are believed to have been invented in the Middle East. Not Scotland. <br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Pi0r3hnJF08/VM2P3Qwsd-I/AAAAAAAAPy0/nYQqsNrnPPo/s1600-h/DSC01617%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01617" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-FF5JL9VYGjA/VM2P4AE4XYI/AAAAAAAAPy8/Zyx7UcQpr0E/DSC01617_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="427" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01617" width="640" /></a><br />
Then we decided to document the day with a timed-release selfie together. I set up my tripod, dashed over, and we posed together on the ruins of a wall, while a small group of Jordanian men passing by noticed us.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-j3IFGywpVSQ/VM2P6HMmOKI/AAAAAAAAPzU/G032kx_BS2c/s1600-h/DSC01630%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01630" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-9rD3OlMmTIo/VM2P6lwibXI/AAAAAAAAPzc/eUEjYfCH45M/DSC01630_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="271" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01630" width="394" /></a><br />
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Oh, dear. One of them came over and insisted on taking our picture for us with my camera. I tried to tell him we didn’t need him, we have a tripod, but he would not be deterred. So we posed for one more, but I figured I needed to cut this short, or we would have trouble shaking the guy off. He then started trying to direct us, so that he could keep taking photos. “One more! Smile!” “No, no, we have to go now!” <br />
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I had to run up and literally grab the camera –nicely – away from him, thanking him profusely. Yes, we did notice that the men behaved a bit differently here than in Abu Dhabi. They’re a lot more … friendly.<br />
It was on the final push back through the south entrance to Hadrian’s arch that the old glue gave out and my sandal finally came apart. Yes! Perfect timing. Now I could finally throw them away.<br />
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The Marriott in Amman was the nicest of the three, and the busiest, bustling with business suits and military uniforms. We had the benefit of the executive lounge, with its free drinks and snacks, so we headed up there. We got the last free table, but soon a group of four men came in, and Donnette suggested we ask a pair of young women (the only other women in the room, or almost) if we could join them, and free up our table which was greatly appreciated by the group of men. The women were American, and they seemed a little take aback when we joined them, (who are these middle aged mom/grandma types moving in on us?) but we were soon exchanging names and stories. It turned out that they were American, based in Washington DC, and working for the US Citizenship & Immigration Services, interviewing refugees. How interesting! I pictured them going into the refugee tent camps that I’d been thinking I was seeing in the desert, but they said, no, they usually see people in their homes or apartments. Oh. Really.<br />
Then I realized that I had been making a broad and erroneous assumption, visualizing refugees fleeing with nothing but the clothes on their backs, and living in tent camps. This may be true some of the time, maybe a lot of the time, I don’t know; but many refugees have education, skills, and money when they leave. And the tents we saw as we traveled through the country were probably Bedouin camps. It was yet another lesson in how superficial my knowledge of the places we visit is. You cannot really know a place unless you have lived there.<br />
Visiting Jordan has fueled my interest in the this land and its stories, its history: of religions, conquest, and never ending turmoil. It’s a fascinating place.<br />
Thanks for reading. <br />
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Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-75216101279716452712014-12-10T20:50:00.001+04:002014-12-10T22:32:27.512+04:00Leaving Abu Dhabi (again)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong>“This Abu Dhabi adventure has lasted longer than we expected, hasn’t it?”</strong><br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-HGB3b4nLnJw/VIh5UTt30zI/AAAAAAAAOlU/6je2ISmoi6g/s1600-h/20141209_123137%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="20141209_123137" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-gRjGitZJFFI/VIh5Ys8bdFI/AAAAAAAAOlc/J-G6IyD9kVc/20141209_123137_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="360" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="20141209_123137" width="640" /></a><br />
I posed this question to Mark yesterday as we were driving from mall to mall doing some errands, and he nodded. There is more of a sense of finality as we prepare to leave this time. But still … the door remains open. Mark will probably be back, maybe an 80% chance. For me, it’s more like 50%. But those are pretty good odds. People are always leaving. Then they come back.<br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-GxqYHvXIANs/VIh5cG9LGhI/AAAAAAAAOlk/usHycrS6zZY/s1600-h/DSC01022%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01022" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-lO6jdzFmDbo/VIh5f0M2WCI/AAAAAAAAOls/voNOgfFER4Y/DSC01022_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="342" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01022" width="640" /></a><br />
We’ve been here for 10 weeks, living in a small hotel room on the 7th floor of Traders. It’s weird living in a hotel; like living on a boat, kind of. You learn how to keep out of each other’s way. We have a bit of water view from the balcony, if I lean out. It’s a little place to call home, for a while.<br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-DxWQhGKBW9I/VIh5juKqwVI/AAAAAAAAOl0/U8Yj42ouRM4/s1600-h/20141104_085748%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="20141104_085748" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-x_Hf6lj0V78/VIh5m5juXPI/AAAAAAAAOl8/GXpbj_ht7lA/20141104_085748_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="240" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="20141104_085748" width="181" /></a><br />
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Mark is at work during the day, so I have the room to myself. Except when the housekeeper, usually Sidath, a tiny, charming Sri Lankan man, comes daily to refresh the room. He is always watching, and he’ll pop in while I’m gone somewhere. When I come back the bed is made, towels and water bottles replenished, and any strewn clothes neatly folded. Including underwear … which I try not to let happen. The second week, he asked if we like animals and when I told him we like elephants, he made an elephant with towels. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-k8cR7XLO9cg/VIh5qYC_lYI/AAAAAAAAOmE/eg0CWto_epU/s1600-h/20141123_185020%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="20141123_185020" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/--897cZvWLFI/VIh5tu2_BEI/AAAAAAAAOmM/iHUV5lV3_cU/20141123_185020_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="176" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="20141123_185020" width="240" /></a><br />
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This ten-week trip has not turned out as we expected, mainly because Mark worked much longer hours than we anticipated. A project came up, and he’s been working overtime on the base, and even most weekends. We weren’t able to take any day trips. Whenever he’s been off work, he’s been exhausted. Usually, if he wants to go out at all it’s to the mall to look expensive watches … <br />
… or cars.<br />
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So I’ve been on my own a lot. People at work have been asking Mark, ”How is your wife doing?” They felt sorry. But the answer is, I’ve been having a great time! The people I met when we lived here before – the ones who are still here, living at the Shangri-La, who haven’t left yet – are great friends. Girlfriends. I haven’t had this many girlfriends since I was in high school!<br />
Whereas I was a bit isolated when we lived in the Al Seef apartment compound, living here at the Traders/Shangi-La complex means I have neighbors that I know, and there is always something to do: golfing, silk painting, coffee at Starbuck’s, canasta at Traders, handbag shopping ... and parties, especially Halloween and Thanksgiving.<br />
It’s a group. The Real Housewives of Shangri La. You don’t have to live there to get in. But you do have to be there, sometimes.<br />
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This trip back to Abu Dhabi was, for me, all about realizing how connected I feel to this place, and the people I met here. After three and a half years, since we first became aware of the UAE, it’s grown on us. Changes happen so fast here, it’s like watching a kid grow up. When did that building get so tall? All finished, already? Or, <em>finally?</em><br />
But it’s the people, mainly for me the huge expat community, that make this place so dynamic.<br />
We’ve been looking forward to going home since the day we got here. Ten weeks is a long time to live in a hotel. But now that we’re down to the last two days, it’s feeling very bittersweet. We’ll be home for Christmas, the family is coming to our house in Nevada, there will be snow – at least up in the mountains – and I’ll be enjoying all the improvements that have been made to the house while we’ve been gone.<br />
But I now know that this connection to Abu Dhabi is permanent. There is blood in my veins, and water … and now, sand.</div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-86714228111894305022014-12-09T21:27:00.001+04:002014-12-10T20:11:06.933+04:00Jordan Day 3 –Petra<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-mnUnAN8r9lo/VIcs3YWdnQI/AAAAAAAAObM/oWFT0F189dc/s1600-h/20141113_084324%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img alt="20141113_084324" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-PTia_QJ9lWA/VIcs5qwpocI/AAAAAAAAObU/MEyTZkBVve0/20141113_084324_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="156" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="20141113_084324" width="640" /></a><br />
After our relatively late arrival the previous day, Donnette and I explored the hotel grounds a bit after breakfast. The views from the Petra Marriott of the rugged Jibal as Sharah mountains are stunning. Even as jaded as I am, having driven through so many amazing mountain ranges, I was impressed, and wished that we could have savored the drive more than we did. <br />
About 9:00 a.m. we drove down the hill, winding our way through the narrow, crowded streets of the town of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wadi_Musa">Wadi Musa</a> – or “Moses Valley,” so named because it is near the place where Moses struck water from a rock. The Visitor Center and entrance to Petra is in Wadi Musa.<br />
We paid our 50JD (about $70 US) entry fee, which is high, but includes an optional horseback ride – a carriage is another option for those who prefer to ride. As we emerged from the visitor center onto the long path into Petra, we were besieged by horsemen following us, cajoling us to take them up on offers for a ride to the entrance to the Siq: “It’s included in the price!” Being conditioned to distrust, we didn’t believe it until we checked our tickets; it’s true. Of course, there is the obligatory tip at the end – so if you plan to take the ride, be sure you have some small bills.<br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-qz12lJG3Pdc/VIcs8IeVpfI/AAAAAAAAObc/i_egqjo5OxI/s1600-h/DSC01397%25255B12%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01397" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-4rkX47XezwY/VIcs_Fz9pCI/AAAAAAAAObk/rFA3lYAbRWY/DSC01397_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="480" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01397" width="638" /></a><br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-fsjuGcehWnI/VIctCC0HGuI/AAAAAAAAObs/NUb9_YpXstw/s1600-h/DSC01390%25255B12%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01390" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-fcxT571O8VM/VIctEQ5nU6I/AAAAAAAAOb0/1hx9XwYXiO0/DSC01390_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="240" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01390" width="217" /></a><br />
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We were tempted, but finally declined. Donnette’s back was feeling delicate, the mid-morning November weather was sunny but still cool, and we wanted to enjoy the walk. I was reluctant to even take a photo, and only shot from a distance, because it would invite another round of solicitations. Even so, they were like eagles! They would always spot me as I turned to focus on them, and gallop toward us.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-MwLAnRq_q0Y/VIctGa_Z5BI/AAAAAAAAOb8/ML3zg9TL6HI/s1600-h/DSC01391%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01391" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-oDR5TsAYhxY/VIctIDQMUXI/AAAAAAAAOcE/T1LxajAZwUE/DSC01391_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="160" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01391" width="240" /></a><br />
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After saying “No, thank you, thank you, no,” about four dozen times, we were left to make our way, marveling again at the massive sandstone djinn blocks and caves. <br />
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After about 30 minutes of walking, the path seems to end at a rock face. You walk through an opening and suddenly, the walls of the Siq rise up and close in.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-NYZXrtq2pSk/VIctLwfGTCI/AAAAAAAAOcM/ykVn6ftXNkY/s1600-h/DSC01398%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01398" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-5YYMMdmeRYY/VIctOmVjeuI/AAAAAAAAOcU/2u0KZbx1crY/DSC01398_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="427" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01398" width="640" /></a><br />
The clatter of horses’ hooves and the rumbling of carriages rang off of the walls, and I thought of my silly comment the night before, that the sound effects were too loud. No! It was exactly the same volume.<br />
Everywhere along the Siq were carvings and remnants of the falaj, or aqueduct, eroded over the centuries by powerful flood waters charging through the canyon.<br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-H_6ropCjmqU/VIctQ3GSUsI/AAAAAAAAOcc/q7kJiEOJo28/s1600-h/DSC01407%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01407" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-8JPYPgCh7D0/VIctS9g4dnI/AAAAAAAAOck/mtktptkxbWQ/DSC01407_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="145" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01407" width="640" /></a><br />
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This larger than life-sized camel caravan relief is dated 100-50 BC. The falaj runs below and behind the figure.</div>
Springs, along with flash flood waters captured during torrential rains, were used by the Nabataean people to create an artificial oasis in the sandstone and limestone of Petra. Throughout our travels, I’ve been intrigued by the ancient aqueduct systems we’ve seen, some in ruins and some in remote villages, still in use.<br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-wT04QzAtUwk/VIctV2aJhwI/AAAAAAAAOcs/4DoR84gDyEM/s1600-h/DSC01408%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01408" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-kNzcVB-n0HA/VIctYZwU2XI/AAAAAAAAOc0/yYzVjPFadU8/DSC01408_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="414" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01408" width="640" /></a><br />
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<em>Throughout </em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Petra"><em>Petra</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jordan"><em>Jordan</em></a><em>, </em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nabataean"><em>Nabataean</em></a><em> engineers took advantage of every natural spring and every winter downpour to channel water where it was needed. They constructed aqueducts and piping systems that allowed water to flow across mountains, through gorges and into the temples, homes and gardens of Petra’s citizens. Walking through the </em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siq"><em>Siq</em></a><em>, one can easily spot the remains of channels that directed water to the city center, as well as durable retention dams that kept powerful flood waters at bay.</em> (Wikipedia)</div>
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Wah3MUvgTac/VIctake5nDI/AAAAAAAAOc8/Xf6F5988iVU/s1600-h/DSC01410%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01410" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-SbRU4YUkrQ4/VIctdKJ3WZI/AAAAAAAAOdE/hjR69S4jTiw/DSC01410_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="234" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01410" width="340" /></a></div>
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There is a lot to see along the 30-minute walk through the Siq. Stone steps carved into the rock lead to alcoves or caves. </div>
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For over two thousand years, people have been awestruck by their first glimpse of the Treasury as they enter Petra through the Siq. No matter how prepared you think you are, the sight of it will make you catch your breath.<br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-QARTQ2K_ILo/VIctfoLpauI/AAAAAAAAOdM/pa6GcMp8MaE/s1600-h/DSC01412%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01412" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-4YPZ_cPMgg8/VIcthf_CKGI/AAAAAAAAOdU/gqQNo9F2Sn4/DSC01412_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="768" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01412" width="511" /></a><br />
It almost seems that you are not so much emerging from the Siq, as the Treasury is unfolding before you. First a glimpse, then a sliver, and then suddenly there it is – too much to comprehend in one glance, too much to capture in one photo. And it’s not a building, but a façade, ingeniously carved from a massive sandstone face with no added structural support, and just a few small cave-rooms dug out behind it.<br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-UPhhyQ_sdgg/VIcti4GpRFI/AAAAAAAAOdc/uVgdh9QTI3c/s1600-h/DSC01417%252520Stitch%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01417 Stitch" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-YbI08f9AYPU/VIctk9V8ssI/AAAAAAAAOdk/D4-0LxSTtHg/DSC01417%252520Stitch_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="715" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01417 Stitch" width="678" /></a><br />
In the book <em>Married to a Bedouin, </em>which I read just before I moved to the Middle East, Marguerite van Geldermalsen, the only white woman to ever live in Petra, tells the story of how she went traveling as a young woman, struck up a romance with a Bedouin souvenir seller named Mohammed in Petra, married him, and lived with him in a cave from 1978 until 1985, when they were provided with government housing where they raised their three children. That book made me want to go to Petra. Now, three years later, I was finally seeing it.<br />
There’s a lot more to Petra than the Treasury. It’s almost like, if you can forgive the terrible analogy, the Flintstones meet Disneyland. There are lots of souvenir vendors, there are rides – albeit on camel, or donkey, or horse – and there is so much to see. The site is a huge, ancient, multilayered city. <br />
A city of caves and tombs …<br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Mmi3qz0-1-A/VIctmc0q5pI/AAAAAAAAOds/wvHItQDbxxo/s1600-h/DSC01434%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01434" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-g1Rzbx5c_u4/VIcwAowVBpI/AAAAAAAAOd4/qTjVcLBf-HM/DSC01434_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="427" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01434" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-BLXXzfgZNus/VIcwDkA734I/AAAAAAAAOeA/1woE1Vf-oYY/s1600-h/DSC01444%25255B12%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01444" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-eklcWYgoUVQ/VIcwGNxp5qI/AAAAAAAAOeI/EbYCUq_wO8U/DSC01444_thumb%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="257" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01444" width="323" /></a><br />
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… and Roman ruins, complete with Roman soldiers to pose with.<br />
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Many people had guides. Local Bedouins, handsome young men colorfully dressed, eyes lined with black kohl (they reminded me of Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean) approached us for a donkey or camel ride, or to guide us off the beaten path to see the views from the High Place of Sacrifice.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-4ISa4rWAK9k/VIcwKquS8AI/AAAAAAAAOeQ/WUKDY5yrhB8/s1600-h/DSC01447%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01447" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/--uW_YPlWojQ/VIcwOa_EOdI/AAAAAAAAOeY/OJnma_-cAQg/DSC01447_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="480" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01447" width="639" /></a><br />
I was aching to photograph their faces but resisted, thinking that if I did we would never be rid of them. That may be untrue and maybe even unkind, but perhaps I’ve become a bit weary of some aspects of being a tourist with money in my pockets. Everything costs money, and your first offer is never enough. And Donnette’s and my blonde heads stood out a little, even among the tourists; if we even looked at a man with a horse or camel or donkey, he would be following us for a kilometer or more, saying “Excuse me! Excuse me!!!”<br />
Instead, I brought an Approach Guide on my iPad – <em>Temples and Tombs of Petra, </em>by David and Jennifer Raezer, with an overview of Petra and detailed information about the most important sites. I’d read it beforehand and, as Donnette and I progressed along, we read aloud. It was a great way to appreciate our self-guided tour. And again, not to be unkind, but as a seasoned traveler I now know that sometimes guides can be exhausting. They want you to participate when you just want to contemplate, and – now please forgive me – often, I can only understand a fraction of what they are saying, even thoughtthey are speaking English. Why can’t I understand? Because they pronounce vowels differently, they use unfamiliar vocabulary, and they speak very fast.<br />
<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-44Ed5p06Hxs/VIcwR_dz18I/AAAAAAAAOeg/qlGcGV5tyaU/s1600-h/DSC01419%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01419" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-C5ASZ7rh9a0/VIcwVeGICNI/AAAAAAAAOeo/yN7CD43FAjc/DSC01419_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="415" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01419" width="640" /></a><br />
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The two monuments in Petra that are most famous, the Treasury and the Monastery, are quite far from each other. This map below shows all of the places we visited in Petra. The darker color is the high ground, and the light color is the lower dry river bed, or<em> wadi, </em>where the flash floods come through during the rains. Unfortunately there is no scale, but you can gauge walking times by the fact that the walk from the Visitor Center to the Treasury is about one hour. Dotted lines are uphill – the Siq is quite gradual, but from the Museum to the Monastery is 800 quite steep steps. So you can figure it’s three hours in and three hours out, plus stops. We did it in seven hours, and we walked 12 miles.<br />
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<img src="http://ontheluce.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/petra-map.jpg" height="431" width="640" /><br />
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Map:<a href="http://www.jordan-travels.com/" title="http://www.jordan-travels.com/">http://www.jordan-travels.com/</a></div>
Well, almost 12 miles. Except for the donkey ride up to the Monastery.<br />
Donnette had hurt her back lifting a golf bag (doh!) ten days before our trip. She didn’t want to be bouncing on a tall horse. But a slow little donkey was a different story, right? And when we arrived at the museum, where the long uphill slog to the Monastery begins, I wondered if she would make it climbing all the way to the top.<br />
At the same time, I realized that the large tour group that was staying at our hotel had arrived at the same time, and their guide was arranging donkeys for everyone. I sidled over to a gentleman and asked, “How much are you paying?” The answer, 10 Jordanian dinar, seemed reasonable.<br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-4mVWp1_YIKU/VIcwXnbpQJI/AAAAAAAAOew/ZT4VgxW0TqU/s1600-h/DSC01450%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01450" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-77DAvZmx21o/VIcwZ1IB3KI/AAAAAAAAOe4/dcPPMB1hER0/DSC01450_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="251" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01450" width="365" /></a><br />
Then I realized that the tour guide was negotiating with a handsome Bedouin named Mahmood, who had introduced himself to us earlier. I liked Mahmood. I could see that he was mature; he was the leader. I trusted him. I turned to Donnette.<br />
“I think we should do the donkey ride. It’s a long climb up, and then we have to come back down.” It was getting late.We were OK with not seeing the views from the High Place, but we were not going to miss the Monastery. Donnette said, “I’m game.”<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-WUaMnfz59mU/VIcwcqv8VSI/AAAAAAAAOfA/EYtQo-NyeEQ/s1600-h/DSC01453%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01453" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-LSvcmai4MpA/VIcwerQ2SbI/AAAAAAAAOfI/hvT0TpmzOlw/DSC01453_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="251" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01453" width="365" /></a><br />
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So we saddled up – after a fashion – and headed up with the group. It wasn’t long before I realized how well-deserved is the donkey ride’s reputation for being terrifying. The path is part steps, and part slope worn slick by thousands of years of flood water. It winds, it skirts precipices, it’s steep in places, the donkeys slip here, they balk there. All the time the Bedouin guides, many just young boys, hustle them on.<br />
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I was carrying my camera, attached to a tripod, around my neck. That, along with the large handbag that kept falling off my shoulder, meant that I could only hold on with one hand. Added to that, the blanket that was functioning as a saddle was slipping sideways. Fortunately, the donkey I was on was not tall. My guide kept telling me to lean forward as the little donkey struggled uphill. It wasn’t easy!<br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-uNs1drklT1s/VIcwgkVbbFI/AAAAAAAAOfQ/6nAxyb90FKw/s1600-h/DSC01464%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01464" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Ra3EQP3fBfc/VIcwiYeKiZI/AAAAAAAAOfY/-PHxcqL23Ug/DSC01464_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="246" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01464" width="358" /></a><br />
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Finally the boy stopped me, and while the others continued on up, he had me dismount while he adjusted and retied the blanket – breaking the flimsy tie not once, but twice. Donnette passed by and said, “You’re not leaving me, are you!?”<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-_ofoIBgYpuE/VIcwj1CR93I/AAAAAAAAOfg/TBbEeJ9MUmg/s1600-h/20141113_110806000_iOS%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-r1UnpOYyR-s/VIcwlm869CI/AAAAAAAAOfo/NfDRpc66yYE/20141113_110806000_iOS_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="368" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="" width="368" /></a><br />
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She was waiting at the top with her camera ready as we triumphantly arrived. I didn’t find out until later how truly terrified she was during the donkey ride. I’m still not sure if she’s glad that we did it, but I loved it. We did it!<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-yK2K2sSy1nA/VIcwnCl4vNI/AAAAAAAAOfw/KsbTZi1IVQI/s1600-h/20141113_111151000_iOS%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-9sDbNf6LUsc/VIcwoiysJHI/AAAAAAAAOf4/eZAASZdG4yY/20141113_111151000_iOS_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="386" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="" width="386" /></a><br />
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There was a short walk up to the Monastery after the donkey drop-off point – perhaps a poor choice of words – which is lined with souvenir sellers, many of them women. We were drawn in to have tea with a mother and her grown daughter. Afterward, Donnette and I each picked out a bracelet and necklace to buy. Amazingly, we both chose the exact same ones! We’re like soul sisters.<br />
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The Monastery – which was given that name by archaeologists even though it has nothing to do with religion – did not disappoint. <br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-opnK5XnSbho/VIcwqyt9riI/AAAAAAAAOgA/y3tMefhtkj4/s1600-h/DSC01479%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01479" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-NMKnfGvZ3qs/VIcws18sZXI/AAAAAAAAOgI/gJVueBQXKJc/DSC01479_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="427" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01479" width="640" /></a><br />
It’s massive, and it represents the highest and most refined example of the Nabataean architectural style.<br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-1iNnt2eHQ3A/VIcwv2mdLPI/AAAAAAAAOgQ/gDYXLOdWy7o/s1600-h/DSC01469%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="DSC01469" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-PfJAy3P-H_0/VIcwyNoj2TI/AAAAAAAAOgY/7gfC_3zpoHw/DSC01469_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="427" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01469" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-WDFXHjCOors/VIcw1yehs7I/AAAAAAAAOgg/fsydfkWULR0/s1600-h/DSC01462%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01462" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-mILzdj13NhY/VIcw3ttcszI/AAAAAAAAOgo/EdojWl427uk/DSC01462_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="270" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01462" width="393" /></a><br />
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We had a lunch of fresh, cold juice and a bag of chips before making our way back down the 800 steep steps. I was fine being on the donkey on the way up, but I did NOT want to ride back down. Just looking down was too scary!<br />
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It was getting late, but we had just enough time to pass by the Royal Tombs, which we had missed on our way in. This row of edifices represents a sort of “workshop” in which the Nabataeans experimented with architectural styles and techniques before eventually creating the masterpiece that is the Monastery.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-7JpiY9B1XRc/VIcw5f0hr_I/AAAAAAAAOgw/6OxWdFLX3Fg/s1600-h/20141113_152823%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="20141113_152823" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-WNYNMBcupMs/VIcw7WRCdMI/AAAAAAAAOg4/d5BDZLBamT0/20141113_152823_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="289" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="20141113_152823" width="640" /></a></h1>
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-uoqJo2ZkQwo/VIcw9BZsUhI/AAAAAAAAOhA/OjfmaoDaU5k/s1600-h/DSC01522%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01522" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-4TGiafAHLfU/VIcw-03pTrI/AAAAAAAAOhI/B0dZ_F-Jq9s/DSC01522_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="315" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01522" width="440" /></a><br />
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By the time we reached the end of the long walk back to the visitor’s center, all we could think about was finding a beer. Suddenly we remembered that our friend Terry had told us to be sure and go to the Cave bar. And like magic, there it was! And there we were. <br />
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Once our thirst was quenched, we realized we were starving. Passing by the places with the proprietors standing outside waving discount leaflets at us, we arrived at Three Steps restaurant at 6:00 p.m., just as he was opening. Another Abu Dhabi friend who had recently been there had recommended, “Order whatever is the special.” So we did, and it was <em>mensef, </em>the traditional Bedouin wedding dish. We could choose beef or lamb, which was simmered in goat milk yogurt and served over a bed of rice mixed with parsley and covered with <em>shraak,</em> a tissue-thin bread. It was simple, elegant, perfectly delicious. But first, we were served a <em>mezze</em> of three dips with bread. And afterward, tea and a sweet which was a still-warm Arabic pastry stuffed with cheese, which was delivered fresh from the bakery just as we were finishing our main course. <br />
It was a perfect day, perfect weather, and we were perfectly exhausted by the time we got back to our room. Too exhausted to drink the complimentary bottle of wine provided by Marriott. <br />
It’s amazing to realize that Petra was largely forgotten, except among local Bedouins, for centuries until 1812, when it was described by Swiss geographer <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johann_Ludwig_Burckhardt">Johann Burckhardt</a>. It was declared a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1985, and in 2007 became one of the New Seven Wonders of the World.<br />
<img src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/47/Comparative_Petra_siq.jpg" height="480" width="637" /><br />
<div align="center">
Petra siq in 1947 (left) compared with the same location in 2013 (Wikipedia)</div>
We didn’t meet Marguerite van Geldermalsen, but that wasn’t really a goal of mine, although I can’t exactly explain why. I kind of wish I’d met her, but at the time we were so overwhelmed by our day, it just didn’t seem to matter. I saw a large image of the book cover at one of the souvenir places; that must have been her shop. But I guess I was so exhausted I didn’t make the connection.<br />
I was thinking about how impossible it seemed that all of the people selling souvenirs there live outside of Petra, especially the ones up by the Monastery. What a commute! And how do they safeguard their merchandise? I suspected that some of them still live in caves. So I did a little research, and discovered this interesting story about the locals, along with a follow-up on Marguerite: <a href="http://www.al-monitor.com/pulse/originals/2013/12/jordan-petra-cave-dwellers-neglect-authorities.html#" title="http://www.al-monitor.com/pulse/originals/2013/12/jordan-petra-cave-dwellers-neglect-authorities.html#">http://www.al-monitor.com/pulse/originals/2013/12/jordan-petra-cave-dwellers-neglect-authorities.html#</a><br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/--PvZIciRWSc/VIcxAcOIZUI/AAAAAAAAOhQ/VzGV1I7iklA/s1600-h/DSC01413.jpg"><img alt="DSC01413" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-OsXStIi1CKQ/VIcxCT87spI/AAAAAAAAOhY/TV16j7lrkbQ/DSC01413_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="768" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="DSC01413" width="481" /></a><br />
Life in Petra doesn’t look easy. We were told that the crowds have thinned – perhaps people are avoiding Jordan because of the troubles in Syria. Petra is in the southern part of Jordan, far from Syria, but people think of the entire Middle East as dangerous. So the locals are struggling to make their income. And maybe that’s why we felt so much pressure to ride and buy.<br />
But no matter how many souvenirs or donkey rides they try to sell you, the fact is that Petra occupies unique place in human history, and nothing can overshadow its magnificence. You realize how gifted the Nabataeans were, that they ruled the trade routes and that they were amazing engineers. You appreciate the forces of nature that they tamed and the unique architectural style they developed, blending Greek, Roman, and Arab elements to arrive at their own classic Nabataean style. <br />
Now , without the Nabataeans to maintain it, nature, aided by the impact of hordes of visitors, is reclaiming Petra. I don’t know exactly what is being done currently to mitigate the natural and human-caused erosion. But in the long run there isn’t much we can do to stop water, wind, and the salty airborne sands of time from reconfiguring the land.<br />
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Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-65792998918880095992014-11-26T17:17:00.001+04:002014-11-26T17:17:25.816+04:00Jordan–Day 2<p><strong>Dead Sea mud treatment, Jordan River baptism site, and Petra at Night</strong></p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-8JHb9JVE_HE/VHXRuvqumbI/AAAAAAAAN2E/mgS4OoU0R7E/s1600-h/20141112_0947355.jpg"><img title="20141112_094735" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="20141112_094735" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-uBs2qI036ZM/VHXRwE3iOdI/AAAAAAAAN2M/zKAi41ELMe0/20141112_094735_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="338" align="left" height="180"></a>Early in the morning, with the sun yet to climb above the mountains to the east, Donnette and I were down on the shore of the Dead Sea slathering black mud onto each other. Dead Sea mud, and the highly concentrated salts and minerals in the sea water, are said to help relieve arthritis and allergic skin conditions, as well as slow the effects of aging by reducing wrinkling and cellulite. </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-_hC-JwWM9qw/VHXRxAKRA_I/AAAAAAAAN2U/792OOECX8Zk/s1600-h/20141112_0933505.jpg"><img title="20141112_093350" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="20141112_093350" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-JiiwbFmHmaw/VHXRzZBzYOI/AAAAAAAAN2c/SK1D1_Nr_0E/20141112_093350_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="285" align="left" height="308"></a></p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p>The mud was cool, and very slippery and slimy; it was a little weird to be spreading it all over ourselves – but also fun, and sensual. Here we were, outdoors in the sunlight, coating ourselves with mud. The sun was still weak, but we knew the water was warm, having tested it the night before. </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-6Z0_ou5cyAc/VHXR0b9SAyI/AAAAAAAAN2k/Y3yVIS7lPjk/s1600-h/20141112_0926286.jpg"><img title="20141112_092628" style="margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="20141112_092628" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-LrIQuML99B4/VHXR16U4haI/AAAAAAAAN2s/gbZlKvqNh08/20141112_092628_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="364"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>When we tested the water, we also did a taste test. The water looked so clean and clear, we wanted to compare it to the Arabian Gulf, which seems very salty, especially in hot weather when there is a lot of evaporation. Knowing this was probably a mistake, Donnette and I both took the tiniest of tongue tips to our fingers and … YECCCHHH! SPIT! It burned and tasted awful! </p> <p>The salt content of the Dead Sea is 33.7%, compared to 3.5% average in the ocean and 4% to 5% in the Arabian Gulf – although with the desalinization plants releasing brine, Gulf salinity is increasing. The Great Salt Lake in Utah, USA, ranges from 5% to 27% depending on location and lake level.</p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-9Fj_Jw7QGFM/VHXR2_zzuII/AAAAAAAAN20/MAb_IFoJihw/s1600-h/DSC012915.jpg"><img title="DSC01291" style="float: none; margin-left: auto; display: block; margin-right: auto" alt="DSC01291" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-cznvq72WK8w/VHXR4tGoIYI/AAAAAAAAN28/msEkXaTsy0o/DSC01291_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="263"></a></p> <p>As we waited for the mud to dry, we walked up and down the little private beach belonging to the Marriott. On either side, the shoreline was lined with glistening, salt-coated rocks. How did the Dead Sea get so salty? I knew there was no outlet – we have similar bodies of water in Nevada, called terminal lakes, where water evaporates and leaves behind minerals. The Great Salt Lake is a remnant of ancient Lake Bonneville, which covers part of Nevada. .</p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-ga1XOYU4QsY/VHXR5qnOAII/AAAAAAAAN3E/jsZ0_XmZc2w/s1600-h/Dead-Sea-geology-plate-map6.jpg"><img title="Dead Sea geology plate map" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="Dead Sea geology plate map" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-RvpUYVksICA/VHXR6yFpemI/AAAAAAAAN3M/swmeUMVfaYo/Dead-Sea-geology-plate-map_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" width="278" align="left" height="269"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>But those were freshwater lakes, remnants of the ice age. The Dead Sea is different, in that it was formed by tectonic forces – the moving plates of Earth’s crust. As I understand it, the Dead Sea is part of a greater rift formed by the African and Arabian plates moving apart. Almost 4 million years ago, the rift was flooded with Mediterranean Sea water. For the next 2 million years, similar floods came and went until, through tectonic forces, the surrounding land was uplifted enough to prevent further inundation by the Mediterranean. </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-CZwQMWpSOdo/VHXR77ZyPRI/AAAAAAAAN3U/1VVxU1FExPU/s1600-h/20141112_0802178.jpg"><img title="" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-h27QEJ7WsCA/VHXR9fVAZ1I/AAAAAAAAN3c/cQ47Hm0B-WM/20141112_080217_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" align="left" height="210"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>Now the Dead Sea continues to sink as the rift grows and the surrounding plates rise, making it the lowest place on Earth. Because there are few water sources (the Jordan River being the main one,) very little rainfall, and no outlet other than evaporation, the salt and minerals in the Dead Sea are concentrated and the water level continues to drop.</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-ETGpIo-WMYY/VHXR-g-F-AI/AAAAAAAAN3k/uJG8I6tQYsU/s1600-h/20141112_0953403.jpg"><img title="20141112_095340" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="20141112_095340" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-fwGc_z1k9U8/VHXR_28uBEI/AAAAAAAAN3s/uqMP4vokWKE/20141112_095340_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="226" align="left" height="240"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>We were running out of interesting rocks to look at, the mud began to crack and itch, and we couldn’t stand it any more. It was time to rinse off in the sea. Donnette reminded me not to get any of the water in my eyes, but the first thing that happened was I accidentally splashed a drop – just one drop – into one of my eyes. Oh, the pain! Unable to stop myself, I tried to wipe it out, getting water into the other eye as well. Thus, I was blinded until Donnette came to rescue me with a towel wetted with fresh water.Then I remembered that I’d brought two pairs of swim goggles. Better late than never. </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-gtkILGiWOhk/VHXSA42mPdI/AAAAAAAAN30/S8b0CrXsgK0/s1600-h/20141112_1006424.jpg"><img title="20141112_100642" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="20141112_100642" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-a_CaVQhc76I/VHXSCPkPc_I/AAAAAAAAN38/M-BTcB7Os7Y/20141112_100642_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="397" align="left" height="248"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>The Dead Sea is famous for being so salty that you float effortlessly. If you can relax, and not worry about getting water in your eyes or mouth, it’s like floating on an inflatable mattress.</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XEq-zLOA-xI/VHXSDIBmyXI/AAAAAAAAN4E/r5WXZllBeBY/s1600-h/DSC012873.jpg"><img title="DSC01287" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="DSC01287" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-0vwYjpH7-YE/VHXSD1kVeII/AAAAAAAAN4M/fyQZ5AvY68k/DSC01287_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" align="left" height="176"></a>As we floated, we noticed a woman on the shore, methodically spreading mud from the pot onto herself . Donnette tried to strike up a conversation, but she wasn’t interested. Either she didn’t speak English, or she was too focused on the business at hand – probably both. She covered herself with mud and then proceeded to scrub, and scrub, and scrub. It looked like this was something she did on a regular basis. I wonder how many hundreds of generations of local women have used this beauty treatment, a favorite of Cleopatra, over the millennia?</p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-dnPc5D6dtUk/VHXSE5EXfdI/AAAAAAAAN4U/ieJuMZTXfbo/s1600-h/DSC013144.jpg"><img title="DSC01314" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="DSC01314" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-NPX8OFOnf7g/VHXSGY7IJ9I/AAAAAAAAN4c/YLSwl6vbfWM/DSC01314_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="292" align="left" height="236"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>A couple of hours later, we checked out of the hotel and headed north. Petra was south, but we were taking a last-minute detour to the site on the Jordan River where Jesus Christ was baptized by John the Baptist. I was raised Catholic, which means that I don’t remember my baptism because I was a baby. But Donnette, being Southern Baptist, clearly remembers her baptism at the age of 15, and going there would have a special meaning for her. </p> <p> </p> <p>It did for me, too. Neither of us, a few years ago, imagined visiting the Holy Land. Sometimes, visiting a place is as much an internal pilgrimage as it is a sightseeing tour. As a Catholic, I think about what I learned and remember from the stories of the Bible. What meaning did I take from them? What did they teach me? How did they help to form my character? </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-3_Zt8InzntQ/VHXSHZpz_9I/AAAAAAAAN4k/VKgDqmyvmK4/s1600-h/DSC01307-Stitch7.jpg"><img title="DSC01307 Stitch" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="DSC01307 Stitch" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-yzJjTfvBvY0/VHXSIlhqVuI/AAAAAAAAN4s/NIp1KA4dras/DSC01307-Stitch_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="174" align="left" height="240"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>These days, my thoughts and feelings about faith, religion, and spirituality are something that I don’t like to talk about. For me, it’s private and personal. Live and let live – and believe. But with or without an abiding faith, whether it’s Christianity, Judaism, or Islam, just being there, visiting the places where events in the Bible happened, had a profound effect – one that I can’t articulate.</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-TAONgBNsEdk/VHXSJUztQ8I/AAAAAAAAN40/VwfNykjo8H4/s1600-h/20141112_1325524.jpg"><img title="20141112_132552" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="20141112_132552" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-PY28oRtL35s/VHXSKnkuwEI/AAAAAAAAN48/wyC3dRjOKHw/20141112_132552_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="325" align="left" height="192"></a>The authenticated baptism site was identified by comparing its description in the Bible and other ancient records with features on the ground; it has been recognized by all major Christian churches. During the first several hundred years AD (or CE), churches were built near the site to memorialize the event, and believers made and recorded pilgrimages. Over the centuries, it was forgotten. </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-LvAZEv7YV3Y/VHXSLkKKIsI/AAAAAAAAN5E/jRH2yJ5801c/s1600-h/DSC012674.jpg"><img title="St. George Greek Orthodox Churcxh" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="St. George Greek Orthodox Churcxh" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-KH3XYEcSCFE/VHXSMk91SmI/AAAAAAAAN5M/jgFpteqBh4A/DSC01267_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="335" align="left" height="228"></a></p> <p>The discovery in 1897 of the Madaba map depicting the Holy Land led to a renewed interest in its location, but conflicts throughout the 20th century – two World Wars and the fall of the Ottoman Empire – prevented archaeological activity until after the 1994 peace treaty between Jordan and Israel. A very good synopsis of the history and rediscovery is at <a href="http://www.baptismsite.com/index.php/archeological-findings.html">this link on the Baptism Site of Jesus Christ website</a>.</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-lDYrBvMvvEU/VHXSN9pADjI/AAAAAAAAN5U/ukcinWYx72k/s1600-h/Jesus-baptism-site4.jpg"><img title="Jesus baptism site" style="float: none; margin-left: auto; display: block; margin-right: auto" alt="Jesus baptism site" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-3FxEpQcdCsE/VHXSPNrZi5I/AAAAAAAAN5c/D-J108iGn-A/Jesus-baptism-site_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="628" height="480"></a></p> <p>The actual baptism site is on a dry floodplain several meters away from the river. The sinuous Jordan was long ago dammed upstream, so it’s no mystery that the floodplain is dry. </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-0UpfY6rbEYE/VHXSQYG18_I/AAAAAAAAN5k/c8eST6VJ-sc/s1600-h/DSC013164.jpg"><img title="DSC01316" style="float: none; margin: 0px auto; display: block" alt="DSC01316" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-F7YKZDKPOl8/VHXSRsFJBHI/AAAAAAAAN5s/o0DvPFVP3b0/DSC01316_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="170"></a></p> <p>This place is, really, out in the middle of nowhere. From the Visitor Center, which is just a small, plain building which serves as an office, a shuttle bus drove us out onto the floodplain, past an armed guard station, to a plateau where we viewed new memorial churches that were built on distant ridges after the rediscovery, and the place where Pope John Paul II said Catholic mass in 2000. </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-wEN0Hs2Jyzg/VHXSS5Rv5wI/AAAAAAAAN50/dFibQT1obDM/s1600-h/DSC013024.jpg"><img title="DSC01302" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="DSC01302" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-BPhSzrdAxck/VHXSTxYkZxI/AAAAAAAAN58/BfHHwNooKaU/DSC01302_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="339" align="left" height="232"></a>Our first view of the storied river was unimpressive; it was just a muddy looking creek, not even as wide as the Carson River, in Nevada. The Jordan River forms the border between Jordan and Israel; it was hard to believe that this was it - we could literally have crossed over in just a few steps! </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-R10v-ZXQqJY/VHXSU9b0ugI/AAAAAAAAN6E/Q3TTkJ4qSco/s1600-h/DSC013053.jpg"><img title="DSC01305" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="DSC01305" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-RJZXeNw5wFs/VHXSWSi5iJI/AAAAAAAAN6M/0MDjJNXynSg/DSC01305_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" align="left" height="158"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>From the baptism site, we walked along a path which took us to St. John the Baptist Greek Orthodox Church. Here the river was wider, and flowing, and we could see people on the <a href="http://old.parks.org.il/BuildaGate5/general2/data_card.php?Cat=~20~~743046726~Card12~==parks==10792851">Israeli side</a>.</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-8Zf3aHUMEcA/VHXSXRt_O9I/AAAAAAAAN6U/1B8PNBZE8fk/s1600-h/DSC013274.jpg"><img title="DSC01327" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="DSC01327" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-xKUEEIy4YGg/VHXSY3npvRI/AAAAAAAAN6c/KwcM_4p3MA8/DSC01327_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="326" align="left" height="239"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>Our attention was caught by a couple across the river, dressed in white shifts, who were getting ready to enter the water. They were with a guide, who was giving them information and instructions while an armed guard hovered nearby. It was an odd scene. As they waded in, the woman began to gasp at the cold water and then she seemed to lose her footing and almost floated off downstream. </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-XkSIuAC6MN4/VHXSZhFu5sI/AAAAAAAAN6k/RFetsxzDrjQ/s1600-h/DSC013294.jpg"><img title="DSC01329" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="DSC01329" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-M2OlD1pbUoQ/VHXSbX8dYlI/AAAAAAAAN6s/yCoNxbkQ15g/DSC01329_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="333" align="left" height="222"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>She regained her foothold and composure and, after a couple of minutes, she and her partner climbed out of the river, crossing themselves several times. As they emerged we realized that, of course, they were wearing nothing under their thin cotton shifts, which were now clinging wetly to their skin! Thinking of the modesty that we are now used to in the Middle East, it was a bit of a shock.</p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-iwFc8tJ8C3Y/VHXScc8g9TI/AAAAAAAAN60/B8UTtI6RzcU/s1600-h/DSC012783.jpg"><img title="DSC01278" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="DSC01278" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-ojvaul9ouJ0/VHXSdYC5GVI/AAAAAAAAN68/aaWkzboRpWs/DSC01278_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" align="left" height="160"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>The Baptism Site only took a couple of hours from our day, and then we were on our way to Petra. We decided to take the Dead Sea Highway – which Mark’s Jordanian colleague, Muhammad Alshawakfeh, had counseled against – too mountainous. Too mountainous!? There is no such thing!</p> <p> </p> <p>But first, we needed fuel. We had just under a half tank and I didn’t know what the prospects were for gas on the road ahead. So now …</p> <p align="center"><strong><img style="float: none; margin-left: auto; display: block; margin-right: auto" src="http://www.your-guide-to-aqaba-jordan.com/image-files/jordan-petrol-station02.jpg" width="640" height="237"></strong></p> <p align="center"><strong>The Parable of Petrol Pricing.</strong></p> <p><em><strong>Two lovely, intelligent, experienced American women rented a car in a foreign country and didn’t do their homework regarding the price of fuel or the size of their vehicle’s fuel tank. They pulled into a lonely petrol station near the Dead Sea, where the Attendant directed them, indicating that they should pull forward, and yet more forward, until they could no longer see the display on the pump. The Driver, who sometimes doesn’t think things through until later, requested: “Fill, with regular.” The Attendant started the pump, which stopped within a few seconds, and then he came to the window saying, “15JD (Jordanian dinar, about $21 US.) Driver handed over the money but, when she started the engine she saw that the tank was not full. So the Attendant put in more, until the tank was full. Then he returned to the window, requesting another 25JD ($35.) The Navigator, who was wise, said “No! That’s too much!” They were, after all, in the Middle East where they were used to gas prices that were cheaper than in the US. But they didn’t exactly know what the price should be, and the Attendant knew this because they were obviously tourists, and rich. After some haggling and accusation, head shaking, and arguing in two incompatible languages, another 10JD was accepted by the Attendant and they drove off.</strong></em></p> <p>We were sure that we’d been cheated, but we didn’t know just how much. (Muhammad has since told Mark that the gas stations in Jordan are all run by Egyptians – and they, unlike Jordanians, are cheats.) Moral of the story: Know the price of fuel, how much your vehicle holds, and specify how much money’s worth to put in – not just “fill.” Also – be sure you can see the pump. </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-2EYU9-38arU/VHXSeX_-XMI/AAAAAAAAN7E/T-096okOzSk/s1600-h/DSC013377.jpg"><img title="DSC01337" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="DSC01337" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-F__OgOkwEoA/VHXSfTCRrbI/AAAAAAAAN7M/-G6WLOmI5sA/DSC01337_thumb4.jpg?imgmax=800" width="385" align="left" height="218"></a></p> <p>Shake it off! It was time to hit the road, and we were feeling like Thelma and Louise (only older, and with more money.) Donnette had brought the music and we sang along to the Eagles (have I mentioned that we both graduated from high school in 1975?) driving along the Dead Sea until we made a left-hand turn into the mountains. But not before stopping for pics of the receding shoreline.</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-7kWrCtaTaK0/VHXSgfQsejI/AAAAAAAAN7U/Lk5lUwoOtbU/s1600-h/DSC01342%25255B9%25255D.jpg"><img title="DSC01342" style="float: none; margin: 0px auto; display: block" alt="DSC01342" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Cc_OeUW5i50/VHXSiUXOfVI/AAAAAAAAN7c/yREll_eKPIw/DSC01342_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="399"></a></p> <p>It was supposed to be a drive of about 3-1/2 hours, and we went up, up, up, to dizzyingly beautiful heights. Donnette was a little freaked out, I could tell, but I was reminded of so many other drives: California, Utah, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, Oman, Sri Lanka … mountains, villages, black Bedouin tents, curvy roads, up and down. The hardest part was that Carmen, the Garmin, didn’t know the latest road changes and once or twice she led us down a rabbit hole. </p> <p>I was really glad we’d stopped for gas, cheated or not. The sun was getting low, there wasn’t a good place to pull over for photos, and there was no place to stop and pee. We were on a mission to find our hotel, and soon!! </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Kh6oosphK1k/VHXSjlMx74I/AAAAAAAAN7k/_CXYgoPEwhk/s1600-h/20141113_0844134.jpg"><img title="20141113_084413" style="float: none; margin: 0px auto; display: block" alt="20141113_084413" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-qkAyzRor54c/VHXSkhIaMoI/AAAAAAAAN7s/bVL83JctAt4/20141113_084413_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="243"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>We reached the Marriott in Petra just as the sun set, around 5:30 p.m., in time to check in and grab dinner before heading out to Petra at Night. Our hotel was way at the top of the ridge above Petra, with great views of the mountains we had just crossed on one side and the town below on the other. They brought us a bottle of wine – again, the Marriott Gold advantage – but with no time to drink it, we were on our way back downhill to the Visitor Center. We had two nights and wanted to do Petra at Night first, and then a full next day exploring. </p> <p> </p> <div id="scid:66721397-FF69-4ca6-AEC4-17E6B3208830:be63fd3c-9950-4319-af67-ae30deed912f" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" style="float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px"><table border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=0 style='outline:none;border-style:none;margin:0px;padding:0px;width:410px;border-collapse:collapse;'><tbody><tr><td style='margin:0px;padding:0px;outline:none;border-style:none;width:auto'><a style="outline:none;border-style:none;margin:0px;padding:0px;" target="_blank" href="https://onedrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=play&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!13099&parId=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos"><img style="outline:none;border-style:none;padding:0px;margin:0px;border:0px;background:none;background-image:none;vertical-align:bottom;" alt="View album" title="View album" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-ZHy_JKAXnRw/VHXSlzIB1AI/AAAAAAAAN70/ML7ehSstWHc/Jordan%252520-%252520Dead%252520Sea%252520and%252520Jordan%252520River%25255B10%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" /></a><div style='width:410px;text-align:center;overflow:visible;padding:0px;margin:0px;'> <div style='width:410px;overflow:visible;'><a style="text-decoration:none;" href="https://onedrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=browse&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!13099&parId=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" target="_blank"><span style="line-height:1.26em;padding:0px;width:410px;font-size:26pt;font-family:'Segoe UI', helvetica, arial, sans-serif;" defaultText="Enter album name here">Jordan - Dead Sea and Jordan River</span></a></div> <div style="text-align:center;padding:9px 0px 0px 0px;margin:0px 0px 0px 0px;font-family:'Segoe UI', helvetica, arial, sans-serif;font-size:8pt;"> <table border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=0 style="text-align:center;width:auto;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;padding:0px;outline:none;border-style:none;border-collapse:collapse;"> <tr> <td style="vertical-align:top;outline:none;border-style:none;margin:0px;padding:6px 12px 6px 0px;"><a href="https://onedrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=play&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!13099&parId=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" border="0" target="_blank" style="font-family:'Segoe UI', helvetica, arial, sans-serif;font-size:8pt;outline:none;border-style:none;text-decoration: none;padding:0px;margin:0px;">VIEW SLIDE SHOW</a></td> <td style="vertical-align:top;outline:none;border-style:none;margin:0px;padding:6px 0px 6px 0px;"><a href="https://onedrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=downloadphotos&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!13099&parId=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" border="0" target="_blank" style="font-family:'Segoe UI', helvetica, arial, sans-serif;font-size:8pt;outline:none;border-style:none;text-decoration: none;padding:0px;margin:0px;">DOWNLOAD ALL</a></td> </tr> </table> </div> </div></td></tr></tbody></table></div> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-kwpJH7qaHvA/VHXSnLHEvZI/AAAAAAAAN78/Je33G4KJU-I/s1600-h/DSC0137814.jpg"><img title="DSC01378" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline; src: "file:///C:/Users/Anne/AppData/Local/Temp/WindowsLiveWriter1286139640/supfiles107B4174/DSC01378.JPG"" alt="DSC01378" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-sb0-I27ij6A/VHXSoYgk64I/AAAAAAAAN8E/Pi_adMV7gdI/DSC01378_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" align="left" height="160"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>We arrived at the Petra visitor center at 8:00 p.m. and joined the procession along the path to the legendary Siq, or entrance to Petra. The Siq is a passageway to Petra through impossibly high rock faces, carved by thousands of years of flash flooding.</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-vmGbzWfDOsk/VHXSptzA2JI/AAAAAAAAN8M/36_POfTVspE/s1600-h/DSC01386%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="DSC01386" style="float: none; margin: 0px auto; display: block" alt="DSC01386" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-FkV5I-ABA_M/VHXSrLslMhI/AAAAAAAAN8U/0KbpDp0nLzI/DSC01386_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="427"></a></p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Tsv3qRc0bJw/VHXSsTH0ABI/AAAAAAAAN8c/Fh_b9sSLpCo/s1600-h/DSC01382%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="DSC01382" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="DSC01382" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Qv5uCEbsiss/VHXStrTECDI/AAAAAAAAN8k/4EHz85PzTQk/DSC01382_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="417" align="left" height="287"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>The entire pathway, which which begins well before the entrance to the Siq, was much longer than I thought it would be and was lit by hundreds of luminerias– paper bags containing lit candles. All along the path were lit caves and carved “djinn blocks,” which the Nabataeans believed were the homes of invisible, human-like beings – essentially, genies.</p> <p> </p> <p>The Nabataeans were an incredibly gifted and skilled people from the Arabian peninsula who established their capital in Petra some 2200 years ago. They were successful traders who lived in caves and drew upon Greek, Hashemite and Roman traditions to develop their own architectural style, carving unbelievably complex facades into the stone cliffs, most of which are thought to be tombs.</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-xFkRHrsbtdY/VHXSu0z-pjI/AAAAAAAAN8s/FII6Mq_xuto/s1600-h/DSC01368.jpg"><img title="DSC01368" style="float: none; margin: 0px auto; display: block" alt="DSC01368" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-th4LZohC9w4/VHXSwZALbmI/AAAAAAAAN80/BesgsRG_dL8/DSC01368_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" width="512" height="768"></a></p> <p>And then suddenly, magically, there it was, and there we were, looking at the Treasury, which was never a treasury at all, but was given the name, like all the other misleading names in Petra, by archaeologists. </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-WZ5PLd_Z4u0/VHXSxoxtblI/AAAAAAAAN88/WEGjQ8HqaqY/s1600-h/DSC013584.jpg"><img title="DSC01358" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="DSC01358" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-o1DVhzWSY_Y/VHXSytNUXpI/AAAAAAAAN9E/W1PQT9Tom8c/DSC01358_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="330" align="left" height="227"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>Petra at Night is not a nighttime tour of the city, but just a walk through the Siq to the Treasury to hear a program, and then the long trek back out. We sat on the ground in rows with all of the other guests, were served the traditional Bedouin sweet tea … </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-4nGcR20OiJw/VHXSztbu5CI/AAAAAAAAN9M/PmyNko2NCrg/s1600-h/20141112_201659000_iOS.jpg"><img title="" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-tfwRcyBvv0Q/VHXS0janA9I/AAAAAAAAN9U/HuO6708kLJQ/20141112_201659000_iOS_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="449" align="left" height="449"></a></p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p>… listened to traditional Bedouin music played on a rebab, then and poetic singing …</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p>Then we heard taped sounds of donkeys braying, horses galloping and carriages clattering while the Treasury façade lit up in colors. I had my camera set up on a tripod and was able to get some night shots including one “selfie” of Donnette and me.</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-o2LkHaw8qSY/VHXS1tefzTI/AAAAAAAAN9c/gPxpOfqCC8s/s1600-h/DSC013755.jpg"><img title="DSC01375" style="float: none; margin: 0px auto; display: block" alt="DSC01375" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Lpsh5EC1r_w/VHXS2jCdJwI/AAAAAAAAN9k/TrL1RBj_g20/DSC01375_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" width="569" height="768"></a></p> <p>Afterwards, as we were getting ready to make the trek out, a young man stopped us and asked how we liked the program. I said the taped sounds seemed too loud to me – little did I know that, in the Siq, they really are that loud as they bounce off of the walls! – and I was surprised at the light show because I’d read reviews that said the Treasury was not well lit. He told us that they had just started the light show about two weeks before, and they were working to add more elements to the program.</p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-LmKr64VliXk/VHXS381h_NI/AAAAAAAAN9s/cSt04QwO9BI/s1600-h/DSC013844.jpg"><img title="DSC01384" style="float: none; margin: 0px auto; display: block" alt="DSC01384" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-78oXT4ZvcvE/VHXS4jItfSI/AAAAAAAAN90/0sYjJyR5AMU/DSC01384_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="427"></a></p> <p>I enjoyed the walk out as much as anything that night. Donnette was very patient while I kept stopping and trying shots.</p> <p>Next: a very full day in Petra.</p> <p>Thanks for reading!</p> <p> </p> <p>Selected sources:</p> <p><a href="http://www.livestrong.com/article/156890-what-are-the-benefits-of-dead-sea-mud/">http://www.livestrong.com/article/156890-what-are-the-benefits-of-dead-sea-mud/</a></p> <p><a title="http://www.ehow.com/about_5384395_dead-sea-salty.html" href="http://www.ehow.com/about_5384395_dead-sea-salty.html">http://www.ehow.com/about_5384395_dead-sea-salty.html</a></p> <p><a title="https://www.uaeinteract.com/uaeint_misc/teanh/010menv.pdf" href="https://www.uaeinteract.com/uaeint_misc/teanh/010menv.pdf">https://www.uaeinteract.com/uaeint_misc/teanh/010menv.pdf</a></p> <p><a title="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Salt_Lake#Salinity" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Salt_Lake#Salinity">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Salt_Lake#Salinity</a></p> <p><a title="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dead_Sea" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dead_Sea">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dead_Sea</a></p> <p><a title="http://africa-arabia-plate.weebly.com/nubian-plate-north-west-region.html" href="http://africa-arabia-plate.weebly.com/nubian-plate-north-west-region.html">http://africa-arabia-plate.weebly.com/nubian-plate-north-west-region.html</a></p> <p><a title="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rebab" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rebab">http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rebab</a></p> Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-89607359300976321342014-11-19T21:27:00.001+04:002014-11-21T11:18:32.437+04:004 Days in Jordan–Day One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong>Donnette and I set out from Abu Dhabi to cut a swath across Jordan.</strong><br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-DfLosirny-o/VGzSJUtaWRI/AAAAAAAANcY/vrVE1foVw1s/s1600-h/DSC012755.jpg"><img alt="DSC01275" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-XB4H_00Gu-8/VGzSLip665I/AAAAAAAANcg/F2ceTxzFN1M/DSC01275_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" height="168" style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="DSC01275" width="640" /></a><br />
Mark was too busy working to go to Petra. We had a holiday coming up, but for that he wanted to go to a non-Arab country, Cyprus. Without Mark along, I decided I needed to do a mid-week girls’ trip.<br />
<img align="left" height="179" src="https://fbcdn-sphotos-d-a.akamaihd.net/hphotos-ak-xfp1/v/t1.0-9/10155834_799010093444854_1781256126729883345_n.jpg?oh=2e45bc2da15e321523c013f35f55750c&oe=54E50B84&__gda__=1423269133_afab719ccb7611b1c67120b632b2cdec" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" width="240" />So I put out the word on “The real housewives of Shangri La” Facebook page: “Petra is on my bucket list. Who wants to go with me?” I was sure I would get some takers. The unanimous response was, “You have to go there!” But everyone had already been except Donnette and her husband Ray, and he said, “Well, I’d like to go too.” Awkward. I coaxed Donnette with, “You can go with me first, scout it out, and then go back and do more, with Ray.” But it was still delicate. Husbands here work really hard, while the wives have all the fun, or so it seems. <br />
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Finally it came down to the wire, time-wise. Donnette needed to be in town for the F1 event at Yas Marina Circuit, and then was leaving to go home to Alabama a couple days before Thanksgiving, and not coming back until January. By that time, I would already be gone back to the U.S. for good. It was now or never. I said, “If nobody else can go, then I’ll go by myself.” I would’ve, but Mark said, “You are not going alone. That’s where I draw the line.” Although a solo trip greatly appeals to my sense of adventure, I knew he was right. I was alone in Paris for a couple of days, but Jordan, with its conservative Arab culture and proximity to Syria, is a different story. Plus, (forgive me for saying this but it’s true) Jordanian men can be … challenging. So I talked to Donnette, and she played our card. “If I don’t go, then Anne can’t go. And she’s not going to get another chance. I have to go with her.”<br />
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<img align="left" height="236" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/F-26TA3JDaRR1qL1hT6430ErcXQx551DK7rPNfv4UvM=w1097-h794-no" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" width="316" /><br />
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So Ray, bless his heart, acquiesced. He could see, ever since the Halloween party, that Donnette and I have a certain girl-chemistry. We get along easily, have the same drinking habits, and have a lot of fun together. We were both born in Michigan, in the same year - 1957. And during the trip, we found out just how much more we have in common, almost to the point of being spooky. But more about that later.<br />
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Mark, bless HIS heart, booked us rooms at three Marriott hotels – Jordan Valley at the Dead Sea, Petra, and Amman. <br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-kLOkgAKX9gY/VGzSNBa8xjI/AAAAAAAANco/ncYj3CEewyc/s1600-h/DSC012785.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01278" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-2QGZtkoifw8/VGzSOSpzBaI/AAAAAAAANcw/jZzOuf9ZjJw/DSC01278_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" height="252" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01278" width="367" /></a>Although we at first thought it would be best to get a car and driver, and Donnette said Ray would be more comfortable with it that way. Then I realized that would be too expensive, and inconvenient. We’d have more flexibility if we had our own wheels. I had no worries about the driving. I drive in the UAE. How bad could Jordan be? There were mountains, but I drive in mountains at home, all the time. Donnette just said, “I’ll tell him later, after we get there.” In the end, he figured it out for himself.<br />
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We took the early morning Royal Jordanian flight from Abu Dhabi to the new Queen Alia International Airport just south of Amman, got our passports stamped and heard “Welcome” for the first of probably a hundred times over the next few days, and found car rental row. When I handed my reservation printout to the handsome young Jordanian with impeccably slicked-back hair (with a little flip at the very bottom) who was behind the counter, he looked at it, shook his head a little, and said, “But, this is Budget.” I started to look up, even though I knew the sign said Budget, and by the time I caught myself he was already smiling mischievously. Ah-hah, almost gotcha! WELCOME to Jordan!<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-1BGjcSGVhjU/VGzSPz5E8zI/AAAAAAAANc4/BvsbigzCVAo/s1600-h/DSC01261%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01261" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-L7qe32iqt-0/VGzSRcNLzhI/AAAAAAAANdA/Ol68JTeV59o/DSC01261_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="215" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01261" width="305" /></a><br />
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Our first stop was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madaba">Madaba</a>, on the way to the Dead Sea, about halfway between the airport and our hotel. With the help of Donnette’s Garmin navigation system, “Carmen,” we were there in less than an hour, found the visitor center in the middle of town, parked, and went on the walking tour. <br />
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Madaba dates from the Middle Bronze Age, has a long and fascinating history, and is mentioned twice in the Bible (Numbers 21:30 and Joshua 13:9.) Byzantine Christian and Umayyad Islamic mosaics were discovered and preserved there in the late 19th century when a group of Christians came to resettle and rebuild the long-abandoned town. <br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-6JK5Zbc2Sss/VGzSSxDNJ_I/AAAAAAAANdI/shN0iDi9FqI/s1600-h/DSC01249%25255B11%25255D.jpg"><img alt="Hippolytus Hall" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-wnhR9FJL1cE/VGzSVQvTwxI/AAAAAAAANdQ/yuhZSKuvMJo/DSC01249_thumb%25255B5%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="427" style="display: inline;" title="Hippolytus Hall" width="640" /></a><br />
Although our visit there was short, it was the perfect way to begin the trip. Starting at the visitor center, we wound our way upwards to visit the <a href="http://www.jordanjubilee.com/hcrafts/schoolmos.htm">Madaba Mosaic School</a> and Archaeological Museum which covers and exhibits mosaics of the Church of the Virgin and Hippolytus Hall, and ended at the Byzantine Greek Orthodox St. George Church which houses the Madaba Mosaic Map of the Middle East dating back to the 6th century CE. This amazing map contains the oldest surviving cartographic representation of Jerusalem, and includes features that are still visible today when viewed on an aerial photo or satellite image like Google Earth. <br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-PecdY2TPyKg/VGzSW2vInxI/AAAAAAAANdY/h0MwHuIAqpI/s1600-h/DSC01266%25255B18%25255D.jpg"><img alt="Madaba Mosaic Map" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-wW-K_1Fbg-s/VGzSYBc59SI/AAAAAAAANdg/GWK9iEFznLs/DSC01266_thumb%25255B7%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="383" style="display: inline;" title="Madaba Mosaic Map" width="640" /></a><br />
Donnette and I were both fascinated by the mosaics and, as usual, I’m learning more as I research after the trip and learn about the larger archaeological park, the school where Jordanian students from all walks of life learn the timeless methods of creating and preserving mosaics, and I realize the incredible richness of the history of this place, the Holy Land, and its people.<br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-wsBsQQqCiro/VGzSZX0SyvI/AAAAAAAANdo/kM8-kFhddeY/s1600-h/DSC01255%25255B12%25255D.jpg"><img alt="The Mosaic School has both male and female students." src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-sN90O0BXXIc/VGzSbHCfW5I/AAAAAAAANdw/b7YgwiqYIOo/DSC01255_thumb%25255B6%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="450" style="display: inline;" title="The Mosaic School has both male and female students." width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-92LRV-cdNcY/VGzScTjhfOI/AAAAAAAANd4/ZK1d0qh4HPw/s1600-h/DSC01270%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="St. George Church, Madaba" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-L-03HhnSJsg/VGzSdjHAb9I/AAAAAAAANeA/sS5QAHPhjDo/DSC01270_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="160" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="St. George Church, Madaba" width="240" /></a><br />
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St. George Church, which houses the Madaba Mosaic Map, is quite plain on the outside. But this Greek Orthodox church is all Byzantine splendor on the inside.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/--B4YpjFze88/VGzSfOZHhbI/AAAAAAAANeI/uaGtMuCHTd0/s1600-h/DSC01265%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img alt="St. George Church, Madaba, Jordan" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-R9d9F3Knx30/VGzSgaX5dhI/AAAAAAAANeQ/gyy40E3eoJU/DSC01265_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="427" style="display: inline;" title="St. George Church, Madaba, Jordan" width="640" /></a><br />
And then it really hit me, that Jesus lived and walked right here. The world’s three great religions – Judaism, Christianity, and Islam – all originated here. <br />
(Disclaimer: I am no religious scholar. Any misconceptions or off-base comments are due to my limited knowledge and are not meant to mislead or disrespect. So. Please forgive.)<br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-w4p4FxvtFQo/VGzSi35DxDI/AAAAAAAANeY/19KjkMspspE/s1600-h/DSC01269%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Mosaic of Jesus Christ, Madaba, Jordan" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-SOdV3qsQSys/VGzSkU7CsuI/AAAAAAAANeg/2Q2uJPCTCFo/DSC01269_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="240" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="Mosaic of Jesus Christ, Madaba, Jordan" width="167" /></a><br />
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Donnette and I looked at the mosaic representation of Jesus in the church and agreed: he looked much like the Arabs we see every day, except Jesus’s hair and beard are longer, and lighter brown. Probably bleached by the sun, and there were no “saloons” to go have it “painted” darker back then. <br />
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When we emerged from St. George Church, it was 1 p.m. and we were famished. So we went directly across the street to a pizza place, of sorts. We ordered a couple of pies that came folded over, with a bit of filling, and undersized Diet Cokes. People may say that prices are high in the UAE, but we could have gotten the same meal at an Afghan hole-in-the-wall bakery in Abu Dhabi for 1/10 the price (minus the Cokes.) Then we wandered next door to a shop that sold Dead Sea bath salts and mud mask for facials, among other products. The owner magically appeared and, even more magically, it was the proprietor of the pizza place! Same guy!<br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-zyO_ITCuH98/VGzSl7fhlkI/AAAAAAAANeo/yqBKKbdX4fc/s1600-h/20141119_211829%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img alt="20141119_211829" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-TcTaFErKEAY/VGzSneXLqkI/AAAAAAAANew/X6-SzTv11q0/20141119_211829_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="359" style="display: inline;" title="20141119_211829" width="640" /></a><br />
He convinced us that we should buy products from his store, that anywhere else the prices would be much higher because he owned the factory and so we were buying factory direct. This, we think, was perhaps true because we actually never even saw any products similar to what we bought there. But really, who knows? And who even cares? Not us, we got some good stuff for gifts and girl parties..<br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-KD_06dP5ztA/VGzSo06QVLI/AAAAAAAANe4/ZyJRjTt5G3s/s1600-h/DSC01260%25255B8%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01260" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-edAJYwEEjJI/VGzSq8GLWGI/AAAAAAAANfA/yeLQF37DPbU/DSC01260_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="258" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01260" width="380" /></a><br />
<br />
Then we had to run the gauntlet back to the Visitor Center, with shops and street vendors hawking their wares: “Hello, you want to buy pashmina? Mosaic? Jewelry! Come, I give you good price! Hello? Where you from? Excuse me?Hello!” I did spring for a beautiful mosaic of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tree_of_life">Tree of Life</a>, which features prominently in ancient mosaics (and which Mark will find out about when he reads this.) <br />
<br />
But I didn’t get photos of the great street life. The problem is, if you stop, even to take photos, you are committing yourself to something, perhaps just a discussion about why you don’t want to buy something, that’s hard to get out of. Taking photos isn’t exactly free.<br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-EkStYiJ96Uk/VGzSsKOMoXI/AAAAAAAANfI/7NlbSiKVQyU/s1600-h/DSC01273%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01273" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-S0kOfFC9wn8/VGzS0_pZdGI/AAAAAAAANfQ/f-2TxpinJUw/DSC01273_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="268" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01273" width="390" /></a>Finally we were on our way, over the crest of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Nebo">Mount Nebo</a> – which, sadly, we didn’t realize the significance of at the time. This was where Moses was granted a view of the Promised Land, which he never entered, and where it is said he is buried somewhere. We wound our way through a landscape dotted with olive orchards and goats. Donnette was impressed by the heights, the views, and the curving road, but to me, coming from the mountains of Nevada and California, it was all in a day’s drive. <br />
<br />
Arriving at the Marriott, I mentioned that my husband, who booked the room, was a Priority Club Gold member. “Will he be arriving later?” Well … no. “We usually give upgrade if the member is present.” But, minutes later, we had our upgrade to a pool view room. And what a pool – actually, pools! You’ve heard of a Pub Crawl? Well, here you could do a Pool Crawl, all the way to the Dead Sea. <br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-5E2cKAQBA6E/VGzS2Ry95BI/AAAAAAAANfY/MuakMod8BVw/s1600-h/20141111_171152%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img alt="20141111_171152" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-mlI5LPDkxkU/VGzS3x8U4PI/AAAAAAAANfg/tySfF0EO4sc/20141111_171152_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="360" style="display: inline;" title="20141111_171152" width="640" /></a><br />
We went down to look at the sea, but decided to wait until morning for our mud bath and float in the salty brine. I was wondering if the water would be cold. But no! It was surprisingly warm. But the Mojitos were calling and the sun was setting. First , we had a couple at the outdoor Oasis Lounge, while watching the sun set. Then it was Happy Hour in the Acacia Bar, where we retired for more Mojitos and a salad for dinner … and then time for sleep, so we could wake up early in the morning for our Dead Sea mud treatment.<br />
<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-V4DcqSjeM7g/VGzS5aIGhrI/AAAAAAAANfo/KCPpt-c4ihE/s1600-h/20141112_094839%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="20141112_094839" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-oRlJ7vuRwxs/VGzS7FwFX4I/AAAAAAAANfw/2TTJfUzEewQ/20141112_094839_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="20141112_094839" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
To be continued …<br />
<br />
PS I neglected to add the photo album before posting, but here is a link:<br />
<a href="http://1drv.ms/1F9jRR1" target="_blank">Jordan - Madaba Mosaics</a></div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-20261487619194301222014-11-10T16:50:00.001+04:002014-11-10T16:50:03.727+04:00Abu Dhabi’s skyline: a conundrum<p><strong><strong>Today’s Abu Dhabi rose from the sand in less than 50 years.</strong></strong></p> <p>What does a skyline say about a place? Sense of place is a big subject for geographers. I searched for “Abu Dhabi skyline,” and found inspiration for the historical perspective that I was looking for. In order to understand Abu Dhabi today, you have to look at yesterday. A very recent yesterday.<strong></p> <p></strong> </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-6bQGFkBWgDQ/VGCz3qCB5II/AAAAAAAAM8k/6JhyO6iWq-g/s1600-h/%2525231%252520ADCA%2525202012-13%252520002%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="Abu Dhabi Corniche skyline." style="float: none; margin: 0px auto; display: block" alt="Abu Dhabi Corniche skyline." src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-PpVP51KZ6sQ/VGCz5Do8GUI/AAAAAAAAM8s/GsFaYhlJ-Us/%2525231%252520ADCA%2525202012-13%252520002_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="312"></a></p> <p>The inspiration for writing this story about the Abu Dhabi skyline was a discussion on Unwind just after we sailed across the finish line in front of the Corniche and were cracking open a “Green Gatorade,” aka Heineken. </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-8HEbfgOwzW4/VGCz6HbRaPI/AAAAAAAAM80/MTIaG4wVKjU/s1600-h/ADFF-2014-logo7.jpg"><img title="ADFF 2014 logo" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="ADFF 2014 logo" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-7LInl93GE-g/VGCz7ZnVDwI/AAAAAAAAM88/3_LXhuuxQFc/ADFF-2014-logo_thumb4.jpg?imgmax=800" width="303" align="left" height="156"></a></p> <p>Thinking of the Abu Dhabi Film Festival graphic featuring some of the city’s iconic buildings, including my favorite “coin building,” I heard myself complaining, “What’s with the skyline? … makes no sense … they could have planned it to look so much better …” and so on. I actually questioned why they hadn’t designed the skyline more like the idealized ADFF version!</p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-6w9X-sbw8sY/VGCz8uwZQ8I/AAAAAAAAM9E/6YKGAj7VdRk/s1600-h/Abu-Dhabi-Sailing-Week-ADCA-0055.jpg"><img title="Abu Dhabi Sailing Week ADCA 005" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="Abu Dhabi Sailing Week ADCA 005" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-tDhQR34wybU/VGCz942FRUI/AAAAAAAAM9M/zTYSB6cx5I8/Abu-Dhabi-Sailing-Week-ADCA-005_thum.jpg?imgmax=800" width="191" align="left" height="146"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>Young Matteo, in his youthful wisdom and charming Italian accent, held up his hands to make a frame and said, “You have to look at it like this, one building at a time. That one is nice … yes, and that one is nice …" </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p>I’d been viewing Abu Dhabi’s skyline as an incoherent, incohesive failure of planning and aesthetics. What I forgot was the landscape it replaces: sand, sea, and sabkha, or salt flats. There was no natural backdrop other than the flat horizon, no dramatic line to mimic or respect, like, say, Cape Town. No hills to build on like San Francisco. No vegetation, even. Abu Dhabi was a barren island, detached from the mainland by just a few meters of shallow water, surrounded by sand bars. Today’s skyline was, literally, dreamed up over the past 50 years. The main island is now almost completely developed, and the surrounding sand bars have been enhanced with millions of tons of rock and sand so that they, too, can become part of the glittering new city.</p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-EuZbm_7XQgM/VGCz_x91KmI/AAAAAAAAM9U/57-j72eAi2A/s1600-h/ADCA%252520%2525231%2525202013-14%252520027%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="ADCA #1 2013-14 027" style="float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="ADCA #1 2013-14 027" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-1XxpSVQpI90/VGC0BDNZu1I/AAAAAAAAM9c/eM13sCu7ESo/ADCA%252520%2525231%2525202013-14%252520027_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="328" align="left" height="525"></a></p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p>Today’s Abu Dhabi is still in its awkward adolescence, growing at breakneck speed, sprouting limbs all out of proportion, stumbling over its own feet. The skyline is piecemeal, perennially under construction. There is no continuity. It’s a series of unrelated snapshots.</p> <p>It’s like that old camel joke: designed by committee. This committee was made up of developers and architects, each trying to make the biggest impression.</p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-sKzvNPCz5hA/VGC0CAMQktI/AAAAAAAAM9k/F-Aawdj62eY/s1600-h/ADCA%252520Yas%252520Cruise%252520069%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="ADCA Yas Cruise 069" style="float: left; margin: 0px 27px 0px 0px; display: inline" alt="ADCA Yas Cruise 069" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-sEiiaTyokFw/VGC0DUuiREI/AAAAAAAAM9s/nVRU0-a9e5A/ADCA%252520Yas%252520Cruise%252520069_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="446" align="left" height="260"></a></p> <p> </p> <p>And that’s why the snapshots of skyline are often gorgeous, grandiose … </p> <p> </p> <p align="center"> </p> <p align="center"> </p> <p align="center"> </p> <p align="center">and … sometimes confounding. </p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-1QAW75OGTKM/VGC0Ea88QjI/AAAAAAAAM90/twbSxP65Yc4/s1600-h/Palace%252520Marina%252520028%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="Palace Marina 028" style="float: none; margin-left: auto; display: block; margin-right: auto" alt="Palace Marina 028" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-xSRZfIlBlfI/VGC0HPvzfXI/AAAAAAAAM98/Zxd-Zlg4iGY/Palace%252520Marina%252520028_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="273"></a></p> <p align="left"> </p> <p align="left">So when I sat down to write this story, I thought to myself: “You’re supposed to be a geographer. You’ve studied urban planning. What makes a great skyline?” I searched “great skylines” and came up with lists – and lists! and more lists! – of cities known for their skylines. </p> <p align="left">Abu Dhabi wasn’t on any of them. But Dubai was. Dubai is full of unbelievable architecture, but it has two buildings that rise above the rest – literally, and conceptually. </p> <p align="left"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Hy1L-heuwTM/VGC0IQ72VUI/AAAAAAAAM-E/b0no-tKRVJA/s1600-h/Mumm%25252030%252520Burj%252520Khalifa%25255B10%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-75vI91knMUo/VGC0JqLPx0I/AAAAAAAAM-M/BSGy033EEvU/Mumm%25252030%252520Burj%252520Khalifa_thumb%25255B5%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="391"></a></p> <p align="center">The Burj Khalifa, tallest building in the world …</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-wHT8UM3yN-A/VGC0KikoOuI/AAAAAAAAM-U/kL8uyKarC9A/s1600-h/GBR5152T%252520Burj%2525202%25255B10%25255D.jpg"><img title="" style="display: inline" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-9F4ofFWHBG0/VGC0L5PZwFI/AAAAAAAAM-c/jJl1gZ4XIjw/GBR5152T%252520Burj%2525202_thumb%25255B5%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="323"></a></p> <p align="center">… and the Burj Al Arab.</p> <p> </p> <p>There are other buildings with distinct profiles lining Dubai’s long coastline, and that’s one of Dubai’s distinct advantages: its one long, slender skyline. Unlike Abu Dhabi, which is a jigsaw puzzle of skylines.</p> <p>Another advantage for Dubai? An historic port, still functioning. A cultural heart, still beating, its circulatory system, still intact.</p> <p>Abu Dhabi developed into the modern city it is today within Mark’s and my lifetime. MHe was born in 1950, the year oil was discovered here. In 1962, the year I started kindergarten, the first oil was exported from Abu Dhabi. The local people were mostly unaware, still living in barasti houses made of palm fronds and using the beach as their toilet. They were drawing brackish well water into goat stomach containers for drinking and cooking. During the 1960’s, as I watched Flintstones cartoons on television, the people of Abu Dhabi were living in a construction zone, as much-needed buildings were hastily erected using salt-laden concrete which soon crumbled. Electricity was supplied by portable generators.</p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-NM9Kp9cv5io/VGC0NIg-RqI/AAAAAAAAM-k/C-RBUPgy1y8/s1600-h/Abu%252520Dhabi%252520barasti%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="Abu Dhabi barasti" style="display: inline" alt="Abu Dhabi barasti" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-HItbwvMzKow/VGC0OqA4z3I/AAAAAAAAM-s/oJgwo42Ce80/Abu%252520Dhabi%252520barasti_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="359"></a></p> <blockquote> <p align="justify">“The town of Abu Dhabi with its barasti houses and first main road. 1961.” Photo:<em> From Rags to Riches-A story of Abu Dhabi – </em>Mohammed Al Fahim</p></blockquote> <p> </p> <p>In 1971, the the year I started high school, seven Trucial States, as they were then known, joined to become a nation, the United Arab Emirates. More oil money meant more buildings, better buildings, taller buildings. 10-story buildings! In 1975, as I graduated from high school, the first international hotels opened in Abu Dhabi. I watched the Holiday Inn in Detroit fall into decay while, at the same time, the Emiratis signed agreements to build the first Holiday Inn in the UAE. By the end of the 1970’s, as the recession hit and I migrated from Detroit to San Francisco, the oil boom was going bust. Even in Abu Dhabi, commercial and residential properties in Abu Dhabi were going unoccupied. But that didn’t last; the 1980’s were on the horizon. </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-PyRGSdgcils/VGC0P2KWLiI/AAAAAAAAM-0/ShYE7JUQqBg/s1600-h/AD%252520corniche%2525201984%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="AD corniche 1984" style="display: inline" alt="AD corniche 1984" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-PuYX3lLOHj4/VGC0RH9_p8I/AAAAAAAAM-8/6kTx4rWiNqA/AD%252520corniche%2525201984_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="422"></a></p> <blockquote> <p>“The gardens of Abu Dhabi Corniche in 1984 which had just been laid out and were still being planted.” (Gulf News)</p></blockquote> <p> </p> <p>I grew into an adult in the 1980’s and and 1990’s. Abu Dhabi was growing up, too. By 2000, the city had completed 6,000 projects and added 90,000 housing units. We both, Abu Dhabi and I, spent those two decades building, tearing down, and rebuilding.</p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-9f8qiiJcKt0/VGC0SADq7yI/AAAAAAAAM_E/V-mdY6vWIhU/s1600-h/AD%252520corniche%2525201998%25255B9%25255D.jpg"><img title="AD corniche 1998" style="float: none; margin-left: auto; display: block; margin-right: auto" alt="AD corniche 1998" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-ToRTEEINWdI/VGC0TZPF_oI/AAAAAAAAM_M/QPinosynaaw/AD%252520corniche%2525201998_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="472" height="650"></a></p> <blockquote> <p align="justify">“Looking along Abu Dhabi Corniche in 1998 to the Bainuna Tower in the distance, with the blue Union National Bank and gold Arab Monetary Fund buildings in front of it. At this time, the whole length of the Corniche was being extended into the sea.” (Gulf News)</p> <p align="justify"> </p></blockquote> <p>At the turn of the 21st century, Abu Dhabi was at a turning point, positioning itself as a global city, alongside its better-known neighbor, Dubai. Do you remember your frame of mind, at Y2K</p> <p> </p> <p><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-GY9oF0A_AII/VGC0Vqv3yII/AAAAAAAAM_U/4Nrz1pTf108/s1600-h/AD%252520skyline%2525202007%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img title="he headquarters of the Abu Dhabi Investment Authority, Adia, in 2007 is the latest landmark along the Corniche with its dramatic folding glass front towering over the rest of the city." style="display: inline" alt="he headquarters of the Abu Dhabi Investment Authority, Adia, in 2007 is the latest landmark along the Corniche with its dramatic folding glass front towering over the rest of the city." src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-RIylTiKcZVY/VGC0WyiRfuI/AAAAAAAAM_c/qohwG2xLuqg/AD%252520skyline%2525202007_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="422"></a></p> <blockquote> <p align="justify">“The headquarters of the Abu Dhabi Investment Authority, Adia, in 2007 is the latest landmark along the Corniche with its dramatic folding glass front towering over the rest of the city. “(Gulf News)</p></blockquote> <p align="justify"> </p> <p align="justify">An ambitious 25-year plan, unveiled in 2005 as Abu Dhabi Vision 2030, describes development and redevelopment plans for the main island of Abu Dhabi and its several satellite islands, and the mainland, which are all connected by bridges. </p> <p><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-b_4-7_LjNhU/VGC0YPTg3dI/AAAAAAAAM_k/13PKFtvVm1g/s1600-h/DSC01582%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="DSC01582" style="float: none; margin-left: auto; display: block; margin-right: auto" alt="DSC01582" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-zn1BBiFddxY/VGC0ZomhTnI/AAAAAAAAM_s/5kReFxgpe1g/DSC01582_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="480"></a></p> <p align="center">Abu Dhabi Corniche, 2012. View from Etihad Towers.</p> <p> </p> <p>Viewed from the perspective of my own lifetime, I appreciate the Abu Dhabi skyline for what it is. It’s the front row of a dynamic city built in a snapshot of time, compared to any other city. Abu Dhabi has gone from palm-frond beach huts to skyscrapers of more than 80 stories during my lifetime. And I am here, to experience and appreciate it. </p> <p>Unlike Dubai, whose skyline can be viewed from a single long northern shoreline or from a southern highway vista, there is no one Abu Dhabi skyline. It must be viewed from many vantages. I’ve had the great fortune to see and photograph the many facets of Abu Dhabi’s skyline – from the water, on boats and on my board, and on the road, from the windshield and my bicycle. Corniche, Reem Island, Saadiyat Island, Yas Island, Eastern Mangroves, Al Bandar, Between the Bridges, Emirates Palace Marina, and others that I have yet to discover.</p> <p><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-kspPq_pZLys/VGC0bMNaCII/AAAAAAAAM_0/VhGaSZ40Vyg/s1600-h/Eastern%252520Mangroves%252520Skylounge%252520%2525288%252529%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img title="Eastern Mangroves Skylounge (8)" style="float: none; margin-left: auto; display: block; margin-right: auto" alt="Eastern Mangroves Skylounge (8)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-tuoUky-CpWU/VGC0dBqTCSI/AAAAAAAAM_8/0VnFAVTNgCE/Eastern%252520Mangroves%252520Skylounge%252520%2525288%252529_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="640" height="289"></a></p> <p align="center">Abu Dhabi skyline from Eastern Mangroves Hotel Sky Lounge.</p> <p> </p> <p>How it will all come together, only God knows. But it’s an amazing place to take in the many facets of the skyline, and take photos.</p> <p>Here are some of my favorites.</p> <div id="scid:66721397-FF69-4ca6-AEC4-17E6B3208830:aeee9bbe-1ae8-4c19-9e2a-d78002e580ca" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" style="float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px"><table border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=0 style='outline:none;border-style:none;margin:0px;padding:0px;width:410px;border-collapse:collapse;'><tbody><tr><td style='margin:0px;padding:0px;outline:none;border-style:none;width:auto'><a style="outline:none;border-style:none;margin:0px;padding:0px;" target="_blank" href="https://onedrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=play&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!12434&parId=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos"><img style="outline:none;border-style:none;padding:0px;margin:0px;border:0px;background:none;background-image:none;vertical-align:bottom;" alt="View album" title="View album" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-UTKATeNkz_g/VGC0eAKGAWI/AAAAAAAANAE/guQt36A6SoE/Abu%252520Dhabi%252520Skyline%25255B5%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" /></a><div style='width:410px;text-align:center;overflow:visible;padding:0px;margin:0px;'> <div style='width:410px;overflow:visible;'><a style="text-decoration:none;" href="https://onedrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=browse&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!12434&parId=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" target="_blank"><span style="line-height:1.26em;padding:0px;width:410px;font-size:26pt;font-family:'Segoe UI', helvetica, arial, sans-serif;" defaultText="Enter album name here">Abu Dhabi Skyline</span></a></div> <div style="text-align:center;padding:9px 0px 0px 0px;margin:0px 0px 0px 0px;font-family:'Segoe UI', helvetica, arial, sans-serif;font-size:8pt;"> <table border=0 cellspacing=0 cellpadding=0 style="text-align:center;width:auto;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;padding:0px;outline:none;border-style:none;border-collapse:collapse;"> <tr> <td style="vertical-align:top;outline:none;border-style:none;margin:0px;padding:6px 12px 6px 0px;"><a href="https://onedrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=play&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!12434&parId=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" border="0" target="_blank" style="font-family:'Segoe UI', helvetica, arial, sans-serif;font-size:8pt;outline:none;border-style:none;text-decoration: none;padding:0px;margin:0px;">VIEW SLIDE SHOW</a></td> <td style="vertical-align:top;outline:none;border-style:none;margin:0px;padding:6px 0px 6px 0px;"><a href="https://onedrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=downloadphotos&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!12434&parId=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" border="0" target="_blank" style="font-family:'Segoe UI', helvetica, arial, sans-serif;font-size:8pt;outline:none;border-style:none;text-decoration: none;padding:0px;margin:0px;">DOWNLOAD ALL</a></td> </tr> </table> </div> </div></td></tr></tbody></table></div> <p> </p> <p>Historical photographs: <a title="http://gulfnews.com/pictures/news/story-of-the-uae-in-pictures-part-iii-1.753066" href="http://gulfnews.com/pictures/news/story-of-the-uae-in-pictures-part-iii-1.753066">http://gulfnews.com/pictures/news/story-of-the-uae-in-pictures-part-iii-1.753066</a></p> <p>All other photos are © Anne Thomas</p> <div id="scid:0767317B-992E-4b12-91E0-4F059A8CECA8:7e88932a-ae1e-4cdc-b6c1-0aee91347eab" class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" style="float: none; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-left: 0px; margin: 0px; display: inline; padding-right: 0px">LiveJournal Tags: <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=Abu+Dhabi" rel="tag">Abu Dhabi</a>,<a href="http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=skyline" rel="tag">skyline</a>,<a href="http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=skyscrapers" rel="tag">skyscrapers</a>,<a href="http://www.livejournal.com/interests.bml?int=Middle+East" rel="tag">Middle East</a></div> Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-26114022488958500682014-10-14T12:22:00.001+04:002014-10-14T12:28:10.712+04:00Return to Abu Dhabi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Mp3uih1W3Fo/VDzdDBrNI-I/AAAAAAAAL2g/4IXnDe77CdY/s1600-h/DSC0102014.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01020" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-KtzqHLhTSqI/VDzdEfOSRgI/AAAAAAAAL2o/_lePp-ZlriY/DSC01020_thumb8.jpg?imgmax=800" height="260" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01020" width="353" /></a><br />
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We’re back in Abu Dhabi for ten weeks, but this time is different. Abu Dhabi is the same – mostly – but we’re not living in the apartment at Al Seef Compound any more. This time, we’re staying in <a href="http://www.shangri-la.com/abudhabi/traders/">Traders Hotel, Qaryat Al Beri,</a> part of the Shangri-La complex “between the bridges” on Maqtaa Creek, the waterway separating the island of Abu Dhabi from the mainland to the north. Traders is the less pricey (4 stars instead of 5) counterpart adjacent to the Shang. <br />
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Since we moved back home to Nevada, Mark has returned to work in Abu Dhabi a couple of times, for a few weeks in May, and again in August. He’s been staying at Traders. When we checked in, the Filipino hotel staff greeted us with big smiles: “Hello, Mr. Mark! You are back! You are now a Diamond Elite Golden Circle member! Please choose three check-in gifts.” A bottle of white wine, two diet cokes, and … I guess we’ll take the Cup-o-Noodles. Wait – why didn’t we pick the Arabic sweets!? Hey, we were just coming off of a 16-hour plane ride and 90-minute drive from Dubai. The diet Cokes and noodles actually sounded kind of appealing, and it was too soon for Arabic sweets after after the food on the plane.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-tUclba0ffp4/VDzdFsIgHII/AAAAAAAAL2w/L_Xj841SZOI/s1600-h/2014-10-06-15.42.0513.jpg"><img align="left" alt="2014-10-06 15.42.05" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-oxTX-zY-uR4/VDzdGjhCEyI/AAAAAAAAL24/z1u6GCXVDi8/2014-10-06-15.42.05_thumb8.jpg?imgmax=800" height="218" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="2014-10-06 15.42.05" width="363" /></a><br />
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Speaking of the plane, I have a story. And it’s Mark’s suggestion that I write it. He wants the story told. I’m not sure why, perhaps a misplaced idea of vindication or something, although I’m not sure if this will put him in a good light or not. You be the judge. <br />
But first, I’m generally not a complainer; I really don’t like it. Sometimes I think I don’t complain enough. I avoid reviewing hotels and restaurants for Trip Advisor or Booking.com because I don’t like to criticize places. When something isn’t quite perfect I find, in my mind, a way to excuse it. I don’t want to be feel like a whiner. Or a nit-picker. But I don’t see this as a virtue because often, I don’t realize that something is bothering me until it’s too late. Then, I begin to resent. Why didn’t I speak up? Who’s to blame? Who knew, except for me? Why didn’t I just say what I was thinking, ask for what I wanted? Demand it, if necessary? Sometimes I do, sometimes not. It’s a bit uneven, I suppose.<br />
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So, Mark bought me an Economy Class ticket on the same San Francisco to Dubai flight that he was already booked on by his company’s travel agent except he was in Business Class. My ticket cost about $1500, paid for by us, and his was about $8,000 on the company. Yes, that’s a difference of about $5,500. Of course, for that kind of money, I wasn’t about to whine about not getting business. And since I was traveling with him and he is a Gold Emirates Member, I get all the same preferred check in, pre-boarding, lounge access and seat choice privileges. Not too bad except for the lower class, smaller space and inferior seat. It’s pretty equivalent travel to Mark’s eye, and mine too. But still … (Cue the chorus: “First world problems!”)<br />
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<img align="left" alt="Bulkhead seat in economy class" height="292" src="data:image/jpeg;base64,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" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="" width="372" />Over the next few weeks, as we were anticipating the trip, I murmured things like, “I don’t mind. Those seats are pretty good.” … “They do have foot rests that come up, although they don’t fully recline.” … “Even in economy the food is good. And the booze is free.” … “I have my noise-canceling headphones.” .. “I’ll just try to sleep most of the way.”<br />
Mark said things like, “We’ll get to the check-in counter when it opens, and get you a bulkhead seat.” And, “Remember, you can get plastered in the Business Class lounge and not even remember the flight! How about that!”<br />
<br />
<br />
Then, a couple of days before our flight, I got an email from Emirates. They were offering me an upgrade to Business Class for $1000. It would be available until 24 hours before the flight. <br />
<br />
I showed it to Mark, but he wasn’t impressed. “You’re already getting into the lounge, and we can get you a good seat. The upgrade is only for one way.” I would still have a coach flight back. We didn’t need to spend the money. But I didn’t really agree. I mean, hadn’t I just the other day won a thousand dollar Royal Flush video poker jackpot? In fact, hadn’t we won several jackpots during the past six months we’ve been home? But wait, that’s another story … and I don’t write about our gambling habits.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-eRPEhS47w8M/VDzdH_r3oZI/AAAAAAAAL3A/DBoQzrbFaXo/s1600-h/DSC00802%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC00802" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-TAGZwAxBRF8/VDzdJLn2vpI/AAAAAAAAL3I/q97v0OJmGoA/DSC00802_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="268" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC00802" width="375" /></a>I let it go. I was too busy to think about it because we were enjoying our last week before leaving for the UAE on vacation in Sonoma, California, reuniting with friends who had also lived in Abu Dhabi. Yes, coincidentally, we had planned this vacation way last winter, and it happened to back right up against our trip. We were spending the week with Terry and Pete and 4 other couples visiting wineries, drinking great wines, cooking great food, all in a spectacular setting in a private villa on a horse ranch and vineyard. I just couldn’t be bothered with thinking about the flight.<br />
<br />
Couldn’t be bothered, that is, until Sunday, the last day, when all the others realized that Mark and I were going back to Abu Dhabi on Monday. Then, the conversation turned to which airport, which airline. Three of the other couples were also flying out of SFO – on Sunday Linda’s husband Fred was going back to Abu Dhabi, Linda was going home to Boston, and Samina and Trevor were flying to London. Terry and Pete were going back to Florida later in the week.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-gZeyCz2VsBY/VDzdKdPQg9I/AAAAAAAAL3Q/6O-wWQ9oL_s/s1600-h/DSC00715%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC00715" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-N6yTHnrvGKs/VDzdLyHEk2I/AAAAAAAAL3Y/pDArxH_94i4/DSC00715_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="218" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="DSC00715" width="314" /></a>I mentioned, apropos of the topic of conversation, that Mark had a business class ticket but mine was economy. Then suddenly, I felt this weird little awkwardness, and I realized: <em>There are people in this room who NEVER fly coach. </em>And then, another thought: <em>If they did, it would be together. They would never put their wife in coach while they flew business.</em> And then: <em>If they even tried, there would probab</em><em>ly be hell to pay.</em> Finally: <em>Am I doing something wrong here? I think I am doing something wrong. </em><br />
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But nobody actually said anything, and the moment quickly passed, as awkward pauses do. We said our goodbyes and went our separate ways, with hopes to reunite again, somewhere in the world, in a couple of years.<br />
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That evening, we met up with our sailing friends at Richmond Yacht Club in Point Richmond, California, all of whom are also pretty well traveled. After dinner, and several bottles of wine shared among a dozen or so friends, we were getting ready to say goodbye and the conversation turned to our flight. Before I could think to stop myself, I was telling everyone the story about the upgrade. <br />
The crowd’s condemnation was swift: “Oh my God! You’re letting <em>your wife</em> fly in coach while you’re in business?” “Aren’t you giving up your seat to her? Won’t they let you?” “You’re letting him get away with this?” Everyone joined in with his or her two cents’ worth. It was unanimous. Mark deserved public shaming.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Fm02w_GwwGU/VDzdNJ6YP1I/AAAAAAAAL3g/IEgfpISDtgA/s1600-h/_39%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="_39" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-ZxlZMnJlGPA/VDzdOX7YRQI/AAAAAAAAL3o/c4QZ98ACBLM/_39_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="145" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="_39" width="150" /></a>Then Judy grabbed me by the arm (anyone who knows Judy can certainly picture this) and said, “Annie, you have a credit card, don’t you? Why didn’t you just take the upgrade? Why’d you have to ask him? How does he have that power?!” And so I, too was being shamed. But it was too late to take the deal; our flight was leaving in less than 24 hours. Finally Mark said, defensively, almost challenging me, “Well, maybe you’ll still get an upgrade …” Oh yeah, right. He’s already told me he checked, and my ticket was not eligible for a mileage upgrade.<br />
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So now I finally realized that, yes, I was mad. Actually, I was hurt. Wasn’t I worth the $1000 upgrade? It was more fun to fly together. Why did he have to be so cheap sometimes? What was the point? This was our last trip over there – inshallah.<br />
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But there was nothing I could say that the others hadn’t already said better. I was mad at Mark, but I was just as mad at myself. Why didn’t I just take the upgrade? I didn’t take it because a thousand bucks used to be a ton of money to me. It’s still a ton of money to a lot of people. And I had wanted Mark to say, “Yeah, that’s great, let’s get the upgrade so you can be in business with me.” But now, he kept saying things like, “I guess I’m in trouble. I screwed up.” And all I could say was … nothing. I admit it. I was now playing it passive aggressive.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-lm0DNWl8a6Q/VDzdPbxJyHI/AAAAAAAAL3w/GYB4OFiV7p8/s1600-h/20141006_134521%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="20141006_134521" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-08nM9r7qHPY/VDzdQslE9FI/AAAAAAAAL34/L2nnkEU3Z34/20141006_134521_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="20141006_134521" width="240" /></a>So there we were in the Emirates Lounge. We had checked in early and I had a bulkhead seat. Mark was being extra solicitous, getting me glasses of champagne, encouraging me to have a plate of seared ahi, chilled shrimp, Indian curry. Then, in the jetway, as I prepared to head to the back of the plane, he said something like, “I guess everybody thinks I’m a big turd.” <br />
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He felt guilty. <em>Good.</em> “Well,” I said. “You’ve been shamed.” I’ll be honest, by that time I could hardly look at him. “Bye,’ he said, “see you later, Honey.” <em>Yeah. Right. Bye.</em><br />
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<a href="http://www.google.ae/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&docid=XJJuEUL-1dGkrM&tbnid=So6C4uaQEqk9VM:&ved=0CAcQjRw&url=http%3A%2F%2Ftraveltripguides.com%2Ftraveling-flight-child-guide%2F&ei=Kf47VOhHqN-wBN-bgsAP&bvm=bv.77161500,d.cWc&psig=AFQjCNGUxTnfLf3Sf-ZNoYDVgFAEIjSzkg&ust=1413304069194672"><img align="left" height="177" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT4CQScxUQSpWgJVGD922CWXMvN9JDPj8dlsMlEEwqnGbGfUGzP" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" width="253" /></a> <br />
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The bulkhead seats on the Boeing 777 have more leg room, yes. And that’s why bulkhead seats are always occupied by families with infants. They have little bassinettes that they hang on the bulkhead for the babies to sleep in. But the babies don’t always sleep, and when they aren’t sleeping they are crying. When they aren’t crying, they are screeching. <br />
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Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE babies! But. There was a baby in my row that was screeching, and it was the loudest, most painfully intense noise I have ever heard a baby, or for that matter, a Sawzall on metal, make. I felt sorry for the parents already. As the plane filled I broke out my noise-canceling headphones, cranked up the music on my iPad, closed my eyes, and tried to relax.<br />
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<img align="left" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRq3Kgg2xDM1oUtg_o6yDljq0wiELpynlm1AXUXnX67tcwoRDhn" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" />About ten minutes later, I sensed that someone was standing in front of me. A flight attendant was bending toward me, speaking, and I pulled my headphones aside. “Mrs. Thomas?” <em>Yes.</em> “Your husband has upgraded you to Business Class. He said that he did not do this he is in a lot of trouble.” I admit that, as I gathered my belongings, I felt … not surprised.<br />
She led me forward on the plane, to a seat at the very front of business – there were lots of empty seats! Then she moved a sheepish Mark to join me. He told me he’d used his miles for the upgrade. Was it a lot of miles? “Yes. Two tickets to Milan.” I didn’t know we were planning a trip to Milan. <br />
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<a href="https://www.google.ae/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&docid=rk8EMwqYX73-WM&tbnid=9dsDigcYnbht8M:&ved=0CAcQjRw&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.flickr.com%2Fphotos%2Ftoasty%2F5981426878%2F&ei=Av87VNKvJ46NaLPggYAL&bvm=bv.77161500,d.cWc&psig=AFQjCNGUxTnfLf3Sf-ZNoYDVgFAEIjSzkg&ust=1413304069194672"><img align="left" height="175" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR-Q99ntNtym6w0ExgqtmRJeqBir10bU2OdADS1hQGjIvANh2hEoQ" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" width="232" /></a> <br />
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I settled in, and the flight attendant brought the menu and wine list. Veuve Clicquot champagne, top shelf liquors, five-course dinner, hot and cold “light bites,” and full breakfast, with fruit, yogurt and four main course choices. <em>I’ve a feeling we’re not in coach any more.</em><br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-RwXl5P7zpS8/VDzdR6hWeOI/AAAAAAAAL4A/3iM61IdDrMU/s1600-h/20141006_1850494.jpg"><img align="left" alt="20141006_185049" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-YQTtnY8tPT4/VDzdTA4bnhI/AAAAAAAAL4I/e7MJFtfaV8g/20141006_185049_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" title="20141006_185049" width="240" /></a><br />
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After dinner (seared beef filet for me) they brought a mattress for my reclining seat – it’s more like a quilted pad. Headphones on, and (at Mark’s suggestion) I watched “True Detective.” Sometime during the fourth episode, I reclined my seat completely and fell asleep.<br />
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<a href="https://www.google.ae/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&docid=wryUAAO6rbn5vM&tbnid=CS2rKMDxmeX6EM:&ved=0CAcQjRw&url=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.flickr.com%2Fphotos%2Fandrew-durick%2F7905585512%2F&ei=hQE8VMjvAtPdaLGngqgL&bvm=bv.77161500,d.ZGU&psig=AFQjCNE05AlCpKrusGpLncg0v5ty2K1Orw&ust=1413304983873891"><img align="left" height="183" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTwH1yFCfG5RshCrhmem7JZRE2FBxYR3SSVQ0P12ooJBsYWT6Fr" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 25px 0px 0px;" width="227" /></a><br />
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One of the neat things about the Emirates Boeing 777 is the lighting. Simulated stars in the ceiling encourage sleep, and after a few hours, “dawn” breaks and the light goes from dark blue to purple to pink, and finally to full “daylight.” Then they serve breakfast. I never saw the “light bites,” I guess that happened while I was sleeping.<br />
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So over the course of the 16-hour flight I got a pretty good night’s sleep, and had dinner and breakfast on a reasonably normal schedule except that breakfast was about 4:00 a.m. West Coast time. Then we landed, and it was 7:00 p.m. and dark. Weird. <br />
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But it worked out the next morning because the breakfast buffet at Traders has dishes that seem, to me, more like dinner than breakfast: Indian curries with rice, Asian noodles, sir-fried beef, couscous … or, you can get eggs, bacon (beef bacon, that is) and all the other regular breakfast items.<br />
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But that’s another story, which is coming: what it’s like to live here, leave, and come back – this time, to hotel life between the bridges with some, if not all, of your friends still around.<br />
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Was it worth whatever miles it cost to upgrade me? Oh, yes. To me, it was huge. For some reason, I enjoyed that flight the most, and slept the best, of any so far.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Note: the photos of the seats, flight attendants and baby are copied from the Internet.</span><br />
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Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-55345201906541997352014-05-22T06:36:00.001+04:002014-05-23T21:19:17.687+04:00Leaving Abu Dhabi - Everything is Temporary<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong>A month to the day after we left Abu Dhabi, Mark boarded an Airbus a380, on his way back. When will I return?</strong><br />
<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-E3YITvx1bkQ/U31iNGSQ0cI/AAAAAAAAJfw/XJ9eNsBnxHM/s1600-h/DSC0158242.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC01582" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-EGnJrY2ViMo/U31iNxntdwI/AAAAAAAAJf4/lcoHz_0oQB4/DSC01582_thumb21.jpg?imgmax=800" height="232" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="DSC01582" width="303" /></a><br />
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When expats arriving in Abu Dhabi first meet one another, they always ask, “How long have you been here?” And then, “Where do you live?” It’s an interesting topic because there, everything is stunningly new, shiny, and sky-high, with panoramic views across the city and the Arabian Gulf. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-vrZEoZ1o4bY/U31iOTqiSGI/AAAAAAAAJgA/ct2EW3qbxTA/s1600-h/DSC_02419.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC_0241" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-0X8wA7mTINA/U31iPIJ8UtI/AAAAAAAAJgE/zXaZaaPYSak/DSC_0241_thumb6.jpg?imgmax=800" height="235" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="DSC_0241" width="307" /></a><br />
They may live on the 70th floor of a brand-new tower on Reem Island, or in a great location on the water like the Shangri-La, with a view of the Grand Mosque or the Ritz Carlton from the infinity pool. <br />
Or maybe, in a neighborhood of spacious villas with lots of other expat families, and their kids and dogs.<br />
Or like us, in an apartment compound with a mini-mall under construction a few feet away.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-DLgpoYA0Bwc/U31iPqtPIbI/AAAAAAAAJgQ/NN2o-aEQHQg/s1600-h/Halloween%252520003.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Halloween 003" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-liPnWoDhxFk/U31iQUncZKI/AAAAAAAAJgY/b4oCnAb9G4s/Halloween%252520003_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="193" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Halloween 003" width="275" /></a><br />
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One practical reason for these questions is that you want to make friends with people who live nearby. The American Women’s Network coffees help people who live near one another find each other. It’s easier to socialize with people who live close, so you can walk home from the party. Or take a short taxi ride. <br />
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Next, everyone asks, “How long will you be here?” What makes this question so redundant and absurd is that nobody ever knows, and the asker, who knows this, asks anyway, and so it always ends: “Well, we think (some length of time,) but we’re not sure. Probably at least (shorter time.) It depends on (source of job uncertainty or level of frustration.)” <br />
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Yes, you never know. It’s the UAE. Ha-ha. Anything can happen. You meet people and, the next thing you know, they‘re gone.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-ZJhj0LXBer8/U31iQ1RQmRI/AAAAAAAAJgg/k1XgPcFZc5Q/s1600-h/DSC00658%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC00658" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-9wmpxzrm8aU/U31iRq_GlAI/AAAAAAAAJgk/h8yfPhd0ZCA/DSC00658_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="240" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="DSC00658" width="180" /></a><br />
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So cliché, but we all found ourselves saying those words. I had that conversation dozens of times, if not a hundred. Leaving is a topic that most people are thinking about even as they arrive, and continue to think about on a daily basis. It colors the experience there. I knew from the beginning that our days in Abu Dhabi were numbered, and I wanted to get my feet under me as soon a possible, and understand this crazy place, because anything could happen. I wanted to experience everything, starting asap.<br />
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One of the first things I went to, looking to meet some people, was a chocolate event at the Fairmont Bab al Bahr. I got lost trying to find the hotel, even though it was only 5 minutes away from our apartment. I arrived a half hour late, but not too late to feel welcome and get my goodie bag with the apron and several types of chocolate. We learned about chocolate’s history and geography, and how to make a chocolate lava cake. Which I have not yet made, even though I used to love to make desserts. I was known for them, in fact.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-RZl8y81qiZQ/U31iSQp4BxI/AAAAAAAAJgw/H0AMDkT6N5A/s1600-h/AWN-Chocolate-Lovers--212.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-FXlcnF5kRYw/U31iTP2HCoI/AAAAAAAAJg4/a_MRVLfMn5s/AWN-Chocolate-Lovers--2_thumb6.jpg?imgmax=800" height="351" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto;" title="" width="640" /></a><br />
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Anyway. That day was important. There was a person there who I noticed because she had a big camera and was skulking around taking photos. She is in the striped top in the photo above. (I am next to the chef, because I am drawn to men who wield power. Or tall men in hats?) I realized that I had met her a few days before, and I had her phone number. Sensing a kindred spirit, I resolved to call her. And that’s how it works. You click, and from there you develop a clique of people who live near you and you can do things with. So that’s how Terry and I met. And I got my souvenir Fairmont apron.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-0tN-MnsL6uE/U31iUH4up1I/AAAAAAAAJhA/XokFlKtdOzw/s1600-h/Ritz-Carlton-0017.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Ritz-Carlton 001" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-ZhOAVEdYS34/U31iUwfE4MI/AAAAAAAAJhI/tbfJ3zhiUIE/Ritz-Carlton-001_thumb4.jpg?imgmax=800" height="231" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Ritz-Carlton 001" width="380" /></a><br />
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“When are you leaving?” That question became part of every conversation, because we were always leaving each other. Each time we got together, the talk migrated to a vacation – always to some enviable and tantalizing destination like Beijing or Bangkok, Singapore or the Seychelles, Tuscany or Turkey.<br />
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Or we talked about when we were going home to see family and when we were coming back. Home might be Australia, Ireland, Scotland, England, Germany, Florida, Colorado, Texas, Michigan, Oregon or Washington. Then finally, inexorably, someone would ask someone, “So, when are you … <em><strong>leaving</strong></em>?” Because the answer to <em>that </em>question was always news. It was news if it was still unknown, it was news if it was decided, it was news if it had changed, and it was news, especially, if the answer was the same as last time. <br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-g5Pn4cAnKD4/U31iVitedkI/AAAAAAAAJhQ/vlrisg6TQZc/s1600-h/Al%252520Seef%252520006%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Al Seef 006" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-76Dyti7DX2Q/U31iWLR_g3I/AAAAAAAAJhU/J1h32BDJln4/Al%252520Seef%252520006_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="180" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Al Seef 006" width="240" /></a><br />
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And it was big news when the tickets were bought and the packing had commenced. Which often seemed to happen overnight.<br />
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So, what was it like, living over there? Well, here are some pieces of the real story. Without going into specific details, let me just say that working in the UAE is rife with uncertainty. There are so many expats there, and you never know why, exactly, they are there. Is it because they were recruited to a golden opportunity, selected from a field of top candidates? That was what I originally envisioned. But then I heard a Brit utter the unflattering acronym, FILTH. What’s that? “Failed In London, try Hong Kong.” So … there is a certain percentage of people who are there because they didn’t succeed elsewhere? And then, it didn’t take long to realize that sometimes, in fact often, the golden opportunity you think you are seizing has its tarnished elements. I knew of many situations where people came thinking they could accomplish something, only to find out, once they arrived, how different things were than what they thought. Or, that their benefits weren’t what they thought, or their contract had somehow changed, or was not being honored. It’s not America. Things happen more slowly, and often not at all. Or not in the way, and on the timeline, that they had envisioned.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-JmksJtgGm2w/U31iWgXrEWI/AAAAAAAAJhg/yYiXqEgDJ_0/s1600-h/Favorite%252520RoomLR%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-vVUztu6I9vI/U31iYzAhgpI/AAAAAAAAJho/-iWB7jPBXWY/Favorite%252520RoomLR_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="235" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="" width="240" /></a>Like us, for example. Maybe I had delusions of grandeur, but the second-floor apartment that the company provided us wasn’t as nice as I had envisioned, mainly because there was no view and no outdoor space, which I craved from day one. And the furniture, picked out by someone (male) in the company, was uncomfortable. The kitchen was dark, with no dishwasher. The oven control broke the first time we tried to use it. And the few lamps and other items of décor were – well, there is no other way to say it – BUTT UGLY. Oh, and there were more casserole dishes than plates, and I don’t even make casseroles. And we were given dozens of wine glasses, more than even we could use, but no coffee cups. I could go on, but you get it.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Kv1KD4ZuNAo/U31iZndHkVI/AAAAAAAAJhw/X6RNEnxfyZQ/s1600-h/Al%252520Seef%252520pool%252520LR%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-oMT26LxTUEI/U31iafHmmHI/AAAAAAAAJh4/3QL4xkIQCQg/Al%252520Seef%252520pool%252520LR_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="237" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="" width="310" /></a><br />
But it’s hard to complain when your employment agreement includes housing and utilities, a car complete with insurance and gas card, medical insurance, and business class flights at the beginning and end of your employment. Yes, I saw lots of people whose housing was, in my opinion, nicer than our apartment. But, did I really want to live in a tower? Not really. In a resort hotel? It had its good and bad features. And many people didn’t have a company car. We had one, because Mark needed it to get on base, although he carpooled often. And I liked our lap pool, just steps away, where I could swim in peace during the day.<br />
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We arrived in fall 2011 and settled in, but right from the start, we were talking exit strategy. At first, Mark thought we should leave the UAE at the end of December, 2013. Just make a clean break at the end of the year when the Abu Dhabi Cruiser Association sailing season was on hiatus for the holidays. Then, he suggested late January, 2014, so we could take advantage of more paid holidays and avoid the rush of travelers that time of year. In the UAE, there are no government holidays between the end of January and June – which is a very long dry spell, holiday-wise. Then Mark decided – with finality – that he wanted to leave at the end of his contract on March 31st. <br />
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But then, a certain high-ranking Emirati Army official with whom Mark is a favorite, and whom I shall call the “Customer,” got wind of the fact that Mark was planning on leaving, and he simply said, “You cannot leave. I forbid it!”<br />
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<em>Forbid it?</em> A contract is a contract, right? And when it’s over, it’s over. Right? Well, that is true. Mark’s contract was with the American company, and they accepted his resignation. However, the Emirati Customer was of a different mind. He suggested to Mark that he could, with one phone call, prevent him from leaving the UAE. For weeks, nay months, Mark talked about this as if it could really happen, and I always laughed. We would be detained at the airport? I couldn’t quite believe it. But, as time went by, after every casual meeting with the Customer, Mark would come home from work and repeat the story, and I began to believe it was true. Really? Our bags packed, we’re ready to go, and we’re <em>not</em> leaving on a jet plane? It’s called <em>wasta.</em> Clout, Influence. The ability to make things happen. Or stop things from happening.<br />
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Although it was surely more bluster than threat, it did make Mark reconsider his plans. The truth is that he had very mixed feelings about leaving the Emiratis that he's been working so closely with, has built a relationship with, and who still need his unique experience and expertise on the project.<br />
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So, Mark made a deal. He extended his contract for another two months. The first month he was on leave, taking care of some medical needs and business at home. Now he’s back in the UAE, working on base for a week, then taking off on a business trip to Strasbourg, Paris, and some place in Austria, visiting suppliers with the Customer. Then our hope is to negotiate a contract extension through this year, where he will provide technical expertise but not be working in the UAE full time.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-tAWjKKsF19g/U31ia2WjfFI/AAAAAAAAJiA/z6k8AMl3a1Q/s1600-h/Airbus%252520a380%252520015%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Airbus a380 015" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-YTEZ823gm1g/U31ibk-oABI/AAAAAAAAJiE/p9OgcZxHSyI/Airbus%252520a380%252520015_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="165" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Airbus a380 015" width="240" /></a>So when we got to the airport in Dubai, ready to board the Airbus a380 to fly home in business class, with the cocktail lounge waiting for us, we didn’t feel like we were leaving permanently, but we felt like we were almost sneaking out. Would we really be going back there? Technically, we are still residents of the UAE because our resident visas are still valid, as long as we return within 6 months. October 8th, for me. Then, my visa expires in December, because it’s only good for three years. After that, I’ll be happy with a 30-day tourist visa.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Osxc989tEgk/U31icYeMcsI/AAAAAAAAJiQ/Zb6_FUKpbEI/s1600-h/042%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="042" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-j4bVXOwc9Do/U31id9MXd5I/AAAAAAAAJiY/51dR9f_iZXQ/042_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="042" width="240" /></a><br />
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I’ll be honest. I was really, really ready to come home. I am loving puttering around the house, thinking about painting a wall here, a ceiling there. Buying and installing new kitchen appliances, starting with the new fridge/freezer and dishwasher. Working in the yard, planting shrubs and pulling weeds. Planning to finish the deck, redo the bathrooms. <br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-cU9sQgHZeJg/U31ieq6X5gI/AAAAAAAAJig/0wL8ftzKgmA/s1600-h/039%252520Stitch%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="039 Stitch" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-rk7TLtR8NXY/U31ifIxyyJI/AAAAAAAAJio/YyYKGdbP2DU/039%252520Stitch_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="162" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="039 Stitch" width="387" /></a><br />
I’ve been watching the amazing weather roll in – it’s May, it was 80 degrees last week, and this week it snowed! But the California poppies and purple penstemon are still getting ready to bloom! I spend a lot of time staring out the windows at our amazing views of Job’s Peak, Carson Valley, and Kingsbury Grade. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-97B3hQ5HHcU/U31if9ZE3kI/AAAAAAAAJiw/rLmlq6U27Ew/s1600-h/051%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="051" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-t18TOGyjHQI/U31igcRUfYI/AAAAAAAAJi4/dArI5w3i9TE/051_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="196" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="051" width="284" /></a><br />
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I find myself watching the jackrabbits, cottontails, mule deer, bluejays, magpies, quail, doves, chipmunks, squirrels, and lizards, all grazing in the yard. I can buy wine at the grocery store if I want to. Eat all the cherries, avocados, and asparagus that I want. I’ve been planting and plucking lettuce, kale, herbs, and onions in my planter box/cage.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-NSVvVV_Ae2w/U31ihOYXE_I/AAAAAAAAJjA/WOEezgR8pOw/s1600-h/Burj%252520Khalifa%25252011-26-11-2%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-COElL0Lmc_A/U31ih4aVsaI/AAAAAAAAJjE/-SPUNnfOlRA/Burj%252520Khalifa%25252011-26-11-2_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="240" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="" width="125" /></a><br />
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But I’m not really ready to never go back to the Middle East, either. I want to return, stay in one of the many fabulous hotels, and take my two grown kids to see the UAE. I want them to see the crazy, insane, magical, futuristic city that is Dubai, with the amazing Burj Khalifa, the world’s tallest building (at least for now) and all the others with their spires, squiggles, twists and tiaras. <br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-yFYRpR0meYY/U31iiYq77DI/AAAAAAAAJjQ/-8B2acgvd5E/s1600-h/DSC_0305%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="DSC_0305" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-xxJOeL4GOVU/U31ijK9ArYI/AAAAAAAAJjY/2CH6JF35gEU/DSC_0305_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="DSC_0305" width="240" /></a><br />
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And take them to the Zayed Grand Mosque in Abu Dhabi, which Mark, I am ashamed to disclose, has yet to visit. <br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-i3YMyySKDpw/U31ijmROveI/AAAAAAAAJjg/sGqLSyYk9Ks/s1600-h/Liwa%252520050%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Liwa 050" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-lk6-KPt0ENQ/U31ikBELgHI/AAAAAAAAJjo/wTST00NlUIo/Liwa%252520050_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Liwa 050" width="240" /></a><br />
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They would both love to go out into the desert, dune bashing in ATVs. Brian would love to jet-ski and go fishing. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-mSjZHOpgamU/U31ik7Xn1-I/AAAAAAAAJjw/fQbggJQuR6M/s1600-h/SUP%252520Mangroves%252520012%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="SUP Mangroves 012" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-nS3JBa7GLew/U31ilv1osWI/AAAAAAAAJj4/3yG-uZV3Jcc/SUP%252520Mangroves%252520012_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="162" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="SUP Mangroves 012" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
Nicole and I could paddle the mangroves together. We could rent boards or kayaks. I want them to see this place that is so, so different from any place we have ever been together, and yet has so much to offer us. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Pu4QXVWr_2s/U31imK52yTI/AAAAAAAAJkA/CxE5vdARi4E/s1600-h/197%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="197" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-KjtSm2l3BC4/U31inIZeDCI/AAAAAAAAJkI/GsnhBthRBwA/197_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="197" width="240" /></a><br />
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They would see the Arabs in their abayas and kanduras. They would meet our Emirati friends, and have a huge Arab meal while sitting on the floor. They would visit a camel farm. Maybe watch a camel race. They would see what it’s like to drive there.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-GGUTXqWAZt8/U31invWXSrI/AAAAAAAAJkQ/3EOZMoeOveY/s1600-h/Concord%252520006%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Concord 006" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-6aO2F3KirdU/U31ioWdxx_I/AAAAAAAAJkU/AFUJtAMp3Xs/Concord%252520006_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="152" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Concord 006" width="240" /></a>Why didn’t they come and visit us while we were living there? I sometimes wish they had but they didn’t, and for good reasons of which I must remind myself. They are still getting established, and can’t just take off and fly halfway around the world. When I went home to visit, I could see how involved they were with their own lives and how happy they were to see me – but it was hard to carve out the time, even on their turf. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Bmg70pY2gSk/U31io8aL9zI/AAAAAAAAJkg/7j1XJ6dJ-OY/s1600-h/Concord%252520007%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Concord 007" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Pv1wpRD3Bcs/U31ipiutiEI/AAAAAAAAJko/n1q_Q4b2cfg/Concord%252520007_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="180" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Concord 007" width="240" /></a><br />
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They didn’t have college breaks and weren’t between jobs, like some of my friends whose kids came and went with what seemed great frequency. And to be honest, my son Brian doesn’t much like flying. Will he even want to come all the way to the Middle East, given the opportunity? We’ll see.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-4hCsNnSJYA0/U31iqlyHy7I/AAAAAAAAJkw/uANMWqjA5X0/s1600-h/Disneyland%252520059%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Disneyland 059" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-OlaNjvOmVHg/U31irXlHMlI/AAAAAAAAJk0/4Yd5gbAZGL4/Disneyland%252520059_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="190" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Disneyland 059" width="240" /></a><br />
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For my granddaughter, a trip to Disneyland with her best friend was a much better option. <br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-hcfYHRlvrME/U31ir_9K8KI/AAAAAAAAJlA/8_2a5y_aJiw/s1600-h/Palace%252520Marina%252520005%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Palace Marina 005" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-j6RyYU-lcdY/U31itjTEjiI/AAAAAAAAJlI/9mWxD_A9is8/Palace%252520Marina%252520005_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Palace Marina 005" width="240" /></a><br />
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I think, in a way, I needed to discover my UAE before I could show it to them. I wanted to understand this strange, confounding place myself. If they came all the way over there, I wanted to know what to show them. Now, I think I do.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-aC8dIAoCtQA/U31iuXS0huI/AAAAAAAAJlQ/Ci8hQ7KV50w/s1600-h/RAK%252520115%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="RAK 115" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-kXZf3EYHzl8/U31iu8rxdGI/AAAAAAAAJlY/6wQEPWVwqsc/RAK%252520115_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="240" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="RAK 115" width="220" /></a><br />
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We miss the wonderful friends we made. Most of the expats have, like us, moved on, and we hope to reunite with them in the USA. We are the Class of 2011-2014. But we were fortunate to have formed some strong bonds with Emiratis, as well. Not many expats have that opportunity. We will stay in touch with them, and I hope to see them again.<br />
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I don’t think we’ll ever completely leave. Arabia is now part of us, and we are part of Arabia.</div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-82332486935320695832014-03-26T18:06:00.000+04:002014-04-02T14:28:37.677+04:00Leap of Faith - Chapter One: Tears and Sandwiches<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTxyH-IWGXv1YZshmzmBgmnjoEO4caMlL99pt-Bhy5jOFoj9vQzWDdoJPLpRfQ6NseiXlF38tbjXho4FPrPGNrUU6Dr1GT884c9x8iEBocnoun0oVhDsQoso-ymWu69fjDDVQefbUeKuM/s1600/Cindy+photo+collection+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTxyH-IWGXv1YZshmzmBgmnjoEO4caMlL99pt-Bhy5jOFoj9vQzWDdoJPLpRfQ6NseiXlF38tbjXho4FPrPGNrUU6Dr1GT884c9x8iEBocnoun0oVhDsQoso-ymWu69fjDDVQefbUeKuM/s1600/Cindy+photo+collection+013.JPG" height="200" width="156" /></a>Dear readers,<br />
I am writing a book. It's about a smart and strong American woman from North Carolina named Cindy Davis, and her dashing and funny Emirati husband, Mohammed Ali. They are real people, and I'm writing their story, in the form of a Reality Novel (I just made up that term.) I've been working on it for about a year and a half, interviewing and getting to know Cindy and Mohammed and their family, researching, and gathering information as I live in and learn about the UAE.<br />
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This past week, Cindy met a number of my non-Arab women friends here in the UAE. They are fascinated with her story. So now I'm ready to share some of what I've written, in the hopes that I can get some useful feedback, generate more interest in the book project, and finish it in the coming year. Please, join Cindy and me on this journey.<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Chapter One: Tears and Sandwiches</span></b></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">Please,
please, please, dear God, don’t let me cry. She just wanted to sit on the floor
but no, they wouldn’t let her. Perched in a fancy upholstered chair, she sat with
all these people looking at her. They were speaking in Arabic; she had no idea
what they were saying. But she knew they were talking about her, whispering,
and clucking like birds. Blackbirds. They looked like blackbirds. That made her
kind of want to laugh, until she noticed Mohammed’s tiny mother, Zamzam, looking
at her warily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">Whenever
someone said something or there was a question, Mohammed’s brother Abdul Rahman,
the only one who spoke some English, would translate. Mohammed … she could
still hardly believe it. Mohammed Ali was her husband. I’m a wife! But I’m
still Cindy Davis. And I want to sit on the floor just like them all. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“I
don’t want to sit here; I want to sit on the floor,” she told Abdul Rahman. “Why’d
I have to sit in this chair?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“No,
no, no,” Abdul insisted. “You are the guest of honor, you are American. You
must sit in the chair.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“American!”
the ladies before her repeated it, only they made it sound like <i>Am-er-eeekan</i>. Mohammed had told them, hadn’t
he? What had he, actually told them? For that matter, what had he told her? Not
much that she could remember. She had vaguely known that women in the Middle
East wore long dresses, but these people were dressed in huge black cloaks and
head scarves, covering them from head to toe, and some of the older ones even
had their faces covered! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">Well,
then, they surely didn’t know where North Carolina was, or anything about it, but
she certainly wasn’t going to try to explain any of that to them. She was from
America, half a world away. She was a rare white dove in this flock of
blackbirds, a young American bride in blue jeans with white skin and auburn
hair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">The
trip had taken days. When Cindy’s parents Gladys and Roy drove them from
Mocksville to the airport in Charlotte, Roy was silent, but Gladys had cried
the whole way. Cindy and Mohammed flew to New York – it was Cindy’s first time
on an airplane, first time out of North Carolina! They flew to London. From there,
it was another long flight to Dubai. Finally, they drove through some mountains
on a brand new road to tiny Khorfakkan, in Sharjah, one of the United Arab
Emirates. She was in a place now that had only been a country for about ten
years. Most likely none of these ladies had ever even seen an airplane. But
they understood this place, and she would have to learn to get along here. They
would have to learn to get along, she and them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">It
grew dark. Tea and fruit arrived, brought in by a housemaid and set on a small
table. The sweetened tea was poured into small glasses from a long-spouted
Arabic tea pot. Cindy drank it, and was suddenly exhausted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"> “I want to sit on the floor,” she told Abdul again.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"> “No, no,” he again insisted. “You are guest.
You must sat in the chair. It is like in America.” He would not be persuaded;
they would not be persuaded.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">She
just wanted to sit among them, start to be one of them. She wanted to be treated
no different; so what if she was new? These women were Mohammed’s mother,
sister, aunties, cousins, and neighbors. They were her new family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">She
longed for Mohammed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">Cindy
shook her head, trying to fight it, but she could feel tears coming. </span><span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;">Suddenly,
it was all too much. The engagement followed by months of separation, the long,
uncertain month with not even one letter, and then Mohammed’s sudden return to
the US, to get married. There had been a wedding just days ago after a month of
hectic planning, the long trip here, and then, after only one day together in
this new world, Mohammed had left her and gone off to work at the military base
in Abu Dhabi, leaving her under the wing of his relatives. It was Saturday, and
he wouldn’t be back until Thursday, and even then just for Friday, the one-day
weekend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Palatino Linotype', serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">Cindy
hadn’t slept in two days. She was exhausted and frustrated, she just wanted to
go home. And, on top of everything, here was the last thing she wanted. Tears.
She was trying to squeeze them back, but they were slipping out from the
corners of her eyes. The more Cindy fought them, the stronger they grew. Damn
tears. Dear God, please make them stop. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“You
are hungry!” Abdul said, seeing her distress. “I will get food.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“No,
no, I’m not hungry! I just want to go home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“<i>La la! </i>No, no! Come, we go to the hotel.
They have American food.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“No,
no, thank you. I don’t want to eat; I want to go home. Please, that’s all I
want. Please, just let me go home.” Cindy wanted to go home to her own place, their
room in Mohammed’s house. It was her only refuge of peace and privacy, away
from the curious eyes, and the words she didn’t yet understand. A place to
rest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">But Abdul
Rahman would not hear of it. When an Arab decides that his guests must be fed, they
shall be fed. So Cindy allowed herself to be driven along Khorfakkan Bay to the
only western style hotel in the region. Food was ordered. Too tired to be
hungry, jet lagged without even knowing what jet lag was, Cindy watched as a
mountain of sandwiches was placed before her. It was enough for a dozen people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";">“I don’t
know what you like,” Abdul Rahman explained. “So I ordered one of each.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"> “Shukran.”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Palatino Linotype","serif";"> Thank you. Cindy ate a few bites, and then
finally, thankfully, it was time to go home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-58274088450119365762014-03-26T14:51:00.001+04:002014-03-29T08:45:01.572+04:00Sri Lanka Tea Country–Madulkelle<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong>At dawn, a blue mist hovers in the distant mountains. Waking birds begin their songs, as smoke rises from the village below. Suddenly the hills come alive with sound, blending Hindu bells, Buddhist chants, the Muslim call to prayer. Presently, figures appear on the road, moving among tea bushes to take up their places, their bent backs dotting the hillside.</strong><br />
<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-obe-u7wsYkY/UzKVrrR4aKI/AAAAAAAAJBQ/TeKY3mOlEnQ/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528432%252529%25255B9%25255D.jpg"><img alt="Sri Lanka (432)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-VAZlnDdhZJA/UzKVtcK_QTI/AAAAAAAAJBY/5nzJvkg8gxw/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528432%252529_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="346" style="display: inline; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (432)" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-aQ7q-B2W4Fs/UzKVv9CJoyI/AAAAAAAAJBg/rcr1_xzWs3I/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528644%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (644)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-_nLcaJ_v4fs/UzKVxctovhI/AAAAAAAAJBo/pYOjmsAyMts/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528644%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="227" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (644)" width="332" /></a><br />
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It was a good thing the predicted rain hadn’t materialized. As we wound uphill, you could cut the uncertainty with a knife. Both Mark and our driver Leslie seemed to think that the hotel we’d booked could not be this far, not on a road this rugged. But as we passed village after village, easing around water tanks, lorries, and tuk-tuks, we kept seeing tiny signs with arrows: “Madulkelle Tea and Eco Lodge.” <br />
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Keep going, I insisted. Finally, we rounded a curve to see, like an apparition, a white, rounded building perched on a not too distant hillside. “There it is!” Mark was still doubtful but I recognized the tea plantation estate house I’d seen on the website. “There’s the pool! That’s it. I know it. Keep going. Trust me.” <br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/--wY9Ac-br3U/UzKV3NrrX3I/AAAAAAAAJBw/zrUK3Dpd4OI/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528546%252529%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (546)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-expuDKX9Tr0/UzKV4w6OwXI/AAAAAAAAJB4/12iu--0id_I/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528546%252529_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="205" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (546)" width="293" /></a><br />
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After the day-long drive from Colombo, it was a great relief to climb out of the car to the greetings of the hotel staff, who were rejoicing to see that we’d made it. They know how difficult the road is, and when guests arrive it’s a victory. They ushered us in, handed us welcome drinks, and in no time we were escorted to our lodging. Meanwhile, they directed Leslie to the driver’s quarters, where he would stay for the two nights we were there.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-cdj8wdS5ksc/UzKV6oKm3EI/AAAAAAAAJCA/2ZSHSOkQy14/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528438%252529%25255B11%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (438)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-NwWyOitzdOw/UzKV8-GWtsI/AAAAAAAAJCI/zLsEzB1tEWE/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528438%252529_thumb%25255B5%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="237" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (438)" width="331" /></a><br />
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From the moment we got to <a href="http://www.madulkelle.com/index.php" target="_blank">Madulkelle Tea and Eco Lodge</a> (pronounced model-kelly) I was in absolute heaven. Each lodge – I think there are 18 of them, but we could only see a few, they blend in so well – is a stand-alone tent cabin built on a platform facing Sri Lanka’s distant Knuckles mountain range, which really does look exactly like the knuckles of my hand.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-ELb01d63MPQ/UzKV-mEiNcI/AAAAAAAAJCQ/e2o8PTwrP-A/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528460%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (460)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-xOkRjpoCXaM/UzKWAI3mKeI/AAAAAAAAJCY/-vP1Ttf-k0U/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528460%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="229" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (460)" width="331" /></a><br />
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The surrounding hills are contour planted with row after row of verdant green, uniformly pruned tea bushes. It seemed impossible that a land could look this perfectly manicured. It looked the California wine country in spring, with the fresh green growth, but different. Like it had just been given a haircut with electric clippers.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-3C_WX7kTu4U/UzKX1uHw5rI/AAAAAAAAJCk/KORRqjvlKK8/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528733%252529%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (733)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-qVxcOdWWJyI/UzKX49qGUcI/AAAAAAAAJCs/7uXhzJuz_8E/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528733%252529_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="205" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (733)" width="330" /></a><br />
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The estate house, which is designed as a great room and has the feeling of a large and comfortable home, has a library alcove and a sitting area with a large fireplace where guests gather and chat over a cocktail or glass of wine before dinner, or just relax and read. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-0pPiNY5D6bg/UzKX6RvVUUI/AAAAAAAAJC0/kHyeZBLleGM/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528734%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (734)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-9Kn8iRMiC-0/UzKX7zQokmI/AAAAAAAAJC8/2Uf-gLbOguU/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528734%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="193" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (734)" width="328" /></a><br />
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The dining area and outdoor seating on the veranda have views of the gardens, infinity pool, and mountains beyond.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-kUIdGgcCEHM/UzKX-OjGPHI/AAAAAAAAJDE/Yp6d7KZT2cs/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528732%252529%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (732)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-nO9qk4HNaB0/UzKX_vtrQII/AAAAAAAAJDM/3D69o0Ci7LA/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528732%252529_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="198" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (732)" width="326" /></a>The kitchen serves local Sri Lankan dishes made with fresh organic produce grown right next to the estate house. The French director, Philippe, was onsite while we were there, and spoke with me about the hotel’s mission, corporate farming, and GMO. Madulkelle is the first of its kind in Sri Lanka, and there are plans underway for another property, designed using <a href="http://permacultureprinciples.com/" target="_blank">permaculture priciples</a>.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-06Hv0F7-u9A/UzKYB_ff4rI/AAAAAAAAJDU/xDqhSbTakos/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528495%252529%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (495)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-P5zKUqzhaUo/UzKYDc4Yp9I/AAAAAAAAJDc/ijtQNLXInJs/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528495%252529_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="225" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (495)" width="323" /></a><br />
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Philippe said, almost apologetically, that the tea production of the property is small; they only have 10 hectares, or about 24 acres, and 10% of it is planted in tea. They just don’t have the land for more; the rest is taken up by the estate house, gardens, pool, paved pathways, and other infrastructure. <br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-vB0oNsmHGRQ/UzKYFLGoXyI/AAAAAAAAJDk/cVFQIpBEL8c/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528721%252529%25255B8%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (721)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Ml36Gc_7ZJ0/UzKYGx6eT0I/AAAAAAAAJDs/IJI6qpuUKow/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528721%252529_thumb%25255B5%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="247" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (721)" width="332" /></a><br />
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The tent cabins are heavy-duty canvas, with all the amenities – electricity, full bathroom with hot shower, comfortable bed with mosquito netting, in-room coffee and tea. But no internet! And no TV! Only the spectacular views from the balcony, with the world of tea spread out below us. In the morning, we woke up to a view of the mountains, the music of the surrounding villages, and drank our tea and coffee outside. We used the wireless internet in the estate house at breakfast.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-3D5zDiJIyRE/UzKZbcKCBmI/AAAAAAAAJD4/T8snFom_xsI/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528442%252529%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (442)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XVWJBKrOz6Y/UzKZcojrYKI/AAAAAAAAJEA/NBUfE9DvKrQ/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528442%252529_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="247" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (442)" width="338" /></a><br />
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The first morning, I sat on the porch with the binoculars and cameras, looking at the mists and the trees and watching the village directly below come alive. Tea workers live in one or two rooms that are built side by side in rows known as line houses, on land owned by the tea companies. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-75GliuDb2vM/UzKZfeqJrhI/AAAAAAAAJEI/XWludBgyFkM/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528488%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (488)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Udz3AM0MD6k/UzKZglXCFdI/AAAAAAAAJEQ/GLrSIZpEvno/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528488%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="239" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (488)" width="346" /></a><br />
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A line of women, with white sacks on their backs, moved uphill along the road, and a group of workers, one man and the others women, formed a bucket brigade, passing water to the man who poured it on newly planted tea bushes.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-5rrClFyz1fY/UzKZieDLgdI/AAAAAAAAJEY/vzcddR49Rlk/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528466%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (466)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-M2Fhh2A4fcI/UzKZjsROK2I/AAAAAAAAJEg/QP3R6_khZRA/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528466%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (466)" width="240" /></a><br />
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Then I noticed a movement in the bushes just below me. It was a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toque_macaque" target="_blank">Toque Macaque</a>, a species of monkey that lives only in Sri Lanka. He seemed to be doing the same thing I was – watching the sunrise and the workers, and reflecting on the goodness of life. Then his fellow troop members arrived for a play session.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-faWshJ4SMXw/UzKZlVENvyI/AAAAAAAAJEo/jJP2VDTi5ls/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528559%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (559)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-x8Nhmw8pfAg/UzKZmYtcGQI/AAAAAAAAJEw/ola18k9VLUM/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528559%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="169" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (559)" width="287" /></a>Despite the small percentage of tea on the property, tea bushes line the pathways and surround the cabins. On our way back from breakfast, we found several tea pickers just outside of our Hornbill tent cabin. They continued picking without a pause, but smiled for my camera. Tea pickers, and tea sorters in the factories, are mostly women, usually several generations from the same family, and are very poor, making about 500 rupees ($4) per day. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-0PCuATtTDrg/UzKZpekQyVI/AAAAAAAAJE4/Amcq-VT_JI0/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528561%252529%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (561)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-aDRJ1GL9XOo/UzKZqj5CTnI/AAAAAAAAJFA/DBGro0gGAwA/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528561%252529_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="205" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (561)" width="336" /></a><br />
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Tea pickers are Hindu Tamils, descendants of Indian Tamils who came to Sri Lanka, then called Ceylon, during the period of British control in the early 1800’s to work as coffee pickers, until the coffee industry was wiped out by disease around 1870 and quickly replaced by tea. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-4cD-W-2mnDc/UzKZs2XmsII/AAAAAAAAJFI/UAZEfl1q8_U/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528731%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (731)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-bPcFPQd1aSM/UzKZuruYu7I/AAAAAAAAJFQ/oaJocTqMs0k/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528731%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="172" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (731)" width="240" /></a><br />
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They pluck just the top two leaves and bud from the plant.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-cJAj1Bin32E/UzKZxGWocwI/AAAAAAAAJFY/XRDCfCTEs20/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528560%252529%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (560)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Cc8AMqqz1aY/UzKZyIzZEWI/AAAAAAAAJFg/Ei0wPNhfA8Y/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528560%252529_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="185" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (560)" width="293" /></a><br />
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Carrying their bags on their backs and picking with both hands, they reach over their heads to place the leaves in the sack. Each worker is paid by the kilo, with a daily target of 15 to 20 kg per day. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-earW08bC2uo/UzKZzVZFUHI/AAAAAAAAJFo/oGUh9bMhIY8/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528427%252529%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (427)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-C-NriyHkXOs/UzKZ0VzGAXI/AAAAAAAAJFw/wLEPZptjRoA/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528427%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="160" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (427)" width="240" /></a><br />
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Mark and I both fell in love with this place. So peaceful. A swim in the pool will make you feel like you are on the edge of a mountain. Which, actually you are, at 3,000 feet. The views were otherworldly, the food was beautiful, everything was perfect. <br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-L5qMUBYp2w8/UzKZ1x5dF_I/AAAAAAAAJF4/lYab3lsN-r0/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528533%252529%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (533)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-kuQJwiwll0A/UzKZ3T2l25I/AAAAAAAAJGA/2Kf1FLbJRKM/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528533%252529_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="247" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (533)" width="359" /></a><br />
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The best thing of all for us both was that, unlike Africa, we could walk. Anywhere and everywhere. The tea country is riddled with paths, following the contours, cutting through the rows, connecting to each other and the roads. All you have to do is put your feet on the ground and start moving. You are exploring, and the opportunities are limitless<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-qD8mf2n8j5c/UzKZ4nIFMXI/AAAAAAAAJGI/a5gz3vgJmpQ/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528570%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (570)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-tDQG9JoY4LM/UzKZ5kdxazI/AAAAAAAAJGQ/asphh28_1jU/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528570%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (570)" width="240" /></a><br />
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That morning, we hiked directly uphill from our cabin. Near the road, we found ourselves at the Staff and Driver’s Quarters, and there was Leslie with a beatific smile on his face. “I slept very well! he said. He, like us, would enjoy a relaxing day with the other drivers.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-GwFWV3r0QVw/UzKZ7rp4CfI/AAAAAAAAJGY/4aNOb1vI4o8/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528590%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (590)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-qWDtTsbOkT4/UzKZ82d-GXI/AAAAAAAAJGg/vIriq8dFaaQ/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528590%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="181" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (590)" width="307" /></a><br />
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Up the road, we came to a village. What a colorful world. As we approached I asked, using gestures, if I may take photos, and received nods. At the preschool, one little girl appeared at the door, soon joined by several of her classmates, all saying “Hello! Goodbye! Hello! Goodbye!” That’s about all the English most villagers seemed to know.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-gaYNrKx07gI/UzKZ-s3KfaI/AAAAAAAAJGo/KESglctpaHI/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528609%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (609)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-dm4rwxeJ5es/UzKZ_mFMF2I/AAAAAAAAJGw/VIFYR6RWIbk/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528609%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="200" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (609)" width="339" /></a><br />
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The hotel has a <a href="http://www.madulkelle.com/social_responsibility.php" target="_blank">social responsibility program</a> (the sign in this photo has something to do with it) and works with the villages, providing seed money and helping with fundraisers for education and the arts. Philippe admitted to me that the program was growing slowly; everything takes time, and the hotel has only been open for a year. <br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-M2n9Yqkfk10/UzKaAhXN58I/AAAAAAAAJG4/CfpbsXyrNMo/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528603%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (603)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-kLCnpBH0VEk/UzKaBmqZUII/AAAAAAAAJHA/3nz_7sWyDvw/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528603%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="182" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (603)" width="308" /></a><br />
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The children were so cute in their little uniforms. All school children in Sri Lanka wear European-style uniforms to school except for the Muslim girls, who wear cloaks and head scarves. Overall, the literacy rate is about 90%; most children in Sri Lanka go to school.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-3nLP5Z15iGQ/UzKaCz-LXqI/AAAAAAAAJHI/ut0xKSO_0pg/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528619%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (619)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-ZSU_pHVPqzA/UzKaD56QotI/AAAAAAAAJHQ/GDZQMO3D8cc/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528619%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (619)" width="240" /></a><br />
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I climbed the up the road to see the Hindu temple and view the village from above. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-QwfDTPKkKMI/UzKaFAtCxDI/AAAAAAAAJHY/TMs1PZrxlaA/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528624%252529%252520Stitch%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img alt="Sri Lanka (624) Stitch" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-tBIRBlgAH84/UzKaGL76EII/AAAAAAAAJHg/4WlcxhxdKlY/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528624%252529%252520Stitch_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="191" style="display: inline; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (624) Stitch" width="640" /></a><br />
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Our afternoon walk took us downhill, where there was a village with a “pharmacy” that Mark wanted to go see. Mind you, this would be nothing like the pharmacy you might go to. Think of a dark, gritty, unorganized shop, in a row of hole-in-the-wall businesses, with a mishmash of mostly unidentifiable items of indiscernible age and provenance … I wondered what he was thinking. Also, he wanted to check out a place called “Madulkelle Club.” Whatever that was.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-dRbeX4Obi_w/UzKaJCRgxXI/AAAAAAAAJHw/PgolBeTm0z4/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528652%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (652)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-U7-DxFXECmQ/UzKaKbw9bsI/AAAAAAAAJH4/qNjNOx6PhEo/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528652%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="216" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (652)" width="316" /></a><br />
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Didn’t matter, we never got there. We got ourselves lost in this wonderland, found the waterfall, the laundry pool where a young couple was washing their clothes, got further downhill than we had meant to, completely missing the pharmacy village without realizing it but finding another village, which was named Madulkelle, where the children said, “Hello! Goodbye!” as we walked through. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Q7sR7ow8lUU/UzKxKR7gBlI/AAAAAAAAJMM/obhHBkupFyM/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--66110.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (661)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-kIXwi-G0jEg/UzKxLyeDW2I/AAAAAAAAJMU/KHF-QwCxnNY/Sri-Lanka--661_thumb4.jpg?imgmax=800" height="215" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (661)" width="314" /></a><br />
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Finally, we decided to hail a tuk-tuk. Have I mentioned tuk-tuks yet?<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-CewFwlV1qsM/UzKaObCk1yI/AAAAAAAAJIQ/Pna029MSxo8/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528575%252529%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (575)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-y7h9bra9UEw/UzKaPmXdLcI/AAAAAAAAJIY/iuCyqQ09qEg/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528575%252529_thumb%25255B4%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="234" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (575)" width="365" /></a><br />
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They are as ubiquitous as the palm trees, the tea bushes, and the stray dogs. Every village seems to have at least one. Every few minutes, even in this seemingly remote place, we could hear the familiar “tuk-tuk” sound as the little three-wheeled vehicle appeared around the bend, hauling schoolchildren or shoppers uphill to their villages. <br />
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We hailed one on his way back down. He didn’t quite understand where we wanted to go, mainly because we didn’t know ourselves; we didn’t realize that the village we thought we were going to was now back uphill.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-6uP3zeRX3U8/UzKaRIMv9VI/AAAAAAAAJIg/BtB8Ycp1Htk/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528665%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (665)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-1IZ7KmYTdao/UzKaR-CJdiI/AAAAAAAAJIk/kmX9LYr2q88/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528665%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="210" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (665)" width="307" /></a><br />
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Didn’t matter. We ended up at the Hatale Tea Factory, where we were given an impromptu tour by the manager. We arrived at the late-afternoon changing of shifts, so the rolling, firing, and grading machines were still. <br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-8zmOoHjni70/UzKaTgJlXFI/AAAAAAAAJIw/TRhwzAzb8vQ/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528682%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (682)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-_MEMk2e244Q/UzKaU_Uib6I/AAAAAAAAJI4/vFZGUoQ4K-Y/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528682%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="159" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (682)" width="240" /></a><br />
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Workers were hauling in the day’s pickings, refilling the troughs where the tea leaves are first “withered” removing moisture using the ambient temperature and large fans. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-fqrykiB2Vdo/UzKaWACBmsI/AAAAAAAAJJA/WhEsUR1ow9Y/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528675%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (675)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-6pI030k_xjo/UzKaXXdjo8I/AAAAAAAAJJI/xwS-tngLYZo/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528675%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="159" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (675)" width="240" /></a><br />
There are several more steps, including rolling and twisting the leaves using an ingenious rolling machine to bring out the enzymes, then fermenting, firing in a high-tech wood-fueled oven to preserve flavor and color, and grading. The finished tea is packed into paper bags, checked for quality, and transported to the packaging facility.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/--aRS_IE72C4/UzKaYyhmV9I/AAAAAAAAJJQ/ax3WiYRHFnY/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528670%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (670)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-o1pH6LOhrhg/UzKaZtdDPAI/AAAAAAAAJJU/MqkmXm9g_1I/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528670%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="159" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (670)" width="240" /></a><br />
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We were also introduced to the many types of tea, the main three being black, green, and white. White tea, or “silver tips,” is made using just the single bud of the tea plant, and is rolled by hand and dried in the sun.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-bJJaWEt0buc/UzKac6pKONI/AAAAAAAAJJo/YFLB-kACZAY/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528722%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (722)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-cNOk3uD1lCg/UzKaeWorkKI/AAAAAAAAJJw/m8ebfiGHyME/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528722%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (722)" width="240" /></a><br />
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In addition to the factory, Hatale has a museum. Unfortunately it was getting late, and the sun was getting ready to set. We didn’t want to miss sundowners on our little balcony. Our tuk-tuk was waiting to take us uphill to the lodge.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Lu-h8Clk9mU/UzKagJYPYZI/AAAAAAAAJJ4/g-y0EO7S5BE/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528723%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (723)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-DIsZS_fRQPA/UzKahOGz-UI/AAAAAAAAJKA/4IEePgN9ZIc/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528723%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (723)" width="240" /></a><br />
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As darkness descended, we heard drums in the village below. Oh, how I wished to see the drummers, how many were they? Was there dancing? Was it a special occasion? It was spellbinding.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-qPMevaCY1Zk/UzKaiTKIJII/AAAAAAAAJKI/_YA3Z9vsHRg/s1600-h/Sri%252520Lanka%252520%252520%252528725%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (725)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-oFnajf8ceQc/UzKxN6BWrLI/AAAAAAAAJMk/iJGWjJdnBSY/Sri-Lanka--725_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (725)" width="240" /></a><br />
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We’ve been to a lot of places in the past couple of years. Castles in Rhineland. Cafes in Paris. Palaces in India. The Taj Mahal! But, I have to say, Madulkelle had us … <strong>enchanted.</strong><br />
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Next: A harrowing drive to Galle, the likes of which had never been done before.</div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-80328165342888944112014-03-22T16:45:00.001+04:002014-03-26T20:51:21.019+04:00Sri Lanka–Colombo to the Hill Country<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Next morning we met Leslie, our driver for the trip to the tea plantation in the hill country. I immediately realized that his temperament was opposite to the talkative Joe. Calm and quiet, Leslie would usually wait until asked before offering up information. This turned out to be his gift, because he never commented on the traffic unless we commented first, and he handled every situation with equanimity, passing on blind curves, braking for oncoming traffic, and passing within a few centimeters of motorized vehicles, pedestrians, bicycles, and dogs. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Q_YOb3bSBVA/Uy2ED1vIZQI/AAAAAAAAI9c/8Lph6gh4trs/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--254_thumb3.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri-Lanka--254_thumb" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-EeCovENso8w/Uy2EGXcMd9I/AAAAAAAAI9k/2zZMQc8rikw/Sri-Lanka--254_thumb_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri-Lanka--254_thumb" width="240" /></a><br />
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The road from Colombo to Kandy, the cultural heart of the country, climbs into the hills and through a series of towns, each of which has roadside vendors selling the local specialty of fruits, nuts, or crafts. We stopped for freshly sliced pineapples, spicy roasted cashews, and, on a whim, clay wind chimes. <br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-g-sbpIF8sSw/Uy2EHVpnC8I/AAAAAAAAI9s/Y_LeZKofXSs/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--305_thumb3.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri-Lanka--305_thumb" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-GEMdswdEpP8/Uy2EIeYUWoI/AAAAAAAAI9w/oNQ6wpIj08s/Sri-Lanka--305_thumb_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri-Lanka--305_thumb" width="240" /></a><br />
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Mark picked out one of the biggest pieces. I don’t know what we’re going to do with it, because if we hang it outdoors in Nevada, it will be blown to bits when the next wind comes roaring down the mountain. I guess we’ll have to hang it inside the house.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-rCI-iKFAJmE/Uy2EJJSSQLI/AAAAAAAAI98/y5CVPu7AjXU/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--291_thumb13.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri-Lanka--291_thumb1" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Mu5IZoXZeSk/Uy2ELd7JplI/AAAAAAAAI-E/DGeed38Ep-M/Sri-Lanka--291_thumb1_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="168" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri-Lanka--291_thumb1" width="284" /></a><br />
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We stopped for a rice curry lunch at a local restaurant in one of the towns. “Local food” is a useful term I picked up from my friend Cindy Davis in the UAE. Not touristy, and not necessarily locally grown, local food is what locals eat every day. In the Middle East, it’s biryani for lunch and at night, a shawarma or two.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-aedFLyBMNZQ/Uy2EM4PYweI/AAAAAAAAI-M/-XWRDq9nH5E/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--292_thumb3.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri-Lanka--292_thumb" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-FOroQUZinnk/Uy2ENmLeQcI/AAAAAAAAI-U/RUDDUP2CtYc/Sri-Lanka--292_thumb_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri-Lanka--292_thumb" width="240" /></a>Sri Lankan local restaurants serve lunch buffet-style, and the one we stopped at was using the traditional clay cooking pots. It’s hard to say exactly what we were eating, but it started with a pile of plain rice, upon which we ladled hunks of meat and vegetables in spicy gravy. Greens sautéed in garlic and oil are a common side dish with which I fell in love. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-YfldotRiO9k/Uy2EOXPtAPI/AAAAAAAAI-c/BCC3QSyNap4/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--295_thumb3.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri-Lanka--295_thumb" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-KrLbWZTv28Y/Uy2EPrOJYII/AAAAAAAAI-k/Cls5s0hhidc/Sri-Lanka--295_thumb_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="240" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri-Lanka--295_thumb" width="135" /></a><br />
After eating our fill, we were served a platter of fresh fruit – banana, pineapple, and papaya with slivers of lime to squeeze over it. “If I had known this was coming,” Mark said, “I wouldn’t have eaten so much!”<br />
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About 40 km before we reached Kandy, Leslie asked us if we wanted to see the elephants. I know, we love elephants and everyone goes to the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pinnawala_Elephant_Orphanage" target="_blank">Pinnawala Elephant Orphanage</a>. But we really just wanted to see the Buddhist Temple of the Tooth in Kandy and then get to the tea country. And the orphanage has been reported lately as mistreating or neglecting the animals. So elephants were off the table, and that admission is now out of the way. If you want to know about the elephants, click the link.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-YYRVTtQHHCM/Uy2EQ5UmpaI/AAAAAAAAI-s/KQAj1QIxyAI/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--316_thumb3.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri-Lanka--316_thumb" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-osj_NLUrRnk/Uy2ESXE6DHI/AAAAAAAAI-0/X3I9KJwxlwU/Sri-Lanka--316_thumb_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri-Lanka--316_thumb" width="240" /></a><br />
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We did stop at <a href="http://regentspice.com/" target="_blank">Regent Spice and Herb Garden</a>, which was more of an experience than I expected. After a tour of the garden during which we learned the rareness, value, and uses of each herb and spice, we were introduced to two students of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ayurveda" target="_blank">Ayurveda</a> who gave us a head, neck, shoulder, and arm massage. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-zxUarduAYHg/Uy2Fd7OUqnI/AAAAAAAAI_A/tZW5N9jGPBg/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--315_thumb3.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri-Lanka--315_thumb" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-daZ0KSB_9YM/Uy2Ffca1niI/AAAAAAAAI_I/6GQWiPXJdfE/Sri-Lanka--315_thumb_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri-Lanka--315_thumb" width="240" /></a>I wish I had a picture of Mark, who is very ticklish never agrees to anything like this, having sandalwood oil rubbed into his scalp, face, ears, arms and hands, but I didn’t want to get oil on my camera and I couldn't bear to disrupt the soothing process, so we had to leave that image behind at the spice garden. We did take away several products including jasmine oil, a sandalwood cream, a depilatory, and cocoa. I am still kicking myself for not buying the sandalwood oil.<br />
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At the Temple of the Tooth, which is Sri Lanka’s most famous Buddhist site, we allowed ourselves to be immediately herded into a tour that was just getting underway. The temple houses what is believed to be a fragment of Buddha’s tooth.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-uwwYM580ecY/Uy2Fk5kUpBI/AAAAAAAAI_o/iFFwGTqwGw8/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--409_thumb13.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri-Lanka--409_thumb1" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Y1-iMLAqPjQ/Uy2FmKVdA0I/AAAAAAAAI_w/f_ZMCFHHcIY/Sri-Lanka--409_thumb1_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="347" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri-Lanka--409_thumb1" width="240" /></a><br />
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Our guide was very knowledgeable, directing us around and telling us when to take pictures. But when he asked us for money at the end, and made Mark double his offer of payment, we became suspicious that he wasn’t an official tour guide. It had all happened too fast, but it didn’t matter, except that I later realized that we had paid him, for an hour’s tour, four times what a tea worker makes in a whole day, and there were four other paying people in our group. <br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-OaZxUHNFxdc/Uy2FnFANAeI/AAAAAAAAI_0/iEJno9seeUo/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--370_thumb3.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri-Lanka--370_thumb" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-BhrCaFx_PcE/Uy2Foa45URI/AAAAAAAAJAA/7IEB2nyPZaQ/Sri-Lanka--370_thumb_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri-Lanka--370_thumb" width="240" /></a><br />
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And his name was … Mohammed. Which seemed a bit ironic, that we came all the way from the UAE to take a tour of a Buddhist temple with a Muslim guide. To be fair, Muslims make up a very small, but also very visible, portion of the population in Sri Lanka.<br />
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Leaving the chaos of Kandy, which is Sri Lanka’s second-largest city after Colombo, we continued northeast to Madulkelle (pronounced model-kelly) in the heart of Sri Lanka’s hill country. <br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-iiwbDQZY2b8/Uy2FsRJwa3I/AAAAAAAAJAg/9bvrzm9-Ok8/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--414_thumb3.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri-Lanka--414_thumb" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-nhJ2Y45qmxo/Uy2Ft-4LD0I/AAAAAAAAJAo/N7Xsws7cXlE/Sri-Lanka--414_thumb_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri-Lanka--414_thumb" width="240" /></a><br />
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Leslie had never been there, so he stopped in a couple of towns to ask if we were going the right way. We finally began to see Madulkelle signs, which were a great help. <br />
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The road went up, up, up, winding and winding, finally turning into a narrow one-lane dirt road, barely more than a trail, still with big trucks in our faces at several turns, forcing us to put over to the edge of the road, where it was a long way down if we slipped. All the way, we were passing through tiny villages that seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-DCR0h1t1vGM/Uy2F0RPFHAI/AAAAAAAAJAw/yZGfe7cua-I/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--438_thumb3.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri-Lanka--438_thumb" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Cj_xnblbwTs/Uy2F1o59VQI/AAAAAAAAJA0/KS-TqNYoOcA/Sri-Lanka--438_thumb_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri-Lanka--438_thumb" width="240" /></a><br />
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But this wasn’t nowhere. This was Sri Lanka’s tea country which is, we came to realize, a very organized place. Finally, about an hour and a half after leaving Kandy, we arrived at the <a href="http://www.madulkelle.com/" target="_blank">Madulkelle Tea and Eco Lodge</a>. It was like stepping off of Earth and onto a sublimely green, perfectly manicured, and divinely peaceful little planet. One which deserves its own story. Which is coming soon. </div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-2458274415088076262014-03-22T16:30:00.001+04:002014-03-22T16:35:41.492+04:00Seduced by Sri Lanka<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong>“Sri Lanka has seduced travellers for centuries,” </strong><em>The Rough Guide to Sri Lanka</em> begins.<br />
<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-l1ji8RA1gAk/Uy2Bjq4-rQI/AAAAAAAAI5I/zKUZUwCO2_I/s1600-h/image8.png"><img align="left" alt="image" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-2v5NmI_4WEc/Uy2Bmth-gEI/AAAAAAAAI5Q/36-dsbMal_4/image_thumb4.png?imgmax=800" height="250" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="image" width="371" /></a><br />
Marco Polo said it was “the finest island of its size in the world,” and Mark Twain called it “beautiful and most sumptuously tropical.” By the time we left, we were smitten with this lush teardrop ornament hanging like a single earring from the southern tip of India just 6 degrees north of the equator. The tea plantations, terraced vegetable farms, roadside stands, gems, rice curry, seafood, and Sri Lankan smiles have cast a lingering spell on us.<br />
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Our first stop was two nights in Colombo, Sri Lanka’s largest city, at the storied Galle Face Hotel. Built as a Dutch villa in 1864 and the oldest hotel east of Suez, the older Classic Wing is undergoing reconstruction and the grand entrance is closed, but we wanted the experience of staying in such a historic location anyway.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-IBBZjIabGFg/Uy2Bn5D4I5I/AAAAAAAAI5Y/vJui2xHNFcU/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--393.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Galle Face Hotel" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-VWSr1u1MFMw/Uy2Bo6J8_iI/AAAAAAAAI5c/mJW9HZHaW0g/Sri-Lanka--39_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="180" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Galle Face Hotel" width="240" /></a><br />
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Despite it all, the hotel still provides well-dressed doormen to open doors, welcome drinks, polished wooden staircases, and plenty of room for the guests to relax while sipping their afternoon gin-tonics. <br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-J6mpv6zthj0/Uy2Bp_2W7vI/AAAAAAAAI5o/OMezKrg6AQE/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--233.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Galle Face Hotel" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-XeeLOLy96mU/Uy2BsI2PsXI/AAAAAAAAI5s/iKALAXYRF4Q/Sri-Lanka--23_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Galle Face Hotel" width="240" /></a><br />
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Our second-floor corner suite was in the luxury Regency wing, which was already renovated overlooking the pool at the edge of the Indian Ocean.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-IzxzXLysMdQ/Uy2BtkaFw6I/AAAAAAAAI54/OGeRw9DJ_E0/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--57.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Galle Face Hotel" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-KF00JYBPylo/Uy2Bu_75M2I/AAAAAAAAI58/uRaa8Ky2AIA/Sri-Lanka--57_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="186" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Galle Face Hotel" width="294" /></a><br />
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We were also right beside the torn-up, older Classic wing. I can’t say we didn’t notice, but the experience of staying in the famous old hotel was still worthwhile, despite the construction, which we are used to after living in Abu Dhabi. Sri Lanka is still recovering from a 30-year civil war that ended in 2009, and reconstruction is going on everywhere.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-NcjaicPzlZk/Uy2BwD2wOgI/AAAAAAAAI6I/XZwgF6uB02g/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--2043.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (204)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-C8KzQ9obseo/Uy2Bxl1Ac7I/AAAAAAAAI6Q/7T6ehHLYTjI/Sri-Lanka--204_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (204)" width="240" /></a><br />
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Guests enjoy their sundowners at the Poolside Bar & Terrace. I would love to go back after the restoration is complete, and see the older wing and seaside restaurant returned to its former glory.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-55_7Mow0bwo/Uy2By07cJ9I/AAAAAAAAI6Y/sJjEBTsOZJc/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--2093.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (209)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-5dVbpF8KQlI/Uy2B0J5a7tI/AAAAAAAAI6g/ugM568obW-M/Sri-Lanka--209_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="195" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (209)" width="240" /></a><br />
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Our drink of choice was the margarita, and we made a meal out of the deviled fish in a spicy-sweet red sauce.<br />
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The Galle Face breakfast buffet might be the best we’ve ever seen, filling both rooms of the 1864 Restaurant. I tried the local specialties, the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Appam" target="_blank">hopper (appam</a>), a type of dry pancake cradling a fried egg, and <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Idiappam" target="_blank">string hopper (idiappam)</a>, which reminded me of rice vermicelli. These are dishes that people eat in the local restaurants daily, where they cost less than a dollar. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-5G2hfQaGrJM/Uy2B1K8e6bI/AAAAAAAAI6o/RRi-orwnEks/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--2324.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (232)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-JVDA6uXd3lg/Uy2B2SICwCI/AAAAAAAAI6w/aZfy1rDzYYY/Sri-Lanka--232_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="185" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (232)" width="312" /></a><br />
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The walls of the 1864 are lined with photos of princes and princesses, politicians, famous poets, writers, and scientists who have visited the hotel – including Russian Yuri Gargarin, the first man in space, and our favorite American travel writer and humorist, Mark Twain.<br />
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By morning, we were still considering our transportation options. Bus? Train? Driver? Or rent a car and drive on our own? The <em>Rough Guide</em> said that the buses were crowded, unreliable, and sometimes pretty scary. Meanwhile, the romance of the train was beckoning Mark. But I read that trains were crowded, we couldn’t book a ticket except in person at the station (Mark asked the hotel, and they confirmed this.) The chances of us booking next-day tickets in the observation car were zip; they go on sale two weeks in advance and sell out almost immediately. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-riDZ7U2tfOY/Uy2B3UhtsBI/AAAAAAAAI64/NDKuKqjWqWg/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--296.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (29)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-bhEZhvK9Quw/Uy2B4RPyVgI/AAAAAAAAI7A/YvCX4dX1tNM/Sri-Lanka--29_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" height="357" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (29)" width="241" /></a><br />
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Still, we decided to walk the few kilometers through the old city to the Fort Railway Station. Leaving the hotel and strolling seaside along Galle Green, I was struck by two contrasting sights. The first was a gorgeous wedding couple, the bride bedecked in gold, posing for photographers on the beach. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-TMAHqTRl-8s/Uy2B5eJVr_I/AAAAAAAAI7E/kaW41bdLpjc/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--304.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (30)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XaE0jTxVWG4/Uy2B6dEZcbI/AAAAAAAAI7Q/F1YjGDo5D3s/Sri-Lanka--30_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="185" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (30)" width="293" /></a>A few meters further on, we found sea birds wallowing in slimy, stinky bright green water draining from the city’s innards to the sea. Hundreds of years of human activity on the island, including heavy use of fertilizers in agricultural areas, has left Sri Lanka with a legacy of pollution. The slime was probably coming from the city’s <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beira_Lake" target="_blank">Beira Lake</a>, which was built as a transportation hub during the 19th century and is fed by rivers coming from the surrounding cities.<br />
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The best train seats were sold out, so back at the Galle Face hotel, the travel concierge booked us a car and driver for a Colombo city tour later that day, as well as the next day’s transportation to the hill country. Then we wanted to travel to the southernmost part of the island, and up the west coast to the town of Galle. We were told the driver would take us there, as well. <br />
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I didn’t quite understand, because we were staying two nights at the tea plantation. You mean, he will stay there? Wait for us? Yes, no problem. All this for $300 USD, which is still a lot of money compared to what we would have spent on the train, about $7.50 US each. But, it would have cost another $125 for transportation between the train station in the city of Kandy and the tea lodge. And the train would take many hours, the same as the car, with the possibility of an unannounced strike. In a car, we could make stops at a tea factory, the spice garden, the elephant orphanage. <br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-lf-zPEbuWAc/Uy2B7iQ2UiI/AAAAAAAAI7U/8o5_0OuNhM0/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--1033.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (103)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-Az-Wq4uo5RU/Uy2B81vCZhI/AAAAAAAAI7Y/n9lKwDh8BrI/Sri-Lanka--103_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="176" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (103)" width="240" /></a><br />
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Our driver and guide for the city tour, the gregarious Joe, took us to see all the sights of the city, saying “I will take you to all the best places!” When I asked about a place I’d read about, or wanted to slow down to take a photo of an impossibly ornate Hindu temple, Joe teased me, saying ”I will show you a better one! You will see! You are impatient! Just like a child!”<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-NndAWSPqOxw/Uy2B-Bg2zzI/AAAAAAAAI7o/FX1Cpuf8CHY/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--716.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (71)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-ISUEJOvCJCo/Uy2B__ymFbI/AAAAAAAAI7w/FQnoh6BoTVo/Sri-Lanka--71_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" height="204" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (71)" width="314" /></a><br />
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We drove along the Galle Face Green, past the gates of the Presidential Palace and historic Fort District buildings and into the teeming <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pettah_Market" target="_blank">Pettah market</a>, the wholesale merchant district which reminded us a bit of Old Delhi in India. “You cannot buy a kilo, or one of anything here,” Joe said. “Only large quantities.”<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-iheUwbkdUYA/Uy2CA-lUzhI/AAAAAAAAI74/04CoZUuu8bU/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--106.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (106)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-9d_eBCUirac/Uy2CB3xoa0I/AAAAAAAAI8A/pakQP0T0tIY/Sri-Lanka--106_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="255" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (106)" width="362" /></a><br />
Although it would have been fun to walk around in the chaotic streets dodging lorries, bicycles, carts, pedestrians, and dogs, we were ok with staying in the calm and comfort of the car. And even there, I almost got into trouble when I pointed my big camera lens at a pair of balloon sellers as we were stopped in traffic. They noticed me, and came up to the car leering and grinning, dangling their limp balloons, trying to blow them up to show how big they could get. <br />
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“They are drunk,” Joe said.<br />
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This photo album captures the pace of life for the “normal” (Joe’s term) Sri Lankan.<br />
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<div class="wlWriterEditableSmartContent" id="scid:66721397-FF69-4ca6-AEC4-17E6B3208830:d1f0e21b-b251-4445-b786-bb9fcf3c49b5" style="display: inline; float: none; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;">
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<a href="https://onedrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=browse&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!10213&parid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span defaulttext="Enter album name here" style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 26pt; line-height: 1.26em; padding: 0px; width: 410px;">Sri Lanka - Colombo street life</span></a></div>
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Joe confirmed what I had read in the <em>Rough Guide </em>about the buses. There are two groups of buses, the red SLTB buses run by the government, and the private buses, which are painted some version of white.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-EOyGWyA-wCs/Uy2CFb8SmiI/AAAAAAAAI8Q/CLZMi4rX598/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--2844.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (284)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-ZI7fc3jzTsg/Uy2CGbr9eYI/AAAAAAAAI8U/sDE3BTlGJBE/Sri-Lanka--284_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="216" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (284)" width="324" /></a><br />
They are all old rattletraps, but the SLTB buses are better in that they are more reliable and less crowded, as the drivers are not in competition with other buses.<br />
Oh, and this bus in the photo? Yes, we are heading right at each other and no, they didn’t hit us. Somehow.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-xWv3EpyVdxs/Uy2CHprhEhI/AAAAAAAAI8g/ZM3ZFD9itQc/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--2494.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (249)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-nEt9CfuMviM/Uy2CJ2CTbkI/AAAAAAAAI8k/OQ6nYQ0mGKI/Sri-Lanka--249_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="198" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (249)" width="306" /></a><br />
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Private buses jam in as many passengers as possible, careening around, jostling for position with millimeters to spare, and passing on curves to reach the passengers at the next stop before another bus gets there. I couldn’t quite envision this until I saw it, but it’s true, and is but one element of the harrowing driving that was to come as we traveled around the island.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-fsEmiRPHesk/Uy2CLEVNoQI/AAAAAAAAI8w/zt4bXzDm5MA/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--1913.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (191)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-FfxPTY2Bp-E/Uy2CMdnU6yI/AAAAAAAAI84/cSpduDRzC80/Sri-Lanka--191_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="174" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (191)" width="240" /></a><br />
After a drive through <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cinnamon_Gardens" target="_blank">Cinnamon Gardens,</a> a 289 acre former cinnamon plantation that is now Colombo’s most upscale neighborhood containing elite schools and clubs, embassies, and public buildings, Joe took us to eat at Colombo’s best beachside fish restaurant, the Beach Wadiya. It would have been impossible to get in for dinner as they are booked far ahead of time, but we were there for a late lunch and the place was almost empty, except for the birds. <br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-3d3Xa12xnBg/Uy2CN0iu0-I/AAAAAAAAI9A/dBqFV1_CWWk/s1600-h/Sri-Lanka--1845.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Sri Lanka (184)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-S5i7ciQ0Z_4/Uy2CP7pF9RI/AAAAAAAAI9E/UM9OmXnALLc/Sri-Lanka--184_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" height="198" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Sri Lanka (184)" width="319" /></a><br />
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Over a cold beer, we selected our fish from a platter and read the guest book while we waited. Although the restaurant has many famous clientele, including members of the British royal family, most of the entries I found were made by flight crews and embassy staff. Reading them, we realized we should have ordered the crab!<br />
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That evening, we enjoyed our sunset drinks at the Galle Face Hotel and, knowing a good thing when we find it, another round of Deviled Fish and margaritas. <br />
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Here’s a photo album featuring the colonial sights:<br />
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<a href="https://onedrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=browse&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!10125&parid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span defaulttext="Enter album name here" style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 26pt; line-height: 1.26em; padding: 0px; width: 410px;">Sri Lanka - Around Colombo</span></a></div>
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And next, the trip to Kandy.</div>
Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-40301133664276073152014-02-13T18:29:00.001+04:002014-02-14T09:19:53.571+04:00Cape Town Part 5–The Ride<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Mark wanted to save the best of Cape Town for last and the best, in his mind, was renting a motorcycle for a day. You may already know that my children did not inherit their love of motorcycles and dirt bikes from me. But I am always willing to go for a ride as long as it’s not too much freeway, too fast, or too often.<br />
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Mark reserved us a new FLHTCU Ultra Classic Electra Glide from <a href="http://www.hd-tygervalley.co.za/" target="_blank">Harley-Davidson Tyger Valley</a>. The bright yellow color was a surprise, but we didn’t have a choice. The skies were grey again, but fortunately we could borrow jackets and rain gear.<br />
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Tyger Valley is an eastern suburb of Cape Town, which meant that we were close to the winelands we visited the day before. We decided to return and ride through Franschhoek, where Mark had seen a hat he liked. Mark is one of those shoppers who likes to think, which means re-shopping. Me, if I see something, I usually buy it then or not at all. It was a bit déjà vu, having been there just 24 hours earlier. The hat Mark wanted, and ended up buying, was perfect for the Kruger safari.<br />
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It wasn’t pouring rain, as it had been the day before, so we grabbed a coffee and walked the town. Franschhoek (Dutch for French Corner) is one of South Africa’s oldest towns, and filled with well-preserved examples of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cape_Dutch_architecture" target="_blank">Cape Dutch architecture</a>.<br />
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There are plenty of gift shops for tourists, but when we were there it was blessedly quiet. At one shop, we saw this display of carved figures depicting Africans dressed in colonial costumes. We saw wooden figures everywhere throughout our trip, but these were not the usual animals, embracing humans, or spirits. They seemed to be … making fun. But of whom? <br />
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Doing a bit of <a href="http://www.apartmenttherapy.com/colorful-curios-145987" target="_blank">research</a>, I discovered that they are folk art that originated on the Ivory Coast, and depict the local inhabitants’ impression of what they would look like if they dressed like colonial people.<br />
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After Franschhoek, we rode south through the mountains. The texture of the clouds rivaled that of the landscape, and I was shooting photos with one hand, holding on to Mark with the other. We stopped at a pullout overlooking the valley, and our elevation at 655 meters provided the most spectacular views of the winelands. <br />
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As we descended, we passed several bicyclists laboring uphill toward us. They didn’t look much younger than we are, and as much as I love bicycling, I was glad we were riding something motorized. <br />
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Our destination – or better termed half way point and stop for lunch – was Betty’s Bay, between Cape Point and Point Agulhas on a part of the coast we had not seen. The weather kept changing. Whereas it was cloudy in the mountains, when we emerged from the pass we were in the sunshine.<br />
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The coast was brimming with wildflowers amid the scorched remains of the recently burned scrub. Every winter the environmental agency conducts these prescribed burns to manage the fast-growing trees. Have you ever been to a place in the spring where a disastrous burn occurred the year before? It’s a thing of beauty, to watch the plants reappear.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-7bgvup46TtM/UvzWYgbOWaI/AAAAAAAAIxc/tvcKi1hu19E/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528845%252529%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (845)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-9vmROhFzqH0/UvzWaMmQ3zI/AAAAAAAAIxk/ANwWTrtHJK8/Africa%252520%252528845%252529_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="209" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (845)" width="354" /></a>This coast is an isolated, windswept place. I expected a village like the ones we drove through on our Cape Point tour, but this was a much more remote place. I don’t know the demographics, but I imagine that many places are vacation homes and can be rented. This would be a great place to get away from the press of civilization, relax to the sounds of the ocean and sea breeze, and watch for ships rounding the Cape of Good Hope. <br />
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From Betty’s Bay, we rode north on the coast highway to the harbor town of Gordon’s Bay. This stretch of the ride looked so much like California that it was a little scary. I kept twisting around to take photos of the coastline behind us, and Cape Point to the left.<br />
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Then we came around a curve, and there was civilization. We wound our way through Gordon’s Bay, then through the town of Stellenbosch where we had stopped at the end of our winelands tour the day before, and got back to the freeway, headed to Tyger Valley to return the bike just a few minutes before closing time. <br />
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I had so wanted to love riding on the back of a touring motorcycle. We thought maybe if I was sitting in my own seat instead of perched on the back of Mark’s I would be more relaxed. But I wasn’t, really. The good news is that I have realized why. It wasn’t the bike. It was the fact that we were driving on the “wrong” side of the road all day. And on the freeway, which I don’t like on any bike, I was never sure whether we were in the fast lane, or the slow lane. The best of it, for me, were the empty roads out on the desolate coast. That was heaven. And, it is a great way to take photos, although I need to be a little more brave out twisting around. Or, maybe not …<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-dRwRgMMU-10/UvzWmYRrS7I/AAAAAAAAIys/JdBviWWM3Bg/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528830%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (830)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-gfGwz9dpIP4/UvzWns3ux0I/AAAAAAAAIy0/RybUnLq9JAA/Africa%252520%252528830%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="132" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (830)" width="240" /></a><br />
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But back to reality. While we saw many gorgeous sights on the Cape, I will never forget the townships. Every place has them, even Betty’s Bay.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-7O-iz16QSdo/UvzWpBkIP6I/AAAAAAAAIy8/2LRsWB_QmUw/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528212%252529%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (212)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-hyNvmqeYqWA/UvzWqN7h6mI/AAAAAAAAIzE/qqei2C7dCuo/Africa%252520%252528212%252529_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="127" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (212)" width="292" /></a>Viktor, our Cape Point tour driver, told us that he’s married to a Colored woman, and they have a daughter. He is White, they are Colored, and they live in a lower middle class neighborhood, in a house like the ones here. He said the terms White, Colored, and Black are used by everyone to describe people, without the same reaction, the same power, as in the USA. It’s just a way to describe and identify people. <br />
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Or, maybe it’s that the racism is something they just can’t deny, so they don’t.<br />
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The social and racial fabric of Cape Town is complex, the depth of which I can only begin to comprehend. I did pick up some new perspective on the roots of segregation as I learned about Cape history and its townships, middle class neighborhoods, and wealthy districts. Afrikaners are descendants of the original Dutch settlers, the historic ruling class. The first slaves were not indigenous black Africans, but people brought from Indonesia and Madagascar during the 17th century to ease the labor shortage in the growing settlement. These were the first Cape Colored people, and many of today’s Colored are their descendants. Later, as the city grew, the Black population outnumbered the others and was seen as a cultural threat. The White minority government passed apartheid laws curtailing the rights of Blacks and designating residential areas based on race, which were in effect from 1948 to the 1990’s. They identified and segregated four races: White, Colored, Indian, and Black. <br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-bcnajd3S5Rw/UvzWrmmdcUI/AAAAAAAAIzM/AqxYNoMEVkk/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528872%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (872)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-OV1Sjw1SsF8/UvzWsxtyB1I/AAAAAAAAIzU/wXgTE4OjXjo/Africa%252520%252528872%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="172" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (872)" width="292" /></a>For me, coming originally from Detroit, a major American city that was torn apart by racism and eroded by white flight, it was a shock to see the squalor of the townships in such a developed, civilized city. Even after traveling in India, and seeing slums where men defecated alongside the railroad tracks as we went by, it was painful and shocking to see the densely packed shacks and imagine life inside the fences. Segregation so organized and entrenched was hard to witness. <br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-g8uWaX0JkUM/UvzWve-5zfI/AAAAAAAAIzc/t7196DzLNAg/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528767%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (767)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Jc-4IEQH4KY/UvzWwiXSH2I/AAAAAAAAIzk/sXOUfjbwZn4/Africa%252520%252528767%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="165" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (767)" width="280" /></a><br />
Still, it was fascinating to see, it was colorful and alive, and I couldn’t help but think about how, inside those townships, people live out their days surrounded by both dirt and dignity, love and violence, hope and despair. And there is hope, as the ramshackle township dwellings are slowly being replaced with better housing, and most houses now at least have electricity, running water, and toilets. Although, they are sometimes porta-toilets. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-TKWyJ8bEpuU/UvzWxzFRENI/AAAAAAAAIzs/cIFzZLePb0o/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528766%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (766)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-9Qo9DuNsWyw/UvzWzNcyivI/AAAAAAAAIzw/SvXGcas2uK0/Africa%252520%252528766%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="252" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (766)" width="439" /></a><br />
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So, there is hope for better conditions. But is there hope for opportunity? Education? Good jobs?<br />
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Politics and corruption in government are impediments to social progress now. The pendulum swings.<br />
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Olga, the Winelands tour guide, talked about the townships. She said she went to a celebration in one, with a friend who knew someone there. They left before dark. After dark, even the police do not dare to enter. There are tours where visitors can go into the township with a guide. Our friends Terry and Pete went on one, and they liked it – although it was clear that there was a line inside the township beyond which the tourists would never be taken. I would have liked to go on one of those tours, but didn’t. I didn’t think there was enough time, and I wasn’t sure if I had enough energy, either physical or emotional. Did I have enough information, or the right frame of mind? I just wasn’t … ready. <br />
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So I could only take pictures, mostly blurry, as we drove by. We hope to go back and if we do, then maybe I will do a township tour. If it’s still possible, still safe. Maybe by the time we come back, these will all have been replaced with new cement brick, metal-roofed houses. What do you think?<br />
Thanks for reading!<br />
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Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-83338450823942386012014-02-13T08:13:00.001+04:002014-02-13T08:52:12.483+04:00Cape Town Part 4- Cape Winelands<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<strong>Fairview Wine & Cheese – Solms-Delta Winery – Haute Cabriere – Lanzerac Wine Estate</strong><br />
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“I want you to take a picture of everything I drink today,” Mark said. Really? “Yes. I want to document it. Just the first sip. Starting with my morning tea.” Thus, at the hour of 0700, I began to document our odyssey of drinks. <br />
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One could spend months, even years, exploring South Africa’s winelands, which are spread out in a boomerang shape and concentrated on the Cape. We had one day. The weather was a bit overcast – we were glad that we’d already been to the top of Table Mountain the day before. To me, a rainy day is the perfect setting to run from winery to winery, ducking inside to sip wine while brushing off raindrops.<br />
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We were picked up by tour guide Olga at 0830, joined by two other couples, and headed east out of City Center to the winelands while Olga gave us an overview of the day’s itinerary with a short explanation of why she had chosen each particular winery. Unlike the Cape Point Tour with its itinerary dictated by geography, the Cape Winelands Tour is influenced by the tour guides’ personal tastes and experience, which I really liked. We were going to some of Olga’s favorite places.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-OIJ1CUMT4IY/UvxFu1c3i2I/AAAAAAAAIq8/cVTcVr7f_1U/s1600-h/Afrikaans-monument---Africa2.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Afrikaans monument - Africa" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-_vV8SEKxrRU/UvxFv1cjCOI/AAAAAAAAIrE/pqbnDIbeK3M/Afrikaans-monument---Africa_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="160" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Afrikaans monument - Africa" width="240" /></a><br />
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We began in the <a href="http://www.paarlwine.co.za/" target="_blank">Paarl</a> region. Olga likes Paarl because it’s more low-key than the popular Stellenbosch and Franschhoek regions we would visit later, and she pointed out the Afrikaans language monument, which we could see overlooking the valley from its nearby mountain perch. <br />
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It looked like just a single, slender stone obelisk soaring into the sky, but if we had gotten closer we would have found a grouping of oversized concrete structures that symbolize the multicultural nature of the language. Afrikaans was developed during the 18th century as a combination of languages consisting of mostly Dutch (over 90%,) with African Bantu and Khoisan (the clicking language, which Olga demonstrated,) Portuguese, and Malay. It was considered a Dutch dialect – derogatorily called “kitchen Dutch” – until the early 20th century, when it was officially recognized as a distinct language.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-58P-orMCcNM/UvxFxG9MfsI/AAAAAAAAIrM/xioekPaWcks/s1600-h/Africa-6545.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (654)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-TilWfiCLA5g/UvxFyvxVhmI/AAAAAAAAIrU/tLwL2q56rVU/Africa-654_thumb2.jpg?imgmax=800" height="279" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (654)" width="455" /></a>Our day began with a tasting at the historic <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fairview_Wine_and_Cheese" target="_blank">Fairview Wine & Cheese</a>. <br />
Fairview began wine production in 1699, and grape cultivation has continued to today. In 1937, the farm was purchased by a Lithuanian named Back, and has been run by the family ever since. The visionary son who inherited the property in 1978 replanted grapes, including new varietals.<br />
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He also purchased a herd of milking goats in 1980, was the first goat cheese producer in South Africa, and remains the leading producer of artisanal cheeses. I remember the wineries of Napa and Sonoma, California, in the 1970’s and 80’s. Wine and cheese pairings were not on the radar yet, but you can book them now. It’s so fun to think about what was happening in South Africa, so far away, and yet on a parallel course. I’m working on organizing a Sonoma/Napa wine country reunion and tour with our Abu Dhabi friends. This South Africa experience has set the bar high!<br />
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Mark especially likes goats, and Fairview’s <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Goat_Tower" target="_blank">Goat Tower</a>, only the second such tower ever built, is famous around the world. Although we didn’t get to see the goat climb the stairs, it was a special sight. The iconic Goat Tower, built in 1981, is integral to the Fairview brand.<br />
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If I had known what we were in for, I would have skipped the More Quarters breakfast, good as it was. Fairview’s sommelier presented us with a sumptuous pairing of eight wines with eight artisan cheeses, along with bits of bread and three olive oils. At 10:09, I recorded Mark’s (and my) first sip of wine. What a way to start the day! “Pace yourself” became my mantra.<br />
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On to Stellenbosch. Olga took us next to the <a href="http://franschhoek.org.za/" target="_blank">Franschhoek Wine Valley</a> and <a href="http://www.solms-delta.co.za/" target="_blank">Solms-Delta Winery</a>, another historic venue, this one with a dynamic, community-focused mission in addition to preserving an historic winery and making great wine. As we sat down, we realized that we were in a museum. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Hn5GL4k0bNM/UvxF-9RddpI/AAAAAAAAIsc/LgHhVD4rn6I/s1600-h/Africa-6799.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (679)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-FRfqIMJInz4/UvxF_3ZVHHI/AAAAAAAAIsk/l9ARhciDeJo/Africa-679_thumb3.jpg?imgmax=800" height="366" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (679)" width="236" /></a><a href="http://www.solms-delta.co.za/heritage/museum-van-de-caab/" target="_blank">Museum van de Caab</a> (translated “from the Cape”) is a museum of the people who once lived, and now live, on the land. Indigenous Black people were displaced when European settlers came in, seized the land, and established farms. The new landowners then imported Colored slaves from Indonesia and Malaysia. The local <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drakenstein_Local_Municipality" target="_blank">Drakenstein</a> people are their descendents. Like so much of what we’ve discovered on our travels, it’s a conflicted story, beautiful and painful, elegant and violent.<br />
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When celebrated neuroscientist <a href="http://www.solms-delta.co.za/about/solms-family/mark-solms/" target="_blank">Mark Solms</a> began his winemaking venture there in 2002, he recognized that the property came with people who had been living on and farming the land for generations. In addition to planting Rhone varietals – his family were vintners in the Mainz region of Germany, where Mark and I have traveled – he established two trusts to benefit the local people. The <a href="http://www.solms-delta.co.za/community/wijn-de-caab-trust/" target="_blank">Wijn de Caab Trust</a> works to break the historic cycle of poverty of the tenants and employees on the estate by providing improved housing, medical care, and opportunity for advanced education. <br />
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A second trust, the <a href="http://www.solms-delta.co.za/community/delta-trust/" target="_blank">Delta Trust</a>, <em>“aims to contribute to nation-building on a local scale, focusing first on the Franschhoek Valley, and more broadly, the Cape Winelands. Its mission is to contribute to greater social cohesion and inclusiveness in South African communities (which for obvious historical reasons were unhealthily divided) through careful, patient and creative local cultural work.” </em><br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-KUGLfZxBK_o/UvxGBAd9GKI/AAAAAAAAIss/3rVlLVEBm_o/s1600-h/Africa-6884.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (688)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Y7Flss8_Y1U/UvxGDmcu5ZI/AAAAAAAAIs0/eGPUf1LnpVg/Africa-688_thumb1.jpg?imgmax=800" height="188" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (688)" width="319" /></a><br />
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This includes arts, music, history, and food.The Museum van de Caab is a cultural center where the local people can research their colorful heritage. The musical heritage of the ordinary local people, and Cape Winelands cuisine, are celebrated each year during the Franschhoek Oesfees harvest festival.<br />
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These two videos tell the story and give the flavor of this amazing community.<br />
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This video will make you want to dance. It is reminiscent of New Orleans, I think. I haven’t been there yet.</div>
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This video tells the story of what the winery programs mean, from the workers’ point of view.<br />
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But hey, let’s get to the wines.<br />
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Upon leaving Solms-Delta the dark skies made good on their threat, and scrambling into the minivan we dodged a drenching rain shower. <br />
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After lunch in Franschhoek (more about this town in the motorcycle blog,) Olga took us to <a href="http://www.cabriere.co.za/welcome" target="_blank">Haute Cabriere</a>, where we tasted Pierre Jourdan sparkling wine and brought away a bottle of honey-flavored Ratafia, a chardonnay fortified with Pierre Jourdan brandy. We do like our nightcaps, from time to time.<br />
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Despite the weather, or maybe because of it, the scenery was stunning. Silver clouds, backlit by the sun, illuminated the patchwork valley and mountains in the background, while the foreground was a delicate riot of flowers in red, white and green, the colors vibrant against the contrasting sky. The next day, on our motorcycle ride, it was even more spectacular. Look for the Harley ride story.<br />
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Our final stop was the most decadent. The 300-year-old <a href="http://www.lanzerac.co.za/" target="_blank">Lanzerac Wine Estate</a> is a hotel and spa, as well as a spectacular venue for weddings. But the true decadence was the tasting – we had the Chocolate & Wine Pairing with Premium Wines.<br />
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<ul> <a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-OCXk9szeAm8/UvxGPr9dC-I/AAAAAAAAIt8/IPnVxdub0zY/s1600-h/Africa-73331.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img align="left" alt="Africa (733)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-j9HEN5VZt-Q/UvxGQi2MjwI/AAAAAAAAIuE/dWUmLdpLmgo/Africa-733_thumb16.jpg?imgmax=800" height="341" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (733)" width="201" /></a></ul>
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Sauvignon Blanc paired with a white fresh citrus and apple chocolate<br />
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Chardonnay paired with a white lemon verbena chocolate</div>
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Merlot paired with a dark malted cherry chocolate</div>
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Pinotage paired with a chocolate dipped cherry</div>
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Cabernet Sauvignon paired with a Cape Malay Spice chocolate</div>
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I am not a chocoholic; far from it. I love the idea of chocolate, but for me a little bit goes a long, long way. These were amazing, huge wands of the stuff. And I don’t really understand white chocolate although these two were very interesting, and delicious. However, I do love a bite of dark chocolate with a sip of red wine, so my favorite was the Pinotage/ malted cherry chocolate combo. And now, all that said, this was something I would like to do with my friends at home in the USA.<br />
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By this time, as we left Lanzerac, our little group was literally staggering, as much from the food as the wines. Any one of the four tastings could have made the trip and in combination, it was an unforgettable day.<br />
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What was our favorite wine? Well, we don’t really remember … but we fell in love, generally, with <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pinotage" target="_blank">Pinotage</a>, South Africa’s signature grape variety that’s a cross between Pinot Noir and Hermitage, now called Cinsault. It’s got a deep, strong, smoky, earthy flavor, and is also good when blended with Merlot.<br />
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We also loved Olga. She was so sweet, comfortable to be around, and you could tell that she would be fun to go wine tasting with. But she was the driver, so all she could do was watch.<br />
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Mark’s glass-by-glass record. <br />
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Aesthomas281http://www.blogger.com/profile/15888048109392463684noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6841404038566035103.post-67211451226274312142014-01-30T15:09:00.001+04:002014-02-05T16:50:49.087+04:00Cape Town Part 3-Table Mountain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">Table Mountain</span></strong><br />
Table Mountain is Cape Town’s most iconic landscape feature. An immense sandstone mesa, Table Mountain tops the shale and granite mountain range that forms the spine of the Cape Peninsula, with Devil’s Peak and Lions Head on its flanks to the east and west, the lower Back Table to the south, and the Twelve Apostles to the west, watching over the Atlantic Ocean.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-l82visFPjD0/Uuox5V14QHI/AAAAAAAAIjI/GpDWeG5v878/s1600-h/Table_Cloth_on_Table_Mountain_-_flic%25255B2%25255D.jpg"><img alt="" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-FWbZOxBpoZQ/Uuox6yrcXmI/AAAAAAAAIjQ/EjcSestMZ6E/Table_Cloth_on_Table_Mountain_-_flic%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="234" style="display: inline;" title="Capetown.travel/blog Image © Mallix 2010" width="612" /></a><br />
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On rainy, overcast days, the mountain is obscured by clouds. On clear, windy days, Table Mountain often wears a “table cloth” of thick fog, which looks much like the “fingers of fog” that creep over the Marin headlands north of San Francisco Bay. Legends have explained the fog as blankets thrown by gods, or a smoking contest between the devil and a local pirate. In truth, it’s created by the orographic lifting, cooling, and collision of two air masses. The moist Atlantic air mass flows up over the Twelve Apostles to the mesa 3500 feet above sea level, cooling and forming a cloud as it goes. Crossing the mesa, it collides with warm, moist Indian Ocean air rising on the south eastern back side of the mountain. The resulting condensation and combination of clouds forms the famous "Table Cloth," which is beautiful to see from below, but does not make for good views from the top of the mountain. So go on a clear day and get there early, before the Table Cloth has a chance to form.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-YcmxDHYeNgE/Uuox8cG7NuI/AAAAAAAAIjY/6mUwgCp5lLw/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528438%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (438)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-R2T5_NBpsmw/Uuox9B-GOhI/AAAAAAAAIjg/O2ngAqQN-Ek/Africa%252520%252528438%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="208" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (438)" width="353" /></a><br />
The Wildcard luck was with us on Tuesday for our journey to the top, and the day dawned cool, calm, and clear. There are two options to get to the top. You can hike up the trail, or take the aerial tram. Our friends Terry and Pete hiked it when they went last year, but they recommended against this, because it took several hours. We didn’t want to spend that time and, to be honest, we were still a bit sore just from walking in town!<br />
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We had gotten some advice from the Australian plant lovers at More Quarters, who told us to <a href="http://www.tablemountain.net/buy_tickets/" target="_blank">buy aerial tram tickets</a> ahead of time, and arrive before 8:30 a.m. to avoid lines. The first ride up is at 8:00, but the busloads of tourists don’t arrive till sometime between 8:30 and 9:00. The More Quarters concierge offered to purchase our prepaid tickets for us, but it was too late and we had to purchase them at the mountain. Since we had no car, they called a taxi to drive us up the hill, right up to the ticket window, which had a lineup of about three people.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-X4uXBZ8eZa4/Uuox_Ur9ImI/AAAAAAAAIjo/vHOTEPuthFU/s1600-h/Africa-49113.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (491)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-eMcvLp7NEr4/UuoyAlTqlRI/AAAAAAAAIjw/hnSeidpEjtw/Africa-491_thumb10.jpg?imgmax=800" height="257" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (491)" width="351" /></a>We got right onto the tram and it was a breathtaking experience. If you have vertigo or a fear of heights, which we both do a little bit, the ride up through the abyss is all the more breathtaking. The floor of the car revolves to provide everyone with a chance to enjoy all the views, but that also means that you can’t maintain an iron grip on a railing. So there you are, slowly rising up to 3500 feet while slowly spinning. Not exactly an amusement park thrill ride, but there is plenty of time to contemplate what would happen, and where you might land, if the cable were to separate.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-4i2VjLyBKCM/UuoyCQcra5I/AAAAAAAAIj4/QG3SPT0gdZo/s1600-h/Africa-4467.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (446)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-yuh1t-i7DBs/UuoyDe1-VyI/AAAAAAAAIkA/yP0Kv5p4qGA/Africa-446_thumb4.jpg?imgmax=800" height="246" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (446)" width="382" /></a><br />
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It didn’t matter. The views were stupendous. The sensation of rising up the mountain above Cape Town, seeing the top of Lion’s head, then the emerging coastline, and Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for 27 years … what a special place on Earth. So much natural and human history is packed into this part of the planet.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-J3XMn3fv2RU/UuoyEzIQqRI/AAAAAAAAIkI/t6Y1yXeaDV8/s1600-h/Africa-5793.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (579)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-wBTNB_OqqJs/UuoyGMH8SGI/AAAAAAAAIkQ/1V9bkJeDs9c/Africa-579_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="156" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (579)" width="240" /></a><br />
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Intriguing too was the mountainside itself, with the layers of erosion-resistant Table Mountain Sandstone forming deep crags, dotted with unique flowering <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fynbos" target="_blank">fynbos</a> shrubs.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-i4kcP52CQrw/UuoyHh5CbzI/AAAAAAAAIkY/M7SEutB-vBY/s1600-h/Table-Mountain-recreational_map4.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Table Mountain recreational_map" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-bKdQKlUTcTQ/UuoyI3c4JrI/AAAAAAAAIkg/mXOsIdO_t7k/Table-Mountain-recreational_map_thum.jpg?imgmax=800" height="542" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Table Mountain recreational_map" width="325" /></a><br />
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Table Mountain is a South African National Park (SANpark) and was recently inaugurated as one of the <a href="http://world.new7wonders.com/new7wonders-of-nature/the-new7wonders-of-nature/" target="_blank">New 7 Wonders of Nature.</a> Because it covers a great expanse, yet is broken up by urban development and privately owned land, it is divided into four management areas, three land and one marine. <br />
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So basically, the city of Cape Town is in a national park. How cool is that? The people living there are surrounded by recreational opportunities, and only need to step out their door and walk up the street. Or hill. Or maybe take a short drive. The more I research and write about this place, the more I am falling in love with it.<br />
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I discovered while doing follow-up research for this story that we could have booked a naturalist guide to take us on a half-day hike up Table Mountain. Why is it that, when the trip is over, you find so many things you would have loved to do? I guess that’s life, and how we find places that we want to return to. I hope we go back to the Cape, someday.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-Fu9tUilznNY/UuoyJ25SLyI/AAAAAAAAIko/WnG6YdcVw2M/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528519%252529%252520Stitch%25255B8%25255D.jpg"><img alt="Africa (519) Stitch" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-qn9nNUaqijc/UuoyKyL7oOI/AAAAAAAAIkw/RpvD-za0Q48/Africa%252520%252528519%252529%252520Stitch_thumb%25255B5%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="181" style="display: inline; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (519) Stitch" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-c8MDu6aLZFQ/UuoyL17fVII/AAAAAAAAIk4/35MsjuyuDM8/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528451%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (451)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-80j483_2KeQ/UuoyM_y8_II/AAAAAAAAIlA/4VtCac66z_A/Africa%252520%252528451%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (451)" width="240" /></a>We emerged from the upper cable station and were greeted by one of the most stupendous sights I have ever witnessed. 360 degrees of mountain, ocean, peninsula, city, bay, harbor, island, and on and on, all spilling into the the infinity pool at Earth’s slightly curved edge. I wanted to start running on the rocky path, like a little kid arriving at an amusement park.<br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-DDxMu22mUFU/UuoyOthbAtI/AAAAAAAAIlI/vbpgZhuzusI/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528539%252529%252520Stitch%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img alt="Africa (539) Stitch" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-X4IxeWlpI8s/UuoyPazelLI/AAAAAAAAIlQ/qOsem9fOIW8/Africa%252520%252528539%252529%252520Stitch_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="228" style="display: inline; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (539) Stitch" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-z5ePMh6QzX4/UuoyRGT1ArI/AAAAAAAAIlY/zc3O_iuw-e8/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528497%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (497)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-C_Rx5nXcgx0/UuoySdkAbuI/AAAAAAAAIlg/nyEs4WyJVtE/Africa%252520%252528497%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="213" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (497)" width="308" /></a><br />
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Mark was intrigued by the cable, chuckling at the simplicity. What if it broke, I wondered aloud? He was thinking the same thing. It’s not likely, though. Conceived by a Norwegian engineer after plans for a funicular railway were thwarted by two wars, the aerial cable car system has been upgraded several times since its 1929 opening, and has a perfect safety record. <a href="http://www.tablemountain.net/about/the_table_mountain_aerial_cableway/" target="_blank">You can read its interesting history here</a>.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-QRZbAreXKHs/UuoyTl6Jp6I/AAAAAAAAIlo/lxPSp3mR7qk/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528444%252529%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (444)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-84bY3nAwoEg/UuoyUoyPfBI/AAAAAAAAIlw/gSS4lUApR3Q/Africa%252520%252528444%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="153" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (444)" width="240" /></a><br />
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One reason the safety record is so good is that when conditions are windy, it shuts down. I don’t know how often this happens but I imagine it’s fairly often. So, check the <a href="http://www.tablemountain.net/visitor_info/quick_tips/" target="_blank">website</a> on the day of your visit and once up top, listen for the hooter. <br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-5tkRGz_sdQ4/UuoyV9WLplI/AAAAAAAAIl4/FWfBJhTdiKw/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528502%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (502)" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-p2VfQhEAabI/UuoyWy54t1I/AAAAAAAAImA/oyZKQjx4f5s/Africa%252520%252528502%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (502)" width="240" /></a><br />
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Looking west at the Atlantic Seaboard, where we had driven the day before, we noticed the little brown Dassies (Dutch for badger) perched on the rocks just below us. These little animals are the elephant’s closest relative, believe it or not. They were lazing on the rocks below us, basking in the sun<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-pY1AeZSjb5U/UuoyY2vRxCI/AAAAAAAAImI/VeOvW-Z3SAg/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528500%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (500)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-7xVg4lAPp_E/UuoyZ02Dx4I/AAAAAAAAImQ/XkV5H9XbrLE/Africa%252520%252528500%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (500)" width="240" /></a><br />
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As a keystone animal, they are food for predators like Eagles, Caracal, and Leopards. They look lazy and slow, but if threatened they can disappear into the rocks in a hurry. Their rib cages collapse, allowing them to squeeze through the tiniest of spaces. <br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-iCftciBVWfc/UuoybuHyIII/AAAAAAAAImY/rdo1J-JHlGE/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528523%252529%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (523)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-jVMvuTCJQaY/UuoycotSk-I/AAAAAAAAImg/gEJr7mAseW0/Africa%252520%252528523%252529_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="203" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (523)" width="294" /></a><br />
Being both of independent mind, Mark and I wandered away from each other, as we often do, absorbed in the scene and its network of rocky trails and viewpoints. One of the features I especially liked was the way the paths were constructed, winding through the existing rock. It looked very natural, blending with the mountain, and yet the paths were very easy to follow, interconnected, and leading to magnificent views.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-Mo2sjjTaL4Q/UuoyekL4mBI/AAAAAAAAImo/9SQVzFN-eaY/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528464%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (464)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-R-R9lySsaNo/UuoyfoTWvjI/AAAAAAAAImw/2FuMAHboeKY/Africa%252520%252528464%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (464)" width="240" /></a><br />
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It felt like I was up there wandering the rugged mountain alone, even though there were other people around. Like Mark, who takes photos of me when I am unawares.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-zb5ecJCUjkg/Uuoyg7xIVKI/AAAAAAAAIm4/CBtK6FY_pQQ/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528476%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (476)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-XKtSfJ5Zjes/Uuoyh0ea4uI/AAAAAAAAInA/Dtz0fUp8s4E/Africa%252520%252528476%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="135" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (476)" width="240" /></a><br />
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The balconies built on the edge of the cliffs overlooking City Center are heart stoppers.<br />
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<a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-nt6MMQZvrH4/UuoylItgLsI/AAAAAAAAInI/ki9ODhtnHNk/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528543%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (543)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-BHtMecgP1CQ/UuoymM_VWLI/AAAAAAAAInQ/KdMJ2y2zvhQ/Africa%252520%252528543%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (543)" width="240" /></a><br />
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I could see and photograph our Kloof Street neighborhood and the V&A Waterfront beyond.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-uij2m7P2bMo/Uuoyoqb4lHI/AAAAAAAAInY/yIgtRU4lGEw/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528556%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (556)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-k-en7e7wTjI/Uuoyp7iRfhI/AAAAAAAAIng/lDWmvRpnPEU/Africa%252520%252528556%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (556)" width="240" /></a><br />
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Mark refused to go out on the balconies! But he still had the same great views from where he stood.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-DoyAP6ha7N0/UuoyrdpmwnI/AAAAAAAAIno/7JaIOiErWR8/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528567%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (567)" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-WvQFDrya7Rk/UuoyscnZ01I/AAAAAAAAInw/0uGMjjpFQV0/Africa%252520%252528567%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (567)" width="240" /></a><br />
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He just couldn’t see the cliff sides dropping off beyond.<br />
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<a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-Ewzzl_o_7G0/Uuoyto2lY2I/AAAAAAAAIn4/MILxKIuPfSc/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528600%252529%25255B3%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (600)" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-bp14wMb1Jto/UuoyuVlQTNI/AAAAAAAAIoA/eKRYwe3DV6Q/Africa%252520%252528600%252529_thumb.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (600)" width="240" /></a><br />
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You can walk down the mountain, or ride the cable car. We rode, but decided to walk down to our neighborhood from the lower cable car station instead of taking a taxi.<br />
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<a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-ePgktVTbY8k/Uuoywc-FRTI/AAAAAAAAIoI/mEdRE7o5qM8/s1600-h/Africa%252520%252528599%252529%25255B6%25255D.jpg"><img align="left" alt="Africa (599)" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-C74F0OQovQc/UuoyxmbWuiI/AAAAAAAAIoQ/EzGAvGXLes8/Africa%252520%252528599%252529_thumb%25255B3%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" height="161" style="display: inline; float: left; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px;" title="Africa (599)" width="240" /></a><br />
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Cutting down through the hillside on a trail, we caught some good views of the mountain, and wildflowers. What a perfect day, and a perfect way to see this incredible natural wonder.<br />
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<tr><td style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px; width: auto;"><a href="https://skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=play&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!9358&parid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" style="margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" target="_blank"><img alt="View album" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-mkyXfBr592g/UuoyyuSfFgI/AAAAAAAAIoY/jRj3pUnvxac/Cape%252520Town%252520-%252520Table%252520Mountain%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" style="background: none; border: 0px currentColor; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: bottom;" title="View album" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=browse&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!9358&parid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" style="text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><span defaulttext="Enter album name here" style="font-family: 'Segoe UI', helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 26pt; line-height: 1.26em; padding: 0px; width: 410px;">Cape Town - Table Mountain</span></a></div>
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<tr> <td style="margin: 0px; padding: 6px 12px 6px 0px; vertical-align: top;"><a border="0" href="https://skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=play&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!9358&parid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" style="font-family: "Segoe UI", helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 8pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">VIEW SLIDE SHOW</a></td> <td style="margin: 0px; padding: 6px 0px; vertical-align: top;"><a border="0" href="https://skydrive.live.com/redir.aspx?cid=f2d570cdbd3653a1&page=downloadphotos&resid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!9358&parid=F2D570CDBD3653A1!103&type=5&Bsrc=Photomail&Bpub=SDX.Photos" style="font-family: "Segoe UI", helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 8pt; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">DOWNLOAD ALL</a></td> </tr>
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