Day 324 The End of Hawaii

Shave ice. Mmmmmm. It may look like a snow cone but don’t dismiss it so rashly. And it is “shave ice” not “shaved ice.” It is that Hawaii pidgin English that can be impossible to understand sometimes. They use a blade to shave fluffy handfuls of ice off a big block and then pack it into the cone shape. This makes for the most delightful texture and flavor, since the fluffy ice absorbs the flavoring instead of letting run through like pedestrian crushed ice. And if you go all the way, and you know we did, you can get a scoop of ice cream in the bottom and sweetened condensed milk poured over the top (called a snow cap). If you are going to do that you have to get the big one too, which is as big as Eric’s head, look at the picture, I am not exaggerating. All of the sizes were huge, even the small one was the size of a large grapefruit. I am happy to say that as weird as it sounded to put ice cream and condensed milk on a snow cone, it was fantastic. And only about 5 bucks.

Afterward we walked along the seawall as a graceful sea turtle glided/flew through the water along with us. Incredible.

We had to go to a luau while we where here. I got tickets to the Royal Kona Resort luau, supposedly the best tourist show on the islands. First we both got the traditional lei greeting and then I got the traditional mai tai (weak) at the open bar. Then we watched them dig up the pig from the earth oven, which by the way, may be a tasty way to cook the pig, but not an attractive way. He came out as an unappetizing looking pile of meat, skin, bones, and God knows what else. I did not hold it against him when I piled him on my plate shortly after that. The food was good. I love lau lau, a mixture of pork, fish, and the taro leaves. Eric was not crazy about it or especially not the poi. The emcee kept joking about how tourists hate it. Poi is merely pounded taro root without anything else. It is purple, almost tasteless, goo. Hawaiians love the stuff and I could see how if you grow up with it. If you don’t grow up with it….

They did a show highlighting the seven different Polynesian cultures. The women did lots of dancing with their hands and hips of course. The Maori warrior was fun to watch as he yelled and stuck out his tongue and swung his wooden stick in a very menacing way. The best part was the fire knife dancer. He was actually the best in the world , had the trophy to prove it, and was amazing. With the things he did, he must have burned all the nerves out of his body already. After the show I had to go get a real mai tai at Don the Beachcomber’s Bar at the hotel. Don invented the mai tai in 1933 and it is much more complicated than the Trader Vic version created in 1944. This is one of those things that you just can’t pass up. It was indeed good. Too good. I was wishing we were staying at the hotel.

Our explorations around the Big Island took us all around the island putting 1400 miles (2250km) on the rental car. I am glad I got the unlimited mileage option. It was worth it to have our own car there. There is not really a functioning bus system outside of Oahu. I wasn’t thrilled about the $35/day insurance on top of the rental fee though. Ouch.

Hawaii, like some other places I have been, is very expensive. It is also however, unlike any other place on earth. For all of my travel, when I look back at the pictures of the places I have been and I remember the experiences, both good and bad, I don’t miss the money.

Day 323 Earthquake!!

We were shaken awake this morning as someone tried to push over our cabin with a big truck. Well, that is what I first thought in my sleepy incoherence. In reality it was a 4.0 magnitude earth quake with the epicenter about two kilometers away. I have not been in one that loud or jarring before so it was cool to experience. I looked online and saw that we are sitting in the most dangerous rift zone in the event of an eruption. Interesting. I am hoping for some more activity to make it a memorable experience—not too memorable though.

I once saw on the Travel Channel a guy talking about how good white pineapple is, and that you have to come to Hawaii to get it, so when I saw it at a farmer’s market, I quickly forked over the nine bucks for one big specimen. I have not been able to find it in stores and was eager to try it. I am happy to say that it lived up to its reputation as low acidic, sweet, and all around delicious, yet I do not think I would want to part with nine dollars a pop for one all the time, especially after getting some which were almost as good for 45 cents each in Brazil.

Right in nearby Hilo, there is a place called the Boiling Pots. Basically they are a series of deep volcanic holes that are in a line and there is a river that pours from one to the next. It is a wild natural formation and is perfect for rock jumping. We had our choice of any number of low jumps all the way up to a 30 plus footer (10m+) which I loved. Even though the holes are only between 20-40 ft across, they are very very deep. I never saw the bottom in any of them. It is a popular local spot so we had plenty of company and got to watch them doing crazy flips and other stupid things. We were warned about one hole that would be good for jumping except the river flowed in the top and out a hole in the bottom. The guy said that that was where the tourists usually died when they got trapped in the underwater current. Good warning. Thanks.

Day 321 Is It Too Much to Ask for a Little Boiling Magma?

We have made a few trips to the Volcano State Park. and have been roasted at the steam vents, smelled toxic gas (wasn’t me), explored the lava tubes, walked across lakes of lava, stood at the rim of an active volcano, and yet, in the one place where we sure to see flowing lava, it has stopped. Dang it! It flows for 26 years straight until just before we come. Oh well, we would not have been able to get that close to it anyway.

We went through the lava tube (600ft, 100m) and then saw that there is a whole other section that you can go through if you bring your own lights. We couldn’t pass that up. The light from my phone didn’t get us far so we came back another time with lights. I already had a headlamp and bought one for Eric. The tube is much smaller, deeper, and scarier than the main tube which is fairly level and well lit. This tube goes down and down and requires a little effort to get around the big pieces of ceiling that have fallen in your way. Yes, a number of giant pieces of ceiling had fallen, way down deep in that soundless black void where no one would ever hear your screams for help as you were crushed by the merciless rock. Every step seemed to take you miles further away from the safety of the surface, the ceiling got lower, the darkness blacker, and the silence more deathly, until, after a 1100 ft (336m) of claustrophobic nightmare, the ceiling crashed into the floor and it was the end. And time for a snack! Cool.

There is no better way to get an appreciation for how big a volcano is than to walk across its lake of lava (cooled of course). We hiked some trails and found our way to the caldera of Little Kilauea after seeing it from above. It didn’t look that big. It is. Really big.
We climbed all over the hardened broken surface of the lake, inside petrified bubbles, through enormous crevices, and over smooth flowing ripples. The whole time we worked hard not to scratch the heck out of ourselves because that stuff is really rough. I ended up with a few bleeding spots, nothing much, just enough to look manly.

Day 318 Tarzan and Monkey Boy

We found a few really cool places right near our place. First was the volcano heated tide pool (pictured)which was delightfully warm. Then there was the deserted black sand beach with very black sand (past a huge field of lava). It is strange to make black sand castles. Very cool though.
This picture is of a different black sand beach on the other side of the Volcano Park. Then there was the road to the black sand beach; twelve miles of roller coaster road along the beautiful coast. If you go twice the speed limit, it gets really fun because you get that flying and then sinking feeling in your stomach. And zooming through the occasional dark tunnels of jungle canopy is cool too. It is like going into another world briefly. We drove down the road a few times just for the fun of it. And then there are the Kapoho Tide pools. They are fantastic for snorkeling since they are shallow and filled with all kinds of colorful coral and impossibly interesting fish.

We borrowed a couple body boards from the hostel and have been swimming every day. We both got a little burned in the first few days so we are working hard to remember sun block every time now.

I am trying to find a green coconut for Eric to try. They are all over in the trees and look easy to get—Wrong! They are high up and are attached extremely well. We spent a considerable amount of time trying to get one down: climbing, throwing things, poking them with long branches, etc…. I hooked one with a rope and had to pull with all of my strength to get it loose. Unfortunately it was too young and not yet sweet. He will have to wait for Brazil to get a proper one. We did get some mangoes that had fallen by the road side. In the same place we swung off 50-60 foot vines like Tarzan. Cool! The vines really are strong and long enough like the movies.

Day 314 Grand Tour of Oahu

Yesterday, we took the public bus all the way up the north shore, swam, played, got sun burned, flew a kite, missed seeing the Dole Plantation because they were closing, and came back late but in time for a barbecue at the hostel where we watched Tom Cruise go crazy in the Minority Report.

Today we saw the Arizona Memorial and Dole plantation in the morning and then went back to the North Shore to go rock jumping. The Dole Plantation is home to the world's largest labyrinth hedge maze. We tried finding all of the secret locations in the maze to win a prize, but no luck. We would have had to do it in less than eleven minutes to win. After going through the maze, I think that would only be possible if you knew where they were and you ran the whole way. So we bought lots of stuff instead. That is where we discovered li hing powder. At a pineapple cutting demonstration, the lady sprinkled a rust colored powder all over the pineapple slices before serving. The taste is hard to describe. It is sweet/salty pulverized dried plum and is a very popular topping for many things in Hawaii, including shaved ice. We liked it too.

One beach at the North Shore has a huge rock sticking out into the sea and is perfect for jumping. It was a beautiful spot and the locals were cool. At about 20 plus feet, Eric was hesitant to jump at first. I think the cute local girls jumping near us helped motivate him to finally make the leap.

This photo is of Eric. We did some snorkeling and Eric accidentally left his non-water proof camera in his pocket. Oops. It was really a fun time and beyond beautiful.

Day 312 Oahu, Hawaii

I first came to Oahu about 15 years ago, (jeez that makes me feel old) so it had that wonderful familiar feel from the moment I stepped off the plane. It hasn't changed that much. Last time I was here was to take a week long ride on an aircraft carrier to San Diego with my friend in the navy. It was a special trip for friends and family to experience life at sea. I was young and poor then and didn't have much time to see the island. Now with Eric, I finally get see the place properly.

We are staying at a decent hostel about 3 blocks from Waikiki beach. It is a basic private room with a shared bathroom. I made sure there was a kitchen we can use to help offset the cost of island living. Hawaii is not a cheap place to visit. It is comparable to Paris or Rome, only with cheaper airfare.

We have been to the beach a couple times a day so far, only taking breaks to eat (Hawaiian barbecue, YUM!) and buy huge quantities of souvenirs at the ubiquitous ABC Stores. T-shirts here are very cheap at 6/$20 or less sometimes. The trick is finding ones with good designs in the right size. Of course we bought a tiki idol, key chains, stickers, nuts, candy, a calendar, cups, hula skirts for gifts, and more too. I had to keep warning Eric that we have only been here a few days and to pace himself in buying things. We brought an extra suitcase for Eric that is mostly full already and we haven't even gotten out of Waikiki.

There is nothing like the sunsets in Hawaii. I am amazed every single time. We floated in the water watching the sun set in gloriously vivid color on Waikiki and Diamond Head. The city lights came up as the sun sank and for a few minutes it was the perfect blend of nighttime city and island sunset. Lovely. I was in the water, sorry, no pictures.

Day 307 Travel Marathon- Luxor to Vancouver

My stay in Luxor was brief. I arrived at noon and had to catch a flight to Cairo that night at midnight. I wouldn’t have time to see the Valley of the Kings, which was disappointing, but managed to see the Luxor Temple just outside of town. It has the largest ancient columned hall in the world, or so I was told. With 85 foot tall (26m) columns it was impressive. About a dozen different kings remodeled/added on to the temple making it both massive and diverse in styles. If it had not been oppressively hot and I had more time I would have enjoyed it more.

I bought a couple Anubis statues, t-shirts, and some food and then headed to the airport to start my long trip back to Vancouver, Washington. When I was in the middle of the line at the check-in counter, a woman with a cart full of odd shaped boxes pulled up close along side of me. I was suspicious. Just as I suspected, as I moved forward she kept edging it further in front of me trying to nonchalantly cut into line. No way this has happening lady. Just try it. I held my ground as best I could without actually pushing her cart. She wouldn't look at me and pretended to merely be standing there, but her game was not too subtle. She made her move just as I was to be the next person helped, she surged forward shoving her cart up to the counter to block me but her rash move came with an unexpected cost. Several of her boxes tumbled onto the floor and as she reached to save them I stretched my long arm over her and her pitiful cart to hand my passport to the clerk. Ha! I felt her angry glare bounce fruitlessly of my back as I walked away with my boarding pass in hand and a smug smile on my face. Of course, my plane was delayed, luckily only half an hour. As I killed time looking at displays in the terminal, I noticed that pushy cart-lady was having trouble checking in her boxes and it took her about 10 minutes to convince Alitalia to take them. I was really glad that I didn’t wait for her. Ha ha! Sweet victory.

A couple hours later I was in the Cairo airport parking negotiating a price for a taxi to my hostel. I was told there was a bus, but at 3am it wasn’t running. The guy at my hostel had arranged for a taxi to the airport so I knew what it should cost. The problem was that I was a tourist at the airport in the middle of the night and the taxi drivers knew that I was at a disadvantage. Fortunately, another passenger came to my aid to help convince a taxi driver to grudgingly take me for the local’s price. He was not thrilled about it. I was not thrilled about the ancient death trap he called a taxi, yet relieved to be going to get some sleep.

I was only at the hostel for 5 hours though, because I had to go back to the airport to wait for 2 hours to catch a flight to Rome. So back in a cab and back to the airport I went to wait some more. The flight to Rome was 4 hours with a 4 hour layover until my connection to Madrid where I had a 5.5 hour layover (attempting to sleeping in an uncomfortable chair) for a 2.5 hour flight to London with a 7 hour layover for a 9.5 hour flight to Seattle where I waited 6 hours for a 4 hour bus to Portland where I waited 2 hours to be picked up at 2am.

Doing the math from Luxor, I took five planes and 53.5 hours to get to my Mom’s house. This was the worst trip so far. In my sleep deprived and physically abused state, my bond with reality was wavering dangerously at that point. Thank God that I had a week to rest before taking Eric to Hawaii.

Day 304 Slow Boat to Luxor

The dreamy slowness of my cruise ship up the Nile gave a me a tangible sense of the word "languid." It seemed as if it drifted more than navigated, with only a quiet vibration giving evidence of mechanized propulsion. Additionally, the ship, built for 150 passengers was only carrying nine, many fewer than the crew, lending a stillness of motion and sound to the decks. There was no hurry for anything. It would take a day and a half to make our way to Luxor.

As I stared out from my luxurious wood paneled cabin at the water lilies and Nile birds drifting by or as I sat on the upper deck in the shade of a canopy, marveling at the beauty of Nile cutting a verdant green swath through the desert, I felt the hassles of travel blur into hazy distant memory. I chatted with some other Americans over afternoon tea, enjoyed sumptuous meals, and soaked up the tranquility.

We stopped at a two places, the better being the town of Edfu. I haggled with a cigarette smoking 14-year-old for a carriage ride to the temple, eventually settling on the equivalent of $3 USD for the 20 minute round trip including an hour of waiting time. I had the upper hand because he was desperate for a fare but I ended up giving him $5 because I felt bad for him. The tourism business is slow in Egypt.

The Edfu temple was spectacular at night. It was my favorite by far of all the temples. It was deserted too. The most interesting part was when I was leaving, a plain clothes guard called me over to show me a hieroglyphic of a god giving birth. He pointed out the fine details with the barrel of his snub-nosed machine gun. And then he asked for a little something. In the dark. In a deserted temple. With his machine gun pointed at my crotch. I found that I felt suddenly generous, and gave a few more coins to this man than I would normally give.

I didn't really feel threatened. It was business as usual in Egypt. The fact of the time, place, and presence of an automatic weapon were not relevant to his providing a service and expecting compensation. Still, it was interesting.

Another couple had a more exciting time as they were returning in their carriage. A 3-year-old wandering the street was nick-of-time saved by a passer-by from being crushed under their horse, causing them to swerve and almost crash. They were shaken by both the near death and the ensuing shouting match that erupted on the street. The police ended up hurrying them out of the situation because they were worried that something might happen to the tourists.

Back on the ship, it was time for a fine dinner, a peaceful slumber, and then awaking to the glory of sunrise on the Nile. I was almost reluctant to leave the ship when we reached Luxor.

Day 303 Be Careful What You Joke About

I had intended to have more time to travel across North Africa before going to take Eric to Hawaii. With the shortened time frame I opted for a quick tour flying/Nile cruise tour to the south. It was much cheaper than I had expected. I started by flying to Abu Simbel which is very close to the Sudan border and the site of a major relocation project for a whole set of tombs and giant stone sculptures that had been carved out of a solid rock mountain. Because of the rising waters of the Aswan dam endangering the ancient site, countries from around the world pitched in to miraculously cut up the stone mountain and move it uphill a few hundred feet. The size and fragility of the tombs and sculptures made it a daunting project. I was impressed.

There is nothing to see in Abu Simbel other than the one site and the airline provides free direct transportation (5 minutes) to and from the site, allowing me to be back on the plane within two hours of arriving. I lucked out with the weather while I was there; it was only stifling hot—a few days before, it was depths-of-hell hot. As part of my package, I flew to Aswan to stay for a day before heading up the Nile to Luxor on a cruise ship.

The hotel I picked, with the roof top pool, internet, and river view turned out to be different than it was depicted in the pictures. When my airport transfer guy led me walking down a filth ridden dirt street toward my chosen hotel, I almost made a joke about my hotel being in the rundown building we were passing. I am glad I didn’t because it looked better than my hotel. I wasn't too surprised considering the $8 USD/night rate. Nor was the lack of internet surprising. The room was not overly clean, but better than I had expected with a great 5th floor Nile view. The roof top pool was tiny and chilly.

I was only at the hotel for an hour before heading out to see the very huge yet particularly unimpressive looking Aswan dam. The hydroelectric power from the dam provides electricity for all of Egypt and if it burst, it would drown about 90 % of the country’s population on the way to the Mediterranean. Accordingly, they are very protective of it and have a fair sized military presence there.

After the dam, I was taken for a boat ride to the Phila Temple on an island on the Nile. It was also moved to higher ground to save it from the dam’s higher waters. The temple was cool (not in temperature) and almost deserted. Wandering alone in the ancient silence and shadows of hieroglyph covered columns is an enchanting experience. The occasional vividness of some of the hieroglyphs stopped me in my tracks a few times. It is almost impossible to imagine the number of days that have passed since they were carved and painted.

The guide told the group of five in our boat to dip their hands in the Nile for good luck. I abstained since I had just read that morning about the bacteria in the river that would give tourists painful stomach cramping diarrhea for weeks. I work hard to stay healthy while traveling and if I have to pass up a little good luck, so be it. I was too slow to warn my eager boat mates who plunged their hands in the dark murky water and splashed their sunburned faces. Oops.

Back on my wretched little street I found a couple good places to eat: a shwarma place, of course, and a place that only sold a vegetarian dish that was made with rice, pasta, tomatoes, onions, and spicy sauce. Both were good and cheap. I wandered for a long while and found the average people to be quite friendly, calling out hello to me as I passed. The shop people on the other hand were desperate. Tourism has been down since 9/11, and unlike Greece, they see every tourist as valuable. I had to work to avoid being dragged into shops.

Day 301 Time Travel and the Blood Thirsty Dead

The Egyptian Museum is as good for its building and displays as it is for its collection; walking through the doors is like stepping back in time 100 years, because I do not think it has changed much at all in that time. Almost everything is unprotected, cluttered, up close, and personal. The museum itself is an antique. I liked the museum as much as the contents, because rather than feeling anachronistic it could not have been a better match to what I had imagined.

Even though I have studied some Egyptology, I was truly astounded at the sheer numbers of sarcophagi both wood and stone in the collection. Of course the best part was the collection of grave goods from King Tut. It is spectacular for the quantity, size of items, and quality. In general Egyptian antiquities out class most other civilizations as far as interesting items go (IMHO), but King Tut’s things are in a class by themselves. It is obvious that they actually believed he was a god. Wow. That was really something to see.

The most modern areas of the museum are the mummy rooms, and even so, the mummies merely rest in carefully lit, simple glass cases. All climate control equipment or other electronics are hidden. The mummies vary from peaceful and pleasant looking to pure twisted agony frozen in dehydrated time. Spooky! I have seen enough horror movies that I can easily imagine them coming alive and trying to eat my organs! AAAHHHHHHhhhhhhhhh………

FYI: The mummy in this picture was not from the Cairo museum.

Day 300 Meeting a Wonder of the World

The pyramids, center of Cairo’s tourism, were the place where I got the full experience of aggressive touts. In traffic a quarter mile away from the entrance, people would run into the busy street and along side my speeding taxi window senselessly yelling prices and waving merchandise as if I would tell the taxi to stop so I could buy stuff that is available everywhere. It did not bode well for when the taxi actually stopped. My taxi, arranged by my hostel, was mine for the whole day for $25. No bus hassles, no taxi bargaining, and I got valuable tips such as to ignore the guys asking for your ticket at the pyramids themselves; you only need to buy a ticket at the gate unless there is a special tour. These con men stand in the entrances to the tombs/temples and tell people that they have to buy another ticket to get in. They are very stern and demanding and completely convincing if you did not know better. I politely brushed them off only to have them “get upset” that I was going in without a ticket.

The taxi stopped at his choice of camel services, of course. What I did not expect was for him to tell me to take as much time as I wanted and not to listen to the pleas of my tour guide to hurry. They want to get it over as soon as possible to get another customer. I paid for the full tour of the Giza plateau and sure enough the guide tried to give me the short tour. I was insistent on seeing what I came to see.

There were some places that the camels could not go and the guide said I had five minutes to look and come back. Ha! Ha! One of those places was the Giza pyramid with the Royal Boat Museum beside it. When I got back to the camel and guide after an hour, he was annoyed, the guide that is, camels are always annoyed. I humorously insisted that I only took 10 minutes and did not know what he was talking about. He gave up on hurrying me further. By the time we got to the sphinx, I was getting tired of him telling me that I would have to tip him at the end of the ride so I told him that every time he asked, his tip was getting smaller. He stopped asking.

The Giza plateau is an amazing place that would have been really quite a sight before the pyramids were plundered for stone. The pictures do not do justice for the size of the pyramids. They are huge! To think of the work it was to drag those stones through the sand is unbelievable. I went into a couple of the tombs of the smaller queen’s pyramids, ignored the con men at the entrances, and was thankful that I am not claustrophobic because the tunnel to the tomb is about a meter square and about a 45 degree angle down. Those tombs are not spectacularly decorated and only have a few rooms with simple monochromatic hieroglyphics. The stone sarcophagi are huge and had to have been placed as the pyramid was built. The strange thing about Egyptian tombs is that they are hot even though they are far underground. The heat combined with the perspiration and breath of all the tourists makes for a stuffy tomb; not a place to hang out and relax out of the sun as I had hoped. In my three and a half hours there I easily drank three liters of water.

At the end of the day, the guide got a very small tip due to his irritating ways and lack of information about the site, and my taxi driver got a big tip for actually caring about saving me money and working hard to make sure I enjoyed myself. He even had an ice cold Coke for me (free) when I got back from the camel ride. It was a good day of seeing one of the wonders of the world, experiencing the good and bad of a culture, and sweating like a pig.

Day 299 Cairo, Egypt

I have always heard how Cairo is overrun with desperately poor people hounding tourists, living on highway medians, and making the city unbearable. What I found was a vibrant and fascinating downtown where I saw no poor and I wandered completely unmolested. I suspect that the government decided to clean out the center city to improve the tourist experience. Police with machine guns are posted in front of every bank, ATM, government building, and tourist site, and it would be easy to run out the poor with that kind of manpower. However sad it may be, it is a relief to be able to roam and explore with no hassles.

Taxis rule the downtown. Since so many people take them, the prices are dirt cheap. It only costs a dollar or two to go most places in the city. Egyptian drivers are daring and it can be quite a thrill for someone accustomed to the very foreign concept of road rules. Almost anything goes in Cairo. Stop lights and stop signs are not acknowledged in normal driving, only a policeman in the street or a car in the way gets the drivers to stop. Additionally, taxis frequently turn off their lights while driving at night, only turning them back on when there is substantial cross traffic. Maybe to save their light bulbs??

My hostel is a very cool, formerly grand building from 1941. The wood and glass elevator only goes up (figure that one out for yourself) and I have to walk down from the 7th floor, which is fine. I am just glad it goes up. I get fresh squeezed orange juice when I wake up and then a free breakfast of bread, eggs, and coffee. I can ask for free tea or coffee to be served to me at anytime. The guys running the place are great and it is wonderful to be in a place where they really understand the concept of hospitality.

Day 297 Ferry Beyond Belief

I took a bus to the Red Sea port of Aqaba to catch a ferry to Egypt. I had missed the daily ferry and took a cheap room at a hotel without air conditioning. I assumed that the extreme heat of the day (113 F or 45C) would turn into a delightfully cool night like everywhere else I have been. Wrong. It was so hot that I ended up sleeping under a wet towel under the ceiling fan. This was great as long as the towel stayed wet, requiring a number of re-wettings during the night. When I woke up in the morning, it was 93 degrees (34 C) in my room.

The tickets for the noon fast ferry would sell out very early so I went to the port at 7:30am. This was the start of the biggest clusterf@#k I have seen so far.

Getting the ticket was not such a problem, only expensive at $50 USD for a one hour ride. Next, I waited in another line right next to the ticket seller for an hour so the clerk could stamp my ticket without even looking at it. Why they didn’t do that when I bought it I do not know, maybe to increase employment? Then I had to go downstairs and find the mislabeled exit tax office and pay 7.50 USD for exit stamps. Then it was back upstairs to immigration to get my exit stamps and passport stamped. Then I waited for a few hours to get on the ferry. It was 11:30 and no one was moving. I went outside and looked around. There was not any obvious ferry embarkment point. There was no visible ferry either. I went to a covered area next to a big vehicle gate and was told I had to wait for a bus to get to the ferry. All was fine and not extraordinary so far. I am baffled by the disorganization of what happened next.

I waited with for only fifteen minutes before there was a huge commotion and everyone rushed the gate. Police kept people from going through the gate while silently listening to people waving tickets and yelling. I pushed my way in to the crowd and waited. Close to noon the police let a surge of people, including me through the gate. I could now see the ferry only 500m away and could easily have walked it if they would have let me, but no.

We waited for a few minutes and a bus finally showed up. Of course everyone rushed the bus as if it was the only one coming all day. It is a frickin’ shuttle. It fills up, drives for 60 seconds, empties, and comes back. Come on people.

Police held the would-be riders back with threatening batons and lots of yelling. A dozen or so women and children were escorted through the crowd and got on the bus and then door started to close. People were trying to hold the door open in desperation but it overpowered them, almost crushing one woman. The bus then moved ten feet forward and opened the door again. The same process of police, batons, waving tickets, pushing, and yelling was repeated as a few more women got on. Then again, people tried holding the door open and threw themselves inside as it closed on them. Then the bus moved backward twenty feet. Repeat clusterf@#k again. Finally, the bus moved fifty feet forward, stopped for ten minutes before driving to the ferry.What the F@#k?

Then the police pushed everyone back to the other side of the gate. Little by little we edged our way right back to where the bus had been parked and waited about ten minutes in the hot sun before it came back. Although, this time it parked across the parking lot next to a covered area. Nothing happened for about ten more minutes until the police started letting one or two people at a time go over to the shaded area by the bus. They would do this about once a minute, randomly picking people out of the crowd. These lowly policemen were showing that they were in control and had the power in this situation. Finally a policeman pointed at me and said to me in English, “You are a winner!” and waved his baton for me to cross and get out of the sun. We stood next to the bus, waiting for another ten minutes before the napping driver decided to open the door. We got on and waited another ten minutes for a ticket check and nothing in particular. When the bus actually started moving, it went barely faster than walking speed to the ferry. I was just thrilled to get to the stupid boat.

It was an entirely enclosed ferry, with no open decks. The seats were comfortable and I watched Tom and Jerry cartoons for the hour and half that it took to shuttle everyone that 500 meters. Obviously the noon departure time is not set in stone. I could have taken the slow ferry that was ten dollars cheaper, but it usually left five or six hours late. The travel time for the slow ferry is somewhere between three to eight hours, but apparently, it once took three days to get there. It only took an hour to reach Nuweiba, Egypt on the fast ferry. Unfortunately, it took an hour before the police would let anyone off because they were searching for some criminals.

Once again we were bused to the terminal, but this time the ride was smoother. The terminal on the other hand was complete chaos. There is no obvious flow or signage to indicate a process at Nuweiba. There are many scattered buildings and no official in sight to ask. The bags had been loaded into a giant flatbed trailer sized cart that was sitting in the center of a mass of people desperately digging for their things. I found my bag, bought visa stamps at the difficult to locate bank for 15 USD, they only take USD for some reason, and then went to the exchange office to get local currency, went through security, went back through security to find the immigration office, went through security again, was ignored by customs, and finally got out. It took about thirteen hours to take a one hour ferry. They do this every day. I am assuming merit is not involved in the promotion of port managers.

The first taxi guys I asked said that there were no “service” taxis, which are shared taxis, to across the Sinai Peninsula to Cairo and I would have to pay $150 USD to get there. They were lying of course. I easily found some. I bargained the price down to a little over seventeen USD for the five hour drive. My taxi was a newer minibus that would be comfortable. I waited for two hours while they found more passengers and loaded the top rack with what looked like a houseful of possessions. It was comic to see them load and reload and reload to get it all up there. It wasn’t funny when we were switched to an old Peugeot 504 because there were not enough people for the minibus. I waited another hour while they moved everything to the other vehicle. There were several problems with this decrepit taxi. First, it was so overloaded, we could not go that fast. Second, the ceiling was so low I could not sit up. In fact, if I had been able to sit up, the roof would have been at my chin level. I spent 8 sleepless hours hunched over or with my knees on the ceiling so I could rest my head on the seat. Not fun. And then it got better. I was dropped off at four in the morning at a highway crossroad outside of Cairo. I could not even see the city. Thankfully, I caught a passing minibus after only fifteen minutes. Then I had to take a taxi to my hostel. I went straight to bed.

Day 296 Petra, Jordan

I got up early and was the first person in Petra. I even beat most of the Bedouins that foist over-priced trinkets and camel/horse rides on the tourists. For fun and $2 USD, I did take a horse the one kilometer to the start of the Siq, the 1200m narrow gorge that leads to the ancient site. Going down the Siq alone and in silence was otherworldly. And then, finally seeing the magnificence and grandeur of the Treasury suddenly appear was magical. If you don’t know, the Treasury is the building featured as the resting place of the Holy Grail in the Indiana Jones movie. The rooms inside are big, but not as cool as in the movie. It is much bigger than it looks. Check out the little people in the last picture.

Having only known about the Treasury, I was surprised at how extensive the ancient city of Petra was. It was big and quite grand. The buildings were carved out of the sandstone cliffs instead of being built by individual rocks. The skill of the sculptors is incredible. Huge columns and decorative elements that would have been hard to carve separately were all carved in place. Unfortunately, the elements have taken their toll and worn away most of the fine detailing on the structures. They are still very impressive.

There was a wide ancient stairway (mostly restored) hewed out of the rock and I followed it way up to the top of the mountain. I ended up with a view of the valley and eventually a perfect view to look down on the Treasury. By that time the tourist were swarming like little ants far below. I had been at the site for a little over three hours and I had easily drunk three liters of water in the blazing sun. I saved my last few gulps and made a slightly scary climb down an unofficial route to visit the Treasury one more time before I left.

Day 295 The Dead and Untasty Sea

I took a bus for one dollar to a crossroads near the Dead Sea and then hired a taxi to take me to the water, wait for me while I swam, and then take me all the way back to Amman for only $20 USD. The Dead Sea is so incredibly full of dissolved minerals that you do not exactly have to swim. Bob around like a piece of balsa wood is more like it. Staying vertical, I floated so high in the water that it was at my nipples, making me look like I was standing on something. On my back, it was like sitting in a floating lounge chair and was very easy to keep my head dry. Bizarre! It was hard to swim on my stomach though because it felt like there was a beach ball under my stomach and I had to work to not flip over. I accidentally got a few drops of the water in my mouth…..uhggg….it was like taking a mouth full of salt and minerals. It was oppressively hot that afternoon and a little hard to breath there. On top of that, the sea water was warm and not refreshing. I tried letting the sea water dry for about ten minutes on my skin, but it didn’t. Even with the heat and wind, it was like a layer of mineral oil that would not dry. I lucked out and there was a trickle of fresh water running into the sea and so I could wash off. It was an interesting experience. It is not a place I would want to vacation though.

The taxi driver was nuts on the way back to Amman. We drove at 100 mph (160 kph) for much of the way and he was not a good driver. I was thankful to get out safely. I immediately jumped into a three hour taxi to Wadi Musa, the town next to Petra.

Day 294 Amman, Jordan

With my Arabic translation in hand, I had no trouble getting back to Damascus or on the right bus to Jordan. The Jordanian border was much easier than Syria’s. Fifteen USD and three windows, and I had my visa.

There were two young Jordanian guys who were desperate to talk to me. They had a vision of America that was purely drawn from our movies and I tried my best to dissuade them that that was not reality. The one guy said he wanted to visit the US, but not Chicago, and he made gun motions with his hands, indicating it was way too violent and dangerous. I laughed and told him that I really liked Chicago. There was no way I could convince them. They knew the truth from our movies. Then they asked me if I liked Bush. When I said no, they told me that they wanted to kill him. They said this with such vehemence that it worried me a little. I was about to launch into the beauty of a democratic government, term limits, and the horrifying prospect of a president Cheney when we had to leave.

The buildings in Amman are a little more attractive than Syria—not much. The city is entirely monochrome. All the buildings are shades of dirty white/grey. It is a desert city with no lack of dirt and almost no sign of greenery. It is also a very conservative city with the highest percentage of completely covered women I have seen. In general, it is boring.

I was still feeling a little unwell and out of sorts when I took a taxi to the US embassy to get more pages added to my passport; to my delight and chagrin, it was full of stamps and visas. After I got out of the taxi and he drove off very fast, I realized that I had given the driver the wrong note, but he gave me the change for a smaller bill. My unfamiliarity with the Jordanian money and the driver’s dishonesty resulted in a 26 USD tip. Doh!

The embassy was easier than I thought and it only took about an hour to get more pages stuck in. The problem was getting back to my hotel with the pittance of Jordanian money I had left. I found some people by the side of the road that were waiting for a minibus. We ended up taking a shared taxi back into the downtown for only 40 cents each. I also discovered that there was a much shorter way from downtown than the way the first taxi took me. Errr….!

Day 293 Syrian Hospitality

The shared taxi from Beirut to Damascus was a nice, newer, air conditioned luxury sedan. Too bad it only took us out of the city where we were transferred, with loud protests from my fellow passengers, to an ancient piece of crap taxi that waited for an hour for one more passenger before we left. I was not sure what to expect at the Syrian border. I had told them when I got my Syrian visa that I would be going into Lebanon and returning to Syria.

At the border, they said, “no visa, wait, fax Damascus, wait.” My taxi left without me of course. At the duty free shop I ran into a guy from Portland who is studying in Beirut. It is a small world. I was prepared to wait another twelve hours for this visa. I lucked out with only three hours. Back in another taxi, I went to the bus station in Damascus and bought a ticket to Amman, Jordan, or so I thought.

Before I got on the bus, I asked the driver, “Amman, Jordan?” He nodded and motioned for me to get on. I felt sure I was headed in the right direction and did not worry too much. Even so, when we were on the highway, I checked the direction of the sun to make sure we were going in the right direction—you never know. We were going south toward Amman; all was okay. Almost. After two hours, I ended up in Suwayda, Syria, near the Jordanian border. Fortunately, I was helped by a friendly local guy that spoke a tiny amount of English. The problem was that I could not get to Jordan from there. I had to go all the way back to Damascus first. He asked for me about a bus back to Damascus that evening and there wasn’t one. He invited me to stay with him that evening and said he would put me on a bus in the morning. I thought it would be interesting, but being an American in predominantly Islamic rural Syria, I was a little nervous.

We took a taxi for about a kilometer and then worked at fitting into a minibus. When I said I wanted to pay my fare for the taxi and minibus, Ali laughed and pinched my cheek like I said something silly. I was in his care and my money was no good. The difficulty was getting all the people (17), bags, boxes, and my backpack to fit in a minibus designed for ten people. People got in an out and moved around until finally after about ten minutes we were all sardined inside. We drove out of the town into the desert for about half an hour until we reached a little village where we picked up one more passenger. The minibus was jammed and I could not see anyway he could fit. That was my Western thinking holding me back. He squeezed in the front seat, mostly sideways, on the left of the driver. We drove for another thirty minutes through the now pitch black desert. I was starting to wonder where the hell we were going.

In the village of Irmon, we got out, thank god, and walked a block to Ali’s house, where I met his wife and two little girls. None of them had ever met an American before and they were ecstatic. His wife immediately changed into nice clothes with lots of jewelry. They spoke almost no English so it was hard to communicate. We had a good time drinking tea, eating sweets, and talking with dictionaries. In the morning, Ali wrote everything I needed in Arabic and took me to the next town, where he put me on a minibus and told the driver to make a special stop to drop me off at the bus station. Meeting Ali and staying with his family was one of those great experiences that offset all the times you get ripped off or hassled.

Day 292 Beirut, Lebanon

I left Damascus in a shared taxi (10 USD) for Beirut, Lebanon. The taxi ride was something right out of a movie. Imagine a beat up, seventies taxi crossing the rocky barren desert in the midday sun, Syrian pop music blaring out of one, undersized speaker, me in the front seat, my sweat drying as fast as it appears because of blast furnace air of the open window, three Syrian guys squeezed in the back, a fat, hairy driver that honks at anything that moves or even thinks about moving, and no one but me speaks any English at all.

Crossing the border was actually humorous for a change. I was initially startled by the chaos in the Syrian exit crossing. Forget lines, everyone just threw themselves into mass of sweaty humanity trying to fight their way up to the exit stamp window. There was no way I could be polite and get stamped, I had to wade in and push and shove and work for every inch, defending any ground I made. The funny thing was when I got close enough that the officer saw my passport in my hand, he waved for me to give it to him. As I stretched my arm through all the people, the officer, with a look of disgust, swept his arm in front of him, brushing aside all the local people’s outstretched identification, and took my passport. I felt special; and relieved because it would have taken at least about thirty to forty minutes if I had to wait like everyone else.

Lebanon’s border was chaos too. I don’t know who designed these border crossings, but they really lack obvious flow patterns. There is usually very little signage too. Only by asking do you find out the order in which you have to go to the different windows/buildings. There are no cattle chute type of controls that force people through certain steps.

We went through three military checkpoints with lots of soldiers and tanks before we reached Beirut. We also had to detour around a bridge that was bombed by Israel in their very recent skirmish. Beirut was surprisingly in good shape. I had expected much more damage. There were only a few older bombed out buildings and buildings that still bore bullet holes; the rest have been repaired or are new. They are building like crazy to restore their “Paris of the Middle-East” status. I did not find the city that interesting. The Pigeon rocks were pretty at sunset, while the rest of the Corniche (ocean front walk) was mostly buff, over-groomed twenty-somethings and old guys sitting around smoking water pipes. The central square downtown was rebuilt recently and is almost Vegas shopping mall perfect. The weird thing is that it was that there were no people. The cafes and shops were open and devoid of customers, except for me and three other people.

I could not take many pictures because I was not allowed to photograph soldiers and all through the city, there are soldiers with machine guns on almost every corner. Streets are barricaded with sand bags, cement blocks, enough razor wire to hermetically seal the US/Mexico border, and the occasional tank or armored assault vehicle. I was searched at machine gun point three times in the downtown. They are serious. They just had a bombing a few days before that killed a bunch of people. There was also a bombing right after I left. There is a huge Hezbollah camp right in the middle of Beirut to protest for representation in the government. Since they are a terrorist group according to the US and Israel, the government is not eager to let them share any power.

At 10 pm I went to the fashionable restaurant street to eat, and again, there were very few people. The high prices, fancy French food, and occasional cruising Ferrari were a reminder that this is still the playground for the Middle-East’s rich. They come to Lebanon to do the things that they cannot openly do in their own countries; dress risqué, drink, and party. I really do not like the rich, superficial, party crowd and left found a little buffet place with traditional Lebanese food.

I was not bothered by safety concerns in Beirut as much as I was by the atmosphere. It was pretentious and unfriendly.

Day 290 Porcelain Prisoner

I was not bothered by Fajid as he sat in quiet disillusionment, his sad antennae motionless and askew. I had watched him for much of the day, as he attempted to walk up the glossy white surface of the bathtub, only to slide ignominiously down, legs and antennae in awkward disarray. Occasionally I would find him peering into the blackness of the drain, longing for an escape from his seemingly impenetrable porcelain prison. His occasional awkward steps toward the hole of the drain only resulted in his spindly legs slipping on the edge, throwing him off balance, and making him grudgingly retreat to safety of the porcelain. Alas, his body lacked the flexibility of other species. It was at times like this that he would turn inward, staring at the emotionally devoid whiteness of his prison walls, and reflect on his short uneventful life. Was there warmth in his exoskeleton for another? Was there flittering progeny that will have to learn life’s lessons without him? Grand schemes of conquest and adventure slipping away?

He was silent on all counts.

It wasn’t because of cruelty that I did not set him free. I would be liberating him by morning-- because I had no intention of showering with him--but I did not set him free. In truth, I was feeling down and alone myself, and I valued his soundless company. Additionally, his imprisonment gave him a special status that crossed species lines. I am not sure I could guarantee his safety, even from me, if he lost this status. I did spare him the unpleasant knowledge that several of his species, no one special I hope, had attempted to access the bathroom via the fan ductwork, and because I had carelessly left the fan on, they had met their maker in an unholy puree that littered the sink with tiny crunchy bits and the fan housing with the moist parts. Thankfully, I only heard the commotion and did not bear witness to the carnage of which I bore partial responsibility.

It has been almost ten months that I have been traveling and I had avoided spending much time in bathrooms of a foreign nature, and had also made a special effort to avoid making friends in any of them. But then, with my first case of traveler’s diarrhea, I was grateful for Fajid’s company. We shared different but similar predicaments; neither of us knew if and when we would ever escape the confines of that bathroom. Sure, I could leave for a time, but I wasn’t long before I returned to Fajid’s side to sit in unspoken solidarity as prisoners of plumbing fixtures.

Day 289 Damascus, Syria

My hotel in Damascus was listed on Hostelworld.com as having dorm rooms or cheap single rooms. At the reception desk they denied that anything of the sort was available. They kept trying to show me expensive rooms (4 star) and I kept demanding something cheaper. Only after I refused to see anymore rooms upstairs did they relent and show me the downstairs rooms. I took a room two floors down that wasn’t much different than the upstairs rooms except it was smaller and windowless. My neighbors were the doormen and bellboys. The internet available advertisement actually meant that there is an internet shop down the street, not in the hotel. Nice truth in advertising. Of course the internet was not working half of the time at the shop.

Again the main tourist office, people in the bazaar, the internet shop, and a restaurant told me that I was the first American they have seen in years. The bazaar in Damascus is very very big. It did not take long for me to get lost. I stopped at one of the grand old Arab houses that was converted to a restaurant. In the lovely interior courtyard I had a thyme salad that was fantastic. It was fresh thyme in place of lettuce, olive oil, lemon juice, tomatoes, and onion. It was zingy and delicious. Then I had the tasty villager’s plate with bulgur, chickpeas, potatoes, and meat. With a one and a half liter bottle of water it came to about 6 USD. With help, I found the impressive old mosque in the old city and hung out to watch people.

If you visit Syria, there is one person you will feel like you know very well. Bashar Assad, the Syrian President. Every shop, or every shop that is smart, has at least one large poster of him up in the front window and usually many more inside. Sometimes they have so many pictures of him up in the windows that it is difficult to tell what they sell if you cannot read the Arabic signs. So imagine Bashar in every shop window. Now add huge banners and billboards on the buildings, every mile or so on the highway (really weird), and the posters and Bashar silhouettes in cars, buses, and taxis. There were times when I could stand on the street and easily see about 70 Bashars looking at me. He must really be loved there because in a “totally fair” election he won 99 percent of the vote. It is amazing how much people love an authoritarian ruler when there are soldiers around with machine guns implying that you should love him. The really great part is the variety of Bashar pictures. I personally love the Mr. Cool sunglasses Bashar, but others have merit as well: stern Bashar, laughing Bashar, noble Bashar, relaxing Bashar, military Bashar, concerned Bashar, fatherly Bashar, business Bashar….

Day 288 Hama, Syria

I took a bus (1 USD for 2 hours) south to Hama, home of the noria (giant water wheels) that once lifted water into the aqueducts. These giant wooden wheels are all this town has and they play them for everything they have got. The wheels are very big, powered by the river that runs through town, and make a godawful noise. Supposedly they generate 360 different tones as they spin. Loud. A local teenager thrilled the crowds by riding the wheel up and over the top. The slippery wet wood makes this a little dangerous and stupid. Fortunately, the water wheels do detract from the dirt, garbage, and ugliness that plague the city. For a few minutes anyway.

At my hotel I ran into a Canadian guy and the painful wall of reality. He was there looking for his fiancé that disappeared two months ago from the hotel across the street. Having traveled worldwide by herself five times, she was not inexperienced. She just disappeared and no one has any idea where. He has talked to every level of government, travelers, hotel clerks, and street vendors with little luck. He assumes she is dead. The question is whether she was in an accident and someone secretly buried her, afraid of the consequences, or if something more nefarious occurred. That gave me something to think about as I wandered the under lit streets. According to the hotel manager and a few other people I met, I am the only American they have seen in years. That is not reassuring.

Day 287 Aleppo, Syria

Arriving in Aleppo, right away I knew I was in a very different place than Turkey. I am not sure how to describe it other than poorer, less modern in thought, and slightly oppressive feeling.

The prices in Syria are silly cheap. Taxis are plentiful and almost free and food is a pittance. The souk, old market, was okay, shop keepers were very aggressive toward me, the rich foreigner of course. I wandered right through without looking at much. On my way out I stumbled upon the Citadel looming over the center of town. This was cool. I sat at a café right in front and had foul
(pronounced fool) which is giant fava beans in a yogurt sauce with ground sesame and olive oil. Seeing that it was only one USD, I made the mistake of ordering some dried yogurt with it. I got so much food there was no way I could eat it all. The yogurt came like hummus on a plate with olive oil, garnish, more pita, tomatoes, mint, onion, lemon, and pickles. The food was good. They have a saying about foul because it has so much protein that it makes all of the blood go to your stomach--so if you are acting stupid--they say you have eaten too much foul.

I wandered the ancient city inside the Citadel and loved the deep underground passages with scary steep steps. I am not sure I was supposed to go in them because they were not lit up, but I had a headlamp. Back up on top I went to possibly the most pathetic pay museum ever. At least it was only about $1.50. All they had were a few column fragments, a cannon, a simple catapult, some tiles, and a bunch of unlabeled crap. The best part of the Citadel, other than the grand entry, was Sharif, a young stone mason who was very happy to talk to me and invited me to eat with him. I regretfully declined eating as I was stuffed with foul. All through Aleppo, I was very pleased with the friendliness of the people.

Day 286 Bus Hell to Visa Hell

In the evening from Olympos, I took a bus to the top of the valley, another bus for two hours to Antalya, and another bus for fifteen (!!!) hours to Antakya, near Syria. I was sore, I hurt all over, and although I had my neck pillow this time, I could not sleep much because I was too uncomfortable. Before I even got my bag from under the bus, I had a guy telling me that if I wanted to go to Syria I had to hurry to catch the next bus. I had just finished 3 bus trips and wanted to rest. I let him lead me to a food stall/money changer because I was completely out of Turkish money to pay for the bus. The transaction happened very fast with my hundred dollar bill turning into a fifty, ten Turkish lira, and some Syrian money of which I had no idea what the value was. (I checked later and wasn’t cheated). Then he showed me the bus and disappeared with my passport and the Turkish lira. I sat on the bus for 15 minutes and when the bus was about to leave, I started to get worried about my passport. He came back at the last moment. Whew! We drove about an hour to the Turkish border, which was backed up about a mile with trucks. We all got off and walked for about half a mile to the border while the bus tried to make it through.

My problem was that I had no visa. In Istanbul the Syrian embassy said, “It is impossible for you to get a visa at the border.” I had read that you could pay extra (wink wink) and get a visa. When I got to the border and they saw that I had no visa, I was taken into a supervisor’s office on the side and questioned in terrible English. There were too many people around to consider offering a bribe in any way. He told me they would fax Damascus and I had to wait. I got there at noon. At two, they asked me more questions and faxed again. At four-ish, they asked the same questions and I talked to the commanding officer and they faxed again. In the mean time, I met a Jordanian guy that had been there for a few days waiting because he forgot to say on his first visa that he was going back through Syria again after going to Turkey. I hung out with him at the outdoor café, drank tea, ate a kebab, and watched a Turkish soap opera with a bunch of grizzled Turkish truck drivers. At six, a taxi driver offered to drive me into Aleppo (my bus abandoned me of course). He woke me up at 11:30, sleeping on a bench in the lobby, and told me my visa was ready. Then he helped me find the guy in the vestibule in the back of the building that sold me some postage stamps to put inside my passport. The taxi driver even used some of his own change when I was short. Back at the visa window, I waited for the slowest man ever to process my visa. Finally, after waiting for me for 6 hours of my 12 hours there, the taxi driver drove me across the border at midnight to Aleppo, 38 miles away (60km) away. I knew $20 USD was too much, but I didn’t care. He still had to drive further than that home.

Day 285 Blood and Indiana Jones

The next day I spent the morning (4 hours) cliff diving and snorkeling. I saw lots of little fish and an angry looking octopus that I left alone. I also found an underwater tunnel that connected to a hidden pool inside the rocks. It was about 12 ft (4m) underwater and maybe 25 ft (8m) long. It was a scary and exhilarating swim. The barnacles and rough rocks chewed me up as I swam through the tunnel, but I was glad I did it. When I got back to the top to dive again, I counted 22 places on my hands, arms, legs, and feet that were bleeding. They weren’t enough to worry about so I kept diving.

I hit the ruins afterward and loved it. The city is almost completely un-restored, overgrown by forest, and nearly devoid of signs, maps, and tourists. It makes it feel like you are the only one to see the ruins in ages. The trails, where they exist, disappear on one side of a ruin and you have to climb through, over the carved stones, that once were a building, to find the trail on the other side. I really had to work for it. I felt more like Indiana Jones there than anywhere I have ever been. I cut randomly through the trees and vines, and found hidden ruins and tombs that seemed completely undiscovered. There is one building with large sections of intact mosaics, very cool. I ended up climbing the ruins to the top of the mountain to a fantastic overlook of the ocean. Exhausted, in the unrelenting sun, it was then that I knew that I would be very sore from the day’s fun.

Day 284 Fire on the Mountain

I took two buses to get to Olympos, Turkey. I stayed in one of many “tree house” hostels in which the tree houses are built on varying height stilts around the trees rather than in the trees. It was cool though. It was a total chill place with hammocks and cushioned platforms to kickback on under the trees. They even played funky chill music all the time. With free breakfast and dinner, and wi-fi, I was not complaining.

The ocean was only 500 meters away through the ruins of an ancient city. I hit the beach first with its wonderful warm blue water and big rocks to dive from. I spent a few hours the first day just diving off a 26 ft (8m) rock. The bad part was the rock was very rough and as careful as I was I still ripped up one of my toes. (much worse to come).

That night I took a minibus up to see the Chimera flames on the mountain. They are from naturally occurring gas escaping from the ground at high temperature. When they come into contact with air, they ignite. It was a 30 minute ride and a mile walk up the mountain to the few flames that are left; they have dwindled over the centuries from covering the mountainside to only a few spots now. They are still cool. You can put them out and they reignite. There were a couple of Turkish women up there singing folk songs under the stars and it was very cool.