Blog - Go Backpacking

Walking Barcelona By Day And Night

My train arrived in Barcelona at 11pm as scheduled. I took the metro a few stops, and walked five minutes to the nearby family run, year and a half old, Mambo Tango hostel. They pride themselves on a friendly, peaceful, clean, respectful environment. The young, dreadlocked Spanish owner, Toti, warned me about pickpockets in the city, and suggested securing my valuables in the lockers provided at the hostel.

I woke up freezing at 7:30am because someone had turned off the room's heater during the night. I switched to a closer bed to ensure control of it going forward. At the free breakfast in the reception area, I learned of an FC Barcelona home game against Atletico Madrid at Europe's largest stadium, Camp Nou (holds 100,000 people). I asked the hostel owners for help in obtaining a ticket, and headed off to explore the city.

The first notable sight I happened across was the large market on Las Ramblas, the city's most popular street. It was the nicest one I'd seen my entire trip. Everything for sale looked great, meats, fresh fish, massive octopuses, cheeses, fresh fruits. There were some unique items too, such as entire pigs, one of which I witnessed being bought by a man. I bought a bit of local cheese, fresh mango juice, and headed south on Las Ramblas past the landmark statue of Christopher Columbus in front of the waterfront.

I walked past the harbor filled with sailboats awaiting warmer weather, watched a skateboarder attempt a wallride down into a steep embankment. His spotter was calling out to him from across the opposite embankment when there were no cars coming, for if he went at the wrong time, there would be enough momentum for him to land in the street and get destroyed by a car, whether he landed the trick or not. I stopped for a cappuccino on a sidewalk cafe near a big statue before continuing to the Barcelona Cathedral.

As often seems the case with important European churches, it was under renovation during my visit, and thus scaffolding covered the entire front facade. Inside, it was one of the best I'd seen in Europe. I walked around the interior arcades, admiring the centuries old altarpieces, stained glass, and Gothic architecture. Outside, in an alley between the cathedral and other buildings, a musician was performing on a guitar. I sat and enjoyed the moment, and music, before tipping him and walking the short distance to the Picasso Museum.

The museum was the first to be built while the artist was still alive, and the permanent collection focused on his early years working in Barcelona, though some of his cubist work were represented in a temporary exhibition. As I walked through the permanent collection, I overheard a teenage girl comment to her friends " this is his boring period"? which as vapid as it sounded, was a sentiment I could appreciate.

On the way back to the metro, I ducked into a small shop for a sugar rush. I ordered churros, dough nut-like pastries, which came sprinkled with sugar and a cup of chocolate for dipping (and in my case, drinking). Pure pleasure!

In the evening, I joined Toti and a bunch of other hostel guests for a night walk up the hill in the western part of the city on which is situated a castle. Before leaving the hostel, he suggested we leave all money and valuables behind, which I found odd given we were a group of about 10, with him as our guide.

First, we saw a great view of the downtown area all lit up at night, followed by a walk to the other side of the hill which offered views of the very large port. The fast-paced, one and a half hour tour wrapped up with a look at the castle's facade, before we walked back to the hostel where, with the assistance of Toti's Argentine girlfriend, Marina, I bought (to my surprise and delight) a front row, center, ticket to the FC Barcelona match.

I invited a Taiwanese girl from the tour, and my dorm room, for tapas at the recommended joint next to the hostel. We struggled to pick out dishes, given the staff didn't speak much English, and the menu was in Spanish. We managed to point our way to a few tapas, including bread topped with yogurt, salmon, honey and a few drops of soy sauce. The multiple ingredients and careful presentation already meant they were on a level above anything I'd experienced in the States. A glass of Catalonian red wine completed the experience.

The Trains To Spain

12:45 pm

I'm on the 7.5 hours train to Barcelona via Narbonne in southeast France.

The weather has turned, the sky now gray and cloudy. We all slept in this morning.

I showered around 10 am, enjoyed a croissant, indulged in another pastry, champagne, and white chocolate mousse, and sipped hot chocolate.

Would life ever be so tasty at home?

Checked e-mail, packed up, and was driven to Gare St. Jean by Magali and Seb, the former whose driving resembles that of a Formula-1 race car driver.

They both helped me collect my ticket, and saw me to the proper coach, number 14, seat 48.

While not a TGV, it is a clean, comfortable, and spacious train.

Passing vineyards, the region is beautiful. I will be back to Bordeaux, and France, for sure.

4:42 pm

My first train was delayed 20-30 minutes so I missed my Barcelona connection in Narbonne.

I have one hour and forty-minute wait, plus another changeover. I'll be arriving at 11 pm instead of 8 pm.

Hopefully, the hostel has a 24-hour reception.

7:36 pm

Left Narbonne at 6:18 pm and am speeding in a southerly direction, the darkness obscuring any potential views of the Pyrenees mountains separating France and Spain.

Finished the second of four ham and cheese sandwiches Magali's mom had made for my journey, and " Dark Star Safari."

Theroux was robbed in Jo'burg at the end, and suffering from intestinal parasites for months after his return home.

He seemed to struggle with the ending of his trip the same way I am.

8:52 pm

Off and running on the so far bumpy train to Barcelona, two hours further south!

The Grand Tour Of Arcachon Bay

On this day, Magali working a long shift at the bakery, Sebastien took me around the Bay of Arcachon. Biganos, the town where Magali's mom lived, was at the southeast edge of the bay. First, we drove southwest to the Dune of Pilat, Europe's biggest sand dune. Formed during the 18^th century, it was 104 meters high, 2.7km long, 500 meters wide, and consisted of 60 million cubic meters of sand.

I was wheezing on the way up, my heart pounding as though I were back in the Himalaya. The steady diet of chocolate and cheese was taking its toll. Atop the dune, the views of the surrounding pine forests and oyster farms near the entrance of the bay were stupendous. It was around this time I began to recall images of Anthony Bourdain's return to France in his Food Network show (and book) " A Cook's Tour."?

Next, we backtracked a little to walk through the town of Arcachon. It was very pretty, and despite the cold, the sunshine was nice and I could imagine what it would be like in Spring or Summer when the sidewalks and cafes would be busy with French and European vacationers.

We stopped in a little shop to try some oysters. Based on the tourism brochure I read, it seemed mandatory, but I didn't expect to enjoy them. I was wrong. They were fresh, three years old, and delicious with a squeeze of lemon. As Sebastien had mentioned, the flavor of sea water is tasty. We each had three, then ordered a second set of six since there are probably few oysters on Earth that would taste so good.

They're not particularly filling, but with a glass of white wine and some bread and butter, divine. This moment also reminded me of the way Bourdain talks about tasting his first oyster in France as a child as a defining moment in his life.

We then drove all the way around the bay toward Cape Ferret, stopping to walk through a village of oyster farmers along the way. It was rather deserted, being the low season, but perfect for taking a few photos. At La Pointe, we parked the car and went for a walk on the beach. There were quite a few people and dogs doing just the same.

It was only from this vantage point across the bay that I could gain a real appreciation for the monumental size of the sand dune we climbed in the morning. When we reached the old WWII embattlements, mostly covered by sand and graffiti, I was all but sure Bourdain's " France"? chapter/episode took place on the same beach, as he reminisced about playing around on the relics of the past. Our last stop before returning home was a trip up the local lighthouse for a 360-degree view of the bay.

Back at the house, I dug up confirmation online that the Bay of Arcachon was the location Bourdain use to visit as a kid, and did so once again with his brother as an adult. Yet again, I felt a connection with him, which is funny because his visit was to feel a connection with his childhood. At any rate, if you taste a fresh oyster in Arcachon, it's hard not to appreciate the moment, atmosphere, and (if you're lucky) company.

In the evening, Magali still working hard to serve the best pastries to feisty and indecisive clientÃ¨le, her mom made meat fondue and fries for Sebastien and I, which was complimented by a bottle of red wine from St. Emilion. There were at least 5 different bottles of sauce available for dipping, including a Bearnaise, pepper, and Bordeaux. The immediate dessert consisted of two of the cheeses we had tasted the day before. I was stuffed.

After dinner, I read more of " Dark Star Safari"? by the wood-burning fire (used to heat the home), Theroux having finally reached Johannesburg, South Africa. Mag's mom watched TV and knitted. Seb used the internet.

Mom retired at 10pm, so I said goodbye and thanked her for everything. Seb and I waited up for Magali, watching CSI, NYC. She got back from work around midnight, carrying two boxes of assorted pastries. I joined her for another glass of wine and we ate some of the unsold treats from her bakery. I chose a chocolate one with mousse and cake, wrapped in a thin, flat sheet of chocolate.

Yum!

Wine Tasting In St. Emilion

In the morning, we ate bread and chocolate pastries for breakfast, before heading off to St. Emilion, the " wine city"? northeast of Bordeaux which Magali first told me about during our time in South Africa. The district boasts 822 winegrowers and 5,400 hectares of vineyards. According to a tourism brochure, the land owned by each grower has remained small, usually 7 hectares, and within the same family for generations. Along the way, we picked up more antibiotics for my ailing digestive tract.

We spent the morning walking around the empty streets of the medieval town, tasting some local cheeses, and enjoying a private wine tasting at Chateau Mauvezin, a family run winery going back 15 generations.

I went all out for lunch at L'Antre Deux Verres which was positioned under a bell tower built between the 12^th and 15^th centuries. We were seated near a big, open, wood-burning fire which kept us warm and enveloped in a steady fog of smoke.

Dessert

I ordered soup with Parmesan to start, followed by filet mignon of pork with a white cream sauce and fries, and vanilla ice cream with a macaroon and a small cake unique to the Bordeaux region. The meal was complete with a 2002 vintage bottle of locally produced red wine.

After lunch, we climbed the bell tower for crisp, clear views of the town and surrounding vineyards. We also joined a French-speaking guide to tour the small Hermitage carved out of a natural grotto where Emilion lived, and the Monolithic Church, an underground church carved entirely out of solid limestone, complete with catacombs and a few skeletal remains still in their final resting place. By volume, it is the largest in Europe. No photos were allowed, but it was an awe-inspiring experience to be within such a unique church. Magali translated so I had some sense of what was being told to us.

I wanted to buy a souvenir to remember my visit to this World Heritage listed town, and opted for a smooth-operating, French made corkscrew. I'm sure it will encourage wine-drinking for years to come.

We returned home for a break, at which point I sat in bed and began to write in my journal. Magali's mom took my photo and said something I didn't understand. Later, when I walked out into the living room, I was greeted with the photo of my silly mug on the desktop of her computer, thereby replacing the one I took of her daughter playing with the village kids in Bulungula!

Our next adventure lead us to the bakery and restaurant where Magali works. She studied food, wine, and the restaurant business in university. We sat at the restaurant bar for a little bit. The manager was mixing drink orders non-stop, and overhead, images from Fashion TV's lingerie segment flashed on a projection screen. I tried not to stare at the bare bums too long. The pastries in the bakery looked better than any other I'd seen in Paris or the rest of Europe. Since she had to work the next day, the plan was made to bring some samples home for a taste test.

We ate dinner in Bordeaux's city center again. A nice wine bar where we ordered a selection of cheeses, meats, and two breads, one with eggplant and cheese, the other with ham and peppers. After enjoying a few more glasses of wine, Sebastien took the wheel on the ride home while Magali and I fell asleep.

An Introduction To Life In Bordeaux

It felt good to be back in France, a little warmer, and ever so slightly less expensive than Switzerland. I picked up my bag and was happy to see Magali and Sebastien outside the baggage claim area, waiting to greet me. We drove to the center of Bordeaux (city) and started to walk around the labyrinthine streets, past churches and busy restaurants. It was still cold.

We settled on a typical French restaurant facing a small plaza with a church. I ordered the same as Magali, duck breast with foie gras and potatoes while Seb had shredded duck with potato in a casserole type form. And of course we had a bottle of red wine from the region. I over did it by ordering my favorite, tiramisu, for dessert. My second rich, fatty, French meal of the day consumed, Magali drove us 45 minutes south to her hometown, Biganos, though she is originally from Nice, the only other place besides Paris I've visited in the country.

She stopped the car at her uncle's house, about five minutes from her mom's place. To my surprise, she was about to present me to her uncle and older brother. As we approached the front door, I could hear loud laughter and took a deep breath.

Inside, drinking wine around the dinner table were her brother, young nephew, and her uncle and his friends including a man who spoke some English in a wheelchair, a brunette woman I didn't speak to, and a blond woman who owned a bird that took turns perching on everyone's shoulder (between flights to and from the living room). A friendly black dog also vied for everyone's attention. Everyone was in a good mood having just finished dinner, and it wasn't long before Magali's brother opened a bottle of champagne (poorly, as it overflowed and sprayed wine everywhere).

I tried a traditional dessert, a pie in which a " stone,"? usually a toy, is placed. Whoever gets the piece with the stone is King or Queen and gets to wear a crown (think Burger King). They rigged the distribution, ensuring I became King, though I quickly anointed the blond lady as the Queen.

It wasn't long after the champagne was finished that her uncle took out French cognac under the guise of " it's not every day he has an American in his dining room."? It was too strong for me, and a subsequent apple-flavored French liquor was even worse.

There was a cloud of cigarette smoke over the table, with music playing from a stereo and a TV in the living room. Magali's brother performed some slight of hand with a cigarette and magic tricks with a deck of cards, he was good enough to fool me! The old blond woman, limited in her English, kept asking me about Barack Obama as President and saying they (the French) like Americans. I did my best to be patient with her, despite my annoyance when she would lean her arm on my shoulder.

And then we left, drove a few minutes to Magali's Mom's home, and I was shown my wonderful room with a comfy, queen-sized bed, clean sheets, and fluffy, warm comforter.

The UN, Red Cross, And A Photo Safari

Geneva, home to luxury watch companies, the Red Cross, and the headquarters of the United Nations in Europe. I chose the latter two for exploration my first afternoon. A short walk from Calen's apartment, they were across the street from each other, making my life as a tourist a little easier.

The one hour guided tour of the UN buildings gave me some additional insight into the structure of the organization, though the actual tour simply involved walking from one conference room to the next. Some of the rooms were quite grand, but at the end of the day, a conference room is only so exciting. The visitor photo ID's made for a nice souvenir.

Across the street from the UN's visitors entrance, perched upon a hill, was the Red Cross. I made quick work of the basement level museum, and returned to Calen's apartment to continue making effective use of his new laptop and fast internet connection while he was still at work. His previous laptop, along with his entire backpack, had been stolen while he was traveling in Europe himself. Literally stolen from right beside him when he wasn't looking. I appreciated his trustful nature.

My second day in Geneva was dedicated to wandering around the city center before catching an evening flight to Bordeaux. I meandered through the backstreets, buying chocolates, walking through a big church, looking for interesting scenes to photograph, and settling into a fancy French meal Le Perron.

The risotto with red wine, cheese, and salad caught my attention on the menu, but when I inquired about the ingredients listed on the French-only menu, I was told it included meat, which sounded odd to me. The dish arrived, and I saw by meat, the waiter meant bone marrow, a rich surprise. Bread and butter, water, and espresso finished me off. The lunch was indulgent, over the top. I was ready for a nap.

Instead, I picked up my backpack and took the train to the airport. The Egyptian bacteria which had invaded my body was back in full force, making for an unpleasant pre-flight experience. The Easyjet flight was luxuriously quick, just 60 minutes, and cheaper than taking the train.

Chillon Castle And My Geneva Couchsurf

To break up the train rides, I made a pitstop in Montreux, a town on Lake Geneva in the region dubbed the Swiss Riviera.

Vineyards are tucked into the hillsides, and in clear weather, the lower Alps are visible over the far side of the lake, which also makes for a fantastic backdrop to Chillon Castle.

Dining room with big fireplace and original wooden pillars (hundreds of years old) — Dining room

The castle was started as early as 1150, and used for a fortress, arsenal, and prison for at least 260 years.

It was fun to explore, and bigger than it looked from the outside. There were about 40 different rooms and three courtyards.

In the lowest levels, where prisoners were kept, you could hear the water lapping up against the stone walls.

Once I had my fill of the castle, I retrieved my bag from the handy storage lockers at the train station and continued to Geneva.

It was a 15-minute walk from the station to Calen's apartment, though I made it longer by starting to try to get help a block before his directions would've led me to his building.

I was cold, tired, and getting frustrated when someone was finally able to point me in the right direction.

Calen and his girlfriend Nicole welcomed me. They are both Canadians, living and working in Geneva on one-year internships. I hit the air mattress early and slept for almost 12 hours.

The Golden Pass Train Rides To Lake Geneva

I checked out of Balmer's after two nights, resupplied myself with a new bag of assorted chocolate truffles, and checked my e-mail at a posh McDonald's before going back to the train station for the 11:06am panorama train. The Golden Pass scenic route runs from Luzern to Geneva via Interlaken and lots of little towns in between. It was another good suggestion from Stefan.

Within the first two hours of leaving Interlaken, I had already switched trains twice, but barely had to wait ten minutes at each changeover. The Swiss run a tight rail operation.

It was hard to take photos with the glare on the windows, and lack of sunlight or color. The sky was grey and overcast almost the whole way, and snow covered everything until we descended to Lake Geneva.

I had my laptop and book with me, but I decided to spend the whole trip staring out the window at the passing landscape. The cost of living and travel is so high in Switzerland, it is almost hard to enjoy the experience. So I savored the snowiest views of my trip, for the chances of me returning in the future on my own dime were slim to none.

Interlaken And Lunch Atop The Swiss Alps

Interlaken West train station

The train ride to Interlaken allowed me to see my first views of the Swiss countryside, and there was plenty of snow cover, but clouds and fog conspired to hide the mountains. Interlaken is a resort town and Europe's version of Queenstown, New Zealand. Billing itself as an adventure destination, winter activities include the usual skiing and snowboarding, plus more exotic options such as glacier treks and ice climbing. The latter appealed to me, though not at this point in my trip when funds are low, and motivation for physical exertion is waning. Summer fun includes whitewater rafting, rock climbing, and skydiving.

Balmer's hostel

It was a short walk from the western train station to Balmer's Herberge. At 60 years of age, it was the oldest private hostel in Switzerland, and a perennial favorite amongst backpackers. The complex of three buildings was a little overwhelming, though I imagine it is a beehive of activity in the high season. I ate a nice traditional lunch of veal sausage in onion sauce with rosti (shredded potatoes in a pancake form).

Drool

I picked out a cappuccino torte from the adjacent bakery for dessert. The restaurant, featuring pink tablecloths and a piano player, was populated with lots of older folks. And at $30 for the meal, it was understandable why the backpackers were probably cooking Ramen in the kitchen of Balmer's. I spent the night debating whether to visit Karin in Luzern, our initial meeting having been in Jeffrey's Bay, South Africa.

I seized my one full day in Interlaken to reach Schiltorn, a 2,971-meter (10,000 foot) peak with a rotating restaurant overlooking the Swiss Alps, and more specifically, Jungfrau (4,158m), Monch (4,099m), and the infamous Eiger (north face, 3,970m). The process involved taking a bus to a train. The train ride through the snowy landscape, alongside cold streams, and up the mountain valley, was classic. Throw in the skiiers and snowboarders, and I was in the Warren Miller movies I use to fawn over as a teenager. Skiing in the Alps was a fantasy then, and would remain as such since I wasn't ready to pony up the money for equipment and clothing rental, plus lift ticket.

The train segment ended in a town where I then caught a bus again. The bus dropped us at the first in a series of cable cars which lifted people up the mountains. I counted three different cars to get to the top, each providing a more impressive view of the mountains than the one preceding it.

Atop Schilthorn, I took in the 360-degree views at a relaxed pace, despite the freezing temperatures. We were above the clouds which blanketed the lower elevations, but views were still obscured along the horizon. After taking as many photos as my fingers would allow, I sought shelter in the restaurant. To make the most of the experience, I decided to enjoy another traditional Swiss meal, cost be damned!

yum

I ordered Spatzli Delight, mini dumplings with home made cheese spatzli, bacon, roasted onions, and pear slices. And hot coffee to drink. My table on the outside ring of the floor, took 45 minutes to slowly spin around in a complete circle, offering me all the views in a warm and comfortable setting. The majority of other diners were skiing as well as taking in the views. I was content with the sightseeing aspect alone.

After lunch, I sat in a dark theater for tourists, and admired film clips of the mountains during the summer, as well as winter. More importantly, I saw the scenes from the James Bond movie, " Her Majesty's Secret Service,"? which were filmed at the same location, after construction on the restaurant had been completed in the 1960's. It marked the second time I'd visited a filming locale for a Bond movie (the first being in Thailand).

Returning to the hostel, I reversed the order of my ascent. Three cable cars, two buses, and a train ride. I watched a bit of TV, wrote by a wood-burning stove, and tried to fall asleep early.

The Einstein Museum And Work Delayed

I used my second full day in Bern to check out the Einstein Museum in the southern part of town. Along the way, I climbed up the cathedral spire as Stefan suggested for a great view of the city. The snow, which he said was unusual for the region, turned the environment into my image of a winter wonderland. If there weren't so many clouds, I would've been able to see the Alps.

The Einstein Museum was developed from what was to be a temporary exhibit. It was a relaxing and peaceful way to spend an hour, though I don't know that I learned anything new about the man. And I certainly didn't develop a better grasp of his groundbreaking theories, despite the animated video lessons.

I returned to Stefan's apartment, though he was still hanging around with a friend at an indoor climbing wall. When they got back, we had a bite to eat, and I was invited out for a drink. Neither of them were particularly keen to go to work Monday morning. I was feeling tired so I initially declined. Mike, Stefan's friend, then offered to buy me a drink and I did not protest his generosity. Stefan said he normally rode a bike everywhere, so he lent me one and we pedaled back to the center of town where we dismounted outside one of the most upscale restaurants/lounges in the city. It seems we were going out for more than just a beer.

Kornhaus Keller was the name of the centuries old, underground building we entered. We found the only available set of leather seats back by the cigar room. I declined Jameson in favor of a drink I would actually enjoy, a Bombay Sapphire gin and tonic.

Going for broke, Mike suggested cigars, though I declined them as well in favor of a few puffs from Stefan's. They chose the cheapest ones on offer, at $9 apiece, or about half the cost of my drink. An hour or two were passed in the dim light of the exclusive haunt before Stefan and I returned to his apartment. I thanked him for everything, and retired in the comfort of one of his six roommate's beds. He was set to begin a new job in the morning, while I intended to sleep late, and catch a train to Interlaken.

The Bern Identity

Laura's Dad stopped by her apartment as planned, and after talking for a bit, he offered to walk me to the Gare de Lyon where I would catch my high speed TGV train to the Swiss capital of Bern. I appreciated his help all the more when my credit card didn't work in the automated machines. I was able to confirm my reservation, but according to a ticket agent, the problem lay with design differences between American and European credit cards. I boarded the train a few minutes before it sped off from one European capital to another.

The train was smooth, clean, and comfortable. As the French countryside swept by in a blur, I wrote, read, and listened to music. It was already dark when we crossed into Switzerland, but I could see snow on the ground. Most of the passengers got off at Lausanne. The train arrived in Bern about 30 minutes late, giving me 50 minutes to reach my hostel, Hotel Glocke, before reception closed for the night at 10pm. Bern, or at least the historic old part of the city, is easily navigated on foot, and after a short walk down empty, snow-lined streets, under a clock tower, and past a McDonald's, I was within the warm embrace of my hostel for the night. I made myself a tuna sandwich, ate some cookies, and went to bed.

The next morning, I slept as late as possible, showered, and put my big pack in the hostel's storage room for the day. What draws a person to Bern, beyond shopping, I couldn't tell you. I was there to visit Stefan, a funny guy I met through a weekend meditation course in Pokhara, Nepal last April. I spent the first part of the day walking the icy streets of Bern's historic area, while hoping Stefan arrived back from his ski holiday in the Swiss Alps as planned. Bern has about 6km of covered arcades, making it easy to shop regardless of the weather. Unfortunately, the cost of everything in Switzerland is exorbitant. Browsing restaurant menus, I quickly found the typical entree to cost at least $20.

I walked through the city's main cathedral, and found a self-service internet cafe. At a rate of 10 Swiss Francs an hour, or a little over $9, I encountered the highest internet rates of my trip, beating French Polynesia in the middle of the South Pacific! I can understand the high cost of internet access on tropical islands, or remote places, but I can't figure out why the costs are so high in one of the most wealthy and modern countries in the world.

In the early afternoon, I decided to scout out Stefan's apartment. I managed to find it just a few minutes walk from the train station, and while he wasn't home yet, he'd informed Sonia, one of his five roommates, of my visit. She invited me in, offered me a warm drink, gave me a spare key, and made me feel at home. We talked for a bit, and then I walked back to the hostel to pick up my backpack. When I returned to the apartment, Stefan was there, and welcomed me too. It was good to see him again.

I mentioned fondue, and he suggested me make it for dinner, so we ran out to the local market to get cheese, white wine, bread, and a few other things for the weekend. He said most stores would be closed the next day, Sunday. The fondue was cheesy and delicious. Almost out of reflex, I dipped bread in the melted cheese over and over again. I stopped far too late for my own good, especially since we then went out for a few beers at a popular bar in a converted school gym afterwards.

New Year's Eve At A French House Party

On the last day of 2008, I slept late before heading off for a quick visit to the Paris' modern art museum, the Pompidou. In 1998, it had been closed for renovations. I had just enough time to visit the temporary exhibitions, the most noteworthy being on the development of Futurism in Paris around the turn of the 20^th century. As I suspected, there were great views of the city from the unique series of escalators which rise up along the facade of the building.

Laura met me at the exit of the museum and we went for a quick walk past the Louvre to the Pont Neuf (bridge), before picking up some wine, vodka, and frozen quiche at the supermarket. We made our way to her friend Alice's apartment a few metro stops away. It turned out to be a girls-only pre-party. I must have looked like a deer in the headlights because the first comment I heard from one of the girls was " not to be afraid."? Thankfully, I had already met several of them the first night. But that can only do so much when there is a language barrier. Laura continued to be a good host, translating the more interesting conversations so I wasn't always in the dark. I'd never seen so many quiches in my life. Laura said they were quick and easy to prepare, and a good alternative to pizza which was considered fast food. Several bottle of fine French champagne were also uncorked. I tried at least three different kinds, each with its own distinct flavor.

Around 9:30pm, we split up into two cars and drove south toward the suburbs where a house party was already in full effect. As we drove, my fear for the night materialized in the form of an urgent need to use the toilet, the result of an ongoing intestinal bug picked up in Egypt. I alerted Laura to my first priority once we got to the house. Embarrassment took a back seat to King Tut's revenge, and I barged my way into the first floor bathroom within a minute of our arrival. Ten minutes later, I emerged, and began to talk with a guy named Pierre who had learned English during a school year abroad in Nashville, TN. Small talk ensued with whomever I could find who spoke sufficient English. After a second trip to the bathroom, I felt good to start drinking more of the wines which had been brought by guests, red, white, and champagne.

At midnight, everyone began to wish each other a happy new year (bon anne in French) by doing the double cheek kiss. From the small, first floor balcony, the Eiffel Tower could be seen all lit up in the distance. Fireworks were heard, but not seen. Inside the house, everyone continued to party, and there was a bit of dancing too. The music was constantly changed as songs were played from individuals' iPods and the host's laptop. Given the French people' dislike of English, I was surprised to find they know the words to Britney Spears songs!

By 2:30am, I was tired, and ready to go, so I hoped we would leave sooner than expected. Since Laura thought we'd need to take the train back, and it didn't start running until at least 5am, the plan was to spend the night at the house. Instead, we lucked out and the two girls who drove our group to the party, were ready to drive home by 4am (I think).

Whether it is New Year's Day, or any other day, I love to sleep late. Laura spent the afternoon packing for her impending trip to Cambodia while I tried to stay out of her way. She let me spend one more night in her apartment, even though she was on a plane to Bangkok. I was so tired, I stayed in and played around on the internet before going to sleep early.

A Busy Day In Paris

My first and second visits to Paris were during the summer of 1998. I saw a lot back then, and was excited to revisit familiar places and new sights now. The first morning began with fresh croissants, a baguette, and coffee. Unfortunately, the weather was not on our side. A steady, cold rain was falling as we stepped out.

The first stop on my list was Jim Morrison's grave, but we found the cemetery was closed due to icy conditions. Laura's suggestion, Montmartre, came next though we decided to stop in a restaurant she knew, Le Rendez-Vous Des Amis, in the area before visiting the church. Tourists were out in force, but she steered us down a side street away from the crowds. We ordered coffees to warm up, and plates of cheeses and meats.

Satiated after stuffing myself with cheese and bread, we braved the cold again. We left the restaurant to find the rain had begun to mix with snow flurries. I was ecstatic to be standing in snow after more than a year without it. On a clear day, the view of Paris from Montmartre is suppose to be brilliant, as it sits atop a hill. Instead, I saw vague outlines of landmark sites. Inside the church, live music was being played, and a steady stream of tourists were walking around the aisles. The holidays turned out to be a good time for European church visits as they are all decorated with nativity scenes.

No visit to Paris would be complete without a glance of the Arc de Triumph, Champs de 'Elysees, and Eiffel Tower, so they were next on my list. Memories of my photos from long ago, under sunny skies in warm weather, were constantly flashing in my mind as we walked down the street. Laura suggested we return in the evening when the lights would be visible. The Eiffel Tower was closed due to frost. We walked by the Hotel de Ville which featured a busy ice skating rink. The fun fountain at the Pompidou was frozen over, icicles hanging off the colorful sculptures. The museum was already closed by sundown, so I joined Laura for a drink with her friend at a nearby restaurant.

One of the first things her friend said to me, in a joking yet truthful way, was that the French don't like to speak English. This was no surprise, as I learned it in Laos. In reality, it is less the ability to speak conversational English than the self-consciousness about speaking proper English that results in such a declaration, as English has been taught in French schools for quite awhile. I found this visit a bit more awkward than the prior night's party, however I did pick on a Moroccan engineering student who was separated from his friends. Otherwise I tried to be patient so Laura could enjoy her visit. If it had been warmer, I'd have spent the time wandering around the nearby streets.

Before returning to Laura's place, we stopped back at the Champs de 'Elysees to see the lights. It was worth the return visit, as the gray sky didn't matter after sundown. All the trees had blue Christmas lights, and vertically hanging fluorescent lights which had blue lights drip from top to bottom every few seconds. It created a nice effect along the famous street.

The night continued at an Egyptian restaurant, where I had a chance to smoke as well, sheesha. The Moroccan guy met up with us there, and also joined us for dinner at a nearby French restaurant. I ordered eggplant ravioli smothered in two types of cheese, while the other two dined on cheeseburgers. We shared a jug of wine, which is slightly less (in terms of volume and price) than a typical bottle. I was anxious to try a dessert, and chose the chocolate cake which was particularly good, and certainly not worth the $9 price tag. Restaurants in France are prohibitively expensive, and after almost a year of eating in restaurants around the world, I was having trouble adapting to this reality. The weakness of the US Dollar makes it feel like New York City prices, plus a 40% surcharge!

During the day, a few small grey dots which had appeared in the middle of my camera's display window began to spread like an Etch-a-Sketch, first extending horizontally across the 3-inch screen width, and then a though the camera was developing a case of macular degeneration, the middle circle became bigger and bigger.

Welcome To Paris

Gela greeted me bright and early in the morning. Breakfast was white bread topped with chocolate sprinkles, an unheard of combination in the USA, yet apparently the second most popular topping after butter for the Dutch! We both headed to the train station with our backpacks. She was making her way to the airport while I was simply going to the neighboring town to kill 6 hours before my bus ride to Paris of the same duration. I hunkered down in a restaurant across the street from the train station, writing, reading, eating, drinking, and generally spacing out in a state of semi-consciousness.

The Eurolines bus ride was timely and uneventful. I arrived at the Paris bus station, and met up with Laura who was coming from the metro to collect me. She was the picture of Paris, complete with red beret. We met 7 months ago on the train from Varanasi to Agra (and the Taj Mahal) in India.

We took the metro back to her apartment in the eastern part of the city near the Bastille, catching up along the way. She warmed up some pasta and a hamburger as I hadn't eaten dinner. I had barely enough time to shower before her friends, mostly fellow medical students, began to arrive around 10pm. Everyone arrived with a bottle of wine or beer to share, and soon we were all seated in a little circle as cigarette smoke filled the room and the latest gossip was shared. I was witnessing the French version of " Grey's Anatomy."?

Laura, knowing I didn't speak a lick of French, was very good about ensuring I felt included in what was happening. Thankfully, some of the guys spoke good English so I could establish my own conversations. And the girls tried, which I appreciated. One of them, Manon, was doing a year's study abroad, in Madrid, so I made sure to get her e-mail address in the hopes of a future couchsurf. It was somewhat comforting to know a lot of the people I met this first night would also be at the New Year's party.

Tillburg Or Bust

I was tired, but had to be out of my room by 10am. I hung out with Tyler and Dan in the lounge and did some writing before taking the metro to the train station where I boarded a 3:19pm train to visit Gela in her hometown of Tilburg, Holland. Eight months earlier, we had met in Pokhara, Nepal and trekked together for 10 days in the Annapurna region. It was nice to see a familiar face waiting for me at the train station.

Tilburg felt noticeably colder than Brussels, not that it was far from the border between the two countries. We walked for ten minutes through the narrow, empty streets of the shopping district to her 4^th floor apartment, which held a commanding view of bars and restaurants down below, and the skyline complete with double-spired, 19^th-century cathedral. Her apartment was decorated with photos from Nepal, ones I recognized like Mt. Machapucchre (aka Fishtail) and a photo I took of her surrounded by Nepali kids on our trek. Somehow, I hope to pluck out the best of my 12,000+ photos when I get home and decorate in the same manner.

Dinner was a homemade dish, chicken, cherries, and a type of gravy or curry baked in dough. It was really good, and I was spoiled with dessert, little reindeer shape ice creams. Initially, I wanted to join Gela at a local club since it was Friday night, but I was too tired from the nights out in Brussels so I stayed in and uploaded photos from Egypt.

The next day we both slept late. I was in no hurry to step into the cold, however we had plans to visit 's-Hertogenbosch, a neighboring town by train. It was known for two things: a Dutch dessert at Jan deGroot Lunchroom and the St. Janskathedraal (begun in 1380). We passed the pastry shop on arrival due to a long line, though we ended up missing out on the dessert because it was sold out by the time we were heading back to the train station. As we walked through the back alleys, complete with canals and cobblestones, shoppers were out in force for sales (and no doubt, returns). It was freezing! I picked up much-needed long underwear at a discount shop, though gloves I liked were more difficult to track down. We stopped for tea in one of Gela's favorite places, The Pink Lemon, which was decorated in (you guessed it) pink. I was the only guy in there. Back in Tilburg, we picked up a few movies and some groceries for dinner on the way to Gela's apartment.

My last day in Tilburg was dedicated to Tilburg itself. We slept late again, and walked around town, stopping in the town cathedral. She took me to a popular restaurant, well decorated for the holidays. Christmas lights canvassed the ceiling, while our table fittingly featured a rough map of the world. We had a typical Dutch fast food, kroket. It was a mashed meat encased in breading and deep fried. Presented on top of white bread with mustard, and a side salad, it was quite good. The hot chocolate with whip cream was so decadent, I ordered two, and made a mental note to drink it more often while in Europe.

I had wanted to go on a bike ride, as it was an activity I skipped during my first visit to Holland ten years ago, but it was too cold. Instead, while Gela packed for her New Year's trip to Lisbon, Portugal, I tried to line up future couchsurfs with people I already knew, and some I didn't. My itinerary was falling into place with just a few question marks left.

The Christmas Day Pub Crawl

The prior morning, Steve had been ejected from his bed and room at 10am, for housecleaning, so I got myself into gear thinking the same policy would be in place on Christmas. I later found out it wasn't, and while Steve lay nestled in bed until 2pm as I would normally do, I washed up and ran into Matt downstairs. He was in better shape than me, but was willing to sit and talk for a few hours while I recovered my strength.

Eventually, I was ready to strike out in the cold again. We spent 3 hours walking around the city, sharing stories and occasionally commenting on our local environment. To escape the cold for a bit, I suggested we get some fries at the same place I had them the day before. We continued walking around, eventually looping our way back to the hostel. It was just the type of aimless sightseeing I intended to apply in all the cities I visited. Given my intent to couchsurf most of my time in Europe, I intended to rely on local advice rather than spend more money on guidebooks.

In the evening, Matt, Steve, Tyler, Dan and I reconvened at the bar, joined by another American, Scott, who had recently finished a job teaching English in Hungary. Together, we marched down the same streets as the night before, intent on a pub crawl. To our dismay, the Irish pub was closed. Tyler lead us on a short sightseeing detour to see the famous little pissing man statue. He had a photo of it dressed in a Santa suit, but it had already been taken down by Christmas night, so my photo shows him buck naked, once again.

Scott then steered us to the Delirius Cafe, a giant bar with the top floor being Belgian beers on tap, and the bottom floor featuring slightly less expensive bottled beers and a stage where a cover band would later play. We spent a few hours there, as it filled with smoke, tourists, and young Belgians.

In an effort to revive the pub crawl concept, we exited the bar and made it all the way across the alley to the Floris Bar which advertised absinthe, among other liqueurs. We wasted no time in ordering up the strong shots. The bartender gave us the complete show, pouring the " green fairy,"? putting a sugar cube on top of a metal plate laid flat over the shot glass, dipping the sugar in the highly alcoholic liqueur, lighting the sugar on fire, and letting it burn itself out. The customers then come into play, dropping the sugar back into the glass, stirring it with the metal plate, and saying " cheers"? before downing it with a grimace on the face. We had a beer, and another absinthe, while hanging out in the pirate-themed half of the bar.

When it came time to head out again, we soon found ourselves munching on kebabs and gyros on a Brussels' sidewalk at 2am. They were heartwarming and delicious in the frigid night.

Christmas Eve In Brussels

The Van Gogh hostel is about 15-20 minutes from the city center, but I took my time walking there.

Lots of people were out and about, shopping for last minute gifts as they do in the United States. I ducked into a glitzy mall for warmth and exploration.

Of course everything seemed too expensive, with the Euro having gained back most of its previous value against the dollar (roughly 1.40 USD to 1 Euro).

I tasted a complimentary coffee, bought my first selection of Belgian chocolates, and continued onward down a long street flanked by shops.

I spotted my first waffle joint and ticked off another Belgian delicacy. The sweet, warm, waffle was a real treat given the winter weather.

Further along, I began to visit clothing shops in search of an inexpensive beanie and scarf. Neither were as cheap as I wanted, but they were both a necessity.

Everyone was so stylishly dressed in big fluffy scarves, leather jackets, boots, and jeans. I felt like a freezing mess.

I longed for a nice pair of warm jeans, but resisted the urge to drop $45 so easily.

The North Face pants I've used this long are great for warmer climates, but far too loose and breezy for the European winter.

As I approached the main square, I ran into the Christmas market, with small temporary shops selling everything from foie gras to Greek soap made from olive oil.

I stopped for a cappuccino and grilled ham/cheese sandwich.

Along with a pack of gum, it set me back $10. I began to wonder whether I was being too optimistic when I gave myself 26 days in Europe,

I also stopped for the famous Belgian fries, which I took with the "Brazil" sauce. Delicious.

And everyone in the streets, a mix of tourists and Belgians, were enjoying the same local treats and atmosphere.

Returning to the hostel, I moved into my 4-bed mixed dorm which I had to myself for the night, showered, and stopped down at the bar where I soon met Matt (army guy from Wisconsin), Steve (Aussie), Tyler and Dan (students from San Diego), and later Pollyanna and Vanessa (Brazil, living in Dublin).

We began to sample the fine, strong, Belgian beers. On the low end of the spectrum, beers like Jupiter and Stella Artois were about 5% alcohol, while those crazy trappist monks brewed 7% and 9% beers.

By comparison, I believe American Budweiser is 3%.

Around 9pm we headed downtown, our merry band braving the cold Christmas Eve weather.

We stopped in the first bar we found, Celtica, which was packed as I imagine most Irish pubs the world over are on Christmas Eve.

Beer-drinking continued. I started with a pint of Guinness for $6, and then realizing with a happy hour running from 1 pm to midnight every day, Stella Artois was a far better deal at $1.50.

Far too much beer later, Tyler, Steve and I split off and tried to find another bar but they seemed to be closing up.

Back at the hostel, I played some overpriced ($1.40/game) pool with Steve and crashed around 3 am.

Europe Revisted

At the Cairo airport, I learned Jetairways was a Belgian discount airline. The 737 was fully booked with Europeans returning home for the holidays. I was completely surrounded by children who screamed incessantly for takeoff and landing, and most of the time in between, except when they were running up and down the aisle and kicking the backs of seats. I had saved a pair of foam earplugs from the Air Qatar flight to Cape Town, and made good use of them. They dulled the screams, and allowed me to maintain my sanity during the five hour trip.

Once off the plane, I breezed through immigration, baggage, and customs, collected my first Euros, and got the train to the metro. During the changeover, my lack of success with a pay phone lead a Belgian girl to offer up her cell phone so I could let Geraldine, my Couchsurfing host for the night, know about my late arrival. She picked me up thirty minutes later, and we zipped back to her home in the freezing cold night.

I was surprised to find she had a small Christmas gift for me, travel size Burberry products. She was correct to figure Europeans would appreciate a better-smelling me after the past year of roughing it. In return, I offered her a choice of small things I'd picked up in recent countries. Gift exchange behind us, we chatted for an hour or two before bedtime. The comfort of the fold out couch, complete with duvet, was only matched by Hannes' in Cape Town. I slept well.

Before heading off to work, and dropping me back at the metro, Geraldine heated up hot chocolate and croissants. Breakfast gave us a little more time to talk, though the stay felt altogether too short. Back at the metro, I easily made my way to the stop nearest the Van Gogh hostel. Entering the reception area, I was in shock. The hostel's common area/bar looked far nicer than I expected based on the Hostelworld.com reviews.

Unfortunately, it's common in European hostels to have lock out periods where you can't get into your room while they clean. I put my bag in a locker, surveyed the free black and white photocopy of the city center, and hit the streets.

Final Thoughts - Egypt

The perfect day in Aswan and Egypt's Nile Valley starts with the usual breakfast of coffee, bread, and egg. Progress onward to further readings of Paul Theroux's "Dark Star Safari" while the symphony of Egyptians' daily lives delight the ears. Honking taxi horns punctuate the call to prayer sounded over mosque loudspeakers. Glancing up from my book, Egyptians smile at one another during friendly interactions, horse-drawn carts clack by in search of their next foreign customer, and the local women walk by with their bright, gossamer head scarves occasionally catching the breeze. Lunch, strong Turkish coffee, and a few puffs from a sheesha add to the enjoyment. A breezy felucca ride along the Nile River in the mid-afternoon completes a day in my kind of Egypt.

Highlights -

taxi ride from airport to Berlin Hotel upon arrival in Cairo
Egyptian Museum, specifically King Tut's room and animal mummies
touring the Great Pyramids and Sphinx on a camel
Valley of the Kings and xxx
Luxor Temple
my clean, comfortable, private, modern room with bath on the cruise ship
Edfu Temple
watching the landscape as we cruised up the Nile River Valley
Kom Ombo Temple
hanging out with the Korean guys, Darcy, Gary, Amy, Joe, Natalie, Nate, and Jim on the cruise and associated tours
Aswan and High Dams (for their views)
Temple of Isis at Philae
smoking sheesha and drinking tea
walking through the Aswan market
the early morning convoy to Abu Simbel
felucca rides
the Nile cruise in Cairo (even if the bellydancing was a letdown, at least I saw the city at night and stuffed my face with good food!)
couchsurfing with Megan
exploring Islamic Cairo with Tim

Spices

Lowlights -

dealing with the hassles of souvenir salesman
avoiding the scams and hustles of guides and felucca captains
negotiating for a Ho-Ho, Twinkie or bottle of water (some things should not require bargaining!)
picking up a case of traveler's diarrhea after the cruise

Eating -

Tea, Turkish coffee, Stella beer, falafel, chicken shawarma, hummus and tahina and baba ghanoush with pita bread, lots of kushari (mixture of noodles, rice, macaroni, lentils and onions in tomato sauce - chili optional), kofta, stuffed pigeon, cucumbers, and various cakes and desserts from the cruise ship buffets.

# of Days Couchsurfing -

Average Cost Per Day -

$90

Couchsurfing Cairo

My last day in Aswan was all about killing time until the night train back to Cairo. Normally I could occupy myself for hours on end with a solid internet connection, but I had been informed that high speed access was down throughout the country. The 1st class ride back to Cairo was much more to my liking than the ride to Luxor. Instead of semi-private compartments, the carriage was open, but the seats were wide, comfortable, and almost fully reclined. I got 5-6 hours of sleep, arriving in Cairo at 6:30am, no more than one hour late. I took a taxi back to the Berlin Hotel where I slept much of the day in the little room I had my first night in the country.

In the evening, I attended a dinner cruise on the Nile, only as a means to see some bellydancing. As in my guidebook, the hotel manager warned against local clubs for such entertainment, as they had numerous ways of hiking up the bill. Unfortunately, the bellydancer on the cruise performed far less than I expected. Once we set off on the river, a musician began to play and everyone started to feed from the excellent buffet dinner. Then, the bellydancer from Norway burst onto the scene, and shook her moneymaker to the crowd of predominantly Asian guests. There were some Arabs too, but I was the only white guy, and I was certainly the only backpacker to attend. Not that I notice these things! Between the two bellydancing sets, the second of which was all about photo ops with the guests, a guy dancer in a colorful costume whirled in a circle for his full 5-10 minute performance. Like an ice skater in a perpetual spin, I was amazed at how he kept his balance, and ultimately enjoyed his show more than the bellydancer.

The next morning I packed up my stuff and took a taxi to Megan's apartment in the international (wealthy) part of the city. I had been in touch with Megan since my arrival in Egypt, but was only able to manage my last night on her couch. She is the country director for Operation Smile, a worldwide children's charity. Also staying with her was Tim, a Brit slowly working his way back to England from a teaching job in Thailand, via the Middle East.

Tim and I spent the day walking around Islamic Cairo, the old part of the city where you get the feeling life hasn't changed much over the centuries. We walked through mosques and observed daily life. We saw a runaway donkey drawn cart bash into the back of a parked mini-truck, resulting in the inevitable argument. Walking through the various markets selling everything from fresh fruits to live rabbits, I was reminded of a similar stroll I made through the historic part of Kathmandu.

For those who fancy photography, the unique opportunities are limitless. I was glad Tim liked to take photos too, as we didn't mind waiting for one another, but I found it hard to manage the light. Little kids would pass us by and say "welcome to Egypt" which was endearing. Demolished and crumbling buildings were a standing testament to the 1992 earthquake.

When I was feeling tired, I signaled to Tim that we should start to head back, but not before one more cup of tea. I loved the tea, and the little individual metal tables set up by vendors for their customers on the sidewalk. He must've been tired too, because I convinced him a taxi back to the apartment was in order (on the way, we walked for an hour, and used the subway, to save a dollar or two each in taxi fare). On our way to find a taxi, we saw a child pinned under a large bag, possibly of grain. A bunch of bystanders rushed around to pick the bag up, and of course, the mother began to give whomever was at fault the riot act.

While waiting for Megan to return from work, I watched "Superbad" on her laptop. I first watched the movie while it was pouring rain on a little island in Indonesia, Gili Trawangan. I still found it funny.

When Megan returned, we headed out to one of her favorite restaurants for dinner. We went all out, ordering several traditional Egyptian foods including stuffed pigeon.

Felucca Rides

Felucca

Upon our return from Abu Simbel, Gary, Darcy, Amy, Joe and I went to lunch at a floating restaurant recommended by one of the guidebooks. The prices were higher, but you couldn't beat the ambiance. The food was good too. Afterwards, we set about trying to find a fair minded felucca captain. Joe and Amy took the lead on negotiations, and after a few duds, we met a nice guy who gave us the price we wanted - about $5 total, for the five of us, for one hour.

When the boat went with the current, we cruised along, and when it was time to go against the current, we zig-zagged our way back and forth across the width of the river. It was a relaxing way to end a busy three days and nights of sightseeing. I had opted to spend two additional nights in Aswan since it seemed a lot more picturesque and tranquil than Cairo.

Aside from smoking sheesha, and watching Indiana Jones in my hotel room, I was excited to hire a felucca on my own for a few hours. My solo experience was not quite as pleasant as the group trip the day before. I should have made an appointment with the first captain, but I was lazy, and paid the price in the form of constant nagging for baksheesh (a tip) by the Nubian captain I hired. He had a lot of nerve bringing up money again, considering I already caved at the beginning and agreed to pay a certain amount of baksheesh on top of the price we had agreed upon.

Then again, this was the same captain who had his pants up over his head, exposing his boxers, as he tried to push his boat out of a muddy embankment to get u started. Twenty minutes later, we had yet to set sail and it would've been longer if he had not obtained the help of another man nearby. Adrift on the river, he handed me the rudder to steer while he scrubbed the entire boat. I admit it didn't occur to me that when a captain advertises his boat as "clean," it doesn't necessarily mean it is clean when you first step aboard. Taking a turn at the rudder was fun though, and when I grew tired of the responsibility, I gave it back to the real captain.

The last thing I wanted to do was let my captain off the hook without having to work the whole three hours, but I couldn't resist the temptation to climb the big sandy hill of temples and tombs that sat directly opposite Aswan along the Nile. So, I climbed up that big sandy hill in my flip flops, and was rewarded with a great view, and the offering of some food from a Nubian family enjoying a picnic. The father spoke good English, the result of his time in the tourism industry.

The Sunrise Convoy To Abu Simbel

Paul Theroux doesn't make it to Abu Simbel as his flight was canceled. For a man willing to travel the decrepit back roads of Africa, it is odd that he didn't make the journey by bus.

Meanwhile, my wake-up call came earlier than expected, around 2:37am. Bleary-eyed, I make my way down to the ship's lounge for coffee and cake. We left the boat at 3:30am, driving to a security checkpoint in or near Aswan. A long convoy of buses and minivans departed ahead of us, but we sat idle, having arrived too late to join them. Instead, we are there for at least 30 minutes, speculating about why we aren't moving because no one bothered to speak with us.

It wasn't hard to figure out the problem though. We had to await more late arrivals to make-up a long enough tourist train to be classified as a "convoy." A few months earlier, I had read in the news that a group of German tourists on a trip off the beaten track in southwest Egypt were kidnapped, and possibly taken over the Sudanese border by their captors.

I thought we would have police cars around us, but that wasn't the case. Once the security guys gave the green light, the drivers head off for the 3 ½ hour drive due south to Abu Simbel. At about 40km from the Sudanese border, it requires a willingness to wake up early and endure 7 hours of driving for a photo op.

I was happy to occupy myself with photos of the sun rising over the desert, while Gary and most others tried to get some more sleep. The road was smooth, and fairly straight, so it wouldn't be hard. Upon arrival, we were given 2 ½ hours tour the sight, which turned out to be an hour too much. Amy began to read aloud from her guidebook as we walked to the temple dedicated to Ramses II.

I got my photo, and the scene looked just like the picture in my guidebook which was the catalyst for my journey to the southernmost edge of Egypt.

Photos may not have been allowed inside the temple, as I have none to share. It looked out over a beautiful section of Lake Nasser, the world's largest artificial lake, which was created when the High Dam was erected.

Fully awake and alert, I was able to enjoy the return drive through the desolate, sandy desert. When the driver stopped the van to check out a tire, as seems to be a popular hobby for minivan drivers, I used the opportunity to take a piss. Hardened by the necessity for roadside urination in places like Nepal, India, and Botswana, it was no longer a big deal, though being in the desert meant there were no bushes, let alone a tree, to hide behind. At least I can say I set foot on the sandy, southern desert of Egypt!

Aswan, The Dams, And The Temple Of Isis At Philae

The ship was docked in Aswan when I awoke, the view of the Nile at this point being what I had always imagined. We boarded a big bus and drove over the Aswan Dam to the newer, and more grandiose, High Dam. A few photos later, we boarded the bus again, and connected with a small motorboat for the short trip to the Temple of Isis, set on a small island in Philae. The temple had been meticulously cataloged, disassembled, moved, and reassembled on higher ground due to the construction of the High Dam. I imagine it was an archaeologist's dream.

On the way back to the big ship, the bus made a mandatory stop at a perfume shop. Jim had already been to one, and it sounded novel, so I decided to go inside. He joined us as the alternative was to sit on the bus, with the air conditioning conveniently turned off. The salesman went through the motions of his pitch, allowing us to sample the different fragrances on our arms. I was more fascinated by the walls of colorful glass vessels used to hold the perfumes.

Back at the ship, we gorged ourselves on another buffet lunch, and walked into town to check e-mails, smoke some sheesha (the coffee shop was conveniently connected to the room with computers), and walk through the market. I wasn't in a shopping frame of mind, so I didn't enter into any conversations with the shopkeepers, though they were aggressive in trying to attract my business. The constant hassling reminded me of India.

As night fell, we walked onward, almost the whole length of the market, before turning toward the river, and walking back along the main street. After dinner, my prayers were answered for some on-ship entertainment. A few different live performers took turns in the lounge - playing music, dancing, and encouraging audience participation in a weird shouting match.

Sunset Cruise To Kom Ombo

"The pleasantest aspect of the river cruise was the combination of gourmandizing and sightseeing, gliding with the current and stopping every now and then at a resurrected ruin." --- Paul Theroux in "Dark Star Safari"

Sunset

The sun began to set as we continued to cruise up the Nile from Edfu to Kom Ombo, a temple set right along the river which is suppose to make it especially pleasant for tourists like us arriving by boat. Unfortunately, we were running behind schedule and arrived after dark so my impression had more to do with the glut of cruise ships idling offshore than the stoic temple.

To be honest, I was already feeling worn out from the endless stream of historical sights we had seen in just the past 24 hours. My saving grace, taking photographs, was of little use in the low light. Still, it was a different experience to be walking around the ruins at night and we had a warm ship and big dinner waiting for us.

If the positive side of touring Egypt in winter is a cooler day, then the downside is a cooler night. And this goes doubly for being on a ship in motion. During summer, I imagine the upper deck would be filled with passengers in the evenings, enjoying a post-dinner drink and reflecting on man's place in the universe while staring up at the stars. But in the cold of winter, sitting topside was simply unpleasant, while the pool was downright icy. It was for this reason that I decided not to book my trip via felucca, the cheaper and more authentic option for sailing down the Nile.

Despite the weather, I felt a little stargazing was a requirement of my Nile journey, and I joined Nate and Natalie from NYC, and Jim from California, on the top deck after. Bundled up, and lying on lounge chairs, we stared up at the stars and talked. The other three were staying up until we arrived in Aswan so they could disembark and find some sheesha to smoke, but I was too tired, and retired before midnight.

Edfu Temple And An Afternoon On The Nile

"Some countries are just perfect for tourists. Italy is. So are Mexico and Spain. Turkey, too. Egypt, of course. Pretty big. Not too dirty. Nice food. Courteous people. Sunshine. Lots of masterpieces. Ruins all over the place. Names that ring a bell. Long vague history. The guide says, 'Papyrus' or 'Hieroglyphic' or 'Tutankhamen,' or 'one of the Ptolemaies,' and you say, 'Yup.'" -- Paul Theroux in "Dark Star Safari"

On our first morning of the cruise, we met at reception at 9am and boarded horse-drawn carriages to the Temple of Horus in Edfu - the best preserved temple in Egypt. Indeed, it was massive, covered in hieroglyphic carvings. These spaces are amazing now so they must've been stunning in their heyday. I got to know a few people on the cruise during the tour.

After the tour, I sat on the roof of the MS Beau Soleil for an hour, first writing for the blog, then chatting with the American couple, Darcie and Gary, from Wisconsin. Their daughter, Amy, and her boyfriend, Joe, soon joined us. When the lunch buffet was ready, we descended and devoured as is the status quo on cruises.

To make money, the ships all charge for drinks, whether it be bottle water or beer. The smart people smuggle drinks aboard, while the lazy (like me) suck it up and pay the piper at the end. I enjoyed a post-lunch cappuccino on the mid-level lounge before returning to a shady section of the roof to watch the Nile River Valley float by.

Since getting a minimal itinerary from the travel agent in Cairo was like pulling teeth, I was operating on a need to know basis. It turned out I wasn't alone, and took solace with others, in this Egyptian approach to tourism. On the roof, I realized the boat would reach Aswan on the second night, so the third night would be stationary. I knew my room was nicer than whatever awaited me on shore, so this didn't bother me though I did wish we had more time to cruise along the river. I decided to make the most of the afternoon.

The Valley Of The Kings And Luxor Temple

Upon exiting the overnight train from Cairo, I found a guy holding my name on a piece of paper, as expected. Along with a few others, I was whisked away in a minivan. A few people were dropped at a hotel, while a few of us motored on to The Valley of the Kings which is the resting place of many royal tombs, including King Tut. We visited a few tombs, though none of us ponied up the extra $20 or so to visit King Tut's tomb, which the guide assured us was smaller than the ones we were visiting.

It was cool to see the hieroglyphics in their original settings, like the rock art down in South Africa, but it didn't feel real. No photos were allowed, and it was strictly enforced, so I can only share the exterior views. After the tombs of a few kings, we visited that of a former queen, set against the cliffs on the opposite side of the kings's tombs.

Temple

I will admit now, I am not going to be very good about providing the proper names of what I saw. Half the time, tour guides were difficult to understand, and half the time, I was too preoccupied taking photos to spend much time following the historical details. At the queen's tomb, some guards were earning tips by leading tourists behind little ropes to areas they wouldn't normally be able to access. It was hot, so I made good use of my lightweight Khmer scarf from Cambodia for sun protection.

The whirlwind tour continued with a mandatory stop at an alabaster shop where everyone was swarmed with salesmen trying to sell stone statues. Then, we stopped at two big statues for a photo op before checking into our cruise ship, and eating lunch on board. During the day, I was getting to know two Korean guys on break from their one year assignement for the United Nations as military observers in Sudan.

After lunch and a quick rest, we headed off to Luxor Temple as the sun began to set. This felt especially rushed as it is considered a very important temple - a must see. A few new people had joined our group though, including an American couple visiting their daughter, on break with her boyfriend from their Peace Corps assignments in Uganda. I quickly found them to provide comic commentary to the experiences, and like me, they had received little in the way of an itinerary for their Nile Cruise tour.

Obelisk

As the sun headed down, we returned to the cruise ship for a delicious buffet dinner. Much of the food resembled Western food but after the tour, I would learn it was more Egyptian than I initially thought. The rice was always particularly good. I ate with the Korean guys, and they made the most of the variety of foods available during the cruise. They said it was because the options in Sudan were so limited and bland. After dinner, we had a beer in the lounge but it was empty. Loud dance music boomed, but the only takers were a few older Asian women who strutted their stuff for a bit.

The Night Train To Luxor

After the excitement of camels, pyramids, and hustles, I opted for dinner at a restaurant I could trust, McDonald's. The McArabia is two small kofta (meat) patties in a pita bread with a bit of salad and some type of sauce. I collected my things at the Berlin Hotel and awaited my pick-up from the travel office. Instead of a car, the kid was on foot, but as long as he was the one paying for the taxi to the train station, I was fine with it. Once at the station, I sat and tried a Turkish coffee, which was quite strong. I hinted to the kid that he could let me go at this point, but he complimented me and offered to see me to my train seat. I appreciated his friendliness, but at the same time tried to dissuade him from the horrible habit of chain smoking.

I asked a few questions from time to time but it was otherwise awkward. I would have preferred to have been reading my new book, Paul Theroux's "Dark Star Safari" about the author's independent, overland trip from Cairo to Cape Town (at age 60). When the train arrived, and I boarded, with the help of the kid given the information is in Arabic, I didn't know what to expect of a 1st class seat in Egypt. The berth was a 6-seat, private compartment. It soon filled up with two backpackers each from Japan and Singapore, and an older Egyptian man who clearly would have preferred a different berth. The seats did not recline, so after some conversation, we propped our feet up on the backpacks and did our best to nod off as the train rambled its way south, parallel to the Nile River I would soon continue further up by cruise ship.

The morning greeted us with our first views of the Nile River Valley. Greenery around canals stood in stark contrast to the tan mountains and nearby deserts. Unfortunately, the train was running three hours late, so our sightseeing in Luxor was about to be crammed into a single afternoon.

The Great Pyramids And Sphinx At Giza

I slept surprisingly well considering my butt almost hit the floor when I laid down on the bed in my little, high-ceilinged hotel room. Along with the free breakfast of egg, breads and tea, came a phone call from the Manager. When I told him I intended to check out after only one night, a series of questions lead me to reveal my travel plans booked the day before. I didn't know much, but I knew I was leaving on an overnight train to Luxor for a 3-night cruise on the Nile, ending in Aswan. He then proceeded to explain how much more I probably paid by booking in Cairo rather than Luxor, or through him. I appreciated his advice, though it was a day late to save me any money. He then proceeded to warn me about all the tricks involved in the Pyramids tour which I was about to embark.

I was excited to see the Great Pyramids, the last of the original 7 wonders of the world, and Egypt's ace in the hole for tourism. I walked over to the travel office where I was met by my driver for the day. We headed to Giza, where the guide (marketed as an Egyptologist), would be picked up. It was the first time I'd ever waited for a guide on the side of a highway, but at least I had my first hazy view of the Pyramids over the distant horizon. Thankfully, the guide was a young Egyptian who spoke good English.

Our next stop was an office which sold camel and horse rides to the Pyramids. I expected to be brought to such a place where I would get ripped off to ensure the tour company earned commission from my overinflated price. Since the wake-up conversation with the hotel manager, I had adopted a defensive mindset. There was still ample time and opportunities to ensure the travel agency didn't get any more of my money. The camel guy put on his happy-go-lucky sales face, made a dumb joke while I was declining sugar with my tea, and made his pitch. I opted for the long tour, but scoffed at the price (somewhere around $80 for about 2 hours). I got dramatic, consulting my guide book by slowly flipping through the pages. I had learned in Asia the power of delay on my part. Time was on my side, there were plenty of people from which I could hire a camel at a lower price, and we both knew it. Eventually, we agreed on about $40, even though the salesman was still holding out for $5 more while we were shaking hands.

Another surprise in the experience was the need for a local guide to take me to the Pyramids, rather than the man I thought was my guide for the day. He gave me some basic information while I was awaiting the camel, but I would've had to pay for his horse too, if he was to join us, so I declined. The local guide didn't speak English nearly as well, but he managed me and the camel well. Besides, as I was about to find, the Great Pyramids are stunning on their own.

Once atop my trusty camel, the guide lead it by the reins and we walked slowly through the back alleys filled with stables. Some of the horses had sores on their backs from saddles, and looked thin and sad. Once we passed through a ticket checkpoint, we hit the sandy desert and the camel ride became a more pleasant experience. We slowly made our way up and over a hill to view the Great Pyramids. Along the way, the guide was patient in allowing me to stop whenever I wanted. He also took great photos, and knew all the silly poses to suggest, making good use of the various perspectives.

I forgot about all the negotiating, and potential overpayments I had made to get to that point, and simply enjoyed the view. Polluted Cairo felt a long ways off, even though it was visible the whole time. I had the opportunity to run up and touch the middle Pyramid, and my guide took me into the tomb of one of the laborers, which was suppose to be "top secret" experience.

We then made our way over to The Sphinx which was much smaller than I expected. Everyone was taking photos pretending to kiss it, but I opted for a standard pose, though I think the gentleman watching me (and possibly waiting his own turn) makes it funny.

On the way back to the camel office, my guide picked up some food from a street stall, and offered me a snack which I gladly accepted. I thoroughly enjoyed the bean-filled pita. At the office, the manager clearly wasn't happy my tour lasted 2.5 hours, even though he had said timing wouldn't matter as I had paid for the "long" tour. I still overpaid, but the extra half hour meant it was within reason.

Sphinx

My guide for the whole day, and driver, then wanted to take me to perfume, alabaster, and papyrus shops but I declined all three, and decided to skip the $10 buffet lunch at a restaurant of their choosing as well. I wanted more street food, but the guide said he avoided it due to stomach problems. Yeah right! They clearly weren't happy with my minimalist approach to the tour.

So we motored toward the Saqquara Pyramids, which until the past few months, were thought to be the oldest in existence. Once there, my guide walked in with me and gave a short talk about the complex, thus earning his keep for the day. I walked around them but they weren't as impressive as the Great Pyramids. I decided to skip the ruins of Memphis, which both the guide and my guidebook described in an unexciting manner.

From Dawn Till Dusk In Cairo

Egypt Air flight 840 set down at Cairo's airport just before dawn.

I managed a few hours of sleep, despite the nudging left elbow of the tall man to my right.

I was near the front of the immigration line which did little good once it was my turn as I failed to buy the $15 Visa at the little bank kiosk.

Thirty minutes later, I picked up my bag, withdrew my first Egyptian Pounds, and took a taxi to the Rough Guide-listed Berlin Hotel in central Cairo.

The streets were empty at 6:30 am. It was colder than I expected. About 55 degrees Fahrenheit.

My driver was weaving through the little traffic on the roads at high speeds. There was a smoggy haze over the city.

The profile of satellite dishes topped off the low rise buildings.

My driver walked up to the 4th-floor hotel with me so I could make sure a room was available.

Once the owner was contacted, I confirmed a room, though it would not be ready until 12 pm.

I left my bag behind reception and headed west for my first view of the Nile River.

I felt free to walk like a clueless tourist again after being a few shades shy of paranoid in South Africa.

Walking through the quiet streets at dawn, I felt echoes of my experiences in India and Hong Kong.

When I reached the Nile, the sun was further up in the sky, though it wasn't much warmer.

It was a dreary first impression.

Choking on the fumes from cars and buses, I was doubly taken aback when leaning over a railing, I caught a whiff of the garbage lining the river's edge.

Walking back from the riverfront, I bought a ticket for the Egyptian Antiquities Museum and queued up.

In the courtyard, there were tourist groups galore, reminiscent of The Royal Palace in Bangkok.

The fashion sense of some of the women was out of this world. I'm attributing them to eastern Europe or Russia.

Once the gates opened, I again had to go through a line twice, this time because I forgot to check my camera at the main gate.

Inside, it was overwhelming. I visited King Tut's coffin and treasures, meandered through the main corridors, and skipped the $20-extra mummy room in favor of the mummified animals (at no extra cost).

I was keenly aware of all the tourist groups, I've never seen so many in a museum.

Guides were speaking all sorts of languages, yet I knew if I was on a tour, 99% of the info would go in one ear and out the other so I let curiosity be my guide.

My curiosity was satisfied after a little over an hour.

Returning to the hotel, I used their dial-up internet access, and finally got a key.

There was an old-world charm to my room, the hotel, and the whole building.

Its mustiness reminded me of places I stayed in India.My bed was a basic cot but I've slept on worse.

The good thing about my short stay in Egypt is the discomforts of a cheap room are more bearable (though $15 per night is not cheap in my book).

After a nap, I bit the bullet and booked a 3-night Nile cruise, including 1^st class night train to Luxor, an extra night in Aswan, and return night train, through what I hope was a reputable Egyptian travel agency I happened across on the street.

After the details were wrapped up, one of the guys walked me to a nearby restaurant where I devoured falafel and a tasty chicken shawarma sandwich.

I continued to walk around the streets which were much busier now that the sun had set.

I took a small table at a sidewalk cafe and ordered mango juice and a sheesha (waterpipe) with apple-flavored tobacco.

I considered the experience to be a social one, but like me, there were many guys huffing and puffing alone.

I smoked and smoked because it didn't seem harsh like cigarettes.

I then proceeded to cough up my left lung for the remainder of the night.

Happy New Year's

Happy 2009!

Thanks to everyone who voted in my poll about where I should go in South America as it'll be my last opportunity to spend a few weeks in a foreign country for a long time!

Brazil edged out Peru with 40% of the votes, and while I had my heart set on the beaches of Rio too, I couldn't ignore the higher cost of airfare from Europe, the higher cost of living there, and the massive size of the place.

Instead, I booked a flight with Iberia from Madrid to Bogota!

Yes, Colombia is the dark horse garnering only 3% of the votes, but perhaps that is all the more reason for me to go explore the country most people are still too afraid to consider. The truth is I want to visit a country yet to hit the global tourism scene.

And to recap a few other trouble spots from 2008: I had my pocket picked in Bali, was about to visit Tibet when riots broke out in China, trekked in Nepal when Maoists won free elections, was present in India during bombings, enjoyed Thailand as government protests gained energy, and was almost robbed in Cape Town.

But first, I have to catch you up on a whirlwind tour of Egypt and my attempt to couchsurf through pricey Europe.

Final Thoughts: South Africa And Botswana

Highlights -

meeting up with Warren at the airport
wine tasting tour
Cape of Good Hope/Cape Point tour
District Six Museum and visiting the townships
Visiting Robben Island
couchsurfing with Hannes for 3 nights
couchsurfing with Christal for 5 nights
climbing Lion's Head at sunrise and walking around atop Table Mountain
people watching at cafes
lunch in Camp's Bay
whale watching in Hermanus
cage diving with Great White sharks in Gansbaii
riding an ostrich in Outdshorn
petting cheetahs
Rasta homestay with Brother Paul in Knysna
horseback riding in Storms River
sandboarding, partying, and shopping in Jeffrey's Bay
Addo Elephant National Park safari
wineball and hanging out at Buccaneers hostel in Chiantsa
Xhosa village tour at Bulungula
dinner and dancing at a Xhosa village in Coffee Bay
hiking to rock art in the southern Drankensberg Mountains
riding in a Land Rover up the Sani Pass, hiking and exploring the Kingdom of Lesotho (including a beer at the highest pub in Africa)
5-day safari to Kruger Park (seeing all the animals, especially the lions, and buffalo during the game walk)
staying at Bob's Bunkhouse
touring Soweto township near Johannesburg
Apartheid Museum
eating a smiley (sheep's head) to complete a dare
7-day camping trip to Botswana's Okavango Delta (mokoro rides, seeing lots of elephants, hanging out with Dion (guide), and getting to know Ingrid, Richard, and Peter)
Johannesburg city tour

Lowlights -

being forced to buy an onward ticket upon arrival at the Cape Town airport in order to enter the country.
almost having my pocket picked while waiting for a bus on the sidewalk in Cape Town
not seeing a leopard in Kruger Park (to complete the Big 5 sightings!)
my first night camping in the Delta - little sleep, cold and wet

Eating -

South African wines, capuccinos, kudu, eland, ostrich (eggs and meat), malva pudding, bobotie, smiley (sheep's head), pap, sausage, Jungle (granola) bars, braii (BBQ) foods, avocados, salads w/chicken.

# of Days Couchsurfing -

Average Cost Per Day -

$77

Johannesburg City Tour

I used my last few days in South Africa to tie up loose ends and explore a little of Johannesburg, the city which inspired plenty of fear in me and most people who pass through it.

I organized a custom tour with the same guide who took me around Soweto.

We visited Constitution Hall, the site of an old prison which held the likes of Nelson Mandela and Gandhi, and currently features the country's constitutional court (akin to The Supreme Court in the United States).

I wanted to enjoy a great meal as well, so we went to Gramadoelas in the theater district.

It has played host to many notable people, including Bill and Hillary Clinton!

When the guide first asked the host if there were any tables available, he said no, however, we managed a table outside without any sense of being rushed the whole meal.

In fact, we were the first to hit the buffet which was a beautiful sight inside the restaurant. At $19, it was costly but worth it.

In particular, I enjoyed the tandoori chicken, bobotie (traditional Cape Malay dish of mincemeat topped with a fried egg), potato salad, chocolate mousse cake, and malva pudding (traditional Capetonian dessert).

The ox tripe was about as awful as it sounds (but hey, I tried!).

Samp (beans and corn), reportedly Mandela's favorite, was also not my style either.

After lunch, we visited the top of Africa's highest building at the Carlton Center.

Peering up at it, I had trouble believing a 50-story building was the tallest on the continent, but maybe I'd lost sight of how much more developed South Africa is compared with any other country in Africa.

The 360-degree views of the metropolitan area were worth the dollar or two admission, though hills obscured Soweto.

I finished the day with souvenir shopping at the Broma Crafts market a few blocks from Bob's Bunkhouse.

There were masks from all over Africa, but some of the ones which looked cool in the shop would probably be an eyesore at home.

I opted for a small, black mask with inlaid beadwork from Ghana.

Day 6, Elephant Encounters At Elephant Sands

The drive back to Elephant Sands was over familiar territory, and went fairly quickly. On the way back, I saw a giraffe along the road, and we saw several elephants up close. A few even crossed the highway in front of us. Dion stopped the van, and we watched as a giant elephant tried to gingerly step over a relatively low barbed wire fence. Apparently its legs weren't long enough as it gave up and wandered away.

We set up camp in the same spot as before, and relaxed. I was a fan of the outdoor showers, which allowed me to wash up as a bunch of Botswana school kids played volleyball nearby at sunset. Dion told us we had the option of a $20 game drive, though it turned out the guy who would've lead it wasn't going to be back to the lodge in time. Instead, Dion took us on a gonzo game drive in the company van. He recruited another overland guide he knew to help push us out of any sandy situations.

The mission was to scope out a watering hole in an area often used by hunters. The entire region was a hunting concession, privately owned, though by anyone's account, wilderness. Once we turned off the highway and down a sandy " road,"? we came across our first elephant within the first minute or two, happily splashing himself with mud to keep cool. Clearly displeased by the interruption, he trundled away.

Dion continued to navigate the difficult terrain in our van, and we continued to encounter and scare away tons of elephants, until we reached the watering hole where the road ended. It was sometime around this point that he mentioned the illegality of his gonzo game drive. We returned to the highway, with barely an elephant siting after having driven them away.

In the evening, four new arrivals joined us for dinner. They would accompany Ingrid, Richard, and Peter for the remainder of the trip, while I faced a 12-hour drive back to Johannesburg in the morning. I felt a bit bummed to be leaving the trip while the others still had adventures ahead of them, but I reminded myself about visiting Egypt in a matter of days.

A few minutes after retiring to my tent for the night, I heard some sloshing around. I knew it was an elephant, and thinking it was down by the watering hole, I got out and walked toward the patio. To my left, just a few meters away, was a big elephant shaking its head by the pool. Wow! I was a bit dumbfounded at my proximity to it, and stepped over to the patio quickly to be next to the people who had been watching it for the last ten minutes.

I then went back to the tents to alert Richard and Ingrid in case they were interested. Both came out to get a look but the elephant had already wandered back into the brush. A few minutes later, it started interacting with another elephant by the watering hole. The sound of their tusks rubbing against each other was audible, and head to head, they slowly moved farther away and eventually out of sight. It was a great way to end my trip into the wilds of Botswana.

Gideon, the Livingstone Trails driver, and I hit the road at 5:30am the next morning, before the rest of the group were awake. We were back to Bob's Bunkhouse in 12 hours, including stops for gas, food, toilet, the border, and a Lianie May CD I wanted to buy. Dion played a few of her songs over and over again until it drove everyone nuts, but one song in particular was worthy of the purchase. It was in Afrikaans so we didn't know what she was saying, except Peter if he concentrated (Afrikaans being a derivative of Dutch).

Day 5: Scenic Flight Over the Okavango Delta

On our final morning in the Okavango Delta, we set off on a two-hour game walk around the same island we walked across the first night.

This time, we saw our one and only hippo of the trip. It was alone and staying well hidden in the water. It should've been exciting but it wasn't.

Back at camp, we ate breakfast, packed our gear in the mokoros, and set off in the same arrangement we used to enter the Delta. I resisted any urge to take photos.

Instead, I leaned back (they created seats from our sleeping mats) and enjoyed the peaceful nature intrinsic to riding through the water in a mokoro.

Drifting silently through the reeds, the occasional bird taking flight from around us, and the occasional spider web to duck, I knew it was just the sort of escapism I would desire after a few months back in the working world.

I gave the lead guide our collective tip for a job well done, and we said goodbye to them all as their family members came from the village to greet their return.

Meanwhile, our truck puttered back toward the Delta Rain campsite and my attention turned to the odds I would be able to fly over such a wonderful landscape, the world's largest inland delta.

I had already broached the topic with Carmelita, offering to split the cost of a plane 50-50. She wanted to wait until we were back in Maun to decide.

Once the truck dropped us off at Delta Rain, Richard and I set up our tents while Peter and Ingrid accompanied Dion to town so they could use the internet.

While they were gone, I confirmed Carmelita's support, set up a flight through the campground's office, and paid a King's ransom for the privilege of a scenic flight.

I rejoined Richard at the bug-filled pool for a beer. He had been plucking the unique, but dead, buggers out and arranging them in a little showcase.

Dion recruited Peter to keep him company at a bar across from the airport while Carmelita and I took to the skies with Chris, a young bush pilot, in a 5-seater Cessna.

We walked up to the plane on the tarmac and it was even smaller than I expected. I asked for the front seat, and Carmelita in her good nature (or perhaps sleepiness), obliged.

We taxied to the top of the runway and took off for 45 minutes of animal-hunting from above.

The adrenaline rush during take-off was the missing ingredient in my Botswana trip.

The flight deck (as they say in "Top Gun") was 300-feet, and Chris' response to my concern about the dark and foreboding storm clouds (and lightning) in the vicinity was the simple response that we'd go around it.

Three minutes into the flight and we were flying over the river channel we used to reach camp in the mokoros.

There were some bumps from turbulence, though I got accustomed to it quickly.

A few minutes later, we started spotting animals, buffalo, and warthog, elephant, giraffe, antelope, my first wild hippo out of the water. We saw large families of elephant moving together.

Seeing such big animals seem so small in comparison to the surrounding landscape was fantastic. They were difficult to photograph as we passed them quickly.

At one point, I turned around to find Carmelita snoozing. It occurred to me that she was on the flight more for my benefit than her own, though it didn't matter at the end of the day. We both enjoyed seeing the bigger perspective.

I was satisfied with my Botswana trip after the flight.

We ate dinner and played a card game (Black Jack) Richard had taught us previously.

Aside from us, the rest of the bar seemed to be populated with the eccentric tour guides from various overland companies, enjoying themselves while their customers ere camping in the Delta.

Ingrid liked to comment "they all look the same" which was an observation I made too.

Common characteristics included big bellies and custom made t-shirts bearing the overland route they were guiding.

Day 4, The Okavango Delta From Sunrise To Sunset

Dion was all too happy to wake us up at 4:30am for the long, four hour game walk at sunrise, even though the guides had said we would not leave camp until 5:30am. I'm sure they had their reasons, roving hippos being tops on my list. We spent ten minutes in the mokoros to reach a big, new island. Hopefully, it would be filled with animals.

The birds were out in force, delighting Carmelita. I had already gained a new appreciation for them, and was looking out for the beautifully colored national bird of Botswana. It wasn't to be found, but we did spot a small group of wildebeests which we observed in a clearing for a bit. They preferred to graze in open fields so as to spot predators more easily.

Long periods of silence would occur as we walked eagerly in search of more exciting wildlife. Lion prints were found twice, suspected to be from the previous night. The others were clearly hoping for more action, though I found the knowledge gained by a paw print to be enough to keep me interested. Other highlights included Stenbock (think Bambi), zebra prints, 3-day old giraffe poo, an elephant skull, and a hippo skull on our way back to the boats (and probably propped up by the trail in case the tourists don't see the living ones on their walks. " Where were the animals?"? was the refrain of the day, and entire trip to the Okavango Delta.

Back at camp, Dion would ask about the animals we saw, and in response to our pawltry reports, encourage the group that lions and crocodiles would about in Chobe Park. I was able to appreciate the beauty of the Delta minus the animals, though they would've made it more exciting. I was also glad I'd already been to Kruger Park and seen lions up close. Four hours is a long time to be walking and it made me appreciate the game drives in South Africa.

The afternoon was spent in the shade of camp. I enjoyed it as much as the walks. I took my mp3 player out and sat near Broc, who almost immediately wanted to share my headphones. I played some Bob Marley which he knew, and other stuff like Ben Harper, RHCP, and Bedouin Soundclash. It made for quality bonding time. Ingrid was reading nearby, and Carmelita was bird watching. Actually, we all enjoyed some birding as several colorful species frequented the fig tree in camp. Specifically, a bluish-chested parrot and a green pigeon-sized bird. Peter slept the whole time, while Richard read Bob Dylan's " Chronicles"? in the sun.

Richard and I went swimming for a bit, and tried to be mokoro polers.

mokoro

Later, Peter bet Richard a few beers if he could start a fire with two sticks. Ten minutes later, to everyone's amazement, a flame developed, and Richard received accolades from us all.

Our second evening in the Delta featured a sunset mokoro ride. The guides were up front in setting our expectations, the hippos were not in the lagoon near our island, so we were going out for the scenery and the sound of frogs. If four hours makes for a long game walk, than two hours makes for a time to be sitting motionless in a mokoro getting whacked in the face with reeds. The sunset over the lagoon was worth the effort.

Back at camp, Dion had prepared beef stroganoff, and a bigger fire was built than the night before. Peter spotted a baboon spider running wildly around the area where we were seated. We followed it around with lights for the ten seconds the poisonous arachnid was visible. I slept much better the second night, my t-shirt and sleeping bag having dried quickly in the day's heat.

sunset

Day 3, Mokoro Rides, A Sunset Game Walk, And Delta Camping

Between Kruger Park and my first few mornings in Botswana, I was getting use to the early wake-up calls. The birds were often noisy enough to do the trick. After breaking down the tents, we stuffed our daypacks with the limited personal possessions we wanted to take into the Delta, as the rest would remain in the locked van at the Maun campground. Breakfast was cold and bland, corn flakes with milk.

We shared a large, old, open-air Mercedes truck with a group of Belgians touring southern Africa. The prior afternoon, they had descended upon the the little barside pool in mass, playing a game where they tried to keep a volleyball aloft. There was no attempt to socialize between our two groups. Clearly, and to my surprise, everyone was more comfortable with the familiar personalities within their own tribe.

All the food and gear was stowed underneath the two rows of benches, and we drove one and a half hours to the traditional mokoros (dugout canoes) at the eastern edge of the Delta. Along the way, village kids waved, as did some adults. It made me feel welcomed in their country. As Dion warned us, there was a bit of confusion between the unloading of the truck, and loading of the mokoros, but it didn't last long, and soon I had a front seat for our foray into Botswana's main attraction. Ingrid was relaxing behind me, while Peter and Richard, along with their gear, were almost heavy enough to sink their vessel.

All of the mokoros were packed and low in the water, but as long as you didn't move, it was manageable. We set off in a single file line through the various channels, with barely a sound when no one was speaking. Every once and awhile, the buzz of a scenic flight, or someone headed to the more expensive camps deeper in the Delta, could be heard. The sun was intense by mid-morning.

Our campsite was located on a small island, about a kilometer from another campsite on a bigger island which was used by the Belgians that night. The mokoros were unloaded, and since there were only four tents, I shared one with Ingrid while the rest got their own. Dion pointed in one direction and told us not to go there, as it was the direction of a lagoon frequented by hippos. Otherwise, the local Delta guides' rule was we were not to walk out of sight of the camp, which meant no more than 20 meters in any direction.

Due to the mid-day heat, our game walks were scheduled for the early morning and late afternoon, meaning we had the afternoon to kill around camp. It was too stuffy to sleep in the tent, so some were lying on their mats outside. I was too excited to lay still, and sat around with our guide and a female poler (as the mokoros are pushed along by a wooden pole, so named are the people guiding them), tasting the Delta water which was surprisingly clean and clear, and the Sycamore figs which fell to the ground (aided by hungry birds).

At 5pm, we boarded the mokoros for the quick ride to the larger island nearby. The sunset game walk was lead by a local, Broc, who lived in the village we passed at the edge of the Delta. He was in training, so there was another guide he consulted from time to time who otherwise remained quiet. Botswana is committed to preserving its wildlife, so shooting animals is against the law, and thus the guides do not carry guns. In the preceding days and weeks, the idea of walking around unarmed seemed ludicrous, however once we set off, I felt fairly safe. I already knew how unlikely it would be to see a lion before it saw us (and trotted away), or for a hippo to leave the water before it was dark.

At any rate, the scenery was beautiful. Carmelita was captivated by all the birds, the names of which our guides were easily able to provide from a distance. We saw hippo prints and dung from a prior night, though no hippos in the large pool we passed. Clouds were gathering before we had left camp, and despite the 99% likelihood of rain, I didn't bring my new rain jacket on the walk. I paid the price when it started to pour 30 minutes from the boats. Wet and cold, we returned to camp where I devoured the lasagna-type dish Dion had cooked up in our absence. I was the only one to take his advice literally, bringing only one shirt, as even he had brought his full kit. Trying to dry myself around the fire, he took pity on me and offered one of his well-worn t-shirts with enough room for me to grow my belly to twice its size.

The rain had let up for dinner, but soon started again so Peter, Richard, Ingrid and I all gathered in my tent to play some cards.Carmelita, as you might imagine, kept to herself much of the time.Crowded in the tent, I realized an hour too late that either condensation or a leak had resulted in a big area of my sleeping bag getting soaked.When it came time for bed, I was cold, wet, uncomfortable, and bothered by my stomach.Eventually, I bit the bullet and donned my jacket, braved the rain and potential encounters with hippos and cobras, and used the non-designated facilities (a patch of leaves a few meters from the tents versus a hole farther in the direction of the perilous lagoon).At night, using just a headlamp, you don't have to walk more than a few meters from camp to feel a though you're in the middle of nowhere.

I kept my jacket on when I returned to the tent.I had resolved one problem but being damp, cold, and uncomfortable was unavoidable.I hoped a little music would calm my nerves, and four tunes by the Red Hot Chili Peppers later, I managed a few hours of sleep.

Day 2 - Reaching Maun

I was a little nervous about the four of us setting off on an unguided sunrise game walk around camp given the potential for running into elephants and lions, but didn't want to miss the early opportunity to bond with the rest of the group. We walked down a sandy track at 5am. Soon enough, we came across fresh (moist) elephant dung.

The heroic dung beetles were hard at work, sculpting amazingly round balls of crap and rolling them off to their holes in the ground to lay eggs. They were fascinating to watch, and soon captured everyone's attention. It was clear a few were too ambitious because they would roll a ball to their hole, only to find it was too big to fit down it. Others seemed to have all the time in the world as they worked to perfect the shape so it would be easier to get moving.

Back at camp, we enjoyed a cholesterol-heavy breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage and toast. We broke down the tents, packed up the van, and were off to Maun by 8am. Another day and this routine of setting up and taking down camp would become second nature.

Maun lay three and a half hours north of Elephant Sands, and functioned as the primary staging ground for all tours into the Okavango Delta. A modest airport handled international arrivals for the wealthier clientÃ¨le, and was stocked with small prop planes for the popular scenic flights. The big overland trucks for tour companies like Nomads and Africa Travel Company became a regular sight. Dion took us to a grocery store where we each bought ten liters of water, while he picked up the food for our meals the next few days.

We proceeded to Delta Rain, a popular campsite for overland tours, regardless of size. Tents were pitched, Dion put out the deli meats, cheese, and salad for our daily lunch, and we relaxed. The campsite featured a bar and small, shaded pool, which we all used for a quick dip before the reading began. The bartender had a penchant for 80's music, and Van Halen's " Jump"? was the song I noted was playing while I wrote in my journal. Dion confirmed my suspicion that many of the campsites along the overland routes in Africa fit this mold. He was a veteran of such trips, having guided several 3-month Cairo to Cape Town tours with Contiki.

It had already been determined that I was the only person interested in a scenic flight. Five seater planes are chartered for $375, so if I couldn't find people at the campsite to join me, I would be missing out on a key experience of the trip.

Late in the afternoon, Dion picked up a last minute, fly-in booking. Caremelita was a 67-year old Asian-American retiree from California. She had been on a birding trip to Madagascar and Uganda. In the latter country, she also spent a day tracking mountain gorillas. Something happened and her trip was cut short there, so since she had paid for the whole thing up front, it was arranged that she would divert down to Botswana for a few nights. She was not expecting a budget tour, but she adapted well, especially considering she required stitches in her leg after a hostel dog bit her on the way to the airport in South Africa.

In the evening, we sat and talked around our tents after dinner, excited to be on the verge of entering one of the world's most unique wilderness environments in the morning.

Day 1 - Botswana Or Bust

Dion, the guide/driver/cook for my Delta adventure, was sipping coffee in Bob's kitchen a full 20 minutes earlier than my scheduled 5:30am pickup. He looked comfortable in a raggy t-shirt and shorts, his feet would remain bare for the entire journey.

I grabbed my bag and Bob opened the driveway gate for us, walking out to the van to see us off. I slid open the door and was greeted by Ingrid, a student from Norway touring a little of southern Africa after a semester abroad at the University of Cape Town. She broke the good news to me. The two of us were already half the customers for the 7-day Okavango Delta camping trip.

An hour later, we were at the HQ of Livingstone Trails, which also functioned as a hostel, picking up Peter (Holland) and Richard (England). Both guys were booked for Livingstone's longest tour (16 days), having begun with a 4-day Kruger Park safari, and set to end with Chobe Park (in northeastern Botswana) and Victoria Falls (on the Zimbabwe side). Ingrid was visiting Vic Falls too, so I was the only one signed up for just the Delta. It was a purposeful decision. Going to the falls meant $300 more for the tour, plus at least another $100 for the main attraction, Class V whitewater rafting on the mighty Zambezi River. Besides the money, my flight out of South Africa had already been changed once, and it was too costly to mess around with again.

The first day was all about driving. Fast. Straight. With purpose. We stopped every few hours for food, gas, and toilets, covering about 1,200 km in 12 hours. By noon we had crossed Botswana's southern border. By 5pm we were spotting wild ostrich and elephants along the side of the highway. And by 5:30pm, we had pulled into Elephant Sands, a small, open air lodge and campsite without fences. We set up four individual tents at sunset. I sampled Botswana's very own St. Louis lager, which reminded me of the mass market American brews. I drank three to celebrate the start of a new African adventure.

After the sun went down, we sat by a fire and watched the nearby watering hole which is frequented by elephants, and to a lesser degree, lions. It wasn't long before we began to hear the splish-splashing of an elephant in the water. A few flashlights were used to confirm its presence about 50 meters from us.

The buffet dinner consisted of steaks, fries, salads, and a tasty local bread. We were in our tents by 10pm, and despite the potential for a late night visit from an elephant or lion, I was asleep by the time my head hit the mat.

Dare #17, Completed, Sunday Smiley

#17 - From Matthew:

Ok here's one for South Africa. Try an apparent South African delicacy called Skop:

" Skop. Head of a cow, sheep or goat. The head is first scrubbed with a sharp instrument like a razor to remove skin and unwanted parts like ears and the nose are then cut out. The head is then boiled and allowed to simmer. Favored by African men."?

Reward: $20

Status: Completed

At first, I wondered how on Earth I could track down sheep's head. It sounded like an old tribal meal.

I learned they were still popular amongst the urban poor after reading Steven Otter's "Khayelitsha, An Umlungu In A Township."

Nicknamed smiley because of the grin which develops on the sheep's head as the hair is burned off it over a fire, I knew my Soweto tour would be the one and only chance to get one.

Luckily, the guide was all too happy to make an unscheduled stop.

It was Sunday morning, and the queue was at least 20 minutes. At $2 a head, they were half the price of a McDonald's meal.

The guide gave my money to someone further ahead in the line so we wouldn't have to hold up the tour too long, and brought the head, wrapped in plastic and newspaper, back to the van.

Before we entered the Hector Pierson museum (a young boy whose untimely death at a peaceful march sparked major momentum against apartheid), the smiley was unwrapped over the van's center console.

The guide began to show us (me and a horrified Spanish couple) how to take the head apart.

It was already split in half down the middle, but apparently there was a special way to pop the pupil out of the eye before eating the latter.

I couldn't stomach an eye, but I did try the tongue which tasted like chicken, and a bit of the brain, which was mushy, and tasted just as bland as the pig's brain I sampled in China.

Two brains to my credit, I no longer felt the need to eat them going forward.

The flavor is bland, so it is more the texture I find unappetizingly gross.

To our surprise, the Spanish couple offered a little of their own traditional food.

From a bag, they produced thin slices of raw pig's leg on buns. A stopover in Spain suddenly seemed more appetizing!

Touring Soweto And The Apartheid Museum

I spent my day after the safari at one of the big malls outside Jo'burg uploading photos to Flickr, buying a new rain-resistant jacket to replace my deteriorating North Face jacket, and catching a matinee showing of "Quantum of Solace."

The mall was decorated for the holidays, with cheerful music playing over the sound system. It reminded me of home.

The next day was spent touring Soweto, the 4-million person mega-township of Johannesburg.

It is so large, it has two or three professional soccer teams and stadiums within its borders.

I used the opportunity to complete a dare (which will come in the next post), much in thanks to the flexible and jovial guide.

Unfortunately, I didn't get under the skin of Soweto as I'd wanted.

I knew it would require at least one night at Soweto Backpackers, but I was so happy to have five straight nights lined up at Bob's Bunkhouse before my camping excursion in Botswana, I decided to stay put.

The Apartheid Museum was also on my " must-see" list for the area, and I spent two hours walking through it, learning more about the genesis of the movement and the notable figures of resistance.

Day 5, Close Encounters Of the Buffalo Kind

Myself, Lea (Belgium) and Moira (Canada) awoke before dawn for a 3-hour game walk near camp with two armed park rangers.It was my last chance to see a leopard, or maybe even a lion, though the idea of encountering any of the animals up close was concerning.We started with a thirty minute drive as the fuscia sun slowly rose up from the horizon.The first animal was a spotted hyena crossing the road a few hundred meters in front of us.The driver sped up to see if we could get closer.Luckily, the hyena had stopped in the brush on the left hand of the road, giving us enough time to spot it dart down an embankment and across a dry riverbed.

Next, we turned down a dirt road with a " do not enter"? sign, and proceeded to drive across the same sandy riverbed, only we got stuck three quarters of the way.We all got out and helped to push the truck free.Once on the other end, we receive the rules of the walk, single file, hand signals instead of talking, don't separate from the group (herd) lest you want to stick out like easy prey for a local lion, and follow the rangers' instructions.We set off, one ranger scouting ahead at all times, while the other waited with us for his report.

Ten minutes into the walk, we stumbled upon a group of bachelor buffalo, nicknamed Duggaboys.Hang around safari guides long enough, or read a book by one as I had done in Laos, and you'll learn bachelor buffalo are the most feared of the Big 5, or perhaps any of the animals in the bush.While other beasts give one or more warning signs before a charge or attack, the buffalo has perfected it's poker face.

The scout walked a little to our left, while we stood nervously by the other ranger who whispered to us the " OK"? to take photos. I was the only one who managed to move around enough to get one, asking Lea to take it. We left after two or three minutes, one of the guides saying there was a 50-50 chance the buffalo would've charged us. Later, we learned these odds were coming from a guy who had previously been charged and trampled by a black rhino in the park.

We proceeded to walk further into the bush, an area the rangers said was new to them as well.Given Kruger Park is the size of Israel, I believed them.If they were playing up the experience for us tourists, I couldn't tell.We passed all kinds of animal prints, zebra, elephant, giraffe, buffalo.A light breakfast was offered amongst some rocks in an otherwise open field.While eating cheese and crackers, I asked about some large birds of prey circling in the distance.The scout said they could either by circling a fresh kill, or riding thermals.Either way, it was a point of interest so we headed straight for them.

Once we reached the line where the open grass turned to thicker bush, the scout turned around to us and said " if a lion charges us, don't run."? My heart was thumping, and adrenaline coursing, as we followed the rangers. Earlier, they informed us 99% of attacks happen to the front of a group, which explained why they both walked in front of us. Also, if one guide was in trouble in front, and the other was at the rear, he'd have to shoot over the customers which could get messy! Regardless, it was hard not to fantasize about a lion knocking off the last person in the line with a surprise pounce.

We crept along, wondering what the eagles were so interested in ahead of us. I wanted to see a lion, but I didn't want to have to remain still if I saw one running straight toward us. The chances were slim the rangers would need to shoot anything though, as only 1.2 animals are killed per year in Kruger Park, a statistic which speaks to the experience of the guides and their respect for the wild animals. Ten minutes later, we left the birds behind, one of the guides saying either the kill was too fresh for there to be a scent in the air, or the birds were innocuously riding thermals. Back at the truck, we traversed the riverbed with no trouble, and were dropped off back at camp.

Elson, our guide from the previous day, drove us back to Timbavati Lodge, where we had a nice buffet breakfast, before motoring the five hours back to suburban Jo'burg.I opted to stay at Bob's Bunkhouse, the hostel Lea had chosen

Upon first sight, it was far cleaner and friendlier than Gemini, and as I surmised, the other big hostels of the area. Lea and I bought some South African wine and cheese and toasted a successful safari while Bob and wife Joan, and their friends and adult sons, cooked up a braai in the backyard.

Day 4, Searching For Lions, Rhinos And Leopards

I arranged to stay a full third day in the park since I had yet to see a rhino, let alone a leopard. Luckily, Livingstone Trails could accommodate my request. It was also nice to relax into the rhythm of each day, now that I knew the routine.

Highlights on day 3 included a black-backed jackal sniffing around a dwarf mongoose hiding in a dead tree. The mongoose would pop its head out of a small hole each time the jackal move away. These interactions are a lot more interesting than watching impala stand motionless under a tree during the mid-day heat!

We also spotted the same lions as the first day, only they were about 100 meters back from the road this time, meaning they were barely visible without binoculars.

Despite being so far away, they were still fun to watch, and we stuck around a good 15 minutes. The lead truck, which I was in on this day, stalled again. Stuard bravely stepped out of his truck, cited how highly illegal it was for him to exit the vehicle in the park (let alone in the vicinity of 5 lions), and gave the truck the necessary push start.

At the end of the day, I overheard another guide telling Stuart about how his truck saw 2 lionesses kill a zebra and drag its body down a river embankment (and out of view). It must've been quite a sight!

Hippos, elephant, zebra, giraffe, impala. The usual suspects were all present on Day 4.

In the lead truck, we were entertained by Elson, the Livingstone guide. Being the first truck meant we had the best chance to see wildlife before it potentially ran away from the road and further back into the bush.

I caught a glimpse of a white rhino towards the very end of the day. Through my binoculars, I saw its full profile with the big horn, but it didn't stick around long, and soon all I saw was its butt chugging further back into the dense bush.

Back at camp, I saw a much better sunset from atop the water towers then I did on the sunset game drive. We heard and spotted a hyena patrolling around our campsite as well. Shining a flashlight out into the darkness, its glowing eyes peered back at us.

Still hoping to spot a leopard, I signed up for a 3-hour morning game walk my last day, rather than another drive.

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