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Welcome to my travel log! You will find here a lot more than in the travel reports, stripped from political correctness. Enjoy! 
Feb 29, 2008 07:00 PM Brighton - still charming
I went to Brighton on a sunny, pre-spring day. Many people from London had the same idea. Although the beach was largely empty, the narrow streets of this little town were full. The famous pier was also busy.
Although, I have been to Brighton a few times, I have never ventured to the Royal Pavilion. This time, I did. And I was stunned. I knew it was unusual but I did not realise how realistic it was. My impression it was going to be plastic fantastic, but it was solid and distinguished. The garden surrounding the royal enclosure was also lovely, and surprisingly blossoming.
Brighton is much better value than London, in terms of going and eating out. Such a good job that it is well connected with the capital, and the Gatwick and Luton airports!
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Feb 25, 2008 07:00 PM Canterbury - Hard to get to
When my parents came to visit me in London, I thought that I could take them to Canterbury. They had never been and I liked it very much.
Unfortunately for people without a car, Canterbury is one of the places in England, which is ridiculously difficult to get to, compared with its distance from the capital. The trains move very slowly - taking 1.5 hours and cost absolutely a fortune. I therefore thought we could take a coach with National Express. It cost £12.40 return (or less with Fun Fare) a fraction of the train ticket, and it was only taking 30 minutes longer.
Little did I realise that National Express was much less reliable than trains in England (if that was ever possible). The coaches, which end up stuck in the beautiful London traffic, become delayed and services often get cancelled. Our service out of London was delayed by an hour, and so was the returning coach, which ended up merging with the previous service. The coaches between London and Canterbury were running every hour. The problem of the day was the closure of Blackwall Tunnel under the Thames - in the London's Docklands area.
Now, if one travelled on the cheap Fun Fare, despite the situation, the drivers were prohibited to take passengers on earlier services. Even if the bus was running almost empty (on the outbound there were six passengers, including three of us; and on the inboud there were ten), the driver would not take two passengers, who wanted to travel on service that was turning up at that time. The Fun Fare was for services leaving either city on or after 11:00 a.m. I thought it was dodgy.
Anway, Canterbury is a lovely place. Its UNESCO- listed cathedral is grand and the old town within the city walls housed a few very old - over 500 years old! - buildings, some of which still funtioning as hotels, cafes, restaurants... Weather was great, too which kept my parents really happy.
In Canterbury, there is a Thai restaurant Bangkok House, which is so good that I on several occasions made me to make the effort to go there from London only to have a meal! It is located just outside the city walls on Church Street. Absolutely fabuluos.
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Feb 19, 2008 07:00 PM Applying for the Sudanese visa
Today, it's been one month since I kicked off the application process for the Sudanese visa. It's said to be taking two months. I know that I should have applied in Germany, where the process should take 2 weeks!
The plan is to visit the Meroe Pyramids over the Easter period. I am hearing that I will need a number of permits; travel permit, visitor permit, photography permit... ayayay!
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Jan 04, 2008 07:00 PM Asmara - my birthday and the last of the holiday
On my birthday, I slept in. I needed to check out of the hotel by noon. So I snoozed until 10:30am, packed, and took a long shower. By lunch time, I reached the centre of Asmara. I sat down in my favourite restaurant, under a white umbrella in front of perfectly shaped palmtrees overlooking the lovely facade of the old opera house, and ordered a glass of Eritrean red wine, Shaleku. Yes, I treated myself.
Little I knew that the red wine was a mistake. Unsurprisingly! I had not even realised Eritrea made wine. The glass I had might have been a few weeks old, it tasted so sour - like some fruit juice that went bad a year before. Its tannins tingled sides of my tongue so much that they triggered an enormous volume of saliva. I had trouble spitting it out in time, and, my oh my, how happy I was that I sat outside. I could spit as much as I pleased. I had my doubts that this wine was made from grapes. It was not 50 nakfa (£1.67) well spent.
Weather was perfect. The sun, uninterrupted by a single cloud in the sky, warmed up the air to 30C. The firmament was so blue that it was hard to believe it was real. The only way to enjoy the day was to be outdoors. I did exactly that moving from one open-air bar to another, from one cafe to another, etc. Until the sun set and it became rather cold. Then, I cruised around cafes and patisseries, which had also tables inside. And most of them did.
The Moderna was the best for cakes and coffees. They had a great selection of pastries, doughnuts, and tea cakes. It was Asmara's most popular (and the best) coffee house. It was hard to get a table, so the sitting hostess kept packing everyone as much as she could squeeze. This way people had to mingle with random strangers. It did not matter that a couple was hoping for a romantic evening. They had to share the tiny table with other people, whose objective might have been different - whether talking business, family affairs, gossip, or perhaps even risking the subject of politics. Moderna's cappuccino was immaculate!
Cakes, cappuccinos, espressos, macchiatos, were all very easy to come by all day, but to get a bottle of beer was rather difficult from the afternoon onwards. I must have visited fifteen bars and all of them ran out of the golden drink. I finally ended up in bars hidden from main avenues. At the first look, the did not appear as inviting as those at Harnet Avenue, but in time I became to like them, too. They were authentic and only locals attended them (I did turn a few heads in them, I have to say). Many had vintage Electra coffee making machines from Italy and rather good selection of brandies, whiskies, vodkas, rums, and cognacs. All in addition to the Asmara branded versions of rum, gin, etc.
I ended my birthday bar crawl at the Top Five Bar, adjacent to the hotel, where I was staying, and where I left my luggage before taking a taxi to the airport.
There were a number of security checks at the airport. Metal detectors were first, then currency declarations, then passport and then again metal detectors. I did have a problem with the currency declaration since I was missing a hundred US dollars, which I exchanged in Massawa with a guy who gave me a ride to Asmara. I did not have an official exchange document for it. So, the amount of hard currencies in my pocket did not much the balance written on the exchange forms. But luckily, I got away with it.
The airport was clean but the seats were uncomfortable and there was no lounge. For some totally screwed reason, the airport played several hours long interview with the Eritrean president on television. There was no escape. The volume was turned up to the max so that the president could be heard in the entire airport. I was going nutts.
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Jan 03, 2008 07:00 PM Massawa - lovely but in ruins, legacy of war
Right after Asmara, the landscape became very dramatic - mountainous. It was almost a shock. Asmara's elevation was about 2400 meters above the sea, but no mountains were in the view. One had to go to the remote outskirts to see the hills and mountains. And they were really great.
The travel permit that I had obtained to go to Massawa was not even checked once. I expected many police checkpoints, yet there were only two; one right after Asmara and the other just before Massawa. I passed each of them twice, obviously, and only once a police officer looked inside the vehicle - on the way to Massawa. He did not ask a question and never checked anyone's papers.
Derelict Massawa looked very scary. Since the border conflict with Ethiopia re-ignited a few years back, all the restoration effort had been abandoned. The border conflict was an excuse for many problems and a few strange patterns in Eritrea when I visited, by the way.
Many majestic buildings stood sad and crumbling. Some of them, representing various Arabic styles, their mix and the mix of them with Italian and Moorish styles, were truly grand. Should Massawa be fully restored, it will be one of the finest cities in Africa. This is obviously applicable to the island, which housed the Old Town and the port. The new districts were nothing special, however attractive blocks of flats were being erected there, which should eventually improve their appearance.
I only took a short stroll in the Old Town. It was small and walking around in it was like being in a war zone. It was heartbreaking, since the lack of any construction activity and the lack of cranes suggested that the city was being left to itself, forgotten, and left to decay completely.
Originally, I contemplated an idea of staying in Massawa overnight, but when I saw it, I could not wait until I was back in Asmara. Where else would I go out? In Massawa, restaurants did not even have cold drinks. Not even water! And it was much hotter there than in the capital - about 34C.
After walking all the way from the bus terminal on the mainland, and through one of the islands to the Old Town, and around Old Town, I was parched. I wanted to sit down in the heart of the old district and have something really nice and cold to rebalance the water inside me. First, the hopeless waitress did not speak English and then she told me that she had no cold drinks of any kind. I made another circle around the island looking for a place to quench my thirst and finally found a local restaurant, which did not serve food and the only cold beverage they sold was beer. I had one little unlabelled brown bottle and knew that after this I really wanted to go back to the capital. I snapped a few more pictures and commenced my exit.
As I was leaving the Old Town, a few boys called me and shouted 1001 questions. I approached them to have a more normal conversation. Most of them claimed to be orphans from Asmara. They were swimming naked in a pool between Massawa's two islands. None of them wore underwear and jumping into the water in jeans was not a good idea. Two of them might have been 11 years old and three others perhaps 15 or 17. They showed off a little by making funny dives and eventually asked for some cash to buy food. I recognised one of them, whom I had met before in the Old Town. I had bought him a packet of biscuits.
Anyway, they were really funny and I would have spent more time with them, but was aware that I needed to make my way to the bus terminal if I wanted to reach Asmara that evening. And it was quite a hike, about 45 minutes walk to the terminal.
I did search for a taxi but none were in sight. Typical! As I was walking, an empty bus stopped and gave me a free ride all the way to the bus station.
Hundreds of people wanted to go to the capital that afternoon, and there were no buses. I struggled to figure out what the situation was. I asked in the office but they were not very helpful. I had to tell them that, playing my Ethiopia card - ‘the Ethiopians were nicer’. Finally, I was told that I should put something in the line of luggage and wait about two or three hours, and a third bus might actually take me. I had no luggage to put in the line. I could not leave my camera there! My other option was to hire a taxi at a cost of 1100 nakfa (£35) and that was what I did. This way I had a chance to stop the vehicle anywhere if I wanted to take photographs. And that was what I also did. I was in the capital in no time (2 hours).
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Jan 02, 2008 07:00 PM Asmara - Lovely capital of a secretive country
My very first impression of Eritrea was worse that of Ethiopia. And I can safely compare these two, since I arrived in both at their main international airports and after midnight. Both stroke me as tidy but the Ethiopian taxi drivers in Addis Ababa were more honest. The Eritrean cabbie demanded twice as much as the normal rate! I was unimpressed but had to take it as there were few taxis there and the airplane was half full. I try not to judge nations through their taxi drivers, but one has only one chance to make the first impression.
Italian art-deco architecture truly made me feel in Asmara as if I were teleported in space and time to 1925 Italy. It was incredible! Due to a lack of roaming agreement, my mobile did not work, so it definitely felt like I travelled back in time! I was sitting in a pavement cafe, bathing in the sun and enjoying absolutely perfect cappuccino and if was not aware that I was in Africa, I would never believe it. Perhaps the fact that the city was mega tidy would give it away. For Italy has not been a particularly clean place.
I was walking along the main street, Harnet Avenue, and really could not get over it. Red city buses (some of them from the Italian city of Torino) frequently making their routes, yellow cabs passing quietly (without the utterly annoying honking), cyclists on quality bikes, and regular cars - clean, in good condition, and sticking to the highway code. Djibouti City looked like being light years behind in civilisation terms, compared with Asmara! What a city!
Also, there were many young, and extremely attractive people in the streets, dressed in a less African way. There were a few women dressed in Islamic-African robes, but they looked very exotic with the modernist and art-deco background since the majority of the pedestrians truly looked European. They sat at the numerous pavement cafes, bars, patisseries, gellaterias, and chatted. It was so obvious that they really were very friendly and courteous towards one another. There were no beggars and travellers did not turn peoples' heads. I think I was lucky to had picked this city to host my birthday!
That was Harnet Avenue, though. When I ventured towards the markets and bus stations, I found more likely, African, sights. Many more people were dressed in the African way and a few papers and pieces of plastic bags laid around on the streets. Yet, since all was arranged along wide avenues, it did not look as chaotic as in many cities in Africa that I had seen before.
No Coca-Cola or any other carbonated soft drinks, apart from fizzy mineral water, were available when I visited. According to one of the local guys, this shortage had occurred for over two months. But he could not think of a reason. One of the cafes, Daniel Fast Food (!!), had a few bottles of Coke and Sprite on their main shelves, but they were only for show. I had to drink carbonated mineral water. I had not done that for many years.
Ministry of Tourism in Asmara was the place to obtain a travel permit. In the past, it was free but when I visited Eritrea, it cost ERN20 (£0.67, €1, $1.33). It took a few hours to issue. I applied at about 10:30am and it was ready at 5:15pm. Travel permits were being issued to foreigners for travel outside Asmara. A different institution issued entry permits to Eritrea's archaeological sites, none of which I had time to visit. The government had introduced these permits to limit the movement of potential insurgents from unfriendly states, such as Ethiopia. And also for another reason - about this later.
I needed a permit, since I wanted to travel to the coastal town of Massawa.
I noticed that Asmara's main drag became considerably sleepy in the afternoon. During passagiata, when people take lunch and snooze, only cafes and restaurants were open. Business re-opened in the afternoon but it was clear that afternoon generated much less revenue than the morning.
When darkness fell, the streets filled up again. I went out. I wanted to try a few bars and clubs. Asmara had many of them. For starters, I selected two, close one to the other, Zara and Zilli. When I peeped into Zara in the afternoon, at about 5pm, the bar was already open but empty. The bartenderess said that people would normally come at about 6pm. So, I came back at 7:30pm and bar was still empty.
Anyway, from all four states I visited on this trip; Ethiopia, Somaliland, Djibouti and Eritrea, the drink bars in Eritrea were the best. Somaliland had none, obviously. Those in Djibouti and Ethiopia were sleazy. Asmara's bars were clean, orderly and mega safe. The only problem with them was that they closed at midnight.
At Zara, I tried the Asmara Rum. It tasted like the Zaladkowa Gorzka Vodka from Poland. It mixed very well with mango juice and lime. I had two and they were lovely. The alcohol could only just be tasted and the combination of mango and lime was delicious. However, in the morning, they gave me a headache! Maybe it was because I had not had liquor for a very long time.
Zilli was completely empty, so I did not even had a single drink there. And I think it was a godsend, as I do not how much worse I would have felt in the morning if I had had more drinks.
After drinking however, it was time to eat. At that time of the night, the choice was terribly limited to Chinese or Chinese. Well eventually, if worse came to worst, it could also be Chinese. So, unsurprisingly, I went for the Chinese. It was good, if predictable.
The streets after midnight were empty because of the looming war with Ethiopia. It was terrible to find that the Eritreans did not believe that the war was preventable and felt that the world abandoned them completely. I guess part of the propaganda in Eritrea was that the US, the UK, and the UN were sponsoring Ethiopia to go to war against them. I tried to tell the Eritreans that it was definitely not true, but I did not know for sure.
Notwithstanding the aforementioned, I learnt that Eritrea did not treat their citizens well. Although the people seemed happy in the streets, they had no freedom. To obtain a passport was almost impossible, the government forced young men and women do national service (not necessarily military one) for an unlimited time, and restricted their mobility to certain areas within the country. These included mainly the city in which they studied or worked and the place of their closest family. The potential war with Ethiopia was used as an excuse for almost all limitation to the Eritreans’ freedom. There was method in this madness, as the state would need to mobilise soldiers quickly and effectively. Ethiopia was already fully organised as they were fighting a war with Somalia. Eritrea’s government claimed that they needed to know about people’s whereabouts so they could summon them at any time.
As I was being told about these hardships, and indeed oppressions, a government spy came to the restaurant. He sat at the nearest table, did not order anything, listened to the conversation and left. Fortunately, the subject on my conversation was changed in time. It all appeared that what Ethiopians told me might have been correct, actually.
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Jan 01, 2008 07:00 PM Djibouti - wandering around the African & European Quarters
I went on wandering after lunch. I thought I could find a beach bar or something in this sort. But no! I had to wander into a restricted area, reserved for the US diplomats. They annexed an entire beach for themselves. After having my details taken by the security service, in a very friendly manner I have to note (they repeatedly mentioned that it was a routine and that it was their job), I went to the beach I already knew. Yet from the beach, I tried a route I did not know. Totally unintentionally I found myself entering rather scary looking part of the African Quarter. I had no idea where I was. I could always turn back, but I guess I wanted an adventure. I tried to stick to an artery that resembled a main route in a direction that might take me to a point from which I would have an idea how to get to the centre. I passed countless fruit stands, clothes booths, second hand trainers shops, hardware stores, wood and furniture sellers, qat merchants and thousands of people saying hello and Bon Annee with the most infectious smile. Many asked for portraits as my heavy camera kept swinging from my neck. Had I not been ill-at-ease a bit, I might have stopped for a wee longer and made new friends. They were impressed that I was not scared walking like that with my expensive camera as if it were for show. I think many thought I was a journalist. Little did they know that I was not entirely comfortable there in the unknown part of the town causing a bit of a sensation.
I eventually ended at the crossroads with four lane street going out of the African market and a mosque that I knew. I headed in their direction and in no time, I stopped feeling the need of a toilet. My mind and my arse were much happier. Although, at no time did I feel threatened or intimidated.
I went back to the main square for a drink. Two of the local cafes were open offering bottled soft drinks for as little as 60 francs. Djibouti did not feel this expensive anymore!
Funny thing - Djibouti had an interesting sight; it were the money changers, who took a form of old women sitting on plastic chairs on street corners in the southern end of the European Quarter, just before the markets.
It were almost always at least three women on each corner. They were afraid of my camera. Apparently, street money changing was not totally legal, but the women were so obvious that they made me laugh out loud.
My plan did include a visit to the Lake Assal, however I loved the ambiance of the capital that day, so I dropped this escapade that day. I just sat at small local cafes and sipped cokes and fantas.
One thing intrigued me. Almost every single seller of fake watches, sunglasses and fragrance also sold cigarette lighters. There is nothing intriguing about lighters, I know. But these lighters had a micro torch (flashlight) displaying an image of Osama ibn Laden, world's most evil terrorist leader. If that was supposed to be a joke, then I really did not get it.
Djibouti was much hotter than Ethiopia and Somaliland. I realised that when on my last day, when my bag was already packed, I wore denims (actually Abercrombie & Fitch jeans). They were just fine in the other two countries, but in Djibouti they felt rather heavy. And after about two hours of walking - a little sticky. I would normally wear linen pants in Africa. I had done that for a number of years and forgot how would jeans feel in tropical climate. But whilst in Ethiopia and Somaliland, this particular pair felt great, I gave them a chance in Djibouti, too. And since they took so much space in my bag, I decided to wear them on the day of my departure to Asmara. That was a mistake. I could (should) have tried to squeeze them into my bag anyway or at least change just before the flight.
Gosh, if Djibouti City was rather civilised, its international airport most definitely was not! There were only two gates upstairs, on each side of a very basic bar, which sold beer. I guess it did not matter that it was positioned directly above the airport's mosque. The area between the gates was filled with metallic benches, chairs and tables, which complemented the bar. However, when I visited, it was full of noisy black Arabic people, who sat everywhere; on the benches, chairs and every bit of space between them on the floor. It looked like they lived there! My guess was that their flight was delayed, but it really looked like it had been delayed at least for three weeks! If Djibouti would like establish itself as Dubai of Africa, they seriously must upgrade their airport. It was truly horrible; such a bad last impression in my final minutes in the country!
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Dec 31, 2007 07:00 PM Djibouti - partying with the people
The European Quarter of Djibouti City was charming. I really felt happy that I managed to make it there for the last night of the year. The main square was lined up with Franco-Moorish arcaded buildings. Some housed banks, some hotels, restaurants, bars, cafe, clubs, and some - shops. One end of the square was taken by the townhall and the National Tourism Office. Djibouti City looked really civilised! I did not want to care about the prices. I just wanted to relax. So, I was particularly thankful for the French style cafes with their patios and reed furnishing. Life was great again. And it was really hot.
I took to the beach. I could not remember when it had been the last time that I had been at the beach on a hot, the very last day of the year. Perhaps it was my first time in Djibouti, actually. No! I just remembered that on 31 December 2005 I was on Aruba. But I landed already at night, so I am not sure it counted.
The beach was empty. It was not particularly clean but it was not revoltingly dirty. I saw some people relieving themselves on the beach, but perhaps they were playing cats by burying their feaces. I did not spot any shit on the sand or floating in the sea.
The beach was small. At one end, there were a handfull of hotels. At the other, the border of the African Quarter. In between, few short and bushy palm trees grew. I walked towards the African Quarter and noticed local youth taking a dip in the sea. One of the boys asked for his picture to be taken. Reluctantly, I obliged. As soon ad I showed him the result on the LCD screen, all other boys wanted their pictures to be taken, too. I took about twenty shots as they tried various poses, from mocked martial arts to completely silly ones. The sun started burning my head. I did not put any sunscreen, so I terminated the photo session, by claiming that the film in the camera was finished.
I moved to one of the arcaded cafes at the main square, Place du 27 Juin 1977 (Place Menelik), and ordered two cokes. I snoozed until 3pm before ordering my first beer. I had my first gulp at 15:00 hours exactly. It was Belgian Leffe. Oh, my oh my! It felt soooo goooood! The taste brought a few memories from my frequent trips to Belgium between 2000 and 2002, but most of all it tasted like heavenly nectar after crossing the Sahara. For I, in fact, had just been to the Sahara Desert in Ethiopia and Somaliland, so I bloody well deserved this divine beverage! Yeah! Not that I needed to make any excuses! It was New Year's Eve, so there was no question about me having a drink! And I think I ought to toast to the Almighty for first letting me get to Hargeisa (I obviously had no chance to make such toast in Somaliland) and second, and most of all, for letting me out of there! Phew!!
It was funny seeing white people again. And it was really funny to be speaking French and dealing with banknotes, which looked almost exactly like the old French francs. I did love every moment of my adventures in Ethiopia and Somaliland but I was also glad to be in a more civilised city for a change and if only for three days.
I could not wait for the Year End Parties. I could hear people talking about the 'fête' as I was sitting at the L'Historie cafe/pub/club. I knew that I ought to go back to the hotel and freshen up before the bash, but was so comfortable there that I could not move. I was thinking of partying around the square anyway; and part of me speculated that perhaps I could just stay on at the cafe and wait for the party to begin. I had to drink my pint of Leffe very, very, very slowly. It cost me almost £7! Ayayayay!
I thought about the costs for a while and... proceeded to the cash machine. Bloody good job it was working. It might have been the only ATM in Djibouti that worked - at the Saba Islamic Bank. Many people were using it. I took just a little bit, enough to last me for the night and perhaps food for the next two days.
The city was infested with burly legionnaires. Some of them wore mini shorts and tight short sleeve shirts, which made them look rather suspiciously gay. And not as happy! I mean they, and their ugly tattoos, were absolutely everywhere! Apparently, most of them were Polish! I guess some of them must have been straight, since brothels and pimps were nothing unusual in the city. One of them attempted to drag me to one of them, claiming that I would meet his mother there! I nearly pissed myself laughing and then had to turn a very serious face to categorically refuse. That was a completely different meaning of a family business.
I realised that I might have gone out too early. Getting horribly sloshes before midnight was not my plan. So, I decided to play a visit to a little pizza place, which doubled and tripled its prices since my guidebook was published! I was in an utter shock that a smallish pizza was going to cost me almost triple of what I would need to pay in London! Ha! But it was superb and served personally by the chef himself (although the order was taken by a friendly waiter)! For the first time in my life I had a pizza with black olives, which still had stones inside of them. I could start a list of things I did for the very first time on each trip, or in each country, I guess. That could be rather funny.
As I was sitting at the cafe sipping my beer slowly, approximately two thousand people passed all going in the same direction. I figured that something must be going on. I followed them. They were going to the harbour to see the fireworks. My camera was dangling from my shoulder and many people (actually mainly guys, girls were shy with strangers) asked if I were a journalist. Later, a bunch of guys asked if they could talk to me. They confessed that they wanted to chat me up much earlier in the march but were a little shy and not sure with which language. They apparently tried Arabic, thinking that I might be from Arabia, but since I was not reacting, they tried French and eventually English.
We sat down and chatted about life, the universe and everything, but mainly the universe and where it came from. It was there in this plastic chair put on a rocky surface of the artificial harbour that I found how overpriced the cafes in the town were. From a street vendor, I bought five soft drinks for a total of 350 francs, while the cafe charged me 400 francs for one. I guess the ice cubes must have cost the fortune. I think I knew that the cafes were expat or ex-colonist owned, so one of my New Year resolution for 2008 was to avoid foreign-owned tourism-based establishments in Third World countries. In almost every country (definitely in every country?) there are eateries and accommodations founded and run by locals - why not try to stick to them?
When I got up just before noon on 1 January 2008 and took to town, I was shocked how deserted the centre was. It was hard to believe. Really! The day before, the city was buzzing and bustling. Anyway, I felt a little perkish, so, remembering my 2008 resolution, I decided to find a local shawarma place and have some shredded chicken, or perhaps even lamb.
I walked around the European and the fringe of the African Quarters for an hour and found that all local eateries were closed.
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Dec 30, 2007 07:00 PM Djibouti - almost did not make it for the New Year's Eve
I could not quite believe when I sat down in the Iliushyn IL-18 Russian aircraft, actually piloted by native Russians, heading towards Djibouti. I was the only passenger on this ancient aircraft.
This was all because Daallo Airlines cancelled my flight on New Year's Eve. I did not want to stay in Somaliland that night as there was not going to be any partying! They simply did not celebrate the coming of a new year in Somaliland.
When Daallo Airlines called me on 30 December at about 7pm, I was so disappointed. I went down to reception and asked if I could stay another night and explained my predicament. The staff were so nice and helpful that they almost stood on their heads to make sure I could fly to Djibouti the next morning.
There were two aircraft coming in to Hargeisa that night, and they said that perhaps one of them was going to Djibouti. The crew was staying at my hotel so I could wait and ask them. The guys from the hotel did all the asking for me! They even told me at what time the captain ordered his wake-up call.
In the morning, I still did nor quite believe that I might be leaving Somaliland. At the reception, the guy from the night before told be that my ticket was not ready, because the dispatcher was busy. However he assured me that I was definitely going to Djibouti that morning. He said that the ticket would be issued at the airport.
So, when the captain with the crew finished breakfast, I jumped into their car and went to the airport. The crew simply walked through the terminal building without screening or immigration checks and I simply followed them. Everyone assumed that I was part of the crew and never stopped me either.
As I was already on the runway, one of the IL-18s was already spinning its turbo-prop engines. I thought - 'shit, they are already going without me! Nothing has actually been arranged!' But I realised that this was the other airplane that was going to Mogadishu, when I saw that the Russians I came with were heading to the other one. Then, the last one of the crew suddenly remembered about me and asked the two guys standing on the runway to give me a ticket. They started issuing me a handwritten ticket right there, right then, but it occurred to them that I perhaps should get a stamp in my passport that I indeed left the country. They took me back inside the terminal and finished the ticket in the office. I paid for it and they called for an immigration officer to stamp me out. He did it. Very, very slowly. I could hear that the other aircraft on which I was supposed to travel, started its engines. And the propellers were spinning faster and faster. Suddenly, all veins on my forehead and temples began pulsating like crazy. I thought that I was going to flip due to adrenaline overdose! As soon as I got my passport, I ejected myself out of the terminal building with a speed of light. I jumped on the mobile stairs heading up to the aircraft doors.
Then I heard:
- 'Mister, mister!' I turned my head, and there were two guys running towards the airplane waving their hands. I thought: 'fucking hell, they want to turn me back! I am not going to leave Somaliland ever. I will actually die here, in the land of no booze! I'd rather shoot myself, or let them shoot me here on this bloody runway!'. They eventually got to the stairs on which I was still standing, as the stairs driver wanted to move them away from the airplane.
- 'Mister, did you give the immigration officer the money?' 'What money', I thought? 'A bribe, or something'?
- 'No', I replied.
- 'You have to pay $30', he said catching his breath, and stepping on the first step of the stairs.
- 'Why?', I asked worryingly, but conscious that I luckily had the exact change of US$30 in my shirt’s pocket. -'The departure tax?', I continued with the second question.
- 'Yes, sir - $30 for the departure tax. Please pay me now, and I will give him', he said quickly, still not quite able to catch his breath.
- 'Here you go', I responded handing him 30 bucks from my left pocket.
- 'Thank you, sir. Good bye.' he gasped with a smile.
- 'Good bye, and thank you', I shouted over the noise of engines, already almost at the top of the stairs, before his lungs could exhale completely.
So, again quite lucky, I was travelling, this time on a technical flight with Jubba Airways to Djibouti City. And it was at 8am, which allowed me spend more time in Djibouti than in my original plan. Yeah!
The aircraft was rather dirty and smelly but I was treated like a true passenger and was given drinks for my short trip. I have never been on Iliushyn IL-18 aircraft before and was rather impressed with its stability. It glided very smoothly through the air. It rocked gently every now and again, but pleasantly and no bumps whatsoever.
At Djibouti Airport, a whole bus came up at the airplane. Only for me! So, the driver let me sit beside him at the front compartment.
I was whisked through the immigration as I was the only traveller at the airport at that time. The state even gave me 50% discount on the visa fee, which I think I lost by overpaying for the taxi.
As soon as I checked in at the hotel, which could be superb if appropriately renovated, I went on wandering in the European Quarter. I collected my Eritrean Airlines ticket (whose prize knocked me off my feet) and visited Daallo Airlines office for the refund. They were making difficulties claiming that I should have claimed my money in Hargeisa. Eventually, they seemed to have understood my explanation that I had to leave Somaliland before their Hargeisa office opened, and instructed me to come back on 2 January. I did and they refunded my ticket. I was rather content. Yeah!
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Dec 29, 2007 07:00 PM Las Geel - Somaliland and its prehistoric rock art
At the hotel, I arranged a trip to Las Geel, which meant renting a 4x4 vehicle and two escort boys, e.g. armed soldiers, who were supposed to bodyguard me during my escapade to the Somalilandese wilderness.
The vehicle was within my budget. However, I expected to be renting one escort boy for US$15, not two boys for US$20 each. Anyways, it was not going to ruin my holiday. And since soft drinks (no alcohol in the country) in Somaliland were cheap, I guess my budget until the end of the trip was going to be fine. Unless the expensive Djibouti was going to bust it...
For some strange reason, my first day of visiting Somaliland was constrained to an area one-and-a-half kilometres from Hargeisa airport. And why?
Perhaps, there were a few reasons for that unusual laziness on the very first day in a new country.
I visited the Ministry of Tourism & Culture, which was based in a concrete single storey square shack. The Minister insisted on shaking my hand. His deputy, issued me a tourist travel permit and the access papers to the rock painting sites. Then he asked:
- Have you got a soldier?
- I have two, I replied.
- Oh, good, he said. That is enough, he added.
- Is it? I asked ironically.
- Yes, he responded without any reaction to my slight sarcasm. In that case, you must not only visit Las Geel, but also Dhagax Guure, which is better!
I had to negotiate with my driver to take me there. He was not really forthcoming. I had to remind him that the hotel gave me the car for the entire day and if there was going to be time, we should not ignore the ministerial order. He eventually agreed.
A four wheel drive vehicle with plenty of clearance was necessary. Although the road from Hargeisa to Berbera was alright, the bush track to the prehistoric rock art led through two rivers. The rivers were dry but their banks were steep.
There was a little museum-type building just before the trail. The watchmen resided in it. They kept a book of visitors and on the walls and a few large displays with narrative and pictures of the first team "discovering" the site. They obviously did not discover the rock art. They simply let the world know about it. It was as recently as in 2003! Why I do not believe that they discovered it, I explain later.
The trail to the painted caves was short and easy. The drawings were so vivid and in such an incredibly excellent condition that I would believe that they were just made yesterday. The caves were remarkable. I have never seen anything like that. The art bore no human damage. Some, and part of some, of them were impacted by weather though, which affected either the colour or the drawing's shape.
I snapped a few photographs in each cave. It was easy, since the pigments were bright and looked remarkably fresh. Almost as if there were done a few days before, and not 5000 or 6000 years ago.
Most of the caves depicted people with animals. The creatures were mainly cows, goats and dogs. No wild animals at all so, clearly these were farmers' drawings. Farmers' and not hunters'.
I was searching for the sexually oriented drawings, of which I heard, but could not spot them. Perhaps when I examine my photographs a little closer I will discover them.
Well, one could spend a couple of hours at Las Geel, closely studying each cave. Some of them were decorated very richly, with over fifty figures. I was the only traveller in the country at that time, so I had the caves to myself. However, due to two factors, I stayed only for about three quarters of an hour. First: none of the guys with me spoke any English to explain or show any unusual drawings and there were so many. Second: the Minister recommended a different site, which was supposed to be even better than Las Geel, so I wanted to make it there that day.
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