solo travel Archives - Page 16 of 30

Asia Myanmar (Burma)

The Road to Mandalay

There are various ways to get from Yangon to Mandalay. Car. Bus. Boat. Plane. Train. I opted for the slowest way: the train. I did a lot of reading about the train beforehand and while many said it was great to be able to see the countryside, the general consensus was that it was slow, unreliable, and uncomfortable. I agree it was slow, and it did take longer than scheduled, but it was an excellent experience.

I walked to the train station, which is very central, for my 5pm departure.

My train ticket. I was a little concerned to see a portion of the price allocated to life insurance

The train has the usual classes and I went for the sleeper option, given that it was an overnight train: forecasted to leave at 5:00 pm and arrive in Mandalay at 7:00 am. In fact we arrived at 9:30 am.

The sleeper car had four bunks and I was sharing it with a family of three from Portugal. I’m sure they were not thrilled to share their space with a stranger, but they were pleasant. I had been allocated one of the top bunks, which was fine for sleeping, but it gave me no widow access and no ability to even sit up, so I spent most of my waking hours in the dining car.

The dining car was awesome. It was all local guys, save for one local woman traveling with a monk. They served water, soda, beer, and a surprising array of food, including at least one vegetarian dish of fried noodles and vegetables. The windows were open and, amazingly, smoking was allowed. I was in heaven. I lit up a small cigar at first and no one complained, so I proceeded to smoke two large cigars, while I watched the scenery pass by. I have always wanted to smoke on a train but figured that time had gone. It made the ride not only pleasant, but splendid.

They played music in the car – Burmese pop songs – and often the servers would sing along, which was also true when a Burmese version of “Eye of the Tiger” came on. I joined in periodically. I was joined at my table for a couple hours by a local guy who spoke decent English so we chatted.

Throughout the ride, people would walk the length of the train selling bananas, chips, water, and various snacks.

The scenery was mostly rural, though still punctuated with gold stupas.

About an hour after dark, I settled into my bunk, which was comfortable enough. They provided a pillow and sheet. The car was not air conditioned but there was a fan and the windows opened, though the ticket taker advised us keep the windows and door locked at night. The ride was bumpy, but that is to be expected for a poorly maintained colonial rain line. It was not, however, so bumpy that I couldn’t sleep. I slept fine, save for when we reached a station; when, each time, as far as I could tell, our train collided with another train.

I awoke early and went back to the dining car where I warmed myself with some tea and watched the sun come up as people tilled the soil with oxen.

The last three hours of the trip did pass slowly as I kept expecting that our arrival was imminent. Had I known the length of the actual trip I would have been less impatient at the end. But the approach to the city was interesting as it grew more populated. The houses were different. Sort of wicker looking with geometrical patterns.

Finally, we arrived at the station with little fanfare, but it was the final stop so when everyone else was getting off, I too took my leave of the train and stepped out into the bustle of the central Mandalay station.

I am so glad I took the train. I don’t think any other transport would have been so pleasant and interesting. No misadventures, just a great ride. And, yes, I did listen to Frank Sinatra singing “The Road to Mandalay” more than once to mark the journey.

Asia Myanmar (Burma)

Yangon: Arriving in Myanmar

I’ve been thinking about going to Myanmar for a number of years. The first time I looked into going they still didn’t have ATMs and almost no wifi. Things have changed and I am glad that I came here when I did because I can see it is going to get more developed and more touristy, like its South East Asian neighbours. So far (as I write this I have been here 4 days) I love it here. Interesting and beautiful, so far it does not seem as hectic as parts of Vietnam or as poor as parts of Cambodia. And it feels different. From the thanaka with which so many men and women decorate their faces to the wearing of the longyi to the eating of tea leaf salads, Myanmar seems to have its own feel. Again, these are my first impressions after a short time.

But then again, my first impressions may be mistaken. See my attempt to buy ice cream, below.

I arrived in Yangon (formerly Rangoon) via a long flight from Vancouver to Hong Kong. I had gotten an e-visa ahead of time, so i was through immigration in 5 minutes with no questions. Taxis were plentiful and their prices fair (i didn’t even bother to haggle). It was after midnight as we drove through the streets to my hotel: the Chan Myae Guest House.

I was quite happy with my lodgings, even though it was a sharp 8 floor climb to my room. Simple, but clean and with an excellent location. I was able to walk everywhere. And walk I did for my first day in Yangon. The centre is a delight for strolling with faded and mossy colonial buildings, strings of laundry, and endless street side food vendors.

I took a lot of pictures.

The food vendors are wonderful. I haven’t yet had a restaurant meal here. Tables of women mixing up noodle dishes, soups, salads, fried things, curries, yogurt drinks, tea, and juice stalls. Each one seems to have a specialty and everything looks delicious.

I have had really good luck with the soups. They will combine the ingredients as you direct into your bowl and you can just point at what you want. Then, if they see you are low on broth or noodles or onion or whatever, as you are eating, they will offer top ups. Nothing costs more than $1 (cdn). Plus, i have been going to the ones where the monks are eating, so I can just point at their vegetarian dishes and order that.

I have had one odd culinary experience. It was scorching hot and i was on foot and i thought, “Ice cream. Ice cream would revive me.” So I went to a corner store and bought a vanilla ice cream. I unwrapped it and took a bite and very quickly realized that my ice cream was not vanilla, but DURIAN. I cannot express how shocking it is to expect sweet and creamy vanilla and get instead the intense oniony putrescence of durian.

So I walked and I ate. I went in search of coffee, which was a bit of a mission. This is tea country. There are a few “proper” cafés but they are certainly not in abundance. Twice I aksed for coffee and received some sort of international delights french vanilla bullshit. And twice I flet guilty for thinking that it actually tasted pretty good. I’ll have to turn in my coffee snob card upon return to the Pacific Northwest.

I visited the Sule Pagoda, in all of its glittering splendour. It was magnificent, thought i can now say that gold stupas are ubiquitous here. Nevertheless this was Myanmar stupa no.1 for me, so it was special.

I toured around more on foot, past buildings of note. One street (I forget which one) had rows of book stalls and book shops, so I picked up something for the road.

In the afternoon, before taking on my next pagoda complex, I settled in at the bar at the classically colonial Strand Hotel, which was gorgeous and, most importantly, cigar friendly. Thankfully, it was otherwise empty, so i snuck a selfie or two.

My energies restored, I walked to the Shwedagon Pagoda complex. It wasn’t far from where I was but the 37 degree heat made it seem farther. By the time I arrived, I was hot and tired. I was not too tired, however, to have a secret race again a blonde woman across the street from me also walking to the pagoda. I won. Heat or not, I was still able to appreciate the beauty, but even my eyeballs felt burnt as I took in countless, gleaming gold and white stupas. There were so many people there but many appeared to be locals or visitors from nearby. Nothing I saw in Yangon was overrun with, well, people like me. A few backpackers here and there. The odd group of seniors, but they were few. It was nice.

Perhaps because there are not tons of tourists here, local people are not in the habit of hassling them. No one yells out to get a massage or follows you down the street trying to sell you stuff. Everyone is just pleasant. It isn’t too crowded – even the traffic is organized. Surprisingly for a former British colony, they drive on the right hand side of the street, but the steering wheels are on the right. Motorcycles are banned in Yangon, which may be why the traffic is not crazy.

Somehow I had done all of that by 6:00 pm and on 2 hours sleep. I went back to my room with plans of going out again in the evening, but promptly crashed. It was a great first day in Myanmar.

Mexico North America

Playa del Carmen: making lawyers & memories

I had never traveled for business before and didn’t have any realistic hopes to. I’m a lawyer, I live in Vancouver and so do most of my clients. But then, a couple of days before New Years Eve, an opportunity asserted itself.

Lawyers in Canada have to article for one year after law school before they actually become lawyers. On the completion of the final day, they take an oath, which is given to them by their principal (the lawyer who supervised them throughout their articles). I had such an articling law student and she had calculated her date to take the oath as being in early January, but, due to various things that I won’t get into, she burst into my office on the 27th in a panic. She had miscalculated and her call date was actually December 29th, but she was going to Mexico on the 28th.

I pointed out that there was no reason that she could not take the oath in January when she returned, but she didn’t want to delay it. “Well, I guess we could do it in Mexico,” I said, jokingly. Her eyes lit up. She loved this idea. She is from Mexico and suddenly thought that taking the oath in Mexico was the best idea ever. So that’s what we did.

I booked a flight for that night, picked a hotel, and arrived in Playa del Carmen (where she was going) the next late morning. (Going to Playa del Carmen means flying to Cancun and taking a bus or taxi to Playa del Carmen.)

I checked into my Hotel Hul-Ku which was just a couple blocks off of 5th Avenue the main pedestrian street and tourist thoroughfare. But I didn’t have a lot of time. In about an hour my articling student picked me up and drove us to a private, picturesque beach.

On the beach, inexplicably in such a short time, she had set up a table dressed with a white cloth, flower arrangements, and custom helium balloons that spelled out her name, “Canadian Lawyer”, and displayed the Canadian flag. She had hired a professional photographer and assembled a group of friends. It was so fancy; it looked like we were getting married.

I gave a speech, posed for some photos, and gave the oath. Just like that, she became a lawyer, and I was free to enjoy the rest of my weekend in Playa del Carmen.

Selfie in front of some colorful graffiti

It was unusual for me. I usually love to do weeks or months of planning and studying for my trips, but that wasn’t possible here. I had no time to prepare, so I just wandered. That proved to be fine.

Playa del Carmen is super touristy. The touristy areas are great to walk and grab a bite to eat on a patio, drink a frosty drink (or, if you’re me, a hot coffee). It is a great way to spend a leisurely day.

I enjoyed the color and festive atmosphere.

And, if you poke around, there is some excellent street art.

But it is also kind of expensive and it is full of the worst kind of tourists. Drunk, inconsiderate, annoying. On the plus side, it was easy to get away from the tourists and just walk around eating and drinking cheaply.

That is basically what I did for the rest of that day and most of the rest. (I still had some work to do, but I got to do it on my laptop on a patio whilst smoking cigars. Not bad.)

On December the 31st I decided to do something more adventurous. I visited some cenotes. The area on the Yucatan Peninsula is riddled with cenotes. Basically, they are a bunch of underground caves (sometimes open at the top and sometimes completely subterranean) connected by a vast underground river in the jungle. I couldn’t take my camera with me, so I have no pictures, but take a minute and google image search “cenotes”. Go ahead, i’ll wait.
…
Amazing, right? Some are magical lagoons and others spooky underwater lairs. All are incredible.

To enter the system we went two by two on harnesses, rappelling down into a cenote, then finally dropping into the water at the bottom. Yes, it was a bit scary before I actually started the descent (and I was the first to go) but once i was on my way it was amazing. And at the bottom…stalactites and stalagmites so weird and wonderful that it didn’t even seem real, but it was. I loved swimming around and peering down the dark pathways where the river went farther than we were allowed.

In others it was pitch black and we snorkelled with the aid of a small torch. That was great. So spooky to be in water where you could see absolutely nothing save where you shone your light. Below, in places, the ground gave way to a deep crevasse that our lights would not penetrate. Occasionally a scuba diver or a corpse-grey fish would swim by, but otherwise it was just us in this alien underwater world.

We also went zip-lining to connect us with other cenotes. That experience was ok, but highly overrated.

It was a wonderful experience and a new one for me.

By the time I returned to my hotel I was exhausted.

I went for a walk on the pedestrian street, which was extra busy as it was only a few hours to midnight. I settled in at a touristy but inviting bar that had swings instead of stools at the bar, and had a cigar and a virgin piña colada, chatting with various folks.

I was asleep by 11:30pm and flew home the following day. Playa del Carmen is not a place I would have chosen to go for a holiday, but I really enjoyed myself. And it was a great way to finish 2018 and start 2019.

And that is how I travelled to Playa del Carmen just before New Year’s Eve at the last minute, on someone else’s dime – to make someone a lawyer. I think all my years in law school finally paid off.

Africa Rwanda Uganda

Rhinoceroses in Uganda

From Jinja, I returned to Kampala, this time staying in the Kampala Boulevard Suites. A step up from my previous lodgings Kampala, but I liked it less. It was a splendidly located but completely soulless and not inexpensive business hotel. The only reason I picked it was that I could get a suite with a balcony and, given Uganda’s draconian non-smoking laws, a private balcony was the only place I could enjoy a cigar.

And my first niight there, I did just that, overlooking the snarling traffic.

For my final day in Uganda I hired a driver to take me to the Ziwa Rhinoceros wildlife reserve. It is a good day trip. It is theoretically possible to take transit to get to Ziwa, but the you would need a car to get from the road into the park.

Ziwa isn’t a zoo or a game reserve, it’s really just an outdoor area where rhinoceroses are and armed wildlife rangers guard the, from poachers. Each rhino is assigned two armed guards, whose job it is to follow them around inconspicuously at a distance and keep them safe from poaching. There is no touching the animals or disturbing them; just quiet observation from a safe distance.

When I arrived at Ziwa I, along with two other women who arrived at the same time, was assigned a guide, who walked us through the bush towards where the rhinos were, as directed by the guards over walkie talkie. As we got closer they communicated through whistles.

We came across two groups of rhinoceroses. Some were napping in the shade but the others were eating. Constantly. Fair enough; they’re the size of compact station wagons and eat grass. We got to get pretty close and just observed them in silence for about an hour. It was pretty special.

Was was not so special was when I stepped, ankle-deep, into a pile of warm rhinoceros poo in my only boots.

After the encounter we walked back, had lunch, and I returned to my hotel where much of the evening was spent cleaning my boots.

It was a good end to my short time in Uganda. It wasn’t the gorillas I had originally planned to see, but it was equally interesting. The next morning I flew back to Kigali for a couple of days and then back home.

Nothing of any particular consequence happened on the return visit to Kiglai. I just walked around, had a cigar or two and saw things I had previously seen. It doesn’t merits own post. Over all the trip to Rwanda, Uganda, and the Congo was wonderful. I was already planning my next trip on the flight home.

Africa Uganda

Jinja, Uganda

I had decided to go to Jinja. A more peaceful retreat after Kampala. Hammocks, walks, white water rafting, and the source of the River Nile (sort of). It sounded like a great way to wrap up a holiday that has been wonderful, but busy.

Getting to Jinja is easy. There is a road and various options for getting there from Kampala. There are tons of mini vans departing from Kampala Road or from the market, with touts hanging out the doors, calling out Jinja. The drive should only take about an hour, but the traffic on the narrow road invariably snarls, and the trip actually takes about 3 hours. As incredible cheap as the minivans are (a few dollars) I didn’t want to spend 3 hours crammed in with too many people, sweating. So I decided to take a taxi. It was expensive (like, $80) and I probably overpaid, but I just felt like being comfortable and it was worth it, because the drive was long and hot and I slept much of the way. (On my way back I tried what is probably the best option, which is to take the pineapple express shuttle, which leaves at set times from various hostels and hotels is comfortable and not overcrowded and is about $14.)

Arriving in Jinja I was dropped off at my lodgings, “The Source of the Smile” guesthouse. (I know, but I didn’t name it.) It felt like paradise. Behind a wall was a lovely garden area with little bungalow style rooms, each with its own outdoor seating area, as well as several common ones. A couple of hammocks. A pool. And my room was so gauzy, white, and cool. I was happy. I spent a few nights there and loved it. A perfect place to hang out.

Over the next couple of days I started to decide what I did not feel like doing. I was tired and pretty content to just walk around, drink juices, smoke cigars, and read. I didn’t feel like horseback riding or white water rafting. Plus, my cash was running a bit low at this point and I wasn’t having the best time with the ATMs. So that is basically, what I did in Jinja. I relaxed.

The walk from my guesthouse to the town area wasn’t too long and there were a number of pleasant paths, including one along a golf course that itself ran along the Nile. Apparently back when this part of the Nile was more hippo-rich, the odd hippopotamus would wander onto the course. The road was lined with palm trees filled with screeching bats.

The town of Jinja I found delightful. It is pretty quiet in most places. It has this wonderful architecture, which is very Indian in style; a bit shabby, but still full of charm. Because so many tourists go to Jinja for the outdoor activities, there are a good number of cafes and restaurants catering to them. My favourite of which is The Deli, which had a great menu of healthy food and lots of fresh juices and smoothies – and a garden patio on Main street. A great spot for writing or meeting fellow travellers, both of which I did.

I walked to the Central Market, which was bustling. Vast varieties of fruits and vegetables, meats, and fish. I felt rather conspicuous taking photos, so I went up to the second level to take some pictures looking down on the activities.

The second floor of the market was all seamstresses (tailors?) sewing clothes, all using the old style foot pedal, black sewing machines. The air had a wonderful hum from hundreds of the, machines going at once.

The only real activity I did in Jinja was I took a Nile cruise. “Cruise” might be overstating it. I was the only person on the small, wooden boat who was not working. We sailed past fishermen and past other boats, finally landing in a village in Buganda Kingdom.

The stroll around the village was great. People were friendly and children ran out (as they do) with curiosity. Many of them asked for photos and posed then laughed uproariously when I showed them the results. It is always fascinating to me to see how other people live

From there we sailed to the “source of the Nile”. This is pretty cool – the Nile being that river that captured my imagination as a child and led me in part to visit Egypt at 18 or 19 on my first solo trip. Interestingly though, the source of the Nile is just as mysterious as all it evokes. The source of the (white) Nile was a mystery for centuries. In the 1850s explorer John Hanning Speke “discovered” it in Jinja, Uganda. Today there is a sign post marking the exact spot and a statue to Mr. Speke in a garden overlooking the spot. It is pretty cool.

The thing is, since then, it was discovered that the Nile actually reached Rwanda. Then, in 2006, is was found to reach into Burundi. So the controversy and exploration continues, but all of the businesses named the “Source of the Nile” tours or cafe, etc, persist.

From the boat we watched the sun set on the Nile and Lake Victoria.

And that is how I spent a few lazy days in Jinja.

Africa Uganda

Kampala, Uganda

Kampala, Uganda. I arrived in Entebbe (the closest airport to Kampala) after a 40 minute flight from Kigali. A new country. I had already gotten my East Africa Tourist Visa so there were not formalities other than the checking of my yellow fever vaccination certificate. I took a taxi from Entebbe to Kampala, which took about an hour. Kampala is bigger than Kigali. The traffic is crazy. On the way we passed various poor areas and haphazard markets. I took a few pics from the taxi window.

Once in the city centre, Kampala is organized and busy on one side of Kampala road, and organized chaos on the other. I was staying at the Shumuk Hotel and Apartments. When we pulled up to the run down and otherwise nondescript office building I was certain we had the wrong place. There wasn’t even a sign.

But I did have the right place. It is a run down office building but with short and long term apartments for rent on the top two floors. The rooms weren’t fancy but they were clean and I had a full, small apartment. I was satisfied.

Plus, the location was great. I could walk to tons of cafes, restaurants, craft shops, and the aforementioned organized chaos. Unlike Kigali, it did not have the punishing hills.

I walked and browsed and ate. I also saw the ugliest bird I have ever seen. Hands down. The Maribou Stork. They are everywhere in Kampala. They are huge – they can have wingspans of up to 12 feet and they have these hideous faces, like bird-corpse-dinosaurs. I tried really hard to get a good picture of one, but this is the best I could get. The stupid thing kept evading my camera. If I looked like that I would do the same.

The next morning, I got up early and went for a coffee at a big Kenyan chain coffee shop. Sitting there with my Americano, who should walk in but the guy from Delhi that I had met in Goma days earlier. I know it happens, but it always surprises me to run into the same person randomly that I crossed paths with in another country. We made plans to have dinner and did indeed have an excellent dinner at a fancy Italian restaurant in a posher area of town.

In the meantime, however, I had arranged a boda boda (motorcycle) tour of Kampala through Walter’s tours, which I recommend. Kampala is short on major sights, but this takes you from place to place on a motorcycle, so you get to see a lot in a fun way.

Richard, my guide, and I went to the Bahai temple and the big mosque. At both sites I got a little more info than I needed, but they were nice buildings. At the mosque, I climbed to the top of the huge minaret in the ankle length modesty dress they outfitted me in, for the views of the city.

We went to the palace, which one cannot enter, but I got a lot of very interesting history and then walked through a beautiful garden area to Idi Amin’s torture cells.

There isn’t much to them: a concrete tunnel with rectangular cells, but they were very creepy. Hearing the stories of how many people were killed there (16k-19k) through various methods from electrocution to suffocation (from cramming people into the cells). The walls are still covered in hand prints and writings in blood, dirt, and excrement from the prisoners. And there are bats. Lots of bats. And at least one femur.

From there we went to some market areas and ended up at the old taxi park, which is a cluster of white minivans parked in am impossible tangle.

We got a seat at a cafe overlooking the taxis and the streets below, which was very interesting. Watching the vans get out, baskets of grasshopper snacks for sale, vendors of everything imaginable, and stands were people trade old/worn currency for new looking currency for status, apparently.

It was a good day. I finished up with a nice dinner with my new friend from the Congo, and finally a cigar.

At this point in the trip I had been on the go every day and it was time for some relaxation, so the next day I was going to Jinja.

Africa Democratic Republic of the Congo Rwanda

Return to Rwanda

I left the Democratic Republic of the Congo and crossed the border into Rwanda on foot using my East Africa visa, which would allow me to move back and forth between Rwanda and Uganda. The rest of the day, and the most of the rest was pleasant but unremarkable.

I did laundry at the air bnb I was staying at in Gisenyi – very necessary as I had taken on a certain odor. I lazed about in a hammock and had dinner at Cafe Calafia, my aforementioned new favourite cafe, with the cozy interior, beautiful garden exterior, and excellent menu. After that I returned to my air bnb where I walked in on (unbeknownst to my host) a tremendous bout of yelling and domestic disturbance. I’ll spare the details, but I found it quite unpleasant and so I went for a walk and then sat outside smoking a cigar with my headphones on until things subsided.

The next day I did not, as planned, take a 5 hour bus back to Kigali but opted for the 2 hour private car at 10x the price. It just sounded so much more appealing. Is this what happens as travellers get older? Do we spend some extra money for some extra comfort? I don’t like to think about it that way, but I did appreciate that I was enjoying a coffee and cigar in Kigali at a time when I would otherwise have still been on the bus.

This time in Kigali I stayed not at the Nest but at the Discover Rwanda Youth Hostel. (Applying the broad definition of “youth” apparently.) I like to try different places and explore different areas, which is why I chose the hostel. It had a swell patio for eating and chilling out with other travellers, I must admit it was not as nice as the Nest, which was about the same price.

I went for a long walk up and down Kigali’s punishing hills and ended up at a lovely cafe, where I had a cigar that I bought the previous month in El Salvador (making me feel like quite the jet setter / douchebag) and a french press of excellent coffee. Also soup.

I struck up a conversation with a girl also traveling alone who was from Washington State. We chatted and then left together, walking to a bookstore with a rooftop cafe, where we stayed until it was dark, swapping travel tales.

Unable to find a single moto driver who knew where my hostel was, I walked back in the dark (thankfully remembering my way). At the bottom of the final big hill, I did get a moto to drive me up the last bit for a few cents.

So not much happened on these days aside from transit and casual strolling, but it was most pleasant and welcome, as the next day I was off to Uganda.

Africa Democratic Republic of the Congo

Masisi, the Alps of the Congo

Following my day exploring Goma, I was collected at the Ihusi Hotel by Cide, who would be my guide and companion for the next 2 days. I had booked an overnight tour of the Masisi region of the Democratic Republic of the Congo through Kivu Travel. (Website here.) After my gorilla plans fell through (see my previous DRC post) I still wanted to see something of the Congo in the time that I had and Masisi looked amazing. And there was no way I could have managed this without having it organized through a company, as the Masisi is not exactly set up for independent travel. Kivu Travel was super helpful and kept checking in and confirming that all was well and that I was taken care of.

But before Masisi, a boat ride.

Cide dropped me off on the shores of Lake Kivu, placing me in the hands of a 4 man crew on a rather basic wooden boat. We set sail, at first past the shores of Goma, which gave a great view of the otherwise invisible posh homes, and then we sailed farther into the lake.

The plan was to visit a coffee farm, which sounded good, but mostly I just wanted to sail around. And sail we did, for about 2 hours before reaching the farm. It was very peaceful. We saw only a few small canoes type boats and a couple of ferries.

Reaching the farm, I was handed off to a fellow (whose name I cannot recall) who very carefully showed me the coffee farm and explained the process from planting to sending off for roasting. It was surprisingly interesting. I have been to coffee farms before, but they just sort of showed the trees and then explained about the different varieties. This was not a tourist show; it was an actual, working farm and I have to say that it was sobering to see how much hand labour goes in to coffee, just at the farm level. I mean, I guess I knew it, but I never really thought about it. Every single bean, hand picked, hand peeled, washed, hand sorted, dried, etc all by hand. Plus all the planting, replanting, roasting, etc.

It was really interesting and reminiscent of my rice realizations in SE Asia. For all the mechanization we have available, some things are still painstakingly made by hand.

Back in the boat, we sailed for close to 3 hours until a pretty area appeared before us, marked by Cide’s white SUV. I was deposited on the shore, where we had a picnic lunch of vegetarian sandwich, avocado, and bananas. I told Cide that in North America we are crazy for avocados and that in restaurants we will pay $10 or more for a slice of toasted bread with butter and avocado. His eyes went wide and he didn’t stop laughing for a solid minute. I can’t say I blame him.

Then we drove, higher and higher into the mountains. The landscape started out as a beautiful green patchwork of farm lands, then smoothed out into rolling, velvety hills dotted with farm animals. This is the Masisi region.

It was stunning. Like something out of a painting or a picture book. If it weren’t for the villages, which are definitely African, it could easily be the Alps.

Just when I thought I could not be any more impressed, we arrived at this charming farmhouse set on a hill overlooking the valley and with beautiful gardens. This is where I was to stay.

My room was enormous and I had a living room with a fireplace and private balcony. No electricity or internet, though they ran the generator at night for lights and the fireplaces were lit for warmth. It was so perfect.

Cide and I sat overlooking the valley and were served a teapot of warm milk from the cows below. I had a cigar.

We then walked into the valley and the village past the dairy farm, flocks of sheep, errant goats, and parades of geese. Horses grazed. People laboured. Children played and peeked curiously at me.

It was all so lovely.

The best part of the walk was visiting the home of this one grandmother who had 3 tobacco plants in her garden. Cide said she grew them for herself, to dry and smoke. She didn’t speak English or French, but Cide translated. I gave the woman one of my cigarillos. She tried it but was not impressed, saying hers was better. Her friend agreed. The woman then got some of her dried tobacco and rolled me a small one and offered it to me. It was a bit on the moist side, but was good. Cocoa-y.

After that, we returned to the house and were fed an enormous dinner. I briefly dozed by the fire and then went to bed.

The morning brought a massive breakfast with a view of the valley.

We then walked down to the dairy farm, where free roaming cows were being milked. I tried my hand at it with limited success.

From there we visited the “cheese factory” which is just two guys in two rooms making cheese without any mechanization. The cheese is good. Like a tangy gouda.

Finally we went for a walk through the main village, where we were followed by throngs of children, curious and friendly, all giving thumbs up and asking for photos, which they then looked at and laughed hysterically.

Finally, we returned to Goma and I crossed the borders back to Rwanda. It was a perfect couple of days. I liked the comparative bustle of Goma, but Masisi was magical. A peaceful mountainous dairy farming region was not what I thought of when I thought to visit the Congo, but I am glad I made my way there.

Central America / Caribbean El Salvador

Walking in San Salvador after dark

The whole reason I am writing this post is because this is precisely the information I wanted before going to San Salvador but could not find.

I returned to my hotel after visiting the Ruta de los Flores around 5:00 pm and I had a little lay around the hotel, but then I was hungry and restless, so decided to go out. It was only maybe 8:00 pm, but it was dark.

The thing is, everything I read said that it was absolutely not safe to go out alone after dark in San Salvador, and if you must go out, take a taxi, even if it is just a few blocks. Furthermore, I read that the central area I was staying in was particularly dangerous. That just didn’t make sense to me. So, no one walks at night alone, ever? The sun goes down at 6:00 pm and the buses stop at 9:00. I had had to test this advice.

I left behind my my credit cards, my ID, and anything of value. I took a little cash, a cigar, a phone, and a lighter.

I left my hotel, the Hotel Villa Florencia Centro Historico, and walked more or less towards the main cathedral square. The streets were very quiet. Desolate. Everything was closed except for one supermarket. There were a few people still packing up their market wares, but it was quiet. A pedestrian here and there, the odd car, and buses on one street, but the street I walked on, so alive with bustle in the daylight, looked almost like an apocalyptic wasteland at night. But I didn’t feel unsafe. I was just very aware of the lack of people. Actually, that may not be accurate. It did feel potentially unsafe, but I was ok with it.

There was one spot where I walked through what was a narrow corridor of closed up market stalls on either side. In there it was very dark. On either side, solid walls metal security gates, and tarps overhead. I don’t love the dark and there was a lack of side exits, so when I approached that veritable tunnel, and I saw a young. Preppy looking guy head in before me, about 40 feet, i sped up so i could sort of walk with (behind) him. I did this because i felt it would be safer than walking solo.

I started to speed up, to catch up with him, and he sped up. I walked even faster and he broke into a run. I guess everybody was a bit uneasy about walking that area at night, but I was surprised (amused?) that in this instance I was the threatening force.

I did make it to the two squares by the theatre and cathedral. There, things were lively. People out for strolls and dinner, buskers, crowded pupusas stalls. It was nice. I had a bite and then walked back along the same, dark streets back to my hotel.

I did stop to take a few pictures in the square on my lousy cell phone.

I think it is probably fine to go walking after dark solo, but you definitely need to be aware of your surroundings. As usual, though, the hype about violence and crime far exceeds its presence.

Central America / Caribbean El Salvador

Suchitito

Day two in El Salvador I discovered there was a tiny restaurant next to my hotel. Such a hole in the wall that I missed it every time I had walked by it previously. Good food though. Vegetarian options were lacking, but there WERE vegetarian options. Rice, beans, plantains, and coffee for about $1.50.

I had decided to go to Suchitoto. It is quite near San Salvador and looked pretty. I was going to take the bus. I can’t totally explain why I didn’t take the bus because I lack the Spanish language skills to understand. I took a taxi to the Terminal Oriente bus station, which seemed much farther than it should have been and when i got there, the bus station had a different name but people seemed to confirm I was in the right place, yet, there was no bus to Suchitoto. I didn’t relish trying to take another taxi to another bus station, so I took a taxi the whole way. The ride took about an hour and I paid $30. The driver got lost, but I got there eventually.

The drive was pretty, past verdant valleys and past cute little towns.

Suchitoto was so charming. All grassy cobbestoned streets with single storey building, painted bright colors set around a pretty and leafy square with a fountain, overlooked by a whitewashed church from the 1850s. No streetlights, nothing actually to suggest that it is the modern era, except an internet cafe (which, at best, suggests that it is 1998). It is definitely more of a tourist place. There were proper gifty crafty shops and a few couples took selfies in front of the church.

I walked a bit and then had coffee at Casa de la Abuela, which is a super cute cafe/shop/guest house. I chatted with the owner (the first person I have met here who speaks English). He told me that he was from Suchitoto, moved away, then moved back to raise his kids. He said it has a small town feel and is away from the gang and violence problems elsewhere. He also gave me a map and some suggestions.

Importantly, he told me about Victoria. Suchitoto used to be a cigar making town but after the revolution, he said, the cigar making stopped, except for Victoria, a 93 year old woman who still rolls cigars out of her home. He sold some at his shop (i bought all of them), but said I could go to her house. He drew a map and said i should go down this one street and look for the house “with a dog as white as snow.” So I guess I suddenly was on a quest from a fairy tale. I did walk to the street – twice – but I didn’t see a dog as white as snow. Just one as as tan as caramel and one black as coal. I did figure out which house it was (saw a pile of tobacco through a window), but no one was home…or she was hiding because a crazy girl with tattoos was creeping around her house.

I walked to the lake. It was about 20 minutes, down a steep hill past little farm houses. The lake was pretty with floating lilies and islands in the distance with cows grazing.

You can hire boats to take you to on little pleasure tours or to the different islands, but I was concerned about paying way too much to go solo and about being gone too long, so I just walked along the shore. I sensibly took a bus back up to the town. It was just me, the driver, and a man carrying a tiny puppy and about six medium sized fish strung together like a garland.

I had a cigar in the square and took a bus back to San Salvador.

Buses can make me nervous. Am I on the right one? How do I know when I am at my destination? This was pretty simple. It was a local bus – one of those old school buses repainted with bright colours and fitted with horns and spoiler. The ride was pretty good. I got a seat. No one carried fish. The ride took about 1 1/5 hours. When we got to the city I was a bit concerned about where to get off, but the I saw the yellow dome of the cathedral in the near distance, so i got off and snaked my way through blocks of market stalls and surrounding chaos.

I had a couple of pupusas at a pupuseria by the market. Pupusas are basically San Salvador’s national dish. Corn meal pancakes filled with cheese, beans, meat, pork fat, or whatever, fried, and served with pickled cabbage and spicy or mild tomato sauce. Pretty good. They are everywhere. I had two and a big bottle of water for $1.20.

I walked back to my hotel, where I am enjoying a cigar. Tomorrow I shall embark on the Ruta de las Flores.

Wandering North

Tag: solo travel