Mar. 6, 1978 - India

Took a morning walk to the Burmese embassy; the visa takes 24 hours and costs 48 rupees each ($12).  Checked out the Thai embassy and that also takes 24 hours.  Took a scooter taxi to the American Express office and stood in line for mail – there was letter from Bryan’s folks received last Thursday and mailed from the Yucatan on the 22nd.

Worked out our reservation schedule and Air France booked for us since we have to have confirmed bookings onward for the Burma visa. Now we’re booked as far as Bangkok.

Took a scooter taxi to the major bazaar street of Old Delhi – what a teeming mass of people.  Delhi is a place to see every form of rapid and especially not so rapid transit in India.  For footsore travelers, the 3 wheel taxi is a relief – they seat two over the back wheels and the driver sits in front, generally with a black vinyl roof  in various states of shredding.  The real classy drivers paint theirs up and give them names and tassels and streamers, sometimes even scarves.  However, we also rode on some where you could see the street between your feet.  Prices are cheap – by metering machine – no ride more than 3 or 4 rupees.

 An alternative, but much more strenuous for the driver, is the trishaw – a 3 wheel bike with a roughly clad and painfully muscled but thin man pulling and pedaling.  We took one once but that was enough – we preferred the faster “bumper cars” as we called them.  It is exactly the feeling in the bumper car rides except that we never actually saw someone get injured or bumped hard.

The other modes of transport we didn’t try were: bullock cart, pull cart, buses (terribly crowded), small bicycle-pulled boxes on 2 wheels with windows cut in the side from which 8 heads of schoolchildren stick out – one man pedals it all, horse carts for 4-8 people (with 4 seats), ditto for motor bikes, one person motor scooters (generally with 2 or more people on them), bicycles, and of course, cars.

Mar. 5, 1978 - India

A do-nothing day because it is Sunday and everything is closed .  Wandered around until our legs were sore and  had a great Indian meal at Kwality – tandoori chicken, meat curry and nan, an excellent light flat bread.

In the evening we went to dinner at the invitation of a young American man and his American wife.  When we first met them last night at the hotel he said “Have you come to see Baba?”  He had a red spot in the center of his forehead, close cut hair and a beatific, rather naïve expression.  “No,” we said and he explained they had come from their ashram at Ganeshpuri near Bombay while “Baba” was in Delhi for a month.  Normally he stays at the ashram with them and 700 or so other followers. He explained that Baba was a saint.

When we arrived an enormous tent had been set up and many people, mostly Indians were leaving.  We took off out shoes and paid 4 rupees each and went into an area set aside for eating.  There were rugs set in rows on the dirt floor and in a row in front of each rug was a green leaf tray and bowl  fashioned from one or two leaves and held together with twigs.  There was also a plastic drinking “glass.”

The women and men sat separately, all facing forward.  The food was brought around to each place and ladled out.  We received dahl, a pea curry, chapatti, vegetable salad and a big crisp chip. Tasty.  I was advised that I must eat all I am given but I can refuse seconds.  I had seconds and was very full.  Afterwards we got up, rolled our “plate” and deposited it in a trash box.  A man poured water over our hands from a bucket because we had eaten with our hand.

I sat next to two American women and I heard mostly American accents.  They said the ashram is comprised of 4-500 Americans and 2-300 Indians.  There was a charter flight from the states every 3 months.  “You are lucky,” she said, “to see a saint.”  She invited us tomorrow to see him when he comes outside.  “After all,” she said, “you are eating his food.”

Back to our guest house with our American friend, his wife and their 18 month old daughter who sang “Hare Krishna, Hare Rama” most of the way home in her sweet childish voice.

Mar. 4, 1978 - India

Our taxi driver from yesterday came to pick us up at the hotel at 8. The plane to Delhi was delayed until 12 noon so we decided to go back into Kabul.  A bus costs 1 AFG and a taxi 50 so we decided to experience the bus.  I’m glad we did because we saw that the first 3 rows of seats on the bus are reserved for women and children and they sure cram them in.  When it started filling up after 2-3 stops, Bryan moved to the back and left me with the ladies who were covered from head to toe.  A woman and infant sat next to me. She had uncovered her face but after an uncertain look at me covered again.  The baby and I made faces at each other.

The bus ride took about 10 minutes and at the center of town everyone got out.  Thank goodness for that because we were so crammed in I couldn’t have gotten out if I wanted.  On the way back, after buying a few postcards, I shared a seat with two other women – cozy.  The one next to me was old by the looks of her hands and I think she kept smiling and nodding to me.  I’m sure about the nodding and I smiled back.  Even at close range the mesh covering their face is difficult to see through.

The plane finally took off and we had an uneventful flight except that we were served a small snack and it was past lunch time.  The plane was a Swedish one leased to Ariana and the pilot and stewardesses were Swedish.

Arrival in Delhi was worse than I had imagined and had me in tears.  The baggage search was long with only two officials for the plane and too many people.  Taxis outside wanted to charge us 3 times the price.  A helpful young British man explained the taxi metering system and arranged for a taxi to take us to a guesthouse address recommended by friends.  There was no phone number so we just took our chances.

We were warmly welcomed and offered tea and I calmed down. The room is lovely with two French doors and a window overlooking the garden and lawn.  It has a private bath and breakfast for 65 rupees ($8).  How peaceful after that airport hassle.

We took a 3-wheel taxi scooter into town center – about a 10 minute ride – at the cost of 2.80 rupees, about 30 or so cents.  These are metered too, only at ½ the rate of the taxis.  We got some maps from the tourist office and checked the American Express office but the mail section will be closed until Monday – darn.  Had a ham and eggs dinner at a pleasant restaurant – Kwality – kind of like a Dennys and then home to bed.

Mar. 3, 1978 - Afghanistan

We spent a warm night in spite of cold outside thanks to two quilts and a wood fire.  After breakfast we left for Kabul at 8 and stopped for a panoramic view of the Buddhas from the hotel across the valley.  

 Scenic and uneventful drive back; 7 instead of  9 hours.

We did see a buzkashi  game organizing on a wide plateau but decided not to wait until it started.  It would have been great to watch. (Buzkashi involves fast horses, skilled horsemen and a calf carcass.)

Mar. 1-2, 1978 - Afghanistan

March came in like a lamb.  We had almost decided to leave Afghanistan since it was so cold and overcast but this morning it was sunny with blue skies.  We contacted another couple – Gary and Karen from Australia – who had expressed an interest in going to Bamian.  We arranged to hire a taxi for 3500 ($20 each) with a driver to leave tomorrow.  Found a good restaurant with pizza – seems to be popular with Americans.  Visited the Kabul Museum.

Up at 6:30 the next day to pick up Karen and Gary at their hotel.  Sunny clear morning – no breakfast.  Drove for 4 hours along a valley with snow topped mountains along the side of a torrential river.  The road was paved only the first 70 km; the rest was dusty gravel.  Stopped for tea at a tea house in the village of Char Bah.  Buses were stopped there too.  The village is mud houses with colorful shops selling oranges, raisins, nuts, scarves and miscellaneous household goods opening onto either side of the road.  The shopkeeper usually sits cross-legged in the center of his goods with a scale close at hand. His counter weight for a kilo might be a stone; anyway that is how one man weighed out our oranges.  I bought a small bag of almonds but they tasted like marzipan or something unusual.

The tea house had a wood stove and raised platforms covered with rugs to sit on.   However we took the more conventional seats at some tables in the back.

On again, this time climbing a 9,200 foot pass into the snow.  The road surface was slushy but plowed.  Beautiful mountains.

Flat tire by a stream.  The driver patched the tire right there using a “hot patch.”  His spare was balder than the flat so I don’t blame him.  Took about 1 hour.

Arrived in Bamian at 4 with enough time to climb to the top of the large Buddha.

The statue had been previously defaced but the Taliban dynamited in 2001 because it was decreed that the statues were “idols” and therefore forbidden under Sharia law.  So glad we got to see this.

Cold wind blowing and it was colder than Kabul so we didn’t feel inclined to wander around sightseeing.  Our hotel had a wood stove which was pretty tempting.  They wanted to charge 600 AFS for a room but we bargained to 400.  It was worth it for the heater and inside toilet.  We found out later that there was a hotel for 20 AFS but I liked ours.

Found a bakery with great shortcake cookies to hold us until dinner (first food of the day besides the oranges and almonds.)  Dinner was at 6 with rice with carrots, raisins and lamb stew. Excellent!

Feb. 27-28 - Afghanistan

Checked out of Kabul Hotel and moved to Metropole.  A London to Kathmandu bus was stopping over and it’s a nice comfortable hotel.  

View of the mountains from our hotel over the rooftops of Kabul

 The bus organizers had  posted a map of good restaurants and the best shopping area (“Chicken Street”) so it made our orientation easier, too.  There is lots of beautiful leather work and Bryan immediately bought the perfect camera bag (200afg/$4). The exchange rate is about $1 = 42 afg.  There is also a large selection of peasant style dresses that have become popular in the US.  Actually they are Afghan traditional style and have been adapted to western styles.  Exquisite embroidery.  We decided they were too bulky to send home, although I did buy an embroidered strip to take home.  Also bought some warm hand knit socks; did I mention it is cold here?

In the evening we went to dinner at a sit-on-cushions-on-the-floor Afghan restaurant with some of the bus people. Tasty “shashlick” with egg.

The next morning was still cold but fortunately there is a space heater in our room. Walked to the FAO (Food and Agricultural Organization)  to see about Bryan’s physical and if there are any interesting projects in Afghanistan.  The check-up will take 4 to 5 days and we might stay if the weather changes.  The FAO director was out.

Walked about and bought a suitcase for Bryan and then “exchanged” our old canvas backpack/bags that I had sewn for the trip for a purse for me and 150 AFG.  Now we’ve got plenty of  leather – enough.

Feb. 26, 1978 - Afghanistan

Got up early and went to Ariana Afghan airlines and booked our seats.  That’s a relief because except for this flight today, all the others leave at 5am.  Breakfasted on ham and eggs at a deluxe hostel – The Park – and paid deluxe prices - $10 – but it was what we were looking for.  This was the first place that served “real” coffee, not instant.  I miss it after our lovely Ethiopian coffee.

Caught a taxi to the airport.  Had a rough flight over Afghanistan and Kabul was socked in.  The captain said he would fly in and have a look anyway and I guess saw something because we landed safely.  Kabul is ringed by mountains but the little bowl was clear in the center.

This article in the English language paper is about the area near Harar where we lived in Ethiopia.

Kabul is a fantastic city but chilly.  People are friendly with the readiest smiles we’ve met all trip.  The rainstorm we flew through had just stopped and mud and puddles are everywhere.  Checked into a $20 hotel but can probably move tomorrow; now it is just nice to have a lovely large warm room, a hot bath, and a view of the mountains. 

Kabul is definitely an ancient, people-watching city.

We took a stroll around as the sun set.  Bryan says he can’t see much change in the  10 years since he was last here.  People still dress in traditional style: men in cotton bloomers and  long shirts tails out, women in chadri head to toe.  Sometimes called burqas, the coverings have a mesh panel to look out of and are made of  nylon.  It has a shorter panel in front but they normally pull it together.  However, the chadri  aren’t black but a lovely pale blue, rust, darker blue and a mossy green.  The top is like a built-in embroidered hat and even the mesh peephole is the same color.  We saw only one or two groups of western-dressed women, students probably.

Feb. 24-25, 1978 - Iran

The ride was too long – 16 hours – and we didn’t get to Tehran until 11:30am. It was cold and drizzly and almost everything was closed because it was Friday.  We also found out that tomorrow is a holiday too, Muhammad’s birthday.  Therefore, the airline offices are closed until Sunday.  We wandered around a bit and drank some lovely fresh apple juice.  They juice the apples right on the street in little booths; it was so tasty we decided it couldn’t hurt us.

For lunch we had a chelo kebab at a nice restaurant: same food as the bus stations only 5 times as expensive.

Happy Birthday Muhammad.  Because of this holiday nothing much is open today.  We decided to treat ourselves to a big breakfast and splurge at the InterContinental Hotel.  After a brisk walk of about ½ hour we arrived at 9:25 only to be rudely told that breakfast finishes at 9:30.  So much for the InterContinental.  We sat in the lounge and ordered coffee and tea.  Instant coffee and a tea bag: $2.  The tourist office told us the decorative arts museum would be open so we walked there and enjoyed a very nicely displayed and labeled exhibit on three floors.

For lunch we found a Mexican restaurant Gary had recommended; excellent cheese, enchilada, tacos and Mexican beans. A nice find.

In the afternoon we tried to find the archaeological museum and the crown jewel exhibit but they were closed so went back to the hotel and read and listened to the radio.  There is a very American radio station here and it was fun to listen to the popular music and fast American speech.  There is a large US military presence here which must support the station.

It was just too cold to walk much or we would have tried to see more. It is not yet Spring and the temperature is supposed to hit freezing tonight.  It has been overcast since the day after we arrived and the mountains have been covered.  The first day was beautifully clear and the mountains surrounding Tehran were covered with snow. We were lucky to see it.

Feb. 22-23, 1978 - Iran

Took the bus leaving at 9 for Shiraz.  We booked late last night so couldn’t get a first class leaving in the morning.  Second class buses have more seats and therefore less leg room.  They also stop more often and don’t serve free cokes as refreshments on the trip.  We arrived in the evening and located a hotel Gary had recommended.  We got in about 5 so by the time we were settled we just had time for a pizza at a very nice pizza place and went to bed.  Shiraz was not as cold as further north but in the night it rained.

Got up early and booked with a tour agency on a tour to Persepolis at 9:30; cost about $6 each.  The bus was very comfortable with only 3 seats across and not full.  Three other English speakers and 6 modern-dressed Iranian women on the tour.  Our male tour guide definitely enjoyed talking with them but he did find time to give us a good tour.

We were very impressed with Persepolis; it is as important to the Persian Empire as the Acropolis is to the Greeks.  Beautiful bas relief sculpture on a grand staircase well preserved because they were covered by sand.  The sculptures depict the conquered nations paying tribute to the Darius.  They are identifiable by their dress of their country and the gifts they bring, i.e. camels from desert peoples, etc.

Here is Bryan testing his height against the tribute bearers

 

 As usual there were the ever present men with Polaroid cameras ready to snap you next to a pillar or whatever.  They are a fixture all over this country; I don’t know how much they charge but they can take two images on one photo if you want. Very interesting.  Returned around 1:30 to Shiraz.

In the afternoon we walked in the busy bazaar in a very old building with vaulted ceilings. We found one street with only brass and tinsmiths -  such a din  reverberating from the ceilings, banging out handmade pots and bowls with hammers.

For a break we stopped for tea at this lovely old tea house where you can drink tea and smoke a hubble-bubble pipe in the traditional style.  It is called a caravansary which is the term used for any way station like building where caravans can stop for the night.  We passed many old crumbling mud buildings in the desert with the typically domed roofs.  Of course, this one was beautifully restored and mostly Iranians were enjoying it.  The inevitable Polaroid man was there and doing a good business.  We enjoyed watching people posing for their pictures.

Afterward we strolled again and were able to see some craftsmen doing very delicate inlay work.  They were making small boxes inlaid inside and out with brass and camel bone.  The frame for our miniature is done in this manner and Shiraz is the center for this type of work.  He gave me a small strip of the design to keep which shows how each piece is shaped.


Iran is very impressive for its respect and encouragement of it’s handicrafts.  Everything from the past is being done today with just as much precision and the crafts people are not all old people; some of the apprentices are very young.

So there is no need to search for old things; the new are just as fine quality as far as we could tell.  We even saw a new mosque being tiled in the old style, and that’s a big job.  Labor must not be cheap here because the standard of living seems quite high, especially compared with Ethiopia or Yemen.

There are some gypsy-like people; the tourist books call them “tribal people.” The women wear colorful brocaded long full skirts with an apron-shift in colorful fabrics front and back.   They were mainly in the Shiraz bazaar shopping.

Here is another of the marriage mirrors.  This one is paper mache painted in a traditional style.  They also make and paint paper mache boxes of many shapes.

At 7pm we took the express bus back to Tehran, a comfortable but long ride.

We have gotten quite smart now about eating at bus stops. The bus stops for about 20 minutes and everyone rushes inside, buys a token and sits down.  Then waiters rush around and slap plates of flat bread and the ubiquitous national dish chelo kebab, a big plate of white rice topped by a large pat of lovely butter.  Buried inside is a tender piece of charcoal broiled meat.  Quite tasty but could get boring.  Sometimes yogurt and sometimes tea, then back into the bus.

Feb. 20-21, 1978 - Iran

We got to the bus station in plenty of time to leave at 9.  Breakfast at the hotel included Iranian flat bread baked in flat oval loaves about 2 feet long.  Tasty!

The bus was comfortable with big windows.

After 7 hours of driving mostly through scrub desert bordered by snow covered mountains, we arrived in Isfahan.  Very good roads.

Through the tourist office we found a clean, pleasant hotel – Jahra – 900 reals/night double ($12.85).  We walked across a lovely old bridge to Kurosh luxury hotel for a shiny Denny’s type coffee shop hamburger, returned to the hotel and slept well.

The next morning we explored Isfahan on foot. You have to see a Persian mosque to really appreciate the beauty of the detail.  Pictures don’t show it.

In the courtyard of the Shah Mosque a young man asked if we wanted to see rugs being made.  We said yes and he took us through some back alleys to a compound and we entered.  It wasn’t marked so we never could have found it.  In the room were 2 older women and 3 young girls at two looms – back-to-back with about 3 feet between.  The light was natural.

Here I am getting very patient instruction in tying little tiny knots in a $14,000 carpet.

The women did the complex design and the girls did the easier part with fast fingers.  The rug they were working on was silk and in 5 months they had done about one foot on each rug – both were the same design.  Our guide said it would take 4 years to complete and sell for about $14,000.  The women work for a company which supplies them with the silk and loom and gives them housing in the same compound.  The girls attend school ½ day.

They were quite interested in whether Bryan and I were married and if we had children.  Their English vocabulary consisted of “baby.”  Our guide was a pleasant young man who just wanted to practice his English.  He had a technician’s job in a hospital and said that he gets called in to speak English and German to foreign patients even though he doesn’t have a certificate so it is good experience.

He explained to us that the women and young girls all wear “chadri” because this is a more Muslim area than Tehran.  The religious police, or “mullahs” enforce it.  Chardi is a large cloth covering the body and clutched together; not very practical although the women hold it in their teeth sometimes.  Many are black but more and more there are small flower prints with dark background.  The small print cloth represents the Persian love the miniature design, whereas the Somali like big colorful cloth prints and you can’t find a small print cloth anywhere there.

We walked some more, ate lunch at a Persian hotel and walked again – oh my aching knees.

We considered buying a rug for a few seconds and rejected the thought and bought instead a beautiful Persian ivory miniature of a girl and an old man; fantastic detail when seen with a magnifying glass.  The shop asked 12,500 reals and settled for $100 in traveler’s checks (7,000 reals)  Exquisite.  Also bought a small one with huntsmen on horses ($12).

This is a beautiful inlaid and painted “marriage mirror.” The bride first sees her husband reflected here.    Isfahan is the center for miniature painting.

Feb. 18-19, 1978 - Iran

Today (Saturday) is like Monday in the Muslim week; Thursday and Friday are the weekend.  Did a bit of walking and bought some things before leaving for Iran tomorrow.

Bryan tried to mail a package to the US but found out it had to be wrapped in cloth.  There is a place that does that but they were closed so Gary will do it after we leave.

Musa came by and brought Bryan an “al okal” the Arab head piece that they use to keep their head scarves on.  In the winter they wear a red and white scarf and in summer a beautiful embroidered white one (made in Switzerland.)

 This clipping in the local paper indicates that war is escalating in the town near where my college was in Ethiopia

Up early to airport.  Sat around talking until 3 the night before so rather tired.  Gary and Musa took us to the airport.  We were whisked through passport control by Gary's friend the head of immigration. He bought us coffee and talked about his trip the next morning to Florida.

Again the plane was full of workers – Iranians returning home from Kuwait loaded down with electronic goods and blankets which must be must cheaper in Kuwait.  We flew Iran Air – not good food and 1 ½ hour late.

Beautiful mountains were covered with snow as we flew into Tehran. The city was cold like a winter morning; trees bare and brown and snow on the beautiful mountains above the city.

The airport tourist bureau was very helpful and reserved a room for us by phone in the city.  They even told us how much the taxi should be – you pay in advance – a nice change from the cities we have been to so far.

Clean hotel – The Angeles – but the partition between our room and the next was a glass door.  We could hear heavy breathing next door.

We walked to the downtown tourist bureau about 2 miles along the bare, tree lined streets with surprisingly modern stores.  Bryan remarked how this part of the city didn’t exist 10 years ago; at least he didn’t find it.  The American Embassy was out in the countryside and now it is in the center.

The tourist bureau downtown was not helpful but grudgingly gave us a city map.  We walked to the handicraft center to see Iranian goods on sale and then back to the bus station to reserve a seat for tomorrow.  On the way back we passed an old man putting out his goods for sale on the sidewalk.  He had some nice looking sweaters with big collars I thought would be good for the cold weather.  I asked how much and he showed me a 100 real note and 5 fingers.  I looked perplexed so he showed us a 200 and a 100 note.  I turned to Bryan and then a policeman who had been watching came up and folded the 100 in half and I said “oh, he means 250 reals” and the man nodded yes, so I bought it.  It was only afterward that we realized we had been bargaining and the policeman was helping us bargain.

Feb. 16-17 , 1978 - Kuwait

Slept in 'til 10, Gary made breakfast and a friend came over who invited us out for a drive.  We left about 2pm and drove through the “desert” except it was mostly scrub and built up towns.  This country is like one big planned city and although there are taxis and some buses, one would really need a car here. Driving is about the only pastime next to eating.  We drove around for several hours and arranged to go on a “real drive” on Friday with his friend named Musa.  For dinner Gary, Bryan and I went to a Burger Chef-type place.  The ground floor was for men and we went upstairs to the “family section” where men can go if they have a woman with them.  We had a mediocre expensive meal and went to bed.

The next morning, Musa came by around 9am and Gary made pancakes.  Then Musa wanted to take us to the market in his town.  The market was actually like a Safeway with a fine selection of imported goods.  We had expected a more “traditional” market. Then we drove to the desert which did actually look like the desert.  We hiked around a bit and saw dung beetles and lizards and a snake, plus pretty flowers of bright yellow.

Looks like they've faded a bit after 30 plus years.

There was a fairly high ridge which we climbed – Musa called them the Himalayas of Kuwait.

They are behind us in this photo.

 Here I am atop the the Himalaya of Kuwait

One of the big pastimes on the weekend is camping.  All throughout the desert were cars and tents and  people. It is one socially accepted way for young people to see each other and these more “modern” people didn't require the girls to cover up.  They were very expensively and fashionably dressed and strolled around the desert in groups.  Musa enjoyed this part and greeted them with “Hello girls” in English.

We stopped to watch a family playing a game with sticks.  Musa said it was Kuwaiti but since they were Iraqi they said it was an Iraqi game.  You place a short stick - about 4 inches long – on an indentation in the dirt and hit it with a bigger stick so it flips in the air and then really thwack the little stick with the big one so it flies through the air.  The members of the opposite team try to catch it on the fly.

Then there are some other involved rules with throwing the stick back at the big stick after it has landed and hitting the big stick.

While we were watching this game being demonstrated a young Iraqi woman came to me and spoke in very good English.  She said she and her family were visiting her Kuwaiti uncle.  She showed me his young baby and seemed genuinely pleased to show off her English.  She must have been about 17 or 18 and not married.  I was sorry we left and couldn't speak longer.

Another thing we watched was what Musa called camel racing.  The Lincolns and Cadys were racing across the desert.  Afterwards we went to a film with Gene Hackman and James Coburn - “Bite the Bullet” - dumb – and then to dinner. The 4 of us sat in the “family section” of the Indian restaurant and of the theater.

Feb. 15, 1978 - Kuwait

Gary dropped us off in downtown Kuwait City where we arranged our reservations for Tehran on Sunday – the first available flight out.  This is a busy area for air travel.  We walked around the old souk and looked for a watch for Bryan and a Minolta camera for me.  We didn't find either and decided to wait until Singapore.

There were some old Bedouin women selling in the souk – the first case I've seen of Arab women doing sales.  They were covered except for their eyes in black and seated in the middle of piles of embroidered cloth – very picturesque.

The Bedouins are the original Kuwaitis – nomads who have been displaced by “civilization.”  Yesterday Gary showed us a housing project for them to encourage them to settle down – very depressing and sterile.  Interestingly, the jobs the Bedouins take now mostly is taxi driving. 

The Bedouin camps we saw each had a Datsun or Toyota pickup to replace the camels but there were still camels outside the city.

After lunch we took a drive with Gary's student, Hussein, around town.  We stopped at Kuwait's landmark – 3 spires designed by a Czech architect on the ocean shore of the city.

They are covered with blue and green plates that look like large sequins on the round bulbs and the smallest is about 500 feet tall.  

We also stopped to look at the old dhow harbor where dhows are constructed with imported wood much the same as in Lamu on the Kenya coast.  We went on a dhow being built and fitted as a pleasure boat by a rich Arab.  

 Here I am learning to use a drill to build a dhow.

Feb. 14, 1978 - Kuwait

We woke up late and had a restful morning. Gary was at work.  Called home and got a good connection within a minute – the operator just direct dials.  Talked 6 minutes because 3 minutes was just too short.

After lunch with Gary he drove us down to the Saudi Arabian border but the coast is all built up and inaccessible to the public.  We saw Bedouin camps with camels and sheep and goats.  They have dark tents with lighter colored strips on the side.

The sides are a long strip of cloth and the tents are open on one side and tied down with animal hair ropes.  I think the roof cover must be animal skins.  They also now have some more modern white canvas tents, too.

The desert was very green because of some recent rains and there were yellow and white daisies.
We saw black camels and white camels and lots of baby camels.

After dinner we decided to see a film and a student of Gary's came by and wanted to take us to it.  He speaks fairly good English and drove us in his car.  He bought us a ticket in the box seats of the theater.  Gary said that was because I was with them and women don't sit in the same part as bachelors. There was also a “family section” but the box seats are more private.  The film was a dumb one with Michael Cane and Natalie Wood called “Peeper.” 

Before we went to the film we went to a restaurant where they served us fruit drink in our car.  The juice was very think and in layers – papaya, strawberry and banana – yellow, red and white.

Feb. 13, 1978 - Kuwait

Sana'a airport check in time was 10am and after breakfast and paying for our room and meals we counted up our money to see how much we would need.  We went to a money changer and changed our Yemeni reals for Kuwait and got it to the last cent: 50 reals for taxi to the airport and 20 for airport tax.  When we went to the Kuwait Air office to check if the flight was on time they offered us a free ride – so much for our exacting finances.

It turned out both the Kuwait Airways manager and his assistant were Ethiopians and more than happy for recent news of Ethiopia so we had a pleasant ride to the airport.

The flight stopped at Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, and was carrying about 50 Yemeni workers so it emptied there and then we flew to Kuwait – a total of 4 hours flying.

When we arrived at Kuwait immigration we were told we had to surrender our tickets to guarantee we would leave the next morning.  That didn't sound too good so we decided to wait a bit until Gary [a friend from Peace Corps living in Kuwait who had invited us to visit him there] showed up.  He greeted the immigration officer personally and greeted us and we were invited into the officer's office for tea.  After tea we were presented with our passports and a two-week visa.

Gary whisked us through customs, where he said they were only looking for whiskey, and drove us to his apartment.  The roads are mostly divided, limited access highways populated with enormous Buicks, Lincolns and Cadillacs.  The men are beautiful in their Arab dress and head scarves.

It was sunset as we drove along and the time for evening prayer.  There must have been 20 big cars pulled off the road with the small carpets placed on the ground and men praying to the west, since we were now east of Mecca.  It was an impressive sight.  The prayer timings are published daily in the newspaper.

Tried to call home but no answer.

Feb. 12, 1978 - Yemen

Slept in and after a hotel breakfast set off to Manahka, 100 km west of San'a on the Hodida road.  Since we knew where the Hodida taxi stand was we inquired there and were told by one man in English that they would take us ½ way to Hodida (Manahka) for the full price of 30 reals.  That seemed unfair but it was the only answer we could understand so we decided to hitchhike.  We tromped out the Hodida road about ½ hour walk and stood another 20 minutes looking expectantly at the constant stream of cars going past.  We decided we must be doing something wrong and inquired at the Citibank.  We were directed to a Manahka taxi stand across the street from the Hodida stand but no one bothered to tell us at the time we were first there.  So far on this trip this is the only time I've really felt annoyed at traveling and its inconveniences.

The taxi ride was through spectacular mountain passes and for me was a white knuckle ride.  We were in the back seat of a Peugeot station wagon taxi and the cliffs were too shear for my taste.  Somehow we arrived safely – two hours later – at Manahka.

It is an eagle's nest of a town and the streets run up the hill among the stone houses.  We took some pictures, looked for a place to have tea and didn't find it and set out to return to Sana'a.  We found a share taxi to take us down the narrow road to the intersection.  The driver's door didn't close and his brake light stayed on and he kept pumping the brakes – not my idea of how to return to San'a so we bid him good luck and decided to wait for better transport.  As we were sitting, after about 5 minutes, a Yemeni in a skirt with a dagger in his belt came up and said “Sana'a?” and pointed to a large new Mercedes petrol truck.  Well, why not, at least he won't speed.

He turned out to be a friendly, cheerful person who spoke only a few words of English. He wanted company and assured us enroute that the taxis were all terrible drivers and charge money but he didn't want any.  He bought us Canada Cola which he would yell out the window asking at the tiny shops by the road if they had “Canada.”  He was chewing chat and needed something to drink. 

The return trip to San'a took 3 ½ hours and was far more pleasant with time to examine the views as the tanker chugged up the mountains and the driver pointed out sites of recent taxi accidents.  We could also see ruined tanks from the battles in the countryside only a few years earlier.

We arrived in Sana'a just after dark, said goodbye to our new friend, and made our way home.

Feb. 11, 1978 - Yemen

Saturday was business day – we moved to a nicer, cleaner and cheaper hotel  - The Alexander  (70 reals/ night)  that was recommended by Peace Corps people in Taiz.  Then to confirm airline reservations, cash a check into traveler's checks at Citibank (they did it on sight!  $1900),  locate tourist office,  register at the tourist office, get our exit visas stamped, visit museum, buy Yemen map – who would have thought we could accomplish that in a morning!

This is a "shop" where we could have purchased traditional ornaments.  Unfortunately our budget and luggage space didn't allow for these beautiful things.

In the evening we took a stroll in the old city – dark but not threatening. We were enchanted by the stained glass window of which each traditional house has many.  By day they look like windows with white designs on them but by night the colors shine out.  The predominant colors are red and blue and green but some few had more subtle yellows or aqua.  The basic window shapes incorporated arches – hardly any were square – and the designs varied.

Feb. 10, 1978 - Yemen

Friday is a holy day so everything closes down.  The Indian man had arranged for a Mercedes taxi to Sana'a and invited us to share with him.  We had said we wanted to stop in Ibb on the way and rather than go alone himself he wanted to pay for the taxi to take us all there.  It was the difference of 300 reals and 60 reals and we were glad to take him up on it.

Here I am with our generous friend whose name I unfortunately didn't write down.

The mountain drive was spectacular, spotted with fortress castles out of the middle ages.  I don't know how they got to them.  This country was at civil war until 1963 with the lords of the castles fighting among themselves and they actually defended these castle kingdoms even then.

We drove through Ibb and stayed there ½ hour to see the market and drove on to Sana'a across the plains and high plateau

Sana'a is a postcard city – although this country is not yet commercial enough to provide postcards.  After checking in at a hotel – El Mokah – too expensive and dirty – we went for a stroll.  We were not bothered by anyone, although I felt more stared at than in Taiz.  They have, supposedly, 5000 foreigners here so they should be used to foreign women but apparently the north is more fanatic about religion.

The women of the city wear not the stark black of Taiz but a colorful gray, red and blue Indian print cloth covering them.  They drape it over them like you would a table cloth and cover their faces with sheer black and red fabric.  The girls wear brocade bonnets, dresses and pants.  The men look like Taiz men with long shift dresses or skirts and a suit jacket.  Each wears a belt with a dagger and sheath in it. And each has a wad of chat in his cheek.

I think if I were to describe the Yemenis in three words it would be 1) chat 2) stones and 3) car horns.

Chat – locally pronounced cat – is evident everywhere – more so than in Ethiopia because there only Muslims chew it and here everyone is Muslim.  A Yemeni can pay up to 1000 reals ($202)/week on chat – a very expensive habit.  They keep an ever increasing wad in their cheek until it stretches round and shiny and even the poorest looking craftsman or shopkeeper seems to afford it although maybe not on such a large scale.  The sheep eat the residues from the chat market and seem quite happy – that market is the busiest place around.

Sandy said the Yemenis are obsessed by stones and this country is certainly blessed with them.  When we flew into Taiz we saw piles of pink and white near the houses and I thought it was crops drying – maybe potatoes or onions.  Instead we found they were stones – everywhere piles of stones - ready just in case someone wants to build something.  Every home in Yemen seems either to be in the process of going up or falling down – always surrounded by piles of stones.

Sandy also said that the number of cars had tripled since he arrived 2 years before.  There are too many cars here, each one equipped with a horn and a willing Yemeni to honk it.  The noise level from the car horns is very annoying – the price of too rapid modernization.

Feb. 9, 1978 - Yemen

Sandy came by at about 9:30.  He is working on constructing a power plant (diesel) there but was planning on going on vacation to England on Monday.  He was busy but did orient us by taking us in his VW up the hill above Taiz and then left us at the bottom of the city in the old town.

It is a bustling market and Bryan bought a traditional wrap skirt since he had left his old one in Djibouti in error.  Much brocade and velvet fabrics, spices and sounds.  We weren't bothered by urchins or people wanting to guide us as in Addis Ababa.  We saw several Americans – some Peace Corps – a surprising number.  We walked up the hill to our hotel – about 20 minutes or so. We couldn't locate a tourist office but we did buy some nice apples.

After lunch a British business man and his Yemani agent were going out for a drive and invited us along.  (We first met them both in Djibouti.)

He took us first to an old palace of the Imam above the city.  It was falling apart and it was a shame to see the delicately carved shutters and stained glass windows broken and falling out.  We paid a few reals to a guard who allowed us to look at several lions caged in the courtyard.  They had just eaten goats and their coats looked very healthy considering their small and flimsy cages.  There were two males and 4 females but only one in a couple.  There were also 2 striped hyenas.  The guard related the story how one lion had eaten his keeper and had to be shot.

After that we drove in the countryside around the mountain behind Taiz.  At dusk they dropped us at the souk where I bought a scarf and we walked home.

Dinner at the hotel and bed, but not as exhausted as the previous night. 

Feb. 8, 1978 - Djbouti

Took a taxi to the Djbouti airport for an 8am check-in time. Paid 600 DF for a taxi which was arranged by the Indian money changer. He changed our left-over Djibouti francs to Yemeni reals. 

At the airport our plane was delayed an hour so we had juice and coffee with the Indian businessman who was also going to Tiaz.  Our flight over was a 16 seater two engine plane on Djibouti Air.  We sat behind the pilot and could watch him and the view over his shoulder out the front window the whole way.  The flight took about 1 hour over the Red Sea and then up and up the escarpment of the Yeman plateau to Tiaz.  The airport is on a plain but Taiz itself is nestled against a high mountain.

We were impressed by the terraced hillsides and on top of every peak was a village. It was more spectacular than Ethiopia in that respect because rather than being made of mud and stick and thatch tukuls, these villages consisted of massive stone block houses.

Our Indian friend took us into town with him since his agent met him.  Hotels were full due to some UN tour but they arranged a room we could share with him – actually two small rooms with a common bath and door.  We ate a good lunch in the hotel and then went out to try to find Sandy Nair, a friend of Deborah Hicks.  He had given her a poorly drawn map which she had passed on to us so we hired a taxi to take us there.  When we arrived in the area and inquired he wasn't home so we left a note and returned to the hotel for a nap.

Around 4:00 we went out for a stroll but were generally lost walking up and down hills. I had on a skirt and tennis shoes but felt very conspicuous since all women were completely covered in black, including black sheer scarves over their faces.  The only exceptions were some hill women in colorful, embroidered dresses with their legs covered, their heads wrapped but their faces exposed.  So we went back and I put on Levis and a long top.     

 
I liked their scarves and later bought one in the market (souk) in the old part of the city.  It was black with maroon border and small maroon dots and when I washed it in the sink the water turned blood red.

Sandy found us that night but since Wednesday is bridge night in Taiz, he couldn't stay.  We arranged to meet in the morning.  Dinner at the hotel and bed quite exhausted from the hill walking.

Feb. 7, 1978 - Djbouti

We left Addis Ababa with minimum hassle thanks to Ato. Bekele who personally took us through customs and immigration, flashing Bryan's United Nations ID card.  We checked in late so most passengers had gone in first, with the exception of about 10 Somali ladies, determined to smuggle out bunches of chat.  They tested every method of avoiding authorities, slipping bags under the counter to friends who already been through the body search booth and otherwise making confusing, noisy diversions.

After a rushed continental breakfast en route, 55 minutes later we landed in Djibouti.  Weather was in the comfortable 80s or so.  Customs formalities were hampered by more crowding, ebullient Somalis.

In Djibouti we observed the French foreign legionnaires in their shorts and berets guarding the airport. No money change facilities were available at the airport and we had no idea how much a taxi into town cost.  We made the acquaintance of a well dressed, gray haired Indian man who didn't know either but he said his agent was coming to meet him.  When the agent arrived he informed us the taxi was 500 DF into town and engaged one to take us to the bank.  We had no idea how much this was in US$ but accepted.  The taxi driver took us into a town much like Dire Dawa [in Harar Province, Ethiopia] to a Bureau du Change run by an Indian man in his shop.  He pleasantly welcomed us, changed money at $1 = 178 Djibouti francs, and allowed us to leave our bags in his shop.

We set off on foot to find Shirley Coles, an English woman working at the UN High Commission for Refugees in Djibouti.  Since no one knew where the UNHCR office was we went to the British Bank, managed by the British Consul.  There we were cheerfully assisted by a young British man who knew Shirley and said she was staying at the Siesta Hotel.  He called her office which said she was out so we walked to her hotel on the beach, about 10 minutes away, and left a note.  We inquired about room prices and were told 6700 DF ($37.65) which we felt was more than we wanted to pay.  We walked back to town and found the office on the way so stopped in to leave another note.  There were several Ethiopians there and a helpful Ethiopian woman helped us call Abdul Majid's number he had given us. [He was Bryan's former student and translator and my Amharic tutor.] The man who answered claimed never to have heard of him and she argued long and persuasively.  Finally he said he would ask around and let her know.  So we went back for our bags and inquired after a cheaper hotel. The Indian man recommended the Continental which, it turned out, was 5500 DF ($30.90), but with a look at the ceiling fan, air conditioner and shower we took it.  The window overlooked the main town square.

We walked around a bit looking for sandals to replace ones I had broken earlier but could only find imported Indian ones or flip-flops.  Then we walked to Shirley's hotel to meet her at 1:00 as had been arranged.  While waiting we each ordered a coke and when the bill for 600 DF ($3.37) was presented we decided Djibouti was too expensive.  Shirley came and we arranged to meet at her office around 4:00.  We walked back and napped until 3:00 when we went to confirm our onward ticket.  They had not received our reservation but even though the flight was full found two places.

We walked back to the UNHCR office where Abdul Majid was waiting outside.  He was thin but happy to see us.  Since Shirley had a dinner engagement that night we said good bye to her and spent the afternoon with Abdul Majid.  He told us of his adventures leaving Ethiopia and how he walked 17 days through the desert to reach Djibouti, twice bombed by planes and being fed by guerillas.

Journal Preface

Preface:  In 1975, Bryan and I decided to go to Ethiopia.  We sold or put in storage everything we owned and bought a one-way ticket to Zurich. After one expensive night there in a not so impressive hotel, we took the train to Split, on the Adriatic in the north of then Yugoslovia. There we boarded a mailboat for Dubrovnic, getting off at towns along the coast for a few days at each stop and reboarding.  We continued to Greece and from there, over a period of a month or so, flew through Tel Aviv to Nairobi.  After a few weeks of traveling in Kenya, including our favorite town, Lamu, we went overland to Ethiopia by bus and truck bed.  We eventually arrived in Addis Ababa where we lived in the Itege Menin Hotel for 6 months. Bryan was offered a job with the International Livestock Center for Africa and later I took a job as librarian at Alemaya College in Harar Province.  This kept us busy for two years until his contract ran out and ILCA handed us a return ticket to the US.  We decided to cash in the ticket and return heading east, completing the journey we started in Los Angeles.

And thus begins the story of this journal from Feb to May 1978.  Our daughter Melissa suggested that I revisit the following adventure for my blog so I am transcribing it, complete with sketches and pictures I clipped from brochures and pasted in during the trip. Bryan has managed to scan and mostly rescue  slides from our film camera.  I am surprised at how few photos we took compared to my profligate photo behavior now.

I should note that the trip was through many areas that, in the late '70s, didn't have tourist facilities. My notes about costs and hotel names were meant for sharing with our fellow travelers on the road.  We frequently relied on the kindness of strangers and often missed what we might have known about had there been a Lonely Planet or Rough Guide for the area.  Still, I wouldn't have changed the circumstances of the trip.  I hope you enjoy it as much as we did.

The best way to follow our journey is to start with the link on the right in July 2010 titled Feb. 7, 1978 - Djbouti and read from that post on up.