Site menu:

You’re the Best

Use these links and we benefit a little bit without cost to you. Expedia.co.uk Lastminute.com Amazon.co.uk
Thanks very much.

Sponsors

Subscribe for Free Updates

Site search

Zimbabwe Ireland Yoko Singapore Malaysia Funny Travel Botswana PoTW Cook Islands France Malawi Namibia Morocco Switzerland UK Italy UAE South Africa Zambia New Zealand Tanzania India Spain Thoughts Info Australia

-- Powered by Category Cloud

RSS Posts

Comments

Archives

Dubai: The haves and the have-nots

Posted by daveb on November 3rd, 2008

According to my observations in Dubai, eighty-percent of the cars on the road that I see are American-style gas-guzzling SUVs. Of the remaining twenty-percent, you are more likely to see a Porsche 911 than a Honda Civic. After spending the last three months of my life around people who had nothing, I now found myself placed in a city where, at first glance, the people have everything.

That is, except for the non-white expat workforce. At the end of the day, rows of Indian labourers sit waiting for their bus back to their no-doubt cramped accommodation. Hiding in the shade of the skyscrapers which they built, cloths wrapped around their heads to protect them from the harsh sun in which they’ve worked all day. It’s immediately obvious to me that there are two classes here–the haves and the have-nots–and I’m not entirely comfortable with that.

Dubai: Sex segregation – go sister

Posted by Squiffy on October 31st, 2008

After a day braving the heat to explore ‘old Dubai’ down by the creek, Dave and I decided to save some dirhams and take a cheap local bus rather than an expensive taxi back to Annie’s place. After questioning a few locals, we were pointed in the direction of the bus station and informed that we should take the number 8.

As luck would have it, a number 8 pulled into the stand as we arrived at the bus stop. A queue formed and we joined the back. After 5 minutes, the driver still hadn’t opened the doors to let us on. Melting in the heat, we asked some people in front of us what was happening and were told that the bus wasn’t leaving for another 10 minutes and they wouldn’t let us on until it left. Great. So the driver gets to sit with the air-con whilst we all burn and dehydrate (remember, it’s Ramadam at this point and we can’t drink in public).

Finally the doors opened and everyone pushed on. The bus was pretty full when we boarded, all the seats were taken and there were many people standing. ‘Two tickets, please’, I requested. ‘There are no more seats’, replied the driver. ‘That’s ok, I’ll stand’. The driver sighed, ‘You can’t stand. Ladies can’t stand’. ‘What?’, I looked at him incredulously. ‘Ladies can’t stand so you must wait for the next bus’. I couldn’t believe it. It’s not ok for a lady to stand on a bus but it is ok for her to stand in the heat waiting for the next bus. I wasn’t having it and neither were my fellow ladies already on the bus.

In unison they piped up ‘she can share a seat with us’. The driver argued, ‘there are no more seats, she must get off’. But power to the women, mainly from the Philippines, who gave the driver what for, squashed up and insisted I sit with them.

It turns out that on the buses in Dubai and Abh Dhabi, there is a ladies section at the front of the bus where ladies must sit and if it’s full, they are not allowed to stand in this section and can’t get on. The men sit and stand at the back of the bus, and aren’t allowed in the ladies section. Who knew that getting a foreign bus could be so complicated…?

Dubai: Hot, wet, can’t see a thing, can’t eat a thing either.

Posted by daveb on October 30th, 2008

I’m hot. I’m wet. I can’t see a thing and I can’t eat a thing either.

The temperature is about 38 degrees, humidity is about 65% and visibility is only about 1.5km, due to a sandstorm that has enveloped the city for the last couple of days. Looking at the sky alone, you’d be forgiven for thinking that it’s just another overcast day in Britain. Step outside your air-conditioned apartment/car/shopping centre however, and you’d know you were some place else altogether.

It’s not that I don’t want to eat anything: it’s Ramadan here in the UAE which means that it’s actually illegal for me to eat in public during daylight hours. In spite of the sapping heat and humidity, Squiffy and I attempted a stroll through the beautifully manicured Creek Park towards the Abra boat station to take us across the creek to get to the gold souk (market). The stroll didn’t go so well: within minutes both of us were exasperated and I had to leave Squiffy pretty much collapsed under the shade of a tree while I hunted out a taxi.

We crossed the river and headed to get lunch. Even though it’s illegal to eat in public during Ramadan, we had been told that it would be possible to get food in a handful of licensed (read: Western) outlets. We asked some non-Muslims where we could go and were given that choice of KFC or McDonalds, great! After buying our food at the counter in KFC, the less than helpful staff informed us that we could only take-away; eating-in was not allowed during this time. The cashier had no answer to why he didn’t tell us this before we had ordered and paid and asked us to take our food back to our hotel room for consumption. We weren’t in a hotel and our host’s apartment was the other side of the city. Ashamedly, we barricaded ourselves into the restaurant’s toilets and ate our food as quickly as possible. Half way through, we got moved on by the staff anyway and so sneaked into the toilets of a nearby hotel to finish off our meal. I’m happy to confirm that the hotel toilets were much cleaner than those of a fast-food joint, as one would expect, and made for a slightly less-awful dining experience.

We spent a little while wandering the gold souk, with all its gawdy bright-yellow Indian gold before finally giving-in to the oppressive weather and headed for the safety of Annie’s air-conditioned apartment.

Dubai: Living the high life

Posted by Squiffy on October 29th, 2008

From Cape Town we took a very comfortable Emirates flight into Dubai. Our plan is to stay in the United Arab Emirates for a month, to meet up with Dave’s sister who lives in Abu Dhabi, and the rest of family Bartlett who are flying over for Dad B’s 60th birthday.

Before making the journey to Abu Dhabi, we met up with my friend from Leicester, Annie, and her boyfriend Martin, who are now living in a lovely apartment in the Jumeriah Beach Residence in Dubai. As we stepped off the plane in Dubai at 6am, we were hit by a wall of heat and humidity, comparable to stepping in to a steam room. It’s a lot stickier than Africa and is so overwhelming that it’s difficult to do anything outside in the day, or even the evening.

Despite that, Annie showed us a great time. We enjoyed an Ramadan Iftar buffet (evening break-the-fast dinner) at a fancy hotel tent, drank cocktails on a roof bar and drove her sporty soft top car along Dubai’s six lane highways at night, when the city was all lit up. It is a relief to stay in one place with a comfy bed and clean shower for three nights after our trip through Africa! Thanks Annie for having us, it is great to see you and introduce Dave to Dubai :o)

Southern Africa: Memories to last a lifetime

Posted by daveb on October 28th, 2008

After filling our boots at the Billabong factory outlet shop in Jeffreys Bay, we drove to Port Elizabeth airport and hopped-on a short flight back to Cape Town to spend our last night in South Africa. Tomorrow we head north-east into a different country and continent — the United Arab Emirates in the Middle-East, Asia.

We’ve both really enjoyed our three and a half months travelling through Southern Africa from Tanzania to South Africa, via Malawi, Zambia, Botswana and Namibia. (We also stepped foot on Zimbabwean soil, but quickly retreated once we saw the bungy jump…) Last week, Squiffy wrote-up her thoughts on backpacking southern Africa, so today I thought that I’d add mine. Out of all the wonderful–yet often curious–experiences that we’ve shared with you on our blog over the last few months there are a few memories that shall stay with me for life:

Learning to dive in the tropical waters that surround Zanzibar with one of the world’s most beautiful men. Having said that, I could have done without the associated ear infection, thank you very much.

My first wildlife safari being blessed from start to end: Our driver/guide was genuinely enthusiastic and the wildlife came out to play every day. This part of the world is indescribably beautiful. So beautiful in fact are the sights, sounds and smell of the ‘the Wild’ that, on more than one occasion, it brought a tear to my eye.

The long, uncomfortable but always eventful bus journeys. In particular, the pre-journey prayers in which the passengers asked for God’s protection to navigate us safely through the dusty villages and mountain passes. Adhering to speed limits and rotating drivers on long journeys wasn’t even considered as a way to improve safety. No need: we said prayers instead…

Flying over Victoria Falls in an aircraft with no fuselage. Driving through the Namibian desert and sleeping on the roof of our car. Dangling off a bit of silk at Table Mountain. The jaw-dropping vistas of the Cape Peninsula. The visibility for miles on end. The blood-red sunsets.

The cheap, dirty hotels in which we got even less than we paid for. Local standards can be really low. The five dollar tent.

The infuriatingly unreliable communications and lacking infrastructure coupled with “Africa Time” and “Africa Logic”. The often hilarious scenarios in which we found ourselves and their valuable insights into the differences between our cultures. The lack of respect for property, the battered cars held together by bits of string.

The touts, pushy vendors, tricksters and anyone else that hollered ‘Mzungu‘ after us. The red-tape, the can’t dos. The ‘hurry up and wait’ mindset of the bureaucrats and government workers. We’ve still not made sense of our night at Mdokera’s Beach Campsite in Chitimba. (For those of you who missed this treat here are the links: Introduction; Dance Festival; Bed in a Tree; The Great Escape; Lost Property; The Great Escape, Again.)

The African people. The polite greeting, “Hello. How are you?”, the essential precursor to asking anything, anywhere. The only response ever received rote-learned, “I’m fine, how are you?”. The constant change and peoples’ acceptance of this change, both bad and good, is part of everyday life here. Their utter happiness in the little that they have has taught me a lot about my own culture and our unrelenting desire for more-and-more and the big fat lie of modern life and consumerism. The children in the towns and the villages. The Zimbabweans, Martin and, separately, anonymous (name withheld for his and his family’s safety), struggling for a better life and a better country. Their endearing grace today, right now, as they cope with their dire situation. Their hope and action towards a better future.

And, yes, I’m crying as I write this. Tears of both joy and sadness, for the beauty and the desperate sadness of both a land and a people that have taught me how lucky I am.

Zimbabwe: A shocking story that I should have published months ago

Posted by daveb on October 27th, 2008

daveb says: I should have published this a while ago, but I didn’t have the balls. It’s the an story of an exceptional young Zimbabwean man whom I was fortunate to befriend whilst he was exiled in Zambia. He organises and promotes street soccer games for the homeless people of Zimbabwe, displaced by their own government. He himself is now homeless. He asked me for nothing, but I promised him that I would share his story. It’s a copy of an email sent to the charity for which he is establishing a Zimbabwean arm. I have not edited the text, except for withholding names for fear of further ramifications towards him and his family. I hope this doesn’t spoil your Monday morning coffee.

the situation in zimbabwe is continuing to deteriorate as people are being brutalised daily by the system. the following is an account of the occurance that happened on the 16th of june which traumatised me and my whole family including my working collegues were affected by the brutality. i hope the pictures will load tommorrow as they could not load today i think the server is slow

i recieved a phone call telling me that my father had been picked up by ZANU PF militia and youth and was being beaten in our residential community. this is in Hatcliff extension high density suburb. he was picked up around 1pm whilist he was distributinhg school uniforms for ophans and vulnerable children.

the news of his kidnapping did not suprise me in a country where people were being “picked up” by Zanu PF militia had gradually become a normal phenomenon if one is of a different political dispensation. what really shook me most was ythe thoiught that my father was facing death within the next few hours. My instincts told me to rush to the police and on the way i recieved numerous calls from friends telling me the fate my father faced. i arrived at the Hatcliffe police post and luckily i knew the officer in charge at the ,moment. i chronicled to him the henoius story and rather suprisingly he replied that he could not help because it was a political case. the source of my suprise did not lie in his negative response but rather in the fact that we still as a people managed to have faith in the poolice sytem which has been so clearly compromised by their political bias towards Zanu pf.

i pressed the officer and after 30 minutes he picked his mobile phone and dilled Borrowdale police station, the main statoion for harare north which comprises borrowdale and hatcliffe, some seven kilometres away. Borrowdale police responded by saying that they did not have enough manpower to come and sort out the situation of my father’s predicament.

a sense of nausea gripped my inner self with such intensity that my body froze. my mind was racing how can these people say they had no manpower when Mugabe was graduating new police recruits by their thousands every month such that Harare’s main CBD was infested by these new navy blue uniformed recruits such that every street corner had at least four of them weilding heavy baton sticks and clad in combat riot gear ready to pounce on the slightest groupoing of a crowd.

The officer assured me that the police would be diployed to disband the holiigans who beating and tourturing my father. i left the Hatclife police post at around 2 pm running with such pace, adrenaline having loosened my stiff boby, that i convered a distance of about a kilometre in a mad man’s record of around five minutes.

I arrived in Hatcliffe exension were the Zanu Pf tourture base or more appropriately their killing base is situated. i can to about 200 metres from the basewere my father was being butchered. i saw more than 200 men and women in a cicle with my father in the middle. i again experienced the same sensation of stiffness inmensed in great fear, i knew that if i approached and tried to be my father’s advocate i was going to be thoroughly beaten also. a sense of selkf presevation embalmed me but was dashed by a strong sense of helplessness and guilt as i could not surely save my father.

tears blurred my vision. i really wished that if i had a gun i would shoot al of them. for all the uys who were participating in the beating i had hrown up with them. i am talking of youth whom we had played together in our childhood years. suddenly at this juncture they had turned my enemies. Ah! my sense of belonging to the community was suddenly shuttered. a deep pain ruptured through my chest and i trembled furiously.

My father was not crying like a sheep. just imagine my father a man of 66 years of age being stoned, kicked and bludgeoned with a wooden block. his hands were handcuffed behind his back with his legs tighted to a tree. some men and women were pouring water over his bpody and ashes all over his face and sand was being packed into his ears. wooded sticks were being used by some whilist all of them were chanting revolutionary songs.

the police finally arrived and it is at that present moment that i gained my confidence and went towards them to relieve my father. now he is in the intensive care unit at an undisclosed location for his safety. all of this has resulted in a situation were by i was now being trailed by the perpetrators of this henious violence who now wanted to attack me the same style they did to my father. this resulted in them coming to my home at night singing and chanting war songs an indication that we were already on the hit list (DEATH LIST). this they did by petrol bombing our house and beating up my two brothers and sister who were sleeping at home at the time demanding them to state of my whereabouts.for they said that i was the one who was leading the guys who were discrediting the gorvernment by advocating homelessness issues and was taking young people to European countries as you are aware homeless issues in Zi,mbabwe have a strong political conotations since the operation murambatsvina of 2005 which resulted in the then UN Secretary general Kofi Annan sending a team of inquiry led by Anna Kajumulo Tibaijuka who condemed the gorvenment’s action of destroying people’s homes in the name of cleaning up which left 700.000 people homeless and more affected by the ripple effects. Hatciffe extension was the worst hard hit area by this operation. thus said the Zanu Pf guys began targeting all my siblings. In particular my workmates (name withheld) and (name withheld) were also added to the hit list as they were said to be part of the street soccer project.

now as i speak i have managed to move my whole family from hatcliffe with the same for (name withheld) and (name withheld) at a great expense as this in itself is clearly being displaced.my family is now stayin at another surburb were they cramed in with a sympathetic relative but as for me and (name withheld) and (name withheld) we are still being trailed thus we now do not have a place of permanent fixed aboard as we fear staying in one place for two or more days may compromise our already fragile security situation so are just moving from one sympathetic friend to another and the first guy who hosted us was beaten as ois now forced to attend their all night vigils as a sign of allegiance to Zanu Pf. i am also saddled by the expensive hospital bills to take care of my father as he is in intensive care.

traumatised

(name withheld)

Backpacking Southern Africa: Did we need to be apprehensive?

Posted by Squiffy on October 24th, 2008

When we first announced to our friends, family and fellow travellers that we intended to travel independently through Southern Africa for just over three months, we were met with a lot of questions about personal safety, exotic illnesses, scary creatures and dire transport. As our trip loomed ever closer, we ourselves were apprehensive about these issues.

So, were we right to be worried?

Well, I think a certain amount of caution was useful. We always tried to be aware of our surroundings and put safety first, and happily, without too many incidents, we survived and feel great achievement at having made this trip. Here’s the worst of what we encountered:

Health

Our most persistent health problem was not some tropical illness but actually the common sore throat. Dave and I both suffered with these on and off, probably due to the dust and extreme changes in temperature between day and night. I recommend anyone coming to Africa brings a hearty supply of Strepsils ;o)

Dave suffered with a few should-be-easy-to-treat-but-persisted-for-ages problems including an ear infection after diving on Zanzibar and a cut on his foot following a slip down a canyon on the way to white water rafting. On a more exotic note, I was suspected to have Malaria despite taking anti-malarials, the true answer to which we’ll never know but the medication I was prescribed did the trick for whatever it was. And as it is now three months since we last swam in Lake Malawi, we have taken medication to kill any bilharzia that we may have contracted – it’s a nasty disease that can lay dormant, so better to attack it then wait for symptoms, we decided.

Scary creatures

Our most memorable encounter with a scary creature was in Tanzania, when a deadly green mamba climbed on to our guide’s shoulder whilst we were having lunch – I found it hard to sleep in our tent after that! Staying on the killer reptile theme, we saw a tree snake in Malawi and an unidentified snake at Deadvlei in Namibia, both at a safer distance than the mamba. Other than that we had to deal with a few small spiders, an elephant on a slow charge towards our car in Etosha National Park and listening to ‘wild animal’ noises whilst camping alone in the wilderness at Gross Barmen.

Personal Safety

More cautious than most travellers, we rarely went out after dark, and if we did,then we took a taxi. This was mostly on the advice of hotel staff, who told us that up to 7pm was fine, but by 8pm we should be tucked up in bed. When questioned about what awaited us if we went out after eight, the answers were always a bit sketchy. Unfortunately, we found out for ourselves the one time we did walk around after dark, when a local tried half-heartedly to mug us. We’re thankful to the four Italians who bundled us in to their car and aided our escape.

Other than that,the closest we came to trouble was the with the touts in Tanzania. They were persistent and often aggressive, particularly at bus stations where they would be ready to grab our bags and cart them off as soon as the luggage hold opened. Early on Dave worked a way to fox them by padlocking the bags to the hold – it proved an immensely effective solution ;o)

We were very careful to use hotel safes where possible and were lucky enough to have only my bra and thermal socks stolen at the bizarre Mdokera campsite in Malawi. Other travellers reported being pick-pocketed in the bigger cities and having valuables pinched from tents, but happily nothing more serious in general.

Transport

As expected, the standard of driving was hideous, both on buses and in taxis, made worse by the lack of seatbelts. We just had to take our chances, and tried to go with the more reputable companies. Because of pot holes, we also tried to avoid travelling at night where possible. We endured a laborious journey in a private car, regularly squashed into over-full minibuses, and bumped along on rickety, dirty buses. But we’re fortunate to have survived with only a sore bum and dead legs.

I tell you all this in the hope that any travellers who come across this post will be encouraged that Afria isn’t all bad, like the Western press makes out. Of course, you need to be careful, but do consider going. We had a truly amazing time, and I already miss the beautiful sunsets and days of adventure.

Jeffreys Bay: Surf’s up, dude

Posted by daveb on October 23rd, 2008

Our last day on the Garden Route — and our penultimate in South Africa, oh no!

Balls, we’ve just about left the best ’til last and sadly only have one evening and one morning to spend at Jeffreys Bay. The Island Vibes backpackers hostel put us into a wonderful beach front room with patio doors opening onto a deck area adjacent to the sand (separated by razor wire, of course). We can’t tell you much about the town, other than the restaurant at which we ate was really poor and the Billabong factory outlet shop is cheap (for brand-name nonsense, anyways).

We can tell you that the backpackers hostel was really great, that we had the sea to ourselves for our early morning surf and that we’d really love to come back for a while longer to brush-up on our surfing skills. And yes, I’m still terrible at ‘surfing’, or whatever you could call my waterborne attempts…

SQ adds: You should have seen the amount of purchases we made at the Billabong store between us. Our already over-flowing backpacks meant we had to wear half the stuff on the plane :o) But it was cheap, dude.

Bloukrans Bridge: World’s Highest Bungy Jump

Posted by daveb on October 22nd, 2008

Bloukrans Bridge is home to the world’s highest bungy jump (bungee/bungie/however-you-want-to-spell-it) at 216 metres. Whilst Squiffy had no intention to jump, H and I were both rather more open to the idea. Until we saw it. For me, a bungy jump represents the final word in adrenalin sports so I’m kind of a little disappointed in myself for not having a go. At least my mother would be happy that I didn’t do it. We only saw one jump, and it looked pretty interesting (read: frightening).

Look carefully in the first photo below — about half way across the bridge is a pick-up truck; that will give you much-needed idea of the scale of this thing! Also, there’s a video of some other fella’s jump below the photo gallery; unfortunately, like a nonce, I filmed the whole thing in portrait, so you’ll have to turn your monitor of your head on its side to watch…

So who’s gonna come over and jump with me next time? (And I’m definitely coming back to South Africa — I love it here.)

Plettenberg Bay: Monkeyland and Birds of Eden

Posted by daveb on October 21st, 2008

Just after Plettenberg Bay, we called in at Monkeyland and Birds of Eden. Both are rehabilitation sanctuaries for primates and exotic birds (respectively) previously caged and kept as pets. These animals cannot be released into the wild as they would likely be eaten by predators for breakfast (as pets they’ve never known about predators or how to fend for themselves in the wild).

Me? I love the monkeys (they’re cheeky), Squiffy found the aging male tortoise trying to ‘befriend’ an uninterested female quite hilarious — video under the gallery below.