Vodka for Breakfast

Hi again friends! I write in a semi-melancholy state; the travels are coming to an end. I fly home from Istanbul to Vancouver on the 17th of June, and I am realizing that what has more or less been 3/4 of a year of traveling with a short break at home for Christmas has been one of the most educational, inspiring, eye-opening and straight-up fun times of my life. I'll spare any excessive whinging for now though, and try to update whats happened since I last wrote from Tbilisi and wrap up a few loose ends of thoughts that I have been trying to hold onto for the past few weeks.

Dylan returned to Turkey from Tbilisi after our a VIP club visit, while Dan the Aussie and myself went north along the 'Russian Military Highway' to Kazbegi, a mountain village only 14 km south of the closed Russian border in the mighty Caucusus Mountains. And mighty they are indeed; the peaks reach up above 5000 m, and most are spectacularly jagged with lush green valleys separating them. Georgia continually proved itself to have absolutely breathtaking natural beauty in every corner that we explored. I have hiked in many mountain ranges around the world, and it always amazes me how even though mountains are mountains, there are always such drastic differences from range to range. As the Kyrgyz mountains differ from the Tajik mountains differ from the Rocky Mountains; once again, the Caucusus mountains were unlike any natural landscape I have ever seen. The country is a mountaineer's paradise. On our first day in town Dan and I walked towards Russia. The 'Highway' is barely passable for vehicles... rock slides cover the dirt track and have only marginally been cleared to allow enough space for a car to squeeze past without falling down the side cliff to the river below. On both sides jagged mountain ranges reach up beyond the clouds --- across the western range is South Ossetia, the most unstable area in the region, short of Chechnya which is only a few hundred km further northeast, but there is no way anything is cross those mountains. As I observed in my last e-mail, there is really very little sign that this country is teetering in a militarily precarious state. Not a single checkpoint or military vehicle along the "Russian Military Highway", and even though it got dark before we could get to the border (which is off limits anyways) we didn't encounter a single soldier or militia man or anything of the sort. Turkey parades its tanks around openly on the Armenian flanks as soon as you exit Georgia where the three countries meet, but Georgia's military presence is unexpectedly elusive.

The following day we hike up into the mountains to a beautiful old church perched above the village, and find ourselves in a morning snowstorm --- making for a beautiful and atmospheric hike. I knew there was a reason I carried long johns and rain gear through the desert of Egypt, Jordan, and Syria!

From Kazbegi we returned to Tbilisi where we made plans to meet again with Data, our Georgian friend from Gori so that he could show us some of the less trodden areas of Western Georgia, where his extended family lives. I also met a very interesting individual who has been traveling perpetually for the last 8 years, sustaining himself first by teaching English in Asia and now as a guidebook writer for the series Rough Guides. He was taking a holiday is Georgia from his current assignment of updating Turkey's guide, but he has worked on many other books in many other countries (including North Korea) and had some very interesting tales to tell. An inspiring chap.

After another day or two in Tbilisi we returned to Gori to meet Data, from where we hitched our way to Kutaisi, Georgia's second largest city (though only a fraction of the size of Tbilisi, and with the much more run-down feel of a town that ceased a lot of its upkeep with the collapse of the Soviet Union). In Kutaisi we were met by Data's cousin Gio (short for Giorgio, which every other Georgian child seems to be named --- Georgia's Mohammad, I guess), his younger brother Tsotni, and a dude who everyone called 'Chicago'. The excited young lads whipped us around the town and its outskirts to show us the sights ---- a gorgeous nature reserve with a big cave with massive stalactites and stalagmites, some rock outcroppings with dinosaur footprints preserved in what was an ancient mudflow, some very old holy monasteries and churches perched on cliffs above rivers and mountains overlooking the city, a place where the rocks are stained red with what is supposedly blood from an ancient storm that rained blood after the death of two legendary Georgian martyrs, and the massive gravestone of the great King David the Builder, who evidently built a lot during his day.

Upon returning to Gio's home after their tour around Kutaisi, we found that Data's parents had come from Gori, along with another uncle and a grandmother, and that a large family feast has been prepared. I mentioned a bit about what an affair Georgian dining is in my last e-mail... the table was literally overflowing with food and drink. Georgian feasting, called supra, is a wonderful thing with many interesting rules and customs... there is a tamada, or toastmaster, who is in charge of making toasts and appointing people to toast. There is the merikipe, who is in charge of making sure that no one's glass is ever less than half full. People give toasts with every drink, and toasts are often very long and serious, usually lasting several minutes. Toasts range from remembering the dead in the war, honoring guests and friendships, acknowledging Georgia's natural beauty, or giving shout-outs to peace, freedom, family, etc. Wine is the most common drink with feasting, and most families in Georgia grow their own wine which is a matter of pride for them. One of my friends offered me a 20 L jug of his finest to take home with me, which sadly I could not carry. During feasting the person throwing the feast keeps all plates on the table continually full, so that even when the meal is done, it looks like the food has barely been touched. Food ranges from khachapuris to stews to roast potatoes, salads, BBQed meats, corn pudding, cheese plates, bean pies... its excessive. "Georgians like to eat all the time" Data tells me, and it is gloriously true. At this particular feast, Data's father, who was once an important politician in Gori and who was recently falsely arrested by the government under suspicion of raising opposition protestors to join the demonstration in Tbilisi, enters a drinking competition with his brother-in-law, who apparently claims at every family gathering that they can drink each other under the table. Georgians drink wine out of normal glasses, and only skull wine (no sipping ever!!), and drink juice out of wine glasses. As the evening progresses, different types of drinking vessels are brought out for different types of special toasts. My personal favorite is the animal horn, which people had to make individual unique toasts with to the rest of the table when it was passed around them. There is something wonderfully barbaric and vikinglike about skulling wine from a big animal horn. Data's uncle proudly shows me a picture on his camera of him drinking from a massive Ibex horn that is nearly a meter long. The drinking vessels get larger and larger as the competition continues in good humor... and the food keeps coming. We go to bed around 2 AM, after sitting around the table for nearly 5 hours, when we leave it is just as full of food and drink as when we begun. Data's father and uncle are still going at it when we retire...

The next morning I wake up before everyone else, and go downstairs, where some of the family is already awake. Data's father is up and in great spirits. Seeing me he pulls out a bottle of cognac and two glasses. Gaumarjos! He greets me --- cheers! And he tells me that we are going to go to a place for Khinkali (delicious Georgian spicey minced pork dumplings) for breakfast. I quickly avoid the wake-up cognac by saying that I will go and wake up the others and get them ready. When we all get up and get down out into the glorious morning sun, Data's father and uncle are in a heated argument... After a seemingly hostile exchange, Gio and Data start laughing. "They are still arguing over who won the drinking competition last night", Gio explains. When we arrive at the khinkali restaurant - the best in Kutaisi, I am told - excessive amounts of the meaty dumplings is ordered, along with beers and a bottle vodka. Another friend of the family's is present, and so he feels it necessary to welcome us again with toasts and the ever exuberant Georgian hospitality...

Leaving breakfast in a semi-haze, we packed into Data'a uncle's mashrutka and drove to Samegrelo, a province further west, to a small village where Data's grandmother lives and the family often gathers for reunions and holidays in the summer. The village was set in some gorgeous mountains with a large river running right through it, perfect for swimming. We were obliged to another epic feast, complete with the excessive food, drink, and toasting once again --- we were introduced to a special toast, to brotherhood, called Vakhtanguli (named after Great King Vakhtang, who founded Tbilisi when on a hunting trip a pheasant that he killed fell into the hotsprings in the area and cooked itself to be so delicious he decided he needed to move the capital to the location), in which arms are locked and drinks are skulled in this way.

The next morning we went for a day hike into the mountains... through the river, to waterfalls, cliffs, forests, shepherds villages on top of mountains... the most remarkable places, seemingly untouched by anyone else. Worth noting was the villager that we met a ways up the track out of the village who was cutting firewood. Though he was alone, he had with him a 10 L jug of homemade wine and several glasses, which he had carried the whole way into the woods, along with his chainsaw, on the off chance he encountered any guests. We were offered the wine and numerous toasts, which we sort of slowly and hesitantly accepted, given that we were feeling pretty rough from the previous 2 days' feasting. This didnt stop the chap who was going to be operating the chainsaw from polishing off most of the jug. After we had lingered enough to be polite and then moved on, I asked Data it the fellow would have finished the wine if no one had come along. "Of course not. He would not have touched it. Drinking alone is seen as shameful and alcoholic practice; it is not done. He brought it along for guests."

Georgian hospitality is unsurpassed in my experience. I have only encountered such selfless (and at times over the top) kindness in Tajikistan and Syria... for this reason, it was very difficult to leave Data, his family, and all of my new friends to return to Turkey, which we did by mashrutka-hopping and hitchhiking to the eastern border post near the Turkish town of Posof. This frontier is obviously not very well used, as the road to the border (at least up until the Turkish side) is a winding bumpy dirt track... After getting exit stamps from the friendly, if not a bit lax Georgian officials, getting checked for Swine Flu by the Turks, and paying a painful 60 US for a new Turkish visa that apparently did not get extended in Sinop as I was told that it had been, we re-entered Turkey, where we immediately got lied to and ripped off by a jackass bus driver who we hitched from the border to what was supposedly the town of Posof where we wanted to get a bus to the Turkish town of Kars, but was really 9 km up the road from Posof... A little bit of a bitter welcome back after such a selfless and friendly experience in Georgia. But first a few last comments and observations about Georgia:

-vowels are conspicuously underused in Georgian, leaving us with unpronounceable words such as Mtkvari, Samshkte Jakhrtve, Mtsvardis...

-on Georgian Independence Day the protesting politcal opposition organized large rallies in the Tbilisi stadium. They shut down the train station for 24 hours, but to little apparent gain. Some of the Opposition coalition was against some of the more extreme moves by protestors, and pulled down their fake cells from in front of the parliament. My sense is that the demonstrations are going nowhere fast, and that Misha will hang on, albeit precariously, for the next little while. His term is supposed to last until 2013, but that seems like a bit of a stretch.

-apparently right after we left, Tbilisi started preparing itself defensively for a Russian attack.., but this seems strange, as another report I read said that there are current talks regarding the re-opening of the Kazbegi border along the Russian Military Highway.

-Georgian Christians seems to have more fun. They are all quite devoutly religious --- the homes I saw all had shrines with numerous icons and candles where family members said daily prayers; the churches were always full of people making prayers and hanging around (Georgian Church choir music is GORGEOUS); and the majority of people cross themselves three times whenever they see one of the numerous churches around... but this doesnt seem to hinder the Georgian proclivity for care-free fun. On one mashrutka ride, a fellow and his wife bought a bottle of vodka at a lunch break stop, polished it off along the way, and were having the time of their lives being rowdy on the bus... yet every time we passed a church they soberly and resolutely crossed themselves, before returning to their state of bliss...

Anyways, after being dicked around by the jackass Turkish bus driver, we hitchhiked down the road to Posof, where all transportation to our destination, Kars, had dried up, leaving us in the tiny village, which was actually quite charming, even if it is a middle-or-nowhere border outpost. The natural beauty of Georgia continues into northeastern Turkey, so we got to enjoy the beautiful mountains and lush valleys even more. The area is dotted with the ruins of Georgian castles and churches, which have, somewhat ironically in my view, been adorned with large Turkish flags.

We finally made it to Kars, which is one of the larger cities in the east, originally laid out by Russians, meaning that it follows a lovely grid plan and has some lovely drab rectangular buildings, but once again, the city is in a spectacular location. Dan and I met up again with our friend the Guide Book writer. We made a trip out to Ani, the ancient Armenian capital, which, as is evident again from the massive flags flying proudly at the ancient gate, is now proudly Turkish. Directly across a valley that unforunately divides Turkey and Armenia in this area and leaves the Armenian ruins on the Turkish side, the Armenians have started noisily mining the red stone of the area, leaving big natural blights in the beautiful green hills. The move is seemingly out of spite, an Armenian middle finger being sent to the Turks, given the fact that it seems like they could have put their mines anywhere along the valley banks for kilometers north or south of Ani. It is unfortunate, but the ruined churches and cathedrals are spectacular nonetheless.

After kicking around Kars for a while, I parted ways with my friends and caught the 30 hour train across the country to Ankara, where I kicked it with the good friends that I had met there at ODTU Spring Fest. We went for a three day camping trip in the moutains south of the city, and then I returned to Istanbul, where I am not preparing for the homeward journey. It has been a hell of a trip, and I would be lying if I said I was not melancholy about returning home. There is so much to see and do out here, and I feel like I have only scratched the surface of what I want to experience...

In Canada I will almost immediately be heading to the field to start my Master's research. I will be doing an archeological survey of the inlets around Sechelt for July and August, and then in September I will move to Toronto to start my Master's at the University of Toronto. I hope that this doesn't get in the way of me furthering my travels in the near future, though it will be nice to get back to school for a bit as well. I hope to get a chance to see as many of you as I can and catch up with as many as possible before I hit the field and then move to Toronto...

I will be trying to put up pictures when I get back, and I would like to hopefully write one more reflective sort of letter to tie up thoughts I have omitted or forgotten, and express some final ideas.

I miss you guys, thanks for following me on this one.

All my love,
Bryn

Tank Battallion Mutinies and Cheese Pies

Gamarjobat from Tbilisi! It has been quite a while since the last e-mail, when I was back in southeastern Turkey. I don't really know how I will fit everything I want to talk about since then into one e-mail and remain sane, so we'll just see how this goes. Bear with me if this is disconnected.

After Van, I took a bus to Istanbul to kick it with Turan and my other pals there, to do some laundry, and to take a break from being constantly on the move. After a few days there I went to Ankara, the capital, where I have another good friend, Elif, whom I met the first time I was in Turkey. Her university, ODTU, is the largest in Turkey, and that week they were having a four-day 'Spring Festival', with musicians and DJs from all over Turkey presenting on several stages --- for those of you from UBC, imagine Arts County Fair for 4 days in a row. Dylan made it out of Iraq unscathed and I convinced him to come across the country to join the party. It was an amazing time, I met so many great people and made a lot of friends. It was a really great change of pace from wandering around the Middle East to just go and rock out for a while. Ankara is usually touted as being a pretty crappy place overall, as far as Turkish cities go --- over and over I have heard people tell me that the best part about Ankara is the fact that you can leave Ankara very easily. It is certainly nothing compared to Istanbul --- it really only became a big city with the formation of the Turkish Republic in 1923 when Ataturk proclaimed it as the new capital, so it all feels very new and stale --- but after my time there it really has a new place in my heart.

This of course made getting up and leaving again quite difficult. Dylan and I finally dragged our asses out of the comfort of our friends' home and got on the road. We headed north to the town of Safranbolu, which is one of the last towns in Turkey that is still comprised primarily of Ottoman houses over 100 years old. The whole village winds around a small river that has cut cliffs around it, making for an extremely beautiful location. From Safranbolu we shot north to the Black Sea Coast, which we traversed the entire way to Trabzon, the largest city in Turkey's northeast. This took quite a bit longer than we imagined it would, as the road along the Black Sea is probably up there with one of the most beautiful parts of the country that I have seen, but it is small and winding, and the coast is made up of cliffs interspersed with valleys into the sea every few kilometers, meaning that you have to wind up and down, up and down. Because of this no big buses traverse the route, so you have to hop from town to town by minibus. It therefore took us about 8 hours to go 150 km one day, and the same the second, which left us stranded in some cool small villages a few nights along the way. This would have been quite fine and relaxing, except for the fact that my Turkish visa was about to expire, and I was worried that I would get stranded on the coast before I could get out of the country or extend it. Luckily I found a government office in one of the towns, that, as far as I can tell, gave me an extra 3 months on my visa free of charge.

Trabzon is Turkey's main Black Sea port, and they recieve many ships from Georgia, Russia, and the Ukraine. There are therefore a lot of Russians in Trabzon, and some quarters of town are entirely Russian. Turkish men seem to have a fetish for Russian women, so there are many Russian prostitutes in Trabzon, called Natashas. And, of course, the place where all the cheap hotels for budget travelers like ourselves is where all the Natashas like to hang out. We checked out some exceptionally sketchy hotels, mostly with the windows blacked out. In the bars of Trabzon - where I got to use my few Russian phrases that I learned in Central Asia - the only females are Natashas --- who I must say are not attractive in the slightest. When you go to the bathroom, they follow you in, and sort of stand there looking in the mirror, pretending to powder their face or whatever, and when you leave you get the great pleasure of having disappointed a Natasha... Needless to say, we skipped out on any of the Russian action. We also met up with an Aussie named Dan, who was heading to Georgia, as we were, so we joined up with him, and from Trabzon hopped on the bus to Batumi, a large Georgian Black Sea port city.

Georgia, or Sakartvelo, as it is called by Georgians, is very different from Turkey. It is a Christian nation that used to be part of the USSR. I immediately felt like I was in Central Asia again when I arrived, and many of the classic characteristics that I encountered in the Stans are present here: a disconcerting lack of manhole covers, old run-down buildings that seem to be permanently 'under construction', a proclivity for alcohol, and a lot of Russian. But there are many differences as well. Georgia feels in many ways like it is less of a backwater and moving forward more quickly than the Central Asian nations. And this is all quite surprising considering that 10 months ago they were engaged with Russia, and, in several of the Georgians' whom I have spoken with's opinions, are on the brink of war again. It has its extreme poverty and corruption, but to a seemingly lesser degree. From what I can tell this is mostly due to the nation's post-soviet history, which I have been piecing together slowly:

Georgia was one of the first Soviet states to declare independence from the Soviet Union, however when they did so, the same fate befell them that did the Stans --- a government rose that was not entirely prepared for independence and was mostly based on the old Soviet cronies that ran the place before hand anyways. Corruption was the name of the game and the nation descended into what was in many ways a worse state than it had been in before the Soviet Union collapsed. Two regions of Georgia - Abkhazia and South Ossetia - seceded from the state and declared themselves autonomous (though no nation except Russia acknowledges their independence), and the country fell into civil war, in which Abkhazia and South Ossetia were backed by Russian 'peace keeping' troops. In the Abkhazian case, Abkhazians are ethnically different from Georgians; and during the wars over 250 000 Georgians were pushed out of their homes and forced to retreat from Abkhazia. Russia offers Abkhazians free Russian citizenship. The situation is similar in South Ossetia as well.

The first president of Georgia was deposed in a coup and a fellow name Shevardnadze took his place in 1995. Under him a lot more fighting took place in Abkhazia and South Ossetia. Another region of Georgia, Adjara, tried to declare autonomy, and its political leader, who was tight with the former government, openly disobeyed and insulted Shevardnadze. From what I understand, the whole country was mob-heavy, and the police were incredibly corrupt, much like Central Asia today. In 2003 there were massive protests by people fed up with the situation, and there was another coup called the Rose Revolution, in which masses of people stormed parliament holding roses, and Shevardnadze was forced to resign and go into exile. The leader of the Rose Revolution was Mikheil Saakashvili (called Misha by the people), who holds presidency today. He immediately stood up to the leader in Adjara who had been giving Shevardnadze trouble, and that guy (I cannot remember his name) fled to Russia --- allowing Saakashvili to make a very powerful first impression. He cracked down on the mob and police corruption - and indeed, today, I have recieved absolutely no hassle from the police at all. As a matter of fact, this is the only country on this entire trip where I have been straight up ignored by the police and not drawn any attention at all! There was minimal silly beauracracy to enter the country --- I didnt even need a visa to come.

So Saakashvili significantly transformed the country, but there was a major difference from him and Shevardnadze. While Shev maintained good political relations with both Russia and the States, Misha openly dislikes the Russians and has very strong relations with the Americans. A Georgian friend of mine, who I met in Cairo, put it quite succinctly to me: "It is just stupid. Sure, you may not like Russia, but you cannot just stick your middle finger to them and say fuck you, they are our neighbour and they are massive. They could destroy us easily."

And unfortunately, Misha has been sticking his middle finger to Russia, who has very cold relations with Georgia and supports the separatist states. In August 2008, Russia invaded Georgia. The cause of this war is still under investigation by international monitors who are in the country right now, but the movement of the fighting outside of the separatist states seems to have been triggered by the movement of the Georgian army into South Osettia in early August. The war ended rather quickly --- officially at least. The fighting still continues in South Osettia, and a Georgian fellow that I met who was working as a UN monitor told me that he would not be surprised if more open war opened up soon. The whole situation has made a large portion of the population very unhappy with Saakashvili, whom they blame for the war, and protests are underway right now in Tbilisi, Georgia's capital. Starting over a month ago, opposition groups demanded that Saakashvili resign, and set up mock prison cells in Tbilisi's main street, Rustaveli Ave, in front of parliament, which they have been living in. Hundreds of cells now fill Rustaveli Ave, and cars cannot drive down it, meaning that traffic is really bad in other parts of town as people try to go around this main throughfare. It is quite a sight to see, though I cannot help but feel that the protest is losing a bit of its oomph after over a month... though the cells are all there, not all of them seem to be inhabited anymore, and the times that I have been through to check it out, things have been pretty quiet. Also, Misha is not budging yet, and apparently there is no real strong contender for oppositions leader, so everyone seems quite skeptical of the demonstrations' outcome. Many of Tbilisi's citizens are getting quite fed up with the road being closed as well, and the other day I saw some taxi drivers yelling at the protesters. Tuesday is Georgia's independence day, however, and apparently the protestors are trying to get people from all over the country to come and make a big demonstration.

Another interesting piece of the story lately is that a few weeks ago a tank battallion at a military base north of the city mutineed against the government, and was supposedly going to take forceful action against. Saakashvili very quickly put down the mutiny however by moving in with a large force of tanks and troops loyal to him, sending 3 ringleaders of the mutiny running. Rather conveniently, there was a video recovered of these people dicussing their plot. Posters of their faces offering a large reward are everywhere in Georgia, and two nights ago the main guy was found and shot dead, while the other two were injured and captured. Skeptics claim that the whole thing was a fake set up by the government in order to make an impression and draw attention away from the protests, and to demonstrate that Misha is still the 'strong man'. My friend that I met in Cairo agrees with this, saying that it is all to common and convenient that the government 'finds' video evidence of people admitting or discussing this or that, leading to their persecution.

And so, what have Dan, Dylan, and I been doing in Georgia during this time? We spent the first two days in Batumi, which is Georgia's resort town, overflowing with tourists in the summer. It was quite quiet this time of the year however. We did a beach day, in which I aquired probably the worst sun burn I have ever had. A week after the fact my whole upper body is peeling and still burning, so I look like I have leprosy or something.

From Batumi we took a bus to Gori, which is the home town of Joseph Stalin himself (Stalin was Georgian). All around the city are large statues of the great Soviet dictator, and there is a large museum dedicated to all the great things he did (skipping the Gulags and forced migrations of course). It is also the town where Data, my friend whom I met in Cairo lives, so we met up with him and his friends and spent some very good times together.

Gori was attacked by the Russians last August, and in the was museum there are the remains of two bombs that struck a large appartment building and the main square where a very large Stalin stands. Many people were killed. Data was in town during the attack and remembers being woken up by the bomb blasts and seeing everyone running around screaming in the middle of the night. Shortly after, the Russians occupied Gori. Data's view on things, however, is that the war is entirely political and not personal. He is very frustrated with Georgia's anti Russian sentiment - he has many Russian friends. He says that even when Gori was occupied, the Russian soldiers slept in the hallways of the appartment flats, when they could have very easily kicked down civilian's doors and slept there. He remembers how his neighbour even let the soldiers sleeping in the hallway use her shower... Regardless, he fled to Tbilisi after the town was occupied; the Russians withdrew before they reached Tbilisi. I found it quite interesting to see that, even though many parts of Gori are quite run down, there was no immediately visible evidence of the intense fighting that occurred -- all the blast damage, which I was shown in pictures, has all been repaired. I get this sense all over the country: it doesnt FEEL like a country that was just at war 10 months ago. However, there are massive suburbs on the edge of town (and all around Georgia) of hundreds of small square houses, all exactly the same, lined up side by side, which have just been build in the past few months serving as homes for displaced peoples and people that lost their homes during the war.

After seeing Gori and its nearby sites with Data, we all went to Tbilisi, where we have been exploring this lovely city. It feels something like a Central Asian city with more life and energy. It is very green, and there are spectacular churches and old houses everywhere. It also has a lot of old dilapidated places, much like Central Asian cities. The Soviets seemed to really like massive parks with rides and big statues, most of which are today in quite a depressing state. Yesterday we did a day trip to the barren border with Azerbaijan, which looks a bit like Mars, where there are ancient monasteries cut into the rocks on mountains overlooking the Azeri wasteland, complete with an oild derricks in the distance. Another Georgian that I met in Cairo, Tato, lives in Tbilisi, and is the manager of Tbilisi's largest night club (the best night club in the Caucasus!, he boasts) and a bit of a TV celebrity, having played on Georgia's first ever Big Brother style reality show, and coming 2nd place. Tato gave us a tour and invited us to be VIP guests and a party at his club last night, which was quite cool. I am not much for clubs, but I definitely had a good time doing a little boogie until sunrise... Tomorrow we will leave Tbilisi to head to the Caucuses Mountains...

Random observations on Georgia:

-it is very warm and very green. absolutely gorgeous natural beauty

-Georgian history is intertwined with very cool legends of great kings who carried 2.5 m swords and fought all kinds of battles and great wars

-Georgian food is AMAZING. It is all quite similar to Central Asian food, but somehow they got it right and made things delicious. The most common food is little cheese pies called Khachapuris, that are available everywhere in many different forms. You can get round cheese pies, square cheese pies, cheese pies with cheese inside and then more cheese melted on top, cheese pies with cheese inside and and egg cooked on top... the cheese pies are ubiquitous. They also do delicious little deep friend meat pies and bean pies. There are dumplings called Khinkali that are filled with spiced pork and delicious juice, and Shashlyk, which is usually pork or beef barbequed to perfection on a stick. No mutton like in Central Asia! I am going to get terribly fat here I think. Georgians also love to drink, anywhere, and at all times of the day. People have beers in hand when they cruise the sidewalk in the morning, the guy behind the counter at a corner store will ofter be rocking a beer when you go to buy snacks, and people just sit around on the streets drinking ---- yet somehow it doesnt seem like a sad alcoholic sort of drinking, but more just a social, and socially accepted, activity. Georgians are famous for their wine, which rather than sipping, they chug after making lengthy toasts to each other. At a Georgian feast, which we had with Data and his friends in Gori, there is a designated toastmaster, and a man responsible for filling the wineglasses. Toasts are given by assigned people, and are often really lengthy and serious (Data says that some toasts can last up to an hour). After a while a ram's horn is brought out and people start slamming wine out of that... and then people start singing and dancing, and somehow get to bed and go to work the next day, because it doesnt matter what day of the week it is, its always time to feast and drink!

-Georgians have a unique and ancient language that is not related to any others that exist anymore, and they have their own unique script, which means I cant read anything here. Luckily some stuff is still in cyrillic from Soviet days, which I can somewhat read.

I have so much more to write (from Turkey and Georgia!), but I have been at this for far too long and am about to get kicked off the computer. I am off to do some hiking in the Caucasus for the next few days, but I will try to get on a computer again soon to tie up the loose ends and write more...

Until then though, I hope to hear from you and hear how things are going back at home! I miss you all.

All my love,Bryn

The Iraq Temptation

Salaam Aleikum friends,

This morning Dylan went to Iraq. Instead of being there with him I am in Van, a mid-sized mountain town on the huge Lake Van in the southeast corner of Turkey near the Iranian border.

Northern Iraq is Iraqi Kurdistan. The four northernmost provinces of the country are controlled by an autonomous Kurdish Government, with their capital in Arbil. The border posts are manned by Kurds, the police are Kurds, and the government officials are Kurds. It is the only relatively safe area in Iraq today, which is overall touted as the most dangerous place on earth. I even read somewhere that someone had calculated that foreigners have a 28% chance of being killed in Iraq. Don't ask what formula that calculation is based on; I am just as curious about it as you. When Dylan first suggested going to Iraq, my reaction was much like I am sure most other's would have been: fuck no. But of course I was curious, and my recent interactions and conversations with Kurdish people (southeast Turkey is almost all Kurdish; I'm just gonna come out and say it: this is Kurdistan) opened my mind a bit. The Turkish Kurds admire Iraqi Kurdistan for their success in achieving the goal of having an autonomous government within Iraq and for upholding some of the basic rights that Kurds in Turkey and Syria are not granted (and for just being the only people to have their shit together in Iraq). When we told people around here that we were considering going to Iraq, we were not given the 'you've gotta be insane' reaction that you would get elsewhere, but rather people just seemed to acknowledge it like it was no big deal, same as if we had told them we were going to Istanbul.

So we researched. Apparently at the border town of Silopi in Turkey you can get a visa for free on arrival, and be happily let loose into Iraq. No letters of invitation. No waiting. Just the fact that you could get a tourist visa to Iraq blew my mind. In Iraqi Kurdistan a foreigner hasn't been harmed since 2003. There are very few US soldiers. The Kurds heavily check everyone coming from Iraqi Iraq, and apparently it is very difficult for Iraqi Iraqis (ie. Arab Iraqis, who are rather bitter about the Kurds having so much power) to get in. The travel accounts we read of people who had been said that they felt entirely safe. Yet when it came time for me to make the big decision, I had a bad feeling in my gut (what IF something goes wrong...) and I told Dylan that I would take him to the border, but not cross. I told my parents that I was not going to go (whereas if I did go, I likely wouldnt mention anything until I got back, and rather tell someone else ahead of time to save stress and grief on their end --- sorry mom and dad!), and then hopped on the bus with him and cruised from the town of Mardin where we were yesterday to Silopi. The road sauntered through the breathtaking green hills and fields of Mesopotamia (a side note I wanted to mention: contrary to what I imagined, Syria and southeastern Turkey are LUSH with greenery --- not the sandy wastelands I had pictured. I can totally see how Mesopotamia was the cradle for so many ancient civilizations, and of course their traces are left all over this landscape in the form of Tells --- large mounds of thousands of years of accumulated anthropogenic debris --- which dot the mostly flat plains, and are often still the locations of contemporary villages.) and then into the mountainous region along the Iraqi border (northern Iraq, my Lonely Planet guide book claims, is the 'Switzerland of the Middle East'). The drive was gorgeous. Short of a much more apparent Turkish military force in the form of tanks and checkpoints, and fences, which are surely mined, the area is very similar to the rest of southeast Turkey: green and gorgeous. I don't know what I expected when looking into Iraq... burning villages? Crying babies? People hopping around with missing limbs? Of course not, but even though I knew what I knew about the place, it still felt strange looking across at a Iraqi mudbrick village that just looked like any other Middle Eastern or Anatolian mud brick village.

As soon as we arrived in Silopi late last night along with a bunch of Iraq-bound tanker and cargo trucks, and got off our bus, we were mobbed by taxi drivers shouting 'Zakho? Zakho?'. Zakho is the border town on the Iraq side. There is a taxi mafia in Silopi, and they specialize in 'facilitating' people's crossing back and forth. Apparently you just hop in the car with them, give them your passport, and they handle everything for you. And of course we were going to Iraq. Why the hell else would any other foreigner come to Silopi, which really was a shitty border town. There is big business in getting people to Iraq, and apparently its quite easy. Being right at the border, and seeing first hand that this was not a war zone in the slightest, but rather another area inhabited by hospitable Kurdish people, I immediately began to regret my decision not to go. The gut feeling was gone, but I still had other excuses: I told my parents I wasnt going. I have made plans to meet friends in Istanbul next weekend. I want to see Van before going back to Istanbul. If I go to Iraq I want to have more time to enjoy it. A whole bunch of pretty weak excuses, and I realized it, but I still didn't go. As I rode the bus away from Silopi this morning, and looked back into Iraq I felt a bit of remorse, regret, and jealousy. I feel like even after observing first hand that so many of our preconceptions about Iraq are just overdramatic generalizations based on stereotypes and shit media coverage, that I still let this scare me away. That said, there is still the inkling of doubt in my mind for sure. And things COULD be different IN Iraq. I will wait for Dylan to get back, hear his account, and let you know. Its just too bad that once I decide to go that it might be difficult to find a crazy bastard like him to come with me.

Its unfortunate too, because I will miss Dylan. Traveling with him was like traveling with Miles. We were both totally relaxed, easy going, and agreeable, both had the same sort of travel philosophy and goals. We just went with the flow. So today has been a bit emotional, but exciting things still lay ahead, and I hope to meet up with Dylan again in a few weeks (though he will likely be traveling the opposite direction as I, so it will brief) or hopefully travel together again in the future.

But lets backtrack a bit to our exit from Syria into SE Turkey. As soon as you cross the border there is a marked difference, not necesarilly in terms of landscape, but in infrastructure, and people. Turkey is far more wealthy than Syria, and this is very apparent. Also, Turkey feels so much less 'Middle Eastern' than the rest of the Middle East... even in the deep southeast the European influences are evident in building styles, advertisements, fashion, etc. And you can see girls' hair and arms... whoooooo! After getting a ride with some friendly border police who were cranking Rihanna's 'Umbrella' to the minibus station in Akcakale, the Turkish border town we crossed into, we went to Sanliurfa, a town where Abraham was said to have been thrown off the fortress that dominates the city by the evil King Nimrud, but Abraham landed on a patch of roses and survived, or something like this. What I found the most entertaining piece of information about this city was that it used to be called Urfa. When the nearby city of Antep adopted the name Gaziantep, which means 'Heroic Antep', the Urfans were jealous, so they changed their name to Sanliurfa, which means 'Glorious Urfa'. Wicked. After getting into the Turkish swing of things in Glorious Urfa (which wasn't all THAT glorious in my opinion) we made a day of checking out some nearby ruins for my archaeology fix and then doing a suite of minibuses (called Dolmuses in these parts) to eventually get us up into the mountains near one of Eastern Turkey's most famous sites, Nemrut Dagi. Nemrut is a MASSIVE tumulus mound of crushed rock on the top of a mountain, under which the pre-Roman King Antiochus, who's short-lived Commagene kingdom was the buffer zone between the Persian east and the Hellenistic west in the first century AD. On the east and west side of this tumulus mound Antiochus build massive statues of himself alongside Hellenistic gods. During the past few years earthquakes have toppled the heads off of these statues, and so there are no massive heads sitting eerily at the feet of the statues in the shadow of the tumulus. It's a very cool place, and it being one of Turkey's most famous attractions, we expected it to be packed, but to the contrary, Dylan and I hiked 15 km from the village we stayed in beneath the summit to find ourselves the only ones there, and the heads on the west side to be chin-deep in snow, which was really cool.

As a matter of fact, we have so far found ourselves to be the only foreign tourists in this part of the country. We have barely seen anybody, less backpackers than were in 'dangerous' Syria, which I find surprising.

After enjoying Nemrut and getting our exercise we did another dolmus and ferry combo to Diyarbakir, the capital of Turkish Kurdistan and homebase of the notorious PKK. Nearly everyone we have met in southeastern Turkey has been Kurdish, and this is no more true than in Diyarbakir. EVERYONE here is Kurdish. The large city was the site of the majority of the violence in the 80s and 90s that I wrote about in my previous e-mail. The old part of the city is surrounded by a massive ancient basalt wall which totals over 6 km in length. It really adds to the somewhat 'rough' feel of the city, but once again we were met with nothing but hospitality from the locals. We met two Kurdish boys who we got along quite well with and wandered around the city exploring with them and getting a bit of a tour. After a while the inevitably opened up about the problems the Kurds face. Like the Syrians, they felt that they were being denied basic rights, and desired an autonomous government. "We are proud to be from Turkey. We do not want our own country, but only the right to our own government, the ability to use our language, etc. We only want to be like Iraqi Kurdistan."

But the Turkish government of course has none of it. "They deny that we exist. Everyone in this town is Kurdish, except of course the mayor, and the municipal government officials, who were appointed in the west. We are being ignored, or worse, considered terrorists." One of the guys worked in the west coast resort town of Fethiye during summers, and said that he has been treated like an animal by Turks that he worked with.

One of the most poignant things that he said was this, when admiring a flag flying over a statue of Ataturk in the central square: "Is this Turkey's flag, or a Turkish flag? I don't know. If it is Turkey's flag, then it is my flag. But if it is a Turkish flag, then this is not my flag."

We also happened to be in Diyarbakir on April 23rd, which marks the anniversary of the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and the formation of the Turkish Republic under Ataturk. Around the country this is a big holiday, but we were likely in the worst place possible for any festivities. "This is a big day for Turkey, but not so big for us. Under Ottoman rule we were allowed to be Kurdish and operate under a Kurdish system of government. With the formation of the Republic, Turks tried to erase Kurds and Kurdistan."

And its really tough not to feel that you aren't in Kurdistan in SE Turkey. People don't speak Turkish to each other, they speak Kurdish. When you say Tessukuler (turkish for thank you) to someone, the nod in acknowledgement, but when you say spas (kurdish thank you) you get a warm and knowing smile. When we were in Mardin, all the hotels were booked full with tourists, but they were ALL Turkish tourists, getting away and celebrating the long weekend, many of them from Istanbul. So when people asked us where we were from, we also asked where they were from, to figure out what part of turkey they had come from. One fellow we met at a Monastery near Mardin smiled at us and turned his back to the crowd of Turkish tourists mingling around. 'I am from Kurdistan.' He told us proudly, but slightly conspiratorially.

Finishing our day in Diyarbakir ended with our friend taking us back to his house for dinner with his amazingly friendly family, which included long discussions about many things, primarily of course a continuation of the Kurdish topic. There is a lot of pent up anger and frustration there, and most common from all Kurds we met, including this family were quesions such as "do you know any kurdish people? are there kurds in Canada/US? what does Canada/US know/think about kurdish peoples?" After my time and experience here, I cannot help but sympathize with the plight of the Kurds in Turkish Kurdistan.

I hope that topic hasn't been beaten to death, but I have been finding it all very interesting, and have been having some fascinating discussions with people, so I want to pass them on to you. Its probably something that everyone could do with a little bit of awareness of.

After Diyarbakir we went to Mardin, which is a really really really cool old city built on a steep hill that overlooks those gourgeous Mesopotamian plains I wrote about above. The town is amazing, and its no wonder that it draws the Turkish tourists. As there was literally not a single room in a hotel in town, we slept on the roof of one instead. And it was after Mardin that we went to Silopi, as I wrote about at the beginning.

Now I am alone in Van, which is up in the mountains, and has a gritty, almost Central Asian feel to it, which kind of warms me. The surrounding mountains really remind me of Kyrgyzstan. After a few days here checking out Armenian castles and Churches I am going to burn all the way across the country to Istanbul, to chill out and be stationary for a while, as I feel like I have just been constantly on the move, and I want to visit some friends there and relax before making my next move.

So I will continue to keep in touch as the days go by, and I hope that you all do so as well!

Stay safe and enjoy the beginning of summer!

Love Bryn

Under Suspicion in Kurdistan AKA The Middle East: Its Complicated!

Hi Everyone!

I am now in Sanliurfa, in the southeast of Turkey. Last time I wrote I was leaving Jordan to try and get into Syria, which was expensive but painless for me. Whereas I was able to waltz through customs quite quickly (I passed the test of answering 'no' to the question 'have you ever visited Occupied Palestine?') some Americans that I met had to wait 8 hours to hear whether or not they got their visa or not.

First stop in Syria was Damascus, the capital, which I can easily say is one of the most beautiful cities I have visited in my life. If you believe the silly anecdotes that you get from Lonely Planet guidebooks, it says that the Prophet Mohammad came to overlook Damascus from the mountains on the edge of town, and decided not to visit it because he said that he did not want to enter Paradise before he died. The main part of town is aptly called the Old City, and it is a maze of alleys between really old buildings (some dating back to the Roman Period), filled with souqs delicious food stalls, gorgeous mosques, khans, and medressas, and some of the most friendly people I have met outside of rural Central Asia. I slept on the roof of an old hotel overlooking the city skyline. After 5 days in Damascus I went north to Hama, a gorgeous town famous for its waterwheels and delicious sweets, and from there I traveled with my friend Dylan, who I met back in Egypt, to Aleppo, Syria's second largest city, which also has bustling souqs and a lot of 'character'. From Aleppo we traveled east with a Syrian friend that we met into rural Syria, and then north, to Turkey.

I give you this quick framework of where we have been without any details because I want to focus more on what I have learned from the people I have met in the past little while in terms of how the Middle East works, and I will do so with reference to the people I have met along my northward journey from Jordan to Turkey. I hope that I can express the rather random bits that I have in a way that at least makes some sense... though at the same time, I think maybe the point, and the main thing that I have learned in the last little while, is that things here are complicated to the point that they dont make any sense:

-first off, Syrians are some of the most genuinely friendly and generous people I have met on this trip. Unlike Egypt, Syrians for the most part have no alterior motives, do not want your money, and are genuinely interested in what you are doing there. Many seemed bewildered that I would be there, and I was constantly asked why I was in Syria, what I thought of it, how it compared to other places I had been, etc. I believe that since the country sees so much less tourism due to people for some reason thinking that it is dangerous/too difficult to get into, that the people do not see foreigners as money/a nuisance (like in Egypt).

-Syria does not recognize Israel as a country (Jordan and Egypt are the only two Middle Eastern countries that officially do so, though most of the people in those countries think differently as well). Syria strongly sides with the Palestinian cause, and if you have any trace of having been in Israel you are not allowed into the country. The flag of the ruling party of Syria is an inverted Palestinian flag, and they are flown beside the Syrian flag everywhere, so for the longest time I thought that they were flying just as many Palestinian flags as Syrian ones, though I still do not think that the similarity is a coincidence.

-my first evening wandering Damascus' Old City I stumbled upon some old men doing what old Middle Eastern men do best: sitting on the street smoking and drinking tea. Seeing me, they beckoned me to join, and I got a bit of a history lesson in broken english along with tea and nargileh. One of the dudes' name was Michael, whilst everyone else was Mohammad, Ahmed, etc. I asked if Michael was Christian, and he said yes. 'We all live in peace here in Syria. People think we are warriors or something, but this is a lie. Muslims and Christians live in peace. We are all friends... But the Israelies... they are liars. We are a peaceful people, but they are trying to fight a war. What America thinks are all lies.'

-One man that I met in the Bazaar shook my hand and asked cautiously: "are you American?" When I replied negative he looked openly relieved and said "Oh good."

-the Syrian president, Bashar al-Assad is one of these guys that likes to have his picture everywhere (like King Abdulla in Jordan, though Assad looks much more sinister in most of his photos). He is featured on every governement building, on posters lining the streets, in shops and on decals in car windows. His father is equally well-displayed, as is this badass looking dude with a thick moustache sporting camo and dark aviators. I couldn't figure out who this fellow was for the longest time, and then, when I asked a friend that I met in Aleppo he said in hushed tones that it was the president's brother. 'Younger brother' I asked. No, it was his older brother, but he was dead. 'Dead how?' An 'accident', I was told, and the subject was changed. Regardless, the Assad dynasty is credited for the formation of modern Syria as it is today (they have been in power since 1970) and some people are happy with this, others not, as I will get into below.

-Along with the Assad family portraits everywhere, there are also pictures of a mad looking bearded chap waving an AK. I was told that this is the leader of Hezbollah, the militant group out of Lebanon that clashes with the Israeli army... apparently the government quite likes them as well, but does not get along well with the Lebanese government, as Lebanon used to be a part of Syria. I find these tensions a bit confusing, and don't know enough yet to comment much further.

-In Damascus I met many people just through sitting at a coffee shop in the evenings. I befriended several young people who took me around town and spent a lot of time with me. When I asked them about the Assad gov't, they told me that they loved him, and that he was a level-headed and peaceful leader, focusing on the growth of Syria and not on war. Apparently there has not been any international fighting during the time that Bashar has been in power... which I think is true. When I asked about the pictures of him everywhere (because in my experience countries that have pictures of the leader everywhere have been dictatorships with governments that the general population dislikes, and I feel that the pictures everywhere is something of a way to justify power, and a bit of a scare tactic to remind people that the dictator is omnipresent...) my friends got a bit on edge and told me that the gov't does not put the pictures up everywhere, but the people do because they love him. 'He is like a rockstar' I was told. I countered that it seemed unlikely that the general public was responsible for putting multi-storey photos of him up on sky-scrapers and government buildings, but the conversation got a bit tense at that point so I let it drop. Point is this: there is a portion of the population, and this portion had university education, that is entirely content with the government.

-interesting experience with these friends: they invited me to their home out in the suburbs of Damascus, where the fellow lives with his family (strong family ties mean that most households contain 3 generations of family or more; even when the young generation is pushing 30). When I arrived I had to wait outside until all the females inside the house had gone to their designated room (Harem). It is forbidden for guests to see members of the opposite sex in traditional Muslim families. My friend's best friends had never met each others mothers. I knew that this was how things worked, but to experience it first hand was still a bit strange for me. The reason I was given was that once a woman is married, they are the man's queen, and should be treated as such, and cannot be seen to tempt other men. These are the women that wear the full veils (chador) when they are out in public. I obviously don't entirely agree with the reasoning I was given in this instance, but it is certainly not my place to argue these family's traditions.

-on a slightly related note, I reckon that these fully veiled women must wear some seriously kinky underwear underneath their chadors, because there are all kinds of lingerie stores, and these women always seem to be shopping in them...

-I look like a famous turkish actor named Kivanc. In the middle east he has been translated and the guy's name is Mohandnat. When I was in Turkey at the beginning of the trip I was told that I looked like him, and in Syria everyone started saying I looked like a Turkish actor named Mohandnat... it took me a while to put together the fact that they were one and the same. In Hama I was watching the sunset from a large hill in the middle of the city that was the ancient citadel. Syrian families were out in force for picnicking, a favorite Middle Eastern pasttime (if it involves sitting, eating, smoking, it flies). A few girls came up to me and asked if I was alright, what I was doing there, etc. After some introductions and a lot of giggling they invited me to go and picknick with their mother. After talking to them they admited that one of their friends had seen me earlier and went to tell the others that there was a guy that looked like Kivanc walking around, and they had set out to find me. When I was walkıng around the streets of villages, small chıldren would whısper my celebrıty name as I passed by and gıggle...

-one of the girls was attending University in Aleppo, and she told me she had a Lebanese boyfriend there, whom she was in love with, but it was a big secret and her mother did not know, because she was not supposed to be in love before marriage. 'Love comes after marriage, not before. If there is love before marriage their may be problems. If my parents knew about this, they would be ashamed and cast me out of the family.' She told me all of this was grinning and giggling in front of her mother. 'she does not understand english, so I can tell you all my secrets right in front of her!'

-In Aleppo, the second largest city in Syria, up in the north, Dylan and I encountered the same incredible friendliness and curiosity as the rest of the country. We met many young people from the University of Aleppo who invited us to come and see the campus. Of these people we met three very nice Kurdish fellows studying Medicine, who we arranged to meet for breakfast in the med school cafeteria the next day. Kurds are an ethnic group who live in northern Syria, southeast Turkey, northern Iraq, and eastern Iran. They are not related to Turks or Arabs, and have their own language and customs. They do not have their own recognized country, though they claim that these territories are Kurdistan. They have their borders drawn, whether imagined or not, their own flag, and their own government. In Iraq they control the entire north, which is designated as the Kurdish Autonomous Zone, and is the only part of the country that is relatively stable. The police there are Kurdish, the border guards are Kurdish, and by all their accounts, this is Kurdistan, or a part of Kurdistan at least. Our frıends, who we wıll call Ahmed, Khalıd, and Mohammad, were very forthrıght on lettıng us know that they were Kurdısh. 'Thıs ıs the Arab Republıc of Syrıa', they told me 'but where are the arabs? There are more Kurds ın thıs room than there are Arabs. Thıs whole country ıs more than just Arabs. There are Kurds, Armenıans, Turks, Persıans. Unfortunately thıs fact seems to be ıgnored'.

However, there was no outrıght anımosıty between these people and Arabs, as a matter of fact, many of theır frıends who we met were Arab, and there were even Kurd-Arab couples. There has been anımosıty ın the past however, especıally ın Turkey ın the 1980s and 90s. One of the Kurdısh governıng partıes, the PKK or Kurdısh Workers Party, launched a vıolent separatıst campaıgn that restulted ın thousands of deaths, but was more or less surpressed, wıth the leader beıng ımprısoned on an Island south of Istanbul, where he stıll chılls. From what I gather there was sımılar vıolence ın Syrıa as well. I asked my frıends about the PKK, tellıng them that so far the only perspectıve I had been exposed to was that of the Turks, who have offıcıally declared them a radıcal terrorıst group. I asked Ahmed ıf the PKK was seen as radıcal or ıf they had the support of the majorıty of Kurds. I was told that of course Kurds support them, they were one of theır strongest governıng partıes and they had brought some change to the kurdısh sıtuatıon (the PKK as ıt ıs today ıs mostly non-vıolent, I should note). 'Kurdısh people are treated unfaırly by the Syrıan and Turkısh governments' I was told.'We are not allowed to learn ın our language, we are denıed upper level jobs, we could not, untıl very recently, have Kurdısh radıo or televısıon. It ıs dıffıcult to publısh ın Kurdısh language. It ıs as ıf we dont exıst.' I know that on Turkısh censuses, there ıs no optıon to select 'kurdısh' as an ethnıcıty, even though over 12 mıllıon kurds lıve ın the country.

I asked Ahmed what he thought of the PKKs vıolence. 'It ıs complıcated. Obvıously we do not lıke vıolence, no one should be kılled. It ıs the law of Islam. But we trıed talkıng. We trıed beıng peaceful. We trıed askıng for our rıghts that we were denıed. But we were eıther ıgnored or persecuted. So we had to fıght. And when we fought, we succeeded ın beıng heard, and gaıned some of our rıghts. What ıs better, to be peaceful and be treated terrıbly, or to fıght and gaın some of the basıc rıghts you are beıng denıed?' I had been prepared to engage ın an argument, but I ended up fındıng ıt dıffıcult to argue wıth thıs logıc.

After spendıng some great days wıth Ahmed and co. (we ended up stayıng ın theır place and beıng on the recıevıng end of the excessıve Syrıan hospıtalıty, whıch was overwhelmıng at tımes), Ahmed ınvıted us to hıs vıllage ın the northeast where hıs famıly lıves. From here ıt would be a short hop ınto southeastern Turkey, where Dylan and I were headed next. When travelıng from Aleppo, to Aın al-Arab (ıt means Arab Sprıng, but there are no Arabs here, Ahmed joked), our passports were checked, as routıne procedure. The polıce ın the bus statıon seemed more worrıed about a group of syrıans on the bus that had not performed theır mılıtary servıce than us. When we arrıved our bus drıver ınsısted that he drop us off at Ahmed's door, whıch we assumed was just general hospıtalıty. However, just after we went out to explore the beautıful green vıllage and surroundıng fıelds, polıce went ınto Ahmed's house, demandıng where we were, what we were doıng here (we were probably some of the fırst foreıgners ever ın thıs vıllage), what our relatıonshıp was wıth Ahmed, etc. They demanded to know everywhere that we were goıng and when we were goıng. A bıt shaken, Ahmed explaıned to us that they eıther thought we were Western spıes helpıng Israel or, more lıkely, somehow aıdıng the Kurdısh cause. 'The polıce are the only Arabs ın thıs town, because Kurds are not allowed to become polıce', Ahmed saıd when I ınquıred. 'They are paranoıd of us. The only reason for theır actıons ıs because you are wıth me and I am Kurdısh'. Sure enough, the polıce contınued to call to make sure we hadn't left, and to make sure that they were ınformed as soon as we dıd.

Aın al-Arab ıs on the Turkısh border. There ıs lıterally a turkısh vıllage flyıng turkısh flags about 500 m away, across a fıeld. Thıs vıllage ıs mostly populated by kurds as well. There used to be a crossıng there, but ıt has been closed for securıty reasons. The Turkısh government was afraıd of PKK actıvıty and ınteractıons between Syrıan and Turkısh Kurds, and as an extra measure has mıned the entıre fıeld between the two countrıes. 3 weeks before our vısıt, a chıld from the vıllage had had hıs arm and leg blown off when he went too far playıng ın the fıeld and stepped on a mıne.

When we left Aın al-Arab to go to a vıllage where there was a border crossıng (where there was a less domınant Kurdısh populatıon, we were told), the polıce were notıfıed, and every step of our way, there were armed men who knew that we were from Canada and US and where we were goıng. After numerous stops, we were dropped off ın the Syrıan border vıllage, where we could have easıly slıpped under theır false facade of securıty and gone elsewhere, as there were no polıce awaıtıng us at our actual desınatıon. Regardless, we ate our last felafel of the Mıddle East, and trundled across no-mans land to Southeastern Turkey where we are now. When I started thıs emaıl, we were ın Sanlıurfa, but we are now ın Dıyarbakır, as thıs has taken me several ınternet sessıons to wrıte. I wıll wrıte about SE Turkey ın my next letter, as thıs ıs long enough, and I know there are thıngs that I wanted to say ın thıs one but have already forgotten.

I wıll probably not post thıs on my blog, as I thınk ıt mıght be a bıt sensıtıve, but ıf you know anyone who wants to read ıt, feel free to forward ıt to them. And lastly, I have trıed to remaın as neutral as possıble ın thıs letter, and more focus on expressıng just how damn complıcated thıngs are here. I have amazıng Turkısh, Kurdısh, Syrıan, Palestınıan, Israelı, and Egyptıan frıends, and I would never take any sort of stance agaınst a frıendshıp. It ıs always ımportant to remember that a people must be consıdered separate from the ıdeals of theır government, as the realıty of thıngs ıs often much, much more complıcated than any offıcıal stance that ıs beıng taken. I hope I havent offended anyone ın thıs e-maıl, just remember that I love you all.

And all you other ınfıdels and heathens, I love you all as well! Please keep ın touch, and I wıll wrıte agaın very soon!

All the best,

Bryn

Mohammad, Moses, and Eminem

Hello everyone! It has been a little while since my last letter, so I guess I have a lot to try to catch up on. Right now I am in Amman, the capital of Jordan, and after I write this I am going to attempt to get into Syria.

Literally every other person you meet here is named Mohammad. Sometimes I feel like people are just joking with you when they tell you that their name is Mohammad, because you have met so many Mohammads, but it really is just the fact of that matter that about 60 % of people in the Middle East are named Mohammad.

After I wrote last I went to the Sinai region of Egypt. The Sinai is a hot, rocky desert that has been contested and fought over due to its strategic location and proximity to the Suez Canal. It was occupied by Israel for a while, but it now belongs to Egypt and a peace agreement has been signed. From Cairo I took an overnight bus to Dahab, a town on the Gulf of Aqaba that is renowned for its relaxed atmosphere, world-class Red Sea diving, and hippies. Across the Gulf you can see Saudi Arabia --- just a long swim away. The place is nothing like the rest of Egypt, to be honest, I didnt even feel like I was in Egypt anymore. It was the first place I was able to wear shorts and feel comfortable in a month, and when I saw a girl in a bikini I think I went into a state of reverse culture shock. People say that you go to Dahab and get stuck there due to its incredibly relaxed atmosphere, and I would say that it is quite true. I met people who had been there for months. I only planned on spending 3 days and ended up staying nearly a week. The highlight for me was the diving. I took a refresher course and then spent several days (and several $$) diving the gorgeous coral reefs and checking out the extrememely diverse aquatic life --- it was like Finding Nemo in reality. Seeing as I have only dove in cold old Canada prior to this, it was quite a special experience for me.

I also climbed Mt. Sinai in the middle of the night to watch the sunrise from the top. This is where ol' Moses saw the burning bush and got the 10 commandments from the big man upstairs. There is a monastery at the bottom where the burning bush is still growing... though it doesnt look very burnt these days. Our bedouin guide to the top of the mountain was named Mousa, which is Arabic for Moses, which I found quite fitting. I wonder if his name actually was Mousa...

In Dahab, everyone is your 'brotha'. In the place that I stayed, Eminem was one of the brothas running the joint. Shaggy was another. Around town I also met Zorro and Dr. Sheesha. It was kind of wierd.

When I finally did get out of Dahab, I went to a town called Nuweiba, to catch a ferry to Aqaba, the port city on the south end of Jordan. The ferry was a bit of an operation worth noting, and gives one final example of 'foreigner protection' measures employed by the Egyptians: there are 2 daily boats, a fast boat and a slow boat, both of which are quite expensive, the slow boat being slightly cheaper. Somewhat excited for a boat ride, I wanted to take the slow boat. I went to the ferry ticket office in the morning to buy my ticket, where a very rude fat man told me that I could not buy a ticket for a the slow boat; it had already left. So I purchased a ticket for the fast boat. I then went to the ferry, where you go through Egyptian exit customs and enter a large waiting hall with all the other passengers. I was in this waiting hall by 11:30 AM. At about 3, a boat arrived, and everyone got up to rush to the gate. I did so as well, and a police man asked to see my ticket. This was the slow boat, I was told, I have to wait for the fast boat... Indeed, the slow boat had not already left. So I waited longer, and at 6 PM the fast boat finally arrived. All foreigners were rushed aboard, where our passports were taken for (free!) Jordanian Visas. Then the Egyptians and Jordanians were let aboard, where they had to line up for Jordanian Customs to get their passport stamps. Being as there were hundreds of Egyptians and Jordanians on the boat, this process took 2 hours, and we did not depart until 8 PM. We arrived in Aqaba at 10 (Jordan is an hour ahead of Egypt)... probably about 5 hours after the 'Slow Boat' had arrived...

Jordan is much more laid back than Egypt, and much more wealthy than Egypt. The Jordanian Dinar is almost 1:1 with the British Pound, so things are shockingly pricey here after Egypt. The country apparently gets a lot of its money from Israel (Jordan and Egypt are the only 2 Arab countries that recognize Israel as a nation) and from other foreign investment (there are TONS of different banks in the country) and from goods shipped to Aqaba... because really it does not seem like there is an exceptional amount of anything being produced here... most of the country is arid desert.

The majority of Jordanians are actually Palestinians, who have migrated (mostly by force) from the Palestinian Territories and Israel. I have been told that Amman is actually 80% Palestinian. I haven't had many discussions about the fact with locals, but I think there is some resentment between the Hashemite Jordanians (who are supposedly part of the bloodline of the Prophet Mohammad out of Saudi Arabia --- the King, King Abdulla, is a Saudi and part of the Hashemite bloodline) and some Palestinian Jordanians... but I do not know enough to comment on it in detail.

After a night in Aqaba I came north to Amman, where I met up with my friend from Istanbul, Turan, who took a week off to join me. Amman is a cool city, very relaxed compared to Cairo. It is incredibly hilly and the streets do loops and curves around the hills, making it quite difficult to navigate around. Unfortunately, there is little to see here in terms of tourist sites, except for a stunning ruined Ummayyad citadel on top of one of the hills and a gorgeous Roman amphitheatre carved into the side of one of the hills in the middle of downtown. And the cool thing about downtown is that it literally is downtown --- it is at the bottom of all the major hills, so you wander down any steep street heading down and the chances are that you will arrive in downtown.

From Amman we went to a town called Madaba, from where we went and floated in the Dead Sea, which is 400 m below sea level and so salty that you can only bob like cork in it. We also went to Mt. Nebo, where Moses first climbed and saw the Promised Land in Israel below. From there we could see the Jordan River, Dead Sea, Jericho, and Jerusalem. Spectacular views across these famous biblical landscapes.

We saw several fantastic crusader castles, on our way down the King's Highway, which was traditionally the main north-south traderoute from Gulf of Aqaba up to the north and across into Europe --- sort of a crossroads with the the Old Silk Road, and it was also the Easternmost Crusader frontier.

Back in the south of the country, we went to Petra, the ancient capital of the Nabateans (300 BC - first few centuries AD) and one of the most breathtaking archaeological sites I have ever seen. Here beautiful tombs and temples are carved into red sandstone cliffs... the whole site is accessed by a 1.25 km walk through a narrow rift, only a meter or two in width in some places, called the Siq. If you've watched Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, it is the site where he finds the grail in the end. Petra is absolutely massive, and you can hike around anywhere - up to the cliffs above teh city with beautiful views of the surrounding landscape. It feels endless. We spend 2 and a half full days there wandering the ruins, and I still could have used another full day.

After Petra we went and camped in the protected desert area of Wadi Rum, where bedouins have set up camps and take you around of Jeep tours. Sleeping under the stars in the red desert was quite relaxing, and the landscape was breathtaking.

But now I am heading to Syria, where officially I am not supposed to be allowed to enter as I was supposed to have arranged my Visa back in my home country, but unofficially everyone is eventually let in at the border. I am pretty confident that I will get in, and quite excited to see the ancient cities of Damascus and Aleppo, which I am told have a lot more atmosphere than Amman... From Syria I will move back to Turkey, and my next move is still in the air after this, but I am still holding out on getting into Tajikistan for some archaeology.

I know most of you are probably going crazy with exams and papers these days, so I wish you the best of luck on all that, and if you get a chance please write, I would love to hear how things are going back at home and around other places! All the best of everyone, and all my love.

Bryn

Welcome to Alaska!

Hi all, I have returned to Cairo from the Western Desert, and am heading my way to the Sinai Peninsula today. As I said last time I wrote, there were a few other things I felt like writing (bear with me, as this serves partially as a journal for myself as well). So hear are a few thoughts:

On Food:
- I have become addicted to felafel (which I had always dismissed as vegetarian hippy garbage) and dates (which I always assumed just sucked)
- I just ate some of the most glorious rice pudding with some sort of cake and frilly hairy crispy stuff on top of it. It made up for the baba ghanoush that I had at lunch that I believe was mashed up soggy cigarette butts rather than eggplant

On Fashion:
-In Siwa, the women take the full cover-up regalia to new heights by wearing black sheets pulled over their face that don't even have eye holes. They literally look like moving tents shambling along the streets, and they're actually quite scary looking when you encounter them in an alley at night.
-young males wear an excessive amount of hair gel and perfume
-apparently 30-50 years ago very few females wore headscarves. This is just a recent semi-fashion/semi-religious shift that has come with a more conservative government. Furthermore, even though the majority of females (Christians as well as Muslims, take note!) wear headscarves, I feel that they are finding ways to express their 'feminity' through other measures which work within the socially construed boundaries of Egyptian culture today in order to be a bit 'flashy'. For example, most headscarves are quite bright and fashionable; some are patterned, some are frilly and lacey, others shiny. Furthermore, girls wear a lot of makeup, especially to emphasize their eyes, even those wearing the full veil that leaves only the eyes visible. Also, even though bare arms and legs are pretty much a no-go, girls still wear mini-skirts over top of jeans or leggings, and some wear big tall boots. To me it seems that rather than being religiously oppressed in terms of fashion (and one girl I met emphasized very strongly to me that these fashions are based on traditions rather that Muslim doctrine), females are exhibiting a fair bit of agency in terms of how they present themselves.
-all that said, I have to say, religious reasons, traditions, whatever, lets be practical: its bloody hot here, its damn tough to be walking around in pants and sweatshirt all the time. and a lot of these people are rocking big jackets on top of that.

On Cairo:
-its insane.
-I have never seen such traffic and crowdedness compared to this. Beijing disappointed me in its unexpected quietness. Istanbul, which I had long considered to be absolutely nuts, pales in comparison.
-Last time I was in Cairo, I went to al-Horreyya and met up with some people that I had met there during my initial visits, and they took me to 2 insane house parties, one of which was in a penthouse suite on top of a 13 storey building with a rooftop pool and patio overlooking the Nile. It was crazy.
-I went to the main cemetery of the city, which not only has some wicked old crypts and ancient mosques, but there is also a population of about 50 000 people living within the cemetery. Very cool.

On the Desert:
-last time I wrote I was in Bahariyya Oasis. From there I went with the Canadian newspaper editing couple on an overnight camping trip into the desert. We went through the black desert, which is black, and the white desert, which is white. Both looked like a Dr. Seuss setting with some absolutely crazy rock formations... and all throughout the desert there is exposed limestone with shells and fossilized fish... which is pretty surreal to stumble upon in the driest place on easth hundreds of km from the ocean. I really wanted to know how long ago this was the ocean floor, but the only explantaion we could get from our driver was that it was from the time of the Great Flood.
-I think that Bahariyya, being so isolated way out in the desert, and with a relatively small population, has a fair amount of in-breeding. I'm just speculating, but I met a lot of Forrest Gump-type characters out there...

On good egyptians/bad egyptians:
-on one overnight bus I sat beside a guy who said his dream was to work for NASA but he didnt do well enough on the gov't standardized test and they put him into economics, and he now sells concrete. He bought me a coke and when he left he told me "you do not have a friend in Egypt, but now you have a brother", which I thought was pretty wicked.
-In Bahariyya, everyone wants to sell you a tour into the black and white desert. The majority of vehicles in town are landscruisers bought on loan from anxious youngsters who figured they could cash in on taking tourists out 4x4ing in the desert. However, as many tourists as Egypt sees, I dont think there are enough for the amount of Land Cruisers in Bahariyya. Therefore competition is incredibly fierce for getting tourists to take the tour. When we arrived we had a young lad immediately grab us out of our vehicle and take us to his reasonably priced hotel. However, he immediately started pushing the tour. We told him we would go and ask around to do some price comparing. He said ok, let him know. He also said he had to meet someone coming into town at the bus station. So we went into town, firstly to find a beer, since Doug (the ex-Province editor) was nearly dying from the dry town of Siwa. We sat on the street at a restaurant, only to notice that our little hotel man had followed us, and was watching us not so subtely. Trying to shake him, we settled in for a few beers, but the kid would not leave. He then sat down and tried to push us some more, but we told him to go away. So he went across the street, and sat watching us. When we got up to leave, he followed us, so we went into another cafe to shake him. Or so we thought. In the cafe we started asking around for drivers, and arranged to meet one at an appointed time, across the city. So we did. As we were talking with this very down-to-earth driver, I looked past him and noticed that our little man was just lurking right behind --- he had followed us all the way across town! He then said something to the other drivers, which we had translated to us as "these are my clients, they are taking my tour. don't take business from me." We got angry and told him to fuck off, and as we were leaving, he drove up to us in his vehicle... not to apologize or anything like that, but to push his tour again! Saying that he could finally give us a better price! Doug straight up started yelling at him, and we went back to the hotel and told them we were leaving in the morning. He said he needed to know where we were going, so he could 'tell the tourist police', but we told him it was none of his business. The next day we switched hotels, and we didnt know it, but apparently the little wanker followed us, called the owner of our new hotel, and demanded comission! The whole thing left a sour taste in our mouths and left us wanting to pound the kid.
-On my last day in Bahariyya I went to a hot spring, where a bathing lady was yelling at a bunch of young men, and a small group of other men were washing prayer rugs in the spring. The lady, who was egyptian, explained the confusing scene: she had changed into her swimming clothes, and the young guys had seen her change --- which to the sexually repressed young egyptian male is probably the highlight of his life so far, regardless of the fact that the lady was pushing 60 and not attractive in the least. She had yelled at them, and gone on to bathe. But then the young men went to steal her clothes, so she rushed into the reed changing hut, which was also doubling as a temporary mosque, and had got sand all over of the prayer rugs. This got everyone really fired up, and they were giving the lady a hell of a time (though she seemed pretty good at keeping her own and firing off the arabic insults as well). "If these people are so religious and care so much about their stupid prayer-rugs", she said, "why don't they bat an eye when it comes to theft?"
-in this vein, some Egyptian men really are fuckheads. Wandering the bazaar with a female friend allows you to experience the full gauntlet of comments, from "wow!" to "lucky man!" to "wanna have sex?". One time, a dude pinched the girls bum that I was wandering around with, and just darted into an alley. In the metro, I saw a young man do a hit and run boob grab to a fully veiled woman as he was getting off the train. I think they are so sexually repressed that they have to resort to this sort of thing for kicks...

Anyways, I think I have got a fair share of the thoughts that I wanted to share with you down. Hope you enjoyed. Until next time, please keep on keeping in touch. I'm having a good time, but I miss Canada!

Bryn

The Quran is too loud!

Hello again, I am in Bahariyya Oasis, I have just finished eating some sandy falafels.In my last message I told you that a friend and I were going to try and 'cheat the tourist system' for our train from Luxor back to Cairo. We had been told that there was a train leaving at 8 15 and that we might be able to get 2nd class seats by just hopping aboard. When we arrived and saw the train, we were stopped by the police, who said, this was not our train. Does it go to Cairo, we asked? They said yes, so we said we wanted to get on it. They said we had to wait for the next train (which would have been the tourist train). We decided to just walk down the platform and hop aboard the train... the train car had no lights, no overhead baggage storage, the hardest seats you could imagine, and best of all, no windows! To be honest, I was pretty stoked, it was going to be an adventure. This was obviously third class, the cheapest of the cheap, and there were a lot of sketchy dudes on board. We waited 2 hours however, and the train didn't move. Then there was an announcement in Arabic, and everyone started getting off the train and getting on another one. One guy motioned us to follow him, so we did so, and got on an equallty dingy train, where the police found us. After moving us to a few different seats, they had a long conversation and decided that we had to switch trains again. Luckily for us, it was still a second class car, meaning we would save lots of money and be riding with egyptians, and second class has windows and nice seats. We buy a ticket, and settle in for the overnight trip. Little did we know, our ticket wasnt for an assigned seat, so every stop along the way (this train actually stops at different towns along the Nile, the ones tourists aren't 'supposed' to go to!) new people hopped aboard with assigned seats, and we had to move. This meant that all night we were constantly getting woken up and shifted from seat to seat. Oh well. We saved 25 bucks.

Because Muslims must pray 5 times a day, many of them have alarms set on their cell phones which play calls to prayer at the appointed time and have Quranic verses being sung. Therefore, on train and bus rides, when people cant get to the mosque, at the appointed time, everyone's cellphone goes off with a cacophony of prayers.I am having trouble figuring out how the Egyptian psyche works. In some ways I find them to be incredibly annoying and rude twits that I just want to hit, and then I meet some genuine and amazing people that renew my faith in the place. I have met more than enough travelers that have said that Egypt would be good without the Egyptians --- and at times I have found myself sharing this sentiment, however politically incorrect it may be. So many people here are incessantly pesky and seem to lack any sense of social boundaries or picking up on social cues that essentially say 'fuck off' --- a phrase I wish I knew in Arabic. Everyone here wants to get your money... and they will go to extreme lengths to do so. I could rand forever, but a few examples:

-After returning from Luxor to Cairo I went to Iskanderiyya (Alexandria - a lovely city that reminds me of Istanbul). My first night there I was wandering around alone, when a man appears on the side of the street to say hello (as EVERYONE tends to do, always to sell you something --- you just have to wade through them, say your obligatory hellos and 'canada dry's! and run away) and follows me asking questions. He invites me to tea, which I agree to since I had been looking for a tea anyways and having tea with these people is usually harmless as you can squirm away afterwards without buying anything. So we have a tea and a shisha overlooking the mediterranean, and he tries to sell me drugs. After I make it clear that I am not interested, he backs off, and we get into a pretty good conversation. He pays for everything and refuses to let me pay, and then says he will show me a cheap good restaurant (I had semi-asked, since I was getting hungry). I figure I will see the restaurant and then get away from him and go to my hotel before making my final dining decision. However once we get in front of the restaurant he motions me inside, to 'show me', the next thing I know we are seated and he is ordering food. I ask to see a menu to see the prices but he insists that I dont, since I will be given the tourist menu and he will get me the 'Egyptian Price'. I'm pretty tipped off by now that something fishy is going on, but we continue to have a good discussion (which is welcome, because travelling alone can be a bit lonely) and the food is good. Then the mate goes and talks to the waiter, disappears, and comes back. He proudly announces that if I was here alone the meal would be over 100 pounds, but since he is with me, I only have to pay 80. This is very expensive, and I tell him that I know this after being here for 3 weeks already (the meal was worth 50, tops). I tell him that I am disappointed and that he was being dishonest, and after a few minutes of awkward silence, the dude gets up, goes to the waiter, who gives him some money, and he dashes! I run to the window and see him burn down the street. A young Egyptian couple sitting at a table beside me ask if there is something wrong, I tell them I think I've just been slipped a fast one, and they say that yes, I have. 'You cannot trust anyone in Egypt.' says Adham, the young man, who I join to finish my meal. The couple is incredibly friendly, he is Christian, and his wife, Rihan, a Muslim, both smoke and drink and seem incredibly liberal; Adham is keenly interested in Egyptology, like myself, and we have a great conversation, and they promise to help me sort out my bill. I ask for it, and it comes as 93 pounds. The tally is in Arabic, so I get Adham to translate, and there is a beer that I didnt order plus an extra 30 pounds added on. I ask the waiter what this is and he says that "my friend" took 30 pounds from him and that I will cover it. I tell him hell no, and Adham explains this in Arabic. One thing leads to another, and I put down the money that I owe for the meal I ate and say I'm not paying any more. The waiter says this is a problem and I lose it and start yelling and swearing at him, I make such a scene that he finally just takes the money and leaves... Adham seems amused by this and says we should meet the next morning and go to the Alexandria Museum together. But the whole thing just left me so fired up. Rarely do I lose my temper and yell, but I was just so angry and felt so disrespected. I was ready to fly home that night, had it not been for the lucky meeting with Adham and his wife... It is really terrible being in a place where you actually cant trust anyone.

But the next day I met up with Adham, and spent 4 hours over beer and coffee in the evening with him and his wife... he even gave me some gifts. He wanted to meet the next day, and even arranged to take me to the bus when I left Alexandria... we met again and had a great time, and he wants me to return to Alexandria. 'Not everyone in Egypt is like the man from the other night.' Rihan reassures me. 'Most are, though.' Regardless, my faith in Egyptian hospitality is renewed.

And so things go, up at and down. I meet all kinds of bozos who just want my money or to make fun of me and don't want anything besides that, and meet an equal amount of people who just smile and say hi, or want to talk for a few minutes with no ulterior motives.

From Alexandria I took an overnight bus through the Western Desert to Siwa Oasis, 80 km from the Libyan border, and literally in the middle of nowhere. On this bus, which departed around midnight, the driver chose to crank his Quran tape. Immediately people started yelling in Arabic, and everyone on the bus started yelling at each other for about 5 minutes. It was madness. The fellow beside me, who spoke a little bit of english, explained that some people were complaining that the Quran was too loud, but the driver didnt want to turn it down. I was able to fall asleep to the over-reverbed Imam's singing as we cruised through the dunes in the moonlight...

There was once an Oracle in Siwa, and Alexander the Great marched his army across the desert so that he could consult it before he went off on his tour de force into the Far East. The Persian King Cambysees and enemy of Alexander sought to destroy the Oracle at Siwa and marched his army into the desert towards it, where the entire army disappeared. Today Siwa is an isolated location that is inhabited by Siwans, who speak a different language from Arabic and who don't see themselves as Egyptians. The Egyptian gov't wants to build an airstrip at Siwa to make it more accessible for tourists, and is sending in Egyptian laborers --- who, it was explained to me by a female British expat who has opened a cafe in Siwa, are all 'dishonest wolves'. The Siwans, on the other hand are 'honest and kind'. Siwa is gorgeous, and has lots of wicked hotsprings, and attracts a lot of hippies.

After Siwa I hired a vehicle to Bahariyya Oasis with a Canadian couple: a book reviewer for the Vancouver Sun and an ex-editor of the Vancouver Province, who quit because 'the newspaper industry is dead', and apparently the Province is leading the pack. I have been given some very interesting insight into how the paper industry works. His obsession with tracking down hotsprings is only topped by his love for beer --- which, since you coudn't get in Siwa, was driving him insane. They were good company for a 7 hour trip along a decomissioned road that has been covered by shifting sanddunes in the Great Sand Sea, a large desolate expanse of sand on the eastern edge of the Sahara. There is no regular vehicle transport along this route, one usually has to go back to Cairo to get to Bahariyya, but by taking the 4x4 we were able to get off the beaten path and see some very spectacular desert. In Bahariyya, we have booked an overnight trip into the White Desert for tomorrow, and this has come with a surreal experience with one of the most obnoxious and fuckheaded people I have encountered yet... which I will save for the next e-mail, since there are about 15 kids behind me wanting me to get off the computer so they can play Counterstrike.

I am behind in the e-mailing, since there is much more that I wanted to tell you about... so maybe expect another one sooner rather than later. But for now, I will leave you with this piece of information that I read in another traveler's guide book:

If you grease a donkey's asshole, it cannot generate the force required to make its loud eeee-haww baying noise. This way, Bedouins can sneak contraband on donkeys into Egypt across the Libyan border without worrying about a baying donkey giving their movement away to border patrols.

Anways, until next time, all the best,
Bryn