Uchesa

I'm getting ready to head back to Africa next month (yes, I have already started packing!) and I've been reflecting on highlights from past trips. One of the most important experiences for me on any trip, Africa or elsewhere, is time spent meeting and connecting with the local people . Even as I wrote that last sentence, one particular meeting immediately came to mind.

In October of 2008 I was in Tanzania exploring the bush, visiting camps and lodges, and game viewing with a dear friend who happens to be a top safari and trekking guide. We turned off the paved road at Karatu in the Ngorongoro Highlands and were headed towards Lake Eyasi, which skirts the Rift Valley Escarpment. This is one beautiful lake and the surroundings are nothing to sneeze at either - if you like being off the grid. Check. About an hour into the drive I knew this area would be one of the highlights of my trip: nearly impassable roads, red dust finer than powered sugar, a big 'ol Land Cruiser and lots of locals walking in the heat of the day. That's my kind of Africa.

We arrived and spent some time with the highly threatened (their land is being encroached upon and the hunter-gather lifestyle they lead is quickly disappearing) WaHadzabe people, which are relatives of the San bushmen of Botswana - you can see the similarities in the facial features and hear the click in their speech. While the Hadzabe interaction was interesting - we basically tried to keep up with the rather swift bushmen as they hunted small birds and creatures with bow and arrow - it was the next step of the journey that really caught me off guard.

Driving back towards our camp, Kisima Ngeda (one of my favorite spots in Tanzania), we stopped at a local Datoga blacksmith to learn about his craft and watch him make some jewelry. From there, w pulled into a Datoga boma that my friend had visited before, "they're really friendly and like having guests." My friend is Maasai and the Maasai and Datoga are distant relatives, but not always the best of friends. We jumped down from the Landy and were immediately greeted by two of the 8 wives of the boma. I was immediately struck by the stunning beauty of one of the wives. Her face was lined with delicate tattoos, ears stretched

and smile glowing. She reached out her hand and spoke in Swahili (my friend translating), "You've arrived finally." I thought for sure that my friend had somehow told the boma in advance that we were coming (you know, by email or Skype - ha!). I looked at him and he shrugged his shoulders - he didn't know what she meant and hadn't seen her before at the boma. I'm a bit of a sucker for omens and I took this to be one of the best kind. Uchesa, the beautiful Datoga lady, showed us around her home, taught me how to grind corn, dry gourds and wear the local jewelry. We spoke about many things - our families, our lives as women, Africa, America...I asked her about her tattoos and pierced ears and showed her mine. "They were most certainly in the wrong place," she said. Uchesa couldn't imagine why I'd have my tattoos on my back, hidden from view. The ear and nose piercings, those were right. We laughed. And laughed. Something clicked. There was a connection there that ignored tradition, culture, distance, borders drawn on maps. It was simply human.

As we walked back to the truck, Uchesa came with us and presented me with a necklace she had made. I was humbled. I didn't have anything to give. Sure I had some extra clothes - she stood proudly wearing her animal skins; I had a pair of sandals - her feet were bare; I had stupid trinkets for guides like key chains - no cars here. I stared at her and said I was sorry I had nothing to give her. She took my hand and said she was so happy to have me visit her today, just like I was meant to. Wow. Ok, that did me in. We took a few photos together, I promised to get them to her somehow and we drove away. Tears were streaming down my face and we rode in silence back to camp. I thought maybe it was just me. Being a bit affected, if you will. No, my friend reassured me. That was strange. Something had happened there. Something bigger than us. A connection had been made. I can't wait to be back in Africa. Just a few weeks now...

The Longest Time

This is the longest period of time I've been away from Africa, or really traveling at all, in quite some time. It's a weird feeling. Saying I'm bored certainly wouldn't be accurate - not nowadays with a Baby J and a busy schedule, but saying that I'm homesick might make more sense. I often don't realize how much I think of my second homes overseas, mainly Kenya and Guatemala, as places where I recharge and reconnect with who I am. Now I have a little person that I'm responsible for. I'm the one who gets to show him the World. This big, but small, scary, but kind world of ours. And I don't believe there's any other honor like that.

I'm hoping to get back to Africa this Fall, and Guatemala is slated for Spring. I think I can last that long...I hope. In the meantime, I'll reflect on what I've already experienced there.

One of the most poignant first impressions of Africa that comes to mind was a rainy afternoon in Nairobi in 1998. I was in Kenya with a university exchange program, and we were studying environmental biology - shuttling back and forth from the Kenya Wildlife Service office - in the days of Richard Leakey - to the university outside of Nairobi near Ongata Rongai. It was an El Nino year, and the rains that normally end in May had continued well into June and were really making a mess of the city. We'd spent the afternoon at another lecture and just as we were leaving to get into the bus, the sky opened. Thunder clapped and the rain pelted the skin. Immediately the roadside vendors covered their goods with plastic, and street hawkers held newspapers over their heads. The streets started to fill with chocolate milk-colored water and the black, African skin shimmered. I've always loved the rainbow-colored umbrellas that the African mamas use in both the sun and the rain. And this afternoon there where hundreds, probably thousands, lining the streets and sidewalks slowly snaking their way home to the dry safety of their houses. From inside the bus I watched, our windows fogging with steam, as Nairobi took a bath.

I don't know why this image is so clear in my mind. It must be something to do with an unexpected situation and real life combining into a mishmash of senses, colors and sounds. Isn't that what traveling always is for me?

Indiana, where are you?

I spent most of my time in Northern Ethiopia on the lookout for one of my childhood movie heroes - Indiana Jones. Seriously, given the surroundings Indiana had to be around somewhere: hand-hewn subterranean churches (makers unidentified, arguably the Templars who came came in search of the Ark of the Covenant), ruins of Queen Sheba's palace, lost island monasteries and stone castles of Moorish, Portuguese and Indian influence...

Ethiopia is pretty far off the beaten path when it comes to African travel. There just aren't many travelers there, and certainly not any "tourists." This is a good thing. The country practiced a highly isolationist policy (and often for good reason), but was also visited by European missionaries as early as the 5th century AD. Additionally the Ethiopians developed Ge'ez, a language still spoken today by the Orthodox priests, built monolithic churches, wrote the Kebra Negast (the nation's epic) and fought off the Italians. This is a region with approximately 3.2 million years of history buried beneath the surface: Lucy, the world's most complete and oldest hominid was discovered in 1974 in the northeast of Ethiopia. All this history in the Horn of Africa (I won't go into Eritrea since I didn't travel there, but let's not forget it, either).

Lalibela was truly a highlight of my adventure. The town was just recently wired with electricity and there are still problematic water shortages (read: a bucket of water in the hotel room for flushing the toilet, washing hands, etc.). Set at over 8,500 ft in elevation, the town is surrounded by breathtaking, red stone mountains where monasteries are hidden and accessible only by rope ladder. Otherworldly, eh?

I kept my feet on the ground on this trip, or mostly underground I should say, exploring the collection of 11 subterranean churches that have made Lalibela (formerly Roha) a famous pilgrimage point for years and years and years. And it still is. Priest practice their chants in Ge'ez, nuns sift grain in the porticoes and pilgrims pray in the churches...all as the awestuck travelers gaze on. The churches are generally thought to date to the 12th and 13th centuries, although there are several theories as to who carved them. Local legend claims that King Lalibela fled to Jerusalem to hide from his half-brother and was intrigued by the architecture there. He vowed to build a "second" holy city when he returned to Ethiopia. The local residents insist that angels help the human residents erect the churches...after seeing them first-hand it's not hard to see why some would need a more mystic explanation to how they were built. These churches are massive - one of them, Bet Medhane Alem is over 35 feet high (remember this is completely underground) and features 38 internal columns supporting a gabled roof. Far from simple architecture.

The second morning I was in Lalibela, a few of us ventured into the compound to witness and capture the churches at sunrise. I think this second entrance was even more powerful than the first. The light was amazing and there were no other Western travelers to be found (the previous day there had been two others besides my small group). Priests were gathered for their morning prayers and nuns were filing into the temples. It was like stepping back in time. The ancient churches, scent of frankincense burning and voices chanting in an nearly dead language can't help but pull at one's soul. The words seemingly rise into the air and disappear with the smoke from the incense. Candles glow and cast golden light on the aged, soft skin of the nuns who are folding in half and sinking into the layers of Persian rugs, bowing in reverence. I took a few pictures, after asking for the priest's approval (which he happily granted with a wide grin) and then stood to lose myself in a moment I could never relive.

All photos copyright Lyndsay L. Harshman

On a Rainy Summer Day

It's hard to blog during the summer in Seattle when the sun is shining and you can sit outside in the dusky light until 10pm...have you noticed? But this week the clouds rolled in and the rains came down like November. I've been reading and baking. The grocery store down the street from us is going out of business so everything in the store is for sale and cheap. We went down there for a flour run to make banana bread and found some cool cigar boxes for 50 cents (you are wondering where I am going with this). The boxes got me thinking about the most iconic cigar outpost in the World - Cuba. It's been nearly 10 years since I was there; some of the memories have faded like old photos with bent corners and others have remained clear and vibrant.

Cuba was magical. The ideas of what it's like in your mind are right - lost in time. Old cars lining the streets, crumbling Art Deco buildings and old men smoking cigars on the street. Havana is a mixture of old, really old, and new-ish development (Soviet Era funding) creating a mish-mash of a city. There's music coming from every corner and doorway - it's like living in Buena Vista Social Club - and women roll cigars in the old buildings overlooking the plazas. You can drink in Hemingway's old haunts and stroll the Malecon lined with young lovers gazing at the sea.

I think the best way to share my understanding and experience of Cuba is to quote a journal entry I wrote while on the island in January of 2000. I was certainly younger and more naive then, but my views were based on my experience there as a traveler and not a tourist and I think I hold to many of those beliefs today.

"Walking down the cobblestone streets reminded me of a land I felt once. It was far away and misunderstood. Abandoned and misrepresented. The people were soft and gentle and in no hurry. On almost every corner stood a police officer. He carried a billy club and wore a grin. A kiss on the cheek greeted you and left you. Hearts were pure and frustrated. The candy-colored buildings sagged and crumbled. But life was real. Alive. Everyone was healthy, children lived to be old and rum and rhythm ran in their blood. They didn't hate us. They opened their hearts and their doors to us. We saw their anger. We saw their struggles. Climbing a ladder without rungs, the brilliant people hung in a pitiful balance. The state controlled their pockets. They didn't know what freedom was. They were captured, but their hearts endured. The clean streets echoed salsa music not guns, the children ran free from drugs. The Revolution they spoke if with fondness but admitted the failure of the system because of human nature. Candid. Heart-wrenching. So many wonderful people, so many wonderful ideas, so many wonderful hearts lost in the last bastion of this wonderful dream of socialism. Cuba. A land that seemed to make so much sense, but didn't know how to make sense of itself. Walking down the cobblestone streets reminded me of a land I came to understand."

photos by Lyndsay Harshman

Time Travel and a Worthy Cause

Let's go to a place where time travel is real--the Galapagos Islands. It's been over 4 years since I was there, but the memories are fresh in my mind. I'd never (and still haven't) been anywhere like Darwin's Archipelago. There are quite a few places that I've been where time moves at a different speed, if at all: Cuba, for sure, Bahia in Northern Brazil, Saigon, Old Delhi, just to name a few. But the Galapagos are different. No where else on Earth can you see the products of the process of adaptation (Darwin would say evolution) and experience what the world would be like without the painful effects of pervasive human interference. For that matter, the Galapagos is unique in the fact that so few predators were present in the eco-system that the animals didn't develop fear of other living things--nothing really killed them (other than the elements). It's like stepping back in time and jumping forward all in one moment--time travel at its best.

The archipelago, made up of 13 main islands and over a hundred smaller islands and rock islets, lies over 600 miles off the coast of Ecuador and is bisected by the Equator. The islands sit atop the
Galapagos "hotspot" where the Earth's crust is being melted from below and magma rushes up, creating volcanic islands. The oldest islands are thought to be 5 to 10 million years old, while the
youngest, Isabela and Fernandina, are still being formed today. Unfortunately, I missed Fernandina's lava flowing by about 2 days. She'd quieted down by the time our yacht sailed past.

Days on the islands consist of hikes, paddling a kayak through mangroves and snorkeling with seal pups, reef sharks and penguins (yes, penguins on the Equator). The waters are the most vibrant turquoise I've ever seen. And the sea creatures are so curious that you'll find seal pups teaching you to do flips while you snorkel. On land, the wildlife seems surreal: blue footed boobies, the massive waved albatross, land iguanas and ancient tortoise - Lonesome George is the last surviving of a subspecies...no one knows how old he is. Cruising around the islands is the only means of transport and there is something magical about sailing through volcanic islands as you are followed by dolphins in the sea and frigate birds in the sky.

Before I headed out to the islands, I spent a few days on mainland Ecuador at a posh, fully-restored hacienda. While there, I met my fellow trip-mates who'd be continuing on to the islands with me. Luckily, with 15 days ahead of us, we hit it off and the family of four from the Bay Area ended up being the best travel companions I've ever had. That was 4 years ago and the Reich's are still our dear friends. We hiked, kayaked and wined and dined our way through that place where time does funny things. Now, years later Corey Reich (who swam with penguins), the oldest of the Reich kids, was diagnosed with ALS - Lou Gehrig's disease. He's 23 and very few people have been diagnosed this young. Research is promising, but it's a race against time. This is another case where I hope time does funny things.

Join us in supporting ALS research through ALS TDI and Corey's Crusade. The annual fundraiser is August 22nd and the goal is to hit $1 million. I don't ask friends to donate to things often, but this is a worthy cause if I've ever seen one.

En Guate

Nothing ever goes as planned, thank God, and neither has this trip! We were in Guatemala City for a few days - doing the things we`d hoped: Mercado Centro (where we DID find cacao beans, handmade leather sandals and some cool candles and candle holders), lunch at Hacienda Real (amazing lomito), National Ethnographic and Archeological Museum and, of course, Arturo`s photography exhibit. We were meant to stay in Guatemala City for another day before coming up to the Peten when Lore called to say there`d been a change of plans: we were going to her dad`s coffee finca high in the mountains about 4 hours outside of the city.

Pompeo (Lore`s dad) is a labor attorney and also, for about the last 25 years, a coffee farmer. Finca Kalibuz de Sierra is about 5,500 feet up in the cloud forest of the Sierra de las Minas. It`s one of the most beautiful places I`ve seen. Leaving El Rancho (a semi-arid climate) where we had great chicharrones and carnitas, we begin climbing into the pine forest, then cloud forest, passing small aldeas along the way. Since Lore`s dad has been driving this same route for decades the journey was filled with hilarious stories. My favorite: "That lady there was the town whore when she was young. She was a very smart woman and ran her small ´business` well. While I never visited her for her usual services, I figured out that if I befriended her she knew all of the town gossip and who was mad at who since she was sleeping with all of the finca owners. I avoided lots of potential problems with that information over the years!"

When we finally reached the finca (after nearly 2 hours on a REALLY bad dirt road that was cleared in the 1940s), the mist of the afternoon in the cloud forest was rolling in and we sat and enjoyed the view and some beers. Pompeo has the original farm house and a new hacienda that he`s building now. Scott and I stayed in the original farm house and Lore, Paco and Pompeo were in the new house. Lore fixed a great dinner and we stayed up late listening to Pompeo`s stories. After breakfast the next morning, we headed out on a hike through the forest and coffee and citrus groves. Crossing streams on small wooden bridges, surrounded by giant palms and colorful butterflies, we made our way through the forest and out into the coffee plants. The whole time Pompeo was explaining the history of the farm (it originally belonged to Lore`s maternal grandfather in the 1950s before he sold it and Pompeo bought it back many years later), the processes of growing and tending to the plants and telling funny antecdotes from his years on the farm.

The processing plant was actually quite impressive, with some of the finest coffee technology available. Guatemala was at the forefront of inventing and developing machinery to process coffee. While the coffee harvest and processing happened a few months back, it was still fascinating to see the machinery and learn the process of preparing and drying the beans.

That afternoon, we were treated to hen soup prepared by the farm manager´s wife. As Lore said, ´´two whole hens in here´´, and yes they were whol--minus the heads, feathers and feet! Then, Scott and I hiked up the road to a look out over the mountains and nearly 6,000 feet down to the Rio Honda. The finca was lost in time and such a special place. Not many travelers get to experience this way of life in Guatemala and I felt honored to be on the farm.

After a 5 1/2 hour drive (listening to the radio as the situation in Honduras escalated and the president was attempting to land on the car-blocked runway in Tegucigulpa--after circling several times they gave up), we reached Ni´Tun yesterday evening, took a dip in the lake, watched sunset and had dinner. As I´m typing now, a large flock of parakeets are singing in the trees and Nena is lying on her back on the floor trying to keep cool. It´s really hot and humid and we´ve decided to postpone our trek to Aguateca for a cooler time. For now, we´re headed into Flores for some shopping an drinks at Terrazzo. Then it´s home tomorrow. We´re already planning our next adventure here...pictures to follow soon.

Countdown to Guate!

I've started my countdown to Guatemala. I do this every time I go...usually three or four times a year. About a week before we leave (ok, maybe two) I start prepping myself by drinking a Zacapa rum nightly after dinner. Then, I pack--way too prematurely--and unpack. And pack. Then I start running errands for last-minute purchases like bug spray and hitting up all of the WaMu's for fresh, crisp, unworn, post-2004 US Dollar bills. Play some Feist and Silvio--inside story. Finally, I pull together my best jungle gear, city wear (Guatemala City reeks of the most current BoHo and European fashions, hard to believe, but it's true) and Theo Chocolates (my friends in Guatemala are in love).

This time we've got some fun and unusual stuff on the agenda. Our good friend, Arturo Godoy, is having his first major photography exhibit at Museo Miraflores in Guatemala City--we're scheduled for karaoke and drinks after--hmmm, sounds suspicious. Then, we're going to have a few days of exploring the city - National Museum, Central Market, Antigua, eating good food, shopping, listening to live music, before heading up to the Peten for a stay at Ni'Tun. We're going to head into the jungles to Aguateca - one of my favorite Maya sites in the region. It's precariously perched atop limestone cliffs and surrounded by a massive earthquake fault--the place can only be reached by boating through mangrove swamps. It's the stuff adventures are made of.

In the hopes that we'll find cacao beans at the Mercado Centro in Guatemala City, we're planning on roasting, peeling and grinding cacao beans and making the most delicious brownies on Earth--something we've done before and hope to God we can re-create.

There will probably be some time lying in the sun at the lake, eating Angelo's pasta at Las Orquideas, enjoying sundowners at Terrazzo and lots of cooking and drinking at Ni'Tun. That, and hanging out with our Guatemalan friends, is why we make the trek. Over and over.