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Visiting Friends in Copehagen

Viking History & More

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Castle Elsinor in Helsingor, the site of Shakespeare's "Hamlet"

November, known for gray skies and damp cold, is not the time most would pick to visit Scandinavia. However, I had friends in Copenhagen, Denmark, which supposedly has milder weather than is usual for this far north. Also, when you can fly free to Europe as an airline employee, you go when there will be open seats. And this usually translates to off season -- November in Europe is certainly that, if nothing else!

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View from the Rundetarn

I had not seen Casper and Ulla in three years -- since we hung out together in a national park in Swaziland, in southern Africa. We'd hit it off well and kept in touch via e-mail. Luckily, they were available during the time I had for this quick visit. So I set off, and it was a partly cloudy afternoon in Copenhagen when Casper picked me up at the airport. We headed downtown to start the sightseeing right away. After a short driving tour, we parked and began exploring the city's pedestrian-friendly streets on foot. Bicyclists whizzed by regularly, most fairly well bundled up against the chill air. The Danes are avid cyclists, and Casper explained many commute back and forth to work on their bikes. I imagined it'd be a bit rough in the winter, but Casper assured me it's a year-round thing.

We started on the Strøget, a busy, pedestrian only street in the "Old Town" part of Copenhagen. It was lined with shops and hopping with activity this afternoon. Buskers played their guitars and high school groups sang songs or sold baked goods to raise funds for overseas charities. Our destination was the Rundetårn -- a round, brick tower built in 1642 by King Christian IV. You climb it by an internal ramp rather than stairs. The ramp spirals round and round for 209 meters until coming out on top of a wonderful view of downtown Copenhagen. The red tile roofs stretch out on all sides, broken here and there by the weathered green of copper church spires. The sun broke through the clouds as we looked out over the scene, illuminating the autumn foliage with a blaze of reds, yellows and oranges. Casper pointed out the sights as I took photos.

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Houses in downtown Copenhagen

Next, we stolled towards the central square, dominated by the Rådhus, the 19th century town hall. We slipped inside the dark, Traditional buildings in Copenhagenbrick building,which serves as the mayor's office, and wandered its corridors and stairs. Casper got a kick out of the mayor's aid mistaking him for someone who was submitting an official petition. I told him it was his long, forked beard which made her think he was a radical! Darkness comes early to these northern climes, so Casper and I headed back to the car. We detoured by the school where he teaches for a brief visit, before heading to his apartment. Ulla owns a hand-made clothing shop, which is downstairs, attached to their second floor apartment. She was just closing up when we arrived. We got a chance to catch up for awhile, before heading back out to the local shopping mall, where Ulla had to run some errands. While she shopped, Casper led me to the electronics stores where he oggled big screen televisions. Then they took me to Casper's favorite restaurant downtown, and treated me to a steak dinner. We told stories about our travels over the intervening years. I was particularly interested in their journey up the coast from South Africa to Tanzania. They had been heading to Mozambique when I left them in South Africa, and their trip proved to be quite an adventure. After dinner, we returned to their apartment where they helped me plan out my own travels for the next day. They explained the public transportation system, which seamlessly blends metro, light rail, buses and intercity trains. We checked websites to verify opening hours and they gave me one of their trip passes to get me started on my journey the next day.

One thing I learned quickly the next day: Visitors should not even THINK about scamming Denmark's public transport system. Before you board a train (or metro or whatever), you punch your ticket the required number of times at an automated machine. This put a location and date/time stamp on it. Conductors come by and check tickets repeatedly. So, if someone thought to save "ticks" on their trip pass by not punching it at the station, they'd be caught and fined in short order. Not that I tried that, of course. I was a good little traveller and enjoyed the comfort and efficiency of the transportation. I think the only confusing part for a visitor would be deciphering how many zones a trip crossed, which decides the number of times you punch your ticket. I simply asked my friends in advance and remembered what they told me.

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Excavated Viking longship, in Viking Ship Museum, Roskilde

From light rail to train, my journey time from my friends' apartment to Roskilde, my first destination, was less than an hour. The nearby town was a capital of Denmark back in the Viking days. It sits on the edge of a long fjord that cuts through Zealand island, leading out to sea. Doubtless, the Vikings chose it for its excellent communication routes with both the sea and the farmland of the interior. And it was Vikings that I'd come to see in Roskilde -- or more specifically, Viking longships. An early Viking king had sunk five ships to block a channel that could be used as an invasion route to his capital. A couple decades ago, archeologists found those five ships and excavated them. The wood has been treated and re-assembled into five Viking age ships in the (aptly-named) Viking Ship Museum in Roskilde.

Walking alongside an actual Viking longship is an amazing experience. You peer down their length and see how long they actually were. Then you look inside, though, and imagine how cold, cramped and wet an overseas voyage in one of them would be. The museum also has two very interesting films shown in several languages, including English (nearly everyone in Denmark speaks English fluently). The first film details the finding, excavation and rebuilding of the five ships. Another covers the voyage of the Sea Stallion -- a modern longship reconstructed using techniques discovered during the excavation at Roskilde. In 2007-2008, the Sea Stallion sailed from Denmark to Ireland and back. You can go online and watch video clips covering the voyage at www.seastallion.dk. I highly recommend checking them out as they are excellently done.

Besides the Sea Stallion, nearly a dozen other modern reconstructions of Scandinavian vessesls are lined up outside the museum. These run the gamut from small fishing craft through larger medieval trading vessels to the 30 meter long Sea Stallion. During the summer, you can clamber around on them, or even pay for rides around the harbor. Sadly, in November, they were landbound and their tops covered with tarps. The museum was excellent, though, and a couple hours there sails by.

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Denmark's magnificent Domkirke in Roskilde

Next, I retraced my steps back to the town square to visit the Domkirke, Denmark's most magnificent cathedral. Its twin brick towers loom over the pretty town. They rise above the quaint, richly-colored homes and trees which line Roskilde's leafy side streets. A nice surpise was that photography (even with a flash) is freely allowed inside the cathedral. This seems to be the case for most attractions in Denmark. It is a welcome change from some European sites that prohibit photography for no apparent reason (other than to maybe sell more postcards?).

Most of Denmark's past royalty are buried in the cathedral, going all the way back to King Harald Bluetooth more than 1,000 years ago. I'd asked Casper at what point did Danes see themselves as no longer Vikings but merely Danish people. He pointed to the reign of Bluetooth as the turning point. It was also when the Danes become at least nominally Christian. Six centuries after that, Denmark's most prolific builder-king, Christian IV, dug up Bluetooth and moved him inside the newly-built Domkirke. From that point on, most royals are buried here, including Christian IV, who lies in a stylish silver and black casket in a side chapel. The renaissance era church is quite ornate, and features a number of different styles of chapels, from light and airy, to colorfully bedecked with frescoes and multi-colored marble. I wandered around it, examining the chapels, the intricately carved wooden choir seats, the gilded, gold altar screen, and more.

I spent so much time in Roskilde that I suddenly realized I was shorting my next destination. I zipped back to Copenhagen and changed trains for Helsingor, another oceanside town. This one lies on the northern tip of Zealand island. Helsingor has three main claims to fame. It is a ferry port to Sweden, where hordes of commuters or day trippers cross. Casper said most are Swedes, coming to Denmark to buy its lower priced alcohol. He joked that if I ran into a group of Swedes in town, chances are they'd be drunk! Helsingor is also known for its medieval streets. Many are pedestrian only, and are lined with churches, monasteries and other centuries old buildings.

I had come for the town's third claim to fame, though: Elsinore Castle. This massive, brick-walled fortification had been built and enlarged by a succession of Danish kings, chiefly to levy tolls on passing ships. It had been fought over and sacked more than once, but still stands impressively today, on a spit of land jutting out into the sea. Elsinore Castle is encircld by a network of moats, earth embankments and brick walls, as it was constructed during the gunpowder age. Many attractions close early in Denmark in November, so I had only an abbreviated visit within the castle itself. However, two concentric pathways ring the castle, and these are open all day long. So, I was able to trace the castle's wind-swept outer fortifications at my lesiure, and admire its commanding position. Placards every 50 yards or so doled out tidbits of history about Elsinore in both Danish and English. Elsinore has also become a pilgrimage of sorts for fans of William Shakespeare. The bard used Elsinore as the setting for Hamlet. His account of Danish prince Amlud is fictional, of course. However, that doesn't keep fans from flocking there to gaze at its walls and ask the eternal question: "To be, not to be?"

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Castle Elsinor in Helsingor, Denmark

After my visit, I wandered Helsingor's scenic streets, ducking into an attractive, red brick monastery. Eventually, it grew dark, though. I bundled up against the evening's chill and hurried to the train station. Service to Copenhagen runs several times an hour, and I caught the next one. I arrived back at my friends' apartment just as Ulla was closing up shop, again. They were eager to here about my sightseeing. We enjoyed a some Tuborg beers as we talked about the day's events.

I awoke to the sound of rain on the windows the next morning. I hadn't been 100% sure to do that morning, but the rain decided it: My last day would be a "museum day." I was meeting Casper at 1 pm at Christianborg Palace. There were a couple museums I'd considered squeezing in before that, but when I walked through the doors of the National Museum, I realized it would be only one. The collections were simply too sprawling and too extensive and interesting to cut short. I chose to concentrate on the Danish Prehistory and Medieval Denmark wings. The exhibits have descriptions in Danish and English, and are often wonderfully atmospheric in their use of lighting, music and sound effects. My favorite single piece was a massive silver bowl, carved and stamped inside and out with intricate figures of animals, men and gods. The detail was tremendous. I recognzied definite Celtic influence, and the placard indicated there were Thracian (an ancient Balkan people) artistry, as well. More Celtic design was on display in the form of thick gold neck rings called torcs, and bronze helmets with large spiraling horns sprouting from their sides. Note that the Vikings did NOT wear horned helmets (sorry, Hagar the Horrible), but the Gauls did -- at least for ceremonial occaisons.

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Silver Bowl in the National Museum in Copenhagen

The bog burials were evocative, too. One moodily lit room contained the wooden skeleton of a 30 foot long boat that had been used by a Danish chieftain to raid a neighbor's territory. Archeologists had pieced together the story of the battle, as victorious warlords often dumped spoils of battle in nearby bogs as a thanks to the gods. The shields, weapons and broken up longboat attested to a victory by the defenders. It was amazing looking at the invaders' equipment and realizing the defenders' devotion would make them throw valuable swords into the waters. Bodies were sometimes sacrificed in bogs, as well. The museum displayed the grisly relics of men and women ceremonially killed to please Wotan or Thor. Like at Roskilde, photography is allowed in the National Museum, and I took quite a few photographys of its amazing relics from Denmark's viking days and before.

Checking my watch, I hurried through rainy streets to meet Casper. He had wanted to join me when I visted the Ruins Under Christianborg -- a relatively new attraction in Copenhagen. It delves underground and explores the foundations of the castles and palaces that have been built upon this central site. I was surprised to find how much of the earlier fortifications were still in existance. Christianborg Palace is the official seat of the Danish government, but surely must be an unlucky spot for a building. The first two castles built here were stormed and sacked by enemies. After the third was torn down during the renaissance era to be replaced by a more opulent palace, the misfortune continued. The first two palaces burnt down when fires started inside and raged out of control. Each time, the plucky Danes have rebuilt on the spot. The exhibits underneath the palace feature relics of all the previous buildings and accounts of their history. Although not visually spectacular, the ruins were interesting and well worth the hour or so we spent below ground exploring its caverns.

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Misty view of downtown Copenhagen

It was still raining when Casper and I emerged above ground. We decided to stroll through Christianshaven, a commune of sorts in dowtown Copenhagen. An abandoned military base during the "Hippie era," squatters moved in and began living in huts and setting up their own communal government. Through the years, the Danish government has cracked down on the oasis of drugs and free love (and rent!), which Casper said usually leads to riots and the government backing down. Some of the homes are little more than shacks, with no heat, running water or electricity. Others are amazingly designed with skylights and all the amenities. Nearly every wall surface, though, is plastered with colorful graffiti -- usually including a "No Photography" symbol. Casper surreptitiously pointed out the Hash dealers and the equally undercover watchmen who would sound the alarm if police began nosing around. For an experiement in freedom, it seemed a place with a remarkable degree of fear or complusion in the air: Casper said that people are pressured not to shout or make loud noises in Christianshaven. He did so once by mistake when he saw a friend from afar and was chewed out for it by those nearby. He also said that some of the dogs that roam the community have been trained to attack anyone who yells, under the thinking that it would be police who would do that during a raid, not the residents who know better. As for me, give me our western rules, culture and amenities over this type of "freedom" any day!

As the rain had finally let up, we walked around a bit more, getting a chance to photography a misty and moody Copenhagen. We ducked inside a cafe for a beer when we got tired of wandering. More beer was in the offing later that evening, though, as Casper had promised to take me to his favorite bar. The occaison was the countrywide release of the seasonal "Christmas beer" by various Danish breweries and microbreweries. Much to my relief, the winter ale at Casper's bar was not a spiced ale, though many Christmas beers often are. Ulla couldn't join us, though, as she had sewing to do for the shop. So, Casper and I wound up my trip swapping stories and sampling good beer. We didn't have to worry about drinking and driving, either. We'd utilized the metro to get home, which is another nice thing about Copenhagen.

All in all, Denmark is an extremely convenient place to visit. The people are attractive, friendly and speak English to a nearly uniform degree. There are lots of interesting things to see, even if you visit during the windswept, chilly days of November.

Posted by world_wide_mike 19:18 Archived in Denmark Comments (0)

Three Day Break in Aruba

Beats scraping snow off my car windshield...!

sunny 90 °F

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My rented mountain bike and a beautiful cove in Aruba

I remember scraping snow off the windshield of my car, yesterday evening in Columbus. My shoulders hunched involuntarily at the memory. As I stepped outside the airport, the golden afternoon sunlight and Aruba's 90 degree heat washed over me. My shoulders uncoiled like a sigh. Unfortunately, there wouldn't be much time to relax: I was in Aruba for only two days. Two days! Who goes to Aruba for only two days? Well, the answer was really quite simple. My airline job meant the flights were free. I had to be back at work in three days. And there were interesting things I could squeeze in during a short time in Aruba.

First, I needed a place to stay. My trip was so last minute that I had made no reservations. I asked another employee which Aruban hotels offered us discounts, and she gave me a couple names. I was directed across the street to DePalma tours, where two men graciously called around and found me the cheapest room. I'd read the hotels on the island were notoriously expensive, but at $85, my room at The Mill Resort and Suites was a relative steal. It had its own balcony and jacuzzi, and was much nicer than places I usually end up staying.

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Young girls in traditional dress performing Aruban dances

After unpacking, I caught the bus which runs from the hotel districts on Eagle and Palm beaches into downtown Oranjestad. The Fort Zoutman cultural show was scheduled to start shortly. It is held every Tuesday evening inside the walls of the 19th century Dutch fort near the center of downtown. Conveniently enough, I'd arrived on a Tuesday! The show began with the harsh jangling music of a "Tingilingi Box," or crank organ. Made locally of brass cylinders and nails, these organs are cranked by the musician and create a musically frightful racket that apparently is enjoyed by the islanders. The show's emcee ran through his recycled jokes before introducing several troupes of traditional dancers -- various ages of children from very young to teenagers. Their costumes and dances were enjoyable, at first, but the show started to drag towards the end of its two hours. I skipped out early to wander the waterfront, checking out the anchored cruise ships which were lit up like Christmas trees.

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View of Hooiberg, or Haystack Hill, in Aruba

I nosed around, looking for a likely restaurant for dinner. I settled on Iguana Joe's, and had a Caribbean Jerk Chicken sandwich while I watched the strollers and traffic on the main street below me. I toyed with the idea of playing some blackjack at one of the casinos. Aruba is best known for its beaches, and second best known for its casinos. With only two days, though, I didn't plan on sampling either. So, I headed back to the hotel, snagged a beer at the bar, and took it up to my room. I eased myself into the steamy water of my jacuzzi and read my book. I was to be up before daylight to maximize my sightseeing the next day. So, I made sure I was good and relaxed, so that I could fall right to sleep.

While it was dark and quiet outside, I woke up, showered, and checked out of my hotel, leaving my backpack for them to hold for my return. I took the early bus into Oranjestad and transferred to one headed to inland Santa Cruz. I asked the driver to drop me off at the closest point to the Hooiberg, or "Haytack Hill," the second highest point on the island. Naturally, the pathway up the hill ended up being on the opposite side from the main road. I found my way to it, though, with only one wrong turn and two barking dogs. It was getting lighter as I approached the hill. The terrain looked quite a bit like the Arizona desert -- lots of cacti and large boulders. Aruba is an arid island, so don't expect jungle when you come here! I found the path leading up Hooiberg, and its nearly 600 concrete steps. I'd timed my visit perfectly. The sun was just breaking free of the clouds that hung low on the horizon. Even though it was morning, the humid air and steep climb soon had me dripping with sweat. My "Travelpunk.com" T-shirt was soaked by the time I made it to the top. The view was great. You could see both the north and south coasts of Aruba from Hooiberg's summit. I took some photos, drank some water, and caught my breath, enjoying the panorama.

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View from atop Hooiberg Hill, second highest point in Aruba

I then broke out my maps (neither of which were very good) and tried to decipher the spiderwork of roads I could see spread out beneath me. There had to be a quicker way to the town of Santa Cruz than walking back the way I'd came and waiting for another bus. By matching the shapes of the roadways on my maps with what I saw below me, I thought I could identify Santa Cruz -- not far away at all. I could see a church with a bell tower, and my map showed a church in Santa Cruz. I picked out landmarks, and started down the hill. I hadn't gone very far when I heard some movement in the underbrush to my left. I peered through the foliage and saw a strange little herd of mountain goats. Instead of being conical, their horns curled downwards and flattened out like tortillas. I took some pictures, but the lighting was still pretty dim, and they were skittish. My presence must have spooked them.

I continued on down, meeting two Jamaican guys at the bottom, who were getting ready to climb up. They were stretching out, as if they were getting ready for a run. So, I asked them, incredulously, if they ran up the hill. "Yah, mon," one replied, "Tis good for de body." I was impressed. I run 4 miles every other day, but couldn't imagine hoofing it up that hill! Five minutes later, though, when I turned around to take a picture of the hill, I saw them walking up its steps -- not running. Must have been the language barrier!

As it turned out, the church wasn't Santa Cruz, but that of a much smaller village. So, I had to keep walking down the road for another half hour till I found the town. Along the way, I befriended a dog, who I shared my breakfast with. Luckily, he didn't follow me all the way to Santa Cruz, giving up when the food supply seemed to run low. Despite its small town status on a small island, Santa Cruz is in the big leagues when it comes to fast food. It had a McDonalds, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Taco Bell and a Subway. This would prove vitally important later in the day! I found the place that rented bicycles, Tri Bike Santa Cruz, arriving 15 minutes before they opened. More good timing!

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Scenery from my bike ride to Arikok National Park

A short time later, I was heading off on two wheels towards Arikok National Park. I really wasn't sure how long it would take to get to Fontein Cave, which was my main destination for the day. More than 600 years ago, indigenous Arawak Indians had created paintings on the cave's ceiling and walls. They in are plainly visible today, and you can walk around the bat-haunted cave and view them at your leisure. I tried to follow the bike shop owner's directions, but made a mess of it, I think. Nevertheless, after about 20 minutes of pedaling, I arrived at the main entrance to the park. I stopped at the booth manned by an old Dutch guy, thinking there'd be an entrance fee. He told me that the road was closed, and I'd have to take an alternative trail there. He gave me directions, and soon the blacktop ended and I was on a mountain bike trail. I guess that wasn't all bad, as I had rented a mountain bike. And I'd always wanted to try mountain biking. However, riding over a rocky, dirt and gravel path is a lot slower -- and more importantly for my novice buns -- bumpier than going over blacktop! The pounding of the trail on my butt steadily got worse. The road climbed higher and higher. A couple of times, I admit I had to get off and walk the bike up the steepest portions. Eventually, I reached the turnoff which would take me to Mt. Jamanota, the highest point on the island. I stayed left and began to head downhill towards the sea and the cave. When the road bounced through an old quarry, I felt I'd been strapped to a jackhammer. People do this for pleasure...?

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Fontein Cave, decorated with paintings made by Arawak Indians

Finally, after an hour of exhausting pedaling, I reached the sea. The sand which began to show up in the pathway made it much smoother and I zipped along until I came to a snack bar just before the cave. I got off my medeival torture device and waddled up for a cold drink. I overpaid for a Gatoraid (on ice!), but my body told my head is well worth it. After ducking into the souvenir shop and finding nothing of interest, I saddled back up and rode another few hundred yards to Fontein Cave. Although there were three attendants, nobody approached me to solicit their services as a guide (which suprised me). However, one peaked in after I'd been inside a few minutes and pointed out I'd gone past the paintings. Sure enough, my guidebook's description had been a bit off. The paintings were only about 10 yards inside the entrance to the cave -- not 50, like it said! It was humid inside, and stalagtites and stalagmites divided the cave into a number of chambers. Bats fluttered past me as I explored the dim interior. Interestingly, the sign Interior of Fontein Caveat the entrance said "No flashlights," but you were able to take flash photographs. Hmmn. After I'd poked around in the recesses with my contraband flashlight, I returned to examine the Indian paintings. They reminded me a lot of what I'd seen in Sedona, Arizona, awhile back. They were mostly of various abstract symbols and designs, painted in a deep red color. Once your eyes got used to the lighting, you saw them on most of the ceiling surfaces in that chamber. I took a number of pictures, feeling guilty the times I used the flash (but the attendant had told me it was okay!).

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Paintings, 600 years old, on the ceiling and walls of the cave

As I was leaving, three jeeps bounced up the road to the cave, and a few loads of tourists poured out. My timing again had been good. I'd had the cave to myself during my visit. I saw them look at me, as I put my helmet and gear back on. I could see them thinking, "He's biking...in this heat...and in this terrain?" As I rode off, I was thinking, "I'm biking in this heat, and in this terrain...?" I pedaled over to the ocean shore, where steps led down to a really cool cove. If I'd brought my bathing suit on the bike ride, I'd have been seriously tempted by the beautiful, blue water -- despite the "No Swimming -- Undertow" sign. Aruba's sand is amazingly white, and its water crystal clear. One day, it might be a good idea to come back here to actually go to the beach like a normal person!

The ride back was a notch above grueling, and one beneath torture. Okay, maybe TWO notches below torture. I did finally figure out the gear system on the bike, though. The 1-2-3 on my left handlebar combined with the 1-8 on the right to create 24 gears (or something like that). Clicking it down to the lowest settings, I was actually able to pedal uphill most of the way, stopping only a couple times. On the trip out, I'd had the left gear set on "2," which meant I had been using the middle gears. I think. As I neared the end of the trail back to Santa Cruz, any thoughts of going on to check out other sights had been bounced out of my system. I'd thought about visiting Ayo or Casibari Rocks after the cave. They supposedly were very scenic and unusual rock formations with an 600 year old paintings on ceiling of Fontein Cave in Arikok National Park, Arubaexcellent view of the countryside. I'd figured since it felt like I'd sat on a rock for the last two hours, I didn't need to go look at one. As I pedaled into town, I was just one notch below whining. I was happy to see the "Tri Bike" sign and be able to turn in my metal monster.

Honestly, the scenery had been wonderful, and it was great to be out enjoying it (especially considering there was snow on the ground back home!). I simply have a new respect for mountain bikers after the experience. The cave paintings were cool, like I'd expected, and the cove had been a nice little bonus. It was time for food, though, and I limped down Santa Cruz's main street. I picked Subway from among the American fast food joints for its free refills on drinks. I figure I needed all the rehydration I could get after the ride. Then I caught the bus back to town and the hotel strip. The Mill Suites and Resort had very kindly said I could use a courtesy room to shower up and change after my day of sightseeing, at no charge. I did that, and as I was dressing, the phone in the room rang. The shuttle bus to the airport was there -- more good timing! I hurriedly tossed things into my backpack and was soon on my way to the airport.

Aruba had been a pleasant two day idyll. I'd seen some nice scenery, enjoyed some warm weather, and learned to avoid mountain bikes like a Hammerhead shark. My body was sore, but I figured it was better than scraping ice of windows back in Columbus!

Posted by world_wide_mike 18:06 Archived in Aruba Comments (0)

To Timbuktu and Back

Adventures in Mali

sunny 90 °F

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Ancient Tellem cliff dwellings in Dogon Country, Mali

The discomfort of long miles on rutted dirt roads persists in my memories of Mali, much as its fine red dust colors my shoes and clothes. As we drove for hours in our rented Toyota Land Cruiser, my legs would begin to stiffen. Sitting in the cramped back seat, my knees would throb as the journeys stretched to six hours. We left long plumes of that red dust in our wake, during our week in Mali: East from the capital, Bamako, to the river town of Mopti; North into the Sahara, to historic Timbuktu; South to the pink cliffs of Dogon country; Finally, retracing our trail back westward, past Djenne's beautiful, mud brick mosque.

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Tombori Mountains along road to Timbuktu

My friend Steve and I had hired a car, guide and driver for our sightseeing. It cost us way more than I'd guessed it would. Though poor, Mali is a relatively expensive country to visit. Rental car companies, for example, insist you hire a driver as well -- especially when undertaking the grueling trek to Timbuktu. Neither of us wanted a guide, but since drivers as a rule don't speak English in Mali (they'd "move up" to being guides if they did) -- and neither of us were comfortable with our limited French -- we gave in. We ended up arranging our "program," as Malians like to call it, at our hotel in Bamako on the night we arrived. The Tamana Hotel has an inhouse tour company, Tamana Adventures, that set it all up for us, costing each of us over $1,000, including most of our lodging, meals and bottled water. There was a chance that Steve might be able to get the car rental portion reimbursed through work, so it might end up being a tad cheaper for us in the long run.

In our pre-trip research we'd agreed there were three sights we couldn't miss in Mali:

· Timbuktu
· Dogon country
· Djenne

Unfortunately, all three of these are miles and miles from the unexciting Bamako, where international flights arrive. We'd lose pretty much a whole day on each end of our journey, going to and from Bamako. What's more, Timbuktu is yet another full day's drive north. With only six days of actual sightseeing, that meant four would feature long travel days. Normally, I balk at spending so much time in transit. However, there really didn't seem to be another way to see all three, and we couldn't imagine missing any of them.

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Donkeys laying in the road to Timbuktu

So, Steve and I "sucked it up" both monetarily and physically, and became road warriors in Mali. We lost a good bit of time on our first morning at the banks obtaining local currency. Tamana Adventures did not take credit cards. In fact, we never encountered a single place that did in the entire country. I'd brought along $500 cash, since I'd heard ATMs there can be tricky. Steve had no problem with his cards, but I couldn't get the machines to take either of my three. I had to physically go into a bank and get them to give me a cash advance using my card. The moral here: Bring whatever cash you may need for Mali -- don't depend on getting it from ATMs!

Our plan had been to stop off in Djenne on that first day, ending the night in Mopti. It quickly became apparent, though, that we'd lost too much time in the capital that morning. Our driver, Samba, tried to make up time -- putting the pedal to the metal as often as possible. The constant stream of people, goats, donkeys and cows crossing the road slowed our pace. Goats seem to be Mali's answer to our deer in the Midwest. They will leap out in front of your car from the safety of bushes along the roadside. You can almost see it in their baffled expressions: "My friends are on the other side -- I HAVE to get over there!" Samba had to stop time and again to avoid hitting stupid goats, otherwise meat would have been on the village menu that evening!

Postponing Djenne for the return trip, we made it to Mopti as darkness fell. There was no time for sightseeing. Instead, we grabbed dinner and spent some time at the hotel's internet cafe. This would end up being the last internet we found until our final night of the trip. Over beers, Steve and I sat out in the hotel's courtyard, catching up on each other's travels. We hadn't seen each other since meeting in Syria in 2005, but had kept in touch by e-mail -- always swearing we'd do a trip together one of these days. His posting to Nigeria in the British foreign service made Africa an obvious choice. Mali was high on both of our lists of places we wanted to see, and since his wife isn't thrilled about travel within Africa, we'd finally arranged our trip together.

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Sankore Mosque, Timbuktu

Timbuktu was one of the major lures that brought us to Mali. During the medieval era, the Saharan market town became extremely wealthy -- rumored among Europeans to be a city of gold. It cashed in on its location as a meeting point for camel caravans criss-crossing North Africa and the goods of sub-Saharan Africa brought up on the nearby Niger river. Wealth and fame followed, which led to it also becoming a haven for Islamic scholars. Thousands of manuscripts filled its homes and libraries. The town's fame lingered for centuries, long after it fell from actual importance and power. Many 19th century European explorers died trying to be the first to visit and return from Timbuktu. Those who did reach it were disappointed to find the legendary city sunk back into a sleepy desert town, with buildings of crumbling mud brick rather than gold. Its monopoly on trade was long gone, but the mystery of its name continued to draw visitors. In a way, this aura continues to this day. Timbuktu's fame is what had Steve and I rattling around in the back of a 4x4, watching as the road deteriorated from packed dirt to sand. Outside the windows, the vegetation grew sparser as we entered the fringes of the Sahara.

Mali has many ethnic groups, and it is the Tuareg that dominate Timbuktu and the north. Most groups coexist peacefully, each with their own role in the nation: The Bambara are its most numerous, and hold political power; The Fulani herd most of the nation's cattle; The Bozos (I chuckle at the name every time, too) are its best fishermen. However, the desert Tuareg are Mali's problem children. Upon Mali's independence, they felt disenfranchised. This broke into open rebellion in the early 1990s until a peace treaty was signed in 1995. This is observed by most Tuareg, but scattered groups still launch attacks on army bases, raid villages or rob wayfarers to the far north at gunpoint. As recently as a month before our visit, Tuareg "rebels" attacked an army base in the far north. Others kidnapped four Western tourists driving through the Sahara to a music

festival. I asked our guide, Sidibi, about the political situation. His opinion is that much of the dissent is bankrolled by Libya's Muammar Gaddafi, who profits by northern Mali (and the oil reserves that stretch underneath both countries) being undeveloped. Neither Steve nor I were worried, though. The incidents have all happened in the north of Mali, days away from where we'd be.

It was mid-afternoon when we finally arrived at the ferry across the Niger river. Since Timbuktu was only 10 miles or so beyond the ferry, we should have a few hours of daylight to explore the town. However, the ferry operated on the "leaves when full" principle so common in the Middle East and Africa. So far, it was just our vehicle and one other occupying the four spots on board. After 45 minutes of waiting, I decided to investigate. The cost for each vehicle was 5,000 CFAs -- about $10. This meant only an additional $20 stood between us and our goal of Timbuktu. I told Sidibi to tell the ferry captain that I would pay for the two empty spots, and we were soon moving. It just seemed silly to me to invest all that money to visit Mali, then be stingy on less than what I'd spend on dinner and a movie back home.

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Mosque along the road to Dogon Country

Once across, we drove into town and were soon checked into the Hotel Bouctou. We unloaded, then set out on foot to explore Timbuktu. As my sandaled feet felt the dust and sand of the fabled town's streets, I began to feel a bit like Rene Caillie, the Frenchman who was the first Westerner to return alive from Timbuktu. He found the town's glory faded and was depressed by its drab appearance. Steve and I had expected a sleepy town of perhaps crumbling monuments. The squalor and filth that choked the streets repulsed me, though. With only a little bit of effort and civic pride, Timbuktu could be an atmospheric relic of the Middle Ages. However, garbage lay strewn about everywhere, and dead animals rotted untouched for days by the listless inhabitants. Although Tuaregs predominate in Timbuktu, there is a distinct mix of ethnic groups in town. So, perhaps it is too harsh to blame them solely for poor upkeep of what could be an economic and cultural magnet for this part of Mali. The West has poured money into here -- like it has all of Mali. It seems you can't drive 15 minutes on the roads without seeing a sign proclaiming a cooperative between Mali and the European Union, France, Japan, Luxembourg or some other "first world" nation. The West certainly has not turned a blind eye to Mali's -- and Timbuktu's -- poverty. However, it is my opinion that citizens need to put aside nepotism and avarice at a certain point, and pull themselves up. They must sweat now for the future of themselves and their children. Timbuktu shows no signs of that spirit.

The town's grand sight, the Djingareyber Mosque, is mostly encased in scaffolding and off limits to visitors -- though we saw no work being done. The Library housing some of its famous, historic manuscripts showed evidence of foreign dollars, with a half dozen medieval books in a glass display case. Stacks of others moldered in a wooden cabinet running the length of one wall. The western-installed climate control system lay idle -- not running for want of spending money on power. Sidibi and one of his friends guided Steve and I through the streets of Timbuktu. Each dingy alley, each open trash dump of a field -- with children and goats poking through it -- further deflated the image of the fabled market town in our eyes. I left the next morning convinced that only committed history buffs who need to say they've "been to Timbuktu" should visit. Otherwise, travelers should point their caravan elsewhere, as markets have done likewise in the intervening centuries.

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Market day in Bamba, Dogon Country[

We were lucky and snagged the last spot on the morning ferry across the Niger. Once across, we drove south, back across the demanding roads until we reached Douentza, where the blacktopped main road meets the dirt and sand one from Timbuktu. We had lunch there while sharp-eyed Samba went to repair a leak he'd spotted on our Land Cruiser. More than two hours later, the gasket replaced, we were bouncing further southward into Dogon country. The road was even worse than the Timbuktu one, and only one lane wide. This vexed Samba, as we met a constant stream of donkey carts heading the other way who didn't want to yield. Steve and I could tell mild-mannered Samba was getting exasperated. The late afternoon sunlight was slanting low from the west when we reached our first Dogon town, Bamba. Built in the plains at the base of the Falaise -- an escarpment or line of cliffs that runs northwest through Dogon country -- Bamba was bursting at the seams with activity. Today was market day.

We followed Sidibi into the colorful crowd of Dogon, Fulani, Songhai and others, as they sat behind wooden stalls or blankets heaped with their fruits, vegetables, dried fish, clothes or other wares. People pressed around us on all sides -- none closer or more persistent than the ever-present Malian children. Some merely wanted to greet us with a cheery "Ca va?" (How's it going?). Others begged for "cadeaux" (tips), water bottles or ball point pens. I would like to swat the idiot traveler who popularized the idea of passing out pens to the children of third world countries. Even if you brought an entire suitcase full of them, they'd be gone in your first or second village. More importantly, you are teaching them to beg (and pester) tourists. More than one Westerner has returned from Africa checking the mirror to see if they really do look like an ATM machine. To me, the children were so cloying and intrusive that I felt it prevented me from fully experiencing the market. On the other hand, Steve (with a family of four kids), was charmed by them. Which was fine and dandy with me, as I did my best to slough them off on him throughout the trip!

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Dogon village of Yendouma

Sidibi kept up a running explanation of various goods for sale, all the while handing out kola nut gifts to the village elders he met. Some villagers had no problem with being photographed, while others reacted angrily to the camera. My gaze kept wandering from the colorfully dressed throngs to the Dogon houses that loomed above the market, climbing the slopes of the hillside towards the cliffs. This was my first sight of the photogenic Dogon villages with their mud brick buildings and thatched "witch's hat" roofs. An animist people among Mali's mostly Muslim population, the Dogon were pushed to the cliffs in the 1400s by other groups. The Dogon themselves shouldered aside the Tellem living there, who the Dogon refer to as a "pygmy" people. They had built villages high on the cliffs like the Pueblo buildings in the American southwest. The Dogon culture survived into the modern era partly due to its isolation and inaccessibility of its villages on the cliffs. In the last century, Dogon have begun to build houses further down the slopes or even onto the plains, as slave raiding and other dangers disappeared. The ones highest up on the cliffs are being abandoned or left to the elderly, as the young choose not to haul water and food up the rocky paths so high each day.

After our sensory rich visit to Bamba's market, we drove to the village of Yendouma, where we'd spend the night. It is another village on the slopes that is gradually creeping down each year. Our "hotel" for the night proved quite a shock to Steve and I. Sidibi said most tourists simply grab a mattress and sleep in the open air on the dusty rooftops. The alternative was an airless, windowless cell with a stone shelf for mattresses. He showed us the shower -- a five gallon bucket of water with a ladle. The bathroom was next door, a room with a hole in the stone floor, swarming with flies. I'd read that accommodations in Dogon were very basic, but I'd pictured more than essentially camping on the roof of a building! Steve and I prevailed upon them to set up tents on the rooftops and sweep a bit of the dust and rocks into one corner. The idea of sacking out in the open, as much as mosquitos love me, was just about unthinkable. I'd wake up as one big "mozzie" bite!

Mollified a bit by the tents, we ate dinner by flashlight on the rooftop. Sidibi asked if we wanted beers, which would be warm since there was no electricity. We said sure, why not? As I took a sip of my beer, looking out at the stars that began to fill the night sky, it suddenly dawned on me: Today was my birthday! We toasted my turning 46 while we looked out over the village campfires, listening to the sounds of the people, their goats and the outrageously loud braying of their donkeys. I mused there were worse ways to spend your 46th birthday than waking up in Timbuktu and going to bed underneath brilliant stars in Dogon country. As it was, those romantic sounding goats and donkeys, combined with the uncomfortable tent, meant it was a mostly sleepless night for me. I've never loved camping, and I certainly hadn't packed (or mentally prepared) for it!

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View from cliffs on our first day of hiking in Dogon Country

As much as we hadn't anticipated our Dogon hotel, we were eager for our Dogon hiking. We started early before the heat of the day could catch up with us. Following a path, we criss-crossed back and forth, uphill towards the looming cliffs. Looking back down, the views across the valley were sweeping. The pale red earth shone in the morning sun, contrasting with the yellow-orange gleam of the sandstone cliffs above. Here and there, patches of green vegetation marked the fields and scrub brush. Giant baobob trees stood like gnarled sentinels guarding the path. Sidibi broke open one of the baobob's gourd-like fruits, letting us taste the chalky, white fruit inside. It was surprisingly sweet, the white substance slowly dissolving in your mouth until you had only a dark seed, which you spit out. After days and days in the Land Cruiser, it felt good to exert myself, and I all but bounced up the trail.

Eventually, we rounded a bend and glimpsed the village of Youga Diri just beneath the cliff face. Above the mud brick Dogon buildings, I could see the ancient Tellem dwellings perched precariously in recesses of the peach-colored cliff face. For the most part, the Dogon did not take over the Tellem structures, building their villages beneath them, but still halfway up the slopes to avoid attacks from the plains. Some of the Tellem buildings appear to utilize caves in the sandstone face of the cliff, while others are also made of mud brick, like the Dogon ones. Sidibi pointed out that the oldest buildings were conical in shape, some several stories tall. Newer ones were built in a rectangular style. He explained that narrow pathways along the cliff face led to them -- much more precarious and steep than our trek up to Youga Diri. The Tellem buildings are off limits to visitors, though Dogon elders occasionally ascend to them to perform ancient rituals. The sight of the crumbling buildings along the cliff face, with the Dogon village clustered below, was incredible. As sunlight caught them, their orange-red color reminded me of the cliff temples of Petra, in Jordan.

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Dogon huts with characteristic "witch's hat" roofs

We continued upwards, eventually crossing the spine of the Falaise. We were rewarded with a dramatic 360-degree view of the countryside. To one side, was the red earth valley inhabited by the Dogon. On the other, tan desert stretched away to the east and south. Far below, we could make out a single file of hump backed African cattle being driven by their Fulani herders to more fertile patches. The distance faded away into a gray blue haze, beyond which lay the border with the neighboring country of Burkina Faso.

After a short break in our wide eagle's nest atop the cliff, we descended to the other side through two steep gorges. As we walked along a narrow cleft, we came upon the startling sight of Youga Dougaweow. Its ancient Tellem buildings rose underneath a rocky overhang and inside a deep bowl in the cliffs. Sunlight reflected brightly into the bowl, turning the mud brick a deep orange-red color, as if an oven's heat was emanating from within them. All around, the brighter sherbet colored sandstone of the cliffs reflected the sun's rays. Even the very air seemed to glow and dance. We rested awhile, admiring the view of the half dozen buildings -- perfect as museum models. One cone stretched three stories tall, tapering to a flat top and pierced by dark windows.

Continuing on, we came to the inhabited Dogon part of Youga Dougaweow. It seemed noticeably rougher and poorer than Youga Diri, on the other side and part way down the slopes. The inhabitants of this village faced a more grueling uphill walk each day to bring up water and food from the plains. It was a living village, though, and as we poked amongst its buildings we could guess the hardships and struggles that the Dogon put into daily life here on the cliff top. A 20 minute downhill scramble brought us to the much larger village of Youga Natl. Row upon row of mud brick huts, with their distinct "witch's hat" thatch roofs, stood on the plains. It also had a camp with a restaurant where we'd eat our well-earned lunch that day. The owner of the camp had set up his tables on an airy, roofed platform with a fantastic view stretching into the distance. The chairs were comfortable, the drinks cool, and the breeze refreshing after three hours of climbing. I took off my shoes and stretched out. While waiting for lunch, I dozed off several times, waking up refreshed and enchanted by the blissful view.

After lunch, we checked into the Hotel Chameleon in the village of Banani. This was our third night in accommodation paid for by Tamana Adventures, and Steve and I saw a trend. In a word, they were borderline. For the most part, our hotels were dingy and dirty, and in the Chameleon's case, featured the only surly staff we ever encountered in Mali. It had real showers and flush toilets, though. Even the rooms had screened windows on three walls to have a chance at catching a breeze. We checked out the rooms, picked one, and insisted they put up mosquito netting. It would have been nice if they cleaned the layer of dust off the sheets, too, but that was apparently asking for too much. Our reaction to our accommodations sparked an interesting conversation between Steve and I. We marveled at how our minimum acceptable level has changed through our years of traveling. Until Mali, I considered hostels "roughing it." They'd have been a luxury here! Later that night, I met one of our fellow guests at the Chameleon -- the U.S. Vice Consul for Mali. He was staying with his wife and two kids, and all were happily sacking out on the rooftop on mattresses, while grizzled, veteran travelers Steve and I groaned and whinged (a nice English word) about the $%ithole we were staying in! Of course, the vice consul and his family came prepared to camp out, where as we hadn't.

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Dogon village of Irelli overlooking the plains

We drove to the Dogon village of Irelli that afternoon, after the heat had died down. We climbed through the village, which sprawled from the plains almost all the way up to the cliffs. Tellem ruins loomed above Irelli, too. Sidibi sought out the village elders and presented them with the customary gift of kola nuts. We were invited to a village celebration a man was throwing in honor of the birth of his sixth child. Several dozen villagers sat in the shade, high above the plains, watching their children dancing to the beat pounded out by two drummers. The beaming father passed out bowls of millet beer. The taste was sweet, but had an mistakable beer-like tang. It was interesting that the villagers segregated themselves by age and sex: The elderly men sat in a shady place of honor; The women clustered together opposite; The young men and older boys gathered around the drummers; The children danced in the center or mingled with all. Steve's video camera was a huge hit, as usual, and the children performed with extra enthusiasm when he brought it out. It was a heartwarming welcome and acceptance we received from the Dogon of Irelli.

We enjoyed the display and pandemonium for awhile, then hiked back down through the village. Dusk was beginning to creep in, and I was looking forward to the Chameleon's shower, as I'd passed up on the bucket that morning. Upon arrival at the hotel, we discovered that the power was turned on only for a few hours in the evening -- even though they have solar panels and a generator. In the evening, Steve and I were forced to once more "rough it" with warm beers!

The next morning we walked through the village and began climbing towards the cliffs. Like so many Dogon villages, Banani stretches in loose clusters of buildings from the plains all the way up the slopes of the hill. The sky was a brilliant blue and the sun shone dazzlingly off the mud huts and cliff face. The colors were breathtaking, and as we rose above the valley, the views were nearly equal of the day before. Sidibi had taught us the sing-song greeting of the Dogon the day before. It features an extended question and answer session, where the first asks, in turn, how the other is, how their father is, their mother, their children, etc. The other answers fine (which sounds like "say-yo") after each inquiry. The role reverses, and the same questions are run through. It is actually pretty easy, since you need only know a half dozen words. My attempts at it produced surprise and chuckles among the Dogon, though, so I don't know if I was doing everything right or not.

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Dogon village of Banani shines in morning sun

We rested awhile as we reached the top of the cliff, watching the occasional villagers climbing past us. The two men with the goat were having a difficult time of it, as it must have sensed it was being led somewhere unpleasant, and bucked and struggled. We strode along the cliff top to find another village built there. This cliff actually ended in a plateau, and our driver had taken the road to meet us here after our climb. First we wandered through the empty streets, noticing that many of the buildings were made of concrete and not in the mud brick and thatch of the villages on the slopes below. Sidibi pointed out old niche graves in the rock face, which were then walled up with mud bricks. He said that most had been raided years ago by grave robbers looking for artifacts to sell to collectors. A mosque shown in the sun at the end of the village. In front of it, perhaps two dozen souvenir dealers had set up their wares. Steve and I realized that this might be our last chance to buy something in Dogon country, so ran the gauntlet of their aggressive salesmanship. I picked up a nice wooden mask of a type I'd noticed yesterday. Once the dealers knew what I wanted, they competed with each other for my business. I felt bad for the others who didn't make a sale, but was happy I was able to pay a price I felt was a good deal, but fair.

This was to be the end of our time in Dogon country. Most of the rest of the morning and early afternoon was spent driving towards our next destination: Djenne. We reached the river town of Mopti around lunch time, and Sidibi took us to the Hotel Bozo, which is on a point of land surrounded on three sides by river. There were more tourists here than we'd seen in one place at any other time in Mali. The outdoor cafe was breezy and pleasant, and we enjoyed a relaxing lunch while watching Mopti's busy river traffic bustle along the waterfront. It was at this point that we had the Kola Nut Confrontation. When we'd negotiated our package, Tamana Adventures had told us that they would take care of everything in Dogon country -- accommodations, food and any village fees. However, while I'd been out running around trying to get money off my cards that next morning, one of the workers had told Steve to give him 40,000 CFAs for the kola nuts which the guide would give as presents to the village elders in Dogon country. We assumed that was part of the package, and that they had just been asking for the cash in advance. We'd arranged to pay half that first morning of our tour and the balance here in Mopti. Sidibi insisted that the roughly $80 we'd given them for the kola nuts was outside of the package -- not included in it. We argued back and forth, eventually agreeing that they would pay for our accommodation and meals in Mopti (which originally wasn't part of the agreement) in recompense for the unadvertised $80 expense.

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River town of Mopti with its fishing boats

We took another small ferry to arrive at Djenne, which is in an island of sorts between two rivers. Today was also market day in Djenne, and the streets were packed as we drove through town. Most tours try to arrange to be in Djenne on market day because it is a large one and fairly well known. We checked into our hotel (the nicest in town, Sidibi assured us -- where the President stays when he's in Djenne), and shortly afterwards began our exploration on foot. The dusty streets of the old town were a good bit cleaner and more well kept than those of Timbuktu. The later afternoon sunlight gave the maze of tan colored buildings a warm glow. We wound through the back streets until we suddenly arrived in the main square, and the Grand Mosque stood resplendent in front of us.

The largest building constructed of mud bricks in the world, Djenne's mosque is an example of the Sudanic style of architecture in Mali. It's rounded towers and projecting wooden beams are complemented by the smooth coating of mud, or "banco," that is reapplied every year after the rainy season. It gives it a very otherworldly look -- very few sharp lines and a mostly smooth, rounded appearance. If Catalan architect Antonio Gaudi lived in the Middle East, he'd have designed buildings that look like the Grand Mosque. We climbed to the roof of a nearby house to get a chance to step back and appreciate the mosque from above the crowd and congestion of the streets. It is definitely one of the more unique buildings I've seen. Sidibi said he'd look up one of his friends in town and see if maybe he could get us inside. Officially, non-Muslims are prohibited inside -- ever since some idiot European photographer used the inside for a seamy, flesh-bearing fashion shoot. Sometimes, I think Americans have more in common with the Muslim world than we do with our forebears in Europe! Knowing the moral sensibilities of Islam, who -- with even a modicum of common sense -- would use one of a country's holiest sites to photograph a "United Colors of Benetton" style, soft porn advertisement?

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Djenne's mosque - largest mud brick building in the world

Sidibi's friend came through, and Steve and I took off our sandals in paced quietly through the interior of the mosque. It was extremely dark inside, and somewhat claustrophobic, with the closely spaced rows of arch-like columns that filled the interior. I guessed the extra support of the numerous columns was probably needed, since mud brick is unable to bear the weight that stone or other materials can. All in all, the interior was somewhat of a disappointment. It was a bit of a thrill to be defying all those "Entree Interdite Aux Non Muselmans" signs posted by every entrance, though. Mali is a country that has one foot in the Muslim world of North Africa, and the other in that of sub-Saharan Africa.

After tip-toeing around the mosque, we rejoined Sidibi outside. He took us on a tour of the rest of the town. The kids were every bit as eager here for our tips (which we didn't give) or to sell souvenirs to us (which we did not buy). They also burst into action every time we raised our cameras, hoping to get in the picture and then rush to see themselves in the LCD screen. We ended up in the main square again, where most of the vendors for the market had packed up and hopped aboard large trucks, piled high with goods. The colorfully dressed people perched atop bags of rice or millet as the trucks belched black diesel smoke. Local merchants loaded up their wares onto donkey carts and headed home, as well.

Before dinner, Sidibi located an internet cafe for us. I was eager to update folks on the fact that, no, I had NOT been taken captive by Tuareg nomads and simply had not been able to find any internet connection since our first night. I alternated struggling to type on the French keyboard (the Q and A switch places, among other changes) and swatting mosquitos darting in at my ankles. Back at our hotel, I got my first look in days at my grizzled appearance (I'd last shaved on the morning of our arrival in Mali). Yikes! The gray in my stubble means I can't pull off that unshaven look as well as I used to in my younger days! We saw another large collection of Westerners at dinner -- mostly French (as in all of Mali) -- at a place Sidibi had picked out. The restaurant was geared towards tourists and featured traditional drummers and the coldest beers we had in Mali.

And for the most part, that ended our sightseeing in Mali. We still had one full day in the Land Cruiser before we reached Bamako. Samba drove at a much slower pace, though, as our flight back to Paris did not leave till 11:45 pm. The extra hours in the back seat brought back the familiar aches in my knees. I watched Mali go by the window, much as I had done on our first afternoon. The donkeys, goats and people all criss-crossed the road in front of us, as they had done before. It all seemed less irksome, though, than it had nearly a week before. Even the vendors did not seem as intrusive and persistent. Perhaps, like the red dust I could see coloring my khaki pants, Mali had worn its way into my skin. The memories were there, of course: Of the glory faded from Timbuktu's streets, of the fantastic cliff villages in Dogon country, and of an exotic mud brick mosque, whose outer layer is reapplied every year after the rains try unsuccessfully to wash it away.

Posted by world_wide_mike 20:48 Archived in Mali Comments (0)

Galling End to My Sri Lankan Journey

Bout of Sun Poisoning Clouds Finale in Galle

sunny 85 °F

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Walled city of Galle, Sri Lanka

I have been to Southeast Asia many times, but this was my first foray into what I would term “South Asia.” I don't use sunscreen as a rule on non-beach trips, and it was here that I would pay for that policy. By the end of the safari in Yala, My right arm and knee were fairly reddened by the sun. For some reason, my side of the jeep always seemed to be in the sunlight. Think of the tan you get on a long car trip with one arm hanging out the window, and multiply it with the tropical sun. Still, I awoke the morning after the safari feeling none the worse. I'd arranged a taxi with two sightseeing stops on the way to my final destination in Sri Lanka, the walled, colonial town of

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Sri Lanka's tallest sitting Buddha -- 7 stories tall!

The first stop I'd arranged was at an interesting Buddhist temple. Wewurukannala Vihara has the largest seated Buddha statue in Sri Lanka, along with a very interesting building attached to the back that allows you to climb to the top. The view from half a football field high of the surrounding countryside and the temple complex below is nice. However, it is the journey to the top that makes this temple particularly interesting. Spelled out for visitors in cartoon-like paintings with captions on the walls is a theological crime and punishment law book. The top image may show a man telling a lie in life, and the bottom image his tongue burning in Hell. Hundreds of these images are colorfully painted on the walls, along with scenes from Buddha’s life. As if the scenes of sinners being mutilated isn't enough, there are life-sized statues depicting unfortunates being impaled or similarly punished. Next door, there is a less grim temple with statues of Buddha and other of the religion’s deities. I have to confess that I was unaware of the “sinner’s Hell” aspect of Buddhism prior to my visit. I'll have to do some reading up to see how it fits into the whole theology of reincarnation and “life is suffering” belief.

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Paintings depicting a sin and the resulting punishment on the interior of the temple

A short stop at the coastal town of Mirissa was next. Since my visit to Sri Lanka coincided with the monsoon hitting the southern coast, I decided not to do a beach idyll during my stay. Yet the south coast’s beaches are one of the island’s highlights to many people. So, I wanted to stop off and see what one of their beach magnets looked like. It was very appealing looking. The smooth sand, swaying palms, and beachside cafes made me wish I had squeezed in a day in Mirissa instead of a short stop. In hindsight, that would have been a poor choice, considering what would happen later that night.

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The lovely beach of Mirissa

In mid-afternoon, my taxi finally pulled into Galle. I have come to the conclusion that Sri Lankan drivers don't (or can't) read maps. I had not searched for a phone number for the hotel because its location is unmistakable. There is no way anyone who can read a map couldn't find it, perched at the tip of the old town, overlooking the sea. The driver stared at it blankly and insisted I find a number so he could be talked in. Luckily, my guidebook had Rampart View Guest House’s number, so he could be navigated there verbally. The location was indeed magnificent. I am sitting here looking out at the walls as I type this now, watching the ocean waves swell and crash. A steady parade of holiday makers, Sri Lankan and foreign, parade 20 meters away from me, making a circuit of the town’s walls.

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Strolling the walls and watching the sea are two favorite activities in Galle

Walking the walls is the number one thing to do in Galle. It is what I set out to do immediately upon unpacking as it was a gorgeous, sunny day. After a march in the sun for about an hour or so, I was thirsty. I stopped in to a breezy restaurant called The Taproom for a Lion Lager - Sri Lanka's number one beer. Just as I was about to finish it, the afternoon monsoon arrived. Those seated outdoors poured into the restaurant as the rain came down hard. I was forced to have another lager, and consider a third before it finally let up. The clouds were still threatening, so I hurried back to my hotel. Galle’s old town is small and easily walkable, so I was safe from further downpours.

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Galle's iconic lighthouse

All day long, I had been feeling a sore throat coming on. Now, a headache chimed in. Once I sat down in the restaurant for dinner, nausea made it a trio of maladies. I ate only two bites of my sandwich. I was feeling very ill as I slowly made my way back. As I lay in bed, I began to shiver. Swallowing even water was painful. I took a couple pain relievers that I always carry with me on my travels, but that seemed to do little to help. At one point in the night, I got up and Googled Dengue Fever and Malaria, to see what their symptoms were. I had decided against shots for either because everything I'd read said the risk was extremely low for tourists staying in hotels. There had been no vomiting, and no intense pain behind the eyes, so that seemed to rule out both. When I got up in the morning, I looked up Sun Poisoning. Hmm, all the symptoms fit except for the rash (which appeared later that afternoon). The cool shower I took seemed to help. I had a bit of an appetite at breakfast. I decided to venture out for sightseeing and see how that worked.

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Tiled rooftops of the Old City as seen from the walls

I completed my circuit of the walls, taking my pictures of the colonial fortifications. The gunpowder era walls were stone-faced with earth interiors, sloped to deflect cannon balls. They had the small, Portuguese-style sentry posts on the walls’s vantage points. The walls went right up to the sea, and every angle had a great view of the rolling, blue-green waves and white spray as it crashed against rocks. After a few hours of walking, my symptoms returned again and the rash appeared on my exposed hands. I have never gotten sick like this on a trip, and it definitely put a damper on the end of my two week’s here.

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Another view of the fortifications

After another cool shower, more pain relievers, and rest, I was refortified to head out again. I seemed to have about a 3 hour span before the symptoms crashed down upon me in full force. It had to be sun poisoning. The more I went out, the more the rash spread on my hands. Even the hotel owner looked at my hands at breakfast the next morning and said it happens to tourists who are not as used to the sun. So, there it ended…on a definite down note. Well, all except for the train ride to Colombo, taxi to the airport, and looong flights home. I would continue to pay for my presumptuousness in not using sun screen over the course of that journey. The only bright side is hopefully the symptoms will be all gone by the time I land, back home in America.

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The sun sets on my travels in Sri Lanka
Watching the sunset is another popular activity in Galle, Sri Lanka

Posted by world_wide_mike 04:36 Archived in Sri Lanka Comments (0)

Close Encounters of the Pachyderm Kind

On Safari in Yala National Park

sunny 89 °F

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Up close with one of Yala National Park's male elephants

NEW! Watch these youtube videos from safari in Yala NP

Approach of a male elephant

Nothing beats finding the right tree to sractch that itch!

Sri Lanka is one of the best places in the world to see leopards in the wild. And the best spot here is Yala National Park. I booked a full-day safari through my hotel, trusting them to know a good operator. The way it works here is you show up at the park with your vehicle or tour, and a park ranger hops in and accompanies you. Between the driver and ranger, they pick your route on the numerous, rutted dirt roads through the park. It is up to them — and you — to spot the animals. Some criticize Yala because it does not limit the vehicles per day, which they say could lead to crowds of vehicles around the animals.

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Jeeps lined up first thing in the morning, ready to get a jump on a day's safari

This occurred only once during my safari, and it was near the entrance when a leopard was spotted. It was on the main route in, so a backup occurred. Our vehicle ended up perhaps 10th in line, and by the time we got into position to take a photo, the leopard had walked away. I did glimpse his silhouette through the bushes, though, regal and much larger than I imagined, sunning himself on a rock. After that, our vehicle managed to get lost in the wide open spaces of the park. We saw other vehicles, but wouldn't hit another backup until we were on our way out around eight hours later.

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Water buffalos enjoying a cool, green watering hole

Along the way, we spotted a wide array of animals. The most abundant were probably water buffalo. We'd come upon groups of them wading in watering holes, sometimes with just their heads and huge, curving horns sticking out of the water. We also saw lots of varieties of deer (favorite prey of the leopards). Unlike most animals in Yala, they were usually shy and would bolt off into the brush if we came too close. Even the bucks, with their large antlers, would eventually scurry off. We also lots of wild boar, wallowing in the mud of the watering holes.

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Happy as pigs in...well, you know!

Our ranger pointed out the bewildering variety of bird life, too. We saw eagles, storks, brilliant blue kingfishers, herons, and more. It was kind of humorous how he would get excited about species rare in Sri Lanka, but common back home. I think when I didn't take pictures of the “wild ducks” the first couple of times he pointed them out, he got the idea that I wasn't excited by them. My favorite birds that we saw over and over in the park were the peacocks. None of the males spread their feathers wide for us, but you could see the brilliant colors anyway. Listening to their bizarre calls, I realized that it was the animal that was the giant bird in the animated movie Up was based upon.

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Mama Elephant keeping a watchful eye on us as Baby dines

By far, the best close encounters with animals in the park were with elephants. The elephants in Yala are apparently habituated to people, though definitely still wild. The first time was when we were in an elevated road overlooking a muddy watering hole. A male elephant was in the mud, happily spraying himself with mud. He was would use his trunk to alternate between taking drinks of water and using it to splatter his backs with galoopfuls of cooling, mud. The driver and ranger knew what would likely happen next, so we stayed put as the elephant slowly approached, climbed on the roadway, and approached within one car-length of us. But he wasn't interested in us. There was a nice big tree which he proceeded to scratch on side of his body against, then slowly, leisurely the other side, too. I kept alternating between photos and videos, enjoying the show, being so close to such a great beast. In the afternoon, we had a similarly up close encounter with a mother elephant and her baby. They also proceeded to slowly stroll past our jeep, feeding as they went. It was a great experience, but I was still holding out hopes of seeing a leopard!

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Highland toque monkey, one of the two species I saw in Yala

What else did we see? We saw mongoose several times — including one climbing trees in search of bird eggs. We saw Gray Langur monkeys, as well as the Highland Toque, which I'd been seeing at temples throughout Sri Lanka. We spotted numerous crocodiles — most partially or nearly all submerged in the brown water of the pools. They looked like logs in perfect camouflage. A couple were seen basking in the sun on the water’s edge, one with his jaws wide open. We saw a few jackals, busily trotting about on some errand.

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If I was that bird in the midst of those crocodiles, I'd be a bit more nervous than he appears to be!

The last couple hours I kept scanning the branches of the trees in hopes of spotting a leopard dozing the afternoon away on a branch. When my hotel chose a driver, they chose wisely. Towards the end of he safari, he inexplicably stopped. The driver and range spoke together, then said there was a leopard about 100 meters away in the trees. He slowly pointed out the right tree, then worked his way up to the right branch. I did see a lighter patch in the obscuring foliage. And then I saw the leopard’s tail, which had looked like a branch, slowly curl, then unwind. It baffled me that anyone could spot this while driving the curving, bumpy roads. He had proved himself time and again on the safari to have amazing vision for picking out the animals. I honestly think he spotted more than our ranger, who was in his 30th year with the park service and very experienced.

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My blurry, cellphone camera pic of a leopard in Yala NP

Was that to be the closest I got to seeing a leopard? The coyly curving tail and the earlier, briefly glimpsed silhouette? Well, remember that first (and only, to this point) traffic backup, when we were too far in the rear to get a clear view of the leopard. As we approached that spot, w saw another, smaller logjam of perhaps six vehicles? Could it be? Yes! Two leopard basking themselves in the late afternoon sun. Our ranger pointed them out, then hopped out to direct traffic. It wasn't long before I had a great vantage point. Unfortunately, with no telephoto lens on my phone camera, my pictures suffered at Yala. It had done a great job throughout Sri Lanka, but here it's limitations were apparent. I'll remember that next time I take a safari — wherever that may be. Bring a telephoto lens if you want good shots of animals…especially leopards!

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In the about 90 degree heat, the water buffaloes have the right idea!

Posted by world_wide_mike 08:45 Archived in Sri Lanka Comments (0)

A Spot of Tea Country

Transitting through gorgeous highlands

sunny 72 °F

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Sri Lanka's highland "tea country"

NEW! Watch this video clip I shot out the window of the train ride

Beautiful "tea country" in Sri Lanka

The next two days were at least partially “in transit” days. I was finally able to score train tickets on Sri Lanka’s most scenic passage, from Kandy to Ella. It was a 7-hour haul, but most of it was through the mountainous “tea country.” Here is where most of the island’s tea plantations are located. The curving rows of tea plants crowned the slopes, making the landscape look settled and neat, despite the large stretches of forest. The air was cool and fresh blowing in through the windows of my second class reserved car. The view was gorgeous, and most passengers’ eyes were glued to the large windows.

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The scenic Kandy to Ella train ride is a beautiful, 7-hour journey

The car emptied out after about an hour or so, and you could stretch out and relax, and enjoy the ride. More than half of the passengers appeared to be Europeans, with most of those British. It was clear everyone was enjoying the ride, despite the side to side jerking of the train, this is definitely not one of those ultra smooth bullet trains, but more of an old school “clickety-clack” choo-choo, its whistle shrieking its warning to those ahead at the road crossings.

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Sri Lanka's highlands is where most of its tea plantations and production is located

It was nearly 6 pm when I arrived at Ella. A tuk-tuk whisked me from the train station up and up on twisting roads to my hotel, appropriately named Ella Gap Panorama. The gap being the cleft in the mountain range where the one Road Town is located. This hotel was a slight step down from my previous ones, so far. No AC, and a bathroom that had a waft of sewage odor. I was here for only one night, and the stunning view from my balcony certainly made up for any shortcomings.

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More amazing mountain scenery

I had been a good boy on this trip, eating local dishes most of the time. The specialty seems to be rice and curry. However, when they say curry they should pluralize it. Each plateful had of rice comes with 4-5 dishes of various curries — meat, vegetable, grain-based ones…you name it. My favorite so far was Dhal, a mustard colored vegetable curry that I first enjoyed at my hotel in Sigiriya. Anyway, I was curried out, and my guidebook raved a out a local place’s pizza. So, I indulged myself with pizza and beer. Afterwards, I explored the strip a bit, then took a tuk-tuk back to my hilltop perch for an early evening.

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The view from my hotel balcony in Ella, Sri Lanka

The next morning, I'd hired a tuk-tuk (same driver) to take me to my next stop, along with a couple sightseeing breaks along the way. Thinking it'd be chilly on the mountain roads, I'd way overdressed in jeans and a cotton t-shirt. It took us only about an hour to descend into the plains south of tea country, and that is with a stop off at a waterfall and a couple scenic overlooks. Once in the plains, the heat rose quickly. The open air tuk-tuk was breezy, though, and plenty comfortable.

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Gorgeous waterfalls in the mountainous scenery

My main sight of the day would be the seven standing Buddhas of Bunduruvegala. These are carved out of a 50-foot tall cliff face, and are more than a thousand years old. The tallest one in the center is about 20 meters tall, and still holds traces of paint from centuries ago. The grain of the rock compliments the carvings, which are done in a bas-relief, projecting out about a foot from the natural rock face. To reach them, we bounced along a narrow road that was alternately paved then dirt for about 10 minutes. It was clear my driver had never been here, despite the fact they are only an hour away from Ella. The guidebook went on to say few tourists come here, but I can't imagine why. It was an amazing relic of the medieval world, set in a peaceful forest tableau. One group of Sri Lankan college students were here with their professor, and two Aussies, but other than that, it was deserted.

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The 1,000 year old carved Buddhas of Bunduruvegala

Another couple of hours in the tuk-tuk and I finally arrived at my next home for two days: Korovagada Lodge in Tissaharama. I was here for tomorrow's safari in Yala National Park, in the hopes of spotting leopards from among its resident population. I whiled away the rest of the afternoon relaxing at the lodge’s pool, enjoying its rustic (yet air conditioned) amenities. Those who know me may be surprised by such a relaxed schedule. Remember, though, it was a transit day, right?

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The Buddhas are carved out of the rock face

Posted by world_wide_mike 10:47 Archived in Sri Lanka Comments (1)

Full Pallet of History in Polonnaruwa

Medieval fortress capital full of interesting ruins

sunny 86 °F

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Temples, palaces, and more abound at the medieval capital citadel of Polonnaruwa

On my last day of sightseeing in the Cultural Triangle, I had a choice between two major sights: Anuradhapura or Polonnaruwa. I ended up choosing Polonnaruwa, a medieval capital of Sri Lanka during the 1000s-1200s A.D. Ruins of palaces and temples are scattered across several miles. My guidebook claimed it was the highlight of the Cultural Triangle. It would have to be pretty amazing to beat Sigiriya Rock, by my thinking.

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The brick husk of King Parakramahubu's once 7-story palace

The best way to see the ruins is to hire either a tuk-tuk or a taxi for the day, so your driver can drop you off and pick you up at each of the major groupings of buildings. Since the price difference was less than $10, and it was 1-2 hours away, I picked the air conditioned car. My driver, Johann (yeah, I know…odd for a Sri Lankan to have such a German name!), turned out to be the exception when it comes to taxi drivers. He was relaxed, did not accelerate and brake continuously, and instead gave a smooth, comfortable drive.

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Border freizes -- especially of lions and dancing dwarves -- are popular on the exteriors of buildings in Polonnaruwa

The ticket counter is attached to Polonnaruwa’s museum, so a visit begins with a tour of ing.its collection of statues and artifacts unearthed at the site. Some of the statues —particularly the Hindu ones — were very nice. Like most Sri Lankan museums, though, no pictures allowed! There are labels in English, Sinhalese, and Tamil, but more information is in Sinhalese. It was a bright, sunny day, but I've learned how easily that can change in Sri Lanka. So, I was eager to get outside and exploring.

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The circular Vatadage is the highlight of the Quadrangle group of buildings

My first stop was at a group of buildings called the Royal Palace Group. Much of the brick ramparts survive, as this was the central citadel of the kingdom. King Parakramabuhu’s palace building itself had a brick framed, but much of it was wood. You can see the charred bricks from when it was burnt down in the huge rectangular husk that still stands. The building was seven stories tall, supposedly, but the ruins that remain are perhaps half that height. Next door is the Royal Council Chambers — an elevated platform lined with columns. The walls are lined with horizontal rows of lions, elephants, and dwarves. The dancing, leering dwarves seemed to be a common architectural frieze on the outside of Polonnaruwa’s buildings. The Royal Baths —still filled with water, round out this group. Despite there being a decent amount of visitors at the site, it seemed I had many of the buildings almost to myself. One group that was present, though, were the souvenir vendors. I honestly can't tell how many time I was offered that same stupid wooden elephant with wooden baby inside. Too many times, that's for sure!

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Semi-circular moonstones were at the entrance to many of the buildings in Polonnaruwa

The next group was the impressive Quadrangle. The centerpiece is a round building on an elevated platform, with Buddhas facing off in all four directions. The carvings were exquisite, though, with elaborate semi-circular “moonstones” at the entrance to each set of stairs, guarded by deities, lions, and other animals. This was the first of about umpteen million times I would have to take off my shoes to enter. One Buddhist mantra is that “life is suffering” — which I adequately experienced today walking on sharp rocks barefoot, over and over. There were a number of amazing buildings in this group. Some struck me as almost Khmer (think Angkor Wat) in architecture. Soaring, tall, with triangular peaks to their roofs. Some were decorated with Hindu symbols. I saw a number of dancing Shivas and a few apsaras as well. Sri Lanka has always been a battleground of sorts between the two religions — including the Tamil Tiger insurgency/terror threat (depending on your point of view) which ended less than a decade ago. Before coming here, I'd read an excellent, balanced account of Tamil Tiger “troubles,” and it was eye-opening. The dangers of politicians who seek to gain power by stirring fear along racial or religious lines struck home to me. I hope our flirtation with populist, America-first mentality doesn't go as far as it did here, where many are still suffering the effects of a tyranny of the majority.

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Similarities in architecture between other Hindu/Buddhist temples, such as Angkor Wat, abound

After a quick stop at a Hindu temple, the Shiva Devale, it was off to the fourth largest brick dagoba in the country, the Rankot Vihara. A dagoba is a squat, half-globe of solid brick. Usually, there are tiny niche buildings attached with Buddhist images inside. Rankot Vihara was massive, standing 50 meters tall and a long way around, filled with sharp pebbles that whispered the Buddha’s mantra to me over and over. I saw bigger monkeys than I'd been seeing — Colobus ones? I will have to Google monkeys of Sri Lanka and see what types I actually saw. It actually made me glad to have other tourists nearby as I rounded the backside of the dagoba. A gang of these big suckers could probably do some damage!

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Rankot Vihara is the fourth largest brick dagoba in the country

The next grouping was a widely-scattered collection that featured a colossal standing Buddha. It began with Kiri Vihara, another, slightly smaller dagoba painted blindingly white. The guidebooks talk about how when it was discovered during excavations the white plaster exterior was intact. This led a couple tourists I overheard to suppose that present modern white paint WAS that thousand year old plaster. I stifled any chuckles, wondering if they would notice the paint spattering on the ground near it. Next was Lankatilaka, an incredibly elaborately decorated temple housing a headless, standing Buddha. It was at least 20 feet tall, and dominated the narrow interior of the temple. The outside carvings were in great shape, and you could see animals, dancers, dwarves - you name it! Very impressive! I hobbled around this collection of ruins for awhile as the late afternoon heat rose.

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Admiring the standing Buddha at Lankatilaka

On the other side of the parking lot where my driver waited was a collection of four statues of the Buddha carved out of a single piece of granite. Each was in a different pose, including a massive reclining Buddha. This is an active place of worship, and they checked your tickets here, despite my opinions that it pales in impressiveness to other parts of Polonnaruwa. The attendants were aggressive at keeping the troop of monkeys besieging the site a bay.

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intricate wall carvings at Polonnaruwa

A short drive led to the final temple of the day, the Tivanka Image House. Like Lankatilaka, this one housed a colossal Buddha statue. It also sported elaborately carved walls, and was a fitting grand finale to Polonnaruwa. Was the historical sight better than Sigiriya? Well, there was certainly way more to see. The temples, statues, and historic buildings are in much better shape than Sigiriya, where they are mostly foundations. I think history buffs will really enjoy Polonnaruwa, but Sigiriya’s geological wow factor will have broader appeal.

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After a day at Polonnaruwa, I felt like one of these dancing dwarves...ha, ha!

Posted by world_wide_mike 18:27 Archived in Sri Lanka Comments (0)

Climbing Sigiriya Rock

Exploring Sri Lanka's Machu Picchu

sunny 86 °F

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I am enjoying the wonderful view from Sigiriya Rock's summit

In my mind, today's exploration of Sigiriya Rock was to be the highlight of the trip. The combination fortress and palace is built on a massive rock rising two football fields above the landscape below. It is the Machu Picchu of Sri Lanka — dramatic, historic, and sure to incite superlatives among those who climb it.

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Approaching Sigiriya Rock, after passing the Outer Moat

Unlike its Peruvian counterpart, there is no bus option. All visitors climb more than 5,000 stairs to reach the lofty hideaway constructed by King Kasyapa In 485 A.D. Because of the heat, it is recommended that you begin your ascent early, by 10:30 am at the very latest (preferably at 7 am when it opens). However, I have found that when someplace advertises a starting time like that, it is often better to show up slightly later and miss that initial rush. That, and the fact my hotel’s breakfast started at 7 am, meant I showed up around 7:45. Fortified by a massive meal (including strawberry pancakes!), I was ready for the ascent. My hotel was only a 20 minute walk from the ticket booth, most of it along the outer moat which guarded the lower fortifications.

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King Kasyapa's Water Gardens

I waved off several prospective guides along the way. Another thing I've found is that a number of guides are interested in “turning as many tricks” as they can. They will rush you through your visit in the hopes of getting another (and another, and another?) client. Me, I like to take my time when visiting an ancient site like this. In fact, the less chatter from others I have to listen to the more I can immerse myself in a place. I brought along two guidebooks, and found that when combined with the good signage, I really didn't need a guide. I heard other guides talking to tourists and they were saying the things I'd read in my research.

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Inner walls to the fortifications and temples

Many tourists walk straight down the main pathway and begin their ascent immediately. Instead, I ranged to the left and right of the path, exploring the water gardens, pools, monastic caves, and temples. During the time of King Kasyapa, I am sure the running water and bathing facilities wowed visitors to the court. As I slowly ascended, I passed through the unusual boulder gardens. The king took the massive gneiss rock outcroppings and turned them into an aesthetic addition to the approach to his court.

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the Lion Staircase, about halfway up the summit - with obligatory tourist getting their photo taken in front of it

After zig-zagging my way through the ruins, I eventually came to the beginning of the climb. By no means did I have Sigiriya to myself, but the crowds were thin, at best. I sped up from time to time to outpace particularly annoying visitors — such as the Sri Lankan couple with the whiney youth who went so slow his dad eventually picked him up and carried him. I remembered to keep looking back and checking out the view as we ascended. Of particular concern were the signs advising silence to avoid an attack of wasps or bumblebees. The staff who were talking in normal tones convinced me it wasn't a real threat I should be concerned about — at least today. The monkeys who I'd read perched themselves along the stairs to shake down visitors for sweets never showed either.

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Looking down from the dizzying heights at the Lion Staircase

The first stop on the climb was the walled gallery known as the Sigiriya Frescoes. During Kasyapa’s time, the rock face was painted with more than 500 soft-core porn pictures of celestial nymphs known as apsaras. Only 21 of these topless, well-endowed paintings survive today. Oh, and sorry male readers of this blog: a strict no photo policy was enforced by eagle-eyed attendants. Proving the king’s court had contacts worldwide, one aspara is obviously African in origin. Even one of Captain Kirk’s green skinned beauties showed up…make of that what you will! I have to hand it to the Sri Lanka on this site — separate ascending and descending staircases made traffic flow smoothly.

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Looking out over the wonderful view as you climb

The next stop on the ascent is the Lion terrace. Although all that remains of the colossal carved, stone lion that guarded the staircase are its two front paws, their size gives a good idea of how impressive it must have been. The national symbol of Sri Lanka is the lion, so ancient visitors would ascend the stair to the king’s palace literally by entering the mouth of the lion. No doubt there are psychological things at play that the clever Kasyapa fully intended. My visit had gone smoothly so far, so the slight backup of everyone wanting a selfie on the stairs or next to the paws was only a minor annoyance. Yeah, I got someone to take my pic in front of it, too. I don't know if I am succumbing to the pressures of social media or what, but I never used to take pics of myself much on my travels. What went from one obligatory “I’ve been there” pic to several, I don't know the reason. I'll blame it on my mom…I am sure she enjoys seeing them, and I am just humoring her….right?

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Foundations of King Kasyapa's palace atop Sigiriya Rock

A final, steep metal stairway led to the summit and the rock’s plateau like surface. I felt happy that, at 54, I wasn't huffing and puffing too badly when I reached the top. The sweating was also held down by the gusting winds which had been cooling me off. They rose to a roar on the exposed face of the rock, whipping well into the 30 mph range, I imagine. It was once I was at the top that the Machu Picchu parallel first struck me. Looking all around as the gorgeous 360 view, I could help but be reminded of my hiking the Inca Trail a decade or so ago. The foundations of the buildings here were mostly brick unlike stone in Peru, but the sloped surface of the summit reminded me of it intensely.

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The Royal Baths atop the Rock

I did a slow circuit of the fortifications and palace, most of which is simply brick foundations. Therefore pools, though, as well as audience chambers and other recognizable ruins. Most visitors couldn't take their eye off the view, though. We had a perfectly sunny day for the ascent, but once atop, I saw some darker clouds rolling in. Sure enough, about a half hour later, drops of rain could be felt. However, the wind drove the clouds away as quickly as it brought them, and no elevated drenching occurred. After exploring nearly every foot of the top, it was time to head down. The crowds were still relatively light, and I hit no backups on my way down.

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The "Machu Picchu" of Sri Lanka

After a refreshing, cold Fanta at the cafeteria, I soldiered my weary bones towards the Sigiriya museum. The first level is underwhelming, consisting of photographs of Sigiriya Rock since excavation and restoration began. The short video taught nothing new, but it was offered in English, Sinahala, and Tamil. The next level up had more archeological displays and talked about the early inhabitants of the area, as well as monastic occupation of the area, my favorite part was the film with the CGI reconstruction of what Sigiriya would have looked like in Kayapa’s days. There were some good statues, but disappointingly, this was a “no photographs” museum. It became all the more frustrating in the gallery where the had recreated a rock face and repainted the Frescoes of the apsaras. So. really? No pictures of the modern repaintings either? Sometimes, I think museums get in the rut of saying "No!" and lose sight of common sense. Yes, protect objects from wear and colored ones from flash photography. But allow it where the object can't possibly be damaged by people taking pictures. Please.

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King Kasyapa's throne

Nevertheless, it had been an amazing day. I often get nervous before I visit what I think will be the highlight of a trip. Will the weather ruin it, I wonder? Will it disappoint? Today, in Sigiriya, there was no downside. I left the site, walking along the moat, feeling physically drained but spiritually refreshed. The Sri Lankan tourism ads like to tout Sigiriya as the “8th Wonder of the Worlds.” I am not sure that title is appropriate, but it certainly is a wonderfully uplifting place to visit.

Posted by world_wide_mike 05:45 Archived in Sri Lanka Comments (0)

Dream-like Caves in Dambulla

Despite other's attempts, the day is not ruined

rain 81 °F

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The Hindu temple in Matale, Sri Lanka, and its towering gopura

NEW! Watch this video and its panorama of the interior of one of the caves

The day started off on a sour note, but ended well. As I checked out of my hotel, they appeared to have no record of my prepaying for my room. I usually book my rooms on hotels.com, and pay for them in advance. I showed them my confirmation email, but he wanted to confirm they had been paid by the booking agency first. I ended up cooling my heels for an hour while he dialed his booking service, Expedia, and all the other hoops his hotel goes through to get paid. Several times I told him it was entirely between him and his agent — that I had paid and should be out of the equation. As it was, it ended up that I was right, and I simply lost an hour of my day.

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Interior of Sri Muthumariamman temple

I had hired a driver yesterday - a friend of the tuk-tuk driver, to take me from Kandy to my hotel in Sigiriya with three sightseeing stops along the way. I'm beginning to feel that this is the way to go in Sri Lanka. Everything I have read about buses seems shaky (no room for luggage, nonexistent legroom, unpublished schedules). Trains are always booked, except for the third class which has people standing or hanging out doors because there is no limit on the number of seats they sell. It is more expensive to hire a taxi, to be sure. However, if you combine them with sightseeing stops you are essentially getting your own private tour at a bargain rate.

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The Dambulla Caves, carved into the rock of the hillside over centuries

The rain came down and drizzled off and on for the first two hours of the way north. It was raining at the first stop — a Hindu temple in Matale. Sri Muthumariamman has one of those towering gopuras, or conical towers bedecked in statues of gods and creatures from Hindu mythology. It was so tall, and the surrounding buildings on the main road crowded close enough that it was difficult to get a good photograph of it. The rain didn't help,of course. Inside the temple itself, there were many Hindus leaving offerings and praying to the god Mariamman. I alway enjoy visiting Hindu temples for their riot of color. The brightly painted carvings and status make for interesting pictures.

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Softly-lit statues of the Buddha in the Dambulla Caves

My driver inexplicably skipped the second scheduled stop I'd arranged the day before with his friend. Note to self: always review prices and stops before starting out! The driver looked like an adult version of one of my more ornery students, so I guess I wasn't surprised when “Yash” skipped Aluvihare, but also ignored my request to stop somewhere for a soft drink. Yash also set out to prove himself the most aggressive of Sri Lankan drivers, giving his tuk-tuk driving friend a run for his money. The steady diet of annoying pop music he played made me wonder if he was somehow channeling my former student.

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Frescoes line the walls behind the statues

Yash also proved he didn't know the area well, parking at the wrong place for the highlight of the day, the Dambulla Caves. This amazing UNESCO World Heritage sight is a series of caves carved out of a granite hillside overlooking the countryside. Begun in the 1st century BC, the caves have been used as monasteries by Buddhist monks for centuries. Over the years they have added a bewildering variety of statues, and even more impressively, covered every every inch of the wall and ceiling with frescoes. I was reminded of Greek Orthodox monasteries I'd visited in Cyprus a few years back. It was stunning to see the detail and decoration bedecking the walls and ceilings.

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Beautiful colors decorate the walls and statues

There was one large cave and four smaller ones. All had a subtly different atmosphere. A number of worshippers were honoring the statues, but most of the handful of visitors were tourists. I had to chuckle when I saw the French couple get roundly scolded for taking a selfie next to one of the statues. Honestly, I was pleasantly surprised that photography was even allowed — let alone the flash photos I saw some people taking. The only prohibited picture taking was anything considered demeaning to the Buddha. Selfies fell into that category proving that somewhere there is justice in the world.

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A small stupa decorates one of the caves

Although there were a number of visitors and only five caves, somehow it did not seem packed with tourists. There were times when I was alone in a cave, or with just one or two others. Perhaps the bulk of the people who climbed to the top of the hill saw just the main cave then returned downhill. I wasn't complaining, and even took a panoramic video when I was by myself in one of the caves.

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A reclining Buddha dominates the first of the Dambulla Caves

Returning downhill, I took a number of pictures of the view of the surrounding countryside. Off in the distance, I could see Sigiriya Rock — which I would visit tomorrow. The sun had come out since we arrived at the caves, and it was a fulfilling end to the day’s sightseeing. Even Yash’s struggles finding my hotel (despite my giving him the phone number) didn't dampen my spirits. For an “in transit” day that began poorly, it ended well.

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Beautiful scenery and a view for miles from the caves

Posted by world_wide_mike 19:32 Archived in Sri Lanka Comments (0)

Of Temples and Towering Trees

Exploring Kandy and the surrounding area

overcast 83 °F

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Kandy's Temple of the Tooth is Sri Lanka's holiest place

The number one sight to see in Kandy is the Temple of the Tooth. So, it was first on my list of things to do on my second day of sightseeing in Sri Lanka. I took a tuk-tuk down from my hilltop hotel, stopping off at an ATM for more cash. Overnight, I'd heard rain battering my balcony, and the view had been cloudy when I awoke. As I walked towards Sri Lanka’s holiest sight, blue skies began to peek through the gray clouds. Why is it called the Temple of the Tooth? The Buddhists believe that an inner chamber of the temple houses a tooth from Buddha himself.

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Throngs of worshippers jam the Temple of the Tooth daily to lay offerings before Buddha's tooth

Crowds of worshippers jam the sprawling temple, with 90% of them funneling up the steps, through a fresco-decorated passageway, turning left at the Hall of Drummers, who hammer out a celebratory rhythm, and then squeezing toe-to-toe up a staircase. The fervent worshippers mix with uneasy tourists, pushing their way through the line to deposit their offering of lotus flowers in front of the gilded doors leading to the casket containing the tooth. The actual tooth is displayed only at certain times, when the sweaty mob scene is multiplied several times over.

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The lower level of the Temple of the Tooth

There are plenty of other rooms to explore after squeezing past the temple’s main sight. There are a couple museums, an open air wooden audience hall, and even a shrine to the elephant who carried the tooth in the religious processions for 50 years before dying of old age. Crowds surged and thinned out during my visit, which ended somewhat maddeningly with a wandering quest for the unmarked exit. I had to work my way back to where I started to pick up my hiking sandals. The entire temple is considered sacred, so I hobbled through it barefoot the whole time.

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The towering Cabbage Palm Trees at the Royal Gardens

After a refreshing iced tea in a cafe, I hopped in another tuk-tuk to Kandy’s train station to buy tickets for train rides later in the trip. Maddeningly, the observation car and first class were sold out on the date 5 days away. And the final train ride (the day I leave) they couldn't sell me, they said. I purchased second class tickets for the one and hoped for the best. My tuk-tuk driver had waited for me and presented me with a program for the rest of the day. It sounded good, the price at $12 for a full day was worth it, plus I really hadn't planned for anything else.

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If you're carrying a bag of fruit, beware of these guys!

The first stop was a hike through the Royal Botanical Gardens. Most of the trees, flowers, and bushes were well labeled. The grounds were sprawling and attractively laid out. My favorite part were the kingly rows of palm trees - both Palmyra Palms and towering Cabbage Palms. There were monkeys here and there, too. I shouted a warning to Kate when one snatched a bag of fruit from another visitor and darted up a tree. I'd seen monkeys at the temple earlier, and would continue to see them in Sri Lanka. It is definitely a good idea to keep your distance from the viscous little buggers!

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Gadaladeniya Temple - my first stop on Three Temples Loop

Next up was the three temple loop, all built during the 1300s. The first was Gadaladeniya — Sri Lanka’s largest granite temple. The caretaker took some time to describe the carvings and frescoes I would see. He is an artist, as well, and has been drawing and sketching the temple’s features for more than a decade. The first building had four small niches that you could duck down to enter, facing a statue of Buddha and gorgeous wall frescoes. The larger building had mythical animals carved along the stairway entrance. Two main pillars supported the entranceway, one carved by a master from India and the other by his Sri Lankan student. It was a quiet complex next to the teeming throngs of the Temple of the Tooth.

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The carved entranceway to Gadaladeniya Temple

The next temple, Lankatilaka, was bigger, but undergoing some renovation and reconstruction. It's exterior was painted brightly white, so it looks newer, even though it is more than 700 years old. Inside, a Buddhist monk was holding a class for a group of visiting school kids and their parents. An electric light flickered with an almost strobe light effect, illuminating the leering demons and creatures carved into the walls with an eerie glow. The colors were muted by time, but must have been vibrant when freshly painted. Parts of the temple were closed off due to reconstruction, unfortunately.

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The images carved into the temple walls of Lankatilaka

The final temple was known for its elaborately carved wooden pillars along its elevated open air, drumming platform. Figures of animals, mythical beasts, wrestlers, warriors, and floral designs covered each of their four rectangular faces. Upon arriving at the temple, I had breezed right past them, going straight to the small, and less impressive shrine inside the temple. It was only after circling the somewhat ramshackle building, wondering what the big fuss was, that I read a sign which talked about the carvings. Once I noticed them, Embekke Devale proved much more interesting.

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The carved wooden pillars of Embekke Devale

By the time the three temple loop was completed, I was a little ways south of Kandy. That meant diving back into the maelstrom of city traffic. If I thought yesterday's taxi driver was aggressive, my tuk-tuk driver had him beat easily. If I had 100 rupees every time he weaved into oncoming traffic to get around a bus or car, I could have paid for the trip! I had forgotten to take a card with the hotel’s phone number, so it was a bit of an adventure navigating my tuk-tuk driver back home. He knew the general area of the road it was on, and eventually I spotted it looming on a hill above us.

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Closeup of one of the carved pillars, showing wrestlers

The evening ended with my final night of spectacular hilltop views, for tomorrow I was off to Sigiriya and new adventures!
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A graceful walkway lined with plants at the Royal Botanical Gardens

Posted by world_wide_mike 00:28 Archived in Sri Lanka Comments (0)

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