I Remember...

I remember...

All those moments, fragments, anecdotes
They roll around like marbles in a basin.
I take great joy in mulling over them,
attempting to translate them into words on a page
Sentences form.
I remain unsatisfied
until a word springs to mind
dripping in meaning, depth, vibrancy, description
The discovery of the word, of the perfect phrasing of an idea,
is like finding a jewel in a toy chest
the forgotten coin in the pocket of a coat


As I have travelled I have spent much time
alone and wrapped up in my own thoughts
writing poetry in my mind to be shared
with my eager inner critic.
Poetry is a special form of expression
One does not need to scratch deeply to find it
it is always there
it lingers within us
but it does not often end up on paper
we become satisfied with simply battering it around
in the inner theatres of ourselves

But just don't let me forget
all the amusing smiles I wore
as I wandered slowly through busy city streets
all the evenings where I 'got by' eating strange combinations of food
Canned corn and a piece of bread.
I didn't even take it from the can
just ripped off the lid
drained the juice in the bathroom sink
and ate it with my plastic spoon.

Or the night where I was staying in a hostel
that did not have a kitchen for guests.
So I attempted to cook pasta by turning on the hot tap in the bathroom
and let it cascade over my plastic container of pasta
until it was as ready as it could get -
or perhaps out of my amused shame and embarrassment
I just didn't want to wait any longer.
And I chomped through that meal
Trying not to get distracted
by the constant feeling of swollen, watery, yet still uncooked pasta.

I remember all my cultural fauxpas
You learn to recognise them quickly -
suddenly the person's face will transform
from a neutral expression
to one of
horror
or
fits of laughter
I remember the look of absolute terror
on New Year's Eve
in Uganda
as I was having my handbag checked by a security lady at a jazz bar.
I was fiddling with the bag zip to get it open
when suddenly
my phone started ringing
On the cat miao ringtone I had chosen.
The security woman stared in disbelief and horror
at my miaoing bag
I assured her that there was no cat in my bag
but I'm not sure she was fully convinced.

I remember all the jokes with friends
stereotyping 'muzungus' (white travellers) and everything they wore
and the squeals of delight
when we would spot a muzungu
living up to the stereotype completely.
Khaki pants or hareems
Expensive and ugly practical hiking sandals
Head scarf
Neutral tones. Always neutral tones.
So casual and slovenly compared to the Ugandans
in their impeccably neat ironed shirts
and colourful fitted dresses.

I remember the warmth in the eyes of my friend's grandmother - her Jaja.
In the village in Mbale
when she turned to me and said
"We love you so very much!"
and I felt like I belonged.

I remember the fondness of arriving at each airport
With all the familiarity of home
The feeling of being in transit
Halfway to somewhere
but at some odd place in between
Sleeping on the floor on a corner of carpet
in an empty boarding gate
or propped up on my backpack on a chair.
Walking monotonously
on the travelator
backwards, as if it were a treadmill
Passing time.

Or that time I filled up my drinking bottle
at a water fountain
and then taught the little old lady beside me
how to turn it on
and how to drink from it.
Or the time I freed a woman trapped in a toilet cubicle
Or crying my eyes out
on the floor of the dirty bathroom
in Brussels airport
when they confiscated my Swiss Army knife
and I fully mourned its loss like a child losing a teddy.

Airports carry all the memories, the highs and lows
of coming of age
of adolescence becoming adulthood
the entire spectrum of emotion
is enacted at airports
such strange and fascinating places they are.
Bus stations and train stations
simply do not have the same effect.

While waiting for my flight
I take the opportunity to people-watch
Where have all these people come from?
Where are they going and why?

I sit awkwardly on a bench
I am in Guangzhou airport, China.
They are boarding my plane to New Zealand
I remain seated.
I watch as each passenger shuffles past the flight crew
Nodding obligingly in a friendly non-threatening manner.
I observe them with intense curiosity.
These are 'my people'
from 'my land'
Suddenly two years seems a lifetime

Do I still fit with 'my people'?
Can I still identify with the,?
I feel like a foreigner entering a new land
Like all the other times before
that I have stepped out onto the tarmac
and felt the winds of each different continent
flutter past my cheeks.

But this time is different
for these people are my people and this land is full of love.

The tale of Josephine and the Drunk Belgian

In the weekends I like to take a long walk into town. On the way I pass several main roads which are lined in small shops, restaurants, and stalls. One of the more interesting places lies behind a large bamboo fence that announces – in red spray paint - “Peace & Respect 2 all Rastas.”
It is a small local cafe, but it also sells clothes. I had passed it a few times, unsure of what it actually was. The bamboo fence makes it very noticeable, and clothes displayed outside make it look like a little clothes shop, but then a small chalkboard hangs from the fence and lists a petite menu of local and foreign dishes. The menu had been an amusement of mine for quite some time – it seems to be confused as to who it is marketing itself for. It lists local street favourites chapati and beans right beside western style chips and salad. All were listed very cheaply. It seemed to be catering to an unusual market – as if this humble storage container of a kitchen that didn't even have a sink (yes, literally a storage container) on this local road could somehow capture the lucrative expat dining community.

One day as I was passing by, a woman appeared from somewhere behind the container. She was athletic figured with a fierce determination about her and wild curly hair to match. She beamed at me, revealing an enigmatic smile with beautiful (if not somehow disproportionately large) gleaming white teeth. “Will you come and support me?” she asked boldly. I decided to take a look and find out what the place actually was. I hopped over the open pit drainage trench, which runs along all the city roads, and got my first proper look behind the bamboo fence. She introduced herself as Josephene. She explained that it was more of a restaurant than a clothes shop, and she told me all about the salads and other European food she makes – she obviously knew what muzungus liked. Actually, I had been warned to avoid buying salads in restaurants (and storage containers too, I would assume) for risk of food poisoning. I was actually after local food – my favourite, the rolex. I asked her if she made them. “No..” she replied thoughtfully, “but I could make it for you if you wanted one.” I thanked her and said that I would return if I ever wanted a rolex.

A couple of days later I was in want of a rolex, so, always being one to keep to my word, I walked down to the bamboo fence and stepped inside. Another woman greeted me. “Do you make rolexes?” I asked her. “No” she replied. “Oh” I said, and I turned and left. I crossed the road on my way to another rolex stall when suddenly a voice shouted “Gina! Gina!”
I twirled around and saw Josephine frantically waving at me from behind the bamboo fence.
“Come and I make you salad” she said. I explained that I was after a rolex. After a brief chat, she said “Go and get your rolex, and then come back and I will make you a salad for free!” “why?” I asked. “Because I like you” she replied. In fact, she would have had to have given me the salad for free because I had only carried enough money to buy a rolex – part of my strategy to keep to my budget.

So, seeing no reason to refuse her generous offer, I trotted off to buy my rolex. Rolex in hand, I plodded back up the hill to that famous bamboo fence. Behind the bamboo fence I was surprised to find another muzungu – an older white-haired man – sitting at the only table. Wow, she is actually pulling the muzungu crowd after all I thought to myself. I sat on an empty chair at the table and the man began talking to me.

“I love this woman!” he told me, pointing at Josephine. “I'm doing everything I can to show her that I love her.... and you know, I'd never cheat on her, because I love her so much!”
His professions of love and admiration for Josephine steadily increased over the evening. “I love her... I love her... even though I drink too much sometimes....” The man trailed off but his enthusiasm remained. The man was a Belgian medical counsellor. His wife had left him (I suspect due to the drinking) and his adult children were all living abroad so he had taken a trip to Uganda. It was originally planned as a 3 month holiday, but then he had met Josephine, fallen head over heels in love and had cancelled his return ticket. He had been in Uganda for 2 and a half years and did not plan on ever leaving. He was an older man, much older than Josephene, but he was full of gusto and was extremely optimistic. His light blue eyes sparkled when he spoke. He told me a strange mix of stories: curiosities from his travels, his frustrations at Ugandan incompetence in the counselling field, his Flemish history, the jealousy of his ex-wife, and his love of Josephine.

Josephine reappeared with a small plate of salad and avocado for me and joined us at the table. I ate the salad in between mouthfuls of rolex. The salad was lovely. I thanked Josephene for making it for me. The Belgian leapt in to praise her as well. “And you should keep making more salads too sweetheart” He cooed affectionately. “And other European dishes – hamburgers, hot dogs, kebabs...” Ahhh I thought to myself This explains the strange menu.

I was unsure of Josephine's true feelings towards this eager Belgian. She couldn't have minded him too much because he was living with her, but she definitely did not reciprocate the level of infatuation that he showed her. By the time I left, his constant praise of her was becoming a little over the top and I sensed tension in Josephene. I began to feel slightly concerned about her. I wondered how often he drank and if he frequently got drunk. I was sure that he drunk while I was talking to him, although he was only sipping water at the time. However, these thoughts did not overshadow the entire conversation and for the most part we had a positive and enjoyable chat.

Time pressed on and I had to be on my way, but I promised to return – and I meant it. I got a good vibe off Josephine and I wanted to support her, even just to get her side of the story about the Belgian and ensure that she was safe.

The other day I did just that. I purposely walked home the long way and passed by the bamboo fence. I stepped into the patio area and sat down at the table. Josephene was sitting there eating a plate of food. She was by herself. Perfect, I thought. She was surprised and happy to see me. We chatted for a while and she prepared me a salad (I didn't get sick from the last one, why stop now?). She explained that the avocados were not ripe. I was so disappointed – avocados are my favourite, and the ones in Uganda are the the most delicious I've ever eaten. Another customer arrived, he sat down at a second table that I hadn't spotted before. He ordered a beer. Josephine had to disappear off  down the road to buy him the drink because the she doesn't actually stock drinks, just buys them as she needs them. He was a rastafarian reggae singer – perhaps attracted by the welcoming spray painted message on the fence?

Josephine arrived back, carrying his beer and – bless her – an avocado for me! She cut it up and arranged it on my plate, it was smooth and creamy with the consistency of soft butter. She sat beside me and I began to ask her about the Belgian. I asked her if he drank too much and whether or not she was safe. She explained that he definitely had a drinking problem. In fact, he had a mental illness and doctors had told him that because of it, his brain cannot handle spirits. However he had never listened to their warnings, and often would end up being hospitalised for weeks on end. She said that he was not violent but would shout a lot and say horrible things to her children. I asked her why she put up with it. “It's not so bad. He helps me – he pays for my children's school fees” she answered. Then she added: “He's not bad when he's sober, and now that I know he has a mental illness I know his moods and how to calm him down... plus I feel a responsibility to his children and his grandchildren to look after him”

We spoke at length about it, and she was very pragmatic and reconciled about her circumstance. We were able to have a good laugh about the whole situation. Still, she had been living with this man for 2 and a half years which is not an insignificant amount of time! I was so glad I had been able to speak to her alone, I feel a kindred spirit in Josephene. I like her a lot.

“What do I owe you?” I asked as I rose to leave.
“1000” She replied. (1000 shillings is less than 50 cents US).
I gave her a funny look – I knew she should be charging me more – the avocado she bought me alone would have cost at least 1000.
She brushed me off with a wave of her hand “2000 shillings is muzungu price, you pay 1000”
I was really touched that she counted me as a 'local' and not as a muzungu. I gave her 2000 anyway. I gave her a hug and told her I'd come and visit again soon.

Josephine and the drunken Belgian make interesting additions to my crazy cast of acquaintances in Kampala. How I relish these chance encounters!

The Story of Prossy

Not far from our house is a small local market area. There are always things being sold there – fruits and vegetables, clothes, hot food. It is a buzzing place, I like it a lot. In the afternoons it is full of vans and bodas and people out and about. The sellers sit on the side of the red brown pot-holed road,  their wares laid out either haphazardly or very precisely (depending on the personality of the seller) on a tarpaulin or an old sheet. Crockery, shoes, hats, towels, books – anything you can imagine, they sell it. The fancy clothes are hung out on large coathangers, the rest are heaped – or neatly folded (depending on the seller) – into large piles that you can dig through. The clothes are second hand, imported from the States, or else are factory seconds – slightly imperfect. There are hits and misses – most are misses, but if you dig deep enough you can end up with some top labels in good condition.

As twilight descends the buzz continues. More food stalls appear, bathed in the golden aura of the candles that light their cooking. There is no electricity nor street lights available, so each stall sets up candles to see. They don't even use many – just one candle per stall. They set the candle on their little wooden tables and then set up their small charcoal cookers. They place small woks or pots on top of the coal and cook the food on that. Charcoal cookers are the main method of cooking, even in the home. They fry, boil, steam, roast and even deep fry foods on these small cookers, about the same diameter as a regular frypan.

The night market is a gorgeous scene to behold. The depth of the night's blackness, the warm orb of flame attracting you like a moth, shadows dancing and jumping across the sweat-coated faces of the hard working cooks, the sizzle of oil in a wok, the aroma of smoky charcoal, the odd pungent whiff of diesel, the chatter of the women selling vegetables talking amongst themselves, the warm, gentle evening temperature, and the pyrotechnic display of electrical sparks from the mechanic's workshops that run parallel to the market, hurredly fixing up the most decrepit of vans to make them somewhat road-worthy for tomorrow. I love to get a rolex from a stall closeby to the mechanic's shops. While waiting for them to prepare my rolex on their charcoal cooker, I love to peer in past the sparks and flashes of light and get a glimpse of what they are repairing. A hole in the floor? Unhinged door? Installing suspension (for a change)? Cut brakes? Broken wheel axle? My mind is endlessly amused with the possibilities, well, until my food is ready anyway.  

Every tuesday they have an even larger market. I like to stroll through it, deep into the heart of the market. As you walk further off the road, the paving gives way to dust. Rail Tracks run through the center of the market. The sellers arrange their sheets and tarpaulins directly onto the tracks and then dump large piles of clothes out for you to pick through. You can find things very cheap here, even as a stand-out muzungu I still managed to be offered good prices. I slowly meandered down the tracks, halfheartedly leafing through the odd pile of clothes to be obliging. I hadn't intended to spend anything, just wanted to get a feel of the pricing so I could know for next time. (As a muzungu I never buy too hastily to ensure I can find out if am being ripped off or not). I had  gone quite a way and was about to turn back when I met Prossy.

Prossy was a quiet, unassuming Ugandan woman. She was sitting on her tarpaulin with her legs neatly tucked behind her in a very ladylike manner. “500 shillings!” she called to me. “Everything 500 shillings!”

“Everything?”
“Everything”

She was so gentle and non pushy – unlike the overenthusiastic male sellers. 500 shillings is equivalent to 20 cents US. It was the cheapest price I had ever come across in any of the markets I had been to. I decided to take a look. While I hunted through the enormous pile of clothes, Prossy helped me to find nice tops. We made a small pile to one side and then she helped me to weed out what I would get and what I wouldn't. Despite the clothes being ridiculously cheap in Western standards, my budget is most definitely not in Western standards, and to be honest, 500 shillings was pretty much the only price I could afford for clothes at the time. However, I was in desperate need of clothes, I was surviving on the dregs of my poor used-and-abused backpacking clothes – most of which had been given to me by charitable travellers who had taken pity on me. I bought four tops. Prossy was lovely. She was honest and not out to deceive or swindle me. At my request, she even accompanied me through the maze of the market to show me certain places selling other items of clothing. I felt such love and admiration for this woman. I vowed to myself to come back and support her again. I left the market with a bag of tops and the satisfaction of a fair deal.

As I walked home, other sellers tried to ply their wares on me – at hilariously hiked muzungu prices.

“Muzungu!! You want shoe?”
“How much?”
“Good price for you”
“How much?”
“70,000 shillings!”

I couldn't help but smile
“No way!” I laughed as I walked on. Behind me, I could hear the man desperately calling out to me, a new price in every sentence. I blissfully ignored him and contently trudged on.

The Tale of the Kabalagala Sports Bar

I am back blogging after an absence caused by the malfunction of my laptop keyboard. My b, v, ? keys and the space bar decided to stop working. After exhausting every possible DIY fix that I could think of, I ended up spending a week painstakingly typing using my laptop keyboard and the Windows on-screen keyboard. It was slowly driving me insane. So today I took a walk to Kabalagala, our local market area, and I bought a USB keyboard. It was much cheaper than fixing my actual laptop and is a functional means to an end. It was also a good excuse to go for a walk. I enjoy walking, despite looking a little ridiculous with a keyboard sticking out the top of my backpack.

Kabalagala is a buzzing place. I enjoy it there. It is on a busy main road and consists of a lot of shops, restaurants, bars, betting joints, street food stalls and all sorts of other curiosities. I stopped at several places along my journey.

First I checked out the menu at a cafe which advertises WiFi. It was evidently marketed towards the expat or business hot-shot crowd. A few Westerners were scattered at a couple of the tables, other tables were occupied by men busily hunched over laptops, squinting in deep concentration. You can bet that any place which offers WiFi will be popular among Westerners – myself included. I made a mental note of the cheapest item on the menu (which was hugely expensive compared to buying local cuisine) just in case I was ever in need of WiFi. The cheapest item happened to be a slice of iced lemon cake. At least the enjoyment of the cake would overcome the sacrifice of the price. One must be prepared to compromise. I smiled and thanked the eager waitress as I handed back the menu and turned to leave. I promised to return someday and have a piece of the cake.

Back on the road, the heat of the day made the air heavy, and the black diesel smoke from all the bodas, cars and vans seemed to linger in the air like small levitating storm clouds.

I walked for another 15 minutes, enjoying all the sights and sounds – the bustle of the place. Soon I came to a glittering mall. I walked into a shiny supermarket on the bottom floor. It felt a little clinical and foreign compared to the marketplace outside. As I entered the supermarket I was checked over with a metal detector and had my backpack inspected by a chatty female security guard who enquired if I were out by myself. Sensing no danger, I replied truthfully.

“Yes, just me.” I replied.

“Perhaps then I could be your friend and accompany you!” She gushed excitedly, as if the prospect would make us like sisters. I zipped up my backpack and answered positively, all the while knowing that nothing could come of it, since she was obviously in the middle of her shift. I passed the door and made my way into the supermarket alone. She remained at her post at the door.

The supermarket was slightly cheaper than the small local supermarket I normally visit. Delighted, I wandered the aisles, bundling products in my arms, only to then decide that they were superfluous to my needs and replacing them shortly after. I bought a couple of things that managed to pass through my sorting-and-replacing process. I began to head back through Kabalagala toward home. I passed by another supermarket and decided to take a look there as well. I kicked myself when I saw a product slightly cheaper than what I had just paid. I was able to bounce back only when I found one item that was more expensive than the last supermarket. Swings and roundabouts.

I spotted a French patisserie. Curious about the novelty of a French bakery in Kampala, and also curious about the prices, I went in. The bakery is one of several buildings in a hotel compound. Outside the bakery, covered by a precise and well-made thatched roof (read: money) comfortable chairs and tables are casually arranged on the patio. The place had a breezy, warm vibe that instantly envelops you and puts you at ease. I gazed thoughtfully at the glass case of desserts, and I took a mental note of what was available, but walked away empty handed. Outside in the carpark, a woman called Ayesha had set up a small table of her handcrafted wares. I was drawn to this woman, and began a conversation with her. Ayesha had a small selection of products on display – including some necklaces, bags, and aprons. They were all extremely cheap – I knew this because I had been taking mental notes of the prices of things at all the shops and markets I visit. The necklaces looked like coloured beads, but they were actually made out of rolled paper. I had noticed that it was a common material in Ugandan jewellery – probably because it was inexpensive, but it is immensely intricate and time consuming to make: Ayesha had made each paper bead by hand. I bought the necklace and she helped me to pick out a nice colour. We spoke for a little while, I asked her about the different items she had made. She was gentle and softly spoken with a determined dignity and a business mind.

“Can I have your contact details?” she asked me before I left, “So that I can tell you of other things I make, and perhaps you can further my business by telling your friends?”

I gladly accepted and jotted down my number for her – I had to consult my phone to find out what my number was, I haven't bothered to learn it yet. I draped the necklace around my neck, smiled, shook Ayesha's hand and left.

I was starting to feel a little hungry. I walked along, assessing my different food options: Rolex? No, not that hungry. Chapati? Maybe, it's cheap enough. I spied a dirt pathway that led away from the main road and into a busy section of a slum, with makeshift structures housing a multitude of lively enterprises. I ventured further in to see what food options I could find. Women crouched over small plastic basins of water busily washing lunch plates. To my left, a restaurant/bar was full of patrons. Men swarmed around a pool table under a tumble-down bamboo shelter. A table full of men and women laughed merrily in between mouthfuls of food, their plates piled high with potatoes, chicken and some type of gravy. Across the walkway, an improvised stage had been erected using a jumble of foraged plywood. It sat waiting in expectancy of an evening performance. Well-fed hens scratched at the dirt and then clucked insolently upon finding nothing of interest. I wandered around for a while. I immediately loved the ramshackle charm of the place. The rusty mismatched corrugated iron that cladded the roofs of the shacks, the industrious manner which the women walked as they collected more plates to be washed, the casual way the men propped themselves up with their pool cues. The buzz of life, relaxation, and enjoyment in this bedraggled slum.

I spotted a chapati stall but it was unmanned and I couldn't be bothered waiting around. I turned around and started walking back to the main street. I was almost back on the street when a young man emerged from a dark doorway of a sports bar and began talking to me. He was friendly and polite. He introduced himself, said he was from Eritrea, and invited me into the bar. I shook his hand and followed him inside. The 'bar' was a large shack with mud walls and a thatched roof made of sticks. The only light was the shaft of sunlight from the open doorway, that, and a solitary dim lightbulb which illumed the bottles behind the counter. Plastic chairs were laid out haphazardly around a few tables. The man led me to a table where another man was sitting – a friend of his – and ushered for me to sit down. A petite cat sat on the floor in front of me and observed me hopefully to see if I had any food to give her.

The two men were both Eritrean – I surmised that this bar must be a popular hangout for Eritreans. The other man was busy studying a printout of betting odds. The man who I was talking to introduced himself as Yonas.

Yonas was a refugee journalist from Eritrea.. He was passionate about justice and human rights, and his own life story was captivating and tragic. Under the Eritrea dictatorship he had fearlessly written articles which exposed and opposed the regime. He was subsequently arrested without trial and locked in an underground prison for 4 years. He escaped by using a fork to scrape the mortar from between the bricks of his cell and breaking his way out. Exiled from his country and in fear of his life, he made the dangerous journey crossing multiple borders to seek asylum in Uganda. Uganda, he taught me, offers freedom and protection to refugees. Over 110,000 Eritrea refugees are stationed in camps in Western Uganda. It was fascinating to talk to Yonas. He paused our conversation to get me a Sprite and then disappeared to order something to eat from the local restaurant next door. He reappeared shortly after, carrying a plate of cut up chapati, a bowl of chicken soup and two forks. He dumped the soup over the top of the chapati and handed me a fork. I had just taken my first bite when the bartender switched on a television and the football began. Suddenly men flocked into the bar and jostled their plastic chairs into prime viewing positions. Everton were playing Liverpool, as a long standing Liverpool fan I was thrilled to catch the game. I was even more amused as I assessed my surroundings. The mud walls, the holey ceiling, the crudely printed signs which demanded in large lettering “No sitting in chairs without order!!!” , and “Cash payment only! No credit!” I figured that I was probably the first white chick to ever step foot in this dark den of a place. For all its faults, the place did not come off as seedy, and all the men there were extremely polite and genuine. We ate our fill of the chapati and soup, there was still a lot left, Yonas offered it to another man in the bar – this man looked a little older and his face carried the anxious and sad smile of a person who had witnessed atrocities. Yonas explained that this man had been with him in the Eritrean army 10 years ago. He didn't elaborate further or make any attempt to fill in any details of what pretence he had been in the army, nor how he had managed to get out of it. I listened in silence. The man gratefully tucked into the food and polished off the plate.

The football game was heating up, Everton had just levelled the score 1-1. Yonas' gambling friend smiled broadly – he was betting on an Everton win. However, we did not get to see the end of the game because just then the power went out. Ahh, Kampala! Such a regular occurrence, I am used to the powercuts now. The men were flummoxed and set to finding a solution. They whipped out radios and tuned into the sports station. Eventually, most left in search of a bar with a generator.

Yonas and I continued to talk. He told me that he had just been awarded a scholarship to do a Masters in human rights law in the States. He would be leaving in a couple of months. I hardly knew what to say to this man who had been through so much. I was thrilled that he had such an incredible opportunity. We spoke for a while longer and then I said goodbye and left. Yonas said that he often hung out at the bar and I would be welcome anytime to stop by and say hello. I agreed, thanked him, and stepped back into the daylight. As I left the dark den of the bar my mind was running overtime thinking over everything I had just learned about the refugee situation and the plight of the Eritrean people.

I walked home reflectively and fairly uneventfully, apart from one brief exchange with a man selling the contents of a large container he was carrying.

“Hi Muzungu” (white people/travellers are generally addressed as 'muzungu')

“Hi”

“You want eat grasshoppers?”

“No thanks” I smiled, laughed to myself, and continued walking.

The Rolex and the Boda Boda

I have been in Uganda for one month, and I have to admit that in that time I have been pretty insular in my life. I go to work, I come home, I go for a walk, I go to church, and I eat all my meals at home or school. Compared to my intense two months of travel, I would appear to be at a stand still! But I am enjoying it. After backpacking all summer, I am quite happy to be a homebody at the moment!

However, because of my fully contained world, I must admit that I have been rather slow in experiencing some typically 'Ugandan' things. One such thing being a boda boda ride! In one whole month I have not taken a boda boda ride, mainly because I walk everywhere or else travel in a car.

Boda bodas are men on motorbikes who offer rides like a taxi service. They are everywhere! And little did I know it, but today was my day to experience one!

My day started out fairly normally, I went to school and was chatting with the specialist drama teacher over a cup of tea. Our conversation gravitated to food, and she mentioned some sort of food called a 'Rolex'. I had never heard of it, but it did explain all the signs on small shacks that I had seen advertising 'Rolexes' - I had been pretty sure they weren't talking about watches! 

She explained that a Rolex is a chapati (flat bread, my favourite food) with fried egg, onion, tomato and capsicum; all rolled up and served hot and fresh. It sounded amazing! The more we talked about it, the more hungry we felt. Suddenly, she asked if I had free time right then and there, and suggested that her driver (many people employ a driver here because public transport is not so great) whisk us off to get a Rolex! I eagerly agreed and off we went! 

On the way, we stopped at an International school and she introduced me to the principal. He showed us around the school and we all chatted for a while. It was great to meet and greet another principal in the area, and to look around the school. It was extremely well resourced and beautiful. The kind of place that makes teachers drool in admiration. 

We then went on the search for a Rolex. Rolexes are made by small roadside stalls that dot the main streets. They normally consist of a small cart and a miniature coal cooker with a wok resting on top. We couldn't seem to find a stall nearby, we would have to go further down the main road, but we were in a hurry and it was too far to walk, and there is no parking on the main road. Luckily, there are boda bodas - everywhere! In fact there were about four of them within 2 meters of us. We jumped on the one literally right in front of us and headed off down the road.

It was great fun to be on the back of the boda boda! I felt the wind rush through my hair and the gentle undulations of the road beneath the tires. Our short ride ended right in front of a Rolex stand. My friend ordered in her best Lugandan (the local language) and I watched, mesmerised, their technique as they masterfully mixed and fried the chapati and the egg mixture. Then they take the cooked egg mixture - pretty much an omelette - and lay it on top of the chapati. Then they rolled it up and handed it to me.

I took a bite. It was delicious! And cost all of US$0.75. I can assure you I will be consuming a few more Rolexes before I leave Uganda! What a wonderful way to celebrate my one month anniversary!

Arriving in Entebbe, Uganda

17 hours and two stopovers later I arrived from Israel to Entebbe, Uganda. After a long night with little sleep, we touched down at 6.30 in the morning. It was beautiful and clear sky, I watched the sunrise from the plane and then watched in wonder as the sky lit up and revealed a lush green land below, covered in trees and foliage.

We disembarked and moved into the visa line at the airport. I was a little nervous because I had just come from Israel, where I had been extensively questioned, and I didn't know how strict or relaxed the Ugandan border security would be. Also, I had heard various reports of the Ugandan visa requiring several passport sized photos which I had forgotten all about. I had no photos at all! The best I could do was to hurriedly cut out the picture from my expired International Driver's License in the hopes that it would pass with a push. As it was, it was not a problem at all. They didn't even ask for a passport photo! I paid the US$50 for the 3 month tourist visa and passed through into the arrivals area. Straight away I saw a sign with my name.

I met my greeters, Jerry (the driver) and Dana (the school's accountant) as we walked to the car. All of a sudden, it began to pour down with rain, huge drops, which then turned into a torrential downpour. In seconds we were all soaked to the bone. We were only meters from the van but the rain was so bad it felt like we were fighting a war just to get inside! When we were safely inside, looking like drowned rats, they informed me that this rain would not last long, and was in fact a good omen for my stay!

In about ten minutes we had driven out of the rain completely and were met with warm sunshine and clear skies. On the way back I was able to chat to Dana and Jerry. Dana is the sister of Sam who I met in Switzerland, and of Christine, the principal of the school. Jerry is a Ugandan man who drives a van for the school. He said that he had two children but he doesn't get to see them because their mother ran off with the kids. He claimed that often Ugandan women do that to try and make the man chase after them. Then he turned to me and, looking at me dead in the eyes, said “But you are something special... if you bore my children and ran off, I would follow you anywhere”. Of course I was flattered by his unique way of asking me to have his children, however I politely refused and suggested that he focus on the children he already has.

We drove on to Kampala and stopped at the 'Big House' where I would be staying. We pulled up to a large gate with huge concrete walls and barbed wire running along the top. The gate opened and in front of me stood a massive house – a mansion, it felt like a palace! This was not what I had been expecting! They took me to my room on the top floor, where I have a huge king sized bed, an ensuite, an ornate dresser, tables, chair, a sofa and a set of drawers. The room is huge! They left me to change and put my things away.

A couple of hours later, Dana, Christine (the principal of the school), Lucinda (another teacher at the school) and Jerry came and collected me and we headed off right into the countryside, past many small towns and villages, into the jungle, where they had arranged to view some land to potentially develop into a hospital. The land was in an area which had been called the Luwero triangle – a place of fierce brutality and war in the early 1980's. The people who lived in the villages within the triangle (so named for it's geographical shape from above) were cut off from the rest of the world and many never saw their family members again. Many were killed and wounded. Now the area is at peace and the villages are bustling with activity. They are without power, but live in such abundance – large mango trees, cassava, bananas, paw paw, matoke, potatoes, pineapples, beans, onions, tomatoes and many other fruits and vegetables grow everywhere you look.

We met with the man who owned the land, and took a brief look around and then made the 2 and a half hour trip back to the Big House. By this time, I was beyond exhausted. I had had about 3 hours of sleep in the last 36 – 48 hours. I kept myself awake until we reached home, but as soon as we got home I just leapt out of the van, mumbled goodnight to everyone and ran upstairs to sleep. My eyes – which water when I am tired – were watering so much that I could hardly see the stairs as I climbed to my room.

I collapsed onto my bed, weary, but feeling wonderful and thrilled to be here in Uganda, the pearl of Africa!

In Summary

So to sum up a wonderful two months, here are my final thoughts on my experiences.

In two months I visited a total of 15 countries (18 if you include Slovakia and Slovenia that I traveled through but didn't stop in) and approximately 38 cities. However, the amount of countries and cities that I visited is irrelevant. What was important were the people that I met. They were far more valuable to me than sightseeing. 

There were some places where I spent basically the whole day doing nothing, just hanging out with people, getting to know them and watching movies together. Was this wasted time? Will I regret seeing all those 'must-see' tourist spots that I missed? Not at all. My priorities are in order. People come first. There is a proverb which I love and it says: 

He aha te mea nui o te ao? He tangata! He tangata! He tangata!
What is the most important thing in the world? It is people! It is people! It is people!

I made great friends, was treated to the best hospitality in the world, sang, danced, ate, drank (all nonalcoholic drinks mind you!), went to the opera, performed on stage, walked long distances, took buses, planes, ferries, trams, trains, hitchhiked, drove cars, and an ATV dune buggy. 

When I was running out of money and thought I would have to cancel plans, I was miraculously given money without even asking. I was able to expand my plans rather than constrict. 

All I can say is that my life is testament to the unbelievable provision and blessing of the Lord and His grace - for giving me such an amazing gift that I did not deserve. 

My final advice for you is this: 

1. Travel with integrity. Don't try to cheat the system. Always buy a bus ticket, even if you know you will get away with not buying one. If you don't want to spare the expense, walk. I met a lot of travellers who would try to save a buck by not paying for the bus/train, and certain cities have ticketing systems where you can get away with it. But don't do that! Don't save a buck when it will cheat someone else out of it - and don't put yourself in a position where you could be found guilty! Travel with integrity.

2. Travel without fear. Don't be so fearful when meeting new 'strange' people. Talk to them without fear. Go to places without fear. Don't buy in to all the scaremongering and warnings. Take heed of their advice and be wise, but follow your instincts. Go and see things for yourself. Don't let fear (and hearsay) stop you! 

Escapades in the Biblelands – Jerusalem and the Dead sea

On my second night in Jerusalem I had arranged to stay the night with a couchsurfer. He picked me up around 7 and we went back to his place. He was a great host and an interesting person to talk to. Some of his friends stopped by and visited as well, they were also really lovely people and we had a really fun night. After they left, he gave me a lot of help to plan my next day in Jerusalem – I was very short on time, so I needed to really make the most of every second. He gave me lots of tips and studied the map with me to help plot the best route.

Early in the morning I packed my bag and headed out on my adventure. I took the bus to the Old City, and then walked down the Via Dolorosa. The Via Dolorosa is the pathway that Jesus followed when he carried the cross to the hill. It was strange to walk the streets thinking that my beloved Jesus had been in this very city – and he was dead and resurrected by the end of his visit! I also walked by the Western wall, then exited the city gate and walked to the Mt of Olives and the garden of Gethsemane. These were places that Jesus had spent time teaching and praying before his arrest and crucifixion – in fact, he was arrested in the garden.

The garden of Gethsemane was beautiful. It was surrounded by a large wall. You walked inside and there in front of you – separated by a protective fence – was a beautiful garden of olive trees and flowers. Around the perimeter of the garden was a path that led to a church. The church was beautiful as well. It featured paintings and mosaics of Jesus' time in the garden. Mosaics of olive trees were decorated on the ceiling – it was spectacular. At the front of the church beside the alter was a large rock – apparently the one that Jesus had sat on. I am not sure how they worked out that it was that particular rock, but even for figurative value it was nice to have something tangible to touch and look at.

I really enjoyed being at the garden. I didn't want to leave! But time was pressing on, so I made my way to the Mt of Olives. I don't know how many pathways led up there, but for whatever reason, I ended up on a very steep one that had over 570 steps. It was the hottest part of the day, and I huffed and puffed my way to the top. When I reached the top I was a little disappointed because I could see nothing that resembled a “Mount of Olives” - all I could see were residential flats and a walled cemetary that had an entrance fee (and you know that I was NOT about to pay it!). I was not deflated though, and I got out the map and studied it very carefully. I saw that there was another road parallel to the one I had taken that seemed to be more 'scenic'. So I walked down that road, and was thrilled when I found a gate that led into a beautiful olive grove. It was one of the places where Jesus had spent time. It had a spectacular view of Jerusalem, and was a very quiet and peaceful place. The garden was empty apart from a talkative older man who claimed to be the garden's volunteer caretaker/security person. He told me that he worked hard to keep the garden tidy and litter free. He tried to talk me into giving him some money for his good service. As he talked, I watched him as he gathered up some rubbish and just tossed it over the wall into the empty plot next door, which was covered in litter. When I asked him why he was dumping the rubbish next door, and told him I had nothing to give him, he grew upset and stopped being friendly and talkative. I took no notice and continued looking around the garden, laughing to myself about the whole incident.

I headed back to Jerusalem – not the Old City, but rather the new city. I headed to the markets. They were jam packed full of people! What an incredible atmosphere! You could buy virtually any fruit, vegetable, bean or spice known to man – everything was fresh and smelled wonderful. I bought a delicious fruit salad from one of the stalls that consisted of fresh pomegranates, mangos, pineapple, grapes and dragonfruit (which I haven't had since being in Singapore/Malaysia!) and strolled around people watching.

Time was passing quickly, so I soon left and went to the central bus station. There, I caught a bus to Rishan LeTsiyon. Vered had asked me to come to Rishan LeTsiyon because her brother and his wife and children live there, and it happened to be her nephew's birthday. They were going to have a family get-together to celebrate, and I was invited! Vered picked me up at the bus station and we went to her brother's house just in time for dinner to be served! I met all of Vered's immediate family and we had a great night of celebration and food!

We drove back to Be'er Sheva that night and went straight to bed because we had a big day planned the next day – a trip to the Dead Sea!

Early in the morning we gathered up our things and packed lunch, then met up with one of Vered's friends who knew the area very well. We drove towards the Dead sea. Along the way, Vered's friend taught us a lot about the geography and history of the area. He drove us to remote locations inamongst the salt mountains off the main road. He took us down tiny roads carved straight into the salt. The roads were uneven and sloped in every direction, they twisted through the salt mountains at very tight angles. Then we came across a huge group of school children who were hiking through the salt mountains. The road was so narrow that it took a very long time to be able to pass the children. As we passed them, the children were begging us to take them with us so they didn't have to walk in the heat!

We finally passed the last group of children and then weaved through some very tight and difficult curves. I was very thankful that I was not driving – I still don't know how Vered's friend managed to navigate us through all of that and come out the other side in one piece! Shortly we found ourselves on the top of the salt mountains. Vered's friend explained that this was Mt Sodom – the location of Sodom and Gomorrah – the infamous cities that the Lord destroyed. The Bible says that the area had been well-watered and had vegetation, but as it was destroyed the Lord rained down burning sulphur on the cities and removed every living thing, as well as all the vegetation in the land. The only family the Lord spared was Lot's family – they were found to be honourable people and angels told them to flee. But Lot's wife looked back towards the cities, and the Bible says she was turned into a pillar of salt. Sitting there on top of that salt mountain, I looked as far as I could see, and – true to His word – even now it is still just an arid place of salt deposits. Nothing grows there.

Next, we visited some salt caves. We were technically not meant to go inside them, but when had that stopped me ever before? We squatted down and slowly creeped deeper into the cave. Soon it opened out into a large shaft of daylight. Water had slowly eroded the salt and formed a hole in the 'roof' of the cave. It was so beautiful! Near to the cave was a large pillar of salt that was standing separately from the mountain – it was the pillar of Lot's wife! It even looks like a woman.

By this time we had worked up an appetite. We drove to the coast of the Dead sea, found a picnic spot by the side of the road and laid out all the food. Vered had made some scrumptious healthy food for us, and Vered's friend whipped up a fresh salad right then and there for us! It was delicious.

It was late afternoon by the time we actually ended up at the beach. We parked easily and found a nice spot on the beach. There were quite a few people there, but it didn't feel crowded. We waded into the water. It was the perfect temperature! I was so curious to experience the effect of the salt content. At 400m below sea level, the Dead sea is the lowest point on earth, and the water has the highest salt content in the world. I knew that it made you float, but I was wondering to what extent – did you have to put in some effort too, or would the water really do it for you? At first I tried to sit down in the water, but immediately my legs flew up and bobbed on the surface of the water! It was unreal – you did not have to make any energy exertion at all – it really was like magic, one minute you were standing up, the next minute your legs would pop up in front of you and you would just bob there like a rubber duck in a bathtub. It was not very deep, so the best thing was just to lie on your back in the water and use your hands as paddles to move yourself around. I felt like one those sea otters who float around on their backs. There was even an umbrella in the water which provided some shade from the sun. The three of us made our way under the umbrella and just lay there in the water, relaxing and chatting about life. The water is thick and quite oily. It feels wonderful. Salt forms a thick layer on the floor of the sea, so you can find a nice spot and scoop up handfuls of salt to give your body a good exfoliating clean. From all my travelling – despite frequent showers – I felt so dirty, so I gave myself an intense scrubbing. My feet had been so filthy that it took two rounds of scrubbing to get them adequately clean. We took turns scrubbing each other's backs. It was wonderful to be clean again! And with the oil content in the water, you would come out with your skin feeling smooth and silky.

We left the water and sat down on beach chairs to let the salt dry on our skin. It was very restful. We people-watched all the other bathers. Every now and then you would see a child accidentally put their face in the water or rub their eyes with their salty hands, then we would watch the drama unfold as the child began to cry with the burn of the salt, and the parent would rush over and wash them off, scolding them for not listening to their instructions. It was quite amusing!

Over the course of the day, Vered had been complaining of a rash on her body, and after being in the salty water she was in a lot of pain. So we packed up and headed back the car. It had been an incredible day on the salt mountains and in the Dead Sea. I have to admit, if I had the chance, I would definitely visit the Dead sea again and stay there for a few days of pure relaxation.

The next day Vered was not feeling very well at all, so we went to see the doctor then just hung out at home talking and talking. Later on she had a rest and I packed. It was bittersweet for me – I was excited because my next stop was Uganda, but it also meant that it was the end of my 2 month backpacking trip. What an amazing journey I had been on.

The next morning Vered dropped me at the train station and I took the train to the airport. It was a long, slow process of intense security checks at the airport. I finally made it through and boarded the first of three flights to get to Uganda. I smiled as I reflected over my time in Israel, and my time travelling. All I could do was thank the Lord for everything – it was astounding to think of all the things that had happened.

Bethlehem and Hebron: Palestinian Territories

There exists an enormous ocean of opinion in regards to the Israel/Palestine argument. One Israeli I met wisely concluded that you could argue strong enough for either party and have people convinced either way. So I am not even going to entertain the thought of talking about the background of the Israel/Palestine debacle, I will just present an account of my experience there.

While in Israel, I really wanted to take a trip to the 'west bank' Palestinian territories. Going there alone would be time consuming and require several different modes of transport (a bus to get to the border, a shuttle from the border, and then another bus from there), I really did not have the time or patience to deal with the whole process of it. So I opted for to take a political tour that would provide all the transport and make it easy. The tour went to Bethlehem and Hebron; and would also make a stop at the Bethlehem Church for us to look around and see the place Jesus was born. It was the perfect tour for me – it killed two birds with one stone!

There were only 8 of us on the tour, so we were able to really get to know each other over the course of the day. We were picked up in Jerusalem by a small bus and driver who drove us through the border and to the house of our Palestinian tour guide. Then we got out of the bus and got into a different van and met our tour guide. As a Palestinian, he is not allowed to go to Jerusalem, so he has to employ someone else to pick the tour group up and drop them back.

Our first stop was the Bethlehem church. We were met at the church door by another tour guide – an expert on the church. He knew the church very well and told us fascinating information about it. He hurried us downstairs to the cave where Jesus had been born. We were wondering why he was in such a rush, then he explained that they were expecting a large group of pilgrims and they were going to do a mass in the cave so it was going to be closed to the general public. We got into the cave just in time – in fact, we were the only ones there (for about 5 seconds).

The cave was cozy and serene. It was interesting to learn that in that very cave they had buried all the babies that had died as a result of King Herod's command to slaughter all the Bethlehem-born infants under the age of two.

Another cave had been excavated right beside it. For many years a Catholic saint had lived there, translating the Bible. He is buried there.

We left the caves and explored the rest of the church. The church is the oldest church in the world. It is interesting because it is a sacred place for so many different denominations within Christianity, and the church building itself is owned by about three different denominations. As a result, there have been many disputes over renovation/restoration decisions. The largest stalemate lasted from the 15th century until very recently. In the end the government stepped in and so the much-needed renovations could begin.

Saying goodbye to our tour guide, we headed back to the van and the political part of the tour commenced. It was not a pretty picture. Israeli soldiers have imposed restrictions on the freedoms of the Palestinians, and basically they can do whatever they like. They make it very difficult for the Palestinians to travel and move about. There are checkpoints everywhere. Sometimes there are multiple checkpoints on the same street. It is really hard to describe it. Imagine you are a pedestrian walking down a main street of your town. Now imagine that as you are walking, you are passing army soldiers wielding powerful machine guns who can ask you questions, check your ID cards, inspect you, beat you up, arrest you, or simply deny you admittance at their absolute discretion. So if they are in a charitable mood you may walk the entire stretch of road uninterrupted, or else if they are having a bad day, you could find yourself beaten and lying in the gutter. Some checkpoints are small boxes where the soldiers just watch you. Others have metal detectors. Others are turnstile gates. We visited one refugee camp where at one stage the only entry/exit point for the entire camp was one turnstile. There were over 12,000 people living in the camp, so the simple matter of going outside of the camp to go to work became a huge process where people had to line up for hours and hours. That has now changed for that camp, but the reality of lining up and being restricted still remains.

The border crossings from Palestine to Israel are testament to this. For the Palestinians who work across the border, they must budget for 4-5 hours of waiting in traffic to get through to the other side. Morning and night. People begin lining up at 4am in order to be at work on time at their office which is 30 minutes away. I met a traveller who was staying on the Palestinian side. One day she had a meeting in Jerusalem at 1pm. It was meant to take 1 hour to get there. She caught the 10am bus and was still stuck in the bus waiting at the border at 3.30pm. These are the everyday realities that we simply cannot fully begin to understand.

We visited the huge dividing wall that 'protects' the people. It is menacing and blanketed with barbed wire. Many artists have come and created political murals or painted messages of peace over the wall.

We visited downtown Hebron. It is a ghost town. Most people have been chased out of town or else their properties and houses have been taken and occupied by Israeli 'settlers'. The 400 settlers live in these former Palestinian homes and terrorise the remaining Palestinians with verbal abuse. Settlers living on the first floor teach their children to sit outside on the balcony and fire BB pellets or spit on the Palestinians walking the streets below. They throw trash, large chunks of concrete, human urine, raw eggs – anything that could belittle or humiliate the Palestinians. Shopkeepers have had their goods ruined by the trash and eggs hurtling from above. Many have shut up their shops and have left. Some shopkeepers stand up for themselves and have banded together by installing sheets of chicken wire over the footpaths to catch the debris thrown by the settler children. The chicken wire is bent and buckled from the weight of the debris that have been tossed. It is hard to believe that this happens everyday.

In the short time that we were in Hebron we bore witness to multiple injustices. Twenty minutes before we had arrived in Hebron a settler child had attacked a Palestinian child and had cracked open his skull. Later on, we personally witnessed a young child of around 7 years old being arrested by Israeli soldiers and led away to the Army headquarters. I do not know his 'crime', but our tour guide suspected he had probably disrespected the soldiers or had been walking in an area he was not allowed to go.

We sat down for lunch at the house of a Palestinian family. After lunch we sat outside and were talking and telling jokes. A local man sat down and joined in our conversation. Two minutes later some soldiers indicated that he had to leave – apparently he was not allowed to be on that street and so he had to move on. As we were sitting we saw some UN Observers walk past. They patrol the streets and take pictures of any abuse that happens to the people. Our tour guide explained that the Observers are even used to walk Palestinian children to school because the parents are not allowed to access the school's street, and if the children were not chaperoned they would be attacked and verbally abused by the settlers. Even the children are subjected to all this!!

As a visitor with a foreign passport, I felt like I was at a concert with an All-Areas-Access card. We were untouchable, we were free to go anywhere. But it was so different for the Palestinians. There were streets that even our tour guide could not take us – he would give us the information and then wait nearby while we took a look around. The town was so strange because it was so empty and devoid of life. It was like the scene in a horror movie. Everything was empty. Bullet holes decorated many of the building facades. No-one was on the streets. Everyone, both settlers and Palestinians, were basically barricaded away in their homes.

Our tour guide explained a lot about what he had seen and experienced. He shared stories of how the soldiers would pick on certain people and force them to stand against a wall for hours and hours, and how they would arrest people for no reason and then incarcerate them for 6 months (or longer!). He told us that every time he travels overseas he is detained and interrogated for 4 hours. He is so used to it that he builds that extra time into his travel itinerary.

He showed us how the soldiers and settlers try to demean and humiliate the people and make them feel inferior. But the Palestinian people are determined to not let their behaviour erode their selfworth. The Palestinian people are extremely warm and friendly. They are very open and are generous hosts. Whatever your views are, if you are in Israel, you should make the trip across the border to Palestine and meet the locals and experience it for yourself. Don't listen to those who tell you that it is dangerous and to avoid it. Go and see for yourself what these people are living through every day. The Palestinians are often portrayed as dangerous and violent but that simply is not true. They are seeking only peace. They are not resentful towards Israelis – they recognise that it is only a few extremists who are making their lives miserable, just as it is only a few Palestinian extremists who gave them all a bad name.

This is not the past – this is the present. This is not just a place where injustice happened in the past, this is where injustices are being lived out every day – right in front of my own eyes! I have visited many places filled with recent tales of injustice – Sarajevo, Berlin, and Budapest for starters – but that was all in the past. This is happening right now!

We exited through the last turnstile checkpoint back to the van. We drove in silence back through the border to Jerusalem. As we drove away I looked back and for one last time read the massive warning sign which reads:

This Road leads to Area “A” Under the Palestinian Authority. The Entrance for Israeli Citizens Is Forbidden, Dangerous To Your Lives And Is Against The Israeli Law.

I drove away with mixed feelings. Rage. Fury. Sadness. Sympathy. Admiration.
But most of all, I just had love and heartache for these wonderful people who have had their freedoms restricted and who live their lives subject to such frustrating regulations.

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem

I had just done a tour of the Biblelands and I had seen many different places, and I have to say, it was so great to see them.... However, because of all the people and ornamentation around each site I often felt 'dry' while there. Shepherded in and shepherded out. There was no feeling or emotion or significance that I felt while visiting most of these places, and I felt a bit sad. I arrived in Jerusalem at the hostel where I was staying and I was really praying, Lord, these places are where you walked, where you lived, where you breathed, where you died - help to make it real for me.

So I dropped off my gear and I headed straight to the church of the holy sepulchre - the site of Calvary hill, where Jesus' cross had stood, and his tomb. I was rushing there because I knew that it was closing soon. And as I went there, an amazing thing happened - all the streets and pathways and alleys became empty - only a few people, and it was only 6.30pm, hardly late. I was wondering why it was so quiet because I had been bracing myself for a battle of crowds.

I found the church through the labyrinth of covered alleys lined with shops (most were closed or were closing) and I walked inside. I had heard online that the church closed at 7 and by now it was 6.45, so I quickly rushed up the staircase to calvary hill where the cross stood. There were a few people there, not many, but enough to form a 5 minute queue to touch the stone that had apparently sat beneath the cross.

As I was in line so many thoughts were running through my head - I was wondering about the accuracy of the claim that this was THE rock. But most of all I was scared that I would feel nothing - that it would be another numb tourist experience in the very place that is meant to be the site of the most incredible act in history. So I continued to pray and I really asked the Lord to make it real for me.

So it was finally my turn and I knelt down and put my hand through a small golden hole where you can touch the stone. I touched it and I felt nothing, it was just a stone. Inside I was thinking "ohhh Lord, I spose that's it then, its just like everything else", but then as I retracted my hand and moved away, I was hit by such intense grief I started to cry and cry.

I moved to the side and found a place in front of the cross where I could kneel. And I knelt there on the floor and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. And when the tears stopped, I felt so much peace. I sat there for a long time - even though it was after the official closing time, they let us stay for a lot longer, I was there in front of the cross for about an hour. I really felt like the Lord was seeking my heart and wanted to get me alone - away from all the people who I talk with all day long.

I finally looked up from where I was kneeling and I noticed again that the place was really clearing out. It was becoming so still and peaceful. I went again to the stone of the cross, and I had such peace in my heart. I went there and as I slipped my hand through the golden hole and touched the rock, I just whispered thank you. Thank you Lord Jesus. Then I stood up and walked down the stairs (and I had no pain or pins and needles from kneeling for an hour or anything!).

I walked down another staircase towards the tomb. When I reached there the last people had left and I had the whole place to myself. I was able to take time and not be shepherded about. I just stood there and I could feel the strong presence of the Lord. I thought to myself that yes indeed this is Holy ground that I am standing on. I took my time and was really enjoying being completely by myself. Then I slowly climbed the stairs and was heading to the main part of the church where the pews were, when a security person approached me and said that they were about to close the church. I had seen everything that was important to me, and it was almost 8pm, so I left and walked back out into the quiet streets.

Once again, there were pretty much no people out at all. I walked back to my hostel and just spent the night by myself, not talking to anyone, just being with the Lord. I was so grateful to the Lord for giving me that sacred time with him by myself. On my travels I was constantly surrounded with people and had very little time to just spend in solitude with the Lord. That was my special time. Right there in Jerusalem.

Israel: The Biblelands

Israel – the Bible lands! I was so curious to go there and see everything with my own eyes. I was also excited because I was going to meet up again with Vered- the Israeli woman I had met while couchsurfing in Vienna. I arrived in the morning at Ben Gurion airport. I took the train to Be'er Sheva where Vered lived. She picked me up at the train station. I recognised her immediately, she was wearing bright yellow and was radiant like a sunflower. She drove us back to her place and she made me a delicious breakfast of granola, fruit, yoghurt and cinnamon – she had remembered from Vienna that I loved granola! I was so grateful for her incredible generosity and hospitality! She suggested that we head out that afternoon to the Negev desert. I thought it was a great idea! I took a shower and changed, while she made us a delicious picnic lunch to take with us. Be'er Sheva is the gateway to the desert. We headed off, together with her dog Dharma. It only took an hour to get to the spot. It was at the lip of a huge canyon called a makhtesh. It was huge, and so beautiful to look out at. There was no one else around, it was so calm, quiet and still. It felt like we were the only people in the world. Dharma the dog had a blast running up and down the hills. Vered and I set up our picnic and had a good catch up. She had prepared some delicious food for us, delicious bread and salads. It was so nice!

Afterwards, she took me to another place where the rocks were rich in minerals that had stained the sands and rocks all different colours. There were many different rocks and sands in several vivid colours. It was so fascinating. Vered had even more planned for us! We went to visit a friend of hers who lives in the desert. On the way we stopped in to have a look at a kibbutz and to see Ben Gurion's desert house. Ben Gurion was a very influential president over Israel who encouraged people to bring life into the desert and make use of the desert lands. He ended up building a house in the desert and living there in a kibbutz. A kibbutz is a communal living compound, where people work together to live a self sustaining lifestyle, cooking together and sharing the workload. We continued on to Vered's friend's house. She was lovely – a lab technician working towards her PHd. She lives in a small community with her husband and young daughter, walking distance from a laboratory campus for a main university. She took us for a tour inside the laboratory. They are researching the desalination of water for conservation. Other students were there on exchange programmes from big universities from the states including Yale. It was very interesting!

We went back to her house and had a lovely dinner. By the time Vered and I got back, I was about ready to collapse from exhaustion! It had been a long day but it was an amazing start to my Israel adventure! The next day we just relaxed. We slept in and the only thing we did was to go out to a local restaurant for lunch. It was just what I needed – a rest!

The following day I had booked a tour to explore some places of Biblical significance including Nazareth, Capernaum, the Sea of Galilee, and the Jordan river. The tour only picked people up from Tel Aviv or Jerusalem. It was easier for me to get to Tel Aviv, so I dutifully got up at 4.30 in the morning to get there on time for the tour! The tour was fantastic. Our guide was very interesting and passionate about each place. He would take out his Bible and read to us, reminding us of the Biblical story surrounding each place. It seemed to me that wherever there was a historical place, they would build a church on it. The churches themselves were quite beautiful, and being built on significant places made them unique – sometimes you would wind your way down into crammed underground cellars to view the original historical place. In Capernaum we visited the house of Apostle Peter. All that remained were the foundations, and then suspended on top was a strange circular church which looked like a UFO. It was all a bit amusing to me, but still, I was really humbled and in awe of these places. We stopped at the site where Jesus had fed the 5000, which was located in a beautiful church. Outside the church you could see the hills where the people were all sitting. It was an incredible moment to put the story together with the actual location. We also saw the hill where the herd of pigs had been standing before Jesus released a man's legion of demons into them and they had run to the sea and drowned. It was amazing to be there.

We had lunch right on the edge of the sea of Galilee. I ate a delicious packed lunch that Vered had made me. Continuing on, we arrived at the Jordan river, the site of Jesus' baptism, and the river the Israelites had crossed. It was so different to the other places we had been which were hot and dry and devoid of shade. The Jordan river was a refuge of solace and was lush beyond description. It was so shady and peaceful. I put my feet in the water. It was very refreshing. In the gift shop I got to hold a 2000 year old coin – a mite – the very type of coin that was mentioned in the story of the poor woman who gave the church 2 coins – everything she had. I had no intention of buying the coin, but how often can you handle a 2000 year old coin? Israel is so rich in antiques and historical items, there is such an abundance that many things are not locked away behind glass in a museum – you can actually touch and buy these artefacts. They have a joke:

What do you do when you find a 150 year old coin?
a. hand it in to the government
b. keep it for yourself

The answer is neither: it's only 150 years old, you might as well just leave it on the ground!

The tour ended there, and they kindly dropped me off in Jerusalem later that evening with some other group members. In Jerusalem I had booked a hostel. I knew I would not have a lot of time in the city because I had another tour booked for the next day. So I prioritised everything and formed a strategy. I dropped off my bags and headed straight to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I will detail it in my next blog.

Istanbul, Turkey

How can I summarise my experience in Istanbul? I would start by saying that Istanbul impacted on all of my senses. Istanbul was full of colour, tastes, sounds, smells, and textures.

I arrived in Istanbul in the evening. The bus station was miles away from the main city, but free shuttles took you the rest of the journey. I got off in Taksim square and walked down a main shopping street to my couchsurfer's apartment. My couchsurfer lived in an old, historic apartment block in an excellent location in the city. I marched myself up the four flights of stairs with all my bags and tried to catch my breath before ringing the bell. My host opened the door and explained that he was just about to go out – I had arrived just in time! He showed me where my room was, and left me the WiFi code and a spare key before heading out to his appointment. I had a quick shower then went out to hunt down some dinner.

I walked 5 minutes to one of the major pedestrian-only roads Istiklal road. It was full of people and all manner of shops, boutiques, malls, cafes, and restaurants. There were lots of little alleyways running off Istiklal, they were crowded with cafes and buzzing with activity. The prices in Istanbul were a bit more expensive than what I had grown used to in the smaller towns. In my stubbornness I couldn't settle on anything, so I ended up just buying some rice – but don't misunderstand me – having rice for dinner was not a desperate last resort – in fact it was one of my favourite foods to eat in Turkey! In Istanbul you can buy rice anywhere – they even have vendors with small carts selling rice on the footpath. I don't know the trick to how they cook rice in Turkey, but it is some of the most delicious rice I have ever tasted!

I wandered the streets a little longer until the cold drove me back to the apartment. Europe was definitely descending into winter and I was not keen on hanging around for it – the sooner I left, the better!

My couchsurfer and I got along well, and we had some good conversations. He gave me good tips on where to visit in Istanbul. I only had a couple of days, so I needed a good plan. On the map, my host pointed out interesting areas and landmarks to see, and showed me areas to avoid. Being the type of person I am, my ears suddenly pricked up when he told me the areas not to go to, and they became the first places that I wanted to visit.

I began my day with the touristy parts of town. I bought a sampler plate of baklava from a famous baklava house. I consumed so much sugar in that one sitting that I was surprised that I did not collapse from overindulgence! (I did, however, become quite the baklava connoisseur).

I walked over the 2 level Galata bridge. On the top, cars and pedestrians make their way to the other side; vendors sell corn on the cob and bread rolls, while fishermen cast their lines into the murky river below. On the bottom level seafood restaurants with bright neon signs jostle for customers.

I bought a corn-on-the-cob and munched away as I walked past beautifully designed mosques and buildings. My first stop was the city Basilica Cistern. This was an underground plumbing system used centuries ago. Inside it was dark, and shallow water covered the entire room, punctuated by large, illuminated columns. Raised walkways ran the length of the room that allowed you to walk around and view the columns. Golden and scarlet light lit up the columns from the base, and cast the most incredible reflections in the water. It was breathtaking.

I walked back into the bright sunlight in a bit of a daze. I headed across the road to the Hagia Sophia – an exquisite building which over the centuries had served many different peoples – originally built as a church, it later became a mosque, and more recently, a museum. It was huge inside. It had the most beautiful and ornate chandeliers. Hidden near the back of the building was a small stone ramp which led to the upper level. The inside is in the process of a large restoration project, and scaffolding takes up almost a quarter of the space, but even with the eyesore, it doesn't detract from the beauty of it.

I left the church and crossed the garden square to the Blue mosque. As I lined up I got prepared for entry – it was an efficient process, but still a process no less. As a woman, I had to wear a covering over my head, and then all shoes had to be removed and placed into plastic bags. They ushered us in, inspecting our clothes to make sure we were dressed modestly enough. Inside the mosque it was spacious and large. Soft, thick carpet lined the floor, and large chandeliers hung from the ceiling. It was my first time in a mosque, and it was a lovely one. I wandered around a few other places in the city, then headed to the 'bad' areas that my couchsurfer had warned me about. 

The 'bad' areas consisted of dilapidated low-cost housing, broken pavements and dusty roads. Roosters, chickens and goats roamed all over the streets. Colourful washing hung suspended high above the ground, strung between buildings. Markets pulsed with energy and life. People mingled everywhere. Children sat on the curb giggling and playing games. Vendors sold rice and corn on the cob. Small cafes churned out kebabs to queues of hungry patrons. The aromatic smoky flavour drew you from miles away. I felt such joy from these so-called 'dangerous' places. It was my favourite part of my time in Istanbul.

Back at my couchsurfer's place, we chatted about Turkish culture and traditional foods. The next day was my last day in Istanbul. I had a relaxed morning with my couchsurfer watching a movie, then he suggested that I spend the day going around tasting all the different Turkish foods. It didn't take much convincing to get me on board – I loved Turkish food! We headed out to a local cafe and ordered a traditional wrap with mixed spices and salad. It was very tasty! My couchsurfer had to then go and do some work, but he gave me a list of foods and the best places to get them. I had such a great time. I took my time, hopping from street to street, taking in all the smells, sounds, and activity. I stopped in a cafe for rosehip tea, tried some authentic Turkish delight, bought freshly squeezed fruit juice from a local market, tried a pastries and bread at a bakery, and a traditional dessert at a fancy cafe.

My crazy day of trying food was really the best way to end my time in Turkey, since the food in Turkey was just so delicious, and so much a part of the culture. I picked up my backpack and waved farewell to my couchsurfer. I took the bus to the airport, settled on a bench and got a little bit of sleep before my flight boarded at 3am. Goodbye Turkey! I will miss your gastronomic delights!

Canakkale and Gallipoli, Turkey

I left Selcuk and took a bus to Izmir, and then another bus to Canakkale. Canakkale is a small city on the coast of the Dardanelles. It is the largest town nearest to Gallipoli. I arrived in the evening and was met by my couchsurfer, Yagmur – a Turkish student who was studying Japanese language teaching at the local university. We bought a chicken durum roll and walked to her apartment. She lived in a huge apartment with two other students. They were all lovely girls and they were great hosts, they would make me food and were so friendly. That night we bonded over music and we ended up sitting on the floor in the living room singing songs on the ukulele. They were going to a student party the following night with a karaoke theme, and they suggested that we all sing a song on the ukulele. So we decided on a simple song – 'Call Me Maybe' and practiced it.


The next day I had booked a tour to Gallipoli. Gallipoli is a very important place for New Zealanders and Australians because it was the site of a huge, gruelling, bloody battle from WWI. We suffered large casualties in the battle and the men had survived under terrible conditions – 9 months of trench warfare in one of the hottest summers on record, and then, ironically, one of the coldest winters on record.

The Gallipoli campaign was a series of blunders right from the start. The British were interested in securing the Dardanelles in order to get control of Constantinople (Istanbul) and thus end the war. They had planned to send the Navy up through the straights to the city. Deluded, the British commanders believed that they could simply turn up and that Turkey would surrender to them immediately. They had grossly underestimated their enemy. The Turks put up a strong defence against the Navy and destroyed several of their most powerful ships. Many battleships sank.

So Churchill and Kitchener formed a new plan – a land infiltration. The British, French, New Zealander and Australian troops were involved.
The New Zealand and Australians – the ANZACS, were meant to land on a specific beach which was flat and wide. Their directions were to secure the beach and advance into the land, securing strategic positions and taking control of the northern Dardanelle coast. However, the marker that was floating in front of the beach had shifted in the tide, and when dawn broke and the men landed at the beach, they found themselves in a very different position. They were on a narrow beach surrounded by cliffs. The Turks were waiting at the top of the cliffs and rained attacks on them right away. The beaches were stained red from the blood of our men. And that was only the first day. The battle raged for many months before the men were called to retreat and were evacuated out.
Growing up in New Zealand you hear about Gallipoli a lot, but it was so powerful to actually visit the place and see if for myself. The people on my tour were mostly middle aged New Zealanders, with a few Aussies and other nationalities. Our tour began at a restaurant where lunch was included in the price of the tour. It was a scrumptious lunch, and it gave us a chance to get to know the other people on the tour.
We loaded into a medium sized tour bus and our guide talked us through the day's program. It was fascinating to visit each beach – first we visited the beach they were meant to land at, at then we moved to ANZAC Cove, where they actually had landed. It was a beautiful sunny day, and it was hard to imagine how it had looked as the sun rose over the land on that fateful morning when they arrived. It was very moving. Grown men had tears in their eyes.
I had watched a documentary on Gallipoli the day before I had taken the tour, and it really helped me to remember many of the details and imagine everything as it had been. The day to day reality of life in the trenches. We visited some trenches – even 100 years later the scars on the land remained and you could still walk through the maze of trenches.
We visited the Australian memorial at Lone Pine, and then the New Zealand memorial at Chunuk Bair. It was a very special moment.


We were just about to drive back to town when the bus made a tight curve a bit too fast and the wheel suspension broke. The wheel itself was fine, but everything holding up that side of the bus collapsed. The bus limped to a stop, nursing a large tilt. In fact, the bus driver was going to keep driving but all the NZ men felt the lurch and the subsequent lean and ordered the driver to stop. Then a bunch of NZ guys got out and assessed the situation. I couldn't help but laugh – it was such a NZ male thing to do – I was pleased to be back in the company of practical men who could fix just about anything with that Kiwi 'no. 8 wire' mentality. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done for the bus and our guide arranged for two other buses to pick us up and take us back.


I got back to Canakkale and was in a rush to get to the apartment in time for the student karaoke party. I walked in the door just in time – they were about to leave! I grabbed my ukulele and headed out the door with them. We took a taxi to town and made our way into the crowded bar. It was absolutely packed! Soon a band started to play. We danced and sang (although it was all in Turkish so I could only dance). It was a lot of fun, and a nice release after quite an intense day!
The band finished and the karaoke began. The Turkish young people were great – they were very confident and just went out and had fun regardless of their singing ability. They would really encourage and support one another, and they all had so much fun. I admired their freedom! It's not like that in New Zealand!



Our turn came and we headed up on stage with my ukulele. I played as loudly as I could but unfortunately the sound of the ukulele was very quiet compared to all the noise going on. Despite that, we sang our hearts out and had a great time performing! Yagmur and I left shortly after that – I was exhausted!

The next morning I packed up my bags and headed on the bus to my final Turkish destination - Istanbul.

Selcuk and Ephesus, Turkey

I arrived in Turkey at the break of dawn. My ferry landed in Kos, and then I took a smaller ferry to Bodrum. Bodrum was a lovely coastal town with a castle and lots of beautiful boats and markets. I walked to the bus station. I had planned on going to Izmir, but my couchsurfer had fallen through, and since I had no other reason to visit Izmir, I had decided against going there, and instead chose to go to the town of Selcuk – the gateway to Ephesus. I had read online that there were no direct buses to Selcuk, and so they advised taking a bus to Soke, and then a bus to Selcuk. So I found a bus going to Soke, bought a ticket and boarded. It was an amazing bus ride – we had WiFi, movies, TV shows, and there was a waiter bringing around free snacks and drinks.

When I got to Soke I discovered that the internet had misinformed me – and actually there were no buses running from Soke to Selcuk. Undeterred, I asked about alternate ways to get to Soke. They said that I could take a bus to a certain town and then take a connecting bus from there. The bus was a minibus and was not as fancy as the previous one I had taken – no drinks or snacks there! We headed off, after circulating the town for ten minutes while our driver shouted out the window to any passersby to attract more passengers to fill the remaining seats. After driving for about an hour, he stopped on the corner of an intersection and told me that this was my stop. I got out and took a look around. It was a strange small town, with no bus station. I asked a few locals where to go, but none understood English. So I followed the road signs until I was on the main road pointed in the direction of Selcuk. I figured that any bus going that way would pass me and I would be able to flag it down. I came across a man who looked like he was waiting for a bus – and he was, so I waited with him. After 40 minutes the man gave up and went away. I had nothing better to do, so I just stayed put and waited for this alleged bus. Soon some children and teenagers noticed me and were eager for me to talk to them. I talked to them briefly, wondering all the while about when this bus would ever roll around. Just then, a sleek black car pulled up and a man asked me if I wanted a ride to Selcuk. I am not normally one to hitchhike, but I had heard from some Turkish friends of mine that it is common to hitchhike in Turkey, and anything was better than sitting on the side of the road. So I accepted and climbed in the car. He was an interesting man – a professor in Veterinary sciences at the local university. He kindly dropped me off right in the heart of Selcuk and even gave me a bag of dried figs from his garden. I thanked him and waved goodbye. I had made it to Selcuk, in a strange, round-about way which set the tone for a lot of my Turkish experiences!

The people in Turkey are extremely outgoing and friendly. Even as I walked to my hostel in Selcuk people were asking me if I needed assistance with directions – which was great because little did I know but I had actually taken a wrong turn. I checked into the hostel, put down my bags and assessed my situation. It was 5pm. I was going to visit the ancient site of Ephesus the next day and would be leaving the following morning. If there was anything that I wanted to see in Selcuk, I had to do it right there and then.
I decided that I would quite like to visit the house of the Virgin Mary – a small dwelling on top of a mountain where the Virgin Mary had lived for the last 9 yeas of her life. The house was 10kms away from town. There were no buses that ran there, and a taxi would be too expensive. It would take a good 2 hours each way to walk there. I had been sitting down on a bus all day, so I just went for it. I began to walk. As I got further out of town, locals started approaching me and asking if I was lost! I assured them that I knew where I was going. I found the road that led to the house and began walking down it. I stopped briefly to buy an apple from a roadside stall. It was run by a man and his elderly mother. The mother took me in her arms and embraced me, and told me that the next time I came to Turkey I should stay with her and she would cook for me morning, noon and night. Thanking her, I tore myself away and continued up the road. I finally reached the house. It had taken me the full two hours to get there. I knew that the house was closed from visiting hours, but I figured I could still have a look around the outside. The security guards waved me through and told me to be quick. It was peaceful and quiet. I was the only one there. The house itself was beautifully designed and made of bricks. I peeked inside the windows. It was small inside. It would be a great place to live, I could see why Mary had loved it there.
I started to head back down the road. Along the way I met two nuns who lived there. They were lovely people, and, bless them, they were quite concerned about me walking all the way back to town – so much so that they flagged down their priest and asked him to give me a lift back to town. He gave me a ride and told me of his life and his work – he had been all over the world! He was listening to pop singer Adele's song on repeat. Literally. He apologised about it the fourth time it began, but he just loved it so much he listened to it continually. He also said that he had a set of keys to the Virgin Mary's house, and apologised profusely that he hadn't seen me earlier so that he could have unlocked the house for me to have a look inside.


He dropped me in the center of town, I thanked him and set off in search of dinner. I ended up meeting a man selling carpets. Now, this is something about Turkish people – well, maybe not a general sweeping statement, but from what I have heard, and from my experience – Turkish people are extremely friendly and chatty. And as much as they would like to make a sale, whether or not you buy from them is irrelevant to their interest in you (and it is not just because I am female – males attest to this as well!). So I met this carpet man, standing outside of his carpet shop. He asked me a few questions about where I was from and where I had been. I answered him, and then let him know that I had no interest in buying a carpet. He invited me to play backgammon. I agreed, we sat down at a table outside the shop and he taught me how to play backgammon. While we played, we chatted a bit. He was lamenting that he likes to be friendly and practice his English but most travellers ignore him. He couldn't understand why. I chuckled to myself, because if I didn't know better about Turkish people then I would have probably reacted to him the same way. We tend to be too weary of being set up for a sale.
After the game (which he won) I asked him if he could tell me a good place to buy baklava. He left his shop in the hands of his assistant and walked me to the local baklava shop himself! I bought a baklava piece, and I have to admit, it was one of the best baklavas I have ever had. I said goodnight to the carpet man and I headed back to the hostel. What a crazy first day in Turkey.


The next morning I had planned to go to Ancient Ephesus – the huge, influential city from 2000 years ago that apostle Paul, John and the Virgin Mary had visited. Apostle John had lived there too, and his tomb lies in St John's Basilica in Selcuk. Ancient Ephesus is about 3km out of Selcuk town. Easy walkable distance!

I had heard that crowds could get busy in Ephesus, so I planned to go early, but in the morning I decided to catch up on making my next travel plans and head to Ephesus a little later in the day. Crowd or no crowd, I would take it as I found it. As it happened, it suddenly started to rain in a torrential downpour! There was thunder and lightening, and water flooded the ground everywhere. I decided to just relax and wait the storm out. At around 2pm the storm cleared and the rain stopped. I headed out and began walking to Ephesus. On the way I met a Turkish man who was also walking to Ephesus. He ended up paying my ticket to get in, and we spent the afternoon walking around the site together. He had been there before so he was able to show me things I otherwise would have missed.


Ephesus was incredible. It was such a large area of ruins – a big town center! There were wide streets paved in marble, theatres, a library, houses, temples, churches, baths, squares – even a public toilet! There was a lot to see, and what I found the most amazing was that in most places you were free to walk and touch whatever you wanted! Things were not shrouded away behind fences or roped off – you could freely walk around and explore. We walked through many different buildings. I am sure that we also went through places we were not really meant to go through, but it made it all the more interesting.


My Turkish friend bought me a drink and we chatted for a bit before heading back to town. As we were walking out of Ephesus he turned to me and said “Gina..... I love you”. I thought 'Oh noo!!!' and I shrugged it off and sternly replied “No, you don't”. He said it a couple more times, and even suggested that I take him back to New Zealand with me. It was all light-hearted, but it was rather annoying, so at the first intersection I told him that I was going the other way, I thanked him and said goodbye. Luckily, he was a good guy and didn't try to follow me or anything.

I headed to the Temple of Artemis. This temple is listed as one of the 7 wonders of the Ancient world. It doesn't look so wonderful now, it has mostly been overtaken by swamp land. It was actually a very beautiful spot, very peaceful, with lots of birdlife. The temple consisted of a few pieces of column, but one column remained fairly intact. At the top of the column was a large birdsnest, and birds were constantly flying in and out of it like an airport. I sat there for a while and drew a picture in my sketchbook. I trucked back into town and went to St John's Basilica, where apostle John had been buried. The church was mostly just a ruin now, but the decorated marble floors remained, and they still had a gleaming polished look about them.
It had been a big day of sightseeing and I had worked up an appetite. I found a kebab restaurant to stop at for dinner. I had beef and eggplant kebabs – they were delicious. Eggplant is one of my absolute favourites, I can't seem to go past it if it is mentioned on a menu. While eating, I met a middle aged NZ couple on the table next to me. They were really interesting and we had a great conversation. I haven't had much contact with New Zealanders in a long time, but in Turkey I met a tonne! Many New Zealanders make a pilgrimage to Turkey to the battlefields of Gallipoli. There were so many New Zealanders and Australians on the west coast of Turkey that I didn't even bother to ask where they were from – I already knew.
As I walked back to the hostel that night, I had to really watch my step – there were frogs and snails everywhere! The frogs would be constantly hopping on the footpath in front of me. They were well camouflaged – they looked like leaves in the breeze! There were also cats and kittens everywhere. I couldn't bring myself to pet them since I am sure they were filthy and riddled with parasites, but it did add a cute factor to each location.
It was only when I reached Turkey that I really felt the effects of the massive Ottoman Empire on Europe. Coming to Turkey didn't feel any different at all from other places in Europe. I found it to be very user friendly , spacious, and familiar. I realised that the Ottoman Empire, which had ruled over most of Europe for 400 years had certainly left its mark on the architecture and design of each city that it controlled – it was all the same! It was like a reverse culture shock - I found that I was actively seeking some sort of differences!