Traveling with an iPad, redux

August 15, 2011 • Blog

World » Netherlands » Delft » Bot-Boender residence

It’s a year since I bought my iPad, and a week since I bought my iPad 2, time for an update on my post on what to take when traveling with one. This is directed both at those using an iPad as a tourist and as an alternative for a work computer while on the road.

+ Strongly consider buying PDF versions of the Lonely Planet chapters you could use. Sadly, at regular prices, the individual chapters are way too expensive, making it easily more interesting to buy a whole guide, at about a 50% discount. 
Having tried some alternative solutions, apps that also offer travel info, nothing beats the Lonely Planet, still. The more obscure your destination and the shorter your stay, the more you’ll benefit from getting the guide of guides, if only for the practical info.
+ Use the free Read It Later app to save Wikitravel guides of your destination to your iPad. PocketTrav used to be an excellent app to do this, but the app has stopped working, at least for me and my friends.
+ Consider saving the Wikipedia entries of your destination to your iPad. This gives you your history section.
+ Get the MapsWithMe app. This allows you to pre-download openmaps of the countries you are visiting. The maps are not as easy on the eye as Google maps, but their always being available, with your GPS location marked, makes them extremely useful.  As long as you have internet access, Google maps is the way to go, but if you’re traveling abroad, this is often a problem.
+ Get the Tripadvisor app. Granted, you need a connection for it, but when there is one, typically at your hotel or, depending on your destination, perhaps a cafe you visit, you’ll be able to check out which restaurant to visit, or which sight to see, based on other people’s reviews. Contribute while you’re at it.
+ Consider using the Wikihood app. It’s nice, but doesn’t add too much, as it only shows you what’s near you, when you are online, while the info is culled from Wikipedia. As plenty of venues do not have coordinates associated with them, many of your nearby locations will go unnoticed by the app.

Not giving you travel info, but useful, are HipMunk, AirNinja and SkyScanner, for finding cheap fares and budget airlines. Also get your favorite weather app, mine is AccuWeather, and a good clock, I use the aptly named Alarm Clock.

Also, on my recent one month, eight country trip, I took just my iPad, not my computer, crossing my fingers I would be able to do all that was needed. This almost worked, but not completely. KyPass, MySQL ODBC and Gusto go a very long way, but when the shit hits the fan, I need the convenience of a properly multitasking high resolution desktop with easy to use keyboard. 

I gave up on the Bluetooth keyboard I purchased for my trip to Afghanistan. Just pairing it was so cumbersome I’m better of having thrown it out of the window.

Then and now

August 12, 2011 • Photography

1 / 1
World » Hungary » Budapest » Benno’s pad

On our recent visit to Budapest, we revisited some locations we frequented some fifteen years ago. Side by side, the comparisons of photos from now and fifteen years ago create a somewhat comical effect.

Oslo, I am disappoint

August 07, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Norway » Oslo » Anker hostel

Sadly, Oslo is currently the world’s most expensive city. At the same time, Oslo is also the fastest growing European city, though this is due to immigration, currently a quarter of the population being immigrants, with some predictions saying that in 20 years time, it will be half.
The largest immigrant populations are Pakistani, Somali, Swede and Pole.
Walking around the inner city, roughly the town’s shopping district, it actually feels like 75% of the population are immigrants.

It’s a pity that the city isn’t very attractive, rather drab and also rather messy and dirty. A jumble of buildings, though some, thankfully, are nice enough.

Service related to the flight from Katowice to Oslo can improve on its levels of comfort. Katowice airport is an hour from town, but worse was boarding being called (“please go to the gate now”) half an hour before they actually started the boarding procedure. Because the gate was down a ramp, meaning you couldn’t see the gate from the departure hall, all passengers ended up being stuck in a small space, unable to move, waiting for the gate to open.
At the gate an old fashioned eastern European, very staunch, lady, was policing bag size, picking out passengers and having them check both weight and size of their carry on. Luckily, I slipped through. Though my bag wasn’t too heavy, 10kg is allowed, the shape of the backpack, like most, doesn’t fit the prescribed size.
Going through the security check in Katowice, both toothpaste and deodorant were confiscated, even though I got through security with them when flying from Eindhoven. Sure, rules are rules, and I understand that 125ml of toothpaste can be terribly dangerous.

Later, exchanging money in town, the chain of currency exchange offices called Forex, filled with what seemed Somalians and Ethiopians, charge a fixed and criminal six euros for changing money. And I had to hand over my ID for registration.
This behavior, and the rather strict border control when entering the country, reeks of the trappings of totalitarianism. WTF is up with this shit?
On the upside, Oslo truly is a cashless society. All payments can be done by card. All payments.

Norway is outside of the EU (but inside Schengen), so alcohol could be had cheap atKatowice airport, full bottles of Zubrowka going for a mere 6 euros. As in Oslo a pint of beer can cost double that, stocking up before going is the thing to do.
And the savings are more than needed. A mediocre hot dog and half a liter of water, at a Seven Eleven, set me back nearly six euros. A whopper junior is only marginally less than that. Toothpaste (a small tube, in case airport security want to get it from me again), deodorant (small), water and a roll, at a regular supermarket, set me back nearly twelve euros. It seems that the cost of shopping in Sierra Leone has met it’s match. Norway only beats it on choice.

Boarding the plane, my passport wasn’t checked once. This means that flying on someone else’s ticket is possible. Additionally, the only thing that really matters, if at all, is that the name of the boarding card matches the name in your passport. However, with web checkins, this is easily adjusted on the original with very little computer skills. Just as long as the barcode is intact, the scan of the boarding card will work fine, whether the name on the card matches the name it was booked for or not.

In Oslo, plenty of the city’s museums used to be free, up till only a few months ago. No mean feat, as those that weren’t free charged 8 to 15 euros a piece. Free, it seems, doesn’t exist anymore. The museum that hosts Munch’s Scream now costs about 7 euros, though you get to see three more museums at that price, though all used to be free. Thankfully, it’s more than worth it, though two of the four can be skipped. Other formerly free museums now charge about the same price.
The Kon-Tiki museum, highlighting Thor Heyerdahl’s journey from Peru to Easter Island, never was free, but upped it’s price to just under ten euros. The Munch museum, which also has a version of the scream, now charges 13 euros.

I’m staying in one of the very few budget options in town, which still comes in at some 30 euros per night for a bed in an eight bedded dorm. The place, Anker hostel, is so busy with backpackers and whatnot arriving and leaving, it feels more like a factory. Though the place is clean and staff are friendly, the hostel also feels remarkably run down. Cashing in 250 euros per room per night, I’m a bit surprised.

Not sure if it is the rains, or simply the prohibitive cost of going out on the town, the reception area of the hostel is busy with guests hanging out from the early morning till the evening. And with everyone tapping away on their iPhone or laptop because of the free but mediocre wifi, it’s also eerily quiet.
Sadly, though August is the festival season in Oslo, as opposed to eastern Europe, where in august most venues shut down, the rains aren’t inviting.

Building a house with Habitat in 2000 in Beius, Romania, we fraternized with some of the locals. One of them moved to Norway and she has been asking me for close to ten years when I’d finally visit, me saying it will happen at some point.
It’s happening now, but, as luck would have it, she’s on holiday in Romania.

Gotta catch them all

August 03, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Poland » Katowice » Rynek

Ever since entering the European Union some two weeks ago, the weather has been more appropriate for a gloomy September than befitting a central European summer. Arriving in Katowice, the sun peeked out briefly, only to disappear again behind clouds and rain. I really would appreciate a bit more warmth and sunshine, if only for it helping my chances of shooting nice pictures.

Close to Aushwitz, Katowice hasn’t got as much to offer as, say, nearby Krakow, the city and area having gained economic ascendency through its industrial prowess. The town, more functional than historical, feels a bit like Antwerp or Rotterdam. Though pretty buildings can be found all over town, it’s functional constructions from the 1970s which dominate the city.
Interestingly, for a brief period during the 1950s, from shortly before to shortly after comrade number one’s demise, Katowice was passed of as Stalin’s city, Stalinogrod.

The region, Silesia, is named after a local river and mountain, Ślęża, of which the etymology has been traced back to the pre-indoeuropean Vandals, coming down from the Baltics in prehistoric times.
Still, though it’s not agreed whether Silesians should constitute their own nation, Silesian nationalism, or perhaps pride, is obvious, with the Silesian blue and white flag hanging all over Katowice.
The Silesian language, on the other hand, is most often considered a Polish dialect, not a unique language.

I’m staying in a very pleasant hostel which is clean, quiet and efficient. Katowice not being one of Poland’s backpacker hotspots, the scope is limited, meaning that budget options were few, and I resigned to having to sleep in a dorm. Nevertheless, the attributes of the hostel make up for it.
Arriving at four in the afternoon, I went out to take in a bit of the town, including what is said to be the largest monument in Poland, commemorating three Silesian uprisings, a good 80 years ago. I returned after chilling and some good food and drinks around ten in the evening, only to find a bunch of youngsters hanging out in the dorm, on their bunk beds, reading their tattered paperbacks. I took my bottle of Zubrowka, acquired at the Polish equivalent of Aldi, and headed down to the, very nice, common room to nerd and read.

What I don’t get and see too often, grandpa mode engaged, is why these ‘kids’ prefer to read in their bunk beds, while they could be out having a good time for a pittance, or at least relax in a chair. Half a liter of beer at a fancy Irish pub, here, goes for just two euros.
Meanwhile, walking down one of Katowice’s main drags lined with pubs, bars and restaurants, I couldn’t help but noticing scores of youngsters hanging out on and around the permanent furniture in-between the pubs, smoking and drinking their own beers and vodkas. There is little to discover on a dorm room. It’s happening on the street!

The great death factory tourism factory

It’s a must to visit Auschwitz, near Krakow, but nearer to Katowice. Last time I was in the area, Krakow, was 16 years ago and I failed this obligatory stop. Not so now.

It’s been observed that with ubiquitous access to information and flash tourism, it’s the prominent tourism attractions that thrive, while the also rans slowly slump back. That’s probably why though access to Auschwitz is normally free, in summer between 10 and 3, you can only access Auschwitz I, the main camp, on a guided tour costing you 40 zloty, about ten euros. Access to Auschwitz II, Birkenau, is still free, but the one and only ‘Arbeit macht frei’ sign can only be found at the former.
And extremely busy it indeed is.

English tours are held the most often, sometimes as much as every 15 minutes, but even then, my group was so big it still had to be split in three groups of about 20.

The tour was decent enough, if too long, but also lacking. The tour guide was very good at going through, presenting, the logistics of running the death camp, sure. No problem there.

At the entrance of the first building, containing information on and photos of the transports to the camps, the famous quote by George Santayana had been put up, “Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it”. Obviously, we have not learned; Cambodia, South Africa, Rwanda, Yugoslavia being recent proof. But learning about the logistics of a death camp won’t help anyone to understand the underlying causes of these sad events and won’t foster the realization of it having happened before, when it happens now or in the future, for there is always the justification which will make it alright, in the eyes of the perpetrators, thinking that ‘now’ is different from before.

However, if we, in this case visitors of Auschwitz, can understand the reasons for Nazi Germany to so abuse man and understand the fallacies in their thinking, we have a better chance at recognizing these fallacies in our own or others’ thinking when they happen, hopefully being able to recognize the build ups to genocide before it occurs.
Sadly, learning how efficient the Germans were is not going to do that.

Getting to Oswiecim, the Polish name for the town, from Katowice, is a bit of a hassle, compared to getting there from Krakow. Only three direct trains a day do the trip, while several bus services ply the route as well, but all starting in different locations in the city and running infrequently.

Real estate

Believing in society as something that could be constructed, the early 20th century saw a number of (social) engineering projects, typically related to then, newly developing industrial projects. Many of these housing estates, often to a large extent self sufficient, were also often built along similar concepts and similar designs.
One example is the Agnetapark in Delft, related to the Gist en Spiritus fabriek (yeast and spirits factory), later Calve, of peanut butter fame, now DSM. Another one is an estate I visited a few years ago in Budapest, Wekerle telep.

Quite similar in design and layout to the latter, but this one built in red brick, is the housing estate in Nikiszowiec, now part of Katowice’s municipality.

Nikiszowiec consists of nine ring shaped blocks, three stories high, with each surrounding a large courtyard, landscaped into a semi private park. A nice neo-baroque church complements the settlement, built for the workers of the nearby mineshaft, Nickisch, which started operating in 1906.

For me, slowing down a bit on my schedule of 8 countries in four weeks, taking this extra day in Katowice, I was able to see a few sights slightly off the beaten track. Not only Nikiszowiec, but I also wandered around the city’s modernist quarter, which includes a skyscraper of 14 stories which once was the highest building in the country. I also visited what was once the largest building in Poland, the former Silesian parliament, from when Silesia was, briefly, independent, or rather, an autonomous province of the interwar Second Polish Republic.

In other news, finally, after some two weeks, the sun has been shining the whole day. It actually makes this industrial city rather attractive. The summer dress code does help with that.
Still, its weird that for the whole week, the highs are predicted to be higher in Oslo, than here in central Europe.

The sun started shining a day earlier, while in Auschwitz, but by the time I got back to Katowice, and stumbled upon Le Tour de Pologne, sunshine had turned into rain again.

No bucket full of meat

I’ve been trying to find one of the city’s milk bars. No, milk plus is not served, here, these are low priced, almost communal, kitchens serving good food. Or so I’m told. I found one, but found it closed. Three times.
Instead, I ended up at the vegetarian restaurant Zloty Osiol, smack in the middle of town. The food is SO GOOD, I had no choice but to eat there. Three times.

In fact, the only meat I had in Poland was inside two kroket, indeed, written just like in Holland, though of slightly different texture, just before going on my tour of Auschwitz.

In the corporate city

July 31, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Czech Republic » Kurim » The White House

Finally able to visit Christo, an old friend from when living in Johannesburg, I took the bus from Budapest to Brno, only a few hours away. An excellent service, the fairly quiet connection even served up wifi which occasionally worked.

Brno, nicknamed ‘The Corporate City’, was once likened to Manchester for its heavy industries. Now, it’s a pleasant little city, with a completely renovated and rather pretty centre. The lack of tourists make the town also feel more authentic, though that also means it takes a combination of English, German, hands and feet to get your point across when ordering food or drinks.

Christo and I spent one day in the nearby student town of Olomouc, where, outside of summer, 20000 students descend on this lovely little town with a population of a mere 100000.
There is plenty to see, but on the day we were there, it felt like walking around in a ghost town. Pretty much all the shops were closed and almost all the terraces were empty. The gloomy weather also didn’t help, though we didn’t have to also deal with rain.

A fine example of obscure etymology, the name of the city derives from the name of the original Roman settlement, Julii Mons, the hill of Julius, and legend has it that Julius Caesar himself founded the city, though that’s likely a load of baloney.

Niamh studied here for a while a few years back, and she tipped me off on the local dish to taste; fried cheese. Rather nice, I was glad that Christo had failed to order anything with his steak, when lunching at The Red Ox, meaning I could offload a fair piece of the sizable chunk of the calorie bomb filling my plate.

Christo actually lives just outside Brno, in Kuřim, where the accent on the letter r makes the name of the village into something like kurdzjim. To my surprise, telephone and electricity poles were fitted with loudspeakers, supposedly to occasionally sprout government propaganda. Just like in, say, Thailand or Vietnam.

No sleep till bedtime

July 27, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Hungary » Budapest » The bachelors valhalla

Returning from Romania, I was set to have a week of recovery in Hungary. Not so. But late nights and early mornings made me aware, conceptually, of a strong linguistic connection between Hungary and Holland.

The Dutch word of the year 2008 was swaffelen, which refers to touching people or objects with your flaccid penis. The Hungarian term faszkorbács literally means dick-whip, and is typically used in relation to an oratory trashing of an individual.

Expecting to recover from a good week out east, I ended up partying more like it was 1997 and only had an easy day on my last, when Benno left early to attend a function in Germany.
The next morning, I had to get up at five to catch a bus to Brno. The bus, trundling through the Hungarian countryside, again showed me the beauty of the gently sloping fields and low green hills. How gorgeous. I can’t wait to get back to Salone. Notice the sarcasm.
But up to a point. The flat north is less enticing.

While in Budapest, I also went through the painful process of losing an arm and a leg in the process of buying a ticket from Holland to Freetown. I huffed and puffed, and managed to get the cost down to 543 euro. That will be the cost from door to door, including three trains, a bus, a plane, another plane and ending with a speedboat. I would save a good 30 usd using the ferry in Freetown, but I arrive at 3am. Not the nicest time to trawl through an abandoned peninsula and city.
This is a one way journey. Booking a one way journey with Kevin Mcphilips, the ‘budget’ option for Sierra Leone, for the same day, would cost 700 euros, flying from Heathrow. On top of that, I would have to get to Heathrow and still get from the airport in Freetown to Freetown itself.
The cheapest alternative would leave from Amsterdam and would cost about 80 euros more.

I’m flying from Charlerois, Brussels South. The train journey to get me there is a low, low, 14.50 euros.

When in Romania

July 20, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Romania » Bran » Bran castle

Getting in or out of Chisinau presents you with limited choices. Though there are occasional long distance trains, going to and coming from as far away as Berlin and Moscow, but these only typically run about once a week.
There is a daily night train between the Moldovan capital and Bucharest, but busses are significantly more common. So, skipping Bucharest to save time which would allow me to potentially participate in a pubquiz in Budapest on Thursday, I took a bus to Brasov, just under two hundred kilometers north of Bucharest.

Brasov, its name deriving from the Turkic for “white water”, once in the domain of the Hungarians, is firmly in the heart of Transylvania. The city isn’t very big, only counting some 300.000 peeps as it’s inhabitants, and the old town of the city is embedded between two scissoring steep cliff faces, which rise up hundreds of meters above the old city.
The town itself is actually a tad boring, feeling like a remote Austrian or south German town. And it’s also horribly touristy, the whole year through, thanks to the nearby ski slopes and the also nearby home of Vlad the Impaler, more colloquially known as Dracula.
You can even visit the man’s castle, though he had several. Apparently, a country has to take pride in one’s serial killers.

More interesting is the castle’s history before Vlad associated himself with it, if only briefly.
A castle was first built by the Teutonic knights in the early 13th century, this one was destroyed by the advancing Mongols in 1242. Consider how close the Mongols came to conquering the world. Not because they were defeated, but because the generals were called back to select a successor to the great khan Ogedei, the third son of Chinggis Khan. Talk about a case of being saved by the bell.
The rebuilt Bran castle, put together by the Saxons and allowed for by the ruling Hungarian king was then first used in the defense against the Ottomans in 1378, after which a back and forth took place for a while, which included the short term ownership of Vlad III, in 1459, the individual on which Dracula was modeled.
Now, the building is a museum with a host of materials from the Romanian queen Mary and, actually, not really worth visiting. Sure, the setting is nice, but Vlad the Impaler is only a minor side story, and the disneyfication in the village of Bran is second to none.

No sweet transvestites were encountered.

Onwards

Even the Romanian train network now deploys time-differentiated pricing in the style of Ryanair. Want to travel tomorrow to Budapest? You’ll pay up to twice as much as if you had booked a week in advance. Is that reasonable? A public service run by the government shouldn’t try to take advantage of it’s subjects in a market where competition is not possible.

Transnistria, the little country that isn’t

July 18, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Transnistria » Terespol » Monument to Suvorov

It’s amazing that a Chisinau and Vladivostok, some 7500 kilometers apart, as the crow flies, were once part of the same country. Chisinau has a decidedly more European, if eastern feel to it than Vladivostok, but the nearby Tiraspol could just as easily be any larger city anywhere in Siberia. The government building is still called house of the Soviet, a few Lenin statues still stand and the hammer and sickle can be seen all over the place, including in the country’s flag.
When the Soviet Union broke up, the Moldovan region east of the Dniester, Nistra, river had quite a few Russians living there, mostly related to the Soviets’ strong military presence. The Transnistrians fought to stay independent, afraid that the new country, with its strong ties to the region of Moldavia across the border in Romania, would seek to reunite with it’s western neighbor.

So far, Moldova is still Moldova, on the edge of the European union and supposedly the poorest country in Europe, though that’s hard to tell from the many cafes and restaurants lining the city’s streets. But, the breakaway province also believes it’s a country, even though it’s only recognized as such by two other entities, South Ossetia and Abkhazia, and they are not even countries themselves.

I found Tiraspol nice and friendly enough, if very small and quiet. It’s easy to walk to the edge of town and, while walking, I bumped into several of the locals with whom i shared my bus into the country. And it seems the Transnistrian officials are no longer hassling tourists.
Up to a few years ago, crossing into the wannabe country would be frought with difficulties and the need of paying multiple bribes. Now, a successful policy change made crossing a total breeze. To the extent where it’s almost meaningless. On the Ukrainian side, the guards briefly looked at our passports, there is freedom of travel between the two republics.
Later, leaving Moldovia, on the Romanian side, the Moldovans checked the passports and tapped every part of the bus with a screwdriver, but did not check the luggage, while the Romanians didn’t check the bus, but did check the luggage in the hold, very briefly, but did not check the luggage which remained in the bus.
A Moldovan family on the bus was extremely fidgety until after the Moldovan checkpoint. It reminded me of a crossing from Lithuania to Poland by bus a good number of years ago, where nearly everyone was smuggling stuff, taped to their person.

Moldova! Not Moldavia! Duh!

July 17, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Moldova » Chisinau » Stefan cel Mare park

Still the poorest country in Europe, being beaten by countries like Vietnam, Mongola and Yemen, Moldova has over 4 million inhabitants, but a third of its GDP comes from remittances from families abroad.
Not very well known, the breakaway, self styled, country of Transnistria is even less well known, and only recognized by two other non countries, Abkhazia and South Ossetia.
There even once was a second breakaway province, Gagauzia, in the south of the country and split into four enclaves, which proclaimed independence before Transnistria did. Still, the Gagauz settled for only a slightly uneasy truce and autonomy within the republic, where Transnistria and Moldova went through a small war almost twenty years ago and only now see normalized relations slowly happening.
And to make things more confusing, across the border in Romania, there’s a province called Moldavia, though in some languages, both the province and the country are spelt the same. Moldova, across the river Prut, or Pruth, used to be part of what was called the mysteriously named Bessarabia, where country and province once belonged to the principality of Moldavia.

We didn’t play tennis, but did drink the excellent wines and cognacs. And had some rather excellent foods, while it is said that Moldova is a gastronome’s delight. If anything, the city feels like other Warsaw pact capitals in the years after the fall of the wall; poverty is never far away, though not too obvious, while expensive cars ply the boulevards and fancy schmanzy restaurants and cafe serve decent food at inflated prices in glitzy settings, though next to decidedly more low key restaurants and cafes, still serving decent to very good, and very eclectic, foods at surprisingly low prices. And by those in the know, Moldova is said to be the home of the best wines and cognacs in Europe, most of which is never seen in western Europe. In fact, what is said to be a legendary cognac, Kvint, actually comes from Transnistria, the bad boy breakaway non-country of Europe. Though any self respecting restaurant in Chisinau serves expensive western wines and cognacs at relatively low prices, it’s hard to beat the quality and price of the local stuff, typically sold at about a euro for 50ml, a large shot glass.

Chisinau is surprisingly mellow, perhaps helped by the fact that the summers are dry and hot, and was extremely hot on our visit, though the city is also spatious, has plenty of parks and lacks the frantic atmosphere of some other southern European capitals. It also, apparently, has the largest Jewish cemetery in Europe, though it’s really boring, as far as cemeteries go.
But there are also, still, the leftovers of a communist past. Benno and I were whistled in, by a cop, for jay walking. Perhaps angling for bribes at first, we agreed to accompany the officer to the police station, only to be given the suggestion of a few beers after work hours. We gladly accepted, though it didn’t help that we didn’t have a language in common, even though the fine officer spoke three.

During our recent weekend on the shores of Balaton, we concluded that, though 15 years ago the women of Budapest looked much more enticing than they do now, this was probably due to our infantile, or perhaps juvenile, eyes, more obvious now as it seems that Budapest women tend to dress a tad slutty.
What’s wrong with that? I hear you say. Well, absolutely nothing, but for our aging brains to be less interested in the smut, more interested in the substance.
Yeah, right.

However, I’m not totally convinced this is the whole story. In my mind’s eye, the women, fifteen years ago in Budapest truly were more attractive, physically, than they are now. And now, in Chisinau, we found that a disproportionate portion of the Moldovan woman are, indeed, truly stunning.
I suspect that part of this is the Moldovan heritage. It is said that the Romanian language is the one language closest to ancient Latin and Moldovan is just a dialect. Though Italian women supposedly are truly beautiful, having been to Italy on numerous occasions, I never have been really impressed. However, how can there not be some truth to the legend of the beauty of Italian women?
I suspect that legend once was true. But now, with the Italian language having been diluted and having moved away from it’s origins, so have the Italians. Not so the Romanian language and, I propose, the Romanian, and Moldovan women.

Sadly, this theory was thoroughly thrashed when visiting the Romanian city of Brasov a few days later. Perhaps those people are too Italian. Or tourists.

However, I also think there is a second component, which explains Hungarian women seemingly having gotten less attractive over the last two decades. The injection of wealth into eastern Europe is affecting the intrinsic quality of life for those living there. Medical care might have improved for the more wealthy, access to popular and often less healthy foods has as well. Add to that eastern Europe’s tradition of meat based meals, higher standards of living might have actually allowed for more focusing on meat oriented, less healthy, meals, instead of, driven by necessity, less meaty alternatives.
I propose that part of the reason why Moldovan women are so hot is because the country has stayed poorer, longer.

Then again, perhaps the woman simply are extremely hot, which would explain the typically long legged nymphets the Balkans and Caucasus typically field in the Eurovision songcontest.
Or perhaps what would be considered slutty here, is actually more refined where I come from.

Pushkin

In more cultural news, the one museum we visited was Pushkin’s home in exile from Russia. Having fallen out of favor with the Tsar for being supportive of, though not actually supporting, the Decembrists, Pushkin was exiled to, and lived for three years in, the corner of the empire that was Chisinau. The tiny house he shared with his uncle has been restored in it’s original setting, while the next door building has been converted to a museum.
Though we made it clear we were truly fine without a guide, we ended up with an English speaking guide anyway, whose knowledge and expertise was obvious, but who also seemed to have perfected the art of orating monotonously. To complement her stern performance, she carried around a telescoping pointer, alerting Benno and myself to the possibility of a spanking.
Sadly, no spankings occurred during our visit.

I prosecute the bad guys

July 15, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Ukraine » Odessa » Potemkin steps

Arriving in Odessa was a bit like arriving in Sochi a few years ago. Same climate, same goal for those arriving at the same time, pretty much the same setting. And both train stations also felt surprisingly similar.
Perhaps Sochi has evolved, but we managed to stay in what essentially was a Japan ese style love motel. Cheap, tiny, but clean, rooms, and popular with fresh couples coming in from a night on the town.

The city, though enjoyable, has less to offer, in terms of culture, then the country’s northern counterparts. That said, the city’s opera building is gorgeous, bur the limited schedule in summer meant we missed out on a show. Also, the world famous Potemkin steps were a sad disappointment, if a must see.

Nevertheless, the city is enjoyable for strolling around, with plenty of green and lots of terraces. At what appears to be an iconic statue of a man on a bench, we hung around to enjoy the spectacle. There, we were casually approached by a young, very well dressed man, metrosexual if not gay, speaking English. After a short exchange, I asked him what he did for a living.
“I am a prostitute.”
Not missing a beat, “Aha. Ehm, do you actually offer yourself or, ehm, do you facilitate the sales of others?”
“well, I prosecute the bad guys.”
“I see!”

Lviv culture

July 13, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Ukraine » Lviv » Hostel Mister

Niamh heading back to Ireland in preparation for going back to the-place-we-don’t-speak-of, that is, Salone, Benno and myself took a train to, what is said to be, the cultural capital of the Ukraine, Lviv. Still a 14 hour train ride, in part because the wheels have to be replaced on the former Soviet border, the wagon, the only one going only to Lviv, the rest of the train continuing to Moscow, was pleasantly comfortable, due to it being a first class wagon.
Not too cheap though, ticket and sleeper coming in at just over 50 euros.

The city, enjoyable, reminds me of a smaller version of Kiev and is neither as impressive as either the capital of the Ukraine or Budapest, though at the same time it does still feel more typically Eastern European than Budapest does, now.
English isn’t very widely spoken, and menus are often only available in Ukrainian, but with a little help through the many wifi networks, even just a tool like Google translate helps a lot.

The first thing we noticed, walking out of the train station, was how quiet the city is. Right in front of the station, a major road is being redone, but none of the machines, nor any of the workmen, were actually doing anything. A day later, walking around town the city felt pretty much as quiet. Peaceful perhaps, or was it placid?

Asking for an interesting place to eat, our hostel’s receptionist pointed us to a cellar bar called Krievka, done up like a communist underground resistance headquarters from during Stalin’s heydays. The entrance not marked and, when we finally did get in, guarded by a young man in khaki uniform toting a Kalashnikov and demanding the password, finally letting us in only if we drank a honey flavored vodka to prove our allegiance to the motherland, we missed our calling at first, instead ending up on the wrong floor, at a place called “The most expensive Galician restaurant”.
Not to be confused with it’s Spanish counterpart, the eastern European Galicia is an area named after a small village in western Ukraine first mentioned in the 1200s and now is partially in Poland, partially in Ukraine. There, at the restaurant, the food and drinks were decent, if a bit overpriced.
The best experience, though, was our entrance. The entrance door also not signed, we took a side door, which brought us to what seemed to be someone’s tiny living room, where a gentleman in a house coat ushered us through to another side door, on the other side of his tiny room, after which we suddenly found ourselves in the restaurant itself. Not too unlike Krievka, where half the venue can only be found through ‘secret’ passageways.

Our second day’s excursion brought us to the city’s main cemetery. Not as impressive as Budapest’s, but at least as popular, many different tour groups walking around on the grounds.
The walk to the cemetery saw us pass through the grounds of the medical university, which was perhaps as enjoyable as the nearby cemetery.
After walking back, we visited a few art galleries and, in what probably once was the Jewish quarter, a lovely coffee shop called Shtuka.

Lviv, like Brussels, once had a river running through it, which was covered up. Here, to create the city’s main drag, as part of the design for the city’s opera building. In Brussels, it was to cover up the stench of what had become an open sewer.

Buying a train ticket to Odessa reminded me of traveling through Russia a few years ago. Though the train station did have an information booth, with a lovely lady who actually spoke English. Because our train was going to leave the next day and was going to Odessa, we had to get our tickets from one of only three specific desks out of the 20 or so in the departure hall. An hour in line and the ticket lady first claimed no trains were actually going, tomorrow night. Only when the piece of paper the English speaking lady had given us was finally inspected did we first get a verbal scolding and, later, our tickets. A 140am departure is, of course, not in the evening.
Interestingly, our ticket didn’t list the time our train is supposed to leave Lviv, but only lists the time it is to leave it’s place of origin.

Back to Balaton

July 11, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Hungary » Revfulop » Hullam hostel

Like an apparition of years past, Joost, Data, Edwin, Hogo and myself all synchronized our plans to meet Benno in Budapest. For a few days, with an additional trip to good ol' Balaton, one of the largest lakes in Europe, and one of the few names in Hungary which descends from Hungary's Slavic predecessors.

On our first day Benno threw a housewarming party, recently having moved house. Painfully, due to our having to wake up at 430 to catch our cheap and early flight, Niamh and I had several moments in the course of the evening where we were ready to keel over.
The trip to Balaton, us staying in Revfulop, was my first in almost 15 years. Good times, and interesting to see that the lake now hosts some dozen Tescos as well as some dozen Lidls. Things change fast.
One full day was spent in and around Balacsony, where an annual wine festival kept us busy for a day. Then, after a morning dip in the lake, we headed back to Budapest before everyone's return to home ground and Benno and my departure for our Bessarabian adventure.

Getting ribbed

July 06, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Netherlands » Delft » Bot-Boender residence

Attending a talk and panel discussion featuring Evgeny Morozov, who wrote the acclaimed The Net Delusion: The Dark Side of Internet Freedom in Amsterdam at Pakhuis de Zwijger, it was nice to meet a few old acquaintances. The talk and discussion, on to what extent tools like Facebook and Twitter really aid democracy movements in repressed societies, was mildly interesting. Morozov’s claim is that the net effect of these tools is negative, as these repressive governments are as good or better at abusing the tools, say to identify the ringleaders, as protesters are at using them.

Whether this is really true or not is, of course, impossible to prove, but that Twitter and Facebook, or rather, the expertise of using these tools, has advantages as well as disadvantages, is a truism if ever I heard one, which makes it hard to argue against.

Later, I also met up with a bunch of Veti, old boys from my fraternity. We went for dinner at the rather excellent Kaat Mossel, in Rotterdam, after going for the RIB experience . I *thought* I shot a video of our ride, but somehow, it was a fail. There’s plenty on YouTube, though.

Later, a short stop in Ireland saw me reunited with my missus and her family, the return trip to Holland being a bit of a challenge, having to leave the house at 1130 at night to catch a 730 plane from Dublin to Eindhoven, Bus Aerann running on a limited schedule during the night.

Back in holland, during the few days before our journey to Hungary, Delft, Rotterdam and Amsterdam were enjoyed with, in Amsterdam, a lovely reunion between ourselves and Fe, on a short stopover in this nation’s capital.

Eurovision Song Contest 2011

June 20, 2011 • Blog

World » Netherlands » Delft » Bot-Boender residence
Website

At last I found the time (and the internet) to watch this year’s Eurovision song contest. Lena is back for Germany, Dana International is trying again for Israel, Dino is trying again for Bosnia, Zdob si Zdub for Moldova and one of the performers for Iceland has tried his luck before as well.
With 43 countries participating, it’s the largest number of countries ever, on par with three years ago.

The show had three presenters, roughly covering French, German and English, the show being held in Duesseldorf this year. The three presenters tried to be somewhat funny, but these being Germans, comedy appears still to be a bit of a challenge.
That said, one of the three, Stefan Raab, with a backup band, did an excellent rockabilly rendition of last year’s winning song, Satellite, which, on stage, included some 50 Lena lookalikes as well as the actual Lena (now with tattoo) in a short appearance.

This year, all the country’s songs were introduced by a short film partially shot in tilt-shift promoting bits and pieces of Germany. Rather gorgeous for its beauty, but also fantastic as a way to highlight the relative insignificance of every individual, or, if you will, the equality of us all, echoing Multatuli‘s quote that, “as seen from the moon, we are all the same size“.
Able to generate a feeling of united European-ness, exactly what an event like this should and can do, this year’s show wasn’t as spectacular as last year’s, when specific households and a bunch of public showings all over Europe were integrated into the main event.

As usual, some excellent and some less excellent songs were performed, some songs deservedly made it to the finals, some, undeservedly didn’t and a decent enough song, but, in my opinion, not the best one, won the show. 

How is it possible that the rather gorgeous, Polish, long legged, very decent singer Magdalena Tul, who pushed some typical, but catchy, Eurotrash, didn’t make it to the finals by a very long shot? Meanwhile, Norway, who just two years ago submitted a fantastic song by Alexander Rybak, born in Belarus, now went for a lady from Kenya who sang a chorus which was catchy but opened the song rather painfully. Why, Norway, why?
A similarly odd fielding was Macedonia’s, where Vlatko Ilievski sang about the beauty of a Russian girl in a song that leaned on a more typical folsky Russian sound. How does this make sense?
Perhaps to compensate, Belarus itself came up with the tacky title (and long legged babes) of I love Belarus by Anastasia Vinnikova whose smoky voice didn’t do the ethnically laced bombastic song justice, and, justifiably, didn’t qualify. Not surprising, as any song which, seemingly, requires the censor’s approval is likely to be punished for it by the European crowds.

The last decade and some, or so, pretty much everyone (who watches) in western Europe has been decrying the rise of eastern Europe through those countries voting for each other, reality is different, if confusing. Decent enough submissions from Albania, Armenia, Croatia, Slovakia, Bulgaria and Macedonia didn’t make it even to the finals. And, sadly, neither did a few very decent, if not good submissions, like the both musically and theatrically excellent submission from Turkey. Perhaps because that submission was too ‘western’ and performed by beefy blokes?
In fact, I suspect that eastern Europe’s decent results are because of, if anything, their persistent fielding of rather hot babes (with impressively long legs) singing typical Europop. Western Europe might just have to get over not being, typically, clever enough to field the right song with the right candidate, even though winners from eastern Europe are still an exception.
Then again, babes are in no way a guarantee for good scores. The no-worse(or-better)-than-many (and certainly hotter than most) Slovakian TWiiNS didn’t make it to the finals. Hot babes were the primary artist fielded by 12/19 countries, in the first semi, 8/19, in the second semi, including Israel, and only 10/25, in the finals (with 2/5 of the big 5).

Switzerland went for Anna Rossinelli, who seemed to present herself as a sophisticated, or perhaps 1920s, Lena. The song she performed wasn’t really interesting, but her voice was rather perfect, which, I hope, was what propelled her into the finals, even though there, she finished last.
Or was it the whiff of early 20th century Europe, as Iceland’s Sjonni’s Friends, known in Iceland as Sigurjón’s Friends, who also performed in a bit of a 1920s jazzy big band style, got selected for the finals as well.
Sigurjón’s Friends are actually a tribute band, to Sigurjón Brink, who died, of a stroke, days before performing at the Icelandic national Eurovision finals.

It appears that ballads still stand a chance as the winners of 2006, Finland, fielded the unlikely named Paradise Oskar, with an excellent performance, but with a song straight from the saddest scene of a Hugh Grant movie, making it the third best scoring song during the first semis (but only the 21st in the finals).
Likewise, Lithuania, in the shape of the voluptuous Evelina Sašenko did a slow love song (and some sign language) and also made it through, but failed to impress the voters in the finals. As did Austria’s Nadine Beiler, whose song was almost painful in its Celine Dion-ness (though she has the legs), qualifying, but then coming in at a low 18th place. A bit more drama, but still a slow pace, was found in Slovenia’s submission by the young (19 years) Maja Keuc, who also qualified. But the youngest performer was Estonia’s Getter Jaani, at 18 who, though cute and enjoyable enough, finished second to last in the finals. Perhaps ballads stand a good chance to make it to the finals, but stand less of a chance to win?
Another slow song, an almost painfully slow rock ballad the Scorpions probably even would have been ashamed of, was fielded by Denmark. They, inexplicably, came second in the second semis and an impressive fifth in the finals.
Azerbaijan’s performance, the eventual winning one, just short of a ballad, in both the semi and the final wasn’t great. The song’s repetitive, while the lead singers both couldn’t always keep their voices under control. But that’s just my opinion, as all countries’ professional juries, though voting Italy as the clear winner, did vote for Azerbaijan as the clear runner up.

And absurd folksy performances seem to have had their best time. Portugal’s street performers of Homens da Luta probably had a good time, but were unceremoniously kicked out (rightly so).
On a side note, Portugal’s mild absurdity made me involuntarily think back to Belgium’s submission from 1983, when Pas De Deux performed Rendez-Vous, a much vilified abomination (at the time), which, watching it back now, actually seems to have been light years ahead of its time while being reminiscent of Bowie’s glam rock years, while the mix of modern (of the band) and classical (of the orchestra) instruments both sound weirdly modern and would probably make Apocalyptica proud (and, for strange reasons, was the first song ever, apparently, to be played on Studio Brussel).
This year’s submission from Belgium, the six-man human beat box formation Witloof Bay was also, again, out of the ordinary, but also rather excellent. But also not appreciated enough, as they just missed making it to the finals.
And, really, you spend your money like you’re on death row, Ireland fielding the utterly camp and sublimely enjoyable Jedward, perhaps the most absurd, funny, campy, poppy song this year. The twins (two pairs of twins this year!) only need to improve their singing a bit, but the track does stick on repeated airings.

And there’s also some room for absurdity, judging from Greece’s opening with gangsta rap before going into almost operatic drama, interspersing it with some Greek folk, and scoring first place in the first semis with it (but only 7th in the finals). And, oddly, this mix kinda works. And rap has a good rap, it seems, as also Georgia and Latvia (rather excellent, but not qualifying) put some of it in their songs.
In the second semis, Bosnia’s primary chansonnier Dino Merlin, with a mildly folksy, but certainly quite eccentric, performance, performed well and made it through (and came in at a respectable 6th in the finals).
The most absurd performance this year came from Moldova, where everyone was wearing a tall pointy hat and a unicycling babe was moving around, blowing a trumpet. Zdob si Zdub, in their second performance after trying out for Moldova in 2005, just made it to the finals and then came in at a reasonable 12th place, considering.

However, something appears to also have structurally changed as far as what spells success at the Eurovision. Dana International, a transvestite, again representing Israel with typical catchy Europop, if a bit timid, didn’t even make it to the final.

Of the big 5, France seemed to be making fun of the process, fielding the world’s youngest professional tenor, singing in… Corsican! An impressive singer, his operatic work did feel quite out of place.
Italy, hopefully back in the contest permanently, this being their first submission since 1997, fielded a slowly climaxing piano ballad which was loved by the critics, but less so by the viewers, coming in an impressive second in the finals.
The UK, fielding the boy band Blue, tried their luck with a competent, but not very interesting submission (which reminded me of the Dutch submission which didn’t even make it out of the semis).
Germany hoped they could convince Europe with last year’s cuteness (that smile!), but failed with horrendously artsy backup dancers and a smoky but not outstanding song. They need to think more happy thoughts and I can’t imagine there isn’t better stuff on the dame’s second album.
Spain, finishing 23rd, underperformed, only Russia scoring worse with the critics. Obviously, points can only be awarded once, but Lucía Pérez, something of a hip Gloria Estefan in her better days, wasn’t all that bad and her song seems to get better on repeats.

Unavoidably, a short note on Holland: a quite competent performance with a quite unremarkable song. This is, it seems, what Holland tends to field in recent years, having lost their ways since their regular wins up to 1980. The Dutch submissions aren’t any worse or better than many that do make it into the finals. What’s up with that?
Perhaps the world is no longer interested in boy bands. Cyprus, also sporting a (five-man, no less) boy band, even performing using shoes patented by Michael Jackson, didn’t make it through.

I have to make a plan to be there for next year’s finals.

The great escape

June 11, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Netherlands » Delft » Bot-Boender residence

When I returned from Salone to Europe in November last year, I primarily felt relief for being back in civilization, for all its amenities, despite all its drawbacks. Now, coming back for the summer, the primary feeling, at least the first few days, was bewilderment. Over the last six months, the dire state of Salone affairs has really sunk in. Sitting in the bus from Heathrow to Brighton, I realised that any one square kilometer of the UK will have at least scores, but more likely hundreds or even thousands of features that all, individually, would be considered extraordinary in Sierra Leone. Metal meshed fencing, identifiable bus stops, manicured lawns, traffic signs, cultivated trees, let alone the variety and cost effectiveness of what’s on sale, or anything that’s related to service delivery, or the regular trappings of a developed society. Count your blessings.
Our biggest event over the last two months was the (excellent!) fishmonger Fish Meets Land opening shortly after I came back from Uganda. Now, at least, we can by good, cleaned, fish at a decent price. Standing in downtown Delft, there are perhaps a few dozen places, within a radius of 1km, where you can buy good, cleaned, fish.

Todd and Felicia let me sleep on their couch for a few days in Brighton (which, incidentally, was more comfortable than our bed in Salone) and, like last year, I was salivating over the speed of their internet connection. For 13 pounds per month, they get a connection which is consistently reliable, but nothing fancy at European standards, and is 24 times faster than what Niamh’s organization, Goal, pays 200 times as much for. Indeed, that is not a typo. Goal pay 200 times as much for a connection that allows for only 4% of the speed. And they are not, at Sierra Leonean standards, being overcharged.

In Brighton, at the discounter Primark, similar to H&M, but for both sexes, I bought two (cheap) pairs of pants as hand washing in Africa kills clothing quickly, for about 8 pounds each. Late last year, clothing stores don’t really exist in Salone, I bought a pair of pants *on the street* for about the same price. My seller actually had a small stand on the downtown’s outdoor market, but if you have the time, you can keep your eyes open when driving around town. Sooner or later, some bloke will walk by with a few dozen jeans stacked on his head.
I *suspect* that some of these sellers get their goods very cheaply from China, somehow, but I *think* that the pair of pants I bought actually were a second hand (European?) pair, one of the very few of the seller’s stack that appeared to fit me (and turned out to be both too short and too wide). I left my pair in Brighton and it will be recycled yet again, probably returning to Africa in the future and being resold yet again on the streets of some sad capital. For a price at which I can get a decent enough pair of pants in Europe.

Zambia misses out

Not being able to read the news in Salone, it turns out that one of the casualties of the Dutch right wing’s government’s refocusing and culling of development aid is Zambia. Not only will they now lose out on a yearly 43 million euros of development aid, Holland is also closing its Lusaka embassy next year.
It seems Banda, Zambia’s president, claiming he’s a big boy now, has its consequences.

I’m blue

The Delft tourist bureau not only runs a foursquare special, they also have a sweet gizmo that puts your head on a plate.

I haven’t indulged yet, even though I got to town today, a market day. I did get a decent amount of cigars but, very sadly, my favorite tobacconist, Th. van Domburg, closed up shop only a few weeks ago, after the owner passed away late last year.

Sound quality

In this world of iPod docks, I was ready to now also chuck my 43cm Kenwood stereo set components and Bose speakers bought a painful, what, twenty years ago.
I hauled them from my parents’ basement to check whether they were still working before putting them up for sale (or giveaway) on eBay, only to discover a sound quality making any iPod dock I’ve ever heard into a total and utter farce. Maybe I should hold on to them slightly longer.
Hm. What is left for me to get rid of?

Chip in Japan

Shortly after the Japan earthquake, Pixel8 released an excellent compilation of chip tunes where the generated income went to support the relief effort in Japan. Supporters could (and still can) give as much as they wanted and as the takings slowly increased, more tracks were added to the collection of songs, currently totaling an impressive 700MB of songs.

Chip tunes are songs made with 8 bit computers, such as the Game Boy or Commodore 64. Indeed, listening to a decent chip tune is like discovering the unreleased vaults of Rob Hubbard.

Shop till you drop

May 07, 2011 • Blog

World » Gambia » Bakau » African heritage center

If you've ever traveled to a really out of the way location, the type not visited by tourists or anyone with even a limited desire for some of the comfortable trappings of civilization, you've seen them. Those (un)lucky enough to accompany you, traveling with bags and bags of, what seems like, fairly regular consumer goods, clothes or decorations for in the house, or just groceries. Not because these people want to resell what it is their shipping in, but simply because the, what you think are ordinary, products, can't easily, or reasonably, be gotten hold of at your journey's destination.

Today, we had to get some toothpaste, and left the supermarket with 50 euros of shopping. For a mere 6 or 7 kilos worth of goods. By doing so, we were saving 50 to 75 euros on what it would cost to buy the exact same goods in the Sierra Leone supermarkets. Indeed, our return flight to Gambia is about 280 dollars and allows us to take some 30kg as checked in luggage. If we'd fill up our luggage with, say, 30kg of cheese, canned tuna, honey and soap, we would more than easily earn the cost of our journey back upon reselling the cheese against the leading rates in Freetown. Weird but true.

Travel blues

May 05, 2011 • Blog

World » Gambia » Bakau » African heritage center

Walk, taxi, sept-place, taxi, sept-place, walk, taxi, ferry, taxi, reads Saint Louis to Bakau, just off Banjul. From the northernmost coastal point of Senegal to just outside the capital of Gambia, in about 11 hours, using public transport. I don't think faster could have been possible. And it's only 550km.

When getting out of our sept-place in Kaolack, halfway between Dakar and the Gambian border, we had to find a way onwards to get to Gambia. Already before our car had come to a halt, four guys had stuck their heads into the car, selling specifically us, not the other five passengers, their services. First ignoring them, getting out and getting our luggage from the back, I had to fight off several of them who tried to appropriate our bags. Not to steal them, but to carry them off to their taxi.
Then, trying to make sense of our options, I had close to a dozen guys standing around me, all telling me, with raised voices, in French, at the same time, what it was that we needed to do, several of them constantly touching me to get my attention.
When I slowly started to understand we had to get to another gare, one which turned out to feel like a place where everyone was trying to run away from the apocalypse, hundreds of cars and mini busses preparing to leave at the same time, disorderly arranged, most strapping luggage to their roofs and many going to the same destination, all, at the same time, waiting to fill up, a policeman intervened, silenced the crowd and helped us to abstract sense from the nonsense.
We got a taxi across town and were off.

At our next stop, the border crossing itself, a similar thing happened, but now with a group of women all wanting to change my CFA into Dalasi, the Gambian currency.
Then, after crossing the Gambia river on the ferry, we were reverse racially profiled, when all the whities on the ferry were taken apart for drugs inspections. Bend over.

Roaming the streets of St. Louis

May 03, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Senegal » St. Louis » La Louisiane

Saint Louis was the capital of Senegal for about 300 years, until independence, when Dakar took over. Some 60 years prior, Dakar had already taking over the role of the capital of French west Africa, though for the last forty years or so before independence, Saint Louis did remain the capital of neighboring Mauritania. Indeed, for some four decades, Mauritania's capital was outside of it's borders, though only just.

Saint Louis grew on trade and, being administered by the French, thriving predominantly in the 19th century and because of it's history, became part of what is known as the 'Creole Atlantic', other examples of which are Havana and New Orleans. The city has been a UNESCO world heritage site since 2000. However, it will be hard for Saint Louis to beat the other competitors in its league.

As a tourist destination, the city hasn't too much too offer, though its hotels are good, if pricey, and it's restaurants quite decent, and some even excellent. But, apparently, it's the wildlife parks in the area which attract the fairest share of tourists, though in my opinion that constitutes rather little to warrant flying in from Europe for.

Going north

May 02, 2011 • Blog

World » Senegal » St. Louis » La Louisiane

We experienced, the previous day, how tediously slow public transport can be in Senegal. Today we were going to get to Saint Louis, on the far northern coast of Senegal, a good 300 kilometers from Dakar and on the border with Mauritania. We got up at 7:30 and got to the bus station a good hour later, where we found no sept-place leaving for Saint Louis. Perhaps it was because it was already too late, but clarity on this was lacking. We had to settle for two seats on a large bus and because in Senegal, and many other African countries, busses only leave when they are quite or even extremely full, the bus slowly filling up meant we only left the bus station after 12:30. Bad traffic on the Dakar peninsula and the heavily loaded and therefore slow bus, meant we arrived in Saint Louis just under eight hours later.

We had prepared for no sanitary stops, meaning drinking almost nothing and eating sparely, and we were right in doing so. Snacks, and drinks, can be had whenever the bus slowed down, when hordes of venders jump into the bus trying to get rid of anything from peanuts to crackers to dishwashing liquid to frozen yoghurt, and it's amazing how some 80 passengers all can survive a nearly eight hour journey with none of them having to use the bathroom. Or… are they?
And, on top of that, when we arrived at the bus station, we weren't the first ones in the bus to wait for it to leave. Those already waiting had not had a toilet break upwards of 11 hours.

Maybe everyone here has a stoma?

Surfing the baobab skyline

May 01, 2011 • Blog

1 / 1
World » Senegal » Accro Baobab

Dakar and it's surroundings can keep you busy for a while, if you have both the time and the money. One attraction, a mere 70km away from downtown Dakar, is Accro Baobab, something of a theme park, where the main attraction is an obstacle course strung between a series of baobab trees some 20 meters off the ground.
Quite a bit of fun, it's also hard to get to. Public transport is rather dodgy in Senegal but we didn't feel like renting a taxi for the day, which sets you back upwards of 50 euros. We got two seats in a 'shared taxi', or 'sept-place', a seven seater, which ply predesignated routes. It took us nearly two hours to get to the park, after which we still had to walk the remaining two kilometers.
The sept-place are useful and reasonably speedy, but if you don't start at a terminus, your chances of grabbing hold of a seat in one of them reduce significantly. Even the small busses that sometimes seem to be everywhere often only leave when completely full, meaning that if you are stuck between two towns, it can be a while before you are picked up.
For us, going back, the pick up didn't take too long, as a nearly empty bus took us in shortly after having walked back to the main road. Unfortunately, the emptiness also meant the bus waited extraordinarily long at intersections and towns along the way, to pick up just that the one or two extra passengers. And with traffic getting onto and off the Dakar peninsula always being a pain, it took us a good three hours before we got back.

×