The Burren, Some Cliffs, Three Cats and a Fox.

September 15, 2024

I don’t think I was ever really drawn to visit Ireland - impossibly moody photographs of the Cliffs of Moher have from time to time piqued my interest, as has the Wild Atlantic Way, but I think I could have gone to my grave ok with never having gone to ‘The Emerald Isle’.

An opportunity to take on a Trusted Housesitters gig in County Clare, in a typical small Irish village called Coffin, was enough to make me re-think my non-interest in Ireland. And I am delighted that I did.

Corofin is regarded as being the heart of The Burren National Park - a large limestone expanse of undulating contorted landscape that is known for hiking, fossil hunting and archeological sites.

“The Burren” literally means “rocky place”.

This bountiful area of 530 sq kilometres of karst and glaciokarst, was a mere eight km from Corofin, making it the perfect base for a week of adventures. Corofin was also close to the other highlight of County Clare - the Cliffs of Moher, plus wonderful delights such as the small town of Ennistymon, which I discovered by pure chance.

The mesmerising swirls of The Burren and below - click in to view the animals!

I was tasked with caring for a moody overweight ginger beast of a cat called Barney, who had one working eye and a half chewed ear; an older cat on medication called Marge, and Scruffy the young explorer. Additionally I was told a fox frequented the garden, along with numerous birds, which were also to be fed. It was a wonderful few days of cat love, fox enticement, Netflix, gin in the evenings, photography, exploring and I also mingled with the locals in the red pub for fish and chips, Guinness and bawdy exuberant Irish music.

I explored the wonderful forests of Dromore Woods, near the pretty larger town of Enis (whose picture post-card streets I wandered through), where the skeletal O’Brien Castle stands on a lake edge as solitary witness to history in the area; a surprise amidst the densely forested trails (I also got lost at one point!). My most loved town however, was Ennistymon.

In the impressively water-falled town of Ennistymon, I discovered fantastic coffee at The Cheese Press, and drove daily the narrow hedged lanes for 20 km just to sip down this luscious brew and soak up the artsy atmosphere of the cafe. Ennistymon is an extremely pretty typically Irish village. The village itself is hidden in a recess among the hills and lies on the southern edge of the Burren, three km inland from the Atlantic.

The old historic bridge and first cascade.

It has a wonderful old bridge which spans the Cullenagh River near the oldest part of the town.

A little below the bridge, the river rushes over an impressive ridge of rocks and forms a beautiful series of cascades about a kilometre away from where it joins the river Derry. The united streams continue towards the sea as the Inagh River.

Colourful old buildings line the Main Street, giving hint to the villages past, and the river meandering alongside houses a stunning walking track which can also form a loop back into the village. One day whilst wandering the streets, I came across a woman who was holding an exhibition of her sea kelp paintings. They were exquisitely painted - fine detail and use of colour had all been expertly woven together in a harmony of design and story-telling . Her work reminded me immediately of a movie I had watched on Netflix the night before - My Octopus Teacher. I enquired if she, (the painter) had seen the movie. She hadn’t, but asked about it. I showed her the YouTube trailer on my phone and she became quite moved by the short snippet, thanking me for telling her about it and vowing she would watch it that evening. We talked about all sorts of things, connecting in a very human way, for a short period of time, and would likely never see each other again. It was one of those rare but quite profound moments when you stop and realise how similar we all are, how kind people are and how inherently we all are programmed for connection.

It could be rightly argued that aside from The Burren, County Clare’s best (if not most fame-worthy) attraction is The Cliffs of Moher. Spanning some 15 km, these awe-inspiring features cut a foreboding edge to Irelands intersection with the wild Atlantic Ocean. Here, the tempestuous ocean collides with the land, a savage dance that has surged between the vibrant shores of the USA's East Coast and the dramatic misty cliffs of Ireland’s west coast, for thousands of years.

The Cliffs of Kilkee is perhaps the lesser known of the two must-see cliffs along this section of Irish coastline, but in my opinion, is overwhelmingly under-rated. It is more accessible for those who cannot walk the more rugged Cliffs of Moher, and generally it is not as busy.

There are no words adequate enough to describe the grandeur of the Irish coastal cliffs. Both the Cliffs of Kilkee and the Cliffs of Moher rise like ancient sentinels, their jagged edges clawing at the sky, where the restless Atlantic crashes below, in a symphony of thunderous waves echoing the fierce heartbeat of a wild and untamed land.

The Cliffs of Moher track leads you perilously near the precipice, where a fierce wind dances through your hair like a banshee, mud sucks to your boots as if the earth is reluctant to let you go, and a biting chill seeps into your fingertips, encouraging you to seek solace within your puffer jacket. Yes - even in summer, this place carry’s the haunting chilled breath of the ocean's untamed fury. There is a true sense here, of evoking an Ireland of old; where people fought against the elements with as much fervour as they did against their foes, braving fierce winds and crashing waves that forged their rugged spirit and unyielding resilience. Ireland was rising higher on my most favourite countries.

Tourist websites encourage people to drive to the main parking area (12 euro fee to park) located at the visitors centre and to then walk the short but scenic distance to the cliff edge.

I strongly suggest to drive to the Hags Head end, where a more reasonable five euros grants you access to the track, through private farmland. It is also possible to overnight camp at the parking area. From the access track, you can spend a few hours traversing this stunning stretch of Ireland, especially recommended at golden hour (an hour before sunset), when the sun bathes the emerald landscape in a warm, ethereal glow that seems to breathe life into every blade of grass.

Alternatively, the charming village of Doolin, (where parking is free), provides access to the track — if you have the spirit and stamina for an adventure (it is more challenging from the Doolin end, but by no means a sufferfest!). This route also takes you past the interesting Doonagore Castle.

In summer, Doolin pulses with life, so arrive early to witness the dawn’s light painting the cliffs with a magic that lingers long after the day unfolds (and for prime parking) .

Wild Ireland had unfolded in my mind as a tapestry of untamed beauty, and the rugged coastal cliffs of Kilkee and Moher stood as vivid brushstrokes, solidifying this vision with their imposing raw majesty against the tempestuous embrace of the sea.

I was getting closer to the wild I was looking for.

GETTING THERE:

Directions to the Cliffs of Moher and Kilkee Cliffs

Getting to the Cliffs of Moher:

From Galway:
- Take the N67 south towards Ennistymon.
- Follow signs for the Cliffs of Moher.
- The drive will take approximately 1.5 hours, offering scenic views along the way.
From Limerick:
- Head west on the N18, then take the N85 towards Ennis.
- Continue on the N85 until you reach the N67.
- Follow the N67 to the Cliffs of Moher. The journey takes around 1.5 hours.
Parking:
- There is a designated parking area at the Cliffs of Moher visitor center, with a fee for parking.

Getting to Kilkee Cliffs:

From Ennis:
- Take the N85 towards Kilrush.
- Once in Kilrush, follow the signs for Kilkee on the R487.
- The drive takes about 40 minutes, winding through the lush Irish countryside.
From Limerick:
- Travel west on the N18, then take the N68 towards Kilrush.
- Continue on to the R487 to reach Kilkee. The trip will take approximately 1.5 hours.
Parking:
- There are several parking areas in Kilkee, often free or at a minimal charge, especially near the beach and cliff paths.

Both locations offer stunning views and a chance to experience the raw beauty of Ireland’s rugged coastline. Enjoy your adventure!

Stunningly colourful old buildings adorn Dublins central city area.

Exploring Dublin: Open Mind Essential

September 15, 2024

I emerged from Dublin airport

somewhat sorry for those that had sat near me on the flight from Edinburgh.

I had been travelling for around a month at this point - living out of my backpack and at times, the backs of cars, wearing and washing the same clothes in a veritable rotation of rudimentary laundry applications (aka hand washing in bottled water or a frigid mountain stream). I was indeed putting Icebreakers claim of their merino products being able to be worn for x amount of days without washing - but I was pretty sure I had moved beyond the point of no return, my clothes could quite possibly walk on their own they were so stiff with sweat and grime, from the last ten days of being in Scotland. Laundry doesn’t dry there - it just sort of loses moisture for a while….

First Impressions

Transitioning from the UK to the EU, you’d think you’d notice a stark difference, but as I plodded out of the airport, the English language was still the primary mode of communication, even if I could not understand the strong Dubliner accent. I hopped onto the budget city bus—only two euros—feeling like a sardine in a tin can, with my backpack practically claiming its own seat. I thought, “Maybe I should just start mailing things back to New Zealand.”

Disembarking in the centre of the city, quaint cobbled back streets smelled like stale urine, and dodgy looking characters leaned out of doorways, peering out. I felt a little unnerved. This wasn’t the Dublin I was expecting. I was expecting that somewhere in this I would recognise an anglo-saxon part of my gene pool, and that I would feel at least a little at home.

All I felt was even more grimy, cold and coffee-deprived.

But as I crossed the picturesque River Liffey in search of coffee, I stumbled upon the raw vibe of the city.

Picture this: a man, clearly in his own world, was loudly airing grievances to an invisible lunch-time audience. With missing teeth and a face that looked like it had seen better days, he was doing a rather spirited dance of desperation, half-heartedly trying to hold up his sagging jeans. The locals gave him a wide berth, and I, too, felt a twinge of unease.

Was this the Dublin I’d been dreaming of?

Finding the Charm

Determined to uncover the city’s hidden gems, I checked into my budget accommodation—a run-down house near Dublin Zoo. My room was shared with two other girls, and while it lacked luxury, it boasted proximity to a massive park and a bus stop right outside. With a heart full of hope, I ventured back into the city.

And I am glad I did! The quirky vibe of Dublin began to unfold before me. I wandered through cobbled back streets (yes, they still smelled a bit like stale urine from the previous nights antics), but I also found vibrant street art that was truly worthy of admiration. The pubs were alive with laughter and music, where the air was thick with the aroma of hearty Irish fare.

Trinity College was a delight, in particular the library, and I found solace in the expansive Phoenix Park where Fallow deer roamed freely, as if they owned the place. I also paid a visit to the historic Kilmainham Gaol, which was equal parts fascinating and sobering.

And let’s not forget the coffee! After days of caffeine deprivation, I finally found a café that served a brew strong enough to revive my spirits.

Dublin Tips for the Adventurer

If you're planning your own escapade to Dublin, here are a few tips to maximize your experience:

Airport Transfers: Skip the pricey shuttles! For just 2 euros, the city bus will take you into the heart of Dublin. Just follow the signs and cross the road to find the bus stop.
Currency: Remember, the Euro is your friend here.
The River Liffey: This river divides Dublin into two distinct areas—explore both!
Dublin Zoo: Located next to a sprawling park, it’s definitely worth a visit.
Phoenix Park: Acres and acres of sprawling parklands. Great for walking or running, so lace up those sneakers!
Kilmainham Gaol: A must-see! Check for cancellations before you go, or book online.
Book of Kells: A bit overrated, if I’m honest. But the Trinity College Library? Absolutely stunning.
IMMA: The Irish Museum of Modern Art is free and fantastic.
Guinness Factory: I skipped it, but I hear it’s a classic Dublin experience.
Art and Culture: The older parts of the city are filled with quirky art stores and vibrant street art—worth wandering through.
Night Safety: The streets can get a bit dodgy after dark, so stick to well-lit areas, especially if you’re alone.
Watch Your Belongings: Pickpocketing can happen, so keep your bags close!
The Luas: A light rail system connecting some suburbs with inner Dublin

Dublin may have thrown me a few curveballs, but by the end of my visit, I had fallen in a little bit in love with its unique character. The blend of rough edges and warm hearts makes Dublin a truly interesting destination. So pack your bags, open your heart, and prepare to explore!

Ireland: The French and Their Bicycles

September 13, 2024

You have to admire the French folks commitment to the bicycle.

Being the home of the famed Tour De France, perhaps they cannot escape the legacy of this momentous event, and so embrace it with gusto - cycling all over the planet with an unencumbered enthusiasm and vivre le passion!

She did not speak much English and inserted French readily as she attempted to converse with me. We got by - don’t we always, when we encounter another language- body language for sure is universal; gestures; eye contact.

I had seen the touring bike in the lounge of the backpackers;

painted an elegant bright turquoise. Being a small frame I imagined its owner to be small.

Cooking my eggs in the kitchen, imagining my day, I was not alone.

A woman sat at the table on a tablet, maps and way-points on the screen. I figured she was the owner of the bike, so I asked. And so began our gesticulated conversation. She stood up to show me the maps as I flipped my omelette - exhibiting a strong tanned pair of well-defined legs.

Yep - she was the owner of the pretty turquoise bike.

She extended the device in my direction and I could see Ireland ringed in red with a gap between Dublin and somewhere south on the coast. She holds up five fingers - “five weeks velo here” she tells me.

I am immediately impressed, she is not a young woman, I guess maybe 60-ish (and she was - 60).

“Wow” I offer

Could I have given a lamer response?!

She had not only biked around nearly all of Ireland, but had biked FROM her home in France to the ferry that bought her there - a 15 hour trip (my idea of hell), but she tells me flying is too difficult with a bike - to take apart wheels and deconstruct then reconstruct- she prefers the slow ferry trip during which she sleeps.

She goes on to explain that her friends think she is crazy but she does not care.

She is a teacher - computer science, to adults. She has to ride her bike back home then start back at work the next day (she screws up her face). She produces an app whereby people can follow her travels and tells me all her students are following her (she laughs at this and shrugs it off as nothing). She was a racer back in her younger days, in France. I can tell. She has not lost the angular lean look of a cyclist.

Now, she explains with bursts of Frenglish, she rides long distance for fun.

She has ridden around both England and Scotland AND France.

This pocket rocket is a MACHINE! I feel suddenly very unfit and boring.

She tells me New Zealand is somewhere she would also like to ride, but she doesn’t fancy the plane flight. I also figure a boat is out of the question!

We exchange further pleasantries such as what we have enjoyed the most about Ireland, what to avoid and how the company of strangers can be so comforting when alone in a foreign country.

“It’s the people I meet” she says - her eyes light up - “in France I feel so alone, no children, husband, only students; but when travelling I meet so many people - I enjoy”.

Yes, I reflected - I enjoy too.

On some level, we humans really are so similar, we may have language barriers and things may get lost in translation, but if we REALLY look and observe, we KNOW what is being conveyed.

Ireland: In Praise of Old Ladies

September 13, 2024

My backpack was heavy.

I was cursing the weight.

What the heck is in here that weighs so much? I knew I had packed too many clothes and in the mean time I had acquired a new pair of hiking shoes AND Doc Marten sandals, plus a funky pair of sloth overalls I could not pass up from my fave store in Edinburgh. I had my small camera bag on my front clinging like a baby sloth to its mother, and my trusty Osprey 65 litre was stuffed FULL.

Never again will I travel with so much - I had literally worn two sets of clothes thus far.

Not sure why I thought I needed ‘going out clothes’. Where was I going to go?

I did actually deposit myself in a pub in Limerick to listen to a group of young musicians belt out Irish folk music. I made an effort to put on clothes that didn’t smell. So I guess that counts.

Walking to the bus to get myself across Dublin to collect my rental car pick-up was relying on pure luck to get me into the right bus (and maybe a train?). I had searched Google maps for public transport options from my accommodation and was again cursing the rain. I had started to wonder if my new look was “drowned rat”. Never-the-less I trudged over to the bus stop which was fortunately 200m down the road.

But, I waited and waited and waited for a bus to come.

Nothing.

So I walked a couple of kilometers to a major intersection in the hope of finding a bus - by now, ANY bus.

I joined three over-joyed looking Dubliners under the bus shelter and started to manifest the right bus in my mind.

“Something something something something heavy” an older woman to my left muttered rapidly to me.

Did she speak English? Was she speaking to me?

“Sorry?” I responded, “are you talking to me"?”

“Yer bag on yer back looks mighty heavy” - the words fell out of her mouth with rapidity.

“Oh - well it looks heavier than it is” I lied, “but I do wish I hadn’t brought so much stuff that I will never use on this trip”.

“Where are ye off te?” she enquired

“I’m going to collect a rental car and then will go to County Clare but I’m not sure if this is the right bus”.

She investigated my exact destination and what the ‘right bus’ might be, then told me to get the bus from this stop which would take me to Heuston Station and from there I could jump on the light rail (they call this the luas).

“I thought I could perhaps just walk?”

“Ah nuuuuu!” She exclaimed “tiz a very long walk; ye be needing the train fe sure (“to be sure” - I added in my brain voice); “annits reening mad, ye be gettin’ fair soaked”.

I agreed, it was somewhat ludicrous to walk but I was already soaked so figured a bit more of a drowning would make no difference.

“Look here; I cen pay fe ye on me card - I get one free; ye be comin’ on wit me”.

Ok - I had been acquired by a Good Samaritan granny. “It’s ok thanks I have money!”

But no she would not hear of it and insisted. Not being one to deny someone of such moments of do-goodism, I graciously succumbed and allowed myself to be taken care of.

The bus came - eventually - and she sternly explained to the driver that she was covering my fare. He glared at me over his gold rimmed huge square glasses, and mumbled his agreement that indeed I should be taken care of (did they think I was a homeless bum??).

And so, we stood there side by slide, clinging onto the cold metal hand rails as the double decker bus lurched its way down a rolling hill. She looked up at me and smiled - and told me to make sure I got on the train from Heuston and NOT to walk.

“Yes Grandma” I thought. I will.

The bus pulled over to our stop; we tumbled out into the weather.

“Okee - so ye know where te get the train - just arind the corner there; I’m going to me daughters.

Bye now”.

And off she went - all five foot of her and a bulging shopping bag - across the wet road into a bleak Dublin day.

Scotland Part Four: The Fur Brigade and Idle Golf Balls

August 5, 2024

Apparently Scotland is one of the top ten countries in the world when it comes to golf courses per capita.

They take their golf seriously in Scotland and are widely promoted as “the home of golf”.

Thats not a bad thing to be known for.

“Gullane Hill, with the sun shining and the wind blowing, the black clouds banked beyond the Forth, and just a glimpse in the distance of the mighty tracery of the Forth bridge, is one of the most beautiful spots in the world”

Wrote Bernard Darwin in an article for Country Life called “On Gullane Hill”.

Gullane village as viewed from the beach at the Forth or Firth.

Gullane is a small town on the southern shore of the Firth of Forth in East Lothian,

on the east coast of Scotland that lives and breathes golf, and it is where I found myself (through a Trusted Housesitters job), caring for Jussi the young black Labrador while her owners took a break away for a five days.

There are five superb golf courses in this small village about 30 mins drive south of Edinburgh, on the coast, apparently made so through the naturally occurring exquisite turf which maintains its quality year round. The best land in the area, is occupied by - yep, you guessed it - golf courses.

Dissecting these fairways are beach access tracks, which give way to stunning coastal walkways with wonderful views across the Forth and towards the close larger town of North Berwick with its many off-shore small islands, home to many seabird varieties.

From the Gullane coast looking towards Bass Rock (off the coast of North Berwick)

Bass Rock with its distinctive lighthouse, and the small island of Craigleath (above)

Jussi was energetic - being young - and LOVED her three walks a day, especially if these included being able to swim.

Jussi’s humans were Geoff and Colette; and they chose me to care for their dog because I was a Kiwi. Geoff had lived and worked in New Zealand as a young optometrist for a while, and those vividly fond memories of my country had stayed with him.

I was treated to a wonderful five days in their glorious home, with the use of an EV, an amazing dog for company and wonderful walking trails to explore. Jussi was a well-disciplined dog, eager for affection and attention and was delight to have for company during my time exploring life in a small Scottish Village.

Being a substitute dog-owner for a few days, also brings with it the meritorious advantage of meeting random strangers to discuss all issues ‘dog’. It also brought with it the obligatory duty of seeking out lost golf balls, of which we found many, Jussi and I.

From Gullane I frequented North Berwick (an extremely pretty coastal town which is the home of the Scottish Seabird Centre), hunting coffee and coastal walking tracks. I also visited Saltcoast Castle and Dirlton Castle, the latter also containing a delightful (and very old) walled garden full of summer blooms.

Stunning flowers from the gardens of Dirlton Castle

Gullane was to be my last foray in Scotland and I was loathe to leave.

Another gorgeous stretch of beach near Gullane.

I headed back to Edinburgh on the train - after spending a night with Geoff and Colette (back home from their break) - sharing wonderful stories, food and wine. I prolonged the bliss and stayed one more night in Edinburgh, soaking up another full day in this wonderfully vibrant city before flying down to Dublin.

The gorgeous coastal town of North Berwick

Tips for Scotland:

See my first blog on Scotland for specific tips on Edinburgh
Public transport is not that reliable for beyond Edinburgh and the larger cities, so a car rental option is highly recommended for venturing further afield, unless taking a train
The roads in Scotland can be very narrow and windy.
Left hand side driving is the rule
There are villages every few kilometres in Scotland, so gas stations and pubs are common!
The Scottish weather is inclement at the best of times. ALWAYS take a jacket!
Check out Trusted Housesitters for opportunities to pet sit and explore!

Scotland Part Three: The Isle of Skye

August 4, 2024

Looking at the wallpaper map of Scotland with Sam, all I could see was vast areas of the country I really wanted to see.

We discussed the merits of the Isle of Skye compared to going to hike Mt Suilven (a mere mound compared to the rest of Scotlands mountains, but one which had captured my attention since I saw its unique shape and interesting approach, in the movie ‘Edie’).

I figured I could NOT do both. God only knew I WANTED to do both!

We stared at the map, tracing the roads with our fingers, Sam pointing out places of interest and possible best routes. Well, Skye it was then. Suilven would have to wait until I came back another time. And I would be back an other time.

I felt slightly gutted, but knew to do this travel thing justice, I needed to slow down - especially in Scotland - but also excited because I knew it had captured me enough for me to want to come back.

Packing all my belongings into the car, I retraced my previous journey through to Glencoe, Fort William and up to the turn off to Inverness. I sat there tormented briefly.

I turned left.

Skye was waiting.

The road trip to this island linked by a massive bridge, is nothing short of utterly breath-taking.

The Skye bridge is an impressive structure which has opened the island up to people who shouldn’t actually be let loose on those tiny pot holed narrow roads. I seriously worried about the fancy BMW car I was swanning around in, with those low profile types not at all equipped for the things that pass as roads, on Skye.

Crossing that link from Western Scotland over to the Inner Hebrides island of Skye, is like steeping into another world.

Quaint lives here.

It possesses an almost Nordic feel, with all the houses (except for in Portree which does have some colour!), painted white, creating a poetic contrast against the vivid green landscape resplendent with dramatic oddly shaped mountains.

I had planned to hike to a Bothy (a basic shelter used by hikers in the Scottish back country - free of charge) for my first night on Skye, but arriving late, and in the rain, I opted instead for a small inlet where I could park the car in a narrow protected cove and pitch my tent.

The idea of waking up to a gorgeous sunrise, occupied my mind, and as I unwrapped my tent and then wrestled it against the ever-increasing gale force winds (and failed three times to get it to stay up), I bundled it all into the car, folded the back seats down, spread my sleeping bag out, said good night to the audience of sheep who had now gathered above me to watch the show in the fading light.

I slept like a log that night and unfolded myself to the same audience of sheep the next morning, as I took in the wonderful soft-lit views around me. Behind me was a glorious waterfall several terraces high that seemed to emanate from a pointed hill further beyond.

Skye is known for sheep, gin and surreal landscapes.

Small boutique distilleries - most notably in Portree - provide the purveyor some learning around the vital role a good quality tonic water plays in the experience of drinking this refreshing mix.

I purchased a small bottle from a tiny boutique distillery and promised myself it would make it back to Egypt in my luggage but it never made it beyond Scotland! (It WAS a small bottle ….). The wind remained, the rain persisted and the green became even more vibrant in the soft mossy countryside.

I wandered into the famous Fairy Pools; hiked the Quirang before sunrise (and stood in awe of the steep cliffs and curious rocky surrounds) and hiked around the Old Man of Storr area.

The brooding Cuillin range is accessed in Glenbrittle, a large glen with the river Brittle leisurely wending its way out towards the sea lock of Loch Brittle.

I was determined (despite the drizzle) to hike into the Cuillin Range and up to a tarn (Coire Lagan) I had seen on the map, accessed near the Glenbrittle campground (where I had successfully pitched my tent without it being grabbed by the wind).

The trail was accessed behind the campground, with a bit of solid effort required for the first part as it begins with a demanding climb of over 550 metres. It is well worth the effort to reach Coire Lagan lochan which sits in one of the most spectacular Cuillin corries. Once here I took stock of my surroundings and drank in the tranquility of the place while peering up at the arresting rock faces of the Black Cuillin Mountains.

Awesome walking over several hours and the bonus of a much appreciated and well-poured flat white in the camping ground cafe upon my return - always soothing after a cold raw, gritty day.

Gorgeous stonewalled farms littered the landscape some of which were still in use demonstrating how this volatile environment could be lived with despite the bleak surroundings.

I felt a sense of sadness as I crossed the bridge back to the mainland - a sort of demarkation of a timeless land that the rest of Scotland had left behind.

On my way back to Newtyle I stopped in the pouring rain, and photographed the famous Eileen Donan Castle which is possibly one of the most stunning settings for the classic castle I that I had seen outside of Switzerland Germany or Austria.

Eilean Donan is a small tidal island situated at the confluence of three sea lochs (Loch Duich, Loch Long and Loch Alsh) , about 1km from the village of Dornie. It is connected to the mainland by a footbridge that was installed early in the 20th century and is dominated by the picturesque castle which was built in the thirteenth century; it became a stronghold of the Clan Mackenzie and their allies, the Clan MacRae.

Scotland is proof that fairytales really do exist.

I left this part of Scotland with the feeling that I had to come back.

Paving stones in Edinburgh with my favourite quote.

Scotland Part Two: In Search of Munro

August 3, 2024

Dundee did not fail to impress with its dedication to rain and cold in the middle of summer.

I bussed as far as I could go once I disembarked off the train from Edinburgh (amidst the stares of Dundeeins) then walked the two km in Dundee rain, with my pack weighing heavy on my shoulders to find the car rental agency I had pre-booked a vehicle with. Soaked to the skin, I was grateful for the warm room and offer to change in their toilets, when I turned up looking like something the dog dragged in from under the hedge, dripping into pools of water around my sodden footwear.

The rental guy directed me outside to the car in question and I looked everywhere straining my eyes for the rent-a-wreck I thought I was getting (and had planned to sleep in if required). I had ordered a wagon/hatchback style car but instead before me lay a black brand new (8km on the clock) latest model BMW two door sporty expensive looking thing.

I checked my credentials (no - I had not completed 787 Dreamliner training in my sleep, so how the heck was I going to drive this hi-tech beautiful beast of a thing let alone sleep in it?).

The rental man explained they had run out of wagons and this car would “have to do” (no extra charge). So - I arrived at Sam’s in a fancy black car looking like some rich farmers wife, having zipped seamlessly through the narrow roads of the Scottish countryside, terrified of damaging it just simply by breathing on it. I imagined myself as a black blur, smearing the landscape with my adventurous intentions. I loved the GPS and car wifi as I didn’t need to use my own data - win!

Sam was house-sitting near Newtyle with a sole bad-tempered cantankerous chicken named Margaret.

I loved the walls inside the glorious old character-filled farm house, which were papered with large maps pieced together, making a MASSIVE map of Scotland, and also of course providing daily fodder for the imagination in terms of planning adventures. Newtyle had some stellar small hikes near the town; one which went up to an old historic tower through a pretty valley dotted with waterfalls, gave way to generous views of the surrounding farmland and more further afield to the tantalising Cairngorms foothills.

Eager to explore, my first adventure took me to the charming village of Pitlochry, where not only did I purchase a new pair of hiking shoes, but I also bagged my first Munro, hiking to the peak of Beinn a'Ghlo - Braigh Coire Chruinn-bhalgain (1070m).

My first Munro in the bag looking out towards Pitlochry.

A Munro is a Scottish mountain with an elevation of more than 3,000 feet (914 metres), and you can ‘bag’ one by reaching the summit. These lofty peaks take their name from Sir Hugh Munro (1856–1919), whose groundbreaking list of the 283 highest mountains in Scotland was first published as Munro’s Tables in the Scottish Mountaineering Club’s journal in 1891.

The purple heather of summertime is prevalent in the Scottish highlands.

With a sore neck from rubber-necking at all the quaint countryside villages, I also decided to check out Braemar, on Sam’s suggestion. Braemar is famous for being near the Royal Family owned Balmoral Castle, which sits on the banks of the River Dee; a river I was intending to photograph at the picturesque Linn of Dee.

This alluring area has an old bridge which spans an impressive gash in the landscape through which the river has hewed a deep narrow gorge.

Hiking up to a view point on a windy day, I happened upon the archetypal Scottish wanderer;

a wisened looking gentleman walking alone, wrapped up in his knitted jersey and tweed pants, with a firm grip on a whittled walking pole.

How quaint!

We stopped for a chat until we both felt the chill eeking into our bones, said our goodbyes and carried on in opposite directions. He told me (as had Sam) about the right to wander rule - where you are allowed to cross farmland which is privately owned, in order to go for a jolly good stroll.

I was falling in love with Scotland by the minute,

but wondered briefly how many well-intentioned wanderers had been chased by running bulls or angry rams in their quest for peaceful trails.

Eager for more photography fodder, I ventured beyond the stunning Cairngorms (the largest national park in the United Kingdom) to the more rugged Glencoe area, known for its position in the highlands and proximity to the highest peak in the UK - Ben Nevis. It was not a long drive from Newtyle into Glencoe, and it was a journey that took one through the most stunning impactful landscape I had seen yet, which had me thinking that even New Zealand could be surpassed in its wild raw natural beauty. Scotland has an other-worldly type of beauty; aided by the ever-present moody Scottish weather. I felt as if the LoTR movie set would enter into my field of vision every time I stopped to capture what I felt, through my camera lens - because indeed it was a FEELING - no - an EMOTION rather than a need, to capture a scene, which was foremost in my mind.

Scotland is evocative - specifically the highlands - and for me it brought me to a sense of the familiar without really being able to pin-point why. For the first time in a long time, I was accepting that the weather was what it was and I just needed to make the most of it, hike when I could but mostly I enjoyed the unlimited photo ops that had me slamming on the brakes around every corner.

Rivers, waterfalls, quaint villages, lonely desolate houses, mountains, mist, mood - it was all there in spades.

Ascending into the Devils Realm:

It is all very well wandering the rolling hills with wafts of purpled heather and glittering green moss lighting the way, but I was also seeking something more challenging for both legs and heart, more of a feast for eyes also. My hardy Scottish friend in New Zealand suggested I tackle The Devils Staircase (Aonach Eagach). I called into the National Trust for Scotland information centre on the outskirts of Glencoe and talked to the wardens there who discussed the hike being reasonably challenging, and that there was some inclement weather coming in. They figure if I was a non- dilly-dallying walker, I could complete the ridge before the weather hit. I knew the end point descended into near Glencoe and as yet I had not determined how I would get back to my car, parked some 8km out of Glencoe!

The stretch of highway which wends its way through the mountains and down to Glencoe is incredibly scenic, therefore also incredibly popular with both the Scots and tourists alike. The sides of the roads were thick with cars and buses, parking was a premium here. I was lucky to find a spot directly at the start of the track up to the ridge where the Devils Staircase shared its spiny back with the heavens.

The walk from the road to the ridge gains over 1000m in elevation over a short sharp distance. Therefore its quite the heave on the legs and before long I found myself marinating in that familiar feeling of both pleasure and pain as my legs slowly carried me up the steep trail. The view around me opened up and before long I could see over to Ben Nevis (swimming in cloud) where I WAS initially intending to walk that day, but now glad I didn’t as it would have been a walk in the clouds - literally.

The sides of the trail narrowed onto a skinny ridge and very steep drop offs gave way to the highway below and across the valley with views into their lofty peaks. An air of menace hung heavily, further enhanced by the menacing triple faces of the Three Sisters, peering through the mist from across the valley. I spied a steep trail disappearing into a u-shaped valley, directly across the expanse from me, and I thought I might tackle that track too another day. (Photo).

People stand atop a peak in the distance as the weather starts to fold in

Standing on the ridge I could see along its spine and saw people in the distance standing on a peak. I felt some sense of comfort knowing there were others around, especially as the trail became more technical including some decent grade 2-3 scrambling on exposed, slippery, well polished rock, an area on the trail I later learnt, had killed several people in recent years.

As I stood contemplating the time it would take to reach the high point where the people had now moved on from, I noticed the weather darkening, and a figure in a red jacket walking in my direction.

I ventured further on the trail, wondering if it was wise, as I felt the first few drops of light drizzle and a breeze that was picking up. The red jacketed man, and myself stopped for a chat. He asked if I was planning on continuing and suggested that I turn back as the weather changed quickly, and it was doing just that. He said I could follow him up the now wet rock face I had recently climbed down, and that he could show me an alternative way to the car below.

As we chatted he disclosed that he knew the track well as he wrote the guide books for the region! He explained briefly the significance of the area - the notorious 1692 Massacre of Glencoe, when dozens of members of the local MacDonald clan were murdered by soldiers billeted in their houses or died of exposure as they fled through a snowstorm to hide in the mountains. He also disclosed his daughter was either currently or had been in New Zealand working. Leading me to another Munro, he pointed me in the direction of a gully, casually stating that it would (sooner or later) pop out onto the main road 1000m below. We parted ways and he disappeared into the mist like some sort of red cloaked ethereal ghost.

I even wondered if this was imagined corporeality.

I clambered my way down the gully, with no trail to follow except for common sense, and soon found myself fighting a burgeoning stream, colossal boulders, walloping waterfalls, and points where I was left wondering if I was ever going to be able to blunder my way out of this cavernous culvert.

At some point a small trail magicked itself out of nothing on the left side of the gully, and I followed through thick prickly hedged thicket, until I sprung out like toast from a toaster, onto the main road, feeling like an intrepid explorer scratched, bleeding and somewhat waterlogged.

I picked the twigs out of my hair and decided to cross the road and climb the track to a U-shaped valley I had seen from above. The trail followed steeply uphill beside a narrow but replete stream, dotted with charming waterfalls until it spilled into a wide open valley above which I had expected to see a lake - but this was the lake of my imaginings as it was simply a wide open mossed expanse.

A trail wrapped around this inner sanctum and then exited down the other side of the valley.

As my legs were already thrashed, I decided to descend the way I had come, as I could see this would involve possibly a further one to two hours of hiking and I was not so sure I had that left in my legs. Plus it had started to rain.

I fell into my car after that long adventure-filled day, bouyant and with a sense of fulfilment.

When I returned to Newtyle, Sam spoke sternly to me for attempting the Devils Staircase in dodgy weather and informed me about recent deaths on the ridge.

Sobering.

I am glad she told me after I had been up there - but I am sure the red-jacketed guy was her substitute up on those breezy heights, because without him to deter me, I am sure I would have kept going.

Ah well - I will just have to go back. I hate an unfinished journey!

The A82 road weaving its way through the valley near Glencoe with a view across to the first of the Three Sisters..

"There are two seasons in Scotland: June and Winter"

July 25, 2024

So Says Billy Connelly

PART ONE: EDINBURGH

I sat on the wrong side of the train. It was a pre-booked seat so I had no choice. I was so busy admiring the English countryside that I did not notice when we crossed the border into Scotland from England, where I had boarded at Kings Cross Station in London.

Iridescent emerald green farmland rolled past my carriage window in a rhythmic blur, revealing over-fluffed sheep and robust cattle, reminding me somewhat of rural New Zealand - a land born from a heavy reliance upon a deal with Mother Nature herself.

Scotland revealed herself this way and that - in church spires, tiled roofs, and ploughed fields as we trundled through the countryside and into Edinburgh with the halting grind of metal upon metal as the hefty bulk screeched to a stand still in the terminus of Waverley Station.

I stepped out of the rolling tube and into the bustling vibe of central Edinburgh’s Waverley Station.

My accommodation - St Christopher’s Inn - was a short stroll from the station, and conveniently located near the Royal Mile and a most excellent cafe. Colourful bunting flags lined the streets linking aged brick buildings and giving the historic area a playful vibe whilst juxtaposed against the cobbled streets and imposing form of Edinburgh Castle.

All of this amazing history provides a constant reminder of a time knights and knaves wandered these weathered neighbourhoods.

Edinburgh Castle is perched on a massive rock outcrop and is a focal point for the city and all that Edinburgh is known for. I wandered around absorbing the atmosphere; an intense looking owl sat clenched on the arm of a nervous tourist - its head turning as if on a gimble; musicians played on the streets; a wandering bagpiper littered the area with the shrill tones reminding me that indeed I was in bonny Scotland and busloads of tourists piled out onto the streets looking around in awe.

View through a gap in the buildings of The Royal Mile

Edinburgh left an indelible mark on me - a city infused with history yet brimming with a contemporary city vibe,

but I was on a mission to get into the hillier regions of Scotland and to visit an old friend who was house-sitting near the Cairngorm region.

My plan was to collect a rental in Dundee, then use where Sam was as a base while I explored the area. Sam was a wealth of knowledge in terms of outdoor stuff in Scotland - she knew all the hiking trails and this was aided by the gigantic map of Scotland that served as wallpaper in the house she was minding.

I could not wait to crank on.

The highlands were calling!

A crow sits over the edge of Arthurs Seat

EDINBURGH TIPS:

Waverley Station is the main train station in the city and is central to the historic and new city area
The city is extremely walkable, and safe.
There is a tram line running through the newer part of the city
There is no direct airport train - you need to swap for a tram from the nearest stop
Whiskey and Gin shops are plentiful!
The Royal Mile houses many historic sights, including the main way to Edinburgh Castle, Scotland Yard and numerous other famed sights
Scottish Pounds is the currency - English Pounds are also accepted
Most restaurants open late - around 9 to 10 in the morning, so do not expect an early morning coffee unless heading to a coffee specific cafe
There are nice walking tracks accessible from the city centre which provide commanding views of the city, including Arthurs Seat

Guernsey - A small place with a BIG heart.

July 20, 2024

Guernsey, a charming island nestled in the English Channel,

beckons travelers with its picturesque landscapes and rich history. From lush green hills rolling down to dramatic cliffs, to sandy beaches that seem straight out of a postcard, Guernsey offers a serene yet captivating escape. Whether wandering through the historic streets of St. Peter Port or embarking on a coastal hike to discover hidden coves, every corner of Guernsey holds a story waiting to be explored.

I wondered why flying to Guernsey and back would be the most expensive flights of my entire summer travel ensemble, last year and when I landed I realised why.

This amazing gem of a place needs to be kept secret from tourists breathing in the amazing oxygen, history and landscapes. Guernsey is part of an archipegelo called the Channel Islands off the French coast of Normandy. Guernsey is the second biggest Island, with Jersey being the largest. Guernsey has an airport based on one end of the island. In truth the airport is probably taking up a lot of the area of Guernsey - it is only a 63 km drive right around the place! The main town is St Peters Port - a quaint settlement on the southern aspect of the island, with views to Sark, and Herm, and on a good day, Alderney (and even the French coastline itself).

The island has a population of 60,000, which is a lot considering it is only 78sq km in size!

I wandered off the plane and into the small airport to be met by my friend Sarah who I had not laid eyes on in about 10 years since she and her partner Tony had left New Zealand. In that time they had renovated a 600 year old farm house and produced two boys, who are now 7 - twins!

Time flies.

I was excited to meet these two little humans after watching their growth via the internet. Sarah and I slotted into the same ease with which we had carried our friendship in New Zealand - it felt like a long overdue reunion with them both.

I was looking forward to exploring Guernseys rugged coastline, walking the beaches and if possible seeing puffins - a long term goal of mine is to photograph these quirky little birds.

Their home was stunning - retaining the rustic ageless charm of Guernsey yet fitted with the conveniences and spaces required to raise two energetic youngsters.

It is a weird thing to insert yourself into someones life for a short time, and I know I was incredibly tired when I first got to the UK, from a busy semester at school and not having the greatest of health.

I was foggy and mentally clumsy for the first few weeks of being away - the remedy was to walk, hike, move my body and re-establish those brain connections forged through physical activity. Something I had done barely any of since being in Egypt.

Guernsey is the perfect place for this - with 52 km of walkable coastline it was simply a matter of deciding where to start, picking a point and getting my legs to carry me. The coast is dotted with cliffs, caves, rocky and sandy beaches, cafes and small marinas.

It is truly postcard picturesque.

A stunning little cluster of homes near Renoirs Beach

I discovered that Guernsey could rival New Zealand in its milk quality,

with the Guernsey cow pouring some of the highest butter fat quality cream on the planet. I could taste this in simple pleasures like my daily flat white, or the sumptuous Guernsey fudge - (I ate way way too much of that!). Seafood obviously features strongly in Guernsey, with access to such a big coastline.

The interesting history of Guernsey supposes that it was at one stage part of France - and indeed when William the Conquerer from Normandy became King of England in 1066, the Channel Islands too become part of England with him. This has remained the same since. However, the island has retained its French influence, with the architecture and street names being deridingly French in flavour, casting a quaint European glow over the island and in particular St Peter Port and other smaller hamlets.

At once stage the island was under German occupation and there is evidence of this everywhere - Guernsey attempting to keep itself intact, with the erection of watch towers, defensive fortresses and fortifications spaced with regularity around the islands perimeter.

The islands were the ONLY British soil occupied by German troops between 1940 and 1945 and during this time around 18,000 people were evacuated to England as Hitler attempted to include Guernsey in his “Atlantic wall’ - something that was considered out of balance with the strategic importance of the Channel Islands. In 1944 after the D-Day Normandy landing, the islands became isolated from the rest of Europe and many people lived through starvation as food supplies dwindled. However in May 1945, the German commander based on the island finally surrendered, and Guernsey was freed from occupation.

I thoroughly enjoyed this tangibly visible history, and visited the numerous towers and forts. One very big one in St Peter Port - the Castle Cornet, was built around 1200 AD on a small island as a strategic defensive move to protect trading in St Peter Port.

The castle was only accessible by foot at low tide.

It was then nearly a mile off the coast! In 1338 however, the French attacked and occupied Castle cornet for 7 years after which the English recaptured it back. Over successive centuries, each ruler added on to the castle with additional fortifications and extensions, until the 1800s when finally the harbour of St Peter Port was extended and a bridge connected the mainland to the castle.

Thank goodness for that!

The distinctive form of Castle Cornet which stands as a reminder of Guernsey’s past.

The German occupation logically included the use of Castle Cornet for a strategic base, and it was renamed Stuzpunk Hafenschloss (this name sounded to me like some sort of Eastern European heavy metal band). During this time the German added personnel shelters and gun emplacements which are still in place today as a part of the history of this amazing structure.

Guernsey really packs a punch in terms of history, for such a small island, it is hitting well above its weight.

I also hiked half of the islands coastal cliff-top track.

The track can be entered at various points, and allows a decently hard workout due to its steeply undulating well-maintained trail. The trail commands extremely attractive views down into post-card bays with azure waters, as well as out to sea, dotted with boats (it was summertime when I was there). It really is a walkers paradise for easy to moderate hiking. Near to Sarah and Tonys place I could walk to the flatter side of the island which housed sandier rather than predominantly rocky beaches.

Along this area was a large golf course which provided access to the coast, and the area gave way to incredible sunsets. I would frequent here daily in my nine days on the island - the first time I had also seen rabbits since being in New Zealand!

Stunning coastal views fill hiking trails around the island.

Most mornings I awoke to the sounds of giggles and wee feet sneaking into my room to “see if I was awake”.

If I wasn’t, I certainly was soon after.

Being part of a morning routine with young kids again was a bit of a jolt back in time with my own kids, but for Sarah and Tony, parenthood to these two came later, and they handled the job with poise and creativity. The boys were delightful; entertaining me at times with their wacky sense of fun and energy. It amazed me how Sarah and Tony managed this energy requirement - I know I slowed down with my kids as they aged and it made me wonder how us parents survive at all!

For me though, the young boys were a welcome change to the teenage world I was immersed in through teaching, and the crazy classrooms of Cairo.

Together with Sarah and the boys, not only did I join into their everyday activities, but we also did some adventuring together. We visited “The Little Chapel” which is a miniature version of the famous grotto and basilica at Lourdes in France. It measures a tiny 4.9 m long by 2.7 m wide. It also houses an intriguing number of rooms accessed by narrow stairs.

We also went to Herm on the boat from St Peter Port. This is well worth the trip - the small island about 20 minutes offshore - has a wonderful charm and beautiful beaches, where we sat and chatted while the boys jumped waves and explored amongst the rocky pools trapped in the golden sands of Shell Beach.

Time stands still on Herm. I was convinced of that.

I also explored Sark, a larger island with an isthmus that creates a wonderful opportunity to hike or bike out to a viewpoint.

In fact Sark is somewhere to explore over a weekend and I wish I had more time to do this. The history of these two small islands is interesting, plus they are the place where puffins go to hangout - alas I never saw any. I was too late for these quirky little birds.

Sark was originally settled in order to defend Jersey and Guernsey from French invasion.

It is divided into about 40 land tenements, a very old system of property ownership. It was of course, unlike Herm, also occupied by Germans during the Second World War. Sark also has its own language - Sercquaise, which is a fusion of French, Patois, and English.

These two closest islands to Guernsey are wonderful day trips for hiking, history and relaxing - thoroughly recommended. We also went to a famous beach Moulin Huet where Renoir had painted about 15 different views of the bay and the Pea Stacks. He was there in 1883 and the bay has in place a large empty painting frame, encapsulating the view he painted.

St Peter Port, the main town on Guernsey looks stunning at night, with the lights reflecting on the calm inner waters of the harbour. A night time photo eluded me, but I know I will be back to capture this. The quaint cobbled narrow streets, and old heritage buildings reminded me of France, or Belgium, and certainly adds to the charm of this tax haven capital for the UK - where numerous very large corporations and business have their head offices, for tax purposes.

I enjoyed many walks to the town centre from Sarah and Tonys house, wandering the narrow quaint streets in search of photo opportunities (and coffee) and would usually walk part of the way back or grab a bus. It was a wonderful relaxing start to my European adventure.

STUFF TO NOTE:

Flights to Guernsey are not cheap, however you can take a flight from almost any major city in the UK. It is also well connected internationally.

A regular bus service connects the entire island with two main routes - one travelling clockwise and the other in the opposite direction. They also weave into the interior, making it likely you can sit and wait and grab a bus to get anywhere, with a bit of patience and not much planning!

Guernsey boasts a temperate climate - I was pleasantly surprised. Even though it was at times windy, it was mild weather - perfect for hiking and exploring during summer.

I would love to return - there is something special about island life, wherever you go, the vibe seems to be similar. Island life evokes a sense of relaxation, no rush, less stress and more time to genuinely engage in ones surroundings and with others.

I will see you again Guernsey!

Person fishing at a beach near Bognor Regis

Regal Bognor

October 1, 2023

Bognor was just good old Bognor until a certain royal personage (George the 5th) went there in 1929 to be cured by the ocean air, and it was renamed Bognor Regis.

I don't know why one needs an addendum to accentuate the apparent importance of a royal convalescence, but there it is. And probably Bognor Regis is all the better for it (pun intended).

I wonder if all the towns folk felt more regal.

My friend Valerie hails from Bognor Regis and so on my recent adventure to the United Kingdom it was only fitting that I chased her up in her hometown before she disappeared back to the Antipodes for spring and summer.

I was met with Valerie’s usual open-armed exuberance at the Bognor Regis train station and I folded myself into her flower-covered car to be taken to her house. It is always a nice feeling being met by someone in a strange place. It incites a sense of familiarity but also a weird sense of out-of-placeness. Valerie was in the right place as this was her home, but all my interactions with her have been in New Zealand, so it felt oddly strange for me to meet her here in England.

Valerie's modest home perfectly reflected her personality - full of colour and curiosities - she had a wild backyard that was home to hedgehogs, birds, bees, foxes and wildflowers. The perfect world within a world for a nature-lover; private, homely and calm. With hedgehogs rapidly disappearing from England, Valerie was committed to providing food for these small animals, reminding me of my childhood when my parents would feed “Huffy the hedgehog” in our backyard at night, and us kids would say good night before our bedtime.

I was treated to a fox viewing one night also, as the animal cautiously pawed its way towards the snacks Valerie had left for it, looking around warily, its nose going ten to the dozen.

Bognor Regis is on the south coast of England in a county called West Sussex. Being so accessible from London, it is a popular holiday destination, with the South Downs National Park also only being 20 minutes drive away. It exudes an air of once-grandness; as if it could do with a lick of paint and a bit of TLC, yet also having that archetypal British sea-side resort vibe.

I enjoyed the beach-front walking path and the promise of fresh sea air.

A walk around Valerie's neighbourhood soon revealed quaint thatch-roofed houses and I learned that each thatcher has their own ‘signature’ they leave on top of the roof in the form of a small motif (for example a thatched fox or pheasant or some other symbol).

Notice the thatchers signature on the roof of this beautiful house.

The clever signature of a roof-thatcher.

I was also excited to sample genuine English fish and chips, and was not disappointed when we ordered from her local ‘fryery’.
Valerie had told me many times over the years that Bognor Regis is fantastic for road cycling and I could see why, with small hedge-lined country roads and rolling terrain. I was keen to get out for a decent hike, so together with her friend Annie, we went for a stunning walk through Kingley Vale - stopping at a local pub on the way. We also saw a sparrow hawk which sat on a pole posing for us for several minutes.

That walk took us through a grove of ancient yew trees which are thought to be as old as 2000 years. They absolutely had an other-wordly air about them, and you could almost imagine the Druids hanging out here on a dark winter's night.

Another walk we did was alongside a canal starting in Chichester. This was a flat but pleasant walk which took us along the famous point where JW Turner painted his ‘Chichester Canal’ painting in 1828.

Valerie and her friend Annie enjoy ocean dips in the frigid waters of Bognor, and on more than one occasion I watched from the sidelines of a wind-battered shoreline, as the two of them braved the cold waters for their morning icey dip. They did this every day - and seemingly loved it! What madness is this?! I have to admit to knowing about the benefits of cold water immersion and I secretly cussed my unwillingness to join them, whilst simultaneously applauding their bravery.

I got the feeling that life here could be very stress-free. Perhaps it has something to do with living in a place that has history - that no matter who comes and goes, the historic buildings and yew trees remain. Aside from the history, reflected mainly in the architecture, I did not feel as if I was in a world vastly different from back home in New Zealand.

It felt comfortable and familiar.

My time in Bognor Regis was short but sweet, and I was delivered back to the train station by Valerie after five wonderful days visiting with her, to continue my journey even further south - to Southampton - in order to fly across to Guernsey in the Channel Islands.

The next phase of my journey was beginning and I was grateful to all the people so far who were links in the chain.

Travel Strangers

October 1, 2023

Travel is a funny thing - people all thrust together into the confines of a plane, train or boat seat; sometimes spending hours next to someone we do not even utter more than perhaps a cautionary “scuze me’ when we need to push past them to attend to the loo. Everyone in that confined space is going somewhere - there’s a destination on the mind - beset perhaps with new experiences; family to visit; a job interview; travel for the sake of travel - always some reason but possibly all provoked by a scratch that needs itching - the wanderlust itch. At least that’s how it is for me.

The high speed train from Kings Cross London to Edinburgh covers the 646 km in a little over 4.25 hours, stopping at Newcastle to unload travellers before Scotland kicks in. It’s feels as though the train is bolting through the countryside - the blur of greenery near the tracks becoming sleep-inducing when coupled with the gentle sway of the train as it charges forward.

It’s hard to comprehend the nitty-gritty of travel at times. This morning I was saying goodbye to my friend in Guernsey and now I am halfway to Edinburgh on a train - opting for the romantic notion of overland travel rather than above the clouds. As the train progresses up the length of England the weather becomes increasingly dull until finally rain drops make its slanted patterns across the train window. Glad I bought that rain jacket in St Peter Port - on the advice of a very keen store owner who filled me in on various hikes I should do in Scotland. I only went in for some in-soles for my shoes.

I am amazed I made it at all onto this train. The morning was running smoothly, with an early landing in Southampton from Guernsey providing me with a 20 minute head start for the train - perhaps I could go on an earlier train to London? Yes - I could. This fact would prove valuable as the morning wore on, when a fatality on the tracks halted the train at Farnborough. I could feel my heart rate increasing but kept up the positive self-talk … “it’s going to be fine!”.

I asked at the ticket office about alternative ways to get to London, as frustrated commuters let the news sink in that they would be very late for work that day. Someone muttered about inconsiderate track jumpers disrupting the working day, while Someone else shouted at the ticket guy about paying for a service that is very rarely delivered. Good heavens - I just want to get to Scotland!

I started to think my flight booked the next morning (which I was opting to forgo in favour of the train) would be my actual modus operandi after all. The by now pink-faced ticket dude gave me harried directions to the other Farnborough train station and duly informed me I would need to find another train from Guildford.

Oh heck - the Edinburgh train was starting to look like an impossible dream - although I knew I could possibly get a later one (even though seats are all allocated through the booking system).

Google maps told me the walk to the other station was 20 minutes.

Just when I was cursing my two packs, two women came and asked me if if was taking the train to London, then when I confirmed my moves they offered me a ride to the other station. They were sisters , with one of them visiting the other after 4 years (she resided in Canada), and both were South African. I was amazed they would offer to take a stranger - but grateful especially as my previous days galavanting on Sark had left my feet battered and blistered. Quite frankly a 20 minute walk in Doc Martens wasn’t appealing at that point in time!

The Canadian sister and I stuck together - and I helped her figure out the tube she needed to be on from Waterloo in order to meet friends in Covent Garden. We bade farewells and happy travels and good lucks and parted ways. Her name was Val and after England she was going to Croatia.

You never know - we may in fact meet again.

After an early train from Southampton; a suspended service in Farnborough; two changes of alternative trains; and two tubes, I made it to Kings Cross with 20 minutes to spare. Hindsight is a wonderful thing - if I had not taken that earlier train I would have been stuck in Southampton until after 1 pm and it would have been a late arrival to Edinburgh, if at all.

Things happen for a reason sometimes. Perhaps.

The ploughed fields and gentle rolling landscape hurtled by my window seat and the girl in the seat next to me (maybe 11-12 years old), stared transfixed at her phone screen. The world outside my window reminded me of the landscape south of Timaru - particularly near Pareoa and St Andrew’s. I could have been in New Zealand. Through all the geographic locations on this ball we call planet earth, there are more similarities than differences - with pockets of the utterly bizarre or mind-blowingly gorgeous adding a sense of wonder and certainly a sense of appreciation for the simple art of travel.

Out the train window enroute to Scotland, the view reminds me of South Canterbury, NZ

A couple of weeks ago I was on the train from Bognor heading south to catch my flight across to Guernsey. A man sat opposite me - longish grey hair pulled back into a loose pony-tail which extruded shyly from his ‘train-driver’ style hat. He had a cloth bag, linen shirt and pants and exuded an air of ‘alternative’ about him. As the train lurched out of Bognor Regis he shuffled through his bag to produce some glass jars of various food items which he placed on the small table between us. I shuffled about in my bag and pulled out chocolate. Ha! Take THAT!!

Stunning thatched roof house in Bognor Regis

He then poured a cup of hot brew from a thermos then spread humus onto rice crackers and layered tomato and cheese slices over top. “Old school”, I thought - as I wondered about the people around me and marvelled at my ability to judge - perhaps incorrectly, as to who these people were that I shared the journey to Southampton with.

After a small feast, he then produced a compact sewing kit and an item of cloth, then laboriously attempted to thread the tiny needle.

After several minutes he had success and began to loop the thread around a failing hem in what appeared to be pants.

I observed all this through my reflective glasses.

It’s rude to stare. I was fascinated. Sewing, on a train!

I lost myself in the passing countryside becoming slightly sleepy from the hypnotic rhythm of the trains movements. Feeling my eyelids drooping, I was just on the verge of one of those ‘falling off a cliff’ moments, when a voice jolted me back into the moment.

“It’s good to see someone wearing an actual watch - not a phone attached to a watch strap” the man announced.

Is he speaking to me?

“Hi”! He demanded my attention.

I learnt he was off to some shamanic festival, and that he objected to the nudity he would encounter there (oh - really?), but was looking forward to camping and doing yoga. He said he also couldn’t bring himself to throw out a perfectly good pair of pants and that he repaired all his clothes. He disgorged a LOT of words in that short time from the watch comment to us pulling into Southampton. I wished him a fun experience at the shaman festival and he strode off with his linen pants in hand and with his hikers sandals inviting a peek of his long gnarly toenails.

Nice.

Meanwhile the girl in the train seat next to me shows me an evil cat picture and tells me she is scared of it. I realise English is not her first language and wonder what her story is. Where are her parents?

The train is packed - wall to wall people and baggage, but a good lot will disembark in New Castle and perhaps a new swathe if travellers will replace them. My backpack sits atop a pile of other backpacks; sleeping mats; walking poles - and I know there is a portion of train travellers here probably heading for Scotlands highlands for some hiking. Me too. Anticipation much. Tomorrow I will collect a rental car and have a taste of freedom.

I cannot wait for the adventure to truly begin. It’s time to really stretch my legs.

SUMMER BREAK: Escaping the Heat: Part Two

September 23, 2023

“The sun doesn’t live in England; it comes here on holiday when we’re all at work.”
– Benny Bellamacina

England feels very ‘proppa innit’ after the chaos of Cairo.

Three wonderful days spent in London, re-visiting places I had seen 30+ years ago, was a treat, and to see how London has changed, yet oddly remained the same. It seemed weird to me to hear english being spoken, and as there are so many English folk living in New Zealand, the accent feels normal to me. It also provides a certain element of stress relief as I realise I can make sense of something potentially challenging with people who speak the same language - such as - “what platform do I need to get the train to [x,y,z] from?”

London is convivial, ordered, old, new, clean, polite and offers efficient transport.

Win-win.

People let each other in to roads when driving cars, and even wave to each other - unlike Cairenes who attempt to squeeze their vehicles into one space all at the same time, with no courtesy and definitely no smiles, waving or “no YOU go first!” Generally it’s a tirade of horns, followed sometimes by verbal abuse and even occasionally by physical altercations in the middle of the road - creating even more of a traffic issue. Sigh.

After six months of sunshine 99.9% of my time in Egypt, it has given me an immense sense of pure JOY to see clouds, rain, and cooler weather. I have donned jackets, sheltered from rain, wind AND sunshine.

Ahhhhh Mother England - you bewdy!

My jaunt to England has seen me re-connect with family and friends - a wonderful treat to be in their space and to slot in to their lives in some small way for a short amount of time. I have “awwww’d and ahhhhhh’d” at the beautiful old houses that remind me of Christchurch and Dunedin in New Zealand; the gorgeous old flower-covered country-side pubs; the typical British seaside beach huts; the cobbled streets; and the delicious English fish ‘n chips from the local ‘fryery’. It is all easy, relaxed, ‘normal’ and quaint.

I have decided I love England.

It's been almost three months since I set foot back on British territory after a 30-plus year hiatus. After the burgeoning Cairo heat, I was looking forward to respite in the British Isles - a break from relentless blue sky and the never settling dust; a break from the monotony of a bi-seasoned existence (summer or winter … hot or cold). I wanted the quandary of what to wear; the wonderment of a cloud-filled sky, and the miracle of rainfall. I wanted it all.

Now that I am back into the routine of a working day, and the panic of seeing real live students in my classroom again has somewhat abated, I feel I can begin to reflect on a time which my step-brother's wife dubbed as - “Kerensa’s European Adventure”.

And it was.

I arrived in London at Heathrow's organised chaos, to be greeted by an old childhood friend. Whilst he did not look the least bit old, he was indeed once a childhood friend - he still looked like that cheeky-faced mop-haired little 8 year-old I last saw him as (and still did see in my mind's eye), except now he was just taller. I recognised him instantly at the arrivals hall, and we greeted as if we had just hung out last week at the local pub. He - Gordon - bundled me off in his red mini cooper (but of course) and with a relieved exhale I realised the adventure was beginning and the first leg had been achieved with little hassle.

I was profoundly grateful for this person who I had not seen in 40-something years, for making space in his life to not only collect me from the airport, but also plop me in his home for a night's rest, feed me and deliver me to the train station the next morning so I could head to my next stop. I was already regretting bringing as much clothing as I had; my backpack was filled with question-marks about what sort of weather I might encounter over the next ten weeks, and how best to allow for that. Plus I was determined to purchase some Doc Martens in London and knew I needed dwelling space for those fantastic bits of foot art.

Traipsing through London looking like a hiker on her way to some fantastical base-camp, I felt slightly out of place in a city of snappy-dressers.

It had been decades since I last had to navigate the catacombs of the London Underground.

Thank you random stranger as I photograph the descent into London’s darkest deepest places.

The map on the wall showing the tube lines seemed even more colourful and confusing then I remembered, but not being one to shy away from the knowledge held by locals, I was happy to ask people how to get to where I needed to go - which was to my step-brothers house near Finsbury Park.

I kept pinching myself as everything slotted together with ease and I soon found myself searching for his spare key under a mossy rock in the front garden.

I love the wee houses in London - the two up, two down type arrangement. There is a delicate elegance about these places all in a row. They’re quaintly organised and efficiently contained within the urban construct, whilst still exuding a sort of olde worlde vibe. After my spacious apartment in Cairo, I did wonder how my step-bro and his family weren’t constantly crashing into the walls (or each other) in this narrow dwelling, but it also made me reflect on how some people can be so content with excess and some content with exactly as much as they really do need. How much space do we really need? I loved his house and the ‘secret garden’ out the back. I wondered about all the other secret gardens lurking behind the other rowed houses.

After a change of clothes and throwing my things out of the pack in a manner becoming of one who could chillax for two nights, I decided to walk to Camden Market where I knew a flagship Doc Marten store was. The walk down took a good hour; a not unpleasant stroll at all and I stopped to sample a coffee from a funky looking place on the way there, and sit and soak up the atmosphere for a while. Such a contrast to Cairo.

People here were going about their afternoon in an orderly manner. Horns were not honking every second. Dogs were not tearing through garbage. People were not sitting on sidewalks or roads on rickety chairs watching the world go by. Taxi drivers were not calling out. Beggars were not tugging at my sleeves. Dust was not misting up the view. People were not having arguments in the middle of the road.

In fact I could hardly hear the noise of the UK’s largest city.

Down in Camden, I exchanged money, purchased new DM sandals and marinated in the sense of familiarity that London emitted. I guess the binding aspects of coming from a country which was colonised by the English, meant that everything felt vaguely like home.

Existing in the sixth largest city on the planet for the previous six months had taken me inside myself a little. As much as the awe and wonder of being in a totally different culture of one of the greatest civilisations has been incredible, it has also been mentally draining and somewhat anxiety-inducing. The frenetic pace and manic vibe of Cairo is probably not dissimilar to places like Mumbai in India or Kathmandu in Nepal. These cultures seemingly do not appear to notice personal body space or have a notion of privacy - open staring and gawking is a sport; crazy driving is a given; and sweaty bodies pressing against each other in rickety buses is normal everyday life.

Ah London - thank you for having some semblance of ‘not crazy’.

I had a wonderful three nights in total enjoying English beer, central London, my step-bro’s cooking and some great conversations. It was time to head south, first to Bognor Regis and then across to the Channel Islands. I said goodbye to London and family, and hello to my now heavier (with the addition of chunky DM’s), backpack and plodded down the street to the bus stop which would lead me to Finsbury Park tube station and ultimately to the station to carry me south. I was truly impressed with the transport system in London - so simple, easy and efficient.

Next stop - Bognor Regis and my dear friend Valerie.

Summer Break: Escaping the Heat: Part One.

July 7, 2023

It is a cacophony of dog barks that jolt me into awareness.

The sound of my neighbour’s air con whirls like a monotonous drone, and birds punctuate the stillness on this Eid holiday - each having their own turn - crows with their guttural call, sparrows and other smaller song birds call in the day.

It’s Thursday. Normally by now I would be standing in the local cafe laughing with the barista about my Arabic and straining my eyes across the street for signs of work colleagues who gather on the street corner where the work bus collects us for the 25 minute shuttle into New Cairo.

But not this morning.

This morning, I have woken early anyway despite the freedom of no alarm, thanks to the dogs. What the heck are they barking at anyway? One starts and they all chime in - territorial wars, like the gangs of New York, keeping packs of dogs to certain streets, and the ensuing chase if one happens to venture near that which does not belong. Or perhaps a pet dog, on a leash - pity dog owners in Cairo having to contend with the strays. Two days ago while walking the downtown part of the Nile Corniche, a stray dog latched itself onto my friend and I, and walked no less than 4-5 km with us. I warned my friend about the strays under one of the bridges as we navigated the pillars supporting the expanse of concrete across the Nile. No sooner had we burst back out of the shadows, than half a dozen or so angry dogs took flight towards us, teeth bared, drool trailing in the breeze and the ears tucked back like some aerodynamic fighter jet.

Fuuuuuuuuucccccccck!

The wee stray dog carried on beside us rather non-plussed, meanwhile the dogs were approaching with rapidity. I knew they could go for either of us. Some local lads hurled rocks at the dogs and they backed off slightly but not util they had tried at least three more times to snap at our heels. It wasn’t us of course, it was the dog they were bothered with - one of the chasing marauders had young pups. I figured it was good practice for Albania, where I was soon to travel for hiking, given I had heard stories of the shepherd dogs in the mountains being hungry for a bit of human calf-muscle.

The dogs stop barking and a cat squawks - all sounds I had grown used to and even though it is Eid, and a public holiday, I can hear a street sweeper outside and the familiar rasping of the straw broom against the road.

I sit in amazement that I have made it to the end of my first semester in my teaching job - my first ever in an international school. I remember coming to Cairo six months ago - overwhelmed and second-guessing myself.

Now, I am in that place of giving advice to any new arrivals. Six months may not seem like long enough to do so, but Egypt has a steep learning curve and if you are still trying to figure it out after six months, then you haven’t been paying attention.

I have packed a lot into my time here so far, including a brief trip back to New Zealand for my daughter’s graduation. Tomorrow I head back to the UK and Europe after 30+ years. There is so much I want to see and I being to wonder if I could be going to Belgium, where I spent a few years of my early parenting life, but realise it isn’t going anywhere, and I can visit sometime, given that Europe is so close (and so cheap to fly).

You can go to Europe for a long weekend from Cairo; or even deeper into the African continent; something I also wish to do. For now, I head north to escape the heat of Cairo for 10 weeks. I wonder how I will make my money last that long, but it is just going to have to. I am collecting experiences, not things - although I do have an urgent Dr Marten requirement I need to fulfil while in London, plus I need to buy some KASE filters, given mine were ‘lost’ in my bag debacle on the way here in January (still unresolved, and no closer to seeing any compensation).

I have felt a great sense of anticipation as I have planned my escape north to slightly cooler climes. “Bring a jacket” my UK-based friends tell me. You have no idea how I long for something less than 30 degrees. I am not good with heat and have noticed my energy levels disappearing as the temperatures here in Cairo have climbed. Existing day to day with 24/7 sweat is both uncomfortable, and part of life. But no one shows much skin here - so people adapt, I guess.

It is a dry intense heat though - not like in New Zealand where you can feel a bit of moisture in the air; here when the sun hits you, you can sense your skin cooking through every single layer.

I have zero desire to be out in it.

On this morning, I am heading to a spin class at CSA. A hangout favoured by Egyptians and ex-pats alike. I will kick-start my day and continue my migration to the next door apartment which will be my abode until I leave Egypt next June (if I do!). I will not actually spend my first night in this new abode until September when I am back from summer break, but I fly out tomorrow, and so luckily for me I can literally walk my things three m away and dump them until I return.

Airports are funny places. People are on their best behaviour and usually that behaviour includes trying not to attract too much attention. Cairo airport is OTT with security checks - a check to get into the departure building; another after you check your bags and yet a further check to get you to the gates. Goodness knows how you are meant to become a threat between the first and the last check. It is with trepidation that I check my backpack. Paranoia about ever seeing my belongings again after my rough introduction to Egypt and the loss of a bag with no compensation, have left me with little trust for the system here at the airport. But I submit and accept that if iI want to be away for 10 weeks - more than carry-on is required - especially as I am taking my sleeping bag, mat, camera gear and hiking shoes. I have two changes of clothes - ten weeks is a long time - I even wondered about that! Before I packed, I meant to buy bags of almond-stuffed and chocolate coated dates. These are a real delicious treat and one I like to give to people back home. Unfortunately being Eid, the shops were all shut so I was unable to stock up on the said goodies. In the airport, Abu Auf (the date supplier) sold bags in the duty free stores, for $9.00 USD!!!; these same bags cost $2.00 USD in Maadi. I silently kicked myself for not being more organised and buying these dates weeks ago. I painfully bought one bag in the terminal as I didn’t have enough EGP for any more - needing what little I had for my driver pick-up on my return to Egypt in two months time. I will know better next time. Life continues to send its little learning lessons my way, reminding me that I always need to keep on my toes. The other last-minute-dot-com upset was a Ryanair flight I did not make, being attached to my Ryanair app. A quick frantic phone call to Ireland 15 minutes before I was due to depart for Cairo airport, soon sorted the quandary out. Hopefully my original flight will still stand - they are ‘on it’ the heavily accented Irish woman told me reassuringly.

What else could go wrong. I hate to think.

My biggest challenge will be surviving ten weeks on very little money. The upside of this is I may lose the nearly 10kg I have beef-caked on since being in Egypt! I also plan on sleeping in the mountains with the wild-life; running for my life may also help with the weight-loss plans. I am prepared to keep a very open mind.

For now.

Well, its a great day for flying to the UK, and my flight calls us now to board the British Airways flight that will catapult me into a different world yet again - but a strangely familiar one.

I am looking forward to a decent beer and some red meat!

Local

June 11, 2023

Some photos taken

on one of my jaunts up the Nile Corniche, around my neighbourhood, in some palaces (just the usual) and peeking around some mosques. When it gets hot and sticky, and I am living off ice cream in order to cope while I swear and curse at the heat, I pause to remind myself to be in the moment, to look around and to breathe it all in (and I don’t mean just the dust!).

Click in to open these images in a new window.

IMAGES ARE:

Row One left to right:

Open door, Maadi/Street scene Maadi/Flowering Bonsai Trees Nile Corniche/Stray catnon the Nile

Row Two left to right:

The Gayer-Anderson Museum - all images

Row three left to right:

Cairo’s own leaning tower (joke)/Street scene Old Cairo/Mosques from Ahl Azhar Park/Ibn Tulun Mosque

Street Dogs and Dust: and the reality of "it is what it is"

May 28, 2023

I barely notice the call to prayer anymore.

Has it stopped happening five times a day? No. I have just become so used to it that it now goes unheard by me.

It feels as if suddenly I have settled right in. I feel comfortable. A child screams at the top of her lungs outside my dining room window and I know it will be the woman on the street corner her gives her wee ones a swift hard swipe around the head if they do not beg for money from strangers or manage to sell a bag of lemons to them. When I feel as if I am ‘settling in’, I remind myself not to settle in too much - because to do so would be to accept that mother’s using their wee children for income, is actually ok; when it’s not.

The child keeps crying.

A dog barks. A motorbike zips by. Horns toot. Birds sing. A plane roars its take-off over my apartment building. A cooling wind blows dust through my kitchen windows and coats my freshly cleaned dining room table with yet another microscopically fine layer of ground up ancient history.

Who knows what that dust contains.

Everyday I simultaneously pinch myself that I am here at all and roll my eyes with some mental crazy-as thing I have just witnessed.

This is Cairo. Cairo does not speak for all of Egypt - but I imagine that it certainly whispers a good part of it.

A bike locked up on the Nile Corniche belongs to a sleeping man

It has been a while since I have written a blog so I thought I would make one out of an email I recently sent a friend who was considering coming here for a visit. My email to her outlined some of the nuances of Egypt, so that she had a ‘heads-up’ on what to expect.

Since that email, I have visited the Sinai and also have much to say about that wander into the mountains; and I have also been to New Zealand and back for my daughters graduation - a long heinous drawl across half of the planet; a punctuation in my otherwise unimportant life, so that I can share one of her more important moments.

My daughter with her batman cape flapping in a brisk Wellington breeze.

I have finished my teaching for the academic year and will be using my time to solidify my 2023-2024 lessons so that I can then relax for 8.5 weeks, hopefully in some cooler climate than the unearthly hot promise of Cairo. So hiking it is in the UK for me - maybe - and I am actually chomping at the bit for some greenery, some tent life and some simplicity.

Also some Dr Marten sandals.

I went to Giza Zoo recently. I had intended to go to the Wadi Degla but as my right hand is in a state of disrepair due to my frisbee v thumb incident, I thought it safer to stay away from possible scrambling requirements - and so I Ubered to the zoo with high hopes and my 100-400mm lens.

The zoo was depressing; dirty; unkempt; over-crowded with both people and animals and antiquated.

People threw food to the caged prisoners; gosh, someone had even managed to throw a toilet cistern into the baboon pit - and I just needed to get out of there as soon as I could. I felt supremely annoyed by Egyptians during that time; firstly for allowing the zoo to get into such a state of disrepair, and secondly for their wanton disregard for nature: I am SO sick of the litter, rubbish, trash - remnants of 15 million people casting their cast-offs into an ‘out of sight out of mind’ place and using that same mentality in of all places, the zoo. Occasionally I ask myself what I am doing here when some things frustrate me so much; other times I make myself marinate in the actual moment so that I can appreciate where I am - in one of the planets most oldest civilised regions; especially when on the way home in the work bus, I catch a glimpse of the pyramids in the background - their trigonic shapes juxtoposed against a mish-mash of satellite dishes and balconies. .

Cairo is special.

It is an open-air museum.

I thought about when I first came here and how soon I realised if it wasn’t for the ex-pat Facebook pages I had joined, I would have been lost. There was no “How to Cairo” manual; it really was a matter of bungling along.

Now that I have had five months of bungling, I can unpack some of the quirks and nuances of living in Egypt. Some people may find this info useful for if they ever plan to come to the top of Africa, for others, who knows - maybe it simply provides some entertainment.

On arrival - it is all pretty straight forward arriving into Egypt via Cairo (I understand it may be different if flying into Sharm El Shiek); the immigration folk are pretty laid back and you should consider yourself lucky if you get your bags searched!

Visa: You can buy a visa on arrival at Cairo airport - $25 USD (have the cash ready). It’s easy and no problem, if you know where to find the visa place. Its actually a bank payment! The visa is handed over in exchange for $25 US dollars at one of several small bank counters just before you go through passport control.

Cash: Egypt runs on cash. I now know to bring some USD to exchange for EGP - enough for an Uber from the airport and a sim card. Most credit cards will work here over the counter and in ATM machines. Best not to exchange too much for EGP as you cannot exchange it back into USD or Euro or anything else useful when leaving.

Sim card: There's a Vodafone booth in the airport. Egypt will allow people to use a local sim with proof of identity - usually it lasts 4 weeks only which is pretty much the coinciding with the tourist visa anyway. There are vodafone stores everywhere - the bane of my existence, because communication is shocking. Grab a sim - its cheap, but a pain as you need to fill out paperwork. You cannot use your NZ number here even with roaming. I do not know about numbers from other countries. The airport has free wifi, which you may be able to use with an NZ number - not sure. If ordering an Uber then make sure to have a sim installed first.

Vodafone: While we are on the subject - I use this company and have to endure the monthly experience of ‘topping up’ which is more like an exercise in tearing my hair out as it involves going to yet another tiny place and taking yet another number and sitting on yet another sticky vinyl seat and then attempting via sign-language to talk to yet another person who thinks I am an idiot, in order to beg for more data. Please. It always runs out right when I need an Uber.

Taxi v Uber: A taxi driver will try to fleece you because you're a foreigner. The fare from the airport to my place in Maadi, in an uber, should be no more than 150 EGP ($7.50 NZD). A taxi driver will charge you 3 x that - or at least try to. If you get in a situation where you cannot for whatever reason, order an uber, negotiate FIRST with the taxi driver (they don't speak english usually), so use your phone calculator to type in the EGP and show it to them. Start low - at 100 EGP, they may be ok with that. I usually only pay around 100 EGP for an airport uber. Depends on time of day. But at least with a taxi, if your phone has a flat battery or whatever, you can always just get a taxi - have the address written somewhere that you need to go, so you can show them. If you get hassled say "La!" (short "A") not like "laa". It means ‘no’. By the way, most people don’t use seat belts here. Women sit in the back on the right. Men can sit in the front (seat belts in the front so def put it on!). If there’s a rear seat belt, use it. Drivers here are nuts. Don’t freak out about that - I’m used to it now but if you’re not you will shit your pants if the road is super busy and how they drive here. They all seem to be vying for some sort of Uber world land-speed record (usually whilst on their phones…).

And there’s always tuk-tuks!

I wasn’t fast enough to click this tuk-tuk veering around a corner of two-wheels just seconds earlier.

If getting an Uber at the airport come out of the building, go down to the parking areas below and head to a clear area like 3b or 3c well beyond the Arrivals hall. It’s CHAOS when it’s busy and this makes it hard to find the Uber. Look at the number plate when it shows in the app and try to memorise the shapes! If nothing else you will at least learn the first ten Arabic numbers!

Uber App: The single most useful app I engage with several times weekly. It makes me wonder how Cairenes survived before smart phones. I Uber everywhere thats a decent distance away and so rely on my data being active through Vodafone AND Uber being reliable - which it is (at least in my experience).

Driver: I have often toyed with the seemingly luxurious option of having a private driver and I know several people who do. My neighbour uses one for airport arrivals; some people use them for big road trips - I may use this idea at some point, but for now I am happy Ubering and striking up broken Arabic-Englizi conversations conducted whilst being shuttled at break-neck speed.

Language: Some Egyptians speak good English, most speak one or two words, many speak none at all. My Arabic is growing but it’s an exercise in frustration (probably more for my Arabic teacher than for me!).

The watermelon truck has broken down, spilling melons onto the road.

"Egypt Time": Everything takes ages here. I always allow extra time for any travel. Traffic jams are shocking between 4-7 pm. Somehow things work out but it seems impossible at the time. Cars and motorbikes engage in relentless horn beeping; often I am left wondering why - everyone is attempting to funnel their vehicle into some bottle neck and no amount of horn tooting will change that.

And yet they honk. And yell at each other through open car windows. And gesticulate. It’s a carnival of body language and car horns.

Consequently the majority of cars are dented and scraped. Various colours of masking tape festoon the curves of car bodies; some have bungee cords holding bumpers on; rear lights hanging by a wire or two or totally missing. I am not sure what the laws are here regarding the condition of vehicles but some are super dodgy looking.

People also seem to possess an uncanny knack of napping wherever they are - and it’s not unusual to see people kipping in the afternoon under the shade of a tree or even literally on the side of the road. They are not always homeless folk either! But there’s plenty of people living on the streets, alongside the dogs and cats.

The other thing I love about Egypt is the way they live their lives on show. If chair sitting was an Olympic event, Egypt would be the world champions. On every street corner; in every doorway; in every alley or sidewalk, outside any church, mosque, public building, park … you name it … will be some dude sitting on a chair. usually accompanied by another guy sitting (and sometimes sleeping) on another chair. I am constantly amazed at how many people they need to do the job of chair sitting. This is paralleled in grandeur only by the number two pass-time, of looking at weird things that are going on. There seems to be an expectation of watching someone do something like dig a hole in a random place - plus have another guy watching the first guy to make sure he’s watching the guy digging. It’s a crazy old time here in Cairo.

It is what it is.

A homeless person sleeping in the early morning alongside the Nile on the Maadi Corniche

Trains: I once took a train to Alexandria so it is only fitting that I include a short section on train travel. The trains do not run to time. They may LEAVE on time but they sure as shit will not arrive on time! The glorious thing about train travel is that train tracks generally take you through the least glorious parts of any town. Usually the litter-strewn train tracks set the scene for the back parts of houses - where people casually biff their junk out of a kitchen window, or off a balcony - just so long as it isn’t inside the house then we’ll be alright, Jack. And so great plies of collected life waste build into colourful papery, fabricy, plastically mini-mountains. And the dogs and cats come to rifle through the disgorgement of people’s lives, looking for the teeniest morsel.

Back to the trains: There are many trains daily that go to Alex. Cost is expensive - about $20 USD each way. Bus is about half that. It's expensive because we are foreign. Locals pay a fraction - like $5! You cannot book any tickets online with a foreign credit card here in Egypt. You need cash. So what you do is front up at Ramses Station in Ramses Square (Uber may spell it Ramsis), and take the LEFT elevator up, and turn left. You will see a big sign saying something like "Foreigner tickets". Follow that to the end of the hallway and turn left. There is a small room there. Always carry your passport and have USD for the train (actually it IS worth having a wee bit of USD for some things). Book your return ticket to wherever you want to go (VIP First class) and don't lose it. Then try to find the correct train (good luck - remember - life is a journey!). In my case I went to “Is-kan-dray-ya”. This is Arabic for Alexandria. There is a huge sign which should have English every 30 seconds but when I have been there I have never seen anything but Arabic. Ask at the central kiosk info booth thing on the ground floor, show them your ticket. They will sort you out. Look for your train car number (count from the front engine!). Numbers are sometimes written in English. If you're lucky you could book the Talga - the new fancy train. And FYI - VIP First class is still a shitty train with a gross toilet! If you don't mind spending the money, a private driver from Cairo to anywhere and back could be another option in terms of lower stress levels. The guy who writes these blogs gives some train times. The Egyptian railway website is useless and SLOW. However this guy's blog is outdated in terms of where the foreign ticket office is. Ramses Station is a bustling conglomeration of noise, dirt, voices, people, bad food, old rusty trains and opportunists. Keep your wits about you.

On my return trip from Alexandria, the conductor took great delight in giving my train ticket a tour of the entire car - showing each passenger the price I had paid in USD - laughing loudly, I was clearly the butt of the joke, as he gaffawed to people about the “American” (no doubt the word ‘idiot’ was tacked onto that), and the price I had paid. What a dick. I’m not even American …

Two women in an upper story Cafe in Alexandria

Google Maps: This is my best friend. I have found my way around Cairo and Alex with google maps, although I have a very good sense of direction anyway, but it's been brilliant. I do need to make sure I always have a charged battery bank with me if I plan to be out all day or away for days - I used my phone a gazillion times more than I did in NZ, due to location services and this just vampire-ishly sucks the life from my batteries faster than Count Drac in a blood bank. I also take my charger with me now wherever I go.

Street hasslers/hawkers/vendors: It's a shock when you first arrive in Egypt how aggressive some of these people can be. I didn't like Alexandria much for this reason - I was hassled relentlessly at first. I got so pissed off. I just walk straight ahead, avoid eye contact and ignore them. If they really annoy me I scream "La!" at them, or Kefaaya - (enough!), or Khalos (stop!). I felt liked I needed to watch my bags in Alex, there's a lot of gypsy kids there as it's so close to Turkey/Greece etc. It's just got a different vibe to Cairo. I like Cairo.

I feel quite safe here.

When I first moved to Maadi, the locals here stared a bit; but foreigners in Maadi are a common sight due to the number of international schools which attract teachers and many foreign embassies. Now they don’t stare so much but every now and then someone hard-core stares. This still gets to me a bit - usually solved by flashing them a broad smile or pointing my camera at them.

Dust: It's super super dusty. It covers everything. No sooner do you wipe the dust off everything that it’s back again, so if you are susceptible to coughing, it may be irritated by the dust. You will get filthy just walking around outside. You bring that filth into the house; the floor gets covered in dust; the table; anything you leave out. Now that its summer and my windows are open all day, things are even dustier. I also turn flannels brown every night when I shower. It’s gross. Sometimes the wind grabs piles of dust and whirls it right up the height of apartment blocks. Its especially gorgeous to see this in an evening when the sun is setting, but best viewed from indoors through a window!

Internet: There's no fibre in Egypt, so internet is either absent totally in some places, super slow or a mix of unreliable and slow. Most cafes have wifi but you have to put in an Egypt phone number - that's normal. And then you sit there drinking coffee with terrible wifi. It is what it is! Wifi in my apartment is one of the baneful aspects of my existence here. Every month at least once, WE (the provider) stops providing, and we all get chopped for a few days (but still have to pay for the honour of no internet). It’s always ‘maintenance’. Then miraculously it comes back; then it goes again because while it was off your monthly date turned over and now you need to go sit in a tiny room, take a number and plead for more.

Street Dogs/cats: There's thousands of these animals everywhere. Cats are mostly ok, although some are timid as heck. Dogs are usually very friendly but will be tick-ridden. I like to be cautious about patting any dogs or offering my hand. Most dogs are generally asleep and chilled out during the day but can become super feisty at night. They hang out in packs and these packs can number as many as 20-25 dogs. Thats pretty intimidating. Just be wary. You don't need a rabies jab - some dogs here are vaccinated and even if you do get bitten you STILL have to go get a course of shots. Thats always one of my worries. I have also been told to go get shots if I get scratched by a cat. I have been scratched up by cats here and I’m still alive (just). Oh and mind the dog shit. Dog shit is everywhere here.

The street dogs here are pretty handsome and vary in colours

Pharmacies: These are not like in NZ. They sell every drug under the sun though. I love them. They look as if some dodgy cartel from Mexico runs them. Numerous nefarious looking blokes will hang around outside on doorsteps (as is the Egyptian way anyway - to live on the footpaths), and stare at you intensely as you eyeball up your possible drug haul. You can seriously buy so many things over the counter that you would need a doctors prescription for in NZ.

Water: I only ever use bottled water. Although I did drink the water in the springs coming through the rocks up in the Sinai mountains. I survived. Even for brushing teeth at first I used bottled water then gradually my cast iron gut accepted tap water for teeth. When I look at the state of the Nile, I avoid all water droplets splashed from the road, or hoses, like crazy.

Street food: I guess it would be common sense to avoid all street carts at first, no matter how good it looks. Bakeries with Egyptian bread is fine because it's usually super fresh but only buy if under a cover. It's delicious! The amount of wee bread bakeries perched next to filthy roads is insane. Nothing like a bit of lead to go with your bread, or other heavy metals (and dust - of course).

Local fresh bread stand, directly under the dusty overpass onto the Nile Corniche

Eating at cafes etc: Dirt cheap and amazing food is one of the biggest pluses for me about living in Egypt. I never eat at home or I order out online, for door delivery. Insanely cheap. Insanely delicious as well. It’s so good and I have become a ‘foodie’ again - really savouring flavours and taking notice of what I am combining. Plus the sheer riot of colour that food is here. Aghhh! Its to die for. (well - please don’t literally DIE from eating street food).

Coffee: There really is something about the milk here in Egypt that gives coffee a weird taint. It has taken a while to get used to but, good coffee IS alive and well in Cairo, along with superb cafe ambiance - you just have to know where to look, or be prepared to experiment. Coffee is expensive by Egyptian standards at anywhere from 35 EGP to 70EGP, but still much much cheaper than NZ.

There’s no shortage of good cafes in Cairo. Its just knowing where to find them that is the issue!

Alcohol: You can bring in one litre if you come to Egypt from outside - but we are in a Muslim country here, so alcohol isn't served at most cafes. You need to go to a bar if you feel like drinking. You cannot buy it at supermarkets either. I miss this a lot as I loved a glass of wine in NZ on a Friday night. Recently I brought in a litre of gin from NZ, and at the border control in Cairo they never even asked me the contents of my bags OR if I had alcohol even though I literally carried the duty free bag in my hand. I so wish I had brought in more!

Footpaths and road crossing: There are none - pretty much. Well; sorta. Footpaths are missing in many places so people just walk on the road. There is no such thing as a zebra crossing in Egypt. You just have to start walking and be bold about it, walk with the traffic flow to get across. Car drivers even though they come at you like a lunatic, will (probably) never hit you, unless they are texting and don't see you. They all text and drive here. So I guess the odds could be high ….

The good thing about most roads here is they have a centre strip that is like a mini footpath, and many roads are one way. So you can get across quite happily half way then do it again for the other side. Roads don't bother me any more, but I don't dilly-dally on the big ones. Also I have realised that the speed bumps which punctuate the bigger roads to force drivers into slowing down actually become a good place to cross as well.

Poverty: I wasn't shocked at the poverty here because it reminds me so much of Nepal. There are some areas of Cairo that are really really poor (like Mokattam). There are also some areas that are very swanky and rich (like El Rehab and other areas in New Cairo). Some people literally sleep along the Nile river on the banks under cardboard, while others can’t decide whether or not to stay in the Downtown apartment or the New Cairo apartment because the lip filler appointment is closer to one or the other. Such is life. What does piss me off a LOT though is the mother’s who use their kids to beg for money. What mother does that? Even a poor mother should know better.

The underpass seems to be a place where poverty collects.

Street cats rummage through bins for a nibble to eat in one of the poorer parts of Maadi

The Egyptian 'way': They're a funny bunch, the Egyptians. They talk really animated; everywhere you go there's weird shit to see that is just normal to them - like four kids, Mum and Dad on a motorbike (no helmets of course); fires just burning away on the motorway and some old guy there making a pot of tea; sheep on the side of the highway in the middle of Cairo; tiny kids running around without parents; some guy holding watermelons inside a car boot while going down the motorway; donkeys and carts amidst traffic; kids driving tuk-tuks and vans(!); police and security EVERYWHERE; x-ray machines at every tourist attraction, large store, some supermarkets, malls etc. This is normal. I have come to appreciate the Egyptian sense of humour - they are warm, funny and open people. Like anywhere - there is the ugly side and the beautiful side.

Horse and cart shares the Nile Corniche with cars

Purchasing things in stores v markets: The price is the price in a shop. There is no tourist v local price (although if it's not marked you can guarantee they will add something on!). However if you go to the markets or somewhere like Khan el Khalili, they will haggle with you and let you know they're giving you a good deal when actually they're still fleecing you. I always approach all my purchases with the attitude of asking myself how much I am willing to pay for something. If it's too much I say no thanks and walk away. Silver jewellery here is quite cheap compared to NZ. I have amassed quite the silver earring collection!

My Place: I live in a nice ex-pat area called Maadi. I am one min walk from a wee supermarket; five mins from Vodafone; WE (internet company); gorgeous bakeries; cafes; bookstores. It's a lovely area for walking around. In the evening everything comes to life. It's nice to go to the Nile in the evening to the Mamsha Ahl Misr and eat there. It's 20 EGP to go onto the two km area but worth every penny (that's NZD $1). The view is drop dead stunning. I love the freedom of being in Egypt compared to what I have heard about some countries in for example, the Middle East. Cairo manages to capture that sense of the ‘in-between-ness’, of being on the African continent but right next to the start of Asia (the Suez canal is the official line). I am about a 20 minute walk to the Nile and I love walking up to the Maadi Yacht Club then cutting back into Maadi and walking home via Road 9. Right now the trees along the Nile are utterly gorgeous and the roads and sidewalks are well looked after down this popular stretch of the Corniche. This is where you will find the felucca rides, Nile river cruises, cafes, hotels and more. The Nile Corniche has the ambience of an era gone by. It is the epitome of a city that is furiously trying to insert its modern persona on its inescapable history. The evidence of grand era’s gone by, is everywhere. Dilapidated yet ornate Corniche footpaths and walls guide the walker towards a more modern heart, yet the entire city looks as if it is under construction. Constantly.

A street cleaner stands outside an empty building that would have once been grand to look at.

Our felucca sailor from last weekend. To hire the boat for an hours its 400 EGP. Splitting this cost makes it a nice way to relax for an evening on the Nile watching the sun go down and the river boats light up.

Photography: Everyone knows I live for my photography. I was so chomping at the bit to go everywhere with my camera here, but it is only in the last year or so that Egypt has relaxed strict photography rules. Drones are still illegal - so don’t even try to bring them in. Long lenses are frowned upon and I suspect this was the fate of my ‘lost’ luggage. Do not take any photos of police, army and any military or official buildings. Common sense. So my photography has had to be more discreet than back home. Also, I discovered they do not like you photographing along the Nile towards Zamalek if you are on the Mamsha Ahl Misr. I was followed for four km by a cop because of this once!

I thanked him for his service.

And so, the dust storms blow in and coats everything again. My bedsheets are covered, along with any clothing items left out to dry on the rack. I wonder about the state of my lungs, on the inside of me, if the outside of everything looks this bad. I cannot believe the grime that rinses off my body each night. I feel as if it is so engrained I can not scrub it off.

But this is Cairo. And I don’t really want Cairo to scrub off.

Dust and birds fly about in a breezy afternoon

The Nile is a stunning drawcard for an evening meander

Weekends In: How I Spend My Time in the City

April 1, 2023

When I lived in Fairlie, I appreciated the ability to just jump in my car and head to the hills; or to head anywhere for that matter.

That luxury is a no-go here in a city of 15 million people.

Even though I am living close to a desert corridor which stretches from just outside Maadi to the Gulf of Suez on the East Coast of Egypt, the lure of hiking in the Wadi Degla day after day, lost its sparkle after the third time when I had a free sand face exfoliation, courtesy of the wind and was fishing sand out of my camera for a further two weeks.

Consequently, my exercise now consists of walking to the nearest cafe or bakery! (actually I do indulge in yoga).

To get my nature fix, I usually head out for a weekend away. The cost to travel within Egypt is cheap and there is so much to see.

The Wadi Degla is practically on my doorstep - a 15 minute Uber drive or if I owned a mountain bike (as may expats do here), a short 30 min ride through the back streets of Maadi.

But what do I do when I decide to spend a weekend ‘in’?

It’s been a few weeks since I ventured out of Cairo for a weekend.

I had planned on being in Luxor this weekend, but my up-coming trip to New Zealand is putting me off going too far at the moment, as I deal with last minute things such as housework and end of term school work.

Where has that time gone? One thing for sure - it’s gone, and fast.

There is nothing I enjoy better than sleeping in, in my own bed, starting slow on a Friday morning (the Egyptian weekend is Friday/Saturday); wandering to my favourite cafe for a coffee on what is always inevitably a gloriously sunny morning, and spending time contemplating how I will fill my day while I sip on that rich dark solution of goodness.

As my radius for wanderings increases, so too does my discovery of great cafes tucked away in quiet back streets. Dark Solution in Maadi is one such place. This cafe won Egypts barista of the year - and I can see why. hands down the best coffee I have had yet in Egypt and actually rivals the best of any I have had back home.

Living in an apartment in Cairo means dust is constant, and the task of de-dusting is a pretty big one, involving sweeping and then mopping my tiled floors. This is usually top of my list for the weekend, as the accumulated dust covers everything extremely quickly, coating everything with a fine layer that quickly thickens if not mitigated. I am especially mindful with my camera.

Dust and cameras are not a good mix.

Removing dust from my rapidly increasing pottery collection is an almost daily activity!

On a weekend at home I always usually take an Uber into the city in the morning - about a 20 to 30 minute drive from where I live in Maadi - and take in some of what Cairo has to offer.

I like to leave early enough to avoid people.

Friday mornings are ideal for downtown visits, as it is prayers day and no one seems to surface too early and certainly do not show themselves in vast numbers until after prayers.

Al-Azhar Park offers pleasant surroundings for a sense of ‘getting away from it all’ not far from the city centre.

There are numerous museums here; galleries; the Nile promenade; cafes; the architecture; Islamic area; Coptic Cairo; Old Cairo; the markets; the Mosques; the Citadel; Al-Azhar Park and then there is also just the simple joy of wandering around my own area of Maadi which is a leafy quasi-suburb to the south of Downtown Cairo, on the East Bank of the Nile.

The Egyptian Museum in downtown Cairo houses a massive collection of Mummy and Sarcophagi.

Maadi is a favourite destination among locals, expats and tourists alike. With its quaint cobbled walkable streets, multicultural residents, crammed with classical style architecture,

arts and culture venues and an innovative dining scene, I can see why expats from all over the world chose to live in this area as opposed to the more modern areas of Cairo. (Images above borrowed off the inter-google-web. The big house is actually about 5 mins walk from where I live and has a restaurant on the ground floor).

One of my favourite things to do on a weekend is to head to Khan el-Khalili (especially in this, my first experience of Ramadan when it is quiet) to take photos and browse with less people congestion.

I love wandering through the Khan - I love ‘getting lost’ and seeing where small alleyways take me.

I love my senses being invigorated with wafting smells of spices, the vibrant colours of textiles, the gentle aroma of perfumeries; the sounds of nearby mosques, people bartering, kittens calling and motorbikes bending through the narrow streets.

There is nothing like this place to make you feel truly aware of your surroundings - it is a visual and aromatic feast.

I have learnt to be far more spontaneous since being in Egypt.

Yes I like to plan what I will do in a day, but once somewhere, I am happy to let my feet lead me where they wish to go. I am curious - I always want to know what is just around that corner.

This is the best kind of wandering that leads to truly exploring.

I discovered the stunning book binders shop (Abdel Zaher) this way - but I do not know if I could find it again in a hurry - Khan el-Khalili is a labyrinth of hundreds of small shops and cafes, (set in extremely narrow darkly lit alleys), including a diversity of offerings ranging from small engineering, to silversmithing, leather, textiles, lamps, rugs, clothing, spices, perfumes, books, shoes, sheesha, bread, meat, fruit, veges, and so much more.

Abdelzahar Bookstore is a family-owned business that makes paper, binds and embosses books by hand.

Parts of the Khan el-Khalili is very touristy, but the back alleys are much more authentic and devoid of crowds.

There is always a visual feast awaiting those who look, in the old Souks.

Its the back alleys I love to wander through and the upstairs stalls which people tend to forget exist. This is where you will meet the old wizened men who have been honing their trade for decades, often handed down through generations, who will invite you in for sweet mint tea and a yarn (often geared towards selling you something, but also often geared towards plain good old kindness). I met a Spanish independent journalist this way (foreign correspondent). She lead me through the Khan and introduced me to her favourite jeweller. She had lived in Cairo for ten years and had impeccable Egyptian Arabic.

I wondered if I would stay ten years and be as comfortable as she was here.

If I stayed.

As the Khan is in Old Cairo there are also several stunning old mosques which are open for viewing. I decided last weekend to see these also. I found myself on Al-Mu’ez Street (El Moez) without too much effort. It’s a 1 km long pedestrian street, and to quote the UN, it has “the greatest concentration of medieval architectural treasures in the Islamic world”.

This area of Cairo is known officially as Historic Cairo, but we locals refer to it as ‘Old Cairo’ (masr el adeema in Arabic).

Some history!

Cairo was officially founded in 969 AD by the Fatimids (a North African Shi’ite Muslim caliphate) and the modern-day area of Old Cairo contains stunning remnants of the pre-Cairo cities (Fustat, Al Askar, Al Qatta’i), as well as Coptic Cairo and Islamic Cairo. Moez Street is named after the 4th caliph of the Fatimid dynasty.

Historic Cairo Map, showing places of interest

Old Cairo/Historic Cairo was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1979, and it was called "one of the world's oldest Islamic cities, with its famous mosques, madrasas, hammams and fountains" and "the new centre of the Islamic world, reaching its golden age in the 14th century."

Egypt was conquered by Arab Muslims in 641 AD, led by Amr ibn Al-As, who proceeded to build the first mosque in Egypt and all of Africa (the reconstructed mosque still stands in Cairo today).

Although the capital of Egypt at the time was Alexandria, on the Mediterranean coast in the north, Amr ibn Al-As created a new capital where his mosque was, and named it Fustat.

Fast forward 300 years to 969 AD, the Fatimid Caliph El Moez Li-Deen Allah Al-Fatimi built his new capital Cairo (Al Qahera in Arabic) north of Fustat, and later absorbed it. When Cairo was first built, it was a walled area for the royal caliphs, and part of that wall still remains today -- El Moez Street runs between two different gates of the wall.

Part of the old city walls run beneath the grounds of Al-Azhar Park.

History aside, it's one of my favourite places to wander and I always know I will marinate in true Cairo culture here.

The mosque I love the most in this stretch of Old Cairo, is the Qalawun Complex. It is utterly gorgeous inside and provides an intriguing mix of colourful islamic tiling and high ceilings, with narrow steep winding hidden staircases and tiny rooms with wooden shutters. The history is tangible. You can stand on the roof (if you slip the doorman some money), and grab a different perspective of the thousands of minarets piercing Cairo’s skyline.

I have been to the Khan el Khalili enough times now to know I am best to walk back up to Al-Azhar park in order to order and find an uber home or to my next destination.

After mid-day this area becomes bedlam with bumper to bumper traffic as people negotiate their way along the main street which divides Khan el Khalili from the Al-Azhar markets and Al-Azhar mosque. My sense of direction is now becoming more dialled in to where I am in Cairo.

I know I could find my way back to Tahrir Square very easily if I needed to walk, or to Al-Azhar Park; these landmarks became staples in my uber drop-off/pick-up life.

Not far from the congestion of Khan el Khalili, (about a 30 minute walk or 10 mins by uber), is the calming oasis of Oldish Cafe.

I really love heading to this delightful cafe on the weekends and having a refreshing lime and mint juice, especially after being amongst lots of people on a warm Cairo day.

The food and coffee here is also very good although I have to say I come for the ambience rather than the coffee. This old cafe is gorgeous, and has a rustic colourful brick-lined outdoor eating area along with an indoor area which has hands down the most beautiful cafe toilets I have ever been in; although like nearly every toilet I have been in so far in Egypt, it's often BYO toilet paper here. What the heck is it about toilet paper here? I used to wonder why so many women sat on the roadside selling small packets of tissues. Does everyone in Egypt suffer from perennial colds? Do people spill their drinks down their fronts all the time? What? Then I realised once - when caught short - what the tissues were all about, and now I never leave home without some! Anyway, Oldish Cafe is my go-to in Downtown (until I unearth some other new delight).

Another wonderful way to spend the time in downtown is to wander along the Nile Corniche - this is the road that follows the river through the city. Along most of this road is a wide footpath directly alongside the Nile where you can get amazing views during golden hour across to the city of Giza, or to Zamalek, depending on where you are along the way.

It provides those classic views of felucca’s cruising effortlessly along in the late afternoon breeze, or the dahabiya lit up brightly at night, along with all the city lights reflecting in the water. Simply stunning. It is also an easy spot to get an uber.

The dahabiya can often be seen under sail along the Nile and lit up at night with lights. Image from google.

Connecting the Cairo city side with Zamalek and Giza are several large bridges which are a popular spot for photography and I am always amused at how open the egyptians are about getting their best pose sorted for IG - pouting their lips and ensuring there is more face than view in the frame. Especially the women here who seem to be happily posing wherever they can. I feel in New Zealand we are much more discreet about this sort of thing - an odd thing to say when I live in a somewhat conservative Muslim country.

If I am desperate to find something I need for my apartment, such as a household item, my preference is to try to find it in the downtown markets rather than one of the massive suburban malls. But if the need is there, on a weekend I will head to CFC - Cairo Festival City Mall.

This sprawling city within a city is located in New Cairo and has a footprint of 206,000 sq metres - it is a beast of a thing with three levels. It houses all the top name brands and the usual mix of cafes and a huge Carrefour supermarket. It is a place I avoid unless I really know that what I need to get will be there. The mall is heavily guarded and like anything of value in Cairo, you have to put your bags through x-ray and yourself through the metal walk-through machine, to get inside. This is normal anywhere here including at any venue such as museums. I hear some people head to CFC just to walk around it for exercise. Hmmmm… if I get THAT desperate then it's time to join a gym!

Whilst I miss my big outdoor backyard in New Zealand, I am enjoying the semi-colon that Cairo has become, in the story of my life. The abrupt change to what I knew and enjoyed, has had to be exchanged with other offerings - and these are the sensory ones of a different kind.

An impressive storm lights up the sky above the Cairo American College in Maadi.

I enjoy my wanderings in Maadi; the local store keepers I have shopped with regularly now standing in their doorways and yelling out to me “hello!” as I wander by - “you come for tea?”. I have found a home in my neighbourhood and have enjoyed the exploration and discovery of where I fit in all of this madness.

And so, as it is the last day of my weekend, I will first head to my local for a coffee and stick my finger into the breeze to decide if a wander in the wadi is on the cards for later today (late afternoon after the heat has waned a bit) or an uber to the city to walk the Nile, visit a museum and grab a lime and mint juice at Oldish Cafe..

Desert Bliss: White Meringue in a Fairy-light Landscape

March 24, 2023

The 4.30 A.M wake-up call after a fairly sleepless night was ambitious at best,

but I knew I had to meet my pick-up at Go Bus in Downtown at Tahrir Square at the joyful hour of 0540. This meant I needed to be on my way by 5.10 from Maadi, according to Google maps.

I was apprehensively excited - I did not know who I was going with or what the next couple of days held in store for me, other than I was going to see the Black Desert, the White Desert, Crystal Mountain, some cave and camp in the desert.

I needed a nature fix and I was also hoping for some hiking; to move my body was top on my list.

I had stagnated, almost crawling to a complete halt since I arrived in Cairo.

I met Yasmeen the tour organiser from Travelya and together with four others we boarded a luxury van and headed inland - Western Desert bound.

Cairo is sleepy on a Friday morning, so the empty roads meant we cleared the city boundaries quickly, and soon apartment blocks gave way to sand and dead-straight roads, seemingly headed into nowhere - forever.

The Western Desert of Egypt is an area of the Sahara that lies west of the river Nile, up to the Libyan border, and south from the Mediterranean Sea to the border with Sudan. To put it simply - its a massive expanse of sand and rock.

The surreal landscapes of the Western Desert

Every now and then a mosque would punctuate the empty landscape, or a fuel station with promises of toilets and bottled water.

The toilets were worse than disgusting in some places, but beggars can't be choosers. The more inland we went, the worse these basic amenities became. I learnt when I arrived in Egypt the importance of taking a pack of tissues with me everywhere - public toilets, if in a usable state, almost never had toilet paper in them.

I also started to wonder if hand sanitizer should be in my bag also.

As we progressed further into the barren wasteland ocean of sand, every stop in small villages became an opportunity for the “stare at the foreigner” game. I hated that game. There was only ever one winner and didn’t appear to be any rules apart from they get to stare and laugh and gossip about me, while I scurried about quickly gathering necessities, avoiding eye-contact and offering shukran’s and other time-of-day appropriate greetings. Most of these places were totally devoid of females, so not only was I a female, in a sea of testosterone, but I was a LONE western female wearing pants out in the middle of nowhere with a group of clearly not western people.

I found myself at times become quite irritated by this.

Also everyone assumed I was fresh off the boat and would proclaim “American! Welcome to Egypt!”.

I know they meant well, but I just wish my Arabic was good enough to say “hey, I live here!”.

Not wanting to be rude, I didn’t poke my camera in anyone's face and held off taking photos. So many wasted opportunities to capture life here - old men attached by hose pipe to the Sheesha; puffing away in their long bedouin attire with cloths wound atop their heads; flies swarming around plates of traditional Egyptian food while a smoking indoor kitchen divests glorious smells of spices which waft through a tin shed “cafe”; fuel stations with no fuel; tick-ridden dogs looking longingly at some guys pile of bread; backgammon games inside dark stain-walled rooms between men on low chairs and tables and lets not forget the obligatory 7-year old boy running the local store whilst smoking a cheap cigarette, with filthy long fingernails and yellow teeth, eye-balling me while I shopped for chocolate. Cadbury’s none-the-less.

Hazem’s weapon of choice - the trusty Toyota!

The van trundled on with loud what seemed like prayers played on loop, until we pulled up at another of these mid-desert roadside ‘pit-stops’ strewn with garbage and tangles of machinery. Yasmeen told us all to get out and to put all our things into the heavily laden 4-wheel drive we had parked next to and to all squeeze into the seats along with our packs and bags.

At this point I felt like that useless tourist who turns up with the biggest most awkward bag to stow. Yes, I was that person. I had brought a backpack (only a quarter full) and my camera pack.It was proving a right pain in the arse and I saw Hazem eyeing up the roof-rack to attach my pack to. “Oh no ya don’t”, I thought, with imaginings of personal paraphernalia flying down the road out of my pack, behind the vehicle as we took off at what I expected to be break-neck speed. The pack ended up in its own seat and I ended up nursing my camera bag on my lap.

All good.

It was a squeeze though and no sooner had the driver Hazem (what an awesome name), shut the door than we were off and no time was wasted in making haste either.

A sea of solar panels in the outskirts of the Black Desert.

By the time we had swapped vehicles it was late in the morning. We stopped in at a small village where we ate breakfast along with several other tour groups. Sitting on the floor around low tables draped with colourful cloths, we ate lunch and chatted.

Amongst the chatter my ears suddenly tuned into a familiar twang.

I went over to a group of three and knew instantly I was amongst Kiwi’s. Two were over from Wellington visiting their friend (the third person) who just happened to be the consulate at the New Zealand Embassy in Zamalek. He gave me his card and said he was happy to help if I ever needed anything. Of all places - in the middle of nowhere in a branch covered mud shed. Coincidences.

After food, we were off on a fast camel - so to speak.

Hazem had his foot right in it down the highway and then a sudden veering off the side onto the sand took us into the Black Desert. Even though Hazem was telling the other passengers all about this place in Arabic, I got the gist.

Volcanic remnants from a millennia passed.

It’s one of the natural parks that make up the Saharan area in Egypt, (we were by now about 4 hours from Cairo) and tends to be considered a bit of a ‘passing through’ area to get to the much better known and possibly more highly regarded White Desert, where we would be camping for the night.

According to experts, some 180 million years ago –in the early Jurassic- the region was under the sea, but the intense volcanic activity which affected the entire planet changed its geology, raising ocean land, from where peaks gradually emerged, resulting in the formation of basaltic rocks.

During that process, what was later known as the Al-Marsous Mountain emerged, a magnificent crater covered by volcanic veined marble, whose layers fill wrinkles marked by time, in its old rocks. It certainly made for a mars-esque landscape and also oddly reminded me of the organ pipes in Dunedin, with basalt columns emanating all the way around the sides of the ancient volcanic mounds. It was a geologists wet-dream.

The next stop saw us pulling up at Crystal Mountain, an unusual formation thought to be a subvolcanic vault, which emerged probably during the Oligocene age, resulting in Barite and Calcite crystals protruding from the earth in such a manner that they can be broken off - another bucket list place no doubt for geology aficionados.

It was amazing to see these crystals literally sitting on the ground, rather than buried deep in some subterranean cavern. I quietly stowed one or two in my pants pockets and wondered if I would be struck by bad ju-ju.

After some interesting excursions into surreal topography via narrow steep-walled canyons and precipitous sand dunes (which were used for a short sand-boarding ride), we arrived at the White Desert (Sahara el Beyda).

Gradually smaller tufts of white chalk and limestone gave way to larger animalistic rock formations, taking on different characters as the sun became lower in the sky.

The white rock formations of The White Desert

As far as the eye could see, white outcrops were dotted throughout the terrain like irregular apostrophes. The White Desert is a National Park and covers an area of 3,010 km2. The highest point in the park is at El Qess Abu Said at 353 m (1,158 ft) above sea level, and the lowest is at Wadi Hennis at 32 m.

It was hard to imagine how any life could ever exist here - especially in the searing heat we had experienced that afternoon. As the sun slunk away though, so too did the temperatures. Life does indeed manage to eek out an existence here, with the park serving as a refuge for various animals, including the endangered Rhim gazelle and the vulnerable Dorcas gazelle, as well as Barbary sheep; jackals; Rüppell's, red and Fennec foxes; and the sand cat.

It was also going to be home to the endangered, hungry and tired Kiwi wanderer for the next 24 hours.

Assigned a pop-up base for the night, I gratefully parked my sweaty body onto my sleeping roll and gazed out at the view from my door. A large lion-shaped rock dominated the scene as the sky changed from golden light to pink to blue. The first star emerged. A clear sky promised an uncompromised cast of pinpoints and I began to get excited about what the heavens would look like from Egypt compared to the bottom of the planet in New Zealand.

Our group had joined another and the two bedouin guide drivers began to organise the area for dinner. A fire was lit, chairs emerged from inside one of the vehicles, and various blankets, port-a-loo and other basic comforts were set up ready to experience a night in the desert.

The sky grew darker and I wandered away from the camp in order to take some shots before moon rise, which was expected to be around 9.30 pm. I was hoping to capture some Milky Way but alas that wasn’t to be as dinner intercepted my planned photography time. Dinner - a WONDERFUL feast - won out and we gathered around the fire to be entertained by drumming, clapping and singing. What an awesome vibe.

The moon appeared HUGE above the horizon, lighting up the entire vista, and the chalky outcrops took on an iridescent glow as if someone had turned the lights on, reflecting the moon's light out into the void. It was so bright that headlamps were not required. I felt as if I was in a meringue landscape with fairy lights dangling above. It was surreal.

I cursed not having my astro lens, but decided to make the most of where I was - in this incredible terrain - and capture what I could anyway.

Gazing high, I could make out what I knew as the Matariki cluster in New Zealand, only it was flipped up. We do not see this cluster until winter, down in the Southern Hemisphere, so it was novel to see it so high in the sky. I also noticed Pleiades, or the Iron Pot as we call it back home - again flipped up (something I had seen numerous times in USA).

The sky was not especially black, due to the large moon, but with no light pollution apart from the moon's light, it was a sight to behold - almost as good as the night sky in the South Island of NZ - almost - especially against the whipped egg-white environment around me.

Even though we had experienced searing temperatures during the day, then evening rapidly became cold, and I donned my puffer jacket - which I ended up sleeping in. I also brought my own sleeping bag which I was thankful for, as I needed it! The safari provides a sleeping bag, very thin bed roll and a heavy blanket. I was just right with all this layering AND my puffer, but one German man from the other group complained that he was cold all night and didn’t sleep as a result.

I woke at the fart of sparrow (or I should say, the cry of fox), to wander in the glow of a pre-dawn colour-fest. The sun took its own time to get high enough to poke over the edge of the planet and an instant temperature change penetrated out over the surrounds when the first rays poked through the gaps in the eerie landscape.

I knew I had slept well when the German told me the howling and barking dogs had kept him awake, along with being too cold. I had stuffed my ears full of earplugs and didn’t hear a thing. I slept well, for about 6 hours - enough to claim back some energy for another day of feasting upon the stunning sights.

Dogs? Hmmm… I knew there were foxes out here but we were an awfully long way from civilization to attract dogs, I would have thought. I did though spot some prints in the sand before we vacated the camp site though.

Heading back to Cairo we had one detour which was to Djara Cave. This cave was literally an unassuming hole in the ground - a dark pit in an otherwise pancake landscape.

You would miss it if you blinked - or fell into it! We were able to walk almost upright though into the entrace and once my eyes adjusted to the darkness I could see we were in a massive cavern pierced by stalagmites and stalactites. It was approx 30m wide, 60m long with a high ceiling of around 8m high and various off-shoots that receded into darkness like the mouth of some undersea monster.

Looking up to the entrance of Djara Cave

Our driver had taken in some candles and placed these around the outer edges of the cave, casting an ethereal glow about the void. I cursed not bringing my tripod down with me to capture the beautiful light (hence the borrowed image below).

The cave is the natural result of pure water coming in contact with the dry desert climate, over millions of years. It also contains animal engravings dating back from the Neolithic Period. It was discovered twice; initially by the German explorer Gerhard Rohlfs, and then forgotten for a millennia, and recently re-discovered in 1989 by the German adventurer Dr Carlo Bergmann, who was exploring the area by camel.

This cave remains as one of the most stunning examples of the effect of chemical activity over millions of years, and a unique treasure of nature's own version of cave art, with its natural version of hanging chandeliers. It felt like being inside an ancient cathedral, as shafts of golden light penetrated the spaces. Archeological study concluded the cave was inhabited at some point in history. You can read more about that here if interested. Today it is classified as the second most important Stone-Age settlement in the Western Desert after Nabta Playa, by the German Archaeological Institute.

It was a welcome respite from the pressing heat outside and we lingered, savouring the cool haven. Outside the cave, just prior to piling back into the car, we spotted a Fennec Fox - a female, as evidenced by her full teats, attempting to scavenge any titbits of food she could. I wondered how any creature could survive in such dry desolation.

At least there’s one good thing about driving in the desert in Egypt; the roads are dead straight - there’s no wasted driving energy on turning corners or negotiating mountain passes.

I did worry though that our driver would nod off - it was almost hypnotising, it was so straight.

I tried to follow along on google maps, becoming excited when I saw an intersection, but then slumping back into resignation when I was told we had another four hours of the same. We rolled into Tahrir Square (which is a circle), at around 8pm; the throngs of noise, taxis, people, smells, horns beeping, lights, and general civilisation reminded me how much I needed a shower, and I hurriedly found my uber - apologising for being stinky - and fell into the backseat, happy to be heading home to running water and a soft bed, but with my cup full of amazing pinch-myself experiences.

Stunning Dahab with the mountains of the Sinai Peninsula looming behind.

Dahab Blue; my new favourite colour.

March 21, 2023

If ‘laid-back’ could be defined by a place, that place would be Dahab.

And if a definition of ‘luminous blue’ was required - Dahab too would fulfil that.

This small sea-side town sits some 80 km north-east of Sharm-el-Sheik and around 120 km south of the border with Israel, on the golden-sanded South Sinai peninsula of Egypt. It is world-renowned for its reef that attracts diving enthusiasts and is a popular location for dive training - as evidenced by its over sixty dive schools. The former Bedouin fishing village, with its idyllic setting is nowadays a popular destination for adventure enthusiasts and those looking for a mellow place to relax in hippie-style in year-round sun, with breath-takingly clear waters to dip into when the urge takes over.

**A kite-surfer holds on in strong winds on the Gulf.**

Home to stunning translucent aquamarine beaches, with a view across the Gulf of Aqaba in the Red Sea, to Saudi Arabia, Dahab also offers up furious winds at times, which of course brings in wind and kite-surfing fanatics. For anything water - Dahab is the place.

**Dahab sits in a small bay which is protected by a coral reef providing ample diving locations around Dahab and along the coast north and south.**

The backdrop, however, is the stunning golden mountains of the southern Sinai region which offers rock-climbing, hiking and also treks into Moses Mountain - Mt Sinai (2 hours away).

It is the perfect place from which to launch from for adventure-seekers, or those simply wishing to do the most famous recreation activity in Dahab - nothing (preferably with a good book, a beach chair and an umbrella, on the waterfront).

The most dangerous diving spot on earth is located in the reef at Dahab - Blue Hole. This spot is 102m deep and is considered extremely dangerous. Most of the diving though is accessible directly from the beach.

I arrived in Dahab with two vans full of friends who were excitedly headed across for a weekend of diving. My plan was to get high (hike into the Star Wars-esque Wadi’s and hills), and chill. Diving would come later, for me. Dahab and its natural wonders welcome everyone. It’s a place for everyone with an open mind and heart. The Bedouins in the Dahab area are called Muzeina. In the past they had a self-sustaining lifestyle which was based on fishing and traditional goat herds. Today they give Dahab much of its unique, relaxed atmosphere. The Bedouins are proud people with a strong sense of identity, having preserved their sense of community and their excellent hospitality. It is extremely important to the Bedouins to maintain their original traditions and ways of life. Sadly in some ways, this is being eroded as tourism shifts up the coast away from Sharm.

**My first ‘proper hike’ in 6 weeks, took me high above Dahab into the Wadi and ‘Small Canyon Walk’.**

At night Dahab becomes a different beast - lights, music and cafe’s turn the sleepy town into a hub of activity. After a day of adventuring, myself and my work-mates were ready for food and drinks in one of Dahab’s many sea-view cafes. Drinks were cheap, with many two-for-one deals, and in a country where you cannot buy alcohol in a supermarket like back home in New Zealand, I was more than happy to down two Mojito’s thank you very much!

The main beach-front street also houses, besides hundreds of cafes, numerous shops selling clothing, beach attires, jewellery, bags, musical instruments, perfumes and other interesting things. This main street stretched for several kilometers and made for a wonderful early morning walk when no one was about, in order to watch the sunrise or catch a glimpse at least, of golden hour before the rest of Dahab woke up. I got the feeling that wasn’t happening early!

Image above: The main walking path that divides Dahab from the beach, goes for literally kilometers and is the perfect way to get some exercise in the mornings before sun-up. It is also a great place for cycling, running and roller-blading.

Some keen people though, and a few street dogs and cats, wandered lazily about as Dahab began to stir. Some keen divers were already in the water and a couple of joggers bounced passed.

I walked 15 km’s before coffee.

Hard-going for a girl addicted to caffeine.

I didn’t miss it in that moment, but when I did find someone who could make an ok latte, my plan was to make the most of it while I could.

I breakfasted on the water-front in a colour cafe strewn with vibrant rugs and cushions.

The waves outside crashed close to the white-washed windows letting in the warm Gulf breeze.

Cats of all ages and markings acquainted themselves with my breakfast and I, making it known they were happy to receive any small offering that might happen to fall onto the floor next to me. I obliged - knowing all well this wasn’t helping the cafe owner at all. I’m a sucker for a small cat.

Actually I’m a sucker for a big cat too.

The drive to Dahab from Cairo takes about 6 hours each way. It involves going under the Suez Canal by way of a tunnel, and through many checkpoints where you may or may not have your bags and travel documents checked (so always carry passport with you) and where you will travel under some seriously hardcore x-ray machines.

Images above (click in!): The view out the driver window; under the Suez Canal; sunset on the Gulf of Suez close to the canal. You can see big ships in the horizon.

I opted to leave the vehicle rather than remain inside as it went through the x-ray. It is vitally important to not photograph anything at all at these points when police or military are visible. Egypt is a heavily militarised country with police and military vehicles visibly present around strategic points in Cairo (particularly in the area where I live, as it houses the Israeli Embassy which was attacked in 2011). This gives a clear message that people must tow the line, but also adds to feelings of security - in a way … I think? It is hard to forget though, that in the Sinai, just a few hundred kilometres away, the Northern Sinai is a heavily conflicted area with travel there pretty much out of bounds.

**The unique shapes of South Sinai mountains.**

Egypt and Israel have worked together in this area to tighten the reins on Jihadist insurgents, but it is still important to remember that many Egyptians do not support increasing relations with Israel and so therefore tensions remain somewhat high. It is an interesting region to say the least, especially heading through Sharm-el-Sheik and the massive walls around the city. One has to wonder why.

Apparently it's to stop people “wandering into the mountains”.

There are two ways to get to Dahab; the shorter way involves cutting through the bottom third of the Sinai Peninsula on a winding road that takes you near St Catherine, through the mountains, and the other skirts down the Gulf of Suez, around the bottom and up the Gulf of Aqaba, via Sharm-el-Sheikh - a flatter, longer but faster route. The latter also involving more checkpoints.

Anyway … with the Red Sea on our left as we headed home to Cairo after a weekend of gratuitous lolling about, and the rugged mountains of the Sinai on our right, I knew I would come back to Dahab, as two nights simply was not enough. The lazy rolling in of the waves, the sun, the cats, the dogs, the cafes and eateries, charming shops, walkways, buildings and impressive Queenstown-like mountains pushing up against the clear luminous blue of the Red Sea, had me feeling like this was a place I could spend more time in.

The call to St Catherine and Mount Moses is also strong and I will attempt to make this trip at some stage; sooner rather than later as a proper mountain fix is much needed. I am used to having autonomous access to mountains, lakes, rivers and nature - there's none of that in Cairo - at least none that makes me feel I can touch nature. I have become a couch-sitter. A watcher of the world outside my window. The urge to inhale exhaust fumes, in the name of exercise, is not big in this one, Obi Wan. Roll-on the next Dahab adventure so that I can exhale.

Click in to the images above to view full size.

Morning sun casts a golden light over Tunis and Lake Quaron

The Artisan Village: Tunis

March 4, 2023

I was tired after a day in the desert.

I wanted a shower, some food and a good nights sleep. I had high hopes of somewhere beautiful to spend the next two nights. Making a Booking.com reservation had proved slightly dodgy in Alexandria, as the hotels usually put forward their best images on the website, and the reality couldn’t be further from the truth. I think they also write their own reviews.

I had booked at the Zad El Mostafer Guest House in Tunis. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I hoped like heck the place was as gorgeous as the photos. My mad four-wheel driver took me at break-neck speed to Tunis from our lake-side lunch and I was surprised at how relaxed I was at donkeys, tuk-tuks and children whizzing by mere millimeters from the wing-mirrors. Arriving in Tunis, we ambled down a crowded narrow lane lined with quaint stone houses and signs for horse-riding and pottery lessons.

Hidden in the back with a spray-painted sign on the fence, was my accommodation. I gathered my backpack, said my Shukran’s and Ma’aslama’s to Hamed, dodged a massive hole in the road and a pile of horse-poo, and wandered into the yard like the stinky weirdo that I was, in search of reception.

A stunning courtyard, resplendent with bright bougainvillea and grass (actual grass!), greeted me along with the usual cigarette-smoking gang of fifteen males that seemed to accompany any form of tourism. One to do the booking and the other 14 to offer suggestions; input; stares; puffs of smoke and goodness knows what else. I was getting used to being the centre of attention, but it still didn’t sit totally happily upon my shoulders.

I was taken to my delightful bougainvillea-framed room, and soaked in my glorious surroundings. At last - a Booking.com that was accurate! I exhaled and could not get the grin off my face. I was going to spend two nights somewhere beautiful.

The small village of Tunis (‘izbat Tunis) is located in the oasis of Fayoum , on the way to Wadi Al-Rayan. Located on a hill facing the large salt water lake, Lake Quaron, the village commands a stunning view of the edge of the desert on the other side of the lake; the lake itself also being home to a variety of over 100 birds, including Flamingoes. It is one of the most beautiful places in Egypt. It was a landscape of contrasts and a village of bright colour and creatives.

Flamingo’s litter the northern edge of Lake Quaron

Until recently, the village of Tunis

was an unknown farming and fishing community on the southern shore of Lake Qaroun.

Though it looked like thousands of average Egyptian Villages, Tunis has its own colourful and unique charm; very small, extremely beautiful and surprisingly peaceful. It was the 1980s when a Swiss potter – Evelyn Porret – visited Fayoum with her Egyptian friends. She visited Tunis and fell in love with it, deciding to make it her home, building a house and pottery studio/workshop there. At the beginning, the village children would come – out of curiosity - to see what Evelyn was doing. Some of them appeared very interested in her work, which encouraged her to help them unearth their talents. Most children had no education, so the opportunity to learn pottery also gave them an opportunity to earn an income. The more people that learnt to create pottery, the greater chance they had at a life that was different to previous generations AND it did not involve having to go to Cairo. Consequently, Evelyn established a pottery school.

Some of the stunning pottery I purchased in Tunis.

Gradually, the ordinary village turned into a reputable center of a modern pottery and an open air museum of both eco and traditional rural buildings, which attracted investors and entrepreneurs who began to provide the village with different facilities to meet the increasing tourism demands on the place. The most important of such facilities are some eco-lodges which house stunning organic gardens and facilities for yoga, horse-riding centers, many guesthouses, cafes, in addition to guiding services for bird-watching and Safari into the deserts. Evelyn lived in Tunis for over 30 years and passed away in 2021, leaving a remarkable legacy which is the village’s drawcard today. I could see the attraction. I felt an instant at home feeling, amongst creatives, nature, the lake, the architecture, the attention to detail, the colour, the vibrancy - it all came together with a wonderful synergy fit for any design book gracing a coffee table.

It was simply divine. .

I decided on my second day in Tunis, that I wanted nothing more than to wander its streets and discover what gems I could in the narrow labyrinthic alleyways. I stopped for a coffee at a street cart, and was charged premium prices for Illy coffee and badly steamed milk that had been in the sun for hours. I sat with the men as they chatted and we all watched the world go by for a while, together, just like that. When I stood up to leave the cart owner insisted on a photo with he and I together. I photographed him then promised I would put it on my instagram page. He was thrilled.

#BestcoffeeinTunis.

You’d be silly, not to ask for the Illy - since that’s all there is ….

Farmers wandered by with their animals; heavily laden carts hauled by donkeys click-clacked down the street; young lads on motorbikes; kids on bikes; women in the Niqab; some German tourists and even some Australians, all wandered by while I sat and watched. The minute details of the daily ‘mundane’, became fascinating studies of colour and texture.

Everywhere was a photo - everywhere.

Towards the end of the main street I saw a sign “Saj Leather’, so naturally (missing my @littleleafcreative days), I wanted to see what this was all about. It was this turn to the right - Yemeen - that brought me to the lovely bright leather store of Ahmed, a lovely Egyptian man who has spent 22 years living in Italy learning how to create beautiful items out of leather. His simply designed and crafted bags, hung around the store and he carefully described the qualities of each bag to me.

Of course I had to buy one, and then I told him about my own business back in New Zealand and I showed him my photos. He called me “his sister in leather” and we discussed opportunities to somehow work together in the future. Ahmed had an infectious energy and pure passion for what he was doing.

I briefly entertained the idea of life in Tunis …

Tunis is rich with opportunities for visitors to the area. It offers:

Pottery lessons (of course)
Horse riding
Wind surfing
Bird watching
Yoga
Safari tours
Eco lodge stays
Astro photography

My short stay in this utterly stunning region, had opened my eyes to an appreciation of how different things were outside the hustle and bustle of Cairo. To be in a town so embedded in its creative history, was also refreshing and alluring. I knew I would be back - next time for longer.

The Beauty of Barren

March 1, 2023

“You must pay police $100!”

My young driver had pulled off the road into the Wadi Al-Hitan and was waiting for the policeman who had gestured he needed to stay there. Why? because he had a foreigner on board. “You need to pay police - pay police - $100” he repeated. I threw my hands up in the ‘what for’ gesture and said “what for?”. “Why?”. He looked at me and smiled, checked behind him, gestured to me to put my seat belt on (even though it didn’t actually retract into its housing), then he put his foot down and floored it, right off the side of the sealed road and into the desert.

I swear he was doing 100km/hr on two wheels by the time we hit the first sand dune, a minute later.

I sat there thinking, jeepers, if he is going to drive like this all the way into Whale Valley (some 40 km away), I am going to throw up.

I looked back for police - “no police!” he exclaimed, laughing and smiling broadly. He fist pumped me - a universal gesture that required no translation. It was throw up or pay $100 USD to corrupt police who figured that because they could, they would. I liked my guy at the wheel already.

So we drove for about 15 kilometers off the official road, and soon caught up with another tour company and this side by side driving soon erupted into a full-on race to Whale Valley. Never mind us scared shitless passengers - you guys go right ahead and drive like rally drivers.

His name was Hamed. He told me he had no wife. I told him I had no wife either. He laughed.

I don’t think he actually understood - I found out later he did not read Arabic, but could recognise some word shapes, which is why one of the google translations came out sounding like a pick-up line;

“I very good man chicks, eat you”.

I had figured he was either desperate, or had no idea what he was telling google translator.

Turns out he was trying to tell me he would cook chicken later, by the lake and he was a very good cook and I could eat the food he would make me, for lunch. Phew.

Lost in translation.

I was able to exclaim “gamila” and “helwa” and also “tohfa” from time to time, to express my general awe in what I was seeing. He was suitably impressed. And what I was seeing, did leave me in awe.

Unusal shapes of element-hewn landscapes, in the Wadi Al-Hitan

Whale Valley

and its globally important fossils in the Western Desert of Egypt, provide dramatic evidence of one of the iconic stories of evolution: the emergence of whales as ocean-going mammals, from their previous life as land-based animals.

The World Heritage property is a strictly protected zone and is an exceptional global reference site because of the number, concentration, quality and accessibility of the evidence of the earliest whales, often in the form of complete skeletons, and the record of the environment that they lived in.

Wadi Al-Hitan is the most important site in the world to demonstrate one of the iconic changes that make up the record of life on Earth: the evolution of the whales. It portrays vividly their form and mode of life during their transition from land animals to a marine existence. I wandered around this large site which took about 1.5 hours, whilst Hamed and his racing rival caught up (literally) in the car park to exchange vegetables out of the back of Hamed’s four-wheel drive. I needed the walk after weeks of inactivity and was also grateful for the chance to be by myself. The area was drop-dead stunning - a stark barren landscape punctuated by bizarre rock formations of sandstone.

Stunning sandstone rock formations dot the Wadi Al-HItan and are a prominent feature of Whale Valley.

There is considerable evidence which indicates that the basin of Wadi Al-Hitan was submerged in water some 40 to 50 million years ago. At that time, the so-called Tethys Sea reached far south of the existing Mediterranean. The Tethys Sea is assumed to have retreated north and over the years deposited thick sediments of sandstone and limestone visible in rock formations in Wadi Al-Hitan.

hamed drove back out of Whale valley the same way he drove in…

… like he stole something.

My next adventure was to the edge of Magic Lake where he would cook me a bedouin style lunch of chicken, traditional salad, bread and tea. The location involved driving up near vertical sand cliffs, and down massive sand dunes, to the edge of a picturesque lake that formed part of the greater oasis of the Fayoum area. He seated me on a colourful carpet that he extracted from the back of his vehicle, and told me to sit, while he coaxed a bag of charcoal remains into life, in order to cook foil wrapped chicken thighs. The wind was howling and sand blew everywhere including into the chicken and my eyes. Ah well … it adds grit.

At the moment the wind picked up, a solo ant the size of a bus ambled by my carpet dining room. I had seen some big ants in Australia, but this one took the prize for BLOODY big ants.

The lake was busy - a group of men were receiving some sort of teaching in Islam, to my right and to my left a family with three young children were blissed out listening to music and sheltering from the sand-blasting, while the children played at the waters edge. Bedouin kids raced by on skinny horses; random camel-towing men walked by in traditional garb (cell-phone in hand), a sole man in a boat heaved his way across from shore to shore ferrying people, battling against the fierce wind and begging children toting jewellery wandered from person to person.

Click in to see each image below:

The lake glistened and my chicken sizzled. I sat and watched as people sand-boarded down the impossible sand dunes, too afraid to get my camera out to capture this sight, due to the sand versus camera potential. The Fayoum Oasis area is seeing a rise in touristic visits due to its proximity to Wadi Al-Rayan and Wadi Al-Hitan; also for its picturesque villages and being home to the largest waterfall in Egypt (which by New Zealand standards was nothing spectacular but I could certainly see its potential for a night time capture under a milky way). The Fayoum (as it is known) is the only artificial oasis in Egypt, created not by water springing forth from the ground, but by a long canal, naturally formed by the flooding Nile, that dates from Biblical times, called ‘Joseph’s canal’. Apart from the tourism potential (particularly of 4-wheel desert adventures), life in the area remains relatively quiet. Egyptians travel here for weekend getaways from Cairo and seek out opportunities to relax close to the lakes. I could see the attraction. There is something ethereal and haunting about the barren landscape of deserts.

As I downed my delicious fresh organic chicken, full of juices and flavour, coupled with traditional bedouin salads, I was happy to watch the happenings around me.

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