Travelogue Summer 2018/4 Going underground in Kashan (Iran)

Our fourth and final destination was Kashan, another relatively small desert town. More of those winding alleys between mud walls, which soon became a maze. The final days of an incredibly beautiful and fascinating journey.

Kashan

Kashan historical house

Kashan is famous for its "historical houses", 19th-century houses of wealthy traders. You might say city palaces. Some are ghostly ruins. Most have been restored and become a landmark or hotel. We looked at some of them closely. Around several courtyards, over three floors, one of which is underground, were numerous dwellings. A winter cellar that caught the sun, a summer cellar in the shade, kitchens, water distribution rooms, reception halls, a mirror hall, there is no end to it. Some rooms have stained-glass windows, some have decorations and paintings and sculptures.

kashan bathhouse

Then there was the Sultan's bathhouse. Beautifully restored, with different rooms, corridors, domes, paintings, tiles. The boiler room, the hot water supply, the changing room, the shaving area and the blood outlet area ... It was like a fairytale, especially when we climbed the roof. It was a curved scape with upright domes, on top of which were small top-domes with tiny round windows, against the desert city backdrop. Because nothing was straight, it looked like a cross between a skateboard track and a collection of Martians.

On the map I saw a strange part of the city without alleys. On the satellite photo it looked like a circular wall with green in it. It was quite a search, because there seemed to be no way leading there. But through a mausoleum and a covered alley and a parking lot we reached a park that hit a high mud wall. You could climb up there easily. Indeed, from the top you looked down a circle of about 500 meters in diameter, it looked like a crater wall. And a lot of vegetable gardens, some just plowed, others green. Mind blowing.

With some effort we climbed down on the inside. We walked across a narrow footpath along a small irrigation canal to the other side, where there was a pointed dome that we now knew from cisterns and ice houses. Undoubtedly it had to do with the former water supply. Now it looked like it had been restored on the outside, but out of use. 

Later we read that the mud walls are the remnants of a 1,000-year-old city rampart. Discovering this hidden treasure was the kind of bonus that gives great satisfaction to a city walk.

Iran - past, present and future

Almost 40 years ago, the uprising against the Shah began, which led to the revolution that has shaped modern Iran. The clergy in power, in a complex interplay of influences - the president, the parliament, the spiritual leader, the revolutionary guard.

20 years ago I was in Iran, halfway the current age of the Islamic Republic. Has it changed a lot in those 20 years? In some ways yes, in some ways not.

The Western media still paint a totally distorted picture of Iran. We are thinking of a primitive country full of terrorists and extreme Ayatollahs - while this century has unmistakably seen greater support for terrorism by Western ally Saudi Arabia.

Still it is probably the most friendly, sweetest and most calm people I know. People like to have a chat with us, are interested without being intrusive. The public space is clean and feels calm and safe. Despite  it being a strict Islamic country, mosques are not prominent and there is no loud call to prayer five times a day. The streets are cozy, mixed, young and old, modern and traditional. There are many small shops that are open to the street, busy old bazaars, and also large modern shopping malls.

Because of the boycott and wrong decisions, the country has ended up in a permanent economic crisis. As a result, it has developed less than was potentially possible, but you would still compare it with Southern Europe rather than with an Asian country.

Although much equipment is out of date, there is a reasonably working infrastructure; there are no power cuts; the level of education is high; telephone and internet are used extensively. As a result, the average Iranian has a better view of the outside world than 20 years ago; on Instagram there is de facto freedom of speech; tourism has increased.

The future of Iran depends both on world politics and on domestic politics. Economic despair could well be the biggest destabilizing factor. Will the country remain isolated or will it be connected?

Finally/more

Do you want to read more about what we ate in Iran? Take a look at Lily's travel guide

Travelogue Summer 2018/3 Fairytales in Isfahan (Iran)

With a comfortable VIP bus we drove from Yazd to Isfahan. A taxi to the hotel. A cheerful young girl without a headscarf (until she hit the street later) welcomed us. It was a kind of hostel around a beautiful courtyard. And for us it was the base to view one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

Isfahan

Isfahan Nagh-e-Jahan square 

The Nagh-e-Jahan square is immense. With 150 by 500m it is the second largest in the world. Surrounded by double arcades, two fabulous mosques and a palace. With footpaths and lawns. And in the evening hundreds, thousands of people gather. The stone benches and the lawns were almost completely full. With the darkness in the sultry evening, it was wonderfully relaxed. Groups of women and children formed the majority. They took out rugs, thermos jugs and gas stoves - having a picnic was taken to a higher art here. Under the full moon, surrounded by the façades where each arch was lit, it was Arabian Nights live. The weekend mood made the people even more open to greetings, waving, laughing and welcoming us.

Isfahan Great Abbassi Mosque

The Great Abbassi Mosque, the largest of the two on the square, stood out because of the overwhelming amount of blue tiles and blue mosaic. Halfway through the construction they switched from mosaic to painted tiles, because it went faster. Not only the large alcoves are blue, but also the entire span of the courtyard and a number of niches. Abstract, geometric and fantasy figures interspersed with Koran texts and the occasional scene with animals. A lot of marble has also been used. Several parts of the mosque were being renovated, including the largest niche and the dome which were scaffolded. In a workshop we could see how with a real size mold of 1 / 16th "part" of the dome, the tiles were re-drawn and copied before they were replaced.

Isfahan Khajou bridge 

The Khajou bridge again was incredibly beautiful. 350 years old. The lower base was a dam, then granite pillars and waterways with stairs, then brick pillars under which people were standing in the shade. A man was singing. The upper part of the bridge had raised sides that again formed gates where people were sitting in the shade. Everyone was cheerful and friendly. The only dissonant was that the river was dry, which is almost always the case in recent years. The water is diverted to elsewhere.

Paterns and dimensions

The mosques could be overwhelmingly large, but never pompous. Because of the perfect proportions in the dimensions they always seemed serene and soothing. The surfaces consisted of abstract patterns that overlapped, intertwined, repeated themselves, varied, coalesced with the arches and domes, expanding or shrinking where necessary. Breathtaking mosaic that you could look at endlessly.

If only Escher or Gaudí had seen this ... In fact, Escher did see this in Andalucía, and then became the draftsman we know today. Gaudí studied Persian architecture and Islamic art mainly from books, during his training.

Ladies and dress codes

In recent years there has been a wave of relaxation of the dress code. Especially in fashionable Isfahan you could tell. The long overcoat was by no means always over the knee, was by no means always black, was sometimes open or fitted, and sometimes even almost transparent. Also blouses were sometimes tight, colorful and playful. The headscarves were often worn way back and there was a lot of hair showing. Usually straight black, but also bleached and wavy.  Occasionally it hung loose down the back. Jeans were sometimes pretty tight, but always to the ankle. Some women were exuberant with rouge all over their face, bright red lipstick, and especially the eyes, eyelashes and jet-black eyebrows received a lot of attention.

Not only the more modern dressed ladies were keen to flirt a bit. My blue eyes, long hair and radiant smile :) attracted the ladies' interest, and they showed that openly.

If you do not know that women in Iran are legally disadvantaged, you may get the impression that they are equal. They are fully present in the streets and behave in a self-confident and self-assured manner. They are on average higher educated than men and sometimes they are the main breadwinner in a family. In any case their position is better than in any of the surrounding countries.

Travelogue Summer 2018/2 Fire, water, air and mud in Yazd (Iran)

We rented a taxi for the day to take us from Shiraz to Yazd (430km) so we could stop en route in Persepolis. 2500 years ago this was an important capital, and you could still see beautiful remains.

In Yazd we found a lovely hostel with nice rooms on a roof terrace. There we could sit together, eat, drink tea with a view of the city. Yazd is smaller than Shiraz and has a more provincial feel.

Yazd 

We wanted to take a walk through the mud alleys to the Friday Mosque. As the crow flies no more than 500 meters. The houses are turned inwards, so towards the street you mainly see walls with some small windows and doors. Because everything was muddy-brown, it seemed like one design. Some alleys were covered, then there were turns and squares, domes and arches. It was very quiet, every now and then a lady covered in black passed in the distance.

Yazd mud buildings

Because of the twisting and turning of the alleys we totally lost our sense of direction. The maps in the guidebook and even google did not show many alleys, so we did not know which way to go. We asked a few men which way to the Friday Mosque, and they all pointed in different directions. Eventually we saw the tall minarets and managed to keep our course. In the bazaar and in the street towards the mosque, which had been very busy last night, it was very quiet now. After all, Friday morning is a kind of Sunday morning. A few domestic tourists wanted to take a picture with us, with the impressive entrance in the background.

Yazd water supply

The Friday Mosque is decorated with a particularly beautiful mosaic of tiles, many abstract lines, lots of blue. There were some people around making phone calls or sleeping, otherwise it was quiet. A man told us about the qanats, underground channels that used to supply water from the mountains. Now the system is polluted and closed, and the water comes from Isfahan.

We visited the water museum. Actually an old mansion, but suitable as the water museum because there are not one but two old qanats underneath, from which can be tapped. Through narrow tunnels that had been excavated underground, the water ran out of the mountains to the city. Rich families could get water in their cellar. The bottom channel is so deep that there is a cool space where you could store food and the family could sit during sweltering afternoons.

We took a taxi to the Zoroastrian fire temple just outside the city center. Zoroastrianism has its origins in this region and is one of the oldest surviving religions in the world. In a garden stood a couple of buildings, above the door the symbol with two long wings and all kinds of details that had a specific meaning. With themes like "good thinking, doing good" and "karma" there were many concepts recognizable from Buddhism. The "eternal flame" burned behind glass. This particular specimen has been burning for 1,500 years, another one outside the city for 6,000 years. In another building was a large photo exhibition with images of daily life of Zoroastrians from the area of ​​Yazd.

Yazd fire temple

Air coolers en wind towers

The first time I saw one was in Rajasthan in 2001. My hotel room had a pack of straw in front of the window with a fan behind it. If you wet the straw and the air flows through it (wind or fan) you get a cool airflow. Meanwhile, there are more modern versions with a grid instead of straw, and a few years ago I even bought one to use at home. For those few warm days a year.

In Iran we saw plenty of air coolers. Ideal because, unlike an air conditioner, they work in an open space, so you can leave your shop door open. And they use much less power, although that does not seem to matter much in Iran. We saw them in shops, in workshops, in restaurants and even on top of a city bus!

Yazd wind towers

Also, in the desert cities Yazd and Kashan you have the ancient wind towers. High towers that protrude above the buildings, and catch the slightest hint of wind in the air in some kind of reverberation holes. That air then falls down the hollow tower, where it flows through the living room like a cool breeze.

We knew it would be warm, in June, in central Iran. But it was "hot for the time of year" and afternoon temperatures varied from 37 to 42 degrees Celsius. "Close to forty" is a totally different temperature zone than "low thirties", which we have a couple of days a year in the Netherlands. All objects are warmer than you are, everything radiates heat and feels warmer than your skin when you touch it. You dehydrate instantly. In the afternoon the sun is almost straight above you and burns mercilessly.

Still, it was dry air, so at least you were not crushed by a pressing sweaty mass of humidity. Hiding in the cool hotel room for a couple of hours in the afternoon was enough to keep all systems going. Emerging from your A/C room, five minutes in the sun was a breeze.

A bonus of the hot weather was that there were very few tourists around and all hotels had vacancies.

Travelogue Summer 2018/1 Shiraz - the Andalucía of Iran

Short connection

We had just half an hour to change planes in Vienna. We had deliberately selected seats as far in the front as possible. When the door opened, an employee asked if we were going to Shiraz? If so, please deboard first. There was a man in the gangway with a notepad. I thought for a moment that he was our guy, but he did not look up when we walked by. Maybe our guy was waiting further down the corridor?

Just as we were walking through a sliding door 30 meters away, he called out: Shiraz? He came after us and opened a side door with an ID card. Normally no passengers were allowed here. We walked down a corridor, down a flight of stairs, and much to my surprise we went outside. Suddenly we were standing between the airplanes. And to my even greater surprise, we stepped into a van. We were driving airside. Our companion was half Persian, and his job was to put people on flights to Shiraz, Isfahan and Tehran. We stopped at a door of a large building. Another ID card to open it.

There were a couple of immigration counters in an empty hall. He explained to the lady behind the desk that we were exiting, normally this was the desk for passengers arriving in Schengen. With the five of us on a trot up some stairs and down a corridor. There was a very long line, but he gestured we could walk past it to reach our gate, which seemed completely abandoned. Quickly through security. And then it turned out boarding had only just started, so we had five minutes to spare.

Arrival

Five hours later, in the middle of the night, we landed at the small regional airport of Shiraz in the south of Iran. An announcement was made that all ladies had to put on their headscarves. A little less than half of the passengers got off, the rest continued to Isfahan. We had a bus to the terminal building, basic and old. Just a few people got in the lane for foreign passports, and at the counter all went very smooth. Our luggage arrived within five minutes. We were considering changing money at a bank counter, but a guy said we'd better do that somewhere else. All in all, we had entered this country in record time. A big contrast with the preparations beforehand: the visa and many other documents that had to be delivered. That had been quite a hassle, especially because of the unclear and contradictory and ever changing information that was available.

In the arrival hall stood a guy with a piece of paper with the name of our hotel and a lot of text in Farsi. On his phone he also had a lot of Farsi with in between my first name. That was enough to trust him. We followed him outside, where it was pleasantly cool. Put the luggage in the back of an old car in the parking lot. A ride into town on a wide boulevard with lots of trees and lights and on every lamppost a big picture of a "martyr" from the Iran-Iraq war. It was very quiet on the street, big neon signs were on, but everything was closed, so we had no idea what all those Farsi texts were promoting.

Cash, lots of cash

Due to the boycott, Iran is not connected to the international money transfer systems. Even though there are ATMs everywhere, and almost everyone pays with a tap-and-go card, foreigners are dependent on hard cash. Euros or dollars. That you swap for very soft rial. There's the official buying rate, the official selling rate, the street rate, the euro exchange rate and the dollar exchange rate.

Our hotel reception could change money, but, as the receptionist said, the exchange rate depends on how much we want to change. How much we want to change, I said, depends on the exchange rate. We agreed on € 200 for 60,000 rial / euro. Well above the official rate, but in the bazaar we should be able to do better. We got a big pile of money - and then another one, she had already divided it in two for us.

The huge amount of zeros was rather confusing. And even more so because you pronounce 60,000 Rial as 6,000. Then they mean toman but don't say that. On some banknotes it says 500,000 Rial, on older ones with the same value it says 50. That means 50,000 toman, or 500,000 rial. For example, if something costs 300,000 rial, it can be said as 300,000, 30,000 or 30 ... It is not helpful either that 100,000 and 10,000 rial notes have the same color.

Later we would change in the street a couple of times. Every city has a strip where some guys are standing, who ask if you want to change money. In Shiraz an old man was sitting in a folding chair on the side walk, with piles of cash on a small carpet in front of him. You choose a guy and step aside. You negotiate about the exchange rate and how much you want to change. The guy counts a pile of notes. Then you say that is not enough and he will add one or two. Then you count the pile again and give him two euro bills.

Shiraz 

Next morning we walked to the Pink Mosque. More a sight than a sanctuary, and it was already quite busy when we went inside. The main attraction was the prayer hall with stained-glass windows. The morning sun shone through it and cast a colorful pattern on the floor. Everyone wanted to pose in the color spectrum, and especially on draped white robes it was a stunning sight.

Shiraz Pink Mosquee

The prayer niches at both ends of the courtyard were decorated with beautiful tile work, with pink being the prevailing color. Remarkably, sometimes a miniature landscape was incorporated in the floral patterns. There was a well with blue light, to symbolize that there had been water until 10 years ago. There was a small side courtyard, where we had a photo session with a mother and her daughters from Mashhad. Mom made all the pictures of the daughters with us. When I insisted that I wanted a picture of her too, her black headscarf went off, and a more colorful one appeared from underneath.

A bit further away was a museum in the gardens of an old mansion. Beautiful orange trees, water features, and a large guest pavilion. Mirrored walls, painted ceilings with European scenes. On the walls of the entrance building were images that we knew from the Moghuls in North India: elephants.

Shiraz bazaar

The covered bazaar of Shiraz was always pleasantly crowded. There was plenty of shopping going on. There were sections for clothing, for carpets, for spices, for household items. Despite all these people there was a quiet atmosphere, merchants were not shouting, passersby greeted us without being intrusive.

Shiraz bazaar

In the middle of the bazaar was a small square with a pond. It was simultaneously busy and intensely peaceful, serene. We sat down on a bench and looked at Iranian life passing in front of our eyes. The ladies all looked fascinating. Sometimes shapeless under a large black piece of cloth, sometimes unassumingly stylish, sometimes concealing, sometimes accentuating their figure, sometimes eccentric and challenging. If you did not know it already: even with the strange dress codes in Iran, women can dress in a personal and charming style.

Shiraz bazaar

Shiraz is a big, cosmopolitan city. Because of the southern location, the friendly atmosphere, the long siesta and the custom to eat at ten o'clock at night, the province is nicknamed the Andalusia of Iran. And that's how it felt.

Travelogue 2018/3, On familiar grounds (Penang & Satun) (Malaysia & Thailand)

Penang, Malaysia

 

We stayed 6 days on Penang, Malaysia. We’ve been here before and again we enjoyed the great facilities and the variety in cultures. We paid tribute to all three population groups.

We visited a large Chinese temple in the mountains, a mix between a building site and an amusement park.

We visited the floating mosque, a mosque built on stilts over the sea. It was a  peaceful and serene place.

Everyday we visited Little India for a touch of the real India. The sari shops,  Bollywood music blaring from the dvd shops,  grocery stores with all Indian ingredients and spices, ladies in sari and jeans walking hand in hand, restaurants where the food is better than anywhere in India.

An inherent part of Penang’s history is its colonial past. We visited a guided tour around the Protestants cemetery. There were 15 people listening to the funny and knowledge guide. Lots of little stories about Penang’s history and its inhabitants. One of them was the Scottish lawyer James Richardson Logan, who invented the name Indonesia, as he believed its people had the right to have a name that was not made up by or connected with its Dutch colonizers. It wouldn’t be until early 20^th century that “Indonesia” was picked up by the independent movement. And so Indonesia stays with us this trip, just like India.

Penang was as cloudy as Sumatra, but much warmer, in the low 30s. Two and three years ago we saw nothing but blue skies here.

Satun, Thailand

This was the fifth time I went from Penang to Thailand. And again I found a new route and a new transport mode. This time it was the super fast ferry via Langkawi. Despite the long wait on Langkawi it was an easy and relaxed route.

As soon as we arrived in Satun, walking to the hotel, we looked for things we recognized, things that were new, things that had changed, things that were gone. Considering the dusty old town it was, surprisingly much had changed. Fortunately not in our hotel. That was as pleasant, quiet and comfortable as we knew it.

Qatari, Indonesians and Malaysians have almost always been very friendly and helpful to us. But the radiant heartiness of the Thai exceeds it all. The famous  Thai smile still is a joy to see.

We were often called at and greeted by passers by. Sometimes when they were on a bike. Like these three young people on one bike, shouting “hello”. We cheerfully waved back at them. The two girls on the backseat did the Thai greeting with hands folded in front of the chest while making a small bow. And they did so in perfect synch. On the back of the moving bike.

As far as understanding goes, it is the opposite. Very few signs are in English and English is hardly spoken. It takes a lot of sign language.

Our favorite lunch restaurant was gone. A search around the new, relocated market was in vain. We inquired with the neighbors of the shed where it used to be, with a picture of the woman, pointing at the former place, and looking puzzled. After some talk amongst themselves we were put on the back of a motorbike and driven to the new location!

Our friends in Satun, the owner of the hotel, the lady of the restaurant, the girl of our favorite coffee shop (who worked somewhere else now) all looked very pleased to see us and they all gave us food.

And so we enjoy having a coffee on our veranda, taking a walk in the countryside or the mangrove forest, cooling down by the pool, reading a book, eating a delicious Thai curry.

At last the skies turned blue and sunny and it got seriously hot. We were lucky to have a clear sky during the lunar eclipse. We saw the shadow of the earth slowly cover the moon that got more and more red, more and more round (in the 3d sense) and in the end looked like a semi-see-through egg with the rabbit inside.

PS Preview of the upcoming Satun info sheet *link*

Satun is a small provincial capital in the far southwest corner of Thailand. It has a definite end-of-the-road feel to it. A dusty little town where nothing ever happens. On the surface.

8km further south is the port and jetty of Tammalang. It has ferries to Langkawi and Koh Lipe, but for neither island this is the main gateway. So Satun sees very few tourists passing through. You may see some people living in Malaysia on a visa run or having their yacht maintained at the wharf. And there’s a hand full of western men living here with their Thai wife.

Satun is part of the Islamic south of Thailand, that used to be part of the Kedah Sultanate, until that was divided up between Thailand and then British Malaysia. Satun has none of the troubles the other (southeastern) Thai provinces have. It is largely Muslim but with a strong Thai influence. People speak more Thai and Malay than English.

Travelogue 2018/2, Negotiating North Sumatra (Indonesia)

From Doha we travelled via Kuala Lumpur to Medan. A rollercoaster of cultures, levels of development, climates, time zones and day-and-night rhythm.  Sumatra is roughly the size of Spain and has a similar number of inhabitants, but its infrastructure is way less developed. So we designed a non-ambitious tour of the province of North Sumatra.

Medan city

At first sight Medan is large, busy, dirty and noisy. At second sight too, but then you also see the relaxed and cheerful people, always willing to give you a big smile and have a chat. Nobody gets upset, everybody is helpful. There are nice vegan eateries and trendy coffee shops. The mood is pleasant, and if the noise and air pollution wouldn’t chase you away, you’d happily stay for a while.

One could measure the degree of development of a country by the number of meters one can walk on the pavement. In Medan the sidewalks are usually blocked by shop fronts, parked cars or motorcycles, or heaps of building materials, mud or dug up sewage sludge. There are holes big enough to fall into the sewer, unexpected steps, loose slabs or ends of reinforcing steel sticking out.

So mostly you walk on the street, between parked cars and the traffic, hoping the drivers will see you. Traffic mainly consists of relatively new cars, motorbikes and becaks – bikes with a side car that you rent for a ride.

One morning after looking at old colonial buildings and Little India, we took a becak home. It was the oldest and most ramshackle one of Medan. The engine stalled all the time, the front wheel wasn’t in line, petrol came via a tube from a jerry can hanging on the steering wheel. When the driver lit a cigarette he held it in his hand right next to the jerry can. We drove slower than the flow of traffic, which was a real problem as weaving in and out of lanes is crucial for negotiation traffic here. Because of the one way system we had to make quite a detour. All in all we took half an hour inhaling exhumes for what would have been a 2½km walk. Still, we survived. And most drivers were relaxed, gave each other room to move, hardly used the horn and didn’t dive into non-existing spaces.

Bukit Lawang jungle

Usually I don’t feel at home in places that are purely touristic. Bukit Lawang is such a place. It’s a village on the edge of a National Park where an orang utan rehabilitation center used to be. The feeding platform used to be a great spot to watch the mighty animals. The platform is closed now and the only way to see the semi wild orang utans that stuck around is on a long, overpriced jungle trekking – and that is what all the tourists do here.

(Here is the story of my 2000 jungle trek)

Bukit Lawang survived thanks to the treks, the river, the fresh air and as a backpacker hangout. We stayed a couple of days in the strip along the river, in the one guesthouse / restaurant that was busy, cozy and had good food.

Then we moved upstream for a couple of days to a rather remote guesthouse, 1km over a small footpath. There we found the real jungle feel. The place was well designed and decorated with lots of wood and bamboo, the Australian-Indonesian couple that ran it made you feel relaxed.

The raging river,  the green wall of jungle on the opposite shore, the monkeys and the butterflies, one more cup of coffee on the veranda – I could get used to that.  Dinner with our hosts in the evening, total darkness at night, the sounds of monkeys and crickets in the morning. After a rain shower water vapor would slowly rise from the forest and form clouds.

Berastagi volcanos

Berastagi is a former Dutch hill station at 1400m. Now it’s an agricultural town, the center of growing non-tropical vegetables. The wholesale market where the farmers bring their produce was a fascinating chaos where huge quantities of carrots, cabbages and potatoes where hauled around in old trucks that got stuck in the mud.

In the weekend Medan people come to escape the city. The dozen western tourists vanish in the crowd. There are two active volcanos nearby, one of which can easily be climbed – and that is what all the tourists do here. We went straight to the hot springs at the end of the descent to soak up the sulphur.

A trip to the foot of the other, even more active volcano was canceled due to the weather. There were daily eruptions, but they lasted just 5 minutes, so you had to be lucky to see one. After one such eruption the mountain had totally hidden itself behind its own cloud of ash. When it started raining a thin layer of volcanic ash covered everything, including our roof terrace.

Just like the rain forest, volcanos create their own clouds. Steam rising from the cracks in the rocks rise and form a cloud that will stick to the top of the mountain.

The weather. The monsoon lasts long this year, it’s cooler than usual with just 23-26 degrees and mostly overcast. Sometimes the sun sort of breaks through, and most rain is at night.

Lake Toba

Travelling in Sumatra isn’t harder than in say India, but over there I know my way around things better. A night in a lousy hotel, a sick day, serious harassment at a bus station, a meal that doesn’t go down well, a credit card that gets rejected – it can be tough and exhausting at times.

All the more pleasant that we could relax at the shores of Lake Toba – and that is what all the tourists do here.

We stayed there for a week and it was the first place on Sumatra where we really felt at home. The mood was relaxed, nature was beautiful. Even though it is rather touristy, there’s enough couleure locale in the small shops and cafes. And it just takes a couple of steps off main street to be among rice paddies and water buffaloes.

Travelogue 2018/1, Stopover in Qatar

Arrival

2018 didn’t kick off easily for us. We were standing in a long queue for immigration at Doha airport when the clock struck twelve. We wished each other and the Malaysian mother and daughter in front of us Happy New Year, but other than that, the thousands of other people remained rather quiet and subdued.

After a pleasant flight with Qatar Airways, Doha airport was a disappointment.  All the glitter, glamour, marble and luxury couldn’t make up for the bad organizing. With only two immigration counters open, the arrivals hall quickly filled up. Serious looking men with walkie talkies were running up and down and putting passengers in line, but they would have been more useful stamping passports. Occasionally an extra counter would open, but that only benefitted the people at the back of the line. We were stuck in the middle. After one and a half hours at last we got through.

By then I was so dazed and confused that I forgot to take my luggage after using the atm behind the carousel. I only noticed once we were through customs. It wasn’t easy talking my way back against the one way system through security and customs. But I managed and fortunately the bag was still standing  - the bomb squad hadn’t been called yet.

Looking around

Apart from being a bit tired after that night, we enjoyed looking around Doha for the next three days. We walked a lot, mainly in the old city center, that had been enriched with a new souk and the impressive Museum for Islamic Art.

Nights and mornings were cool and hazy, but afternoons were sunny and pleasant.

Most Qatari wore traditional dress. Men in white dresses with shawls on their head. Women with thin black robes over their other clothes – maybe high heels or tight jeans. Head scarves and big sunglasses couldn’t hide the care they took for make up and looks. Not all Qatari women wore headscarves. We saw some young mothers in a café smoking a waterpipe, while their Philippinian nannies took care of the kids.

Eating vegetarian in the Middle East takes you to an Indian restaurant or Lebanese fast food place. It takes some searching, but then you can enjoy delicious  hummus,  falafel, foul and  pita bread.

Qatar development

A fascinating and varied city with old and new, rich and poor, east and west, north and south. People seem to come from all continents and shops and restaurants are as varied as that.

Doha is trying to catch up with Dubai and  Abu Dhabi, investing oil dollars in trade and service industries. They still have a long way to go. The old city center is a patchwork of 25 year old high-rises, a couple of modern buildings, lots of building sites blocking streets and sidewalks, wasteland turned into parking lots, a couple of forgotten 50 year old two-story shops – and in-between all of that sit all these cute tiny old mosques. There isn’t a lot of street life, except at night  in the side streets with old shops and restaurants for the migrant workers.

At first sight the Saudi boycott doesn’t seem to do much harm (though the paper said house prices are falling). Our little neighborhood shop running out of yoghurt rather seemed a logistical issue. And that seems to be the sore spot all over. Building an airport, buying a new fleet of city buses, painting a pedestrian crossing on a six lane road, designing a metro route – all that is doable. But to organize it well, to get enough immigration officers in place, to publish a consistent bus route map, to teach drivers to stop for pedestrians – that is a lot harder. Metro works are going on all over town  but nobody dares to commit to a year it will run.

If I were FIFA, I’d be worried about the 2022 World Cup, given that only one stadium is finished.

India connection

In Qatar the India connection is obvious. Almost half of the 2 million inhabitants is from former British India. When we walked down the aircraft steps a group of Indian cleaners was waiting to board. They tend to do the hard labor and building. Cleaners, cooks and shopkeepers mostly are from South Asia as well. Female laborers tend to come from the Philippines and work as a receptionist, maid or nanny.

New Year’s night we had dinner at Saravana Bhavan, the international chain of Indian restaurants. It was full with indian families, we were the only Non-Indians. The food was authentic South Indian served on a banana leaf, and delicious.