A Travellerspoint blog

Village Life- In Search of Food

Is there life beyond sugar, starch and fried?

sunny 89 °F


Liz's Fast Food is where the locals go.

Rice and Beans or Beans and Rice?
Belize has two national dishes: rice and beans and beans and rice. No,...really! The first one is rice and red beans cooked together with coconut milk and the second one is 'clean' rice served with a side of stewed brown beans. If you are a vegetarian, don't get excited and order the 'rice and beans' off a menu because it will be served with stewed meat and a side of potato salad or cabbage salad. Liz Fast Food serves it only on Wednesdays and Saturdays- come early or it's gone! Only the gringos buy it. Everyone else is eating it at home...everyday.

Liz Fast Food (the only consistent food source if you don't cook for yourself) specializes in little snacks like salbutes, garnachos, tostadas and empanadas- all some variation of ground corn with re-fried beans, chopped cabbage, maybe a few shreds of chicken and a smidgen of tomato. There are tacos, too, but here in Belize, a taco is just a small warm tortilla rolled up with the barest amount of shredded boiled chicken inside-- you have to request the hot sauce.


Salbutes- a double order (4) is $2BZ or $1US

Lunch with Marie
Speaking of hot sauce...In Belize, they say you never eat alone-- Marie Sharp is always at the table with you! Marie Sharp is the locally made Belizean hot sauce that started in a home kitchen with an overabundance of chiles and is now a factory employing many Belizeans. It is available in a full range of flavors and heat. Using mostly habenero chiles (on the upper end of the Scoville scale) it has become famous and is probably the most common Belizean souvenir. In much of Belize, you'll find it on almost every restaurant table, thus the saying that you will never eat alone.

Where Are the Vegies? (Said with a whine.)
My first two weeks here, all I could think of was food. I was consumed by the quest of it. There were really no restaurants and after my first two days, I knew I could not eat more than once or twice a week at Liz's Fast Food even though the salbutes and tostadas were good.

I love food. I like to eat well which means VEGETABLES. Even in the poverty of Tanzania, there was an abundance of food in their markets. The variety of vegetable and fruits in Arusha was a joy. Like here, there was little option of eating out and there wasn't much in the line of ready to eat food. Everything had to be prepared and cooked- no instant prepared foods, few frozen foods and very little in the refrigerated section. But I cooked up a feast from the vegetables in the market and ate very well everyday once I had my Garden Apartment kitchen. While living in Arusha, my three-month blood test was the lowest ever for cholesterol, triglycerides, blood sugars, etc.

Here in my village, food is very basic. In fact, a little too basic. There is no market place here and barely a vegetable or fruit to be found. Even if I preferred meat, I'd be scrambling to find it here. Mostly it is an inferior low quality and frozen. I haven't even found a source for fish and I'm living in a fishing village! I need more than carbs and sugar in my diet. I don't drink sugar drinks and I can live without chocolate and most sweets. I'm perfectly happy to skip meat and have beans for my protein, however, I am not happy without vegetables (corn, peas and potatoes are NOT vegetables!). So, I while I am generally living like a native-- though obviously at a higher level than many since I have water, electricity, a refrigerator-- I am still adjusting to the food issue. The pursuit of it occupies a lot of my time- mentally and physically.


My booty from the Mennonite Truck!

I have been dying for vegetables and was the first in line at the Mennonite truck when it arrived the first Wednesday of my stay. It stops briefly at each store in town. Luckily, the first store can be seen from my front door. Unfortunately, the offerings were limited. I bought some of pretty much everything except the eggs and peanuts; I bought onions, potatoes, green peppers, cabbage, tomatoes and cilantro. Not having fruit for the last week, I bought the only offering-- a big watermelon that cost $6US--more than all my other groceries put together!

Broadening the Search
I was really hoping for some carrots, zucchini, broccoli, cauliflower and spinach, but that might be a challenge even in a larger town. I have seen plenty of sad old carrots around so may eventually find some fresh ones. I was just hoping for an alternative to the heavy-on-the-starch food that is available. Likewise, my drinks are pretty much limited to water and milk in a box; everything else, including juices, are so sugar-laden that a 6 oz. drink can be 49% of the recommended daily carbohydrates/sugars. This is not the place for gourmands or healthy eating enthusiasts.

Finding out about the Mennonite who sells vegetables out of a truck once a week was a relief (and a few locals sporadically cruise around with stuff to sell too), but potatoes are not vegetables. And a week of cabbage and tomatoes had me longing for more. Much more. Finally, I get up early and take the the last daily bus at 6 am to a town which is 40 miles away. After almost two hours in an old school bus on a bumpy road, I get dropped off a few blocks from the market. The market was tiny- one of the smallest I have seen- but after a few loops among the dozen small stalls supplemented by boxes and tables set up along the street nearby, I was rewarded for my efforts.

It was rare and in small quantities, but I had found broccoli and cauliflower. I also bought carrots that were orange and still fresh; the sad brown shriveled things in my village weren't even fit for making soup. I even bought garlic and a nice papaya- both locally grown. And when I thought I had seen and bought all that was possible and had walked a block away-- I found a woman with a box of zucchini. Hurrah!

The People's Store!
My cloth bag bulging from my purchases, I went to two big grocery stores next. While they had better prices, they didn't have much more than my village offered (which is severely limited). Then, I found The People's Store! Unlike other stores, it was clean and well-lit. Most store keep the lights dim and have a layer of dust on everything; the few canned goods often have rusty rims. I felt happy just entering this store and seeing gleaming products on the shelf arranged with a sense of organization unlike the confusing jumbles to which I had become accustomed to finding.

The People's Store was a treat. I was already loaded down with vegies, but I was able to buy some celery without buying the whole stalk. I bought some canned tuna and a frozen fish fillet (hoping it would keep on the hot two hour ride back to the village). I don't usually eat much meat, but the sliced ham with some cheese would make good, quick and easy quesadillas. Oh yeah, I bought four different cheeses. And there was a fully cooked turkey kielbasa sausage-- that would be good cooked with onions, green peppers and potatoes. Best of all, they were all Belizean products except for the kielbasa which was on sale.

Easter Candies! Big hollow chocolate bunnies, malted candy eggs, jelly beans and even marshmallow peeps! Well, I didn't buy any of those, but I did treat myself to some green olives from Spain (the only kind available) and a packet of Planter's Trail Mix (peanuts, corn nuts and sesame sticks)

This was a yuppie paradise in Belize and it's not even a tourist town. Did an ex-pat own it? There were (for a price!) all those imported Easter treats and a lot of other American chocolate bars, apples, pasta sauces in jars, and other surprises. However, I try to eat local and within a reasonable range of a local budget. I was happy with my two treats and the meats and cheeses; all things not available in the village. Most everything else I could buy in the village and support the local businesses.

The one thing I couldn't find at The People's Store was natural yogurt without sugar. I had found a large container when I went to the 'city' to buy my kitchen stuff. It was probably available only because it was an Indian-owned store and yogurt is an important accompaniment for Indian meals. Most countries like it with sugar so a natural yogurt is a real find. The one I bought was a Mexican import.

So after two weeks of obsessing about food which had prompted me to overeat even though I didn't even like what I had-- a result of psychologically feeling deprived and thinking I might not have enough food to eat later-- I was blissfully happy to have a big bowl of broccoli and cauliflower with a piece of cheese for dinner. Though I admit, I started thinking about breaking down and buying a tin of that butter from Denmark that cost a small fortune. Butter would have been so good on those hot, steamed vegies!

The Challenge Continues
So one month later...I'm still struggling with food. On my RTW, I have had a series of quotes or mantras that I use for situations on the road. One is "Food as Fuel". In other words, don't expect the treats and gourmet luxuries. Respect food for what it is-- fuel for your body. This was especially helpful in Africa. Besides, unlike a short vacation, you can't eat 'special' everyday on long term travel.

Another one I recite to myself is "Believe in Abundance". While I always made sure I had some kind of food for an emergency snack (in some cases, the snack would serve as my dinner or breakfast), but I tried not to get so worried that I would overdo it. My bag was heavy enough and while the stores and restaurants might be closed when I arrived late at night-- they would be open in the morning so a simple snack would suffice. And just because I found tiny boxes of juice without sugar that were perfect didn't mean I needed to stock up...each location or country would have something simple and portable that was appropriate or 'would do' as an emergency food.

Yet here I was in a village, constantly overstocking and looking for something more than what was on the store shelves. No wonder low income people are often fat-- few food choices (too much starch, oil and sugar) and never knowing where/when the next food might be available. It certainly still has me off balance...

While I have more muscle from swimming an hour everyday (and my broken arm is fast becoming a memory!), I'm not so confident about the ten pounds I had hoped to lose while here. Disappointing when you think that on my return to the US in time for the holidays, I didn't gain a single pound over the few months that I was surrounded by treats, luxury foods, and things that hadn't been available during my travels. I didn't realize how crazy the abundance of food was in the US until I'd been gone for so long and been in such poor countries. A walk into Trader Joe's was overwhelming (but fun) and Whole Foods literally made me feel sick. I wondered what my friends in Tanzania would think-- could they even imagine such a store?

I'm leaving my village in a few days, and there will be more options in the tourist-ed areas over the next week. I'll be staying on Caye Caulker and Belize City. I look forward to some fish and seafood, more Creole style cooking and in general a little more variety. I bet there still won't be many vegetables on the menus, but in one more week, I'll be back in the US and once again the lap of luxury.

So, does that mean I have finally had my epiphany, you ask?

Alas, the answer is....for another time!


No Wimps Allowed Hot Sauce

Posted by jaytravels 11:31 Archived in Belize Tagged belize rtw Comments (0)

My Casita by the Sea

Solitude and Peace (So where is that d*** epiphany?)

sunny 89 °F


I didn't plan on living in such a small village, but when I envisioned living on Caye Caulker, I wondered if I could find a place with reasonable rates for long term rental at this time of year. I also thought about the touristy aspect...was that the kind of environment I wanted around me while I sort out my life and try to do some writing? I just wanted a 'normal' life, but with blue skies and natural light throughout the day. Near the sea preferred. Hey, why not here? So I decided to make inquiries here and found a place right away.


I am fairly happy with my casita (little house) which is located on the edge of the village. In fact, it is on the last street--Tulip Street. The casita is technically attached to my landlords' house, but I have my own front door. It is just a decent-sized room with an attached bathroom, furnished with a large refrigerator, a double bed, a table, two plastic chairs, a 3-drawer nightstand and a small set of shelves which is now my 'kitchen'.


So that I could cook for myself, I bought a two-burner table top stove and some basics: one pot, one pan, etc. A plastic dishpan allows me to wash my dishes (in the shower!). A dish towel and food supplies make it complete. Cooking takes some extra planning and care (I'm a bit nervous about using the tiny two-burner) and it can be a little awkward without counter space or a sink...but I'm hoping to produce healthier fare than I can get at any 'restaurant' in town.

My bathroom is basic. There is a toilet and a shower, but the minuscule sink produces only a trickle and is too small for washing more than hands. The toilet does not have a toilet seat (this is common in many countries), but luckily it is the right size for me and it is never cold to sit on the porcelain since the weather is warm and tropical. The shower has a shower curtain and doesn't get the rest of the bathroom wet-- a relief since shower curtains are not commonly used here. There is no hot water. Most locals don't have have water, it's usually just in places that tourists stay-- Americans are notorious for expecting hot water even in very hot climates. I shower once or twice a day and find that a cool shower means I stay as clean and can cool off, but don't waste as much water. The only time, I miss warm water is for shampooing, but luckily, my hair is still in my short African style. In the afternoon, I have sun-warmed water in the pipe which is just enough to do my hair before the cool water starts.

Washing dishes in the shower takes some patience and coordination. The faucet in the shower is about 20 inches off the floor. As I squat or lean over from the waist to do my washing in a plastic pan, I think of my sisters in Africa- most of whom would be envious just because I have running water in my house. Travel makes one thankful and appreciate what may seem to be small things, but that are really BIG.

I was thinking that a small village might help me with reflections; that it would be hard to find distractions. HA! Yet it is also true that everything, even the simple things (brushing my teeth, buying food, etc.) takes much more effort and time. In this sense, there are many distractions...just not the fun kind. Sometimes, it seems like an endless loop of doing laundry (by hand), washing dishes, cooking, scavenging for food, fighting the hordes of invasive ants and keeping on top of the dust (no paved roads and it's the dry season).

As I write this, the long white curtains are waving from the breeze entering through the two big windows. The cooling breeze also comes through my screen door to the table where I write. Light. Lovely natural light fills my room. On first reflection it's peaceful and quiet, but there is actually a lot of noise. The sounds you tune into when laying on the grass with your eyes closed on a lazy summer day...the rattle of my propped-open door when the sea breeze blows; a rooster crowing from down the road; the strange whoops and whistles of tropical birds; the rustling of the mango tree leaves; a dog barking far away. It's so quiet, if I listen hard, I can hear voices from several blocks away, singing from a church, someone's radio playing musica romantica and an occasional pickup driving down main street a long block away.


Sometimes, my landlord walks by to feed Puma the dog or to get something from the storage shed. She's company if I want it, but I seldom do. I am content with the quiet and a occasional visits by small geckos which I welcome for their bug eating activities. Geckos make a cheery chuckling noise now and then, but they are actually quite shy. I have one little guy hanging out in the corner who is less than an inch long. I hope he is consuming ants.

This place can get buggy. I've not seen a single cockroach which is a surprise for a tropical setting, but I do get ant hordes in the strangest places. They are the smallest ants I have ever seen and seem to appear out of no where. One night I saw a spider on the floor. It looked huge and black, but on a closer look-- it was dead or almost dead. It was completely covered by hundreds of the teeny-tiny ants consuming it, ugh!


The best time of day is in the late afternoon. Without fail, I walk or ride a bike to the sea. I walk the length of a long warped wooden dock and enter the water. It is my favorite activity. I have to walk a long distance in the water until it is finally up to my shoulders. By then, I am far away from everyone. I plunge in and start swimming. I make a game of swimming out to a different boat each day to see what their names are. Without my glasses, I have to get close. Puff (with a picture of a dragon), O La La, Tiempo de Isla (Island Time), Grasy's, El Dueno (the owner/boss), Regalito (Gift)... many are so faded I can barely read them.

I time my swim to avoid a large group of Canadian snowbirds that descend more like a flock of waddling penguins and stand in the water by the dock loudly talking about what seem to be their favorite topics-- drinking and how "things should be". After a few minutes in the water, they sit on the dock for more social chatter, make plans for evening cocktails, then leave. When I arrive, there are just a few locals (mostly kids) or if I am lucky, no one. I do a lot of thinking while I'm swimming. Usually, the only interruption is when the Thunderbolt ferry comes roaring up to the cement public pier nearby. I watch the brief flurry as a handful of people get off, get on, receive or handover something for delivery. For some strange reason this always makes me smile and gives me a sense of well-being. Sometimes, I arrive too late to see it arrive, but then I content myself with watching yet another gorgeous sunset over the water. From bright sun to burnishing gold and then a glowing red ball of fire, it slips below the water's surface.


Posted by jaytravels 10:11 Archived in Belize Tagged belize rtw Comments (0)

S L O W Life in the Village

Just writing this has me yawning and longing for a nap!

sunny 89 °F


Main Street- Where all the action is!

Belize is known for its quirky personality as much as for its diverse environments including the Mayan jungles and its Caribbean slow life on the cayes (islands). I'm in yet a different setting. I am living in a small fishing village. In addition to fishing, boat building is the major industry. Tourism is also starting to contribute to the local economy, but it is growing slowly. More commonly, snowbirds from Canada are buying up land for vacation homes. They usually expand the village population between January and Easter.


This boat is being built just one block from where I live so I get to see the process which is...s l o w.

Sandwiched between jungle and the sea, there are a series of natural water wells that have always made the area attractive for settlements, but the original Mayan pyramids are long gone.This current community consists of Mestizos of Yucateca Mayan ancestry that relocated here during the Caste wars though later, quite a few families also came from Honduras and El Salvador during the conflicts there. Therefore, Spanish is the primary language, but most locals know some English corresponding with their level of education (school classes are taught in English). However, the Spanish here has its own unique flavor; some locals do not have complete command of either Spanish or English. Only a few of the elderly still speak Mayan.

While somewhat isolated, the village can be reached by small private plane, bus or boat. The road is rough and washes out in the rainy season and a 4-wheel drive is recommended for intrepid travelers. The bus is a challenge, both for the bad road, the bad buses and a schedule that is geared to the local fishermen needing to commute to Belize City. The four daily buses leave each morning at 3:00 am, 4:00 am, 5:00 am, and 6:00 am. Yep, you'd better get up early like the locals! The forty mile distance to the first real town can take up to two hours.


This is actually the bus station, but no one goes there. The bus makes a loop around town before it hits the road so you can get picked up most anywhere in town and you pay on board. These are old Bluebird school buses that were bought used. Air-conditioning? If you can pry open the window!

For a little more money, the easiest and most pleasant way to get here is by boat. There is a ferry service that passes by when it goes from a mainland town to one of the cayes (islands) popular with tourists. When I was here last, a stop at the village was by special request, but there is enough business to make it a regular stop now. And it's not just people who board and disembark, mail and other deliveries are part of the service. My last trip,we were accompanied by a full-sized refrigerator and a large wooden wardrobe.


The Thunderbolt ferry- it makes two daily stops- one going east in the morning and one going west in the afternoon. One day it didn't arrive...OMG. The police found a package of marijuana among the cargo. When none of the passengers admitted to being the owner (duh!), they arrested the captain. The Thunderbolt was impounded. Big drama, but the Thunderbolt was back on track with the usual captain the next day.

The population is somewhere between 2-3000, but it sometimes feels even smaller as the men and older boys are gone for long periods of time according to the fishing season. Many families also temporarily relocate to the cities (Belmopan or Belize City) when their children want to study beyond high school or to get vocational training; they usually can't afford to sustain two households.

There are currently only two guesthouses with no more than 2-5 rooms each, but there is a new home stay program and a backpacker place with camping and cabins has opened up just outside of town . When I was here about a half-dozen years ago, I didn't see another tourist and the only foreigner I observed was a fundamentalist missionary who approached me right after I had arrived. This time there are quite a few tourists and tons of seasonal expats. Tourists don't stay long as there isn't much to do. The younger ones are eager to move on to a place with a real beach, but stay long enough to visit a nearby nature reserve. The older ones are generally expats who own or rent temporary housing and stay for a few months each year to escape cold weather in the US and Canada. Their main contribution to the local economy seems to be buying alcohol in large quantities (but that's just my biased view).

Lots of restaurants have come and gone over the years, but there are never more than a few at a time-- they just don't get enough business. Pablito's and Ritchi's cater to the drinking ex-pat types who want (and can afford) booze and a meal with fish or meat with beans and rice or french fries. The primary place is Liz Fast Food which sells the local snacks of tacos, tostadas, garnachos, salbutes and the occasional burger which at $3.50BZ (or $1.75US) is one of the more expensive items (it's the only item with beef). Best of all, they are open from 6:30 am to 2 pm and then 6 pm to 10 pm everyday. It's a good place to hangout to watch Mexican telenovelas (soap operas) and gossip with the 'girls'. This is where locals come.

After a few days, I'm able to work out a schedule and figure out how to take advantage of the limited local resources. On Wednesdays, a Mennonite from a (relatively) nearby community comes with a pickup load of produce and eggs. On Sundays, there's a plastic salesman (buckets, pans, containers). On Saturdays and occasional Thursdays, a senora sells homemade chicken tamales wrapped in banana leaves, but you'd better get there early. A local guy drives around in his pickup a few times a week to sell fruit and miscellaneous produce. Yesterday, he had grapes from Chile, two papayas, cheap local oranges, plantains, chayote (a type of watery squash), some sad shriveled carrots and a few pricey limes (the lime crops in Mexico and Central America are currently infected-- reducing availability and raising costs).


The Mennonite's usual transport is a horse and cart, but he hires a local to drive him to the village.


Delivery trucks parked in front of the 'super' market.

There's a bakery that's just a year old; it sells basic white bread and Mexican style sweetbreads. A tortilla factory sells tortillas and tostadas; I've seen another tortilla place with a sign, but I haven't found it open yet. One of the tiny stores that has been around for awhile has grown into a "super" market by local standards. But pickings are still slim and geared toward basics. This is basically a poor (and isolated) community and those that can afford specialty items tend to make occasional shopping trips to Corozal or Orange walk though I didn't see much in the stores there either.


Locals know where to go, so many businesses don't bother with a sign. Everyone knows G.B. opens her window in her home in the evenings and sells oil, rice and other basics as well as a few homemade baked goods. I saw a lemon meringue pie on the counter of one little store and some small Valentine cakes at another; local ladies trying to make a little extra money. On Friday evenings, members of a church set up a small table and sell baked goods and garnachos (essentially tostadas topped with re-fried beans and a bit of cabbage and tomato). Some places only open for a few hours in the evening. Others stay open all the time since it is essentially part of their house and there is always at least one family member to make the sale. Tucked away in dark hallways, I have caught glimpses of what might be toy/party store and a 'gift' shop.

I stumbled across another large grocery store at the opposite end of the village from where I'm staying. It was almost as large as the super store, but had even less variety. There was no sign and they keep the lights inside turned off-- not sure if it is to keep it cool or for thrift. As I said, no sign, but everyone calls it Chino's. This guy also runs a takeout business from the back of his store (again nothing to indicate the service). He sells fried chicken, Chow Mein and Chop Suey. None of these dishes bears resemblance to actual Chinese food, but no one here would know that and he seems to do a pretty brisk business with the chicken in the evening. In this case, the owner really is Chinese (and doesn't speak English or Spanish), but even if he was Korean, Japanese or any other Asian ethnicity, they would still call him El Chino. There seems to be at least one "Chino" store in every community however small. Where other stores close for lunch and holidays-- El Chino is always open all day and never closes on any day.

And sometimes, the business comes to your house. No Fuller Brush or Amway type sales here. Just a low quiet call of 'tarde', the local shorthand for buenas tardes. If you come to the door, you will find them standing a polite distance away with their product held out for you to see. I have been offered homemade coconut candy, used clothing, hammocks, watermelon, oranges, and packets of spice. There's also a casual exchange of free offerings if you are in the right place at the right time. This usually involves fruit from the trees in a yard. I have been the recipient of limes, green mangos, plums and a fruit that resembles a mamay (but lacks the divine flavor and texture).

There are a few tiny nods to tourism. Chuy's Souvenir and Art Center (the son of a fisherman I met a few years back added a room on to his father's house to sell his paintings); a cyber-net cafe sign claims internet and copy machine services (I went to check it out, but found it closed); and Brisa's Bike Rentals has a few battered offerings if someone else doesn't get there first. A few other signs hang by the one for bike rentals-- remnants of previously attempted and failed businesses-- one for a restaurant and another for a barbershop. That last one must have inspired the neighbor as I see him occasionally cutting someone's hair on his porch. Hmmm... I may have to pay him a visit.


For the locals there is a center that has limited health services for people and organizes the occasional "It's Hip to Snip" clinics for pets . There's a police department near the public dock that doesn't see much business. Eight churches- all equally tiny in size and only one is Catholic- are scattered mostly along the main road. A library is being constructed slowly over time and there's a sign requesting volunteer labor. A bike ride to the far side of town uncovered a Nazerine elementary school and two high schools, one Baptist and one Catholic. A rough sports field was nearby. A quiet woman and her little boy make rounds on a horse-drawn cart; she's the garbage collector.


The Police Department is by the main pier with a great view of the water.



Yep, it's the slow life here. The only excitement I anticipate is eventually seeing the toucans that eat Mabi's blackberries. My primary entertainments are reading library e-books on my android, sitting by the sea watching the sunset, borrowing Mabi's bike for a spin around town and occasionally dropping in at Liz's. Sometime between 3-5 in the afternoon, I walk to the dock to take my daily swim.

Yep, it's the slow life. Very slooooooowwwwwww. Yet my writing is not forthcoming because my mind has become slooooowwww too! And because it's the slow life, I am doing my own laundry by hand, doing my own cooking from scratch on a two-burner stove-top and walking wherever my errands take me. Strangely, I never seem to have much free time...


Posted by jaytravels 11:34 Archived in Belize Tagged belize rtw Comments (0)

Plan B in Belize

A Bit of Babble About Belize

sunny 87 °F


Sun and Shade- its a good name for a Belizean boat.

Belize has always been a bit of a fascination for me. It is so unique for a Central American country. It's the the smallest country- similar in size to Israel or the state of Massachusetts in the U.S- and has the lowest population density. Last recorded to be 340,800 in population, it now has the most rapidly increasing population rate in Central America. Tucked between Mexico (northern land and water borders), Guatemala (west and south borders) and the Caribbean Sea (east) where there are many cayes (islands), it is the only Central American country without a Pacific coastline. The reef that follows its eastern coastline is the second largest coral reef after the Great Barrier Reef in Australia.

Yep, Belize is a bit of an odd duck all around due in no small part to a prolonged colonization by the British who called it British Honduras- not to be confused with the nearby country Honduras. So, it is no surprise that it is the only country in Central America that does not have Spanish as its official language. The official language remains English though Spanish is more common in many areas.

Another major language is Kriol (or Creole) which you'll find spoken throughout the country, but especially along the coast and on the cayes (pronounced 'keys"). An estimated 75% of the population speak Kriol though only 21% of the population is identified as Kriol. Kriols are descendants of the Baymen slave owners (former pirates) and slaves, but it is now more a cultural designation than racial. Kriols in Belize City tell me that the Belizean Kriol is very similar to the one spoken in Jamaica. One theory is that it might have originated there and come to Belize via slaves that stayed briefly in Jamaica. There are many other ethnic groups and all have their own first languages such as Kek'ch, Yucatec and Mopan Mayan languages, Garifuna, Plautdietsch and Hindi.

This advertisement painted on a wall uses three languages to get the point across.

The Mayans tend to be clustered along the borders of Guatemala and in the northern regions near Mexico. Many of them came to Belize in the 1840's as a result of the Caste Wars in the Yucatan; others came from Guatemala-- as well as Honduras and El Salvador-- in the 80's due to continuing conflicts there. The Garinagu (speakers of Garifuna) are descendants of Arawak Indians and African slaves who were exiled from Roatan Island in Honduras and settled along the coasts of Belize, Guatemala and Honduras. Plautdietsch is spoken by the Mennonites (though more recent immigrants hail from Russia and speak a more traditional German) who were welcomed by the Belizean government when they left Canada and the US to avoid religious conflicts. Mennonites live primarily in closed farming communities and similar to the more well-known Amish, generally don't use modern conveniences.

Those that speak Hindi are often descendants of Indians that were brought here as indentured servants. Some were taken from prisons or abducted while others were tricked into thinking they paying for passage to another country where they could start a new and better life-- unfortunately, most were treated no better than slaves. In more recent times, Chinese and Korean merchants have shown up in even in the most isolated areas to open stores. Currently, the largest growing population is probably the American and Canadian ex-pats attracted to lower prices and warm, sunny weather.

Another unique character of Belize is that it is the only country to be a full member of the Caribbean Community, Community of Latin America and Caribbean States and the Central American Integration System.

The Swing Bridge- Locals in Belize City pitch in to crank the only functioning, manually-operated swing bridge in the world. You used to be able to tell the time by the 'swings' which were done each morning and evening like clockwork to let the fishing and sail boats go through.When the swinging was in progress, time and people stood still until they could cross again. Now, it opens by request only, so one needs to hurry "befo de bridge ketch me".

Belize has many quirky characters and characteristics. Coming up soon is Baron Bliss Day usually celebrated on March 9th. Baron Bliss was a wealthy British man with a Portuguese title who willed the country almost two million dollars when he died. The last months of his life were spent on his luxury fishing yacht anchored in Belize City's bay though he never actually set foot on land. It's a national public holiday and celebrated with regattas up and down the coast.

The country's motto is "You'd Better Belize It". In the south, you can take the Hokey-Pokey ferry or in the north, the Thunderbolt ferry. I once ate a place called Rasta Pasta (with the best fresh ginger ale ever!). Caye Caulker is known for it's "Go Slow" signs-- funnier if you know there are no cars on the island and the three 'streets' are of sand so you don't even need shoes. Placencia is on record for having the most narrow main street in the world-- no vehicles on that street either; not even bicycles are allowed on this street which is actually a long, skinny boardwalk over the sand.

The view when you get off the ferry in Caye Caulker has changed, but the streets remain the same- sandy and clear of vehicles.

One of the reasons I have come to Belize so often, is that it is such a convenient location for adventure. You can land in Belize City and after about a two-hour bus ride be in Guatemala or Mexico. Two very close and interesting sites in Guatemala are the Mayan ruins of Tikal surrounded by jungle and Livingstone, a town with a large Garinagu population which can be reached only by water (sea or river). From Livingston in the Bay of Honduras, you can take a boat on the Rio Dulce to Lago Izabal (River Dulce to Izabal Lake). Or back in Dangriga, Belize-- catch a boat and be in Honduras two hours later.

This tiny boat gets loaded with people and cargo wanting to go from Punta Gorda, Belize to Livingston, Guatemala.

If you stay in Belize, you can snorkel among sharks and manta rays, go caving (including the famous ATM living museum), inner tube through underground rivers, do a home-stay with a Mennonite family, hike the jungle trails or visit one of the most unusual zoos I have ever seen (it has its own unique story).

The big dark nurse sharks look scary when there are a few dozen swimming in figure-8's around you, but they are vegetarians. Similarly, the big manta rays are so used to snorkelers, they will actually softly brush against you as they swim past. An amazing experience!

Belize also has as a colorful history full of pirates and buccaneers (AKA Baymen). Glover's Atoll (or reef) is named after John Glover a pirate. My father's name is John Glover and it gave him quite a laugh when I told him of our possible notorious ancestor. Another unusual coincidence is that the area where I am staying was completely destroyed by Hurricane Janet (my given name is Janet) in 1955 (my year of birth). Hmmmm...Is Belize my destiny?

Probably not, but it is my back up plan for now.

Posted by jaytravels 13:14 Archived in Belize Tagged belize rtw Comments (0)

Always Have a Plan B!

In Limbo at the End of an RTW

sunny 83 °F
View Start on jaytravels's travel map.


I become aware of someone singing in a low melodious voice. It must be Ismael. It is still dark, but as with most fishermen in the village, he is getting an early start. He is a regular reader of the Bible so I vaguely wonder if he is singing a hymn to complete the ritual of Bible reading and prayer before he faces the open sea . It's a nice way to wake up, but I am not ready to surrender my sleep.

The next time I wake, it is to a cacophony of song birds. Who knew there were so many here! There are short chirps, staccato squeaks, warbling whistles, shrill squawks and and short bursts of sweet song here and there. I don't know how long it continues because I slip off to sleep again. The next time I wake, I let myself wallow in guilt a few minutes. This is my first morning in my new home. Because I have slept in, I will just have yogurt for breakfast. Besides, I haven't washed last night's dishes yet. But I don't want to get caught up in housecleaning and distractions-- I need to start my projects. That's why I am here.

I have just finished almost two years of travelling...or am I finished? Since I gave up my apartment, sold my car and scattered my things among friends and strangers before my round the world (RTW) trip began, I don't have a home anymore. So when does the traveling actually end? I returned to the United States in time to celebrate my mother's 93rd birthday (Happy Birthday, Mom!), but I was not prepared for a return. I stayed with her for ten days which included Christmas and a visit with various relatives including a new six-month old grandniece and a grandnephew I had last seen when he was of a similar age and not the walking-talking version he is now.

After a challenging visit with my mother in a small Oregon town, I stayed with my brother in Portland, Oregon at the same address that is on my unused driver's license and any stray mail that still gets delivered for me. I had lived in Seattle, Washington for over 20 years, but when I quit my job and started my RTW, I was once again an Oregon resident and registered voter according to all records. My Portland stay was also a challenge. It was record breaking cold and as is typical of the Pacific Northwest-- gray. Dark gray. The primary reason I didn't plan to return to live in the Pacific Northwest. It was a cruel setting after almost a year straight of warm places with bright sun. I could not sleep and yet I had difficulty getting out of bed. I had a lot of business to take care of after 21 months on the road; unfortunately, all of them were things I hated to do and had always dragged my feet on. The most critical was to get some health insurance. I struggled to get things done; everyday was gray...

I had planned to visit my friends in Seattle, but somehow my heart was not in it (Sorry everyone...believe me, I would have been bad company...how about in April?). I was not ready. I had a conflicted heart, a bit of re-entry shock and most of all--no plan. I wasn't ready for a flurry of lunches and visits accompanied by questions; I still had too many questions of my own. Finally in desperation, I implemented Plan B, the only plan I had been able to come up with. I'd be digging into the money that had been set aside for my relocation and living expenses while I job searched. But without any idea of where to relocate or what kind of job to seek, I needed something immediate that might prompt formation of a Plan A. So I booked a one-way flight to the sun and warmth I was craving.

Fast forward about a week...I am temporarily living in Belize. I have visited Belize several times and know most of the country and those sharing its borders (Guatemala, Mexico) as well as those nearby (just two hours by boat to Honduras). So I knew that if I didn't find what I wanted here, I had other choices within an easy distance. But foremost in my mind, I thought Caye Caulker (an island near Belize City) would be a good choice and had assumed I would end up there. Yet I am not in the fun, quirky location I had originally envisioned after all.


I never made it to Caye Caulker. Somehow, I am living in a small isolated fishing village. I paid a month's rent (a whopping $125US) and then headed to the nearest town with services to buy a 'kitchen'. I spent almost as much as my rent on a two-burner stove-top, a pot, a pan and basic kitchen supplies as well as some food items that will not be available in my village. So now, I have a one room home with an attached bathroom (toilet, shower and miniature sink), a large refrigerator, a bed, a table, two chairs, a 3-drawer night stand and some shelves that have become my makeshift kitchen. There's a ceiling fan, but with two generous windows and a screened door to let in the light and the sea breeze, I suspect it won't be needed very often.

I'm just two blocks from the sea; it changes color throughout the day, but is mostly a brilliant turquoise. My casita (little house) is on the edge of the village, so except for the random rooster crowing and village dogs barking (which can sometimes go on a while), it's pretty quiet. My place is attached to the house of the family I am renting from which gives me security and instant company if I want it. Thus my wakening to Ismael's singing. His wife is a sweetheart who has gone out of her way to make my stay comfortable.

I am here to write on three projects: fill in the gaps of my RTW blog; write a resume; and perhaps finish the book I started years ago about my travels in Mexico before I resided there. I am hoping my three projects will help me process my RTW and open up some plans for what to do next (that dang epiphany never did occur). My birthday is coming up in a few weeks (my third one on the road) and it's a BIG one, so I am giving myself a month or two to indulge in writing, enjoy the warm, bright days and live the slow life. After that...well, Plan A is still in the works. Until then, it's still Plan B.

In addition to my three projects, I hope to share some village life with you, too. In fact, I'm eager to tell you about Belize, my village, my casita and the slooowww life. Coming soon!...An introduction to Belize.


Posted by jaytravels 08:52 Archived in Belize Tagged belize rtw Comments (1)

Changing Africa- One Village at a Time

Make Sure That What You Do Contributes to REAL Change

semi-overcast 83 °F


I had hoped to do a series of articles focusing on the need for development and assistance in Africa. But I have discovered that the topic is immense, deep and complex. I still don't know enough to help me choose my path, but when my arm was broken, I experienced first-hand (or first-arm, ha ha!) that the medical services are seriously limited and I saw over and over the curtain of privilege that shields tourists from the realities of sanitation and water.

In Tanzania, the intelligent locals I met lamented the poor school system and yearned for better education opportunities. The educational programs are not free and the majority of Tanzanians are lucky to finish basic studies. High school is usually out of reach due to costs and entrance requirements. The quality of education in the schools whether in a village or in a city is generally very poor. Teachers who teach in English often do not have command of the language. Children usually start school without a command of Swahili as tribal affiliations and languages are still strong. In the end, many finish school being trilingual in English, Swahili and their tribal language, but unfortunately, their education has often suffered as a result. And perhaps more unfortunately, even those who succeed in obtaining a high school diploma or university degree will not find jobs that use their education...if they even get any job at all. Unemployment in all of Africa is zooming. Each country is unique in its circumstances, but Tanzania-- a safe, stable country in East Africa-- has been severely impacted by the terrorism in nearby Kenya and the Ebola in West Africa. Most people have so little knowledge of Africa, they do not realize that it is not a country-- it is a large continent with many countries and the differences and distances are great.

There are many groups and organizations trying to help break the cycle of poverty in Africa. Of the twenty poorest countries in the world, only two (Afghanistan and Haiti) are not in Africa. Most organizations have put a lot of thought into what they should focus on to address poverty in a way that would be most productive. Many NGO's concentrate on bringing in volunteers, but this system often does more harm as eager volunteers may be taking jobs away from locals and they may be straining local resources (food, water, etc.). A volunteer English teacher that will work for free (or more likely pay for the privilege of being a volunteer) may displace a local teacher. As one NGO that builds schools says on their website-- there are plenty of unskilled workers here to do this job; we need money not labor.

Clean water and sanitation is a big focus, as is education. But sometimes, there are more specific needs in an area...perhaps energy for production (solar panels are increasingly popular) or improved farming and agricultural methods, Other groups focus on the poorest (women with children) and provide micro-loans to develop cottage industries or other ways to assist in creating ways to earn an income. Some organizations already have a focus like WaterAid (water and sanitation) and just concentrate on that. Others try to focus on two to four of what they see as the most critical issues or evaluate individual locations for what they need most (or better yet, ask the locals to help identify what they see as their most critical areas of need). Other groups may be well-meaning, but due to lack of experience and expertise and an excess of desire to help or do something, they flounder around trying to do everything and accomplishing very little.

Many NGO's are created by individuals who came as tourists and were deeply affected by what they had seen. Some NGO's are created by locals in partnership with a foreigner that originally came as a tourist/traveler/employee to the country, but stayed due to a developing relationship often ending in marriage. These are usually money-making programs that support the couple and their family, but most have some component that promotes cross-cultural education and gives back to the community in someway by providing volunteers in schools/orphanages, building schools, digging wells, home-stay income for locals, etc. The best example of an NGO that I saw in Arusha was KATZ (www.katzvolunteeradventure.com). This is a partnership between a Tanzanian and an Australian who live in Arusha. The organization does not charge inflated prices for volunteer placement and is very transparent on their website as to where the money goes. They were located near my first garden apartment and had a steady stream of happy volunteers who also had access to the safari component of the partnership. Another type of NGO is developed by those who have left their country, but still have family and/or community there that they want to help.

I'll be leaving Africa soon and I have been pulled into many discussions about developing an NGO. It is an idea that is still floating around. I had an epiphany when I was in Nairobi being treated for my broken arm that perhaps my fate was to return to Arusha and develop heath services or a network that would share costly medical equipment. But my broken arm is almost healed, my Tanzanian visa is about to run out and I have an RTW that I would like to finish if possible before I take on a project.

But let me just encourage those that want to help to think very carefully in choosing a program. NGO's abound. Sometimes the NGO component is attached to a money making project that is the primary purpose. No problem with this as long as the money for the NGO is kept separate and used appropriately and efficiently for that purpose. In Arusha, many companies combine a money-making safari program with a non-profit volunteer program that supports education or health projects. But other volunteer and cultural experience programs are thinly veiled money-makers for the creators some of which don't even live in the country (so the money follows them rather than staying in Africa). Make sure the money and efforts are going where they are supposed to go. A good company is transparent and shows their annual budgets and where the money goes. Do your research before committing your money or your time. Try to choose a local run program that provides jobs to locals so all the money stays in the country.

One program I have been following is Mission Africa [full disclosure, I am friends with the Executive Director and founder]. Mission Africa is primarily focused on Nigeria, but more recently has partnered with other NGO's in Kenya, Tanzania, Uganda and Gambia. I personally don't usually support non-profits that involve religion, but after living in Tanzania for almost six months-- I have a different view when it comes to the work in Africa. Christianity is an integral part of people's lives in Tanzania in a way that is seldom seen in the United States. For more about this organization, you can view the website at www.missionafrica.us. The Executive Director, Ndudi Chuku recently did a TV interview with Rainmakers; watching it will give you more insight than reading something written by me. There's a link on the website's homepage for this YouTube clip titled "Nigerian Woman Helps Her Country".

Africa is poor in a way that most readers cannot imagine. Please read my blog "I Move to a New Garden Apartment" for a small glimpse and watch the interview with Ndudi-- maybe you will be motivated to help make a change too. In the meantime, I hope to figure out a way to help that is right for me.


Side Note/Update: Recently, while volunteering at the Elephant Nature Park near Chiang Mai, Thailand, I took a tour of a nearby school. It was primarily a boarding school for children in distant mountain villages, but most of the children of the local mahouts (elephant attendants) who are Burmese attend there, too. It was such a contrast to the last school I had seen which was in Tanzania. This school was full of color from the floor (with shining clean green tiles) to the walls (covered with artwork and pictures) to the ceilings (electric lights and mobiles). There were covered walkways and a nice large patio/play area. In addition to the standard curriculum and English, all students were taught a job skill. Vocational choices included simple tourist related industries like piloting a boat, making drinks and cookies, making beaded jewelry, learning traditional dance and music, and massage. On visiting day at each 'business', guests could buy refreshments at the coffee shop, get a massage, buy a bracelet, etc. This money contributed to scholarships and resources for the school. The stark difference of this school with so many resources for poor children from the mountain villages caused me to suddenly burst into tears. My friend Valerie was shocked and tried to calm and comfort me. The students nearby became concerned...but I couldn't stop. It was just such a cruel contrast. Even as I write this weeks later, the tears in my eyes return.


Posted by jaytravels 00:48 Archived in Tanzania Tagged tanzania arusha Comments (0)

BED BUGS! Coming soon to a hotel near you!

Warning: Reading this may cause extreme itchiness.

semi-overcast 84 °F


I was so excited to be in Kathmandu! I had dreamed for a long time about coming to Nepal. Just the name Kathmandu sounded so exotic and brought up visions of adventure. So why after just ten hours was I wishing I'd never come?

Good night, sleep tight.
Don't let the bed bugs bite!

-- Nursery Rhyme

Bed bugs? What the *#^%! are bed bugs? If you don't know, count yourself as lucky. I thought they were just a mythical creation in a nursery rhyme, but they are real. Bed bugs were very common (for example, in military barracks during World War II), but were essentially eradicated from the U.S. and the developed world by the 1950's. Now these human parasites are making a comeback with a vengeance. Why? Because world travelers let them hitch rides and unfortunately, they (bed bugs not world travelers) have a constitution that makes a cockroach look like a wimp (though cockroaches are one of their predators).

I didn't even know these critters existed until about six years ago. I was in Belize City staying at a hotel I had used several times over the years. In fact, I had just stayed there just the week before in the very same room. I had laid on the bed after my shower and accidentally fallen asleep. When I woke up, it was dark. I turned on the lights to prepare for bed and got a glimpse of some movement. Euuwww! What was that? I flipped off the lights and then on again...the same creepy, stealthy moves. There seemed to be tiny bugs in the pillow.

It was about 2 am, so what should I do? I knew there would only be a security guard downstairs. I tossed the pillow onto the floor, wrapped myself in a sarong and slept on top of the sheet with no cover (it was hot, so none was necessary). I turned on the light once or twice more and didn't see any more bugs so I figured I was okay. I was leaving in the morning anyway to catch a plane home. I'd just let the owner know when I left in the morning.

When I took a shower the next morning, I discovered some bumps on my neck. A check in the mirror confirmed they were bites. Dang... mosquitoes or those mystery bugs? By the end of my shower, I had discovered more bites on my upper arms and around my ankles. They seemed to be multiplying! By the time I was checking out, I was using all my will power not to scratch. I was in misery.

The hotel owner admitted they had had a problem with bed bugs recently, but she had the place professionally treated and sprayed at great cost. The exterminator had even sprayed the bushes around the entrance. She apologized and said she'd make it up to me the next time I stayed there. When my airport transport arrived, I was in even more misery. By the time, I was at the airport, my arms were covered with large, red welts where I'd been bitten. Someone next to me in the waiting room asked if those were from the South American super-mosquito she'd heard were becoming a problem (kind of like the killer bees). Oh my god! I didn't realize how many big welts had popped out on my arms! My whole arm was covered with them.

Once on the plane, I was grateful for the cool air so that I could cover up with a long sleeved sweater. I was sure everyone was looking askance at me with so many huge welts on my arms and neck. And I kept discovering new bites... Good god! Was I carrying these bugs on me? I imagined them crawling all over me. Ugh, ugh, ugh!

When I changed planes in Houston, I couldn't refasten my sandals. My ankles and feet were horribly swollen. But not from sitting on the plane. My feet were covered with angry red bites and huge blood blisters. Walking was painful as the straps on my sports sandals rubbed on the bloody bumps. To hide the hideous sight and hopefully get some relief I put on socks and shoes. Walking was a little less painful, but things were getting worse.

Getting on my connecting plane, I was relieved when they turned out the cabin lights to let us sleep. There was no way I could sleep, but I didn't want the people around me to see my transformation-- especially if I might end up passing these bugs to them! My right ear was hot. I reached up to feel it and found it was swollen and sticking straight out from my head like Dumbo the Elephant's! There was a row of bites along the rim. More bites had popped out on my neck. Thankfully, none were on my face. With the exception of my head, the bites were essentially the areas not covered by my sarong: ankles, feet, hands, arms, shoulders and neck.

It was the longest flight in the world. I had covered up almost everything, but I was sure my "Dumbo" ear was going to attract unwanted attention. Thank heavens again for the dark of the night. I went straight to my reserved shuttle and made a plan as we headed into the city. I wouldn't even go into my apartment. When I got there, I would throw my bag into my car's truck and head straight for the emergency room. I'd never been to an emergency room before, but considering the size and quantity of the welts, the bloody blisters on my feet, my Dumbo ear and my absolute inflamed, itchy condition-- it seemed the only thing to do.

At the emergency room, it was a long wait, but when I stripped down to be wrapped in warm blankets and pumped full of antihistamine-- I finally felt some relief and hope. They did not diagnose me as having bed bug bites-- to do that they had to actually see one. Strangely, there was not a single bug on me, so why was I still getting bites? This is what I found out...

Bed bugs have a special "beak" that lets them inject their victims with their saliva which contains an anticoagulant and anesthesia-- that's why I never felt being bitten. Then they feed on you for 5-10 minutes. Some people never have any problem with the bites...they just experience an annoyance of a few small red marks like a mosquito might leave behind. Apparently, I was having an allergic reaction to the bed bug's anesthesia-- possibly due to the large numbers of bites I had experienced. Sometimes the bites don't become visible until hours later which is why I seemed to be getting new bites, but was actually just having a delayed response to the bites from the night before.

I was released from the emergency room after 13 hours of treatment. The itching was gone and I almost forgot about the bites (except the ones that had become blood blisters on my feet) since they were covered by my clothes. It was winter, so I wore pants and a turtleneck to work. A few days later, I decided I should have taken some photos. Most bites had pretty much disappeared, but my feet still looked ugly. Here are two views of my (still swollen) foot and ankle:


Notice how the bites tend to be in a row. Bed bugs treat you like a buffet line, taking a bite, then going down the line for another and then another. One tell-tale sign that the bites are from a bed bug and not bites of a mosquito or spider is the line up of several bites usually in groups of three. I've heard it referred to as "Breakfast-Lunch-and Dinner". I won't go into a lot more detail. You can get a good overview by looking up "bed bug" in Wikipedia. But let me just say, they can go without food for 100-300 days, get water from the air and can tolerate extreme temperatures (hot and cold)-- all that combined with their resistance to pesticides makes it incredibly hard to get rid of them.

I was psychologically traumatized after The Attack of the Belizean Bed Bugs. A few years later, I sat in my car in horror as I listened to an NPR Radio story on bed bugs in New York (Warning! That nice couch on the sidewalk may be there for a reason! Leave it there!). I was so itchy and crawly and plain freaked out that I forgot about getting groceries and went straight home. I became an bed bug expert by reading everything I could find-- especially on how to avoid them.

So how did I forget the basic rules about how to avoid bed bugs when travelling and get into this predicament? Well, after six years of vacations-- and more recently a solid 18 months of travel-- that were bug-free, I just forgot to remain vigilant. Like eating street food-- no need to be obsessive, just take some practical precautions. Here are some to consider; you can find others with a web search.
1. Upon arrival to your room, stash your bag in the bathroom while you check the bed for infestation: pull out the sheets and check around the mattress seams and headboard. You are looking for small blood stains (from squished bugs or bleeding bites) or small black dots (if it's bed bug poop a rub with a wet finger tip will cause it to smear and turn red). The largest bug will be the size of a watermelon seed (most of the ones I have seen are much smaller), but the babies are minuscule and translucent unless they have fed recently. Look at some pictures on line so that you know what they look like in the different stages.
2. Continue your search around the room (within a 15 foot range of the bed) especially soft chairs, couches, wooden wardrobes...even tucked under peeling paint. If you see white powder, the hotel may already be using an insecticide due to an existing or recent problem.
3. Keep your bag off the bed and floor during your stay. Use the luggage rack, a table or if necessary a desk or dresser top.
4. Consider wrapping your bag in plastic (bed bugs also hide on airplanes, trains, taxis, etc.). Even a plastic garbage bag might help.
5. Ask for a different room (several floors away) or go to a different hotel if you see warning signs! If you are sure there are bed bugs, please inform the manager. There is no need to be rude or accusatory...be discrete and just politely inform them of what you have found so that they can address the issue. Bed bugs can arrive unnoticed at any hotel from a cheap dive to a five-star. Bed bugs have nothing to do with a room being dirty or -- alternately-- an attractive designer room doesn't offer protection from them.

In my case, my hotel in Kathmandu was a popular, well-rated accommodation in the budget range. It was 1 am when I discovered the problem, but I didn't hesitate. I immediately went to the desk clerk, explained the problem and asked him to give me a new room. He didn't show any surprise and gave no resistance. I was moved to a new room immediately. I made an inspection and then I used my silk sleep sack and wore a Moroccan caftan that covered me from head to toe. It took awhile to get to sleep due to itching and psychological trauma, but it was a bug-free night.

The next day at breakfast, as I silently made note of where I was itching and then felt for the confirming welts to evaluate whether I needed to use my emergency epi-pen to avoid another bad allergic reaction, I was also debating on whether I should stay or find a new hotel. A new hotel would require some assistance since I could not carry my own bag (a broken arm if you are new to my blog). The hotel manager/owner stopped by my table to inquire about me and I honestly explained what I was considering. In the end, I accepted an upgrade to a room on the top floor. If it hadn't been an upgrade, I would have changed hotels. I needed comforting and the new room was much more visually appealing and had a nicer bathroom.

That night, at 11pm, I discovered a bed bug on the pillow. I immediately went to the desk clerk and asked if the owner/manager was still there. He was. We had a frank discussion of the situation and I was escorted to another hotel nearby. I let him know that I was also concerned that I might now be carrying bed bugs with me via my luggage. However, the new hotel was one that he also owned in partnership. It was not one I would normally have chosen (large, sterile and modern) and while still within my established budget and a reasonable price- it was at the high end for Kathmandu. But at this point, I deserved to be pampered (and I was given a large discount off the online price). I was given the last room available which was a double, so the next day I had to move again, but it was to yet another upgrade and I really liked the new room a lot! So five rooms in three nights...but like Goldilocks, the last one was just right! I could finally relax and enjoy my stay in Kathmandu.


Footnote: A few days later, I saw the manager/owner of the first hotel and he told me that another guest had reported a problem too. They were treating the whole floor this time instead of just one room at a time.

Posted by jaytravels 23:03 Archived in Nepal Tagged nepal rtw kathmandu bed_bugs Comments (0)

Back on the (RTW) Road Again!

But first, I climb the footies of Mt. Meru...

sunny 82 °F

This is an e-postcard sent to family and friends on July 15th from Arusha, Tanzania

Well, in just a few days I'll be leaving Kilimanjaro and heading for the Himalayas. I have a ticket from Kilimanjaro airport to Kathmandu, Nepal. So is my broken arm healed?...Can I hoist my own bag?

Nope...but my (second) visa expires on July 18th and it's time to move on. So last week, I made a list of things I hadn't done yet and have crazily been working my way through them. Unfortunately, a few of the big items will remain undone, but I've been chipping away so that I won't have too many regrets.

On Sunday, I finally hiked the Mt. Meru footies. Mt. Meru looms large over Arusha though it is often shrouded in clouds. There is a view of it from pretty much anywhere in town if it weren't for the clouds, but the power lines make it impossible to get a decent shot of it. Luckily, I got some good pictures when I went to Ngaramtoni village market last month to see the the Sunday market (food, clothes and anything anybody would want!) and the nearby Maasai cattle/goat market.


​The hike in the foothills took us through about five small Maasai villages. Elia, as usual seemed to know everyone we passed. My new next door neighbor Serena from New York who is working here for two months came along with us. When we reached the last village-- Oldonyosapuk-- at the top of the footies, we were looking at the school when we heard church music. So we decided to take a break and join the congregation. I wrapped a kanga around my hiking clothes to look presentable.

Though a small church, they had two lively choirs and a small band (2 electric guitars and an electric keyboard). The service was in a mix of Kiswahili and Kimaasai with an occasional English word or phrase. They were especially happy to see us since it was a fundraising day to help pay for the generator. There is no electricity in the villages. As visitors, Elia was asked to introduce us which he did in Maasai and we got a round of applause. We were applauded again, when we set the pace for the fundraising with a 5,000 TZ schilling donation. If school had been in session, I would have made a donation to them. Here's one of the classrooms I saw...


After church, we continued our hike to Olmoti Falls. It was a nice walk through forests and then we plunged down a steep narrow trail that was a bit tricky until we got to a river that we had to follow and criss-cross multiple times. I traded my hikers for sports sandals and waded in and out as needed. After three months of having only one arm, my balance is still off. Elia and Serena didn't want to get their hikers or running shoes wet either, but they were able to jump from stone to stone and teeter on the narrow banks when necessary. There were a few small falls and then we reached Olmoti.


We left when a group of teens from Canada arrived en masse..To return, we had to climb the same steep, narrow trail back up. My mind was willing, but my body was rebelling. I have been doing a fair amount of walking (generally 3 - 8 miles a day), but it hasn't been aerobic and it's all been on flat surfaces in town. After a month of limited exercise followed by just walking-- I still have a ways to go to be ready for Nepal which has 8 of the 10 highest mountains in the world and is THE destination for trekking.

Half way down, we met another friend of Elia's and he showed us a different route down which was steeper, but shorter and went through the same rich farmland. We passed by the huge vegetable gardens he and his sons tended. Besides banana trees, there were squash, peas, cauliflower, beans, onions, corn...and pretty much everything you'd find in the market in the city below.


It was a nice day among quiet villages, bright butterflies, misty falls, green forests, patchwork vegetable gardens, impromptu soccer games, and friendly people. Seems idyllic, but don't romanticize village life.

There is no electricity: no lights, no TV, no electrical appliances. Women gather and carry firewood long distances for cooking outside. There's no running water in the house. A few have a pipe and faucet in their yard, but most carry water long distances bucket by bucket up and down steep trails. Sanitation is very basic. Some have a drop hole shielded with a sheet of plastic...most just use the ground near their house.


​Some houses are made of cement blocks-- others are mud bricks or mud daub. Most have tin roofs, but a few still use thatch. But these are actually prosperous villages due to the abundant water and rich earth.

I enjoyed my day, but I'm glad to go back to my garden apartment where we cook a dinner of shrimp marsala and garlic mashed potatoes. We have Elia's leftover birthday cake for dessert. As usual, Africa has reminded that I am indeed a very lucky woman.


​What?!?! There's no sign for Kathmandu...? Well, the next time you hear from me, that's where I will be.
Hope all is well with everyone!

Your wandering daughter/sister/friend in deepest, darkest Africa...soon to be High in the Himalayas

Posted by jaytravels 23:35 Archived in Tanzania Tagged tanzania rtw arusha mt._meru Comments (0)

Tanzanian Road Test

Am I ready to hit the road again? I take a test drive to find out.

sunny 80 °F
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I have been in Arusha for over two months while waiting for my fractured right arm to heal sufficiently to continue my RTW. I had reduced my plans, but still hoped to see Nepal, SE Asia, Indonesia and volunteer at a research center in Australia. The healing progess has been slow, but steady and visible. I had some sessions with a physiotherapist and have a set of exercises to do several times a day to increase my flexibility and regain my strength. I can't continue my trip until I can hoist my heavy backpack. However, time is running out. My second visa (good for three months) has less than four weeks left and I could only lift a mug of chai-- if I was careful.

So I pack a small day bag with a change of clothes, a toothbrush and my android phone. Sticking my ATM card in my pocket, I head out for a test run. Babati is only about a three hour (plan on 4 or 5!) bus ride away. The idea is to investigate creating a volunteer component for an NGO (non-government organization). Arusha is swarming with international volunteers, but Babati is one of the poorest regions of Tanzania and growing fast which means they can't keep up with their growing needs and it's a region that doesn't attract many tourists even though it isn't far from Tarangire and the safari tourist trail. I had found a non-profit NGO that was already established there and working on agriculture, health and education as an approach to tackle the cycle of poverty, but it had only a small volunteer component. It is based in England, so I sent them an email hoping to get a local contact in Babati and made a plan to visit the local schools to measure interest and need for a volunteer-based support program that would focus on education.

The NGO I contacted never responded (it's been weeks) and by the time I can hit the road, the schools have closed for the 'summer'. Elia has just finished his training program in Arusha and the high season is off to a slow start most likely due to the terrorist activities (bombings) in Kenya. Tanzania and Kenya share a border and also share the tourists. The international airport in Nairobi, Kenya is bigger and better served than Dar es Salaam, Tanzania so most tourists coming to Tanzania start in Kenya. Arusha (Serengeti, Ngorongoro and Tarangire National Parks) and Moshi (Mt. Kilamanjaro) are only a few hours from the Kenyan border; a shuttle from Arusha to Nairobi takes about four hours. Tourists planning to visit Kenya often decide to split their time between the two countries and see the best of both-- but this season they appear to have been scared off by the activities in Kenya. So with few tourists and even less business...he's free to travel. So we head to Babati with a plan to stay just a few days.

BABATI (two nights in two hotels)
There isn't much to do in Babati. We do take a huge traditionally-made (and leaky) canoe out on Lake Babati to see the herds of hippos and the bird life. I take pictures of the fishermen (they don't seem to mind even though they are fishing illegally-- there is a six month no-fishing period in place). We watch the student sports fair with locals pitted against busloads of students from Arusha and other nearby towns. We walk until we have seen pretty much the whole town. Not ready to go back to Arusha, we decide to see what is happening in Singida. I lament that we can't buy the fresh sunflower oil and yummy (somewhat sticky) rice that is abundant in the area. I had hoped to buy some for cooking and some for gifts, but we can't carry it since we are not going directly back to Arusha.


SINGIDA (two nights in two hotels)
We hop a bus to go the 135 kilometers to Singida and then grab a Bajaji (3-wheeled auto-rickshaw common in India and SE Asia...often called tuk tuks) to take us to a hotel on Lake Singidani. We bump down a dirt road passing small houses with skinny chickens in the yards and colorful laundry on the lines. The area around the lake is quiet, just a few pastoralists bringing their cows to drink on the shore. Another guy has a small herd of donkeys. Elia takes some pictures of boys playing on the shore in the distance only to realize they don't all have swimsuits. The boys run for the water and hide in an old canoe-- then get brave and start showing off. We walk around and see some new houses that belie that Singida is even poorer than Babati. No one seems to even know there are supposed to be flamingos on the lake. We check out one of the other six lakes-- no flamingos there either...just a few fishermen with ropes around their waist to help pull in the nets. We have a second night at a hotel in town...eat dinner at an outdoor barbecue place where everyone is watching the world cup...walk a lot...and that's about the end of the entertainment. Elia loves politics and avidly watches the TZ Parliament on TV, so I suggest we continue on to Dodoma (the capitol of TZ) and see the Bunge where the Parliament takes place...


DODOMA (one night)
Except, they won't let us in at the Bunge and I can't even take a picture (though I find a view between the trees about two blocks away and snap a few of the Bunge's dome and flag...neener, neener, neener!). A police cavalcade drives by and Elia catches a glimpse of the Tanzanian President in the escorted car. Once again, not much to do, but walk around and explore. So it's off to Morogoro...


MOROGORO and TANGA (one night; two nights)
At Morogoro, I find a lady selling fried goodies and chapatis on the street-- I buy two of everything and have a hard time saving some for Elia. Elia heard about a popular place while he was at the internet cafe and we went there to try out the local specialty which was a wheat porridge with crispy bits and potato dumplings topped off by yogurt, tamarind sauce and who knows what else. It reminded me of the Belpuri and more elaborate chaats in India-- Yum! After Morogoro (and a repeat of activities we had done in the other towns), we head to Tanga which is on the coast of the Indian Ocean. We discover a great place to stay, but it is full. The friendly manager directs us to a few nearby places. We stay at one of them, but head back to his place for dinner. We have Kingfish with garlic butter and prawns in Marsala sauce. It's so good that we return for lunch the next day and have prawn fried rice and a big fresh salad. We hop on the bus for Arusha in the morning. At the first stop out of town, we buy three huge bags of local oranges to eat and to give as gifts to family and friends in Arusha. The seven hour plus bus ride will be the final test of my travel abilities.


Getting back on the road will be a bit of a challenge, but I think I'm ready...except that I still can't hoist my big pack onto my back! Yeah, there was also an occasional struggle to slide out of a seat using just one arm and getting on/off the bus was a bit sticky when the steps were so high off the ground as I couldn't pull myself up with just my left hand. I have about three weeks to get into shape. Back in Arusha, I pull my pack out of the closet where it has been for almost three months. It is about half full. I cautiously lift it up and swing it onto my back. The pull on my shoulder is a warning sign...it looks like I will need to amp up my exercise program if I'm going to catch that flight to Kathmandu on July 17th. Until then, I have exercises to do, a long list of things to accomplish, and a lot of goodbyes to say. With my visa expiring on July 18th...it's Kathmandu, here I come, ready or not.

Posted by jaytravels 12:03 Archived in Tanzania Tagged tanzania rtw tanga arusha dodoma singida babati morogoro Comments (0)

I Move to a New Garden Apartment

A Reflection on Living Conditions

semi-overcast 82 °F


A pictorial tour of my new Garden Apartment...

I had to change apartments and I did not like the one available where I had been living, so I looked at some new locations. For just $30 more per month than my first "garden apartment" (I say 'just', but $1 a day is the approximate average household income in Tanzania), I am closer to good transportation, shopping (food) and the Clock Tower (the central market and shops)...and I now have a living room, a nicer kitchen, a larger bedroom and lots of natural light in every room! It really feels like home for me, but to many it's a palace...keep reading and you'll know why.






It's not very 'African' except for a few pieces of local art...

I am paying the same daily rate as I would be if I were staying in an 'economy' hotel --or a lot less if you use the Lonely Planet definition of an economy price! But even at less than $25/day, my apartment is well above the living standards of the majority of Tanzanians. To start with, I have clean running water and a flush toilet in my home. In the city of Dar Es Salaam only 8% of have water connections in their house and only 10% have flush toilets. I'm lucky to be in Arusha which is one of only three towns in Tanzania that has a continuous water supply; water is only available about 9 hours a day in Dar Es Salaam, the largest city which is located on the Indian Ocean. Here are some other facts:

The total population for Tanzania is 45 million. Less than about 21.6 million Tanzanians (or nearly half the population) do not have access to clean water and over 40 million do not have access to adequate sanitation. Only 12% have access to toilets [statistics from Water Aid Global]. These statistics are not unusual when you know that nearly a billion people (or 1 in 8) in the world don't have access to clean and safe water and that 37% of them live in Sub-Saharan Africa [per the United Nations Water Project]. These statistics are only referring to "access". In other words, if there is a hygienic water pump at the other side of your village, you have access. If you have to walk over two hours a day to carry your water back home and you are female-- it may not be safe even if the water is clean, so it is not necessarily accessible. If you are able to use a neighbor's pit toilet, you have 'access'.

In Tanzania, "water-borne illnesses, such as malaria and cholera 'account for over half the the diseases affecting the population' because people don't have access to sanitary options." Ten Thousand (10,000) children die every year from diarrhea due to unsafe water and poor sanitation [WaterAid]. According to the United Nations, less than 10% of the schools have functioning hand-washing facilities and some schools have over 200 students per 'drop hole'. And, in spite of all the efforts by the government of Tanzania with support from the United Nations and dozens of NGO's-- the stats are getting worse as the improvements can't keep up with the increase in population.

That's just my advantage of water and sanitation; I also have a solid roof, a floor, a locking door, glass on my windows, and more than one room...and it is all mine. I don't share it with an average Tanzanian household comprised of seven or more people. My rent also includes a daily cleaning service and they provide clean sheets and towels, toilet paper and soap; there's also a cheap, convenient laundry service. Then there are the real luxuries: electric lights, a 4-burner stove/oven, a microwave, a toaster, an 'instant' hot water shower and a flat screen TV with satellite (BBC News! Al Jazeera News!). All these electrical gadgets are backed up by a generator as the electricity is prone to go out for awhile on a regular basis. In comparison, my best friend in Arusha has a house with a solid (tin) roof and a door with a padlock.

Nope. I am definitely not living like a local...

It's easy to forget how people really live when you are a tourist and even your "simple economy lodging" is far superior to the average local residence. Tanzanians are very friendly, You will make a lot of friends while traveling here. Many will be the hotel receptionist, your safari guide/driver or a waiter in a restaurant. Often it may just be someone on the street who starts up a friendly conversation. They will most likely be neatly dressed in Western clothes in the latest styles like you. Their English will be good and sprinkled with colloquial expressions; most will be tri-lingual (Kiswahili, English, and a tribal language such as Kichagga or Kimasai) and some will speak additional languages such as German, French or Spanish. They will appear educated and international. You will enjoy your brief friendship and feel comfortable with them-- bonding over some commonalities in conversation. But most likely, you will not visit their home or meet their family.

That hotel receptionist who chats in your language and directs you to a good restaurant may not have more than a 9th or 10th grade education-- that's if they are lucky. They have probably never eaten at the restaurant they have recommended to you. The Western clothes and shoes they are wearing were likely bought used in the market or even on the street; they are hand-washed and air-dried on a regular basis and if you stay long-- you will see the same outfit worn often. Sometimes, the clothes or shoes may be a gift from a tourist who no longer wanted them and left them behind, but which are now prized possessions.

The parents of this receptionist may not read or write in Kiswahili or any other language and they may be more verbally comfortable in their own tribal language. If the receptionist is not married, they will still be living with their extended family of five, six, seven or more people. Their home may be on the edge of town in one of the 'villages' where the streets are unpaved and not much more than a pathway which is quite muddy during the rainy season. They may or not have running water or a bathroom in their home. Chances are they share a bathroom (a squatter, pit toilet or even just a drop-hole) outside of their home with other families; or they may just use the ground near their house. Their shower will be a bucket of water; if they are lucky it has been heated on a one-burner gas unit on the floor inside the house, but more commonly an open fire in their outdoor "kitchen" area. Their dinner will be ugali (corn meal mush) with cabbage, rice pilau or stewed ndizi (starchy banana) most likely cooked over the same open fire that heated their bathwater.

But as you have friendly conversations with your new friends, you will not know any of this and most likely cannot even imagine such a life...after all, they dress like you, talk like you and know all the places where an international traveler likes to go for food and entertainment. They have a cell phone and send you text messages; you exchange Facebook addresses with them. While you may assume the Masai in traditional dress that you see around town live in a traditional round mud and thatch house, it is likely your 'modern' friend is living in similar circumstances...but you would never guess and most likely they won't tell you.

Tanzanians know tourists take certain things for granted and expect them, so on my low budget safari -- even my two-person tent had a hot water shower and flushing "throne" toilet. But any accommodation with a shower and a flush toilet puts you in the top percentage of luxury living in Tanzania. Something to think about the next time you are tempted to complain to the receptionist that your shower water wasn't hot that morning.

Posted by jaytravels 07:57 Archived in Tanzania Tagged tanzania arusha sanitation clean_water Comments (0)

The Adventure of Haircuts on the Road

A Surprising Source of an Adrenaline Rush!

semi-overcast 86 °F


Hanging out in front of a barbershop in the
Kariacoo market area of Dar Es Salaam in Tanzania

The following is an e-mail postcard sent April 2014 from Arusha.

Dear Family and Friends,

Here is my latest cheap haircut negotiated without a common language (well, he did know the word "sistah"). I asked for it to be taken off my neck-- with a trim around the ears and a little off the top...then closed my eyes!

Actually, I kept my eyes open...open in horror as I watched him take experimental swipes with an electric clipper. He must have changed the clipper size 8 times in the next 20 minutes. He also tried putting oil on the clippers since my hair just slipped off. He had obviously never cut a muzungu's hair before. I was there about an hour and all the clients (male) came in to have their heads shaved or clipped to less than a tiny fraction of a quarter inch. No women came in, but a large number of women in Africa also keep their hair equally short.

At some point, he seemed done, but I showed him that one side was about 1/2 inch and the opposite side was about 2 1/2 inches. Eeeek! He looked like he was just going to even it out when suddenly he must have been inspired. That's when he buzzed off almost everything except for the top which he hadn't touched yet. After asking if he should cut the top (using gestures), he used the clippers like a comb on the top. Then he combed it forward...I looked like Napoleon! Aurgh...I jokingly gestured to the two other guys there that if I didn't like the cut I'd get my hair completely clipped next to the scalp like them.

Then the barber/hairstylist/butcher dug around in a drawer full of plastic ends for the clippers and came up with some scissors. Unfortunately, they were as dull as the ones in grade school...they made no impression on my fine hair, so he made stabbing, hacking attacks at my head in an attempt to actually get them to cut anything. OMG!!!! I tried to stay calm, but my face was stretching like silly putty in order to not say anything. My eyes were still wide in horror and in awe that he was still finding anything to cut and that I was still at his mercy sitting in that chair! I had to trust that he had a plan by now...

But he didn't. He just whipped out a brush with powder and whisked it around my eyes, ears and neck. I looked like a freshly plucked chicken! As I stood up, he started beating me with a towel to remove the fine tenacious short hairs all over the back of my sweater. Trying not to look in the mirror, I thought I could finally escape.

BUT NO. There was more! I was to get a shampoo! I was directed through a door to a small room where three people laughing and raucously enjoying themselves went completely quiet when the muzungu came in looking a bit crazed. I turned down an upgrade to a facial scrub, but as the shampooer rubbed shampoo around my head she continued onto my face until my whole head was covered in suds. Please let this be over soon!!!!

The shampooer was further disappointed that after moving me to a stylist's chair, I turned down each of her inspired offerings-- bright pink gel, olive oil and mystery spray in a can. Shrugging and throwing her hands up (this girl doesn't want anything!), I was sent back outside to pay.

What a deal...an hour of horror for only $3 US (5,000 TZ schillings). I slunk out the door and kept my head down as I headed to my hotel. No one was calling out greetings as usual (they all know me by now), so I imagined they were just as appalled. I thought I would hide in my room while I figured out just how bad it was. I hadn't been given a mirror to see the back-- just had to feel what had been done. I could barely pinch it between my fingers it is so short over most my head.

Costa said I looked like a policeman. Elia said it's 'not bad'. Dyness said it was 'nice' (she just got hers done in gorgeous braids). Joyce and Grace who both wear their hair shaved closed to the scalp weren't there to comment, but I'm sure I'll get an honest response from them at breakfast albeit in Kiswahili that I can't understand followed by hilarious laughter.

It's been a few hours now and I can live with it and will probably really like it in a few days. At least I won't need another cut for awhile (until Nepal?).

So here it is for your viewing pleasure. And you all thought the Palestinian haircut was extreme...

Arusha, Tanzania


My older brother Michael responds:
Dear Mzungu,
By now, after your barbering experience, you have wisely learned to say "just a little short," "just a smidgen more," "stop!," "cease and desist," "I'm placing you under citizen's arrest," "let me see your certificate from Arusha State Barber College," (wait, learn that phrase first!) in Kiswahili. You may need to go to the U. S. Embassy in Dar-Es-Salaam and get a new passport photo so you can exit Tanzania.


The scene of the crime in Arusha...I had to go to a men's barbershop to get a 'cut'.
Women's "Beauty Saloons" are for weaving and braiding; they don't cut hair.

Unfortunately, I didn't take my brother's advice and recently got a second haircut in Arusha. I did look up a few Kiswahili phrases and even practiced them with my Kiswahili teacher. I jokingly practiced saying "Nyoa zote!" (Shave it all off!), but I was confident that the person cutting/trimming my hair could just copy the cut I had which --once it grown out a bit-- I really liked. So when I walked down the road looking for a men's saloon (the local version of salon or barbershop), I was confident that I had the phrases I needed: Nataka kukata nywele (I'd like a haircut) and Schilingi ngapi (How much?). Alas, I should have listened to my older brother. Mtale was a nice young man with braids past his shoulders (any hair on a man is a rarity here!) who spoke decent English, but apparently not enough. I told him to give me the same-- a close clip on the sides and back, but leaving a little length on the top. Sigh. I now have a haircut that is the closest it can be to a shave without being a shaved head! I have been asked if I am a Catholic nun because I don't have a husband or children (this has happened three times now!), but now I look like a Buddhist nun! Take a look at this one:


Here's a pic of Mtale at work and his tiny shop (viewed from the road and not to be confused with the women's salon next door that does braiding). I was his very first mzungu (white person) and his first customer of the day (it was 4pm...Hmmm...should that have been a hint?) though it seems my business might have spurred some interest as two customers lined up as he finished my shave...er...cut! While he proclaimed my being a customer was good luck, he admitted he was nervous doing his first mzungu. BTW- This was my cheapest cut yet at 2,000TZ or US$1.33.


Past haircuts on my RTW:

Abancay, Peru- A one-chair salon in a woman's home. I speak Spanish so I only had the usual 'I hate haircut jitters'. The priest had more hair than the other female client and myself, but he paid less...religion has its perks.

Villa de Leyva, Boyaca, Colombia - My friendly hotel manager (where I was the only guest) walked me to a friend's upstairs salon where I arranged to have a cut and a pedicure (in preparation for trading boots for sandals as I headed to the coast for hot weather and beaches). It was small and had just one chair, but there were a few friends to dish the gossip and her toddler kept us entertained. Kind of a fun 'girls get together' feel and fairly non-threatening. My deep red painted toes looked great!


Portland, Oregon, USA - I went with my youngest brother Ken and we got 'his and her' cuts from his regular barber.


Marrakesh, Morocco - Once again, the hotel manager helped me out. I was in a Muslim country, so had scouted out a salon for women near the hammam I used. But Hakim insisted he knew a better place...a man that did women's hair and was just around the corner. Once again, I was escorted there. Hakim negotiated the fee and then left me in the stylist's hands. He had some English and I had some Arabic/French so we did okay...though he pushed hard for a substantial 'tip' on top of the agreed upon price. When Hakim found out, I got the feeling there would be some words exchanged.

Berat, Albania - Here, I was really on my own! No common language and I couldn't seem to find a salon. And...I was surrounded by women with long, dark, flowing or bushy locks. Then I wandered into the fringes a bit and found a local street market. There was a woman selling vegetables that was blonde! AND...she not only had very short hair but it was a nice cut! I followed the customary local greetings with sign langugage to communicate I liked her hair and I needed a haircut. She called out to another vendor that she needed her to watch her stall and then took my hand and walked me down the street. The place was closed, but I returned the next day and got quite a good cut for about $2.16 dollars, Once again, no common language-- she spoke not a word of English. The walls of her tiny on-chair salon were covered with pictures of clients being prepared for weddings and special occasions- all had long hair like her. Here are the 'BEFORE' and 'AFTER' pics:


Bethlehem of Galilee, The Palestine Territories (Israel) - I had some Arabic, but none related to haircuts and the guy's English was even more limited. The thing is...Palestinian women don't get their hair cut. They come in just for the tiniest of trims to their long hair. So this guy had never really cut a woman's hair...styled or short, that is. But he did his best and it was okay...had a bit of a quirky punk thing going on. Later, as I walked down the street it suddenly dawned on me-- I looked like all the young men I was passing on the street. He essentially gave me a man's haircut, but didn't shave the sides of my head. It made me laugh that I had the hip haircut of the Palestinian boys! Here's my Palestinian punk look:



Lonely Planet's Kiswhahili Phrasebook offers this line-- Nilikosa hata uliponikaribia!
I should never have let you near me!

Posted by jaytravels 08:17 Archived in Tanzania Comments (0)

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