Lamu

East Africa.  Kenya.  About 150km miles south of the Somali-Kenyan border.

I went there in early May for a week after searching for a place within a 5-hour flight with no Internet service.  There is some on the island but I chose a guesthouse without any.  For the guests at least.  My colleague and friend, Louise, joined me on this trip and we decided to travel on the night flight, supposedly arriving in Nairobi by 7am to make the internal connection and be on the island by noon.  On the afternoon that we were traveling, I heard about the Frenchwoman who was kidnapped last October by Somali pirates in the middle of the night from her house on Manda, an island opposite the channel from Lamu.  I took out travel insurance and ticked the terrorism box and emailed a copy of the policy to my (attorney) sister in Miami with a list of interesting things that could be retrieved from my home in the Arab Gulf, should something go wrong.  We missed the 9am flight to Lamu and had to hang out in Nairobi until 1pm for the afternoon flight.  So we ate a big brunch and shopped at the Fairmont after purchasing new airfare.

Lamu has been on my radar for a while.  It is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and it's part of an archipelago that was formerly one of the East African territories answering to Oman for centuries.  There are centuries of trade between East Africa, Arabia and India as well as the Far East spanning the north Indian Ocean.  Lamu is considered the birthplace of Swahili culture informing the architecture, food, song, rites of passage and language which comprise its tangible and intangible cultural heritage.  The island and adjacent islands possess a history dating back six centuries with archeological ruins that remain seemingly untouched on the islands of Siyu, Pate and Shanga.

We had a "fixer" of sorts, courtesy of the property where we stayed, Fatuma's Tower.  The name is inspired by the only architectural remnant on the premises when the owner purchased the property a few decades ago.... a crumbling tower where the daughter of a merchant lived, attended by five slaves: http://www.fatumastower.com/.  It's beautifully landscaped with majestic baobab and tamarind trees and a gorgeous ginger tea that knocked me off my coffee addiction for a week.  Our last night there, we ate at Subira House: http://www.subirahouse.com/subirahouse.htm, which was once owned by the Sultan of Zanzibar and is located next to the historic fort.  The interior courtyard bordered by ornate Swahili arches giving way to luxurious resting alcoves was an "architectural Digest" dream.  The proprietors are into the slow food movement and grow their own vegetables.  We had amazing hors d'oeuvres and then a goat palau finished with homemade banana ice cream and a pair of baby bats that swooped in and landed on the lap of a guest and underneath the table.  We scrambled to get them back outside before the dog hunted them down for sport as bats are the only creatures pollinating the baobab tree's blooms - a marvelous and spectacular finish to a relaxing week.

I returned for another week in late July before heading to the US, having made new friends on the earlier trip and curious to see and experience more.  Here are some snaps from the May trip.

These first two are the dhow ride from the airport (a landing strip on Manda with a glorified shack) to the B&B on Shela. 

These are some snaps from Fatuma's Tower of a coral wall covered in creeping fig vine, a hand-carved Swahili door set into a coral wall, a majestic baobab tree on the property and a closeup of the pods the bats pollinate, the foundations of Fatuma's original tower.

This was the view from our terrace, post-rain with a rainbow.

A view of the premises in the foreground on the way up the dune behind the property.

This is midway up the dune trek that 45 minutes on the elliptical machine (level 8) 4 times a week barely served as preparation.

Check out the whitecaps - when the winds shift in November the water is crystal clear and much calmer.  To the right is where hundreds of sand dollars wash up daily for the enthusiastic collector who must be equally innovative in packing them for the return journey.

We bought some Masai crafts from this pair including lion's teeth that my nephews loved.

This is Shela village at dawn from the top of the dune climbed on Day 1 snapped on departure day.  Check out the 200 year old mosque at the shoreline.

Hammamat Ma'in Hot Springs

http://www.sixsenses.com/evason-ma-in/

On the recommendation of my friend and ace travel agent in Manhattan, we finished the 7-hour trek through Petra, inhaled a big bowl of pasta and cocktails post-trek, and jumped into a cab for the 4-hour drive to Ma'in Evason Spa. A five-minute drive to the Dead Sea and set in a dramatic oasis 260 meters below sea level, I will find a way to return to these ancient thermal mineral springs, especially since there are so many ancient and biblical sites to see that we missed: Jerash - one of the most important and best-preserved ancient Roman cities in the Near East (that the Brits found too troublesome to haul back to the British Museum); Madaba - a city teeming with Byzantine mosaics; Mt. Nebo - with sweeping views of the Promised Land as described by Moses; and Karak - the site of a spectacular Crusader fort. Amongst all this are a few Jordanian vineyards and I was pleasantly surprised by the St. George cabernet.

Here are some snaps of the property and the surrounds, the first from the breakfast room:








A view of the spa down the hill from the hotel with the Dead Sea in the background.


The main feature at the spa - a gorgeous and restorative hot spring.









After a day of lounging and treatments at the hot spring, we went to dinner at a panoramic restaurant overlooking the Dead Sea and Palestine.



The lights of Palestine at dusk beckon...so close but not enough time to cross.

Useless

A momentary departure from Jordan (Ma'in Hot Springs photos still due) with a short nonsense entry. Last night I was at dinner with a Siberian-born Australian who has lived and worked in India, Italy and now the Arab Gulf and is married to a Palestinian. She made a delightful dinner and I brought some obscure foreign film dvds as the entertainment. We had to call the husband, who I thought was in Basra working but was actually in Jordan to ask him how to turn on the dvd player. The conversation I heard from my end on the couch was hilarity incarnate. My blonde Russian girlfriend imploring her husband with terms of endearment in Italian laced with expressions of frustration in heavily accented English with definitive articles missing. I was laughing and told her to forget about it and we watched something else on her Mac.

This incident recalled a previous ridiculous international phone expense. I found myself at the Serge Lutens shop in the Palais Royal and I was intent on purchasing the perfume a consultant from Hong Kong brought with her that I found divine. Note: I cannot for the life of me purchase eye shadow or perfume without supervision....for all my vast talents in matters of taste and aesthetics, I am useless in this realm and throw away good money on ill-fated purchases. I knew the bottle had a grey label and the contents was almost a red wine color. The Parisian saleswoman was not impressed in the least by my confusion when she placed two such bottles in front of me and I could barely tell the difference. I called our consultant, who was trying to recover from severe food poisoning in India before joining us in Paris, from my roaming Gulf mobile on her Hong Kong mobile 4 km away to ask her to go into the bathroom and read the label on her perfume. The sneer of contempt on the Parisian's face took an exponential hike, especially when I asked her to fill out the paperwork for the VAT reimbursement. That's the perfume above: "Fille en aiguilles," also sold at Barneys in New York. Sublime.

I was diagnosed with frozen shoulder (WTF, right?) two weeks ago and I am getting a cortisone injection tomorrow, just before I travel abroad for business at the end of the week. At least I'll smell good.

Petra

Some archeologists consider ancient Petra as the eighth wonder of the ancient world - a dead city carved into the stone by the Nabataeans, an Arab tribe with origins in the Arabian peninsula who settled in southern Jordan more than 2200 years ago. This location was the strategic crossroads of trade and the Nabataeans were masters of the routes by levying tolls and protecting the caravans laden with Arabian frankincense, myrrh, Indian spices and silks, African ivory and animal hides. These profits enabled them to establish a kingdom from Damascus, the Sinai and greater Arabia.

A friend now living in Glasgow and I traipsed to Jordan in early January for 3 nights with the aim of seeing Petra and then some R&R at a hot springs next to the Dead Sea. We woke up at 6am to be able to enter the gates of Petra at 7am. It was windy and really cold and we knew we were in for a long day to walk the length of the UNESCO World Heritage site, about 7 miles in total.

This is the most famous image of Petra, the first building in the settlement called The Treasury (Al-Khazneh) with a facade 30 meters wide and 43 meters high. It was carved in the 1st century B.C. as a tomb for an important Nabataean ruler and reflects Hellenistic and Alexandrian Hellenistic architectural inspiration.

These are tombs.



I am standing in front of something significant but can't remember or recognize it:

And, as usual, "the real thing" claims a presence, even here:


This is the Urn Tomb, the largest of the royal tombs, carved approximately 70 A.D. and altered in the mid-fifth century when it was reconsecrated as a Byzantine church:
Some of the architectural details of the colonnade, the main street in the ancient city:





These two, Khalid and Mohammed, should have been in school but were trying to earn a living selling donkey rides to tourists up the 800-stair hike to the last monument on the site, the Monastery. We must have politely declined two dozen times. Persistence did not pay in this case, but they were very charming and visually compelling.


Some of the steps:
A tomb on the way up to the Monastery:

The Monastery (Al-Deir) at the end of the 800 stair climb through the cliffs. It was probably a pilgrimage site and later used as a church during the Byzantine era.

Ruins of a tomb, which is effectively a cave and sometimes inhabited by the indigenous Bedouins. These photos are snapped on the climb down back to the site entrance, 3 or so miles in length with the clouds rolling in. I can't wait to get to the spa later that night!


An arch from a building off the colonnade I didn't snap on the way to the Monastery. Check out the donkeys and camels waiting to pick up weary tourists:


The Palace Tomb:

The Djinn blocks near the entrance to the site:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jinn

The "money shot" - dusk over the hills of Petra as we make our way to Ma'in Hot Springs.

A glimpse at this life...

Petra entry will be forthcoming...I didn't take the photos and the one who did moves to Glasgow tomorrow. In the meantime, the year got off to a questionably auspicious start in anticipation of the dragon with a 4-day business trip to Paris, 3-day personal trip to Jordan, dead Jeep battery discovered at 8pm in the garage at work with a 7am meeting the next day, and a shoulder that cannot seem to be diagnosed for the trouble it's causing - all of which chronicled as follows:

Paris: 3 days of meetings and mild weather for January. Except for the wind. My boss left the day after the rest of our delegation and as we took a lunch break at an exhibition across town, she was in the air due to land in time to make the afternoon session. When we arrived at the exhibition venue, we couldn't open the taxi door to get out of the car due to the wind. This same wind was wreaking havoc for air travelers. We started the afternoon session and I started watching my phone for news of my boss. Finally a text message came arrived stating that she was lucky to be alive and that it was the worst flight of her life. An hour later, another message conveying aggravation indicated that the bags were 90 minutes delayed onto the belt due to the wind because the ground crew could not open the cargo hold. Another hour later a message of relief arrived that she was in a car on her way and would never check a bag again - she's about 2 hours late to the afternoon session at this point. And, because these experiences are usually epic rather than merely inconvenient, another text message came through 45 minutes later that the police had stopped the car for being in the bus lane at which I exploded with laughter in the middle of the meeting and had to read it out loud. Once my boss triumphantly arrived to the session for the last hour of work, she indicated we would go for dinner immediately after the end of the session where she provided the details over white burgundy and the most divine green risotto. The turbulence in the air caused the plane to drop treacherously in its descent whereby the passengers in her cabin all held hands thinking that it was their last moments on this earth. The guys she was gripping were a couple and one of them was a runway makeup artist, who had been in the Gulf to take care of a member of the Ruling Family's public appearance preparation. The three of them stood next to the belt cursing the wind, CDG ground staff, and the fact that they didn't plan the packing to avoid checking a bag. The taxi stand was hideous once the bags came out so the makeup artist invited my boss into the private car that was waiting for them. This was the car that was speeding into the city to get my boss to her meeting and chose the bus lane for expediency. When the cops pulled it over, the makeup artist indignantly declared: I am calling Carla. Merd.

Petra: stay tuned.

Jeep: I left it in the garage for a week when the battery died and bummed rides with colleagues and called cabs until I took a day off to have it towed out of the garage and taken to the freakin' middle of the desert an hour away from town where the dealership's repair shop conducts all maintenance. Since my Jeep is still under warranty (until July) I have to take it there or I invalidate it. So I borrowed a friend's car who was at work and followed the tow truck. I entered the showroom and saw that the service agent I usually try to avoid was the only one on duty, which was an indication that I was in for it for the entirety of this experience. So I asked for the 40,000km service, a new battery, side rails so I can step more lady-like into the Jeep, both front indicator orange plastic light covers to be replaced (scuffed from tight parking garages) and anything else that needed attention that will ensure the vehicle passes inspection next month. It was a Thursday midday, so nothing would begin before Saturday and I did not expect a call until Sunday.

Sunday morning|incoming call from service agent: Madame, you need a new electrical system.
Me: No I don't. I need a battery. A big one. Goodbye.

Sunday afternoon|incoming call from service agent: Madame, you need a battery.
Me: Yes, I know. Pls install a big one. Goodbye.

Monday morning|incoming call from service agent while I am in a meeting: Madame, you have an oil leak. The gasket is about USD30 to replace and install but the labor to get to it is about USD520.
Me: Thank you. I'll keep the oil leak. Goodbye.
I don't have an oil leak. I park in the same space at work and the ground is not stained with this supposed oil leak.

Monday afternoon|incoming call from service agent: Madame, I have the right side rail. Should I install it?
Me: No. I want both side rails. Is the car ready? I need it tomorrow by 6:00pm and I am not taking any more calls.
Service agent: Yes, Madame. I will call you at 3:00pm tomorrow.

Tuesday morning|me from the cab that arrived late, after the PT arrived late to treat my shoulder at 7am, making me late to a meeting: Is the car ready?
Service agent: Tonight, Madame.

I leave at 5:00pm for the dealership and traffic is excruciating. If I get there after 6:00pm, I have to turn around and go back and try again the next day as the service agent cannot keep the place open for me. Silent meltdown in the backseat of the cab, which surely took the s-l-o-w-e-s-t route (visions of Holly Hunter barking orders in the cab in that movie I can't recall).

Barely get there and make my way to the service agent's desk who starts walking me through the labor charges. There was only one indicator plastic cap in stock and the labor to remove the bumper to install this dumb thing was approx USD 80 and I'll have to pay again to install the next one, if they ever get it in stock - - as if I am going to drive all the way out there for an orange plastic light cover. I insisted that the labor had to be removed because I was called for all kinds of nonsense but not about this and I would have refused the installation of the one that was available if I was informed that I would pay bumper labor twice. Mini meltdown. Another discount. And finally finished. If I had said yes to all the crap this guy called me about, my bill would have been 4 times higher, if not more. I suppose I meet the customer profile where profit is realized on bogus work.

Shoulder: a year ago while traveling on a train in Japan, I remember struggling with my heavy bag to get it onto the overhead rail. I heard something snap or tear or both in my right shoulder and thought I would feel it over the next few days. As the year passed, my yoga practice was increasingly curtailed such that I was minimizing the weight on my upper body to zero practice by September when I started chasing relief for what was then an aching shoulder. Started with the chiropractor and the ultrasound machines that can decrease inflammation - no results, problem worse. Sports massage at a luxury spa with kinesio tape - after 4 sessions - no results, problem the same. Acupuncture with cupping - after 2 sessions, no results, problem worse. Physiotherapist (PT) massage with freelance professional making house calls - after 4 sessions, marginal improvement but now in crisis and PT won't treat me until I have official diagnosis with x-rays and MRI. Diagnosis has been rendered across all this treatment spanning the range: too much stress, frozen shoulder, arthritis and bursitis, tendonitis and pinched nerve to calcification of the shoulder ligament. I finally sucked it up yesterday and saw a clinic doctor affiliated with my employer. I walked into the office and it smelled like cigarettes. He seemed disturbed by my arrival as the place was empty. As I described my problem and the array of attempts to address it, he made notes on a post-it. He wrote a Rx for Celebrex and referral for the imaging I need to figure out what's wrong. As a parting gift, I received a shot in the bottom with pain reliever - didn't even ask what it was since the nurses dealt with my paperwork and spoke with the doctor in Arabic. At this point, I don't care. I have to travel Tuesday and it's super cold in Paris which means packing a heavy coat and winter accessories and lugging around a bunch of documents. Given last month's baggage episode, I can't check. C'est la vie.

Arab Spring SPAM...received today

From: Ali Kohler Al Hassan. [ifbvinfo@gmail.com]
Sent: Monday, January 23, 2012 9:03 PM
Subject: Last and Final Notification of Request.

From: Mr. Ali Kohler Al Hassan.
Investment/Legal Adviser.
To Mr. Saif Al Gaddafi.
Tripoli Libya.

Re: Transfer of funds for Investment.

My name is Ali Kohler Al Hassan, I am the Investment/Legal Adviser to Mr. Saif Al Gaddafi, son of the deposed Libyan leader Col. Muammar Gaddafi. I had to contact you because of an urgent need to secure the money in my possession before the rebels get hold of it. Presently I am out of Libya with the fund and will like you to stand as an Investment Partner to receive and secure this money.

I am holding in trust US$25m for Mr. Saif Gaddafi and another US$35m recently transferred into my secret account by some associates before the rebels took over Libya and over run the Gaddafi family. This money is under my custody and in a secret account outside Libya.

I will arrange for the transfer once you have indicated interest to work with me and receive this fund. There is absolutely no risk involved and the Gaddafi family does not have any information about these funds. All Mr. Saif Al Gaddafi accounts in Libya has been frozen except outside Libya where this US$60m is domiciled now.

Contact me by email immediately so I will give you details of how this will work out. We have to do this immediately and consolidate the fund before the rebels establish their Government.

Trustfully,

Ali Kohler Al Hassan.

Blogger Snaps

On popular demand.....some photos of yours truly taken in December.....lunch at the Printemps Cafe in the 1st. Raucous Christmas Day lunch at the Ritz. Boxing Day boat excursion on the bay. Taking in the fireworks at a sporting event opening ceremony.












Back to Paris and then Petra in early January. Could be worse. Watching Iowa with a chuckle.

Happy New Year.