Japan 2006

And I’m off again. Boy this time round though it’s really snuck up on me. I’ve done absolutely no research on Japan and as always I’m feeling the rush of unprepared travel…notes to self before traveling again; make sure you have the address where you are staying to minimize customs hold ups, and try to learn some simple phrases instead of being an ignorant English speaker thinking the whole world should understand you wherever you go.

I’m on my own this time and the feeling of vulnerability is creeping up on me. It started at the check in desk when the check in chick was going to charge me $350 for excess baggage. Apparently my travel agent didn’t inform them that I was in a wheelchair and didn’t request an excess baggage exemption…another note to self; no matter how well you know your travel agent or how many times they have booked flights for you, always remind them of the most obvious things – you’re in a wheelchair and you have extra luggage. Thinking that I was going to face the same thing in Nagoya and have the language barrier to battle wasn’t the best start to the day. I was nervous enough as it was without having to cope with that.

Surfers face the same thing and I’m sure cyclists’ do too…excess baggage. Fortunately the wheelchair card comes out and the sympathy vote we all hate comes in handy when the check in chick takes pity on the handsome disablist and waves the charge. But now and again you’ll get a middle aged, power hungry, grumpy bitch, that thinks she is doing the airline a favour by charging the poor handicap the full price. Like they keep tabs on stuff like that. Its sucks not knowing whether charm or disability will get you through every time you turn up to the airport with sports gear. I’d be in shit if I wasn’t so charming J because inevitably I’m always about 30kgs over not including my everyday chair.

I arrived at the isolated, brand spanking new airport of Nagoya, after an uneventful although noisy flight. Felt like I was stuck in a bird cage with a thousand chirping, giggling, yapping Japanese teenagers. And what’s up with Air New Zealand and they’re shitty old planes. Its bad enough that we have turtle speed broadband in NZ without having to put up with a 11 hour flight in a plane that doesn’t have individual telly screens. Do we have the only airline in the world that’s so cheap ass that we can’t have the luxury of our own screens to pass the time away? I can think of better ways to pass 11 hours other than being forced to watch, “Harry-I’m the most powerful wizard in the world but I can only do 3 spells with my wand-Potter,” or Keira Knightly in, Pride and - for Christ sake would you just tell the bloke you love him so we can go home - Prejudice, or, or, geez I can’t remember what the last movie was…must have been a goodin.

Anyway people…I’M IN JAPAN! I’m stoked and really excited. I’m primarily here to play rugby for a Japanese club team but I hope to get an insight as to how life is here. I’m in the airport at the moment and it’s what I expected, sparkling clean, sterile and well organized. I’m heading North to Sendai where I will train with the team for 4 days. I’m staying at a hotel but have no idea how much down time I’ll have.

Toru, the guy who set this trip up, came down to Christchurch back in 2002, I think it was, and we have been emailing ever since. I missed the trip to Japan the Wheel Blacks did in 2003 and have yearned to come here ever since. Toru is extremely humble and is really excited to have me here. I can guess how Tony Brown and Matua Parkinson feel when they come here to play rugby. The Japanese, especially Toru, put you up on a pedestal and I don’t mind that one bit. Particularly when they put you up in the swankiest hotel in Sendai. Even for just 1 night, it was awesome to chill out in a sweet as hotel after a long day.

I was straight into it the next day. A 9am pick up and it was off to meet the team and have a sess. My team is called, Super Sonic, and Toru reckons they aren’t very good. I gave them a few tips put them through a few drills and I reckon they’re alright. I felt ok considering the flight and all. We trained for 3 hours and then headed off to lunch. I went the safe way and got the seafood spaghetti. There will be plenty of opportunity to sample the local cuisine later.

I got dropped off at my next hotel and damn I feel very privileged. This place is in the heart of downtown Sendai, I’m on the 13^th floor with a great view and the room is choice…but no English channels on the idiot box. Glad I brought a good book, “The World According To Geremy Clarkson,” and my DVD’s. Toru has hooked me up.

Just before I headed out to get a taste of city life I booked a massage, sussed out where I can buy beer (just across the road) and dug out my beanie…it was snowing earlier.

Downtown Sendai…hmmm. Well there were lots of Japanese people, but it didn’t feel weird. There’s not much to say really because it was just like cruising down Queen St. No, that’s not fair, it was much flatter than Queen St.

It was like any other downtown area I’ve been in except the signs were in Japanese writing. I love that style of writing. I reckon you could write the foulest thing imaginable in Japanese and it would still look like art. I want to say more but then I’d be rambling…the massage was stink and cost me $70......the beer was tip top.

Well so far it’s all been just peachy. I feel like a celebrity. They have put me up in a swish hotel, all meals are provided and I really couldn’t ask for more. In fact its lead to a kinda dull experience when it comes to writing. Everything has been set out, there’s been no cock ups, I get picked up and taken around the place, get shouted lunch and a massage’s (clothes on) and um yeah. Usually I have heaps of stories and those stories come from unprepared adventures and stuff ups, unfortunately that hasn’t happened so far on this trip.

The two stories I do have for you though revolve around food. After training I was dropped off at my hotel and wasn’t quite ready to hit the sack or zombie out in front of Japanese TV, plus I hadn’t eaten. So off I went on my own down the street in 2 degrees weather at 10:30pm to find some tucker. The easy option would have been to go to Mo’s and sample some of their tasty burgers and wash them down with a fine beverage. Nah…my taste for adventure overcame me and I trudged on not quite knowing what I was looking for, getting colder by the minute. 2 blocks later and I had to find somewhere fast. My 100yen mittens were doing little to curb the frost-bite so I did what any harden traveler does, turned down a side street. Hmm side streets, they can be hit and miss sometimes. Sometimes you find the treasures that make traveling what it is and other times you just find a side street.

Well, soon enough I found my prize, a pokey wee place that appealed to no-one but for some reason I got a good vibe from it. I thought it was great that they had pictures on their menus, I’d just point, batter my eyelashes and then I’d be the nephew of Bob. So I thought. I sat down in the booth, comfy as, waitress came over and I pointed. She babbled a procession of Japanese back to me so I pointed again, she babbled again god knows what and I started having doubts as to whether I’d be eating this night. I mean how bloody hard can it be there’s a picture…plain and simple. Maybe she’d just finished an apprentiship at McD’s and was asking me if I wanted fries or did I want the combo. I hadn’t even ordered my beer yet…and that didn’t have a picture.

I got my beer…a 500ml Asahi, just like those old school DB bottles you get in a crate that Dad drank…and you stole. Asahi is a nice drop but after training and on an empty stomach a flagon of it was going to go down hard. I actually ordered the sheila’s size, being the metrosexual I am, but instead I had to chug down the shearer’s bottle. I couldn’t exactly say, “pardon me you have seemingly given me the wrong size beverage,” I was happy just to get something and it didn’t even improve my understanding of Japanese nor help my extending waistline but it was a good time killer. And this is where the story ends. My meal turned up and looked exactly like the picture and it was so bloody damn good that I left the restaurant feeling very content and fat. Once again all went to plan…boring eh.

The next story also involves food. The hotel I’m staying in has 3 restaurants and I was supplied with meal voucher’s for either breakfast or if you slept in because you were watched too much Japanese TV the night before and missed breaky, you could use it for lunch…sweet. What’s the catch? Breakfast is pretty standard…cheap. But when it comes to lunch in an expensive hotel they aint gonna give you the run of the menu now are they…no because if they did, fat white people would be like pigs in poo…very happy. No they give you the, “set menu”…I went to the “European food” restaurant.  Picture the setting. Posh as décor, waiters educated at the Linwood Finishing Academy, perfectly set tables on white table cloths and the best cutlery; 5 forks, 7 knives and 6 spoons, all of which were taken away upon presentation of “the voucher,” and replaced with plastic, used I think, utensils. The set menu was; soup and salad starter served in bowls the size of shot glasses, followed by the main; a dirty ole hamburger patty with a slobbering of melted cheese, 5 cold wedges and 3 beans, and on a separate plate, rice (standard…we are in Asia) and dark brown curry sauce. Dessert was a slice (the size of my middle finger) of spongy sponge stuff and a tiramisu thing in a bowl the diameter of a 50c piece. No expense spared there folks. I mean a hamburger patty??? Do Japanese people think that we actually enjoy eating that fat filled, tasteless, ground up cows leftovers? Yeah the Japanese eat some pretty strange stuff but I don’t see many of them getting too excited about dirty ole burgers.

Food was a common theme throughout the trip actually. Japanese food is so yummy. I loved it and looked forward to every meal and treated them as if they were an adventure. However, I’m not so keen on the raw fish and roe for breaky. I opted for the honky breakfast that time around. My host Toru made it fun by choosing the meals for me. I had no idea what I was about to eat but he never let me down.

After a great time in Sendai it was time to head to Osaka for the Japanese Wheelchair Rugby Nationals. We got there a few days early and Toru hooked me up at another swanky hotel in the Universal Studio district.

What a place! The hotel was 1^st class and within 100m of Universal Studios. On our doorstep was 1000 restaurants, 500 shops, Universal Studios and the train station was 20m away. We caught accessible trains the whole way from the airport to the hotel. At each stop the wee conductor man would come out with his wee ramp and blow his wee whistle. I didn’t even need the ramp but they kinda freaked out when I jumped off the train before he got the ramp to us. So I played their wee game and pretended to be more disabled than I am. I think they get a buzz out of helping people because the whole trip I was waited on hand and foot. Probably more importantly, my entire trip was accessible. They go out of there way to cater for disabled people and in particular wheelchair users.

This was made blaringly obvious when we turned up to the tournament venue. This place was custom made to cater to disabled sports people. The complex included 2 full size basketball courts, a pool, ten pin bowling alley, a restaurant and accommodation for 100 people, all in 1 place. It puts every where else to shame. I’ve not even come across anywhere as good in America. Lil ole NZ is in the dark ages when it comes to this stuff. It was so good to roll out of bed, go 50m to breakfast then another 20m to the gym.

We still had a day to kill before the tournament started so Toru and I jumped on a train and headed to Osaka Castle. It wasn’t a castle as you’d imagine but a great authentic Japanese building on top of this huge hill. That’s one thing I really wanted to see and didn’t, Japanese architecture. I love it and the next time I go I’ll venture out into the countryside to get a taste of it. Who can remember the TV show, Monkey Magic? Well I do and it was my favorite. I wanted to see some of that sort of stuff…small villages, Japanese gardens etc. However Osaka castle savored my appetite a little although Mr. Miagi did a way better job of his back yard.

I found my name sake (that’s sake as in for goodness sake not sake as in the drink sake) inside the castle. Well not really name sake but I don’t know what to call it. Anyway here’s the connection; Masamune Date was the feudal Lord of Sendai Castle. He was a mean MoFo and lost the sight in his right eye when he was very young and with reverence and fear was called Dokugan ryu or One Eyed Dragon. Yeah and, you say. Well yours truly lost the sight in his right eye at a young age and all the boys reckon I’m as angry as a flaming dragon. So maybe I was him in a past life. It would explain my ninja like reflexes and dragon like temper.

So back to the castle. It was a museum and apart from heaps of art, swords and army fighting garb it didn’t have much else. It was cool and all but I don’t really do museums. ADHD sets in after 10 minutes and I start wandering off or touching things I’m not supposed to. They weren’t to impressed when I dropped one of the samurai swords.

So that’s where my story ends. We came 3^rd in the tournament and afterwards Toru put me up at the Hyatt for a night of opulence and indulgence. We pigged out on an 8 course Japanese feed and washed it down with beer, wine and sake.

I flew out the next day thoroughly chuffed with my efforts at the tournament and totally stoked with my experience. Japan tops the charts for me and I can’t wait to go back there.

Sionara

Ethiopia

As part of the Wheel Blacks I get to travel quite a bit. In 2003 the boys went up to Japan to attend the Oceania Champs. I missed out on that one so I was pretty stoked to get the call up to go to the Oceania Champs in South Africa in November last year. 2005

It’s awesome travelling with the boys. We’re like a big family and there is always a laugh to be had. But this report isn’t about that. It’s about the 3 weeks I spent in Ethiopia with my partner Naomi.

Naomi has been in Ethiopia for the last year doing aid work for an organisation called Right to Play (RTP). They’re all about sport and play. Basically she sets up programs so that children can participate in games and sport. Sounds pretty easy but with limited resources and poverty all around, it’s a pretty tough job. However it can be very rewarding.

With me being in South Africa playing rugby it was a great opportunity for me to pop up there and see for myself what her life is like and being an ambassador for the RTP I wanted to see how the programs ran.

Ethiopia has never been high on my list of exotic destinations, if on the list at all. I’d been to 3^rd world countries before but Ethiopia was a new benchmark for me. Firstly, it was Africa, and secondly, poverty on this scale was very foreign to me.

I was relieved that the flight was only 3 or so hours. It was really comfy and there were no goats or chickens or people sitting in the isle. I flew Ethiopian Airlines who were fantastic. Here’s me thinking it was going to be this old stink ass plane with no windows that would brake down half way there, but it was almost better than dirty ole Air New Zealand 737.

I was pretty nervous about going to Ethiopia. I’d had all 600 shots and scored an emergency diarrhoea fix it kit, a water purifier, and wait for it…4 adult nappies. I was fully prepared to have stuff coming out both ends. I was even prepared for man-eating mossies, snakes, killer ants and no TV for 3 weeks. Why the heck would I want to go to Ethiopia you ask. Well I’m always looking to set new benchmarks for myself. I like proving to myself, and to others, that this stuff is possible if you have the right attitude, and this seemed like a pretty good challenge. The good thing though was Naomi had really good knowledge of the country, could speak some Amharic and had loads of friends to hook us up.

I arrived into the capital, Addis Ababa, around midnight so 1^st impressions don’t count. But I will say Jo’berg seemed like Vegas compared to the seeming chaos of what I witnessed the next day. It didn’t take long to get my head around how full on the city was and soon realised everything had its place. Even though it looked a mess.

Naomi lives in a house not unlike the ones we live in. the biggest difference is it’s surrounded by a 7-foot fence and she has a security guard manning the gate. Its about a km from the main road down a dusty, bumpy, pot-holed lane, lined with houses, schools and tiny shops made from corrugated iron selling fruit and veggies, dvd’s and other convenience items.

My first task was to meet the RTP team. Naomi had told me heaps about what they have been up to and it was nice to put faces to names. Having guards at the gate and our own personal driver was weird but considering most of the streets don’t have names and were unpaved I was thankful to be driven around. Man they are crazy drivers. It’s to be expected really with the cities population reaching around 6 million.

After meeting the team we went to Kirkos, the most densely populated area in Addis. They couldn’t have packed more people in if they tried. The houses were made from mud and corrugated iron and there was no such thing as a backyard game of football. The backyard was your neighbour’s place and the front yard was the street. Needless to say the kids in this area had few resources and just finding a place for them to kick a ball around was hard enough. That’s if they even had a ball.  Enter RTP. I was so impressed with the program. The kids were buzzing, all 500 of them, well it felt like 500 anyway, it was more like 60. They love football but don’t get to play much because of a lack of space, equipment, coaches and good shoes. I felt that I could be doing more to help these kids but they were happy just to be playing. They might not have much but its amazing how a smile or a laugh can warm you so much.

We had an interpreter with us and I found it weird that these kids probably had no idea where on earth New Zealand was let alone how the heck you play wheelchair rugby. Having a gold medal didn’t seem so important considering these kids were probably thinking more about how hungry they were or how they are going to do their school work with no pencil. I loved watching them put those thoughts aside for an hour while they played their favourite sport. What I also enjoyed watching was the respect the kids had for their coaches. These coaches had become an important part of this community and you could feel how proud they were to be running the programs.

 No one wanted to leave when it was time to move to the next location where I saw the same thing but on a much bigger scale. More kids and a bigger area. You couldn’t call it a field because it was dirt and surrounded by rubbish. It was a long area but really skinny with a big drain on one side. This is where the crowd sat. The disheartening thing about this place was just over the fence was a disused grass football field but it was in the military grounds and access was prohibited and you’d get a bullet in your ass if you even tried to fetch your lost ball. Bummer dude.

Even so, spirits were high and when I wasn’t watching a super competitive game of football where I’m sure a talent scout wouldn’t be wasting his time, I was helping the kids with their English and singing songs, badly. They didn’t care if I sang like a drunk Willie Nelson and neither did I. In the end I had the whole group and their friends and their siblings and their dogs all singing God of nations at thy feet…. Then they sang me Ethiopian songs. By the conclusion of the day my spirits were lifted. I no longer felt pity. I had helped the kids with their singing (not) and hopefully inspired some of them to follow their dreams…even though they still had no idea who the guy in the wheel car thingy was and what he was here for.

The next day I spent some time at a school for deaf children. Damn dude if you ever think you’ve got it bad go to a place like Addis Ababa and witness what its like to have nothing. And then try and imagine being deaf with nothing. Life is hard enough without the hassle of a disability hanging over your head. The deaf school was a humbling experience. These kids mostly came from country areas where disabled people are hidden. There isn’t a lot of hope for them and often the only option is to beg on city streets. The school is privately funded and can only provide for 40 kids…how many more are out there??? The deaf association has 1000 members out of a possible 250 000 deaf people in the country. The building was a run down old house, totally unsuitable but once again the kids were totally gorgeous and seemingly unfazed by their predicament.

I spent the next 3 days visiting other schools and organisations and enjoyed every minute.

On my last day we drove an hour out of the city to a countryside rehab hospital for disabled children. Most of them came from country areas and only stay a short time while their wounds heal and they can rehab a bit. The place was stunning, the grounds perfect for doing sport and a really relaxed setting suited well for the kids to recover. But there was no relaxing to be had that day though. With the DJ in full swing and all the RTP staff and coaches on hand the kids were split into groups and were soon playing to their hearts content.

Most of the coaches have a disability of some sort and I found their courage and determination inspiring. There is not a lot of opportunity for someone with a disability in Ethiopia. Unemployment is sky high, which puts disabled people at the bottom of the list. There is little scope for elite sport but thanks to RTP, the Ethiopian Paralympic committee has more structure and guidance. I saw a lot of disabled people on the streets begging and I feared the prospect for what’s ahead for the kids at the rehab hospital…a future of begging? I hope not but the chances are high.

Ethiopia is a hard place to get around in when you’re in a wheelchair, and I’ve got a good one. The chairs they use are straight from the hospital, if they can afford it. You know the ones. They would be so hard to push on the flat let alone over dirt, gravel, pot holes kerbs and rocks. Despite all the obstacles I found the people resilient and so hospitable. I found that RTP has enriched their lives and I was very proud to represent the big red ball (that’s their logo).

With all this going on I had to eat. This is one area I was hesitant about. I had run out of Power Bars by this point so there was no option but to dive in and sample the local cuisine. I stuck to vegetarian stuff mainly and I have to say that it was the best food I’ve ever tasted…sorry mum. I even miss it now. It was so good.

Meat is a huge part of their diet. 3 times a day except on fasting days. Being Orthodox Christian they have to abstain from eating meat on Tuesday and Friday’s. But I wasn’t to keen on the meat and my plan worked…didn’t need to use the nappies once! What I ate was delicious. Every meal is served on this stuff called ingera. It looks like a big pancake but taste nothing like it. The ingera is put on this really big tin plate and your meal is then served on top of the ingera. You eat your meal with your fingers by picking up the veggies and stuff between the ingera. You use your right hand only and it can get messy, especially with my gammy hands. My favourite was this stuff called shiro. It’s a bean type mushy stuff that is kinda like bean dip. The locals combine it with smoking chillies and wash it down with this stuff called tedge. Tedge is grouse and it's pretty much home brewed petrol. But the coffee is the best. I don’t normally drink much coffee but this is where coffee originated…yeah this is where some fulla, back in the day, said to his mate hey check out these bean things, I wonder if we can eat them, I’ll boil them up and you can drink it, and if you die we’ll know they’re bad. Luckily for the fulla it didn’t kill him and coffee was born.

Addis is an amazing city man. It never stops. 24/7. It’s a city of 6 million and stinks. Mainly of fumes from the shitty taxi’s and diesel spewing trucks and buses. Toyota has made a killing here because if it ain’t a Toyota it’s a Lada. It’s a dusty city with bugger all footpaths. It wouldn’t matter if they had footpaths anyway because everyone walks on the road regardless. Even on the motorway. They don’t really have malls just lots of shops scattered all over the place. There is no such thing as the yellow pages in this place. If you need something and can’t find it you just have to ask someone.

But the one thing that really bothered me was the beggar's coming up to the car window at traffic lights. It was a really uncomfortable situation. You want to give people money but you can’t give it to everyone and unfortunately children work for a pimp who takes his cut of the loot. I dreaded stopping because I felt like a complete prick…and boy were they persistent. They stood at the window and asked for money or food over and over until you drove off when the lights changed. This was poverty like I’ve never seen. This is why aid agencies are so prevalent in Ethiopia. But as you will learn later in this report I think Ethiopia is too reliant on aid.

A week in the city was enough for me so we hired a 4wd, a driver and a guide and headed south. It cost us about $700 each but would have cost more if we went through a tour company. The 4wd was an old Toyota Land Cruiser and was a piece of shit. It was so gutless and had no air conditioning. Or radio. Our driver did his best but man did he ring out 3^rd gear. He would be driving 90, still in 3^rd, which got really annoying after a while. I think he was to used to city driving. But it served us well and didn’t break down once.

We drove for 2 days south and ended up in a village called Turmi where we camped for 3 nights. This was off the beaten track man. This was the middle of nowhere, the most isolated I’ve ever been. It was a rush.

The journey to get to this place was an adventure in itself. First of all the roads are crap so it was pretty much 80-90 kms the whole way. But the thing that I was amazed at was the people along the side of the road. We were miles from any town or village yet there was always people walking or riding their bikes or cruising on their donkey cart. There was no where to go so where were they going? This happened throughout our whole trip. Its like what the hell are you doing all the way out here.

The landscape was pretty barren. It was the dry season so most of the rivers were as dry as a desert and it was dusty. The first day was on bitumen roads but day 2 onwards was dirt/gravel roads. There wasn’t much to see apart from savanah type landscapes but I loved the acacia trees. They look like big umbrellas and are just so Africa.

It was a long, tiring journey and boy was it hot. Even with all the windows down I struggled. It was about 35 degrees and the wind blowing in the windows was like having a hair drier on my face. I drank about 3 litres a day and poured another 3 litres over my head.

We choose to base ourselves in Turmi because our guide was from a village not far from there. He could speak all of the local languages and knew his way around so that was really cool. I can’t imagine the difficulty we would’ve had if it weren’t for him. But he couldn’t do anything to stop us from getting stuck in a riverbed one day. We were on our way back from visiting a village and we had had crossed 20 or so dry riverbeds with no problems when disaster struck. We were stuck axle deep in a sandy river bed god knows how far from the nearest town.

Well there wasn’t much I could do seeing that it was sand so I just had to sit there and bake while the others tried to get us out. Ever the optimist I knew it wouldn’t be long before I was going to die of heat stroke, dehydration and hunger.

Luckily, you would think, we got stuck right next to a group of farmers taking a siesta from the arvo heat under a tree. About 10 men aged from 15 to 50 just sitting there, chillin out. It seemed like a logical idea to ask them to help us. We had to ask as they didn’t exactly jump up and help us. We sent our guide over but the lads wouldn’t help unless we paid them a ridiculous amount of money. Wankers. They just sat there and watched, giggling. We had no option but to send our guide on foot back to town to get his mates. How long would he be gone for…buggered if I knew.

You know what the worst thing about the whole ordeal was…it wasn’t the heat or the hunger, it wasn’t because those lazy arsed farmer boys wouldn’t help us, it wasn’t even because I couldn’t help, or that they would have been thinking that I was a lazy S.O.B. for not getting out and helping…it was the kids. A bunch of kids also happened to be where we got stuck and they thought this was great. It took them all of 10 seconds to have my window surrounded. First they started asking me for stuff. Lollies, water bottles, money, my shirt that sort of stuff. I couldn’t give anything to them because if you give to one you gotta give to all. So these little piss ants pestered me and pestered me but I didn’t give in. So they started making fun of me. I couldn’t understand what they were saying but they were laughing at me, looking at me, laughing again. They must have known I couldn’t get out and chase them away. It was infuriating. I just wanted to be left alone to die in peace but these cheeky little buggers were relentless.

Ha, then the cavalry arrived. Our guide and his band of 8 mates. Our heroes. First they abused the farmers then gave the kids a kick in the ass and I was happy. We eventually got out but not before the ute they came in nearly got stuck too. How funny would that’ve been. 

Back at the campsite it was still 100 degrees but we were glad to be out of the car and out of harms way. We were invited to our guards’ village that night. Yeah, even campsites have security guards. This was an experience I will treasure for the rest of my life. Boda, our guard,  was cool. On first impressions he intimidated me. He looked mean, tough and very serious. The type of guy you want guarding your tent. But after getting to know this tall, dark and mysterious bushman we learnt he was a humble and devoted family man. He wore a sarong type dress; sandals made from old car tyres (very popular in these parts), a blue singlet, a traditional hairstyle and slept on the ground outside our tent.

Anyway his village (about 5 mins drive away) was a surreal experience. It was honestly like stepping back in time. That’s a poor description but you know what I mean. The huts were made from wood and mud, no electricity, the food cooked over a fire, the animals outside, no beds or pillows, no lights or even torches, no toilet not even running water, no carpet, no couch not even a front door. This was how they lived, as they did 100’s of years ago. I think you call it subsistence living.

They wear very little clothing. Women wore goatskin dresses and little else apart from body decorations like necklaces, bracelets and anklets. They were expecting us earlier that day but because we got stuck we were late. We got there just in time for dinner that consisted of some maize type stuff with a few other things chucked in for good measure. You can’t say no in these situations, even if they were offering you bird turd on toast, so I accepted it with a smile and proceed to eat this stuff, with a smile. It was grouse but after another few mouthfuls I plucked up the courage to say nah thanks I’ll pass on the next round...then came out the coffee. Well it was like no other coffee I had ever tasted. It wasn’t in a cup either. It was in a kinda dried out pumpkin thing the size of basketball cut in half. It was dark in the hut so I couldn’t see what was in there but I felt it when it hit my mouth. I don’t know what else they put in the coffee but it looked like a mixture of grass clippings, sticks and other stuff. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t good either. I mean it was no trim latte from Starbucks but it was good enough to wash down the maize.

Our interpreter was invaluable. We learnt so much about village life and how they live. I guess they were well impressed with us too because out came the presents. The leader of the family, Bodo’s brother, gave me 2 of his bracelets and Bodo’s wife gave Naomi an arm bracelet thing that was exquisite. Luckily I had some gifts in my bag otherwise I would have felt a right tit. They were stoked with the pens we gave the kids and the necklace I gave Bodo’s bro. We had made a real connection with these people and it felt great.

Its not every day you get to experience a real life village. This wasn’t like any tourist thing where you pay to look at the animals in the zoo, this was real life. I didn’t realise that people still lived like that. I mean there was a town 500m down the road where people wore clothes and it had all the amenities you need – water, electricity, shops etc. Yet the people in Bodo’s village choose to live as if that world didn’t exist. They don’t even wear clothes!

I’m so grateful for that experience and its really hard to describe in words how bizarre, weird, rewarding and humbling it was. I wonder what it would be like to take Bodo to a big city like London of LA. Would he still sleep on the floor? Would the whole thing just be too much for him? I reckon he’d be sad to see what we have done to the world with our factories, motorways and hostile attitudes.

The next day was even more unreal. Earlier that day we went to visit another village but they were dicks so we left. Anyway our guide had got word that a ceremony called bull jumping was happening across the river from our campsite. Sweet, I thought African style rodeo. Oh how wrong I was. When a boy of the Caro people becomes of age and marriage beckons him he has to go through a bull jumping ceremony. Basically 5 or so bulls are lined up side by side and he has to jump over them a few times all the while there is heaps of singing, dancing and ceremonial stuff going on. Sounds easy. Well from what I saw it was but if the fulla fails and stumbles or falls off the bulls there were consequences. All the women of his family get the bash. That’s right and they actually want to be beaten as well because it proves that the boy who failed is a good boy and deserves a second chance. We turned up at bashing time where the males whip the females with a stick like a branch off a willow tree, thin and whip like. There’s a horrible cracking sound as skin meets stick.

The women get on the drink big time and are pretty wasted. The men don’t want to hit them but the women bug and pester and demand that they hit them. It wasn’t great to watch but it was fascinating. Some of the women had huge welts across their back and arms and blood streaming out of them. Apparently this has been done for ages so who am I to say how dumb it is. All I can say is bugger that.

I was a bit sad to leave Bodo and the campsite but we had to hit the road.

We went further south, passed through a few more towns and ended up in a town called Jinka. Some guide book described this town as Paris compared to other towns in the area. Well give me Turmi any day. This place was a dump. The only reason we stayed there was because we wanted to visit the Morsei. The Morsei is another tribe but the attraction with this tribe is that they wear huge pottery disc’s in their bottom lips. Our plans were spoiled when we found out they had raised the price to visit them and we couldn’t afford it. Which was a blessing because we spoke to some other people who had visited them. Apparently the Morsei have been ruined by tourists and are now greedy drunkards who get really violent if you don’t give them what they ask for. So outta there.

We stayed in a few more towns, visited more villages and ate more wonderful food and got back to Addis tired but totally fulfilled.

 

Overall Impressions

Poverty is a reality in this country. But its kinda weird because its poverty in my eyes because of what I have and how I grew up and where I live is so different. For Ethiopians it’s just the way they live. If I had to live in a shack and had to collect water from a well every day it would suck. If couldn’t drive my car or couldn’t afford shoes or go on holidays to the beach I would hate my life. But Ethiopians live a different life. They have small houses and sewage problems, they don’t drive fancy cars or have playstations (but they all have bloody cell phones) but they are content, happy, hospitable and tough. It would be a tough way to live because you’re on your own. There are no Govt handouts. You gotta earn your way otherwise you and your family go hungry.

Now I’m going to kinda contradict myself here a bit because I have just said Ethiopians are on there own. I think there is too much aid in Ethiopia and so now Ethiopians will put their hand out before trying to fix the problem for themselves. I can feel a saying coming on…you can give a man a fish and feed him for a day or you can teach a man to fish and feed him forever. I don’t think this happens in Ethiopia. They have been given so much aid that now it’s to easy for them to ask for a new soccer ball rather than raise the money to buy another one themselves. It doesn’t help when some NGO’s drive around in the flashest cars, stay in expensive hotels and wear tailored suits. To me that money could be used elsewhere.

Ok that was my little rant but it does piss me off because it kinda put a downer on the trip. It’s a wonderful place but I always felt like uncomfortable because people saw me as someone with money because of my skin colour and they wanted some of it. It was constant and I felt I couldn’t trust anyone that was being nice to me. I helped out where I could but bro you can’t help everyone.

I did stick out like a sore thumb though. Red hair, pasty white skin, tattoo’s and a bloody wheelchair made me stand out. Everywhere we went be it in a town or in the city kids and people would surround me. I got frustrating because they were in my way but I also felt like a freak show. Ethiopians have a strange concept of personal space. It doesn’t exist. They will crowd your space and think nothing of it. When we were in the 4wd they would come up to the window, say hello then put their head inside the window and have a look in the back to what we had then they’d just stay there for 10 mins leaning on the car staring at me, touching me, asking me for stuff. I’d turn up at a market and I’d have 60 kids follow me.

Its not a dangerous place but it does get annoying when people try and rip you off all the time. Fair enough to an extent that they charge you a different price to what the locals pay but there is a limit and boy did they push it. It’s a really cheap place to travel around but you will always be a foreigner and will never be fully accepted.

So that’s about it from me. I had a great time and would love to see more of Africa. It was difficult at times because the access, showers, toilets and the heat all tested me but you have to accept those things. I feel now that I can push the limits a little further and already have me eyes on another trip. See you next time.

Impressions of Egypt.

Here's a story I dug up from a few years ago

Impressions of Egypt....

It’s hard to know where to start after you have had an action packed couple of weeks in the third world. Yeah, Egypt is considered a third world country. This is something I didn’t realise either. That is until I was driving from Cairo airport, to our hotel, in a smoky taxi van that had little resemblance of a muffler, through a place that looked like it should have been an army training ground. It was semi-desert, 2am in the morning, check points all over the place, spare tyres, 44 gallon drums and a Lipton Tea advertisement. Welcome to Egypt. More like welcome to the Gaza Strip.

As Naomi & I are famous for not preparing in advance for a trip, (we had decided two days before hand to buy our tickets), we didn’t have anywhere to stay and we weren’t yet confirmed on the 9 day tour we had planned to go on and we were arriving in Cairo at 2am. Oh well lets see what happens.

I was on the plane anxiously searching through Lonely Planet (LP) to find us somewhere that sounded good. Well the place I picked sounded good in LP. This is what LP had to say about it, “for a different slant on Cairo try staying in Zamalek, which is a more relaxing and greener place than the city centre”. And of the hotel they said “the Mayfair is quiet and tranquil with a pleasant shady breakfast terrace and just a minute away from the buzzing shopping street”.

The only time LP let us down is at 3am in downtown Cairo. Thanks LP. It was just our luck to pick a place that was up 30 windy steps in what felt like a less than graceful part of town. “Relaxing,” I think not. Our room was even worse. The street looked inviting at this stage. I didn’t get much sleep that night for fear of some furry little friends making themselves comfortable in my ear or somewhere else warm. So as you can imagine it was out of there as soon as the sun rose to a higher class establishment for a couple of nights.

We didn’t do much the following day due to the fact that we were going to get to see some of Cairo on our tour, when we were confirmed, if we were confirmed, plus we couldn’t cross the damn road. We must have looked like the biggest tourists of all time. The road into downtown was so busy that we weren’t game enough to take the plunge. It was like that computer game Frogger, on level 5 except instead of crocodiles they had donkeys and packed buses with people hanging off the roof and out of the doors. And no traffic lights. Like they would help anyway. People in Egypt don’t take much notice of traffic lights. So we just did a big loop and got to see the Nile and Cairo Tower, the Opera House and the Nile again and the so called beautiful Island of Zamalek. By the end of the day we were like, “let’s get out of here.” Major culture shock. How much fun can it be if you can’t even cross the street? We were soon to learn that you can pretty much just walk out onto the road and people will either stop or go around you. They don’t give a shit. Anyway, everyone was so fascinated with my chair that they would have gladly stopped just so that they could get a better look.

We had heard about a resort town called Hurghada from a friend of mine and we still had a few days to kill before the tour started, so we decided to jump on a bus and head 6hrs south to the Red Sea coast for some sun and relaxation. Yes we organised some accommodation before we left and on the way to the hotel (from the bus station) we got a taste of Egyptian driving at its best. At night time they drive with their lights off and only put them on when they see another car. Why? To save power on the battery, stupid. They also honk their horn every 5 seconds. Why? To let other people know that they are there, of course. Sound like fun. Yeah it was.

My impressions of Hurghada and its surrounding area is that of a building site. Here we were in supposedly an exquisite part of Egypt and all you see is half built hotels and houses. If people run out of money they just stop building until you have enough money to carry on, plus if their children marry they just build on another floor for them to live. Hence next to and opposite our hotel were unfinished buildings that are just abandoned. Paradise eh.

We soon found out that we aren’t sitting on the beach, relaxing type of people. It’s damn boring if you ask me. So we were off exploring the town. This didn’t take long as it’s not very big. It’s all geared towards tourists, mostly tourists from Eastern Europe and in particular Russia. Egyptian men love the Russian ladies. But the Eastern Europeans & Russians were very rude. The Egyptians, in Hurghada liked us because we would talk to them and actually acknowledge them. The Russians would just totally ignore them and didn’t show much respect for the Egyptian culture. Egypt is a Muslim country so walking around the town with your shirt off and your fat Russian guts hanging out can be offensive, let alone a hot pink mini dress that barley covers the layers of fat you need to survive the Russian winter. Bartering and haggling is also part of the culture.  Most Egyptian’s appear to be very friendly, and indeed maybe, but behind this façade is the notion of getting you into his shop, or his fathers shop or his Uncle’s shop, where they sell all sorts of cheap, run-of-the-mill trinkets. The Russians clearly couldn’t handle all this attention and instead of smiling and politely saying, “thanks but no thanks,” they would more or less tell them to piss off.

We satisfied our boredom by doing a 4wd desert safari to a Bedouin camp 27km into the desert (with a group of Russians). The trip out there was hair raising as the driver and his mates were hoons (crazy fullas). They were driving on the wrong side of the road, trying to hit each other (as there was two 4wd’s) and they had a camera man who was hanging out of the window and straddling between the two cars. Crazy man, but funny. I liked it as it was exciting but the Russians started complaining and told the driver to slow down. I suppose if you wear very short denim shorts with black socks, brown leather shoes with buckles on them, 70’s shirt with the buttons half done up with gold necklace and medallion hanging down and a bowlers hat you don’t really like much excitement.

The Bedouin camp was very interesting but sad at the same time. The Bedouin’s are nomads that search the desert for water and food. They are extremely resourceful and have survived for centuries in the desert. It’s their home. I felt a bit rude, as they were going about their daily chores while contending with 1000 tourists every day. It is helpful that the tourists come though as it means they can get medical help as well as they can get a ride into town if they need some supplies or anything. But it is sad in a way because the children are being exposed to everything unBedouin and I think that is detrimental to there existence. Sometimes I hate being a tourist. We had a great meal (BBQ) and a bit of a dance and then the 20 4wd’s packed up and in a matter of minutes were gone until tomorrow when they will bring back another 1000 tourists to gawk at the Bedouins like they are animals in a zoo.

We finally got the news that we were accepted onto the 9 day tour. There were a few questions to be answered (like how I was going to handle loads of steps) but above all I was thoroughly impressed by Gecko’s attitude towards me. Even after they had just had a bad experience with another dude in a chair. Anyway after we reassured the boss of Gecko’s that Naomi would do all of the lifting and moving he was sweet about it. I understood his concern and was grateful for his flexible attitude.

So after being ripped off again on the bus back to Cairo we were meeting our new friends at the designated hotel (with 18 steps to the front door). I will highlight our destinations later on but for now here are some impressions of Egypt so that you can get a feel for the place.

Like I said earlier, Egypt is a 3^rd world country so it was a shock to see all the rubbish around the place. They do have street cleaners who seem to have an endless job. They stroll along the hot, dusty, busy streets with their straw brooms and buckets picking up used cigarettes, and there are plenty of those in Egypt as everyone, I mean everyone smokes. I was even told that people go around picking them up because they get money for recycling them. I’m surprised the street cleaners are not deaf with all the horns doing double time or dead from the poisonous car fumes. They can often be found sweeping motorway overpass bridges. Who knows why when the Nile is stinking and disease ridden. Why don’t they focus their energies on cleaning that up instead of the stupid road side? All in all it was filthy yet captivating.

Egypt suffers from blind eye syndrome. I have also seen this in Thailand. It’s where you have extremely rich people mixing with the poorest of the poor. The majority of people struggle by selling stuff at markets or beg, while the rest are rich somehow. The blind eye syndrome is also where you have people wearing designer labels, fancy mobile phones and gold jewellery, but drive a shitty car and live in a scummy apartment. They can turn a blind eye to there living conditions if it means they can have cool stuff.

With a population of 66 million Egypt crams itself along the banks of the Nile River. 90% of people in Egypt live along the Nile, which takes up only 10% of the entire country! It was marvellous to travel down the Nile. You can see where the desert starts. You can literally see the line where the waters of the Nile do not reach and from that point on it is pure desert. No life, no nothing, just desert. There is a strip of land either side of the River (approx 1km each side) where the land is as fertile as you’ll see and then bang, its desert.

As you can imagine, the economy relies on the Nile and farming is the top money earner for the country. The Nile is the heart of Egypt’s existence. Why the hell don’t they look after it? I’ll tell you why; poverty. People in poverty don’t give a rat’s arse about the environment. They are too busy trying to survive. Egyptian farmers work themselves to the bone, they live in mud shacks, use a donkey or camel as a tractor/family car/trailer and as long as they are getting the bills paid they will do anything. Even if it means wrecking a beautiful river.

The first thing you learn before you even get to Egypt is the concept of Baksheesh. It’s a tipping custom. You need something done you slip a few $$. You want directions, you slip a few $$. Someone does you a good turn, you slip a few $$. Somebody doesn’t help you but thinks they did, they still want you to slip them a few $$. You get sick to death of it but its how things are done. It is a shame in a way because you find it hard to trust anyone. Everyone is so friendly and helpful, just like a mate, but most of the time they’re only friendly to get a few $$ of you. It would be a great place to go if you had no mates as you could just pay someone to hang out with you. For me, you can have it. They were nice people but I didn’t make friends with any Egyptians (apart from our tour leader) because I got stung too many times. Like this one time when we were (no not at band camp, silly people) walking down the street and this guy came up to us, all friendly like, and invited us into his shop, “just for a look”, he said, “no pressure”, he said. I didn’t see any harm in it, we could make a friend out of it, I thought. The moment he closed the door behind us and stood in front of it was the time I knew this guy wasn’t going to let us out of the shop until we bought something. Some friend. We survived the ordeal but made us very weary of anyone being too friendly. Sad eh.

Most of the stuff in the shops are poor quality, run of the mill, crap that is often overpriced and looks cheap. Why do they all sell the same stuff? Do Egyptians buy this stuff or is just for sucker tourists? We didn’t buy anything because it all looked fake, mass produced and more often than not the story behind the trinket or picture was Bullshit. “Oh yeah, this painting was done by one of the best artists in Egypt, on pure papyrus, it will last forever”. Sadly it is hard to tell fake from the real thing.  We were taken to an authentic papyrus factory where they showed us the real McCoy. The paintings were impressive but nothing caught my eye. (and not much escapes that eye either). I wanted something truly Egyptian but alas I went home empty handed.

So with all that in mind you have a picture of what Egypt is like. Don’t get me wrong, as mad as it may sound, it’s a fantastic place but you’ve got to remember that if you are White/European/Pakeha/Honky it means you are a tourist, and if you are a tourist, you have $$. And if you’re in a wheelchair, make sure you bring someone that does not mind lifting you up and down loads of steps.

Steps were less of a problem than what we first anticipated. We made sure that we never asked for any help from our fellow members of the tour party but that didn’t stop them from being there at every step we came across. Even our guide was there. Sometimes I had to tell him to bugger off because he was in the way. He surprised me one time when we were in Luxor. We were about to go on a Felucca ride on the Nile, which I already had doubts to how I was going to get on and was about to say, “see ya guys, have fun, I’ll wait here for ya”. Well before I could voice my concern Waleed (our tour leader) hoisted me up (with the aid of Naomi & the Felucca owner) and carried me over 3 boats and plonked me on the Felucca, no wuckin forries. Like it or not, I was going for a boat ride on a Felucca.  He even organised for me to go by taxi instead of donkey to the Valley of the Kings. This was a stroke of genius as there was no way I could have ridden one of the damn things and I got to hang out with the taxi driver at one of the local outdoor cafes for an hour while the donkeys laboured there way up the hill. Everyone got off with sore asses and all I had to complain about was a full stomach. Its times like this that being in a chair pays off.

Waleed proved to be very valuable. I always felt that he saw me before my chair and he never assumed that I couldn’t do anything (thankfully apart from the donkeys) which lead to me participating in everything the others did. I never felt excluded or a pain in the arse and I never missed out on anything. All it took was a bit of thinking outside the square and enough trust in me to tell him what I was comfortable doing (which was anything). He even helped me get on a horse and cart, no questions asked. I trusted him and he made the whole trip very enjoyable. Cheers bro.

Transport and hotels are always the bain of wheelchair travel. Fortunately there were few transport difficulties. We did have to contend with being driven around in a coach for the 1^st day but then after it was easy as. We used a mini-bus to get to the train station, an overnight train to Aswan, Taxis (vans), horse and cart, boat and 4wd. No problems.

Surprisingly most of the hotels we stayed at had a lift to the rooms. But this could often mean that the lift doesn’t go to the dinning area or the main foyer or there were numerous steps to get to the lift. I got stuck in a lift in Aswan, with the owner, who after the ordeal was so apologetic he was kissing me on both cheeks and giving me big cuddles. Dude, get off me. I thought he was going to offer me one of his daughters in return for my forgiveness. No, really he was so proud that his hotel had a ramp out front (to steep for me to push up on my own) and a lift to accommodate me. He was gutted when firstly the lift didn’t work and secondly we got stuck in it. Oh well someone would have got yelled at but at least the lift will be working the next time I go.

One thing I do not recommend is doing 4 day river cruise. Well on 2^nd thought maybe I do recommend it. It was hard work but well worth it. We were upgraded to a 5 star cruiser and thanks to Waleed, Naomi and I stayed in a 1^st class suite at the front of the boat. Balcony, en-suite, lounge, double bed and all. Thanks Waleed and another example of how it pays to be a handicapman now and then. The suite was welcomed because the boat was 4 levels, no lift and the dining hall was on one floor, the bar on the other and both were 2 floors above our room. Needless to say Naomi had blisters by the end of that trip. The 4 day cruise really was, “a cruise”. We ambled our way down the quiet Nile and ate like pigs and relaxed. There wasn’t much else to do apart from enjoy the view, weather and food. We got another taste of how crucial the Nile is to the lives of not only Egyptians but everyone who shares its banks. We saw farms of all types, be it sugar cane, bananas or cotton. We saw kids playing, fishermen fishing and tourists gawking. Egypt has over 600 river boats who haul 1000’s of tourists up and down every day. It’s just what you do when you come to Egypt. We had a nice time but we were glad to get off and leave those stairs behind. I don’t know if there is an accessible cruise boat and good luck finding one.

The highlights of the trip for me were;

Day 2: The Egyptian Museum, where we learnt about the mysteries of ancient Egypt. We got to see Tutankhamen’s burial chamber, tomb and other artefacts. The history of Egypt can be overwhelming yet alluring. I can’t remember all the names or when they ruled or if they were good or bad or what, but I do know that from the time they were ordained they prepared their tombs for the afterlife. They wanted to be comfortable in the afterlife and went to extreme lengths to achieve it. Some pharaohs had less time than others due to them being murdered or early death but for most the tombs were elaborate displays of opulence and in-turn were repeatedly robbed of their fortunes.

The Sphinx and Pyramids were staggering. I couldn’t go inside the pyramids but from the outside they were miraculous. As much as you see them on telly its nothing compared to being there. How the f…. did they do it?  The stone blocks are as tall as an average person and as wide again. Solid rock, over 100m in height. How the f….? You’ve just gotta see it. (you’ll find me saying this a lot)

Day 3: Abu Simbel. Another how the f….? Here you have this monument placed here to say to invaders, “here’s me, I’m awesome, are you sure you want a piece of me, if you do, bring it on!” Its 4 massive figures of Ramses 11, carved into the side of a hill/mountain overlooking the waters of Lake Nasser. Over the centuries it was buried under tons of sand and lost until it was found (obviously). They then had to move the bloody thing back 60m due to the rising waters of the lake. 60m. How the f….? Bit by bit they moved it like a jig-saw-puzzle and if you weren’t told about it you would never know. WOW.

Days 3-6: We visited a number of temples along the Nile that when you are a tourist you just have to do. They were, how can I say, interesting but after a while one temple becomes another. Just another hard place to get to see some hieroglyphics, battle through crowds and get ripped off by fake tour guides that don’t speak good English but know how to say, “Tip”, or, “Baksheesh”, perfectly.

Day 7: it wasn’t until we got to Luxor that I finally started to appreciate the significance of temples and tombs. The Valley of the Kings was breath-taking. It is literally a valley with 1000’s of tombs. Many undiscovered. Most of the famous pharaohs were buried there in caves decorated with intricate paintings, still vibrant in colour and life even after 1000’s of years. I went into most caves and had no problems getting around the place. Sweet as. Shame about the crowds though.

On the other side of the Valley of the Kings is the temple of Queen Hatshepsut who ruled Egypt for 20 years in times of peace and growth. The temple is eye-catching as it dominates the desert landscape. I didn’t think I could get up to it at first as from a distance it appeared that there were hundreds of steps to get up. But upon further investigation and free entry we discovered that it was actually a ramp with steps on either side. How convenient.  Bless Hatshepsut for thinking of me all those 1000’s of years ago.

While the rest of the group looked forward to their donkey ride home with disdain, I skipped back to the cab knowing that my ass would be very comfortable. We stopped at a real Egyptian café along the way. The driver got my chair out and I sat there watching the world go by. I don’t think I was noticed all that much as I sat there studying the goings on of the café. When I say café I mean a concrete building, no half a building, with a table for eating, a cooker for the falafels, no windows, no bell ringing as you enter through the door, no welcome mat, no friendly hello, no carpet, but I’ll tell ya it was the busiest place in the street. Not much on the menu either. Falafels or falafels. Oh and shishka (Egyptian bong thingy). As I said I sat there nonchalantly and glimpsed how the hierarchy works in Egypt. Some people were served right away after pushing in, some had to wait ages, some were served quicker after they yelled at the cook, who did his job with absolutely no expression on his face at all, feeling no pressure. It appeared that if you were a girl, you waited. If you were a young kid, you waited. And if you were older and bigger you got what you needed with no please or bloody thank you. You could even abuse the cook. We may think they are rude bastards but that’s the way they do things. I wasn’t game enough to ask for any falafels.

That about it from me. I had a great time. Egypt is a magical place. My eyes were definitely opened a little wider but I have come to appreciate my home comforts. I can say that I never saw another person in a chair the whole time I was there and I wonder how they get on. If or how they survive. I made a true friend in Waleed, our tour leader, and without him life would have been very difficult. A thanks also goes to our tour group, bunch of bloody Aussies, much gratitude to you all. Gecko’s was the name of the tour company and if I ever do anything like this again I will be contacting them. This story has been a while coming but unexpectedly I remember the trip like it was yesterday. I did have apprehensions towards going to Egypt and the Middle East but after this experience I would recommend it to anyone.

Until next time.

Nunu nunu.

Curtis