Into the Jungle

Tarzan would love Tortuguero.  It's his kind of place.  It lies in the jungle along Costa Rica’s Caribbean coast. There are plenty of giant vines to swing from, canals to swim in, monkeys to befriend, critters to tame and another King of the Jungle – the Jaguar – to compete with.  There are no roads and therefore no cars.  Everything comes in by boat.  And the wildlife is up close and personal.

We came to the Mawamba Lodge as a group, first by private bus from Costa Rica’s capital,San Jose, then by boat when the road ended.  All our activities were done as a group too.  Some web commenter said the program was too rigid; that there wasn't enough down time.  And, oh God, there was no air conditioning.  But the pool was more for cooling off between canal cruises or nature hikes than someplace to work on your tan.  This is the tropics; there's no lying in the sun!  Lying in a shaded hammock along the canal between tours, long neck in hand?  Oh yeah.  

Besides, my group wasn't the lay around type.  Except for me, everyone was homogenous in age – they could all be my kids - and diverse in culture.  We had couples from Portugal, Spain, France and California, and one other solo traveler: a Dutch girl.   And everyone was multilingual.  The other Americans spoke English, French and Spanish.  The Portuguese couple spoke Spanish too.  The French and Spanish couples both spoke English.  The Dutch girl ... she spoke lots of languages.  And me, I spoke American dollars because everyone understands American dollars. 

Our tour boats were never more than half full, so there was no jostling over seating or big hats blocking the views.  And everyone was courteous.  If someone rode in front first, they'd move further back the next time.  Fran (Francisco), the Spaniard was always making sure I got a good picture of this iguana or that frog.  Tom and Lisa (the Californians) were great birders and quick to point out exotic spoonbills or toucans.  And Irene, the Dutch girl, would share her telephoto lens for looks at far off sloths and howler monkeys.  

    

When you come and visit the Mawamba Lodge, only the manicured lawns distinguish where the jungle ends and the eco-lodge comfort begins.  The wildlife ignores such boundaries.   At first, my group was snap, snap, snapping pictures of all the iguanas.  After awhile, we were chasing them around camp to see who could get them to run on their hind legs.  It was great fun!

And it wasn’t just iguanas.  On land, we saw three-toed sloths, basilisk lizards, poison dart frogs, river otters, salt water crocodiles, and howler and spider monkeys.  During our night walk, we saw evidence of either Baird's tapirs or Javelinas.  And there were giant spiders, tiny scorpions and enough snakes to make all of us watch where we put our hands.  We didn’t see any Jaguars, but were told to “stay in camp at night” just to be safe.  We also didn’t see any manatees.  But our motor-powered boats were prohibited from venturing into their sectioned-off canal habitats.

In the air, there were different kinds of toucans, trogons, Montezuma oropendulas, parrots, herons, egrets, kingfishers, anhingas, jacanas, grebes, spoonbills, hawks and kites.  There are over 300 different birds in Tortuguero.  I can’t even come close to naming all I saw.

But what really made Tortuguero special was Steven.  He was a guide-pool sensation.  A native Costa Rican and college-educated biologist, Steven gave extensive bilingual talks on the flora and fauna.  He went the extra mile in every aspect – jumping out of the boat onto a log to spook a green basilisk into running across water for us, knocking down a tree-topping chocolate nut so we could all have a taste, finding the beautifully colored dart frogs and coaxing a boat captain into muddying-up his outdrive to get us to his favorite spot for seeing the illusive Roseate Spoonbill.  Steven only does about one Tortuguero tour per a month.  We scored. 

Last Post

The questions have already started: What did you like best?  Where will you go next?  Those who quiz me aren’t asking why I prefer Yosemite to Cairo - home is where the heart is - but what the stand-out memories of Egypt and Jordan and Israel are.  The short answer is that my favorite memories all seem to revolve around food.  No wonder I gained more than a few kilos. 

In Egypt, it was Luxor.  The pace was hectic in Cairo.  Luxor is someplace I could call home.  My first fine meal of traditional Egyptian food set the mood.  Drawing a top pick from the guide pool didn’t hurt.  There were huge crowds in the Valley of the Kings.  We were all alone in the Tombs of the Nobles.  The massive Karnak Temple was beyond belief and my guide always knew the best angle for the best picture.  We spent hours in spots that other tour guides ignored.

In Jordan, it was the Bedouin camp in the desert of Wadi Rum.  I’d asked my Jordanian guide if he thought the locals would mind if I wore the traditional robes and headdress I bought earlier that day to dinner.  He said they’d be insulted if I didn’t.  Dining and dancing with fellow travelers after touring alone, having a quiet bed in the cool desert and seeing all those stars brought things into focus.

And in Israel, it was the Galilee.  Breaking bread with my fellow travelers while gazing across the Sea of Galilee during lunch at a Kibbutz was serene beyond belief.  After the whirlwind tours in Jerusalem and Bethlehem and the Dead Sea, the Galilee was a little piece of heaven.  Sprinkle in the sights from Sunday school tales and all I could do was sigh.

Where next is a tougher question to answer.  I now have stamps from six continents in my passport.  Antarctica is the only one I haven’t visited, but it has no nation and therefore no customs stamp.  Some say Egypt doesn’t count as visiting Africa because it’s not sub-Saharan and that an African Safari is a must.  Others say Brazil doesn’t represent Latin South America because they speak Portuguese and not Spanish.  And still others say Southeast Asia better represents the peoples of Asia that say Japan or China. 

I say yes.  My Bucket List is only half full.  I’ve visited all fifty US states; why not fifty countries?  I’m more than half way there and there’s still Machu Picchu and Angkor Wat, Kashmir and Kathmandu, Northern Lights and Antarctic penguins, Bali and Bhutan, Istanbul and Paris.  No, I’ve never been to Paris. I’m saving Paris.  But that’s another story.

Jews, Jews Everywhere ...

It takes a couple of days to get used to any new place.  Israel is no exception.  My hotel in Jerusalem was of the Orthodox Jewish variety.  Sabbath starts at sunset Friday and that’s when I arrived; every restaurant and shop in the city, even the ones at the airport, were shut down.  I was hungry and I was a captive audience.

Upon arriving, my hotel lobby was a manic confluence of tour bus arrivals. And the front desk that was, at best, indifferent.  An Orthodox Jewish wedding party was spilling out into the lobby too.  It only added to the mayhem.  It was bloody Kindergarten with small children running everywhere, men in funny hats, women pushing strollers, cold stares and enough turbulence to shake Jesus from the cross.  These people call that fun?

Following the next day’s tour to Masada and the Dead Sea, I walked down towards Old Jerusalem.  Was I heading to the area where young Palestinians were throwing rocks on the morning’s BBC news? I didn’t know.  But hey, I’m 54; you only live once.  You can run with the big dogs or sit on the porch.  I saw no rock throwers, but did find a pedestrian mall with falafel stalls and great people watching. Afterward, I managed to get lost more than once on the narrow, winding pathways that honeycomb Jerusalem. 

After another day of guided tours – to Old Jerusalem and Bethlehem this time – I hit the streets again, this time braving the ancient Old Jerusalem parts (and yes, getting lost a few more times).  With the shops in the Muslim Quarter closing at sundown, the stares started getting a bit creepy.  I found the Jaffa Gate and caught a bus to the main bus station.  Looking around at the food stalls, everything was in Hebrew.  No more tourist venues; this place was bustling, and it was authentic.  When it was my turn, I simply said “Same as her.”  The guy immediately switched to English saying that was a half order and I looked like I'd want a full.  He fixed me up with a falafel burrito and a couple of side dishes.

Sitting down to eat with two young boys, I quizzed them about their ages (14 and 15) and teased them about girls.  They showed great respect, both shaking my hand before grabbing their skateboards and heading out.  I also chatted with a baby-faced twenty-one year-old soldier heading home for Passover (there were soldiers - both men and women - everywhere) and two rather skanky looking women who were headed to Eilat and the Red Sea.         

As I made my way back to my hotel, I realized I’d found the Israel I sought … and it was good.

Amman is full of surprises. It’s a regular love fest here. American music plays everywhere: classic rock at dinner, more recent stuff at the mall. Kids shout across the street to welcome me to Jordan. There’s McDonald’s and Starbucks and Cinabunn and Papa John’s, six story malls and pedestrian centers. And there’s also history.


The small local Archaeological Museum at the Citadel contained 8,000 years of Middle Eastern history including three of the Dead Sea Scrolls. Brazil’s President Lula is in town and his wife stopped by to see the museum. There was security detail. But she walked around with the rest of us. She walked right past me like just another tourist - amazing. When Hilary came for a visit they closed down the whole damn town.

Today’s biggest surprise was the wild flowers. Spring in Amman is like spring in California, except the poppies are red instead of golden. And here, the flowers are spread amongst Jerash, one of the best preserved Roman era cities in the Middle East. Today’s chariot races and other Roman-style sporting events were performed in the Hippodrome along a 4th Century A.D. wall. They were both hokey and fun at the same time.

Salaam Aleikum

Tonight’s bed is in a traditional Bedouin camp in the desert of Wadi Rum. This is the area where Lawrence of Arabia used to plan and execute his attacks against the Ottomans after World War I. I love to star gaze, and this is star-gazing Mecca. I was pointing out the Big Dipper and Orion to folks as we warmed ourselves beside the fire. Once I walked into the darkness of the desert, there were so many stars I could barely find my familiar constellations. And the Milky Way tonight was oh so fine.

Prior to star-o-rama was our meal of lamb and chicken cooked in a buried pit. We all went out for the uncovering. We were not a large group, perhaps 50. And, with two serving stations, lines were short and seconds were plentiful. Tents were set up in a rectangle and opened to the middle and the fire. Following dinner there was dancing. The servers (all men) started a kind of chain dance and pulled tourists from their seats to join them. I seemed to be the only man selected, but then, I was the only tourist dressed in traditional Jordanian style. The show ended with a mock wedding of two French tourists. Everyone laughed and clapped and sang (chanted things in Arabic) and had a grand time.

The camp where we’re staying is so small the guides and drivers joined us tourists for dinner. My guide, Hasan, befriended (or attempted to befriend) Carol, a woman from Houston who was traveling on her own too. He was trying to set it up to where she and I were the wedding couple. But we were out dancing so another couple was selected. As things wound down she excused herself saying she’d be back. Hasan waited and waited. I waited too. I was going to offer our small group some star-gazing instruction. There’s safety in numbers, you know. When I finally excused myself to find a dark spot, Hasan declined to come along. An evening under the stars without our new friend was nothing he was interested in.

Earlier in the day I visited Petra, the Rose City. It’s full of ancient of temples, mausoleums and cave dwellings. Built by the King of the Nabataean Empire in 9 BC, Petra had about 30,000 residents at its peak. To get there, you walk down a narrow, gently sloping wash called the Siq. The Siq is lined with cisterns and canals that carry water into the ancient city. Most visitors walk the two kilometers in - there are horse drawn carriages too for those who don’t walk well - have their look-about and leave the same way. We hired donkeys and climbed a hill on the back side for four kilometers to Wadi Musa where our driver was waiting for us.

The day started off with a drive down the Dead Sea, the lowest point on Earth, and up over 6,000 foot mountains to get to the desert. It ended with wonderful views of Wadi Rum as the sun set, a spectacular meal and show, and stars that only shine in the darkest of places. As I came off the desert from star-gazing in my flowing white robe and red head dress, a camp staffer addressed me as Sir Lawrence. Sir Lloyd, I corrected him. Lloyd of Arabia.

The Dead Sea Eels

Everything changed once I boarded my flight for Amman.  There were about a dozen men around me all in traditional Jordanian dress, Qurans in hand and praying most of the way.  The man next to me tried teaching me some verses and some other sayings in Arabic as we flew.  By the end of the flight he was inviting me to his home!  I wish I could have gone.  I had a driver waiting to wisk me away to the Dead Sea Spa, my hotel for the night. 

Jordan has a very familiar feel to it.  The topography and landscape are very Southern Californian with rolling mountains, which are green now because it's spring, and mustard flowers and other familiar looking plants.  It's a nice change from Egypt and all that sand.  I cannot see the West Bank across the Dead Sea.  It looks like smog - it's blowing sand - once again very Southern California. (I just too a break from writing to Instant Message with Allan Roske in California ... isn't the Internet amazing?)

Another nice difference is no more weapon packing soldiers.  My guide said there is surveillance, but it's for the pot smugglers who grow their product up in the hills.  How very Californian.  Once at the hotel, I started over to their X Ray machine and found the door locked.  There are metal detectors at the hotel entrance too, but everyone walks around them.

The hotel looks like it belongs on Miami Beach.  In addition to the spa, there's a lap pool, two little kiddie pools and a larger play pool with two story slide.  Everything is laid back here. The Jordanians are at peace with both Arabs and Israelis.  Dress is decidedly less modest than Egypt too.  Swim suits and shorts are the norm and not the exception. 

Besides the spa here the big thing is to, of course, float on the Dead Sea. Many folks came down for their photo ops while I was there, and I got more than one person to watch out for the dreaded Dead Sea Eels.  "Really?" They'd ask. "Yes, I'd say.  They look like sticks." "Reeealllly?" They'd ask again and start looking around on top of the water.  There were sticks everywhere.  It was too much fun to stop!

Abu Simbel

It’s Sunday evening and I’ve just completed the most fantastic day. Of course, all the days are fantastic in Egypt. It started out watching the sky lighten from atop the two story pool deck of my hotel in Aswan. About a quarter mile across the Nile River lays Elephantine Island and the Movenpick Hotel. That hotel has a great square tower rising above it with a restaurant and observation deck at the top. The tower and hotel were built for the Russian architect to live and observe construction of the new Aswan High Dam. It’s lit up at night and changes colors from blue to purple to green to white. There was a breeze blowing and I could hear the call to prayer from behind. It was a nice scene.

After fending off the feral cats from stealing my breakfast sausages, I caught an early morning flight to Abu Simbel to see the great temple build by Ramses II. He ruled from 1279 BC to 1213 BC and was considered the greatest of the Egyptian pharaohs. After the Pyramids and Sphinx of Giza, Abu Simbel is considered the greatest Egyptian attraction. Most people fly, like me. You land and are herded onto busses for a couple of hours of visiting the site before flying back. Once there, I had my own guide. Like my Cairo guide, his job seemed to be informing and selling photo ops by a professional photographer and glossy interior shots from the Government. I played along this time. I didn’t come all this way not to.

Two days each year, on the anniversary of Ramses birth and coronation, the rising sun shines 200 feet down a horizontal shaft and illuminates statues of Ramses and three gods. There are drawings along the shaft and related rooms describing scenes of life according to Ramses - doing battle, taking prisoners, anointing himself a god - the usual life of pharaoh stuff. The four gods make up a holy quartet. Out front, four giant statues of Ramses let potential invaders know who controls the continent from here to Syria.

After that it was back on a plane for Cairo and the hotel out in the burbs (in the sand outside the city) where I spent my first three nights. Of course, I arrived just as the pool was closing. That’s ok though. I need to send mom a postcard and get this blog posted before I leave Egypt for Jordan in the morning. Egypt is a great country. Put it on your Bucket List.