Getting off a bus after sunset in the middle of Herat with absolutely *no* information, neither map nor directions nor knowledge of prices, unable to speak the language, and with my enormous backpack and /khareji/ clothes *clearly* a very stupid westerner in a country with an emerging appetite for kidnapping foreigners... no, probably not the most intelligent move I've made. It's not like I was too arrogant to be scared either. Maybe stupid is the right word. The place was like a wave descending on me, the sudden onslaught of all the stereotypes of Afghanistan come to life: the ancient "phoenix" [View Full Entry]

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On the off chance (extremely unlikely) that there are people out there calling embassies and desperate to get news from me (like I said, very unlikely), I'm alive and doing well, although I still don't know what the penalty is for being a Khareji in Herat... I've been adopted by two really cool (Hazara) guys: one with an amazing life story (and pretty good english), and the other who is just returning from work in Saudi Arabia (and so I pretended like I spoke Arabic with him). When not sharing personal histories they're telling me about how the "Talib"s are going [View Full Entry]

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Just a quick update to let my sundry following know that I'm alive and this time actually heading in the direction of China (yeay!) though I've still only made it as far as Tehran... but this is as far east as I've gotten in 3 years on the road, so it's not to be taken lightly. A major milestone. And what I really wanted to say is that travelblog.org seems to be blocked at most internet cafes I've been to here (this is the first one in 2 weeks where it worked), so I know I owe you all an Azerbaijan [View Full Entry]

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I confidently wave goodbye to my hosts and step outside, hoping to catch the 1oclock marshrutka (it's 1:15) if I'm not too late. An overcast day in Sukhum(i), a few drops of rain. I've spent the morning at the museum, then at the botanical gardens, then buying stamps and other souvenirs to bribe the Abkhazia-lovers back home. Pretty full day so far. Now I need to catch a marshrutka to Gal(i), another to the "border" at Ingur(i), deal with the Russian soldiers there, walk across the bridge and into Georgia, then take a marshrutka to Zugdidi in time for the [View Full Entry]

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EASTERN EXPRESS Train from Kars A Turkish seater (pullman) wagon, nearly full. The train is coming from Kars on the eastern border, traveling 1950km to get to Istanbul in 36 hours. Most passengers at this point have gotten on much later, after Ankara, and are dressed in "secular" "modern" dress: sports shirts and jeans on men; most women uncovered and also wearing jeans. It's early afternoon and most passengers are dozing or chatting in small groups. Somewhere towards the middle, Adam - a middle aged local-looking man - is re-reading a book he finished minutes ago. He has been on the [View Full Entry]

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A place like Georgia makes one realize how much we take for granted. For instance, the assumption that a country has one (or maybe two) names. This is Georgia, Gurcistan, Gruzya, or Sakartvelos, depending on which language you're speaking. It's also a common assumption that progress is linear - forward. I was once talking with Janvier about how Europe could have plunged into the Dark Ages and completely forget the technological accumulation of the Greeks and Romans. I see the exact same process at work in Georgia (and Armenia, but this blog is about Georgia): enormous factories; solid public services [View Full Entry]

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It's Genocide Memorial Day. You know, remembering the 1.5 million (exact amount disputed) Ottoman Armenians killed during their deportation in WWI. 92 years later, and there's still a pretty big turnout; an unending throng of people bearing flowers or wreaths to the Memorial to be placed around the eternal flame as dramatic music is played on loudspeakers and the whole thing is broadcasted live on TV. It's April 24 and if you think that means it's warm and sunny you're very much mistaken. It's snowing heavily, giving the whole thing an even more dramatic and eerie atmosphere. Not the best time [View Full Entry]

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Back at work(!) people would come to your office and confiscate your hardcore technical books if you were deemed to be doing something sufficiently uncool (ie, consistently writing userland code or java applications or working on docs and the likes). Something similar should be done to travelers who go soft: take away our shoes or passport or backpacks or something. From the detention centers in Yemen our story leaps to France and Spain, those exotic dangerous countries that one only reads of in books but rarely dares to visit in person. For the sake of completeness, I'll mention that I returned [View Full Entry]

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Now that I've relinquished any and all pretensions to being a True Blogger(tm), I might as well upload tons of random pictures detailing my love affair with Bazou. [View Full Entry]

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A police station in Zabid. Around 10am. The steady stream of people asking me where I'm from and why I'm here finally culminated in me sitting next to The Man Himself, patiently explaining myself. It's February, but I have a respectable tan from the past week or so spent in the lowlands here by the Red Sea, mostly outdoors and in the backs of pickup trucks. It's hot and humid, and I could use a hot shower. I'm 'going native', wearing a turban on my head (they're remarkably useful) and a sarung/skirt for pants. Compounded with a healthy beard, it normally [View Full Entry]

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