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 be [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 r [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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I've been getting a lot of questions about why there aren't more blogs. In a nutshell, I haven't stopped traveling, but I've been to lazy to type up my blog. I made it through Eritrea, and am now back in the Middle East, studying Arabic in Sana'a. The blog should be uploaded Real Soon Now. Thanks for reading. [View Full Entry]

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3:30am. A petrol station in Assab. The daily bus to Asmara is about to leave. Our entire room, sheets, mattress, etc reeked of (someone else's) sweaty penis, but I still wish I could have slept a couple more hours. We're facing a 1 ½ day journey up the Red Sea coast in August -- following the Danakil Depression, one of the hottest places in the world - until we reach the cool highlands' spring weather. It's pitch dark, but we're already sweating profusely in the absence of even the slightest breeze. Trying to lug my sack onto the bus, and simultaneously [View Full Entry]

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X tells me “Djibouti” is French for “tiny, expensive, hot, steaming pile”. I admire conciseness in a language. Night. Somewhere in the desert between Hargeisa and Djibouti. A couple of huts selling food. I am in full power-saving mode, stretched out on the tarp with my daypack under my head, eyes tightly shut and not a single muscle moving, even though I know there’s no time to sleep, even if I could manage to. My fellow-passengers are finishing up their meals and are assuming similar rest positions. X is somewhere to my left, taking full advantage of his F [View Full Entry]

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The Horn of Africa. The self-declared and officially non-existent Republic of Somaliland, occupying the northernmost part of the fictitious country of Somalia. For some reason the word “warlord” pops up in my head when I hear “Somali”. Somali Warlord. Like Apple Pie. Images of brave marines killing hundreds of skinnies for every one they lose. The overwhelming and irresistible firepower of Democracy. Black Hawk Down. When I told him where I was headed my brother asked me if it was possible to find a more dangerous place. As people you meet on the stree [View Full Entry]

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Perhaps the most unnerving part of entering a new country is what makes it so exciting: namely, the uncertainty. Things one has gotten used to (if only for a few weeks) can be swept aside in the few innocent steps that take you across the border. There are practical considerations: money looks different; a dollar can vary from 70 cents (Jordan) to 1.5 million (Turkey) in local currency; the food is different; the language is different; transportation, hotel, and restaurant standards change and must be re-learned. Perhaps the most important change is the renewed uncertainty of one’s p [View Full Entry]

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A brothel/bar in Lalibela. 4:35am. Xavier knocks on the door: "Khwaja?" I had set my own alarm but forgot to turn it on. Good to have a travel companion. We exchange sparse words: I'm going to shit. More use of that excellent newspaper we bought. Our bags are packed and ready from the previous night. Lalibela has chronic water shortage and I haven't showered since we left Addis Ababa 6 days ago. I smell awful. X coughed all night; he's developed a dry rasping cough over the last couple of days. We went to bed around 8:30 but neither of us [View Full Entry]

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