Saqib Goes Home To Kenya, His Mother Land :)

I am writing this at my grandparents farm in Mtwapa, Mombasa surrounded by family and being eaten by mosquitos. I’ve been living on fresh fruits, meats, boxes of mithai (Indian sweets) and most of all, fresh mangoes and madafu (coconut). It’s sunny, warm and the mangrove in the front yard is just as magnificent as it ever was. I can’t believe it’s been over 6 years since the last time I was in Kenya. I’ve missed this life so much!





Flight in:

Oh, the glory that is charter flights! This flight could have been the poster child for stereotypical bad flying experiences! I was sitting in the 4 across middle row of the airplane, shoulder to shoulder with my uncle and the English guy on my left. I tried to put my elbows down but couldn’t get them past the arm rest that were sufferingly close to my sides. In front of me was a small child who would stand up in his seat at whim and stare at me. Throughout the night he would stare and stare. And stare and stare and stare and stare and stare and stare and stare…………..well, you get the idea. It was fun and first, I made faces at him, thinking that he would smile….but he didn’t. He was stone faced the whole time and that scared me. I soon ran out of faces to make and he still hadn’t cracked a smile. It was unnerving! Not too long into the flight, I realized that my iPod battery was dead and I would have to entertain myself for the duration of the flight’s 9 hours. Everyone was asleep around me and I wanted to join the club. I tried to settle down into the slot of the seat I was in and made a stab at sleep…but I was thwarted by one of the most stereotypical miserable flight experiences of all- the passenger with the crazy snore. I’m sure many of you are familiar with this passenger but this was my first experience with him. The cabin was dark and there were the obligatory chorus of mild snoring and heavy breathing but all of it was trumped by the man sitting in the row in front of me and his unholy collection of gapless snores. It was comical at first, much like the starting child, but after 15 mins of it, I was giving him the best evil eye I could, imagining his head bursting and a calm silence falling over the cabin letting all of us red-eyed travelers lull into a deep sleep. There was cheering at first, but then everyone happily went to sleep. His head didn’t explode and I never got to sleep. Instead, I angrily listened to his snoring all night long, wishing misfortune (or overhead luggage) to fall on him silencing his snores. I wandered the cabin for a while and eventually found myself drinking glass after glass of water in the crew’s quarters in the back of the plane. Standing there staring out the window I had the treat of experiencing another great airplane conversation. A portly white well-to-do looking man was animatedly talking to the flight stewards telling them about how he probably thwarted a terrorist plot at the airport at wanted to know if they had heard anything about it. Keep in mind, I was blatantly staring at this man the whole time he was talking, not hiding the fact at all that I was listening to this conversation. He told the stewardess that while he was waiting for is flight there was a man anxiously pacing up and down the isle of the boarding gate muttering to himself. The English man made a point to describe the appearance of the pacing man, prefacing it by saying “I don’t want to offend anyone but the guy was clearly of Arabic or some other Muslim looking decent and was probably doing some sort of prayer.” Needless to say, the English man, being the patriot and terrorist-spotting expert that he was (im surprised this man wasn’t an American, he would make such a great one!), called the security guards at the airport and had the man taken away from the boarding gate on the premise that this “Arab looking man” was making the other passengers nervous. The flight attendants were very proud of him and kept saying what an admirable thing it was that he’d did and how most people wouldn’t have the courage. I wish I’d had the courage to slap all 3 of them, but I guess not all of us can have the bravery that this fat white English guy has. I left them and went back to my seat to be greeted by the kid staring at me (he apparently couldn’t sleep either), the man snoring, being elbowed by the sleeping English traveler guy on my left and my dead iPod.

We got into Mombassa, flying from the extreme cold of the U.K. to the blanching heat of Mombassa. My cousins started turning red from the heat as soon as they got off the plane. We waited in a long line to pay our visa fees and finally made it out of the airport to be greeted by another cousin and the family car, waiting to take us to the farm after so many years ☺

My first day back in Kenya:

My family! I am back on the family farm in Mtwapa and am once again with my mom, my cousins, my grandparents and the absolutely beautiful farm. The shamba (“farm” in Kiswahili) is just like I remember it. Green, filled with family, mangoes and coconuts. What more could I want? I can’t even begin to describe how wonderful it has been to be with my family again and we are all looking forward to my cousin’s wedding coming up at the end of the week.
Also,
It’s hot! Really really hot! I was looking forward to make it out of Aix’s winter cold (why is the south of France cold?! And why wasn’t I told about this cold before signing up for the program?) and into the island tropical warmth of Mombassa but this is too much! I’m sweating from parts of my body that shouldn’t be sweating and I crave for cold water. Unfortunately none of us are patient enough to wait for the water to get all the way cold.
We went into the town market today to pick up some things for the wedding feast. Covered in sweat, we wove our way through the streets of the market picking up fruits and being conned into buying Achari (a pickled mango sweet of sorts). I let myself be convinced by my mother to get a haircut after I got my straight blade shave (don’t tell anyone but the straight blade shave was one of the things I was looking forward to most about Kenya). Long story short, the shave was a painful disaster with the barber repeatedly complaining to me how my thick facial hair was ruining his blades, me ending up with a haircut that bothers me every time I look in the mirror and me losing a lot of trust in my mother. Moral of the story: When mom says get a haircut, don’t. That night, we went to Lighthouse (the hot spot at night for people to hang out and show off their new clothes) where we had bags of fresh Mogo Crisps (Cassava chips) and grilled sweet potato with chili and lime on top…SO DELICIOUS!!! If you know what I am writing about, you’ll know what a big deal it was to eat it at the lighthouse. If you don’t know what im talking about, buy the next ticket you can find to Mombasa and get yourself some hot fresh mogo!

Day 2:

We woke up late today and after an amazing breakfast (my grandmother cooked, enough said) then made our way back to Old Town mombasa to do some more shopping. My cousin Nadia is a bargainer and haggler unlike any other and she lead us all around the market, from one stall to another, to pick up things for her wedding and various gifts for folks back home in the U.S. Later that day, we bought chickens from another part of the farm so we could have barbecue that night. There is nothing better than having fresh meat ☺ We also bought goats in preparation for Eid the next day. When we went to the goat herder to pick the ones we wanted, a bunch of the goats (all male goats btw) started to madly have sex with each other. Either Mombasa has a higher than average gay goat community or the goats knew the end was near and had let go of their socially imposed restraints (can animals be gay? I wonder…)

That night we all sat and cooked some Nyama (“barbecue”) on the side of the house. We were out there talking late into the night, all very excited to be back together again after so long. Late that night, 2 of my cousins introduced me to Mombasa’s awesome beach night life.

I am enjoying myself so much on the farm! Its so relaxing ☺ Also, I’ve been sneaking Pedas (Indian sweets) from the fridge, I hope nobody notices how quickly the desserts are disappearing.

Day 3:

Today we celebrated Eid-ul-Adha and went to the early morning prayers at the small mosque on the farm. We came home to a delicious traditional Eid breakfast (im not going to describe the magic of this breakfast, but know that it was more than amazing). After breakfast, we slaughtered the goats (in accordance with Eid tradition) and had them for a nice lunch biryani (a decadent and work intensive rice and meat dish). We all felt very lazy today and throughout the day we took naps and ate desserts when we thought nobody else was watching (maybe that last bit was just me….once again, I hope nobody notices the fast diminishing dessert collection in the fridge). I went for a walk on the farm on my own to take some photos and ended up back at the farm’s school that I had been to with my family the last time I was in Mombasa. Even though the students were on vacation, I was able to walk around the school and got a chance to wander in and out of the classrooms having reality check after reality check about the immense privilege that I have been raised in/with. The classrooms have no windows or doors and desks are made out of rough scrap wood and shared by 2-3 students. The blackboard is peeling black paint on the wall and is covered by Swahili verbs and their English counterparts. After returning home, we went to see some other relatives and wish them Eid Mumbarak. It really is wonderful to be seeing my family again.

Day 4:

After waking up at an unreasonable time (anything before 10 is unreasonable), my mom and I got a lift in the sole family car (a white station wagon which we can fit a seemingly infinite number of people in) to the nearby White Sands beach. We walked through the hotel straight to the beach and started to walk down the beach. The sand was perfectly white and under the cloudless sky, the water a warm blue. The beach was dotted with “beach boys” pitching things like Glass bottom boat rides, Camel rides, keychains, paintings, coconuts, chili mangoes, and everything in between to the tourists who were wandering on the beach. It was clear that we (I) stuck out like a sore thumb because the beach boys passed my mom up and would keep trying to sell me their various wares. Once we told people we were just on a walk, they left us alone. Finally we ended up staring at rows of paintings planted in the sand. As we walked in and out of the rows, the beach boy selling them would bring more and more paintings out like the ones we would stop to look at. My mother and I were talking in English, and then changed to French when we realized the beach boys were listening and understanding everything we were saying. Unfortunately the beach boys also understood the French, so we switched to kutchi. My mom was talking in Swahili to the man and told him that I was a guest who she was taking out on a tour. She told him that I was a client who was only able to spend so much as I was a student on a tight budget. They were surprised to hear that my mom was from Mtwapa and as they entered the complicated haggling process, this information and a native fluency in Swahili definitely came in handy to my mom. They haggled in Swahili with the occasional English words and I followed along as best I could. The beach boys kept demanding the outrageous tourist price given to the wealthy Europeans who stayed in the resorts along the beach and we kept walking away until our price was finally met and we bought the painting. While this haggling was going on, another beach boy pulled me aside and offered to trade me something for my pen and after that asked me if I wanted to buy anything from his “special sale” which was a rolled up cloth sack laying behind one of the larger paintings. He told me that he would sell it to me without my guide (aka my mom) knowing and that he had everything I wanted. I declined and tried to get him to make the same pitch to my mom. We walked down the beach and were offered these “special sales” many times, sometimes the beach boys asked me and sometimes they asked my mom (usually because I would point at her behind her back). The majority of the beach boys were very nice and we talked to many of them as we walked down the beach. We stopped for a coconut and while I drank the coconut milk from the hole cut in the coconut, a womyn asked if we wanted our hair braided. As tempting as it was to have matching hair braids with my mom, we passed it up because of the upcoming wedding. We eventually found some lounge chairs and ordered some fruit drinks. With colorful lizards running underneath the chairs and Chameleons on the palm trees on top of us we lay and watched dhow boats sail past in the low tide and the seldom camel led down the coast by a brightly dressed beach boy. We left the beach deciding against taking a taxi home and opted for the local public transportation instead, the matatu. For those of you who haven’t seen or witnessed for yourselves the wonders of the Matatu, let me describe it to you the best I can.
The Matatu is usually are old Nissan, Toyota and Mitsubishi minivans modified to hold 14 passengers (but usually hold way more). These vans are brightly painted with slogans like “Mr. Boombastic” Or “Manchester United 4 Life” scrawled across the sides with neon lights flashing to the beat of blaring reggae or hip hop music. There are fleets of these zooming across town with no care for traffic laws or the safety of their passengers. The owners make deals with the drivers demanding a set amount of profit each day for the owner and the rest for the driver and his helper. The helper hangs out the door of the matatu shouting its destination at the people it passes, collects money and tells the driver when to stop. This helper often only has one arm and one leg inside of this speeding van as the driver navigates around traffic, livestock, people, and the car eating pot holes that Kenya’s roads are all to well known for. Laws were passed recently to bring some law to the matatus but all this did was make all matatus have matching yellow stripes along the side and make the Helper not lean so far out of the matatu. Supposedly it was supposed to get drivers to only allow 14 people (who would presumably all be wearing seatbelts) into the matatu, but you still see upwards of 20 people crammed in, sitting on top of each other’s laps with their luggage in their own laps. We were lucky in that our matatu was not crowded like this and we had no problems with pick-pocketers. We got dropped of at the main road exit for the farm and walked for 2 miles to get back home.
That afternoon my cousin, Afshan, who is more like my close sister and friend because we were raised together, arrived from Elk Grove. I’ve missed her so much while in France and seeing her was a real treat. We stayed up late that night dancing and talking around a bonfire underneath the palm trees. As people started to go to sleep, another one of my cousins and I sat by the dying fire catching up and eating Miraa (aka Kaat- as its known in the U.S.). Every so often the night guard would walk by and we would shoot trees with his Masai bow and arrow. Miraa is a mild socially accepted amphetamine of sorts that is very popular in East Africa. One buys bunches of miraa plant stalks rolled up in newspaper and packs of “Big G” bubble gum. Bite of a piece of gum, and then peel off the outer layer of the Miraa stalks with your teeth, chewing them with the gum. I know it sounds complicated but its easy once you get the hang of it. People sit around for hours talking and chewing miraa. It’s a big part of the culture here. Miraa is a stimulant similar to caffeine and I am told that sometimes it also works as a natural Viagra.

Day 5:

Today was a mad rush of cleaning and cooking in preparation for Nadya’s Mehndi party in the afternoon. Farm workers wove palm fronds to make archways for guests to walk under, while I helped making palm tree bark into decorative boats to put on tables during the Nikha (actual wedding ceremony). The patio was decorated by Nadya and Afshan in preparation for the Mehndi party and the kitchen was full of people cooking for the Mehndi party and for the Nikha. At around 4 when we were expecting the guests to show up we heard drums and singing coming from down the dirt road and when we ran out to see what it was, we saw that it was the Imam from the farm’s mosque leading a group of children who were playing drums and singing various prayers. To my surprise, they turned into our farm and continued to the lawn where they sat on carpets that had previously been layed out. It turns out that they had been called to perform the Moulid (a muslim group prayer ceremony) to bless the wedding. At home in Elk Grove when we perform the moulid, we all sit down and repeat after a scratchy and worn out 40+ year old cassette tape recording of some moulid years ago that often breaks and has to be switched mid-prayer, in contrast, in mombasa when they have a moulid, they have matching outfits, a percussion section and they sing the prayers in harmony. At one point some of the children started to play flutes. It was beautiful and made me jealous.
In accordance with Indian Standard Time, the guests arrived 2 hours late. The mehndi artist was almost done covering Nadya’s legs, feet, arms, and hands with intricate Arabic mehndi wedding designs and the mehndi ceremony was ready to begin. The groom’s family presented the bride’s family with brightly decorated platters of mehndi, fruits, and sweets and eventually walked up to greet the bride. Eventually the womyn separated and danced in the room the bride was sitting while applying mehndi to each other. The men sat outside under the trees eating, talking and drinking tea. Eventually when many of the guests had left, the rest of us had dinner and kept talking outside under the trees and the full moon. I set up my cousin’s hookah and my cousins, uncles, some aunts and I sat around smoking and talking. My mother shook her head at me and told me my smoking wasn’t appropriate but she was trumped by my grandmother who gave me the go ahead. Needless to say, I love my grandmother. We sat outside talking late into the night, my uncles and grandfather telling me stories of their childhoods, past travels, and life growing up in Kenya.

Day 6:

Today was a relaxed day mostly filled with final preparations for the wedding, lazing around the farm and throwing a Frisbee around under the beautiful Mombasa sun. We set up tables, wove more palm frond arches, decorated the wedding platform, set up the sound system and emergency lights (for the strong possibility of a power outage during the wedding). My Uncle went to secure armed police officers to guard the guest parking lot because theft was another strong possibility during the wedding. More family came to visit and we eventually decided on going to our favorite Nyama Choma (barbecue kebabs of sorts) restaurant that night. Even though my grandmother was making Nyama at the farm it would have been shameful for me to leave Mombasa without making the obligatory visit to the Vipingo Nyama Choma Mshikaki Restaurant. Vipingo is a small shack of a restaurant about 20 minutes away from the farm. There is no sign pointing to it off the main road and has been run by the same greyed old man behind the counter for as long as my Uncle can remember going there. This place is by far one of my favorite restaurants in the world. Barbecued beef skewers are ordered here in the hundreds along with Blackcurrent Vimto’s (a soda drink I have only seen in Kenya) and Fanta’s. The restaurant was out of Vimto so the 6 of us ordered Fanta’s (the real kind, in the glass bottles. Not like the crap we get stateside) and 150 skewers. We had to eat lightly because we had promised to eat at the farm too and nobody was willing to pass up on grandmother’s cooking, even if only for a night. The Nyama was skewered on bicycle spokes and cooked on barbecues made of metal troughs filled with charcoal covered with wire grills. The barbecues reminded me a lot of the barbecues I had bought so many snacks from off the streets of rural China and Tibet. The flames were fanned by a man holding a piece of a cardboard box while another person constantly ran skewers from bbq to the various tables. Plates were put on tables with about 10 skewers on each one and barely lasted long enough for the server to walk away from the table. 3 plates were put on our table first with a plate of diced onions and tomatoes, 2 plates of chili sauce and a plate of toast. The meat was still sizzling and silence befell the table as the plates were cleared in a matter of seconds. The same scene replayed itself as more and more plates were brought to our table. Eventually we had finished our skewers and after the usual pressuring of which uncle was allowed to pay the bill (the uncle who won was the one who had previously made the owner promise to only take his money when it came time to settle the bill). Back at the farm we ate tropical fruit flavors of ice cream that I have only tasted in Kenya and lounged around with the family. Music was blasted with the sound system that had been set up for the wedding the next day and all of us danced and goofed off in the patio room late into the night.

Day 7: The Wedding Day and my last full day in Mombasa

More decorating, cooking, and other final preparations for the wedding. The palm tree boats were put on the tables garnished with flowers and lit candles, walkways were lined with bags filled with candles and the palm frond archways were decorated with Birds of Paradise flowers. The guests arrived in the afternoon and I was surrounded by family and friends that I hadn’t seen for years. It was wonderful!

The groom and his family showed up with all the proper ceremony and the nikkah (wedding ceremony) was ready to begin. With the crack of my mother’s whip I was stuck with the task of wedding photographer (thank you mom), and throughout the wedding I ran around taking photos and videos, often with a camcorder in one hand and camera in the other. The wedding ceremony was beautiful and although I don’t think anyone stole the groom’s shoes, my cousins and aunts did block him out of the room where he was supposed to take the bride’s veil off, demanding a monetary fee from him (I don’t know if they ever collected or if a fee was agreed on, they did let him into the room though). The groom’s brother was the emcee and he led the guests through cake cuttings, blessings by the elders and a short history of the bride and groom’s long history together. The elders were always guiding the emcee and the bridegroom around telling us all how the wedding traditions were supposed to be performed. Eventually the wedding came to a close and the bride tearfully left with the groom’s family. That night we danced more and my cousin’s and I went to a club with the groom’s brothers to celebrate the wedding and my last night in Kenya.

Day 8:

I woke up early and left for the airport with Afshan, my mother and the driver. Lugging another suitcase full of things that my mother had brought for me from the States and things that I had bought in Mombasa, I boarded the plane for Manchester. The charter flight was nowhere nearly as As I was flying in on xmas day, a relative had volunteered to pick me up from the airport (which was 2 hours from his house), take me to his house and drop me off the next day at another airport (1.5 hours from his house). He is an uncle of mine who is a friend of my dad’s and when I asked him why he was going through all the trouble for me he simply responded that I was family and that’s what family does for each other. I stayed the night at his amazing house in Leicester and the next day I boarded the plane for Amsterdam.




Overall this trip reinforced the importance that family and culture play in my life. Having limited contact with either since coming to France, being back on the farm surrounded by family from all over the world really showed me how much I missed it all. I realized that my family, no matter how distantly related, will always be there for me, willing to do whatever to help me on my way. And I will always be there for my family to do whatever needs to be done. It’s a nice feeling ☺

My trip to the Alps :)

I went to visit a friend in the Alps. I had met him through Couchsurfing (my preferred way of travel) when he offered me a ride to a concert in Marseille and a place to stay that night. He invited my friend and I to his cabin in the Alps and of course we jumped on the offer. The weekend was filled with hiking, photography and French!!! He picked us up at the train station and asked us "do you want to speak english or french?" That was the last of the english spoken that weekend. He took us hiking on the surrounding mountains, fed us amazing foods and took us to his friends wedding party. All in all it was a great weekend!

And now for some photos:





* Do you folks prefer the slideshows or the individual photos? Im not saying that i'll take your feedback into consideration but, who knows, maybe i will.

Spain! October 24th- November 4th

Long after the fact i am finally sitting down to write this blog. During my trip to Spain i visited Alcala de Heneres (a small city on the outskirts of Madrid where my friend was studying), Madrid, Valencia and finally Barcelona.
Highlights of the trip include:

• Seeing the season's last bullfight in Madrid
• Seeing the birthplace of Miguel de Cervantes, the author of Don Quixote
  
• ART GALLERIES!!!!!! Some of the best that I have ever seen. The Reina Sofia and the Museo Thyssen were truly amazing and I can't wait to go back to them. Salvador Dali is a god. A crazy, completely detached from reality, God.
• One word: Tapas.
  
• Going to Valencia on a whim and finding a place to couchsurf in a matter of hours
• The bus breaking down between Madrid and Valencia and me fearing that i would be stuck on a bus in a truck stop in Middle of Nowhere, Spain forever sitting next to a crazy German lady who screams in her sleep
  
• Wandering the cobbled streets of Valencia, meeting people and exploring the city
• Celebrating my Birthday in one of my favorite cities on earth, Barcelona.
• Seeing the architectural brilliance of Antoni Gaudi
• Listening to street performers in Gaudi's Park Güell
• Making new friends from all over the world
• Traveling alone, learning about myself while i learn about the cities that i am in.
  
• Partying. Partying. Partying. Partying.

And now a slideshow of photos from the trip:

GERMANY!!!!!! Oktoberfest: The making of a real man

28/9- Arrival Lubec
We excitedly got off the Ryanair flight to catch our first glimpse of Germany. It was Cold, Grey, German. There were very intimidating police officers standing on the tarmac watching us and more of them waiting in the distance with a firetruck that looked more like a tank than anything else. Outside the airport with met with Jules' friend Jacob who helped us get to our hostel via bus and his car. We drove through the lush green Lubec countryside and through the city streets that made me homesick for San Francisco and Humboldt, with Jacob commenting on various things that we were passing. The parks we passed were huge and the architecture of the city was absolutely great.

Streets of Lubec. Notice the grey.

A mass exodus of small German children from the building greeted our arrival at the hostel. They came out in seemingly never ending waves and took up positions around the building playing tag, table tennis or walking to the street. Inside the building, there were more of them milling about. We surmised that we were the only people (other than the maintenance crew) staying in the hostel who o were older than 12 (this was proven wrong when we met two fellow travelers who looked equally distressed by the large number of children constantly swarming through the halls of the hostel). We quickly stowed our bags and embarked on a quest for the two essentials we were all looking for: Drink and Food (in no particular order).

Germany believes in safe fruit.

While wandering through the streets, we stopped at a famous sweet shop to sample Lubec’s specialty: marzipan. 3 words: Super Amazingly Delicious. It was in this shop that I realized that I would have a difficult time switching out of French mode well enough to use the smattering of German phrases that I’d studied particularly for the trip. My conversations were made up of a combination of French and English….neither of which are similar to German at all. After walking through the light rain and the cobbled German back streets, we found a very authentic German looking restaurant that was exactly what we were looking for. There were giant flaming torches outside the building, and a painting of a dragon snake around one of them. The restaurant was giant, dark and brick, looking as though it could just as easily been some sort of medieval torture chamber. You can see why we were so attracted to it, im sure. Inside the restaurant was completely different. Tables were packed and the atmosphere was nothing less than jovial. My meal was thick, hearty and very wonderfully German (consequently, so was the waitress who served it). Upon the suggestion of our waitress, we ordered our first German drinks- those ½ litres of amber goodness definitely won’t soon be forgotten. We ate and we drank slowly, enjoying each bite, knowing that it would be difficult to find such a hearty meal in Aix where everything comes in much smaller, lighter portions. After the restaurant, we went to a nice little loungey cafe where we drank and talked some more. By this point the 5 hours collective sleep I’d had in the last 3 days was catching up with me and I was getting quite tired. The waitress saw this and brought me a giant coffee and another ½ litre to help me wake up. Problem solved. We chatted there for the better part of 2 hours, talking to the waitress, Jules’ friend who had met us at the airport and was showing us around, and the other patrons of the lounge. Our conversation was frequently interrupted by this gigglingly energetic little girl who would run up to our table and hand one of us her doll and then run away laughing to herself. She’d always return to take the doll back with a huge smile on her face, trying to hold back waves of laughter. This exchange seemed to be the funniest thing in the world to her and eventually she had us laughing too, even though her humour was way over our heads. In the proper mood and having waited long enough, we made our way to a nearby dance club where we figured we’d try our hands at the German club scene. The cover charge afforded us free shots and Tequila was the drink of choice. Downstairs, we danced to quite possibly one of the best mixes of Funk, Motown, 80’s and 90’s that I’ve heard in a long time. The dance floor was packed and people seemed to know the words to every song the DJ spun. The Funk and Motown excited me the most as it was very popular with the German crowd that was there. There was a group of lads running laps around the outside of the dance floor and dancing like madmen in the middle of the crowd, spinning their matching ties around their heads. My curiosity piqued, I started talking to them and found that they were the elite of an English drinking team and had just returned triumphant from Oktoberfest and were now celebrating at the club before their flight out the next day. We danced until 3 or 4 in the morning, then, completely exhausted and giggling like school children, we started the trek back to the hostel, completely unsure of where any of us were going. It was an Amazing night.

The morning after.
The morning after did not have the same magic as the night before. I rolled out of bed early that afternoon, showered and returned to the bedroom where a few people were still sleeping. Those of us who were awake, wearily made our way to the Hostel’s free breakfast. The hall with the free breakfast was brimming with shouting, laughing, loud, loud, loud, loud German children. We ate our breakfast in silence, each of us with our heads bowed over our own large mugs of coffee, cursing the children around us.

German transportation: Frighteningly Superior in every way.

Its so German!

That day we made a brief stop in Hamburg, and then arrived in Berlin’s main Hauptbanhoff train station. It was there that the immensity and absolute organizational prowess of the German culture hit me. Trains came and went and crowds moved with such clockwork precision that we almost didn’t know what to do. Signs with train schedules and maps were posted everywhere and all were very clear and easy to read and understand….something that really caught us American’s off guard. Having grown weary of traveling with such a large group, two others and I headed off on our own to tour Berlin and find our own lodgings. We found a really great guy on Couchsurfing who gave us his couch to crash on. He had called me almost immediately, and being a big advocate for the Couchsuring community, he was really excited to host us at his place. We agreed to meet him at his place at 7 and took off to explore the historic Berlin before then. Leaving the train station we met another American who spoke a fair amount of German and joined the 3 of us. We wandered around Berlin looking at the sights slowly making our way to the Brandenburg Gate, Reichstag, and Berlin Wall. Berlin’s cosmopolitan diversity was amazing to see and I realized that I could easily live in such a lively city. We heard the crowd before we saw it. Madonna’s hit song got louder and louder as we approached the Brandenburg Gate. When we finally got to it we saw the giant clusters of speakers pumping out the 80’s hit to a crowd of brightly colored spandex wearing Rollerbladers. Apparently I wasn’t the only one who associated the Cold War and Nazi Germany with Madonna, Spandex and Rollerblading as the local German government had decided that this historic meeting point of East and West Germany and home to Hitler’s historic government headquarters would make a perfect location to host an international Rollerblading marathon.

The Path of the Berlin Wall (1961-1989)

So as we walked around the gate, followed the path of the Berlin Wall and started at the architectural giant that is the Reichstag and memorials surrounding it, we were accosted by men and womyn in skin tight multicolored spandex rollerblading around or dancing to the blaring house remixes of Madonna, Paula Abdul and other 80’s hits that one would only expect to hear in a very stereotypical gay club. We finally left the area and went to the Holocaust memorial that was near by. Fighting through the rainbow sea of spandex on wheels took us 45 mins to walk the 3 blocks to the memorial. The Holocaust memorial was breathtaking and I got lost in it for quite a while.

The entrance of the Holocaust Memorial

Walking between the giant cement pillars made me loose track of the sky and everything else around me. It was one of the most powerful pieces of artwork that I’ve ever experienced. We tried to find the bunker where Hitler died but after searching about 5 mins for it, we gave up and started to head back to the train station to meet our couchsurfer. We got lost for a bit but eventually ended up at the right train stop and made it to his apartment. On the way we crossed the barrier where the Berlin Wall once stood and although it was the same neighborhood, it was clear which side was once east and which was West Berlin. Andre, the guy we were surfing had a really cool apartment and also had another surfer (Jazmine from Australia) staying with him. He showed us around his very non-touristy part of Berlin that night. We spent that night at a really cool art gallery opening and seeing 2 indie German bands perform at an awesome little bar. Had we not been couchsurfing, we never would have seen this underground side of Berlin and this experience forever cemented my love and devotion to couchsurfing. We left Andre’s early the next morning for our train to Munich and the world’s greatest festival that awaited us there.

Train station. Notice clock (this was one of many): Germans don't believe in tardiness

Oktoberfest: building a tolerance too expensive for foreign students in Europe.

Welcome to Oktoberfest!

Follow that beer carriage!

Really, Really Big Madness

Oktoberfest was madness. Really Really Really Big madness. Covering the festival grounds is a giant amusement park, food vendors, Giant statues, a monster truck arena, beer gardens and of course, the Beer Tents. These tents are giant. Erected in a mad 8 weeks and taken down in just 6 wks before and after the festival these very permanent looking structures are designed to hold a full kitchen, a giant orchestra, many bathrooms and over 7,500 rowdy drunks each. Long wooden tables fill each tent and beer enthusiasts fill each table. As these enthusiasts do what they love to do, a traditional Bavarian band on a raised platform over the crowd pumps out some of the best music to drink to- Bavarian music, with the rare cover of some American classic rock or crowd created drinking song. When the music plays, people stand up on benches and on tables waving their steins in the air singing along, uncaring of the lyrics or of the beer that’s sloshing out of their swaying steins. The music wasn’t the only thing that got people to stand on the benches, it seemed like we were always being pulled up to the benches for some reason or another.

Germans on Tables

This is what excitement looks like

We got into Munich, found our campsite (big field of tents in the middle of a stadium a little outside of town) and made our way to our first night of the Festival as fast as we could. We got to the festival in the evening and bee lined to the first tent we could find. Being that it was dinnertime and we didn’t have reservations we had to forage for seats in one of the beer gardens until we could make it into the tents. The beer gardens and the tents are the only places in the festival where one can buy and drink beer. The Gardens are outdoors and are usually attached to the tents and run by the same breweries (each tent is run by a different brewery). The beer gardens are made up of long wooden tables where you wait around for people to vacate and quickly fill in the empty spots. We were told that finding seats in any garden would be difficult but as soon as we walked into the first one, an old German couple and their friends waved us over to join them at their table. We ordered our first beers of the festival and some giant Bavarian pretzels (we hadn’t eaten in a while).

That pretzel was bigger than my head.

These pretzels were nearly rock hard, larger than my head and delicious! The 3 of us worked our way through 2 of these pretzels and a few steins. The old Germans sitting with us gave us the lowdown on the festival and taught us about the drinking traditions that we’d be abiding by, the most important of which being how to “Cheers” one’s fellow drinkers. When a person at the table says “PROST!” (Literally meaning “Health” and the German equivalent to Cheers), we were told to be sure to raise our steins and, most importantly, make eye contact with those we were clinking steins with. The consequence of not making eye contact is too horrible to mention (also, I promised my parents to keep this bog as G-rated as possible due to the variety of people who read it). We eventually did make it into a Tent that first night and had an absolute blast. We woke the next day in our tent, cleaned ourselves up as best we could and hurried back to the festival. It was around 11 am when we reached and we were hungry to get something in our stomachs. We entered the festival following a traditional horse drawn carriage through the city that was delivering the day’s beer to one of the breweries. It was Grand! Breakfast was a roasted chicken and another round of steins. Delicious! These Chickens were roasted in butter and served with mashed potatoes…..mmmmmm. We had various types of pretzels and other German goodies. We spent the day wandering around the festival exploring its many wonders. We met people from around the world and had a blast looking at all the Germans in their traditional dress. We learned that this festival is one of the largest German cultural festivals in the world and that the Bavarians take great pride in their traditional lederhosen and other outfits. The Tents, food, dress, drinks and culture of the festival was all kept to traditional Bavarian standards and this is one of the things that I appreciated most. There were families all over the festival, with each member of the family in traditional German dress. There were also tourists and travelers from around the world enjoying everything the festival had to offer. Every so often we’d see a group of people dressed up in matching drinking costumes (Roman gladiators, Australian men in matching orange dresses, a group of Irish people in all green matching outfits with challenges to other drinkers printed on the back of their shirts). We spent the whole day there and that evening we met up with the rest of the people we had been traveling with, partied until the festival shut down that night, then absolutely exhausted, we made the long trek back to the campground ending another day at the festival.

The next day (our last day in Munich), we decided to explore the Munich outside the festival. Surprisingly it wasn’t hard for me to leave the festival as I am sure that I couldn’t have withstood another day in the unbridled insanity that is Oktoberfest. We saw the old parts of Munich, marveling at the architecture of old Cathedrals and of city plazas. It turns out that Jesus is really popular round those parts. Each Cathedral seemed larger and grander than the last and eventually I couldn’t stand to walk through another one of them. We ended up taking a break in a plaza where various street performers were either setting up or taking down. We plopped ourselves down in the middle of the plaza right in front of two old men who had started to play some jazz.
One of them played an upright bass and the other played the Clarinet. They were absolutely amazing. As we sat there on the floor watching them play, a crowd formed around us and eventually a small child squeezed his way to the front, and much to the amusement of the two old men and the gathered crowd, started dancing to the music. Every time the men stopped playing the young boy would shoot them and accusing dance and when they started again he would clap and start dancing again. They played all the jazz classics and played many of their own pieces as well. We sat there relaxing and listening to them for nearly an hour and a half and I ended up buying a great cd of theirs that I listen to nearly every day. That evening we went to have a last hoorah Oktoberfest and boarded the train back to Lubec to fly home the next day. What an amazing Trip.



*I tried to keep this as G rated as possible....Besides, if i didn't keep it edited, i'd have too much to write about.
**For those of you who have yet to figure out the metric system (this includes me) i will provide a handy dandy conversion: 1 litre = 2.113 pints........thats right. 2 pints.
***Once again, im sorry for finishing and posting this blog so long after the fact

I swear Heaven is in a jar of Nutella, Euphoria in a crepe. Also, Gee Golly Do i love street performers!

Do you doubt?

et Voila! I present to you one of the best Crepes in town. Sitting smack dab in the middle of Cours Mirabeau (the main street) is this nice little crepe cart.

While walking on the Cours Mirabeau, I stumbled across a wonderful street performance. There was a man standing next to a suitcase, bicycle, and red wagon, pulling various contraptions out of a giant jumbled mess next to his bike. People were already starting to form in a circle around him. My curiousity was piqued and I decided to stick around. A portly man made crepes behind me with his shirt hanging open over his hairy gut and a smoldering cigar dancing on the side of his mouth threatening to drop its ashes into the crepe he was making at the time. When i looked back at the man and his crepes, he was pouring a fair amount of malibu rum over the nutella then folding it all into the crepe. yes, france is amazing.

i took a video of the street performer but its too big to post here. Here are some photos:






I love the never ending supply of street performers here. Yesterday i was watching a juggler/mime/avant guard theatre performance that was drawing a giant crowd and left me laughing for quite a while. Also, i have learned that there is a never ending supply of beautiful people here. I think theres a factory that turns them out...i must find this factory.


Im leaving for Germany tomorrow. This is going to be an adventure and a half. Expect tons of photos and adventure stories as soon as i can acquire them and post them online. We don't know where we're sleeping and don't have any travel plans....all we know is that we somehow must get to munich for one of the world's greatest festivals: Oktoberfest. I go there a hairy boy, and will return a hairy man (with a beer gut).

ps- my apartment has been fixed for a few weeks now and i am loving living there. I can't believe i've been here for more than a month already....




*This is an old blog that i never posted....sorry for the tardiness!

have skype? If not, you should get it.

All you folks who don't have skype should get it asap and then chat with me.
Download it at skype.com

Then, Add me as your contact. You can search me under Saqibtravels. Do it. Now.



Also, Im pretty sure that Gelato is a gift from god.



I know. It brings a tear to my eye too.

1st day of preparatory Language classes!!

Today was my first day of class through my preparatory language program and it was amazing! The program is designed to be an intensive refresher course in French as well as a preparation program for attending French university. The school is so beautiful (see pictures from previous posts) and is a wonderful place to study. Classes only go from 8-noon, which allows me plenty of time to mischief throughout the rest of the day. I tested into a lower level than I expected but am now beginning to appreciate starting back at the beginning and working on the basics of the language (something I never put too much time into). This first test has no major consequences attached to it but there will be another test at the end of the program that will dictate what courses I can take through the university. That's the one I will have to really work my butt off on. The class I am in is made up of a few folks from my group and a few Japanese students who are also studying abroad here. I'll be in this program for another month, then will take another test to see which level of classes i can take through the University. I am hoping that I make it to the 3rd level so I can take some of the more specialized french courses rather than just piling on Grammar and phonetic courses. I am also considering going through with a specialized French diploma program through the University. This diploma wouldn't effect my major program back at Humboldt but would allow me a real diploma in French from this University (something I could always put on my resume). The down side to getting the diploma is that its a much bigger course load with more homework and much more tests. I'll have to figure this one out soon.

Im getting antsy to travel. I think I smell a trip to Paris and beyond coming up soon.

Im writing this from an awesome english pub i found here in AIX. They serve burgers. BURGERS!!!! It's really hard to find a good burger joint here, and in Bulldogge's I have found just that. Its heavenly!