 | DAY 1 |
Sana'a |
The light of my first sunrise in Yemen, reflecting on the mud-brick houses of Old Sana'a 
Mini skyscrapers fill the Old Town, each unique with intricate details |
 Aden | First day in Yemen already full of adventure. Aida and I dressed up as a local women with black dresses and scarves in order to sneak across the border in this taxi. Red velvet covered dashboard with gold tassels, red plastic seats and panels. Blasting Arabic music giving me a headache. All the men are chewing qat - the Yemeni drug that one stuffs in his cheek and chews on for hours, presumably without swallowing. The seating arrangement is as follows: in the front row: the driver, next to him a young man, and a soldier with his Kalishnakov. In the middle row, Aida and I, a little boy - never seen one so quiet - and his dad. Behind three more men, I don't know what they look like, I only hear their voices and feel their smells. Through the plains it's raining. I didn't except to see rain in this country, but how else would it be called a garden in the middle of the desert - Felix Arabia. I feel stifled by this scarf. I hope I get used to it. Our taxi takes us below canyon walls into terraced gardens surrounded by mountains. But I don't dare look around too much. I'm trying to behave like what I would think an Arab woman does. Keeping quiet, keeping my head low, not looking at anyone in the eye. First hours. Straight from the airport to the hotel in the old city - a converted house with a gorgeous view from the mafradsh (the top floor in typical Yemeni houses with stained glass windows, usually a hangout for men while they chew qat) and roof. Took some photos from the roof at sunrise of the buildings around. We drank some tea with funky spices, sweet and delicious. Later I will discover what these spices are and try recreate the sweet comforting taste at home; cinammon, cloves, cardammom (hab hallal), amongst others. Decided to go to Aden in order to get to the Hadramut area as fast as possible, since it's the farthest and we don't know how long it will take to get there. We walked down to the taxi station and get into a cab with a bunch of friendly men. One was going on to Shibam like us and told us which buses to take and from where. He hadn't been home in seven years, mainly because the journey takes three days one way and he hasn't had many vacation days. We were chatting it up until we got to the first "border" where they make us turn around because we were foreigners (and there's been some problems with kidnappings and such lately). We saw some cars full of tourists just sitting there, looking like they were waiting for Godot. Our driver wasted no time, turned around and drove us all the way back to Sana'a, along with the other cab riders. They didn't seem annoyed at the 100 kilometer detour, taking one's time to travel is common in this country. We decide to play it safe and try to find tourist permits. After a long stretch of looking for the office (wrong directions, wrong offices, the typical "oh that's the other ministry that you want" having of course just come from that ministry, etc.) we were told we didn't need any tassri' because we were obviously Arab. We spoke only in Arabic so I guess we were convincing enough that we didn't hold American and Canadian passports. So we followed onto Plan B, because nothing was going to stop us from getting to where we wanted to go; we bought black dresses and put on our scarves and said we were Palestinians – not entirely untrue (our Dads are Palestinian, we lived in various parts of the Middle East as kids, we just didn't have Arab passports - anymore). We went back to the taxi station, and after convincing the cab driver that we are not the two women who had come earlier and got turned around, we got into the cab. Although the cab driver made us agree that if we were to be held up at the border, he would leave us there and keep half of our fare. Stories travel fast around here I guess; I didn't think anyone would have noticed that we had come and gone, but what else to talk about than two girls out on the prowl looking for a ride South? This time we made it through the stops, although our driver seemed totally nervous (as were we). Aida and I sat in the cab with our bodies and faces covered, not muttering a word whenever we'd stop at a check point. One of our fellow riders was transporting boxes of light bulbs so he caught the attention of the guards, rather than us. Everyone on board chewed qat. It hailed and rained for the majority of the ride between Sana'a and Aden, except for when we got closer to the two cities. I don't know how the fellow cab rider's lightbulbs fared through all that rain; his boxes were soaked and fallen apart by the end. Finally we get to Aden (and my butt is sore from 6 hours in the cab). One of the riders walked us around Aden – as we shed our Muslim outfits and we finally found a hotel and had some dinner. Supposedly we have to go to find out about the bus at 5am to Mukalla (a 12 hour ride!). Walked through the Souk real quick and bought some qat – trying it right now – not too tasty and a bit uncomfortable in my cheek. No effect yet – except I'm tired. But then again I haven't really slept since leaving Amsterdam… So I don't know where to start with my impressions of Yemen so far – somewhat familiar, not as "different" as I expected, super friendly people – and it's authentic. I'm SO thankful that I speak Arabic. So far no problems with communication. It's a different dialect than what I'm used to, but I get most of what is said to me. Selling so much stuff in the souks, I need to pay close attention to figure out what. Almost no women in the streets. I hate being stared at. Lots of kids playing around. So many young men. They all lounge in a certain way. Kids selling necklaces of orange blossom, when we pass by them in the cab, the smell of the car changes entirely, from the foreboding sweat to this sudden sweetness of orange blossom. It's a smell that reminds me so much of childhood, although of nothing specific or in particular. It just reminds me of being a kid in Lebanon. I'm too tired to go on writing... |