Number 10: Japan 2005

The bicycle thief of Shionomisaki

In 2005 I had the chance to go for work to Tokyo. I had been in Japan before and I had loved it. So I decided to not fly to Tokyo, but to Osaka and travel from there by local trains to Tokyo.

South of Osaka is the Wakayama District, with, at the tip of the peninsula, Cap Shionomisaki, which in fact is the southernmost point of Honshu. Hotels were expensive at the time in Japan, but I had stayed in Youth Hostels before, which usually are a good bargain and a great place to meet other people. I learned that there is a Youth Hostel right on Cap Shionomisaki and decided to go there. There is a train line around the whole peninsula. After a couple of other memorable intermediate stops I left the train in Kushimoto and took the bus to the Youth Hostel.

I got a huge room for myself with a view over the ocean where right from my window I could see the freighters going down along the Cap from Tokyo to more southern destinations in Asia. I was the only guest. The location was spectacular. Not only was the building right on top of the Cap, it also was next to the lighthouse, and at the base of the cliff below the youth hostel was a little harbor, where I could go for a swim. I arrived on the 31st of October, but although the Japanese only swim in July and August, the water was still warm and pleasant. A couple of days and a few hundred kilometer further on, I hiked in the snow in the Japanese alps.

Just before the trip I had bought my first digital SLR, a NIKON D70, and I had only one accu. I had the charger, but no adapter for the Japanese plug holes. So the next day I went to Kushimoto again. At most of the Japanese stations you can rent bicycles, so I got one to find a shop to buy the adapter and then go and explore the Shionomisaki peninsula and the neighboring island Kii Oshima.

I am not too tall, but unfortunately all bicycles for rent were rather small. They were all alike, rather simple, no gears and a lock which would make every dutchman shake from laughter. But for a day it would do. I cycled down the quiet streets of Kushimoto to find an electric, household or appliance store which sold adapters. At the first, I could find, I left the bicycle at the door, went inside and explained what I wanted, but they did not have it. Same thing at the second. At the third, they advised me to go to a big hardware store on the outskirts of town.

Finally I found it. It was big and I was hopeful. Before, I had not locked the bicycle, since I only went into the shops briefly and I could see the bike from inside the store. I took out my key and tried to open the lock. The key did not fit. I was sure that I had the right key. They had given me a separate lock with the key inside at the station. At closer inspection, I thought that the lock had been covered in blue plastic. This one was black.

In front of all the shops where I had been before were collections of bicycles. Was it possible that … ???? I jumped on my bike and cycled back into town to find the last of the three shops were I had been. There was no bicycle with a lock which fitted to my key. OK, next one. And indeed. There was an identical bicycle, which had a lock which fitted to my key, and also had a tiny sticker of the station car rental on the mudguard.

I left the stolen bike and got out of there as quickly as possible. I never found an adapter, but the camera battery was sufficient till I arrived in Tokyo.

Typical station along the line around the peninsula

At the time, there was plenty lof staff in all the stations. One guard blocks the overpass because a train is about to leave, while another helps a late coming old woman across the tracks

One of the kiosks selling bento for the traveller in a station

My backpack, always too big for the japanese lockers. So I usually left it with somebody in a shop or a guard in the station. They always were helpful

Managing ATMs is always some guess work

The youth hostel above Cap Shionomisaki

Breakfast in the youth hostel

The lighthouse at Cap Shionomisaki  and the little harbor at the base of the cliffs

Kashinosaki lighthouse on Kii Oshima

In Europe the little ports are full of pleasure crafts. In Japan, everybodies pleasure craft seems to be a fishing boat

A real fisherman mending his nets. It is fascinating how much handwork still exists in such a high technology country

These rocks are a mojor attraction of Kii Oshima

The famous bicycle featuring in the story

Sunset from the window of my room in the youth hostel

Dinner with the japanese colleagues in Tokio

Number 9: Egypt 1981

Trouble in Hughada 

In 1981 the peace talks between Egypt and Israel had had some results. Israel had retreated from the Suez Canal Zone and the demilitarized area now divided the Sinai peninsula in an Egyptian and Israeli part. The demarcation line went right behind the famous monastery of St. Cathrin. My friend Herbert and myself went on a memorable trip, which in about 6 weeks would provide enough material for at least 6 of these stories. The best thing about that is that I still have a detailed travel diary of the trip, so everything told here is authentic and I try to translate as precise as possible even though it might not always shed an entirely positive light on the author.

For the time being, here is the first one. Most people have heard of the Egyptian red sea resort of Hughada. If you have been there, you will not believe what you see. The diary even contains a hand-drawn map of the old Hughada of the time, which indicates the most important sites, including the only shop where we were able to get alcohol.

After 3 weeks of traveling along the Nile valley, we were ready for a break. Even Herbert, who had been in quite a big part of Africa by then, had never seen such a dirty country before. Diarrhea was our constant companion. So we were looking forward to a relaxed stay on a beach before starting out for new adventures. We took a shared taxi and arrived in a ramshackle desert settlement, where even the few solid buildings looked poor. There were few places to stay, and finally we found an empty room in a new apartment building, where we could spread out our sleeping bags.

The beaches around Hughada proper were mostly covered in oil slick from careless offshore drilling or as a remainder of the war. A couple of times we went on one of the tourist boats which went to some clean offshore sandbanks. To go there you needed a permit from the military police, since most of the area around Hughada was military no go zone. On the mainland coast, there was only one clean beach about 10 km south of Hughada. The beach was clean there because it was the site of a Sheraton hotel, at that time the only luxury hotel on the entire west coast of the red sea. We had been there before and, after some bargaining, had paid one Egyptian pound per head. The monthly salary for a worker at that time was 3 pound. Bargaining was a must and expected… and Herbert was very good in that.

On Easter Monday, 20.4.1981, we wanted to got there again. We flag down a collective taxi and haggled down the price from 7 to 1 pound. Against better knowledge we hand over the money to the guy beforehand because he pretends that he has to get gas first. But already after a short distance, still Hughada and the port, the guy stops and tells us to get off. We refuse. After some discussions he continues, but on some dirt tracks and not the main road. We are afraid he will drop us somewhere in the middle of the desert, but eventually he continues in the right direction. Then he stops again in the middle of nowhere and tells us we should change to a truck, which would bring us to our destination for another half a pound. After excited discussions and cursing in German (which usually nobody understand and has proved to be uttermost helpful in comparable situations) the guy returns to his cabin, which is separated from our compartment by a wall with window, and waits. He probably thinks that we will loose patience and leave so that he can continue without us. We don’t and make such a lot of noise that we hoop he thinks we will demolish the back part of his vehicle. Eventually he continues, but not in our direction, but on the main road.

Suddenly another stop. Two officers of the Egyptian navy join us. We start talking to them and try to explain our predicament. This is not so easy. Their English is less than basic and we do not try another language. So we think our attempt of getting help is useless.

Eventually our driver has to stop at the military post on the main road south. One of the officers gets out and starts to discuss with the driver. Then he goes to the military police manning the post. After some commands, a soldier graps his MP, gets on the passenger seat, first points the gun in the direction of the sheraton hotel and then at the head of the driver and off we go. After arriving we throw a warm thank you at the military men and a “bloody fucker”at the driver and get out of there.

Fortunately we do find another driver for the way back.

This story happened 39 years ago. Even after the oil spills, the coral reefs around Hughada had bright colors and beautiful fish. Everything could be enjoyed just from a glass bottom boat or by snorkeling. Since that time I have been to coral reefs in Indonesia, Sri Lanka, different places in the Caribbean and the Maledives. All were a disappointment. In the last ten years, I have never seen healthy coral any more. The famous Maledives were an underwater graveyard of toppled over, brown coral. The impact of tourism at that time was minimal, but I think we were the scouts and prepared the way for the invasion of barbarians who came after….

The map of Hughada in 1981. It indicates a place for breakfast and dinner, the bottle shop, the post box (which did not have a bottom), the mosqe annex tourist information and a guy who served freshly pressed ornage juice. Outside the port, the military polic post mentioned in the text and the beach at the sheraton hotel. That's about all there was

 Main Street, Hughada 1981. The roads were still unpaved but they were starting some improvements

Garage and repair shop for trucks

Fashion Boutique

The best restaurant

Bottle shop. Note the goat begging for beer next to it

The juice man

Boats in the port of Hughada

The beach at the Sheraton hotel 10 km outside the town

We did not dare to enter the hotel

Tourists boats at a swimming and snorkeling stop at an offshore beach

Lunch was prepared for a tourist group which eventually did not come

Freshly caught fish for lunch

One of the dhows of the local fishermen

The desert hinterland of Hughada

Breakdown of the bus leaving Hughada for Suez

Number 8: Mali 2011

On the Bami River from Mopti to Djenné

Our boat at a lunch break

In 2011 a friend of mine visited a development project close to Mopti in Mali (http://www.rondombaba.nl/). This was a country a wanted to visit for a long time, and so I took off to Bamako…. with a total of 58 kg of luggage, mainly spare parts for the aching 4x4 of the project.

The great mosque in Djenné is the world's biggest Adobe building. The actual building is not much older than 100 years. 

Access is not permitted for non-believers, but as always, capitalism is more successful than  fundamentalism

One of the prime sights in Mali are the adobe (dried mud brick) buildings. The great mosque in Djenné is the biggest adobe building in the world. In Mopti we got the chance to take a boat to Djenné. The boat had no engine. The boatmen had to pole the boat most of the time, against the current and sometimes against strong wind. Only the last day the wind is from behind and the boatmen are able to hoist an old tent as a sail.

Poling against the current of the river

Sailing is easier

It took three days. On the first evening we traveled until a quarter past eleven, on the second even until midnight. In addition to this drudgery, the boatmen also cooked our food and served hot sweet tea regularly. Cooking is done on a charcoal stove in the back of the boat. This boat trip through a quiet, unspoiled landscape is like a journey through time. It's one of the most impressive travel experiences I've ever had.

Lunch ist almost ready

While we usually lay lazily in the boat, life on the river passes by. Wealthier villages, dominated by their clay mosques. but also others, especially of the Bozo fishermen, which consisted only of simple thatched huts where women do their business washing clothes or dishes in the river or fetch water. Fishers use primitive casting nets, fish traps or large trawls that men spread in the shallow water. Every now and then a fish jumps into our boat. This should bring good luck, but not for the fish that go into the soup.

Village women washing the dishes

Keeping fish fresh

Trying to ferry a cart across the river

Sometimes a path runs along the river on the dike. Except for a few mopeds, there is no motorized traffic. Every now and then a lucky man has a bike. We observe groups of carts, pulled by donkeys or oxen, lazily chasing their way. Lone hikers carry a bundle on their head.

Fisherman on the Bami

The fishermen are a from a separate tribe

At every stop our boat becomes the target of all children in the village. They are satisfied with the gift of an empty water bottle. However, it is difficult to share water bottles. When someone has captured a bottle, the others are disappointed and want something too. But they are not really intrusive.

Bottles are very coveted and sometimes whole crowds of children come and fight for one

Village boy herding cattle

Another fashionable cattle herder

We sleep on a mattress under a mosquito net in the boat. The nightly calm and darkness is fascinating. No car headlights, no street lights even when we pass a village. Not even a glow in the distance. The light comes only from the stars and every now and then from a flashlight that our boatmen use to find the shipping channel in the dark. The sound of the piles or oars, a jumping fish and now and then the beeping of a water bird or the annoyed sounds of cattle disturbed in its night's sleep is accompanied by the constant chirping of the crickets. There is no electricity anywhere, so all activity ends at nightfall.

Quietness starts after sunset

Fetching water in the first morning light

In the heat of the afternoon on the third day, after 34 hours of hard work, we reach the ferry that forms the road link to Djenné. A couple of motorbikes waiting takes us to the city. A bit more than a year later Mali drowned in the chaos of civil war caused by intruding fundamentalists. The peace of those times did not yet return….

One of the big merchant's mansions in Djennë

Only the electricity poles are a modern addition. Mali does not have an electricity network. Little power stations produce the electricity locally. Without them there is darkness

Donkey or horse carts are still the main means of transport in the countryside

Only few of the streets of Djennë are paved