The Terrible Cafe Lemsid

 Excerpt from Chapter 7 of my forthcoming book ---Travels with My Hat, 85,000 words 8 pages pictures.         Chapters on Ethiopia, the Royal Tour of Arabia, Pakistan, Egypt, Iraq, Yemen. Pictured is the terrible                      Cafe Lemsid in the Western Sahara, from the final chapter on Morocco.

                                                                

...I’ve often thought I’d found the middle of nowhere on my travels, only to realise that I was on the edge of somewhere, but the Café Lemsid was definitely in the middle of nowhere. Caramel and raspberry red, it resembled a giant lolly that had fallen off a desert transport and surrounding it lay the detritus of local civilisation: burst tyres, perished fan-belts, broken lobster-traps and empty port-a-gas cylinders. A rug was stuffed in a hole in the wall to keep out wind-blown sand, and among items stacked behind its counter were boxes of Gunpowder tea, flour, candles, packets of “Tide”, balls of string and inevitably— tinned sardines.  It’s owner said fresh fish arrived daily from Boujdour, so that even in this god-forsaken place I was able to sit down at a broken table for lunch (grilled dorade).  A lame, fish-eating chicken hopped about for scraps: it would never be killed and eaten, I decided; it was much too horrible. As I settled my bill, a grand-taxi pulled up and I half expected it to disgorge a host of characters from a Fellini  film—dwarfs, transvestites and dancing bears—but they were merely crushed passengers from Dakhla, relieved for the chance to stretch their legs on their long journey up to Agadir...

EPIC WALK - GREAT READ

SAHARA: by Paula Constant

It is with regret that I have reached the end of SAHARA, the account by Australian writer Paula Constant of her epic walk across the Western Sahara, to Mali and ‘not quite’ Niger where authorities forbade her to continue across this volatile belt of Africa with on-going Tuareg dissent and latterly, an active al-Qaeda cell.

Indeed God knows what might have happened had she continued her journey. While courageous, the plan must be seen as politically naïve considering the events, sometimes tragic, that have befallen travellers in this desperate part of Africa.

SAHARA is long — almost 400 pages, but I found it gripping from beginning to end, and while I hold the above view, I found it a rivetting read.

Though haunted by a failing marriage (the least interesting part of the book) and plagued by difficult guides, perpetual interest in herself — as a lone white woman walking with camels — burrs catching in her clothes and a urinary tract infection about which she is brutally frank—Paula still managed to write a diary after walking an average 25kms a day, from well to desert well.

Her writing is achingly descriptive of a landscape that often has little to describe. And it is never repetitive. We encounter the nomad tea-making ritual on a dozen occasions, but something colourful is always included to make it different to the last one.

Her character comes across as tough, honest and determined, and her writing flows easily from page to page, like the great dunes she crosses with her camels.

I particularly loved the part where on hearing the evocative music of the Saharoui, she and her two guides jump up, stamping out a rhythmic dance on the desert sand. “Madani and I dance with our arms up and out to the sides ..he stamps his feet and cocks his hand over his head…I hold my arms out and turn my hands, my hips roll and twist beneath my melekhva.” ( the sari-like dress worn by Saharoui women).

Paula Constant is one cool head and one helluva writer and I feel her publisher—Bantam— might have done her better in the choice of paper, and a cover that does not buckle up.

And while the writing can stand alone in this powerful account of ‘love, loss and survival’ it begs for pictures of the splendid and maddening people she met en route. Especially her nomad guides— M’Barak, Madani, Mohammed, Ali and Ibrahim.

Bantam 2009— ISBN: 978-1-74166-929-9

Images of the Western Sahara: www.copix.co.uk

FAITH TOURISM: tour de force in the holiday industry

Religion is historically associated with travel. Many of today’s popular destinations are founded on ancient places of worship, the site of miracles, or great monuments and works of art.

Pilgrims travelling to such well trod places were effectively the world’s first tourists. Hospices in Europe were the harbingers of hotels and keeping abreast of the time, specialist religious travel guides list monasteries and convents where guests are welcome to stay.*

An upsurge in religious tourism began following the collapse of Communism when peoples of the former Soviet Republics became legally able to worship in churches and at historic shrines. Volga cruises visiting ancient wooden churches and cathedrals have become popular. More hikers than ever are following the camino de Santiago de Compostela in north-west Spain, the painted monasteries are a top attraction in Rumania as are the fabled rock churches of Lalibela and Gonder in Ethiopia.

With a history rooted in Byzantine monasteries and churches, in 2006 Cyprus initiated the first ever international conference on religious tourism - a move which has paid huge dividends. The following year, a Vatican approved charter airline began flying religious tourists to sacred sites in Europe.

The Catholic centre of Lourdes, with a population of only 15,000, receives 6 million religious tourists and devotees seeking cures. Muslims performing the hajj to Mecca number some 2 million, while the Kumbh Mela in India draws 75 million Hindus along with tourists who can witness the spectacle from the comfort of luxuriously appointed tents.

Cultural and religious tourism enjoy a symbiotic relationship. Some notable examples are Chartres cathedral - famous for its 152 Gothic stained glass windows - in Casablanca, the great Hassan II Mosque holding 25,000 worshippers during prayers, and the dazzling Golden Temple, holy of holies of the Sikhs, in Amritsar.

If Pope Benedict’s visit to Britain stirred mixed emotions, it has made people -- even atheists ---- think about their beliefs and as the stresses of urban life impinge on the individual, more people are likely to consider a spiritual holiday, if not a full blown pilgrimage.

Good Night and God Bless by Trish Clark - http://www.goodnightandgodbless.com

Images: www.worldreligions.co.uk

Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca, completed 1963.

Sikh pilgrims have their visit recorded at the Golden Temple.

The iconastasis of the Lazarus Church in Larnaca, Cyprus.

IBN BATTUTA: the greatest traveller ever

On a visit to Morocco last month I found the tomb of Ibn Battuta, the 14th century Berber Muslim whom many consider to have been the greatest traveller of all time.

Ibn Battuta was born in Tangier in 1304. Aged 21, he completed an arduous pilgrimage to Mecca from where he extended his travels to the Middle East, India, Central Asia and ultimately to China.

My own fascination comes from having visited many of these countries and exotic ports such as Mocha, Basra and other cities mentioned in his journals.

But while I`d been to Tangier on many occasions, I was unaware until this recent trip, that the traveller whom I most admire is buried there.

`Yes, his tomb is here,` said the woman in the tourist office - `Mais je ne suis pas sur -- ou.`

So I set off along the Boulevard Pasteur, crossing the Grand Socco to the Rue de la Kasbah where I began asking: `Pouvez-vous me diriger vers la tombeau de Ibn Battuta?`

`Up the hill and first right,` said a man standing in the doorway of a Tabac.

`Left, then straight on. Suivez-moi,` said a man carrying bunches of mint.

On we went, round this corner, down that alley, up many steps. Then he stopped. Unsure of what he was looking for. But there it was - in a shadowy corner of the medina, washing drying on a line above, a woman filling her jar at a fountain below - the tomb of Ibn Battuta.

I touched it, humbled by the experience: travel in far-off lands is trying enough today. What difficulties and dangers were faced some 700 hundred years ago?

My return to London coincided with the release of the film Journey to Mecca recounting Ibn Battuta`s pilgrimage around 1325-6 to the sacred shrines in Saudi Arabia.

Financed by the King Abdulaziz Public Library and King Faisal Center for Research and Islamic Studies, the short movie essentially illustrates the importance of the hajj to Muslims of whom two million make the annual pilgrimage. (the Qur`an requires that every Muslim of good health and means performs the hajj at least once in his lifetime).

Since Christians are forbidden to visit Mecca - highway signs advise to this effect - the film is a must see for anyone interested in the Muslim rites observed both here and at Medina.

The scene of white-robed pilgrims swirling around the ka`aba in the Prophet`s Mosque is an awesome piece of cinematography. So too are the shots of the 'great Damascus caravan of more than 10,000 pilgrims with 500 camels' embarking on the journey- filmed in stunning locations in southern Morocco.

But while Journey to Mecca is a colourful and emotionally engaging epic, to me it does not rise above a movie made in the Cecil B. de Mille mould.

Considering the amount of bureaucracy which would have been involved, it is likely a miracle the film was made at all, but I feel that Ibn Battuta deserves a far bigger tribute than simply as the subject of a PR exercise for Islam.

BFI Imax Cinema at London Waterloo.

Images: www.copix.co.uk

RIDING THE KHYBER MAIL

"......My introduction to this lawless part of Pakistan was in a Sydney cinema we called the `flea pit`. My father, a big fan of Lauren Bacall, had taken me to see her and Kenneth More in the adventure film North West Frontier with a poster depicting the stars above a picture of the Khyber Mail.

Twenty years on, I am about to catch the legendary Mail, which is scheduled to leave Peshawar Cantonment at nine o`clock and to arrive in Landi Kotal, on the Afghan border, three hours later.

My companion is Habib Afridi, a member of the Adam Khel clan within the formidable Afridi tribe whose territory includes the Khyber Agency. He is a lovely man, tall and softly spoken, and I find it hard to imagine the Afridis struck such terror in British soldiers stationed on the Frontier. But they did. Attacking Landi Kotal in 1897, they defeated the famous Khyber Rifles, and only a counter-attack by 35,000 British soldiers, was able to retake the strategic site.

For our day out, Habib is wearing a grey *shalwar kameez while I have teamed a floral shirt purchased at Galleries Lafayette in Paris with fawn trousers. And naturally I am wearing my hat. But we have not chosen a good day for our journey up the Khyber. It`s the start of Eid-ul-Adha and hundreds of tribesmen are travelling home to walled compounds in remote villages.

Boarding at Jamrud, the gateway to the Khyber, I am swept along in an arsenal of Pathans waving guns, and hawkers brandishing cigarettes, sugar-cane and hard-boiled eggs. Chickens, even a cow, are bundled on board as we pull out of the station, with me seated in the LADIES ONLY carriage pretending I`m Lauren Bacall, and Habib riding in the front locomotive.

Our five carriages are pulled and pushed by two 1920s steam engines; two, because unable to turn in the narrow gorge, the front engine must run back to gain momentum when the rear one acts as prop. In one place, the ascent is so steep that all the passengers leap off and scramble up the hillside, to re-board when we steam into the station above.

The train traverses 34 tunnels between Jamrud and Landi Kotal, the summit of the pass, and seated in total darkness, with soot pouring in the open windows, I reflect on other rail journeys I have made. The Chittagong Mail in Bangladesh, the Nairobi-Mombasa Night Express and the Indian Pacific crossing of the Nullabor are memorable, but none matches the Khyber Mail for excitement.

In the longest tunnel, a prankster pulls the emergency cord, no doubt to frighten me, the only woman on board, but as we grind to a halt, the joke`s on him; at the last stop, I have run along the track to join Habib, and we can see by glowing coals in the furnace.....

Excerpt from Chapter 6: Travels with my Hat

90,000 words and pictures, for publication autumn 2010.