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Wednesday 2007-04-04 - Istanbul, Turkey
Plain sailing now
Not much to tell about the second lap of the trip: we have several hours to kill at the airport (but need to set our watches one hour forward), and spend the time shopping (a little), chatting to get to know each other (especially the “new” group members, and (some of us) having our “last” beer — no such thing in Yemen! No trouble checking in without a Yemeni visa in our passports (Sander had given us all a letter just in case they’d make trouble over that, which happens sometimes). Taking off from the airport we have a spectacular view over Istanbul by night. On the plane a nice dinner, with “really the last beer” - Efes, a very good Turkish pilsener.
We arrive in Sana’a on time. Then we just have to be a little patient, waiting in line for our visas, but people are friendly and there’s no trouble at all. Meanwhile Marie Josee is awaiting us, and already collecting our luggage. It’s great to see her again!
Outside we meet our team, three drivers, one each from a different tribe. They seem very nice. But, all in all, it’s 2:30 when we arrive in our hotel (in the old city, just west of the Zailer wadi which crosses it) where Mohamed is awaiting us with a cup of tea. It’s 3:00 when we finally tumble into bed: it’s been a long day, but we’re here!
Thursday 2007-04-05 - Sana’a, Yemen
First impressions of Sana’a
The old city of Sana’a is easy to get lost in: there are no right angles to be found in the street pattern. To give us our first feeling for the city, Marie Josee, our tour companion, takes us on a small walking tour, and shows us a good (Palestinian) restaurant, two money changers where we immediately get our first Yemeni Rials (YR) at a much better rate than at the airport of course, the post office, next door to the Internet cafe; in the old city she points out where the different suqs are (sorted by trade), and we make a reservation for dinner at a nice restaurant, Marie Josee skillfully haggling to get us a good price.
Then we walk on the Bab al Yaman, the old gate into the old city, where we all sit down at a little sidewalk cafe for a cup of tea and to watch the crowd. The metal tables and benches are under a tarpaulin — good thinking, because the clouds that had been gathering for an hour or so choose this moment to release their load. We sit dry, sip our tea, and watch how the locals deal with the downpour: a little girl with an enormous umbrella is skipping around, little boys playing in the puddles; men gathering their robes and hooking them over their jambiya (the traditional Yemeni knife), showing a good deal of leg (often skinny leg), and some of their shorts; some men taking of their sandals and continuing on their bare feet; women gathering their skirts and showing a bit of their long underpants. One woman stops next to us to wait a bit under our tarpaulin and chat with us, her little boy observing us wide-eyed; then she throws her cloak over him, scoops him up in her arms, and walks away: a two-headed figure in black.
Neither Carla nor me brought along anything for the rain, not expecting any in the morning, normally it rains mid to late afternoon in the rainy season. When the rain lets up a little we get up and walk to our hotel, without a map but I trust my sense of direction will get us there. I want to take a short cut in the direction of the wadi which crosses the street, but first end up in a dead-end street — no problem, we’ll try the next one. When we turn, a man gets out of a car and asks where we want to go; then he asks where we come from — Oh, Dutch? — he continues in German and indicates we should take “eine kleine Strasse links” to get to the edge of the Sa’ila wadi. We thank him politely. When we get to a small alley, I want to turn in but Carla thinks it’s too small. When we turn again, we hear “no, no!” behind us: two boys point to the alley: that’s where we should go. Sure enough, the alley curves a little but takes us otherwise straight to where we want to go.
We have a nice view of the Sa’ila here: it used to be just a river bed, full of water when heavy rains fall, but the clever Sana’ites have paved the river bed, made ramps, and now it’s a through street — as long as it isn’t needed for the water that is. It’s in-between now, with some water flowing along one side but the cars brave it, making some waves. But in the next rainy season in July-August, with much heavier rains, the water can get to 30 centimeters below the top of the wall!
The wedding
When we arrived at our Sana’a hotel last night, we noted a big tent on a field across from the hotel; it’s for a wedding, they told us: men and women celebrate separately, and it lasts three days. A big wedding like this one also costs a lot of money.
Today is the third day of the wedding, and Marie Josee heard the men would do the special Jambiya dance. After a copious dinner with lots of local dishes, all delicious, we head to the big tent — which turns out to be completely empty! A man nearby spots our intention and points us into a street, at the end of which we see a crowd, and white stuff curving through the air (rice?); there’s music coming from that direction, too, we can’t miss it. When we get close, we see men and boys dancing to music coming from loudspeakers, a big crowd around then watching, boys even sitting on walls to get the best view; unless it’s the women we note on one of the roofs looking over the parapet who have an even better view from above. In the middle is a man with a video camera, and lots of people are also taking pictures with compact cameras and with their mobile phones.
We conclude it’s OK to take pictures then, and try to find a place on some piles of stone against a wall. Soon one man spots us, takes Thom by the hand, and thus leads us through the crowd until we have a place at the front! In one corner of the dancing floor the groom is sitting, behind a little decorative tree with candles; he’s only watching the proceedings, in beautiful clothes, a flower garland around his neck, holding a big sword in a golden sheath. I think he looks a little stoned, maybe he had a lot of qat, or maybe he’s just tired after three days of celebrations — or both. One by one, some of us are invited to sit down next to him, and get photographed and videoed together with the groom as if we are special guests — me included. That gives me occasion to take a close-up portrait of him, which he likes very much. Someone offers to take a picture of us both with my camera, which after some fiddling and advice from bystanders he manages to do: a nice memento of a special first evening in Yemen.
Friday 2007-04-06 - Marib, Yemen
Under escort
It seems there has been some unrest in the Marib area for years (not that there was anything in the news about that). In spite of the (supposed) situation, we got a permit to go there — in a long row of jeeps with tourists, under police escort. We all gather at the checkpost on the edge of the city at 9:00 and soon find out it all sounds a little more serious than it is (at least for now): there seems to be only one police car at the head of the row, no one behind. We soon spread out a little. Still, we’re not allowed to stop and take photographs, or even take photographs of the road (as if it has military value) except at a few (apparently designated) photo stops. There are also lots of checkposts along the way.
One thing we note immediately is that they are building a power line: at first, still near Sana’a, we see only the lower halves of pylons, further on they have heads and arms, and close to Marib they have actually started drawing cables. There is an oil field near Marib, so it looks like this will be used to supply power to the capital. In fact, oil has been found at several places, but there is not a whole lot of it: just about enough to cover the country’s own energy needs for several decades, certainly not enough for export. However, natural gas has also been found, which they plan to export in the form of LNG: a pipeline is being built, a well as liquefaction plant near the coast.
The landscape is beautiful, with at first rough mountains of a loose sedimentary structure, quite bare except where there is irrigation and it’s suddenly green. But as we travel it changes around us constantly; the loose sedimentary mountains make place for enormous exactly horizontal slabs of stone, in several layers, all of equal thickness: it looks as if they are huge paving stones. Later, we see sand dunes of warm golden sands, set off by black hills and here and there a layer of little black pebbles, a beautiful contrast. Then the gold-and-black is behind us again, and we’re suddenly in a valley with a lot of greenery.
We stop for tea at a junction. There are two places next to each other, one where the tourists go, one for the locals. Of course we go to the latter (we don’t need plastic chairs, we can do as the locals do and sit on the floor on a mat). The tea is delicious, made with some cardamom for a nice aroma; it’s always drunk with sugar here. The men here are very photogenic, beautiful faces, elegantly clothed in robes with matching head scarves, their weapons (jambiya, rifles) proudly on display. They are also willing subjects, so we end up making a lot of portraits.
Just inside Marib we (just our group) stop at a local restaurant for lunch: rice, flat bread, vegetable stew, a quarter chicken; mineral water on the side, and tea afterwards. Then, still under police escort, we go to our hotel, inside a walled garden, with guards at the gate. Now our drivers get a little well-earned rest — and qat. Once inside our room, I try to call my parents, but although the signal is good, I never get an international line. Strange…
At three we leave for a tour of the local sites. All tourist cars in a row under police escort again (more police now), and strictly regulated with groups distributed so there are never “too many” tourists at the same site at the same time. Is this really for our benefit or are they just nervous when so many strangers are on the same spot? Our group goes to the new dam first. Two big raptors circle overhead — a kind of buzzards (Buteo) probably. Our police escorts happily pose for us on their car with a biggish gun in the back of the pickup truck; along the mountain on a little ridge a row of men is sitting, chewing their qat: this is Yemen!
On the way to the old dam, an unauthorized photo stop for a view of the south building of the dam gets us a reprimand from the police. We go to the north building, from where we also have a nice view of the south building, but of the actual dam in-between nothing is left; both buildings were a kind of sluice, this one lovingly restored. We do see remnants of one of the canals leading from the north sluice. It’s all quite impressive, all this water engineering at such an early time.
Next we visit two temples from the Saba era (the queen of Sheba!): the “moon temple”, named the Almaqah temple of Bar’en or Baran temple, is nicely restored, and you get a good overview of the whole complex. Of the original six square pillars at the center, five are standing, of the sixth only about a third is left. There are also some stones with inscriptions in the original Yemeni script. We need to pay an entrance fee of 200 YR, but it’s worth it, and you can freely roam around. The next site is called “Bilqis Palace” or “throne room of queen Bilqis” (of Sheba), but it’s actually another temple, still in the process of being uncovered from the sands which seem to have preserved it beautifully. But you cannot visit the actual site (yet), and have to pay 100 YR just to get a somewhat closer view. That’s not worth it, and I take some pictures through the gate.
We want to be in time to see the old city of Marib in the light of the setting sun, but can’t leave — we have to wait for another group taking their time at the last temple; the police won’t let us go alone. When we can finally go, our drivers pull a nice stunt: they take a shortcut along a trail, and we arrive ahead of the crowd that left before us. Old Marib is a ghost town now, but still impressive with its huge buildings built of clay, a lot still standing. We can freely roam around (provided we stay on the paths — and we are being watched), but the evening light is disappointing: the sun quickly sinks behind a thick bank of clouds, leaving only gray twilight.
There is “curfew” in Marib, for tourists at least: we’re not allowed outside the hotel after 7:00. Unfortunately, only quick look at the hotel menu convinced everyone that we didn’t fancy eating there: western food at western prices. But our drivers have a solution: they manage to persuade (hmmm…) them to let us go out to eat at a local restaurant! They escort us, of course, so we invite them to have dinner with us. They also happily agree to have their pictures taken, sharing a table with our drivers. After an excellent dinner we head back to the hotel (escorted) but we still need to buy water for tomorrow’s trip through the desert. The shop is on the left side of the road, so our drivers smoothly switch to the “wrong” side of the road, heading in the wrong direction, to stop at the shop and buy water — under police escort, of course.
We never quite understand what the “curfew” is for, but have a suspicion it might be just to keep the tourists at the hotel so they send more of their dollars there.
Saturday 2007-04-07 - Marib, Yemen
A sad parting
Our room in the “fortified” hotel in Marib is very stuffy: the single window cannot be opened, there is no fan, and the airco is broken. Last night I laid down under just a sheet, but still had trouble falling asleep. Seemingly just after I’ve finally dozed off, I’m woken up by an unexpected sound: knocking — on our door? It’s bad news: Carla’s aged mother has passed away; she’ll have to break off the trip and go home.
Everything is arranged very quickly: a permit for the trip back to Sana’a, in a private taxi; there she can go to our old hotel and fly on to the Netherlands the next day. We’re both dazed for our own different reasons, but still manage to catch some sleep. Our group has to leave at 4:30 in the morning, but Carla gets up at 4:00 as well and informs the group. Now, with pain in my heart, I watch her standing there, at the exit of the little annexe of the hotel where we stayed. She waves us goodbye when we drive away, and we all feel strange and sad to leave her behind like this, all alone, waiting for her taxi which won’t arrive until 8:00. We’ll be far into the desert by then…
Through the sands
It’s still fully dark when we leave the hotel grounds through the guarded gate and drive through Marib but the town is lively with lots of men walking along the streets on their way to the mosque, or their work: the day starts early in Yemen. When we’ve passed the checkpost on the edge of town, our driver Mohamed raises his hands: “Free again!”.
Once outside the town, we can vaguely see the desert in the gray morning light: Small sand dunes with sparse vegetation, an occasional little tree. Then, quite suddenly, all vegetation is gone and all we see in the little light is smallish sand dunes lying in a surprisingly flat plain. In the distance we can vaguely see some mountain ranges. Farther on, we note Marib’s oil field at Safir: the flames can be seen from very far away; this flaring off of the gas will likely stop once the pipeline and the LNG liquefaction plant on the coast will be ready. Next to the oil field we make a short stop for pictures of the rising sun above the desert — the haze through which it rises is dust, not humidity.
A little later we stop at a little shop where we can sit inside (on the floor) to eat the picnick breakfast we brought along: bread, cheese and jam; the shop serves tea with it. In the distance, I see a mountain with its top in what looks like a cloud — it must be a layer of air laden with dust. We also meet our Bedouin guide here: he’s going to accompany us through the desert in his pickup truck. Under his guidance, our drivers let air out of their tires, so they’ll have more grip on the loose sand. Then we leave, and turn off the asphalt road, straight into the desert — at first along a clear trail.
Navigating the desert
It seems as if there is nothing here to orient yourself by, but that is deceptive. First, of course, there’s the sun, and if you know the time of day, you know the approximate compass directions; then there is the mountain range on the left that’s been accompanying us since we left Marib: if you know the shapes of the mountains, you can use them as landmarks; finally, there’s the terrain itself, with varying combinations of sand and sometimes a top layer of pebbles, now reddish brown, then black. Just like we can see the difference between walking over grass and moss, a Bedouin must be able to use similar clues in the terrain here. I imagine it’s like navigating a city where you know the landmarks — except these landmarks are very different in nature.
Sometimes it’s hard to see what’s in the distance: the air heats up fast now the sun is up, and the shimmering hot air creates reflections, hiding a strip just below the horizon. It doesn’t quite look like water, but something — half hidden — is behind it, making it hard to recognize: sometimes mountains, I think; at other times it turns out to be sparse little trees much closer by.
Until now, we were still following a track, but now we’re leaving that, too, and drive over loose sand. One of our three drivers, Hussein, soon gets into trouble: his tires are narrower than those of the other cars, and his four-wheel drive doesn’t work. Our guide proves his worth: he soon notices the trouble and comes back. More air is let out of the tires, and some pushing gets the car afloat again. The passengers are distributed over the other cars, our tour companion Marie Josee getting into the truck with our guide. The sand is almost bare here, there’s only a little shrub here or there, mostly in the lee of a sand dune, occasionally an even rarer little tree. Still we see the same mountain range on our left, now a little closer, then a little farther away; it consists mostly of table mountains, sometimes weirdly shaped by erosion. Every now and then there’s a “crossroads”: a trail in the sand which we cross.
back on the road
At last we get back on the asphalt road and turn right: we’ve cut off quite a distance by going through the sands instead of staying on the new road. Soon after we stop for tea. Several little boys are hanging around, begging us to be photographed.
Saturday 2007-04-07 - Hawra’, Yemen
A tasteless tourist lunch
Even now after we’ve turned off, we see range of mountains on our left. One has patterns that look like eyes: it’s like a big face in the mountain watching us. Farther on, on our right, a sandy hill is capped with a stone formation that has been eroded in the form of a sphinx. A little later we arrive at a T-junction at Hawra’; the road sign tells us that from here it’s 66km (left) to Sey’un, and 239km (right) to Al Mukalla. It’s an important junction, and there’s just one restaurant where of course it’s busy: we’re out of luck, downstairs, where the locals eat, it’s full, so we have to go to the room upstairs (where the tourists eat, and which we’d have preferred to avoid). The food isn’t bad, but seems to be “adapted” to tourists, too: all spices seem to have been left out and especially the vegetable stew tastes quite bland. That’s made up for by a side dish new to us: yogurt, with some spicy tomato sauce on top; I find it delicious and eat quite a lot of that.
Saturday 2007-04-07 - Sey’un, Yemen
French fries for dinner
The road to Sey’un now curves around the mountains on our right, and we’re in a different valley of the Wadi Hadramawt area. It’s the main valley of the Wadi Hadramawt river, a very wide and flat area here, flanked on both sides with table mountains formed by water draining into the valley — a fertile area in the middle of the desert. Along the way, we make a short photo stop to take pictures of old Shibam — from a distance; tomorrow we’ll return to visit the town.
The Al Ahqaf hotel in Sey’un is nice and comfortable, and within walking distance of the city center. After writing a bit, I find out that through some miscommunication I’ll have to go out for dinner alone: the others have either already gone out, or don’t want to have dinner at all. I head into town, and on the way meet some of the others just coming back; they give me some tips for where to find something to eat. French fries sounds good to me, and sure enough at the market place I find a man with a little stall selling french fries (called “chips” here, clearly inherited from the British occupation), and little samosas. A customer next to me translates when I ask what’s in the samosas: onions (pointing at them) — that sounds good to me and I order fries (the last!) and three samosas. A piece of newspaper at the bottom of a little plastic bag to soak up the fat, that’s how my food is packed, some salt put on it before it’s handed over to me. I walk quickly back to the hotel (it’s only 10 minutes or so), buy an alcohol-free beer in the lobby, and head up to my room, where I use the metal tray for the glasses as a make-shift plate. The food is still warm, and the samosas turn out to contain not onions but potatoes, but they’re very tasty.
Sunday 2007-04-08 - Sey’un, Yemen
The Sultan’s Palace
In the center of Sey’un, the old palace of Sultan Mansur bin Ghalib rises high above all buildings in the town, its whitewashed walls glittering in the sun. The enormous building, dating from 1873, is now museum, and a visit is well worth the 500 YR entrance fee. Stone steps lead halfway up the hill on which the palace is built, the imposing gate followed by more steps leading to an inclining courtyard. The building, already interesting in itself, houses several different exhibitions.
The first big room is for the archeology department, with many different artifacts from the Wadi Hadramawt area. I’m always interested in scripts, and here I find several pieces of stone with inscriptions in an early local Yemeni script especially interesting. (We also saw samples of that at the Almaqah temple of Bar’en near old Marib.) Then there is an ethnological department, where a bust decked out in bride’s clothes and jewelry (a including a silver “crown”), and a baby cot very like those used all over Central Asia (with a hole in the bottom to lead away the urine) drew my attention.
Farther up, two photo exhibitions are not to be missed. In the 1930s the Englishwoman Freya Stark made two trips (alone) through the Wadi Hadramawt area; unfortunately she had her travels cut short by sickness and had to be evacuated, but during both her trips she took many photographs, which later were donated to this museum. An interesting collection is on show here now — a unique document of life in the Hadramawt in that period, especially since she as a woman was also able to photograph other women.
Also in the 1930 the Dutchman Daniel van der Meulen, employed by the Dutch government, made many trips through the Hadramawt. He was looking to get to know the origin of many immigrants to the Dutch East Indies who came from this area, and came to wealth there. Together with the German Von Wissman, who surveyed the area and made the first usable map of Wadi Hadramawt, he made many trips which he documented with countless excellent photographs. Sadly, many of the prints exhibited in the museum are badly fixed and yellowing and fading, here and there clumsily “restored” by sticking a partial new print over the old one. This department of the museum badly needs a good curator who knows how to preserve photographic materials, or it all may be irretrievably lost.
A fourth department we visit is the customs museum with many coins, documents, etc. Finally, we go up to the roof on the 6th floor for a spectacular view of the city center and a wide area around it.
We round off the morning with a bottle of local lemonade from freshly pressed limes, sugar to taste (only a little for me): a very refreshing drink — though not everyone appreciates the sour taste like I do!
Sunday 2007-04-08 - Shibam, Yemen
Manhattan of the desert
This afternoon we go with the whole group for a visit to old Shibam, which we passed yesterday on the way to Sey’un — I find it unbelievable that a visit to this city, a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 1982, was not part of the original planning.
Unlike most cities in Wadi Hadramawt which are built nestling at the foot of a mountain or little way up, the walled city of Shibam is built on a free-standing hill in the valley. Just one square kilometer within the walls, it’s not surprising that the large family houses here are narrow and with even more floors than usual, built closely together. The buildings are even higher than the mosque’s minaret. Indeed, the skyline reminds one somewhat of a city with skyscrapers, earning it its epithet - but there the comparison with Manhattan stops.
Through the single whitewashed city gate one comes onto a square, and from there on it’s a labyrinth of winding narrow streets and alleys and an occasional courtyard, between the high-rising houses. The predominant color is that of the clay tiles the houses are built from and plastered with, but sometimes the upper part of a house is whitewashed, and there are surprising splashes of color: here dark-red window frames, there window niches painted bright blue; bright red or blue curtains (often on the outside of the window frames) flapping in the breeze, the lower part of a wall facing a courtyard painted a very bright green. In between all this troops of goats roam around, women go their own way in there elegant flowing black robes (often covering them completely, including a face veil, and often even black gloves), children are cheerful, and sometimes eager to be photographed (but not all). One can roam around here for hours and never be bored: it’s feast for the eyes.
Suddenly we hear music and follow our ears — we’d spread out as usual, but now we all arrive where the music is. There’s a growing crowd in the street, a little procession with musicians in front walks up and down — what’s happening? After a while it becomes clear: another wedding is taking place, the first day of it here. I don’t manage to catch a glimpse of the groom (or bride) but after walking up and down several times the musicians sit down at the edge of a big carpet spread out for them in the middle of the street. This becomes the dancing floor where the men dance, in small parties, taking turns. Unlike in Sana’a though, we’re not treated as special guests, and have to find our own (polite) ways of catching some glimpses. Still, most of us hang around for quite a while until it’s nearly time to go. The music and dancing made our visit to Shibam extra-memorable.
Sunday 2007-04-08 - Sey’un, Yemen
Tea at the neighbor’s
In the evening we go into town with a small group in search of dinner. Just before the Sey’un market square we find a small restaurant; it looks clean, several people sit and eat there, so we decide to try it. The friendly black-bearded owner requests two customers to move to another table (which they do willingly and with a smile), so we can all sit together. He has a problem though: he doesn’t speak a word of English, and our Arabic isn’t up to scratch yet.
Presently, a young man appears, and offers to help us order our food. His English is excellent and he explains he isn’t an employee here but the owner of the restaurant next door (apparently he owner had gone to fetch help!). We ask for several dishes; some are not available — he does have them in his own restaurant, he says, but since we have already chosen to sit here… We can’t honestly say that next time we’ll go to him: we’re leaving tomorrow, but he has a brilliant idea: Maybe, he suggests, we can come for tea at his restaurant after our meal. We have a delicious dinner with rice, chicken, bread, vegetable stew, and extra (free) side dishes appear with chopped red onions, a spicy tomato sauce, and a plate with green peppers (spicy, but not terribly hot). We simply drink mineral water with it.
The owner asks us where we come from, and beams. The whole meal costs us less than 350 YR per person with change to spare (no tip accepted).
Then we go to the neighbor’s restaurant for tea. Henk asks, carefully, if maybe he has some sweets with it? No, the owner says, but he can get some for us, no problem. He disappears and presently returns with three plastic bags, and starts to unload them onto plates. First, a plate with four (big) croissants. Next, a plate with a pile of small cakes. The third bag contains something like egg cakes, but we convince him this is already more than enough. No problem, he says, we’ll only pay for what we eat. All of us eat from the little cakes, so fresh they’re still warm, with a crispy crust on the outside, soft on the inside — they’re delicious. I’m not a cake person, but even I have one of them, they’re so good! And all of this can still be paid from the change we got back from our dinner.
Monday 2007-04-09 - Tarim, Yemen
The holy city of Hadramawt
Yemen’s religious aristocracy, the Sa’da, is based in Tarim; the city has countless mosques, and many domed tombs of important religious figures are found around the city. It seems that during the first period after the prophet Mohamed’s death, when many lost their faith, this was the only place in the Hadramawt where the people remained true to Islam.
On our way to Tarim we make a short stop at the tombs of holy Ahmad bin Assa and his son; situated right next to the road to Tarim, one tomb is only accessible though the mosque via 127 steps up the mountain. At the gate it says entrance is for Muslims only but we try our luck anyway; but talk as we may, we’re not let in. That said — that where we just ended up is Ahmad bin Assa’s tomb is something I (later) deduce from my travel guide; our intention was to visit the tomb of Sheikha Sultana, the first female scholar in Wadi Hadramawt; she was a Sufi, and — exceptionally for a Muslim woman — remained single (though Sufis were often celibate); people came from afar to seek her advice. After her death she was buried in a green-domed tomb, to be found one kilometer off the road along a track. But that’s not where we are… so we must be at Ahmad bin Assa’s tomb!
Our visit to Tarim itself starts with a visit to a museum: the Al Kaff Palace “Ish snaa” — it is an old palace of the Al Kaff family, until the revolution here the unofficial rulers in Tarim. They had become incredibly wealthy through trade with Indonesia, where many people from Wadi Hadramawt emigrated to and got wealthy there through clever trading. The Al Kaff family played an important role in the development of the area, financing the first road to the coast, the first schools in the wadi, etc. Sadly the house badly in need of restoration, but it is very interesting to roam around in an old rich house like this. Apart from some old photographs, a mirror and a broken lamp, there are no objects here; it’s the building itself that is on display. There’s a large variety of rooms, each with heir own decorations, beautiful carved wooden window frames with colored glass, a large bathroom, the kitchen, and a nice view from the roof. We spend quite some time looking around.
From there we walk to the city center through a winding street ending up at the market square, where the Sultan’s palace stands. Unfortunately it’s incredibly hot here, so much so that even I have trouble dealing with the 44°C even though the air is very dry. So when we arrive at the market most of us quickly dive into a little restaurant around the corner where it’s cool, to await the cars which will pick us up at the market place. More time, and a somewhat lower temperature would be needed to really enjoy Tarim.
Monday 2007-04-09 - Wadi ’Adim, Yemen
Camping under the milky way
From Tarim we go into the valley of a side arm of Wadi Hadramawt, the Wadi ’Adim. The landscape is stunningly beautiful here: weird shapes both in the totally bare table mountains and in the water-eroded layers of sediment; in the middle of the wadi valley we see open water for the first time in this area. The available water enables the thick palm groves to be grown here (date palms); around the fringes there are fields with other produce. Although the surrounding mountains are bare, the wadi bottom is green and lush.
At a nice spot we go through a ford to the other side of the river where our drivers can have a quiet qat-chewing session in the shade, and we can go for a walk through the palm grove. Theoretically, we could walk to the village (that was the idea) but although we can see it in the distance, the water-eroded thick layer of sediment is hard going: you constantly have to find your way around deep grooves — there is no way to walk in a straight line. We only make it to a lonely little house; nobody home but a little goat. There are some small fields nearby so somebody must live here, but we see no one.
The qat session (and our walk) over, we go further into the wadi. Suddenly we go halfway up the mountain where there is a stony plateau. Here we set up our camp, with a nice view of the village Ghayl ’Umar in the middle of the lush palm grove. The idyll is somewhat spoiled by the sound of a generator belonging to the tank station at the foot of the mountain, but once it gets dark it’s offset by the sound of frogs calling to each other near the river — hearing that it’s hard to believe we are actually in the desert.
One of our drivers, Mohamed, cooks us a nice dinner, with some assistance from Hussein (mostly holding the lamp) and Khamal, as well as some of our group to chop the vegetables. Gradually the stars come out, and the Milky Way appears above us in all its glory — a sight we can rarely see any more in our crowded and light-polluted country. On Hussein’s assurance that it’s not going to rain tonight, I left off the outer tent when I set up my tent and go to sleep in my sleeping bag with a light breeze caressing my face.
Tuesday 2007-04-10 - Ghayl ’Umar, Yemen
Sleepy village
After breakfast at the campsite, we leave our drivers to eat and load the cars while we walk down the mountain and cross the river at a ford to go into Ghayl ’Umar. There’s just one paved (more or less) road that winds through the village, otherwise it’s all sandy paths. The village is nice, and I see (and photograph) many interesting door doors, but the people seem somewhat reticent. Not that we see many people anyway — apart from the few women at the village entrance who try to sell us some fans woven of reed, and three vegetable shops next to each other all selling tomatoes, potatoes and onions and seemingly not much else to no one in particular (no customer in sight), and one little shop selling drinks. The village square is a low-lying area shaded by many trees; one man sits there meditating, a donkey stands in the shade. Some boys are going to school, quietly. The only happening of note is that Thom manages to get into the mosque by pretending to be a Muslim — not very successfully, but they give him the benefit of the doubt and let him in. Otherwise, nothing much seems to be happening in this nice, sleepy village.
Tuesday 2007-04-10 - Mashhad Ali, Yemen
Holy men of the Hadramawt
Near Tarim we already saw the tomb of Ahmad bin Assa and his son (from the outside). But there were many holy men in this area: it’s actually famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) for it. The point is that the concept of holy men, saints, or any intermediary between one person and God (Allah) is foreign to Islam. But in this area there were indeed holy men who did act as a kind of intermediary — as legends have it, some even after their death. So their tombs are considered holy places here, and draw pilgrims at certain times of the year.
Today we are going to see more of that: we are going to Wadi Do’an and to reach it we have to first drive all the way back from Wadi ’Adim to the main road from Sey’un to Al Mukalla, then turn off into Wadi Do’an: that’s because both these wadis are actually tributaries of the Wadi Hadramawt. On the way, we have lunch at the junction in Hawra’ again, this time downstairs; it may be coincidence, but the food tastes a lot better than last time when we ate upstairs in the tourists room.
A little south of Hawra’ we turn right into Wadi Do’an. In the first village we pass through, Mashhad Ali, our driver Khamal stops and shows us something special: “A chewing gum tree,” he says. Sure enough, the tree secretes some resin from the stem; you can pry it off and chew it. Marie Josee tries it and confirms it does taste like chewing gum. Then we note that the other cars have stopped a little farther on next to a small mosque, which Khamal thought was closed.
In fact, the mosque proper is closed (to us at least) but there is a room with four graves in it, and its door is open. More Hadramawt holy men lie buried here: The Sai’ed Ali bin Hassan, his two sons and his grandson. We are allowed to visit the tomb. Unfortunately, only one of the wooden shrines is uncovered, the others are wrapped in green cloth (possibly to protect them); the wood is decorated with simple but beautiful geometric carvings.
The tiny village of Mashhad Ali has become a pilgrim’s village; the number of houses is deceptive: most stand empty at this moment and serve only to house the pilgrims when they come. But these pilgrimages, and the reverence for these holy men is looked upon unfavorably by the Wahabites, another branch of Islam (and state religion in Saudi Arabia). In my guidebook I read that next to the tomb with the four shrines we could have a peek in, there’s another room with more graves, but their grave stones were demolished by Wahabites who condemn the reverence of these holy men.
Tuesday 2007-04-10 - Al Hajarayn, Yemen
Horseshoe town
Further into Wadi Do’an we make another stop: at the other side of the valley we see a town halfway up the mountain, curving round the promontory in a horseshoe shape: Al Hajarayn. After we take pictures from this side of the valley, from where we can see how beautifully the village almost merges into the mountain, the cars bring us into the village where we can walk along its narrow streets; we’ll be picked up on the other side.
Although the houses are the usual Yemeni tower dwellings here, too, it’s completely different from Shibam. Again, I see many beautiful doors (I can’t stop photographing doors here in Yemen!). But, possibly because of how the town is such an organic whole with the mountain, and how it curves around it, we manage to get lost a little, not knowing whether to walk on, or where to go down - or where, in fact, our cars are going to pick us up again. Luckily the people are very friendly and some guide us to the right street, down many steps to the foot of the mountain. Then we walk along a dirt road through the fields, and are relieved to see our cars waiting for us at the road!
Tuesday 2007-04-10 - Al Khuraybah, Yemen
They bite!
Where the lower part of Wadi Do’an is dry, the farther we go up it becomes more humid and green - now we see a string of palm groves again. We end up in Al Khuraybah where we are going to spend the night in Hotel Ribon — actually a funduq: simple lodging in people’s home.
To my surprise they have prepared a single room for our group: 12 mattresses neatly arranged on the floor; I had expected separate rooms for the men and the women. On each mattress is a pillow and a sheet; most of the windows can be opened and have a screen against mosquitoes; there are also two fans on the ceiling: we won’t be bothered much by insects here. In the hall are two bathrooms with shower and toilet. All in all, simple but functional and clean.
We put DEET on our small areas of bare skin (face, neck and hands) and head downstairs to the restaurant. We can sit inside or outside, it makes no difference: since there is more water here, there are mosquitoes everywhere — there’s no escaping them and they are especially nasty here: they simply avoid the little areas of skin covered in DEET and go for the rest, biting right through our clothes, even socks! Our bedroom may be mosquito-free (our hosts even sprayed it for us), but we already get an ample portion of bites before retiring for the night.
Omelet a la Khuraybah
Our host in the Al Khuraybah funduq serves us a nice dinner. For those of us who didn’t want chicken (including me), Marie Josee ordered an omelet. When our host serves me, he puts the plate down in front of me and says “Omelet!”. On my plate, next to the rice and vegetable stew, I find two hard-boiled eggs.
Wednesday 2007-04-11 - As Sirrayn, Yemen
Shared riches
According to my map (copyright 2003), the road into Wadi Do’an stops in Al Khuraybah but it doesn’t — not anymore: A nice asphalt road leads us up and out of the wadi and it looks brand new.
Every little village here belongs to one family and it’s visible people here are wealthier than in other areas: the houses are more richly decorated, and the decorations are more colorful. Of every family here, one or two members work in Saudi Arabia, where they earn well, and send money home. As our driver Hussein tells us, just like the rich Al Kaff family financed the road from Wadi Hadramawt to the coast (and much else) in the 1930s, one man named Abdullah Boshan who got extremely wealthy in Saudi Arabia finances a lot of development project in this area. The new road we’re now following, which ultimately connects to the main road from Sey’un to Al Mukalla, is just one example of those projects. He also finances schools, drink water supply, and things like all the food during the Eid ul-Fitr celebration at the end of the Ramadan month. Also, if a couple wants to marry but doesn’t have the money for the wedding, he pays it for them.
We make a short stop at the fork in the road from where we can look down on his village, As Sirrayn; his house clearly stands out: an enormous family house, whitewashed with parts of walls painted in various cheerful pastel colors. Below us the road continues along the Wadi Do’an river to the village, while we just to the left fork which takes us up and out of the wadi.
Once out, after a steep climb, we’re on the high plain of the desert, the jol. Suddenly the landscape is totally different: the jol is almost flat, arid, with only very sparse vegetation — the green and fertile wadis with their rich palm groves completely hidden from view. You can see gullies eroded by water (when it rains, a lot of water flows, and there can be dangerous flash floods), but nowhere is there a view straight down. Yet, if you’d follow such a gully down, eventually you’d end up in a green wadi. For the early travelers in this area, the difference must have been astounding. During a short stop I take a few pictures of typical plants found on the jol.
The first part of this road probably follows the track indicated on my map, but farther on we dive down another steep pass at a point where there is not even a track; a sign says we’re at Mount Aballa Arib. Many hairpins later, we end up on the wide plateau along the south coast. Now we’re going down slowly, and after a while we can see the Arabian Sea in the distance. Along the road we stop for tea in Ladouas, a small village not found on our maps. The we join the main road from Wadi Hadramawt to the coast, and later turn right to Al Mukalla.
Wednesday 2007-04-11 - Al Mukalla, Yemen
Fresh fish for lunch
Having arrived on the main road along the south coast, suddenly we’re in a different world again; it’s a wide road with street lights, a strip of greenery, later even grass (obviously daily watered), in the middle: it’s clear we’re nearing a major city again.
Al Mukalla’s fish market is (logically) near the coast, in the new city; between it and the sea is a popular restaurant with a view of the sea. We’re going to have fresh fish for lunch here — as fresh as possible, but the procedure is new to me: first you go to the fish market, and select and buy your own fish, which is chopped or filleted to order; it’s packed in a little plastic bag (the ubiquitous plastic bag), and take it to the restaurant where they prepare it for you, and it’s served with bread or rice, drinks, or whatever you order. You can eat your fish with a nice view of the sea, seagulls, and camels roaming a little sandy land tongue, a surprising combination. My fish — I have no idea what it is, I selected it on sight because it looked interesting: beautiful slate gray with sines on its belly, and yellow eyes — turns out to be delicious, nicely prepared with some spices and served with a delicately seasoned sauce.
Bath slippers
I have a nice room in the Corniche hotel along the boulevard in old Al Mukalla — alas not with a sea view, but instead a view of the nearby mosque from my own little balcony — and I have three beds to choose from.
Most hotels in Yemen provide bath slippers, and so does the Corniche, but they clearly have their own ideas about this service here: in front of my bathroom I find two differently-colored right-foot slippers of two different sizes.
School girls
The center of the old city of Al Mukalla lies on a little land tongue, not far from our hotel: First a little walk along the boulevard, with a view of the harbor with lots of little fishing boats anchored there; then into the the narrow little streets of the old city. I roam around, planning to come around at the other side and then round the city along the sea. Suddenly I see a group of girls near a doorway who cheerfully greet me, obviously wanting a chat. They’re all school girls, just home from school. It’s still a little hard for me to estimate ages here, especially since some of the girls wear a niqab, but they must be teenagers, going to secondary school.
We chat, they haltingly, suddenly remembering phrases they learned at school, their English popping up in bursts. Two girls are sisters, they tell me (they do have similar eyes). They also point out the fact that some of them wear a niqab while others don’t (yes, I had noticed that already) but when I ask why, I get no answer; maybe they just don’t know how to answer that question, or their English isn’t up to it. What do they learn at school? English (obviously), Arabic, Islam — they mention at least two other subjects which I don’t catch since they mention it in Arabic. “What are you doing here?” they ask; when I grab my camera to show them some things they suddenly shy away. “No, no,” I say, “I won’t take your picture, I just want to show you.” That proves a great success: they all crowd around me while I go through the pictures I took today. Happy sounds when they recognize a wall painting nearby. The picture of the two different right-foot bath slippers in my hotel room causes a lot of hilarity.
Then I walk on, regretting I could not talk with them more, but their English isn’t up to it yet. At least these girls get a good education, a good thing since the illiteracy rate in this country is still very high, especially among women. They happily wave me goodbye.
“Five minutes”
On my way to the old city of Al Mukalla I had already spotted an Internet shop (you can’t call these places Internet cafe here, there are just computers with Internet access, no drinks or food is sold) but now after my walk I find it closed. A man standing outside his shop next door tells me “five minutes, just wait”. Ah, now it dawns on me: on my way here I heard the Muezzin calling for prayer, so it’s prayer time — many shops temporary close then. So I stand and wait patiently, just watching people. Other people come and feel at the door, finding it closed; some leave, some also stand around to wait. Finally, at least 15 minutes later, a young man walks straight up to the door, unlocks it and turns on more lights. I walk in and ask how much Internet costs. “Internet?” he asks, “next door”. Soon the source of my confusion becomes clear: there’s a single sign advertising both Internet and international phone service, a common combination here, over two doors; except in this case there are two separate shops under the sign, each with their own door. The blue metal doors next to the telephone service are firmly closed.
Meanwhile, at the other side of the telecom business, a group of men has gathered, like men gather here after prayer time. “Sit down, five minutes,” says the owner of the shop in front of which they’re sitting on plastic chairs. He points to a chair which is still free. I thank him and sit down, knowing full well by now that these “five minutes” probably won’t be five minutes either. The men chat, I watch them and passers-by, passers-by look at me curiously, but no one bothers me. Some 10 minutes later, the shop owner orders tea from the restaurant across the street; when it arrives, there’s one cup for me too. So I sit, contentedly sipping my tea, and waiting some more. No movement at the blue doors hiding the Internet shop.
Finally, tea long finished, I give up. “Is there any chance it will still open tonight?” I ask my host. He raises his shoulders and arms in a “no idea” gesture. When I get up he tells me there’s another place and points across the street. He also gestures to the man sitting next to me, saying something to him in Arabic. Should he go get someone? Take me there? I’m confused, so I just thank my host, take my leave, and cross the street — where I only see a restaurant. I walk in, and ask for Internet; predictably they point across the street. “Finished,” I say, using the English word Yemenis often use for “closed”, accompanied by the appropriate hand sign. Then I see the man who was sitting next to me crossing the street, laughing and beckoning me. He takes me through a covered little street, crowded with restaurants on both sides; we end up at a little square. Sure enough, across the square is another Internet shop, only Arabic text on its sign but the machines have the usual Arabic-and-English keyboards and I have no problem updating my blog from here.
Thursday 2007-04-12 - Al Mukalla, Yemen
“Mumkin?”
I’m getting up early today: after visiting the old town of Al Mukalla yesterday, I want to see some more of the new town today before we leave - we only had a glimpse yesterday when we arrived. As soon as it gets light I go out and walk along the sea-side boulevard in the direction of the new town. Sooner than expected, I see the old Sultan’s Palace which marks the end of the old town. A little farther on, the road goes over a bridge across a sea arm that goes right into the town; a nice boulevard is on each side, and there are several pedestrian bridges across it. There is even a fountain (spouting sea water!) in the middle. I go and sit on one of the benches that for now are still in the shade, and just watch — it’s a very pleasant area — enjoying one of the few moments of relaxation during this trip.
I’ve been picking up some useful phrases of Yemeni Arabic (partly with the help of my little language guide) — simple things like la (no), aiwa (yes), shukran (thank you), some greetings. Another useful phrase is mumkin sura? (may I take a picture?) — sura means picture, mumkin? a general “may I…?”: one doesn’t just take a picture of people here in Yemen — especially not of women — but asking politely often gets permission, at least from men and small children. With women it’s more complicated: even if they give permission (rarely), the husband may not allow it and you can’t take the picture anyway or the woman may get into trouble with her husband; the other way round happens, too: a woman saying no while her husband say yes — in which case of course you respect the woman’s wishes.
Now, while I sit on the bench watching the fountain and the pedestrian bridge a little farther away, in the sun by now, as the sun slowly rises above the mountain, two women come walking along the boulevard, cheerfully saying “Hello!” to me (in English). When they’re 30m past me, they suddenly stop; one of them makes a “photo” gesture in front of her eyes and asks: “Mumkin?” It takes a second or two before it sinks in that she is asking me to have her picture taken. But of course! Quickly, they come walking back, and the woman crouches half in front of me and quickly takes off her niqab, revealing a friendly face with very beautiful brown eyes. The light on her face is just right. When I show her the portrait, she’s quite happy, and thanks me with her hand on her heart — quickly flipping her niqab back again: a man is approaching us.
Sometimes I wonder: why are people asking to have their picture taken while not asking to have it sent to them? With children, it must be the excitement of the procedure and of seeing their own face on the magic little box. But grown-ups — just so they’ll know they’ll be remembered? I’ll certainly remember this friendly young woman with the beautiful eyes in Al Mukalla. Such a pity we can’t chat.
No breakfast
When I get back to the hotel, Hussein is sitting on the stoop outside, next to Mohamed. We’re going to have Yemeni breakfast today, Hussein tells me: with beans. Looking forward to that (I’m fond of all kinds of beans), I go up to my room to pack and write a little.
When I get downstairs with my luggage at 10, it turns out that everyone missed breakfast: Hussein had arranged it all but forgotten to tell us breakfast would be at 8… Good thing I had a big glass of mango juice this morning in the new town.
When we leave, we’re also acquiring a policeman, riding in one of the cars: he’ll be escorting us to Bir Alī.
