I have posted some draft chapters on Clipmoon (Youtube kicked me off their site). You can see them here.

Otherwise I am healing slowly from my neck injury. An MRI revealed a herniated (cracked) disc. A steroid injection and physical therapy is helping but it could be several months before I can get back on my bike.

I will keep you posted.

But I will say this about MJ: the dude could dance. He had more talent in his big toe than I will ever have. And you know what, I don’t care if he molested little boys. When you can sing and dance like that, God will forgive your imperfections.

In fact I can imagine MJ with God now:

God: You know, Michael, you really shouldn’t molest young boys

MJ: I know, I’m sorry

God: Well, try not to do it again. Now, uh, can I see that moon walk thing again?…

Actually, the title of this post refers to the fact that It is tough letting go of this blog. I am having withdrawl symptoms. Every week I feel the need to post something. So maybe I will. The blog gives me a forum for ranting and complaining about everything that bothers me, which is a lot these days.

For example, you remember my post last July about the Uygers of Xinjiang province in China? Well as you may have seen on the news, the fighting has intensified. It’s funny how you suddenly become more interested in a place once you have been there.

Here is the link to that post:

http://kevinkoski.com/blog/?p=735

Here is an article of the conflict happening there now. I think you know who’s side I am on.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090708/ap_on_re_as/as_china_protest

 Now for something completely different:

My sister Katrina made a video on her Mac of her visit to see me in Cairo last December. After some difficulty I managed to compress the file and upload it to my web site for your enoyment. It is 94MB so it takes a few minutes to load but it’s entertaining and worth 30 minutes of your life to watch. So, enjoy!

Link to Katrina’s video. It seems to only run in real player. I am working on the technology. Does anyone know how to make it work?:

http://www.kevinkoski.com/Travel/Cairo/Cairo.html

If you still want a cycling fix here are a couple blogs of other cyclists. This first one is about a women who will soon cycle from England to South Africa. She will start her trip in a couple weeks.

 http://takeonafrica.com/updates/getting-organised-getting-excited/

This one is from a couple who are biking around the world. They have cycled 56,000 km already and are now in the USA.

http://worldbiking.info/updates/update39_cycling_USA_southern_states.html

By the way, my cousin Ben Kilpela has finally started blogging again and in fact has written a book, a comic novel about growing up on a ferry boat. It is entitled The Skunk Island Ferry.

You can read an excerpt and see his blog here: http://copperharbor.blogspot.com/

So that’s it. I want to thank everyone who commented on my blog posts. One thing I learned about blogging is comments are a great psychological boost. It confirms that people are actually reading your stuff. Otherwise you don’t know. The blog was tough at times. Internet access was spotty and slow most of the time. In China the internet cafes were filled with dozens of young Chinese kids, all smoking so the room was thick with hazy smoke. I was usually tired and did not feel like writing. But I felt compelled to continue with it, encouraged by your comments and knowing people were expecting more. Without that, I probably would have abandoned the activity.

A few special thanks. My uncle, Captain Don Kilpela, probably wrote the most comments, all with some angle or aspect that expanded my original thoughts and observations. My cousin Ben was always ready with a challenge to my assertions and questions, and with ease and eloquence poked holes in the logic of my arguments. My father Stefan and sister Katrina also commented many times. One of my favorite comments, though, was posted by my brother Steve when I was in Turkey. I had explained that I had posed several philosophical questions over the past few months but  no one had responded to them. In his subtle dry humor he provided some answers.

Here are the questions I posed with my brother’s responses in italics.

- Is it right or wrong to give money to poor begging children?
Its OK. I give Karl (his son) a few coins, once in a while.

- What are the merits of Ramadan from a Christian point of view?
Had lunch at the Ramada after a funeral coupla months ago. It was OK. Sat with the minister.

- Is it wrong for humans to try to control nature?
Good question. I’m taking pills for that.

- How people selectively remember history.
I used to whup Ben’s rear in Monopoly and chess.

- Is it wrong for a state to pacify its citizenry with subsidies to keep them quiet and peaceful?
They’d better decide on that one in Michigan pretty quick.

- The Russian influence in Georgia–justified protection of its citizens or unwarranted meddling?
Is it worse than the Finnish influence in da U.P.?

- Are wars inevitable?
Hey, its October in Houghton County. Its gonna get wars before it gets better.

- Should dog owners be held responsible for the behavior of their dogs?
Listen, if you didn’t want pups, you shouda had the dog fixed.

Trip Statistics

For the record here are some statistics of the trip.

-Distance pedaled: 22, 097 km (13, 730 miles)
-Duration: 645 days (just over 22 months)
-No. of countries: 30
(Uruguay, Argentina, Paraguay, Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, Colombia, Venezuela, Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, El Salvador, Honduras, Japan, China, Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Turkey, Syria, Lebanon, Jordan, Egypt, Ethiopia, Kenya, Uganda, Rwanda, Tanzania)

Major cities:
Montevideo, Uruguay
Asuncion, Paraguay
La Paz, Bolivia
Lima, Peru
Quito, Ecuador
Cali, Medellin, Cartagena, Colombia
Caracas, Venezuela
Panama City, Panama
San Jose, Costa Rica
Managua, Nicaragua
San Salvador, El Salvador
Tegucigalpa, Honduras
Tokyo, Japan
Qingdao, Xi’an, Urumqi, Kashgar, China
Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan
Tashkent, Uzbekistan
Ashgabat, Turkmenistan
Baku, Azerbaijan
Tbilisi, Georgia
Beirut, Lebanon
Damascus, Syria
Amman, Jordan
Cairo, Egypt
Addis Ababa, Ethiopia
Nairobi, Mombasa, Kenya
Kampala, Uganda
Kigali, Rwanda
Dar es Salaam, Zanzibar, Tanzania

-Highest elevation: 4500 meters (14, 765 feet), Peruvian highlands
-Lowest elevation: 408 meters (1338 feet) below sea level, Dead Sea, Jordan
-Hottest day: 52 deg C (125 deg F), Turpan, China
-Coldest day: -5 deg C (23 deg F), Peruvian highlands
-Highest one day distance: 134 km (83 miles), central Paraguay
-Number of consecutive days without a shower: 5, Tanzania
-Number of flat tires: Lots, about 50
-Number of tires: 7
-Number of falls: several but none serious
-Number of broken spokes: 1, Uganda
-Number of times hit by a car: 1, Amman, Jordan
-Cost of the trip: about $30,000

-Most difficult day: This is a tie between the day I rode into Abancay in the Peruvian highlands and the road to Kargi in northern Kenya. The road to Abancay was incredible. I rode/walked by bike uphill for 40 km, climbing 2000 meters in about 10 hours. At the pass, it was dusk and I sped down into the town of Abancay in the dark, a stupid, dangerous thing to do. I arrived completely exhausted.

The road to Kargi was in the desert on a difficult rocky road. Hot and with no water, I felt I was a goner. I also had a kidney infection. Luckily I was helped out by three Rendille warriors who I paid to push my bike for 20 km, arriving in Kargi after dark, exhausted and dehydrated.

The Top 10

People sometimes ask what are the most memorable places I saw. So I put together this “top ten” list. It is in chronological order.

1. Bolivia. A fascinating place where you can see how the Quechua indigenous people live. Spectacular mountain views. La Paz and the Highlands are worth a visit. You can also explore Lake Titicaca. Around La Paz you can bicycle the World’s Most Dangerous Road.

2. Peru. Peru has it all: Machu Picchu, highlands, Lake Titicaca, Beaches. You can spend a lot of time there. Great place to see Aymara and Quechua cultures. The floating reed islands of Lake Titicaca were fascinating.

3. Colombia. Hospitable people, nice mountain views, great salsa music, and of course, my favorite, Cartagena. Cartagena has great beaches, beautiful colonial buildings and a wonderful atmosphere.

4. Panama, the San Blas islands. Tranquil, postcard like beaches populated by the interesting Kuna indigenous people. a great place to get away from everything and everybody.

5. Japan. Anywhere in Japan is fascinating. Clean, orderly, everything works. Way out in the middle of nowhere you can find spotlessly clean vending machines to buy water, juice, beer or coffee. Amazing. But Kyoto and the many shrines are worth a visit.

6. Western China, especially Kashgar. You travel back in time to the great silk road markets, a fascinating glimpse into the crossroads of the east and west.

7. Kyrgyzstan. A mountainous beautiful country. Great for hiking or horseback riding, Wonderful cold fast flowing rivers to get water and bathe.

8. Jordan. Wadi Rum. A stark, beautiful desert, the HQ of Lawrence of Arabia and home to the Bedouins.

9. Kenya. The traditional tribal communities are fascinating. Then you have the animals: elephants, buffalo, giraffes, lions, zebras, hippos, monkeys, etc. Nairobi is a great city and Meru has the best mangoes I have ever tasted.

10. Tanzania–Here the Serengeti National Park stands out. More wild animals per square mile than anywhere I have seen. Zanzibar offers a fascinating glimpse into the Swahili culture and has some fine beaches.

Best of the rest

I loved the NW coast of Peru– nice beaches and beach towns. I saw the sun rise over the ocean one day after staying up all night chatting with some locals. There are great places to sway in a hammock and watch the waves while sipping a rum and coke.

Turkmenistan - A look at what totalitarianism can get you. An interesting police state with some weird places like the burning pit. Elaborate, gaudy statues to the former ruler, Turkmenbashi (Head of all Turkmen) still dominate the capital.

Georgia-Tbilisi is a great city. Cool architecture, lovely churches, a quaint old town with nice cafes and bars, and cheap accommodation.

Damascus - An interesting historical Muslim city. Nice hamams (steam baths) and souqs.

The Dead Sea, Jordan - A cool place to float. The lowest spot on earth and the saltiest lake.

Nuweiba, Sinai - great beaches

Cairo pyramids - Fascinating ancient Egyptian artifacts

Medellin and Cali, Colombia - Salsa until the sun comes up on a party bus. Then lie in bed all the next day with a hangover so bad you wish you were dead.

Xian, China–Terracotta warriors

Uzbekistan–The great Silk Road cities of Bukhara Samarkand, also a great place to get a massage.

Some final thoughts

One thing about bicycle touring: you get a lot of time to think. I started thinking about all the people I pass everyday who are working to make a living for themselves and their family. I sometimes felt a bit guilty that I was indulging in this hedonistic pleasure while the rest of the world has to work. I had to remind myself that I deserve this, dammit. I worked hard for years to save the money to take this trip. I have no cause to feel guilt. I tried to convince myself I was still adding value to society. I was providing entertainment value to the local population, I was boosting their economy by spending my dollars, and I was hopefully inspiring and entertaining people with this blog.

They say there are two kinds of people: those who live to work and those who work to live. If you define “work” as something you must do to make a living, I definitely fall into the latter bunch. But I suspect there are many people out there who in fact continue to work even though they did not need the money. Why? People need to feel productive. they need to feel they are adding value to society. I wonder sometimes how professional golfers feel. Do they feel any guilt that they make millions of dollars playing a game? Are they adding value to society? Are they “working?”

In a way I was also “working”, although I doubt anyone would pay me to travel (but if anyone reads this and does want to pay me to take another bike trip, please contact me asap).

I’m curious what other people think. If you suddenly became wealthy (or are already there) would you continue to “work?” Would you change your job? Would you volunteer doing something you truly enjoy? Would you feel less of a person if you did not work like most everyone else?

The other thing I realized is how lucky I was to have been born in white, middle class America. I and most people I know are in the top 1% of all people on earth in terms of wealth and prosperity. The vast majority of people I saw, from the Quechua farmers in the Bolivian highlands, to rural Chinese peasants, to Rendille tribespeople in Kenya eking out a living herding goats, would probably not believe how good we have it. We have more freedom, more opportunities, better health care and education…the list goes on. Is it fair? Well one of the things I have come to believe is that life is not fair. You have to do the best with the hand you were dealt. You can’t feel guilty that millions of people around the world live in dirt hovels and get by on one meal a day. At least, I try to not to feel guilt. In any case, just appreciate what you have, many others must survive on far less.

I will close with those thoughts. Thanks again for reading my stuff. I hope you enjoyed it. My next project is to go through some 20 hours of video and more than 5000 photos to create some kind of video of my trip. Check theaters soon.

Adios!
Kevin

I can’t say I am too upset about it. I have mixed feelings about Africa after traveling here for six months. On the one hand it is a completely fascinating place. As far culturally from south beach as you can get. Beautiful scenery, nice beaches, interesting people and lots of wildlife. On the other hand, though, it is poor, dirty, and nothing works. People are always asking for money or hustling you. Perhaps it is because I have been on the road for so long, or maybe it’s Africa, but lately I have found myself saying a lot,  “God, it will be so good to get home.” Well God, evidently, was listening.

The other good thing about leaving early is that I still have a few bucks in the bank which I will need to take care of this darn neck injury (I hate to call it an injury since nothing happened to cause it; it’s more like a malfunction) since I do not have insurance. My travel insurance won’t cover it.

So, I am going to give myself another 3-4 days just to see if I miraculously recover. If not, I will have to throw in the towel.

I have not taken many pix as you can imagine. Here’s why.

It started during my ride back to Stone Town from the northern beaches on Zanzibar. I felt a little pain in my upper back. I just thought I had slept funny or strained it slightly. But as the day wore on it got worse. By the next morning it was painful enough to see a doctor, who prescribed some anti-inflammatory drugs. They did not help. That night I was in agony. A constant pain was shooting into my upper back by the spine. It felt like a knife was sticking into me. I also had numbness in my hand and arm.

First thing in the morning I went back to the doc, who gave me some different drugs then sent me to the government hospital to get x-rays. An African hospital is pretty much what you would expect: dirty, unorganized, people laying around or waiting to see a doctor. It was awful. I did not stay long; the x-ray machine was broken. But while I was there the nurses could see that I was in pain (I was doubled over, keeling on the floor and wincing.) They took me to another doc who gave me injections of painkiller and more anti-inflammatory drugs. But he said there was not much more he could do without an x-ray. He suggested I go to Dar es Salaam.

Returning to my room, I felt helpless. I could not possibly pack up my bike and take the ferry back to Dar. I could barely walk without excruciating pain. Then I realized there were small planes that flew to Dar. So I checked into it and managed to get on a flight that afternoon, leaving my bike and almost all my belongings in my hotel room. It’s only a 20 minute flight so I was in Dar by 4:30pm. I took a taxi directly to a clinic recommended by my guide book.

I almost collapsed as I was filling in the admission form. I had to kneel down on the floor and was grimacing with pain. The nurses took pity and shot me again full of painkiller. Finally I saw a real doctor (from South Africa I think). He said I should get an MRI but the only MRI machine in Tanzania has been broken for 5 months. So he told me to get a CT scan instead, which they arranged for 9:00 am the next day.

Meanwhile he gave me more pills (Tramadol and Olfen) and a neck brace. A taxi took me to a nearby hotel. It was 8:00 pm by this time. I had not slept much the night before, nor had I eaten or bathed all day. But the drugs seemed to help and I slept more that night.

The next day, after my CT scan I saw the doc again, after a 3 hour wait. He said I had bone spurs on the spine in my neck and swelling of some of the discs which were impinging on the nerves, causing the pain. How did this happen? Well it could be normal wear and tear, it could be from riding, he did not know. Here is the official results from the CT scan. Don’t mean much to me but a Schmorl’s node can’t be a good thing.

1. Cervical sponylosis with posterosuperior osteophyte at C5 impinging on the C4/C5 intervertebral disc

2. Diffuse disc bulgings at C4/C5, C5/C6 and C6/C7 intervertebral discs with indentation on the thecal sac.

3. Schmorl’s node at the inferior end plate of C4 vertebral body.

The doc was not optimistic. He said I should fly to South Africa and get an MRI. Based on that I might need surgery. Great. the last thing I want is spinal surgery in Africa, even South Africa. But if I go back the USA, it effectively ends my bike trip.

So I returned to Zanzibar and am now just holed up in a small hotel room (at least it has A/C and a TV). I am just trying not to exert myself too much. I want to let my body heal itself if possible. I am taking loads of painkillers and they work pretty well but I don’t know how long I can or should just sit here. I have travel insurance and need to check with them to see how much I am covered. I know they will fly me back the USA if I need to but surgery is a last resort. I’ve had back problems before and they managed to clear themselves up over time without surgery. I’ll keep you posted.

Anyone else ever have this problem? Was it the most painful thing ever, or am I just being a wimp?

It was supposed to be an easy day. The ride from Stone Town to the northern beaches on Zanzibar is only 60 km of flat paved roads. I figured four hours, max. See the map below.

I did fine until I turned off the main paved road onto a tough rock-filled one that went 500 m to the beach where  was to get a beach bungalow. As I was bumping along at 5 kph, suddenly, and without any warning, the handlebars became detached from the rest of the bike. A weld on the handlebar stem failed completely and I was left just holding the handlebars, unattached to the rest of the bicycle. Imagine driving down the street in your car and suddenly the steering wheel comes off in your hands. It was even worse, since I had no leverage to brake the bike. All I could do was watch helplessly while my bike careened and bounced around. I did finally manage to steer by tilting my body to one side. I tried to crash into a bush which I figured was better than on the rocks. I did crash, and fell hard on the rocks anyway. My left shin came down and struck a big rock. If you’ve never had your shin hit by a hard object before I can assure you the feeling is not a pleasant one.

After writhing in agony for several minutes and swearing a blue streak in every language I knew, I stared in disbelief at the damage. I had never had such a disastrous failure before. Then I marveled at my good luck. If the failure had occurred when I was speeding downhill at 50 kph I surely woulda been toast. The other fortunate thing was that I was only a couple hundred meters from the beach. So I managed to drag my bike to the bungalow, check in, get a cold beer, and try to forget the whole mess.

I planned on staying on the beach for a few days so I was not terribly stressed about the bike. But as I sat on my porch over the next few days, watching the waves crash on the beach and enjoying the wind through the trees I kept glancing over at my crippled bike, thinking, “what the hell am I going to do?” Here’s a shot of the damage.

After a couple days a number of options came to mind. But the easiest thing to do was to hike a few km to Nungwi, the closest big town and see if they could fix the problem. Well as luck would have it, way out in the middle of nowhere there was  a bicycle shop and they had a replacement stem that exactly fit my bike. It’s a cheap, $3 Chinese job, but it works. It should hold me until I can have a decent one sent from the USA.

Meanwhile the beach was great. Powdery soft sand, good snorkeling, crystal clear water, fresh seafood, cold beer and women in bikinis. Here’s a few photos.

Tourists enjoying the beach.

A lone piece of shade.

Coral washed up on the beach.

Fishing boats.

Diving off a old shipwreck.

A visitor near my bungalow.

The women collect seaweed, stuff it onto sacks, carry them away from the beach and lay it out to dry in the sun.

Some other sights on the beach that caught my eye.

Yet another sunset photo.

I could have stayed for weeks on the coast, which, for your reference was near the town of Kendwa. But I rode back to Stone Town and now am prepared to leave this paradise for the dirt and noise of Dar es Salaam. From there I will make my way uphill and west to Malawi.

Some last photos of Stone town.

One of the most enduring images I have of Africa is the following photo. Long after I get home when I think of Africa what will come to mind is colorfully dressed women walking down the road with bundles on their heads:

Some other pix on the way to Dar es Salaam:

I spent one night in this small town. This guy cooked my dinner–grilled chicken. Not bad. There was no electricity, little gas lamps provided light.

The scruffy little town at dusk.

I spent a couple days loafing on the beach by the town of Bagamoyo, which used to be the old political and commercial center of Tanzania, during the days of the Sultans–in the 1800s. The Germans moved the capital to Dar es Salaam around 1900.

I stayed in a nice beach hut called a banda. Just a mattress but with nice views of the sea and cool sea breezes.

The view from my banda.

Palm tree at night.

Then I fought my way into Dar es Salaam amid belching trucks, careening buses, motorbikes, bicycles, pedestrians, and various cars, all speeding recklessly. In short, a typical African city.

“Dar”, as it is known, contains a fascinating blend of cultures. It is here that the Swahili language, a mix of African dialects and Arabic, originated.

I did not much like Dar, though. It’s funny, in my mind I pictured Dar as this exotic place, one that I had to visit. But as I talked to people about it, they said I could give it a miss, no problem. They were right. Even simple things were difficult to get done. Shops close for no reason, hours are erratic, traffic is awful, and people were constantly calling me to buy stuff, “hey my friend, you need a belt?”

So I only stayed a couple days in Dar and did not take many photos.

Here is one photo from my hotel room.

Near one of the markets people were selling rice and grains in these stalls.

Then I took a ferry to the Island of Zanzibar, 70 km to the northwest.

Here is a view of the Dar port as we jetted away.

Zanzibar is a fascinating place! People have been visiting the island (actually an archipelago) for over 2000 years.  From around the 8th century Persian traders began to make their way to East Africa, where they established settlements in what is now Zanzibar (Zinj el-Barr, in Arabic, ‘Land of the Blacks’.)

Between the 12th and 15th centuries, Zanzibar came into its own, as trade links with Arabia and the Persian Gulf blossomed. Zanzibar became a   powerful city-state, supplying slaves, gold, ivory and wood to places as distant as India, and importing spices, glassware and textiles. With the trade from the East also came Islam and the Arabic architecture that still characterizes Zanzibar today.

After skirmishes with the Portuguese first and later the British, the Omani Arabs took control of Zanzibar in the 19th century and trade again flourished, centering on slaves, ivory and cloves. Zanzibar was so important that in the 1840s the Sultan of Oman even relocated his court there from the Persian Gulf.

Eventually, though, with increasing European interest in the area and the end of the slave trade, Omani rule over Zanzibar began to weaken, and they finally agreed to become a British protectorate, and became part of Tanzania after independence. Interestingly, though, you still must fill out immigration forms and get your passport stamped upon arrival.

The main town on Zanzibar is Stone Town, where I am currently writing this. I have yet to head north to the beaches. You will have to wait until the next post.

Meanwhile, Stone Town is a photographer’s paradise. The blend of African, Arabic and Indian cultures  makes it a fascinating place to just wander around and take photos. The impossibly narrow streets are great for this as they are too small for vehicles. Even motor scooters have to negotiate them carefully. Here is a sample of the pix I took.

Donkey carts can still get through the narrow passages.

Woman resting by laundry.

Islam is still the majority religion, so most women still cover up, although they don’t seem as shy as the Muslim women elsewhere.

Kids playing soccer in the street.

I visited the fish market one day. Loads of fresh fish, prawns, squid, and octopus. If I lived there I would be eating fresh seafood every day.

One guy was even selling shark meat and sting ray.

In the old days the door of your house indicated your prosperity, so many people built lavish, ornate doors. My sister Katrina would love it, but I am not that big on doors. This one, though, caught my attention.

Muslim man reading in a quiet passageway.

One of the old Sultans. Being a Sultan must have been a good life.

Muslim girl in small street.

Some kids I chatted with. Many speak a little English.

More cute kids.

Riding (or walking) through the narrow streets.

Zanzibar is a popular tourist area so there are plenty of nice, but expensive restaurants. I treated myself one day. Here is a view from the restaurant balcony.

One of Stone Town’s most famous local boys was Freddy Mercury, the late singer of the band Queen during the ’70s and ’80s. Here is a little plaque commemorating his birth site. Who knew?

Also, today happens to be my 49th birthday so I went out last night and celebrated a bit with some locals I met. One of them took this shot of me. Not bad for an old fart.

The End is Near

Finally, after examining my finances and state of mind I have decided I must end my trip in South Africa. My plan is to ride west through Tanzania, pass through Malawi, Zambia, Zimbabwe and Mozambique, and finish up in Johannesburg some time in September. It will be good to get home.

Getting off the main road is a fun, but challenging, experience. The roads are rough, it’s easy to get lost, the riding slow, food and water are hard to come by, and camping is the only option. But after the crowds of people over the past month it was nice to breeze along with only the birds and trees (and bugs) to keep me company. I did not see a whole lot of big game–just some impalas, ostriches and warthogs. Most days only one or two vehicles would pass during the entire day, and at times I would not even see any people for 3-4 hours. I had a lot of time to think, which is always dangerous.

Here are some photos.

There were lots of these ugly, stumpy trees. They looked hilarious. Just a huge trunk and some scrawny branches.

Some views of the different types of terrain.

one of my campsites.

A nice sunset.

A woman selling roasted corn at night in a small village.

A family at work in front of their house.

Selling tomatoes in a small village market.

A baby getting its meal.

Woman and child by house.

A passed a number of dung beetles. They claw at the dung and pad it into little round balls about the size of a raquetball. Then with amazing speed they roll it to its destination.

A young girl in a village I stopped at.

Many Maasai wear sandals made of old tires. They won’t win any fashion awards but they are cheap, durable, and comfortable, and good for the environment! Here’s a guy making them.

Cardamom grows in the region. Here, these guys were packing up sacks of the stuff for export to Nairobi. I chewed on a piece of it and it exploded with flavor. The smell was incredible.

I camped five nights in a row, and six out of seven. That’s a record for this trip. I could have gone more but the villages to get food and water were becoming scarce, and there was no water to wash clothes. Plus, the roads and biting flies were getting worse. At one point the road became mostly sand which was impossible to ride on. So I had to push/drag my bike through this mess for about five hours. Worse, there were hundreds of biting flies that would attack me because I was going so slow. It was almost as bad as the bugs near Copper Harbor, MI. I put on heavy duty insect repellent but it did not seem to faze these tough African monsters. They ignored it as if it was not there. I swore I could hear them scornfully saying to me, “dude, we eat this repellent for lunch.”

But, by 5 o’clock the flies had departed and as I set up my campsite it was quiet. After a sponge bath, a hot bowl of ramen noodles and some local spirits called Konyagi, I settled in to my tent for the night, clean, content, a full belly, and slightly drunk. It seems no matter how tough the day is, 99% of the time it works out OK in the end.

The Maasai

I had a chance to observe many Maasai people in their traditional environment. In some small villages, everyone was dressed in traditional attire; there was no western dress.

My Lonely Planet guidebook says this about the Maasai:

One of the region’s most colorful tribes, the Maasai are pastoral nomads who have actively resisted change and still follow the same lifestyle that they have for centuries. Their culture centers on their cattle, which provide many of their needs–milk, blood and meat for diet, and hides and skins for clothing. The land, cattle and all elements related to cattle are considered sacred.
          Maasai society is patriarchal and highly decentralized. Villages, called bomas,  are comprised of several mud and grass huts arranged in a circle. Elders meet to decide on general issues but ultimately it is the well being of the cattle that determines a course of action. Maasai boys pass through a number of transitions throughout life, the first of which is marked by the circumcision rite. Successive stages include junior warriors, senior warriors, junior elders and senior elders. Each level is distinguished by its own unique rights, responsibilities, and dress. Junior elders, for example, are expected to marry and begin a family, somewhere between the ages of 30 and 40. Senior elders assume the responsibility of making wise and moderate decisions for the community. The most important group is that of the newly intitiated warriors, moran, who are charged with defending the cattle herds.
          Maasai women play a markedly subservient role and have no inheritance rights. Polygamy is widespread and marriages are arranged by the elders, without consulting the bride or her mother. Since most women are significantly younger than men at the time of marriage–usually 12-16 years old– they often become widows; remarriage is rare.

Here are a few more articles about the plight of young Maasai women and their struggle to escape the bonds of traditional Maasai culture.

http://www.christianchildrensfund.org/content.aspx?id=792

http://kurayangu.com/ipp/guardian/2008/02/02/107546.

Meanwhile, some photos.

Typical Maasai women on the road. As usual, they don’t like their photos taken. Some even became hostile towards me. But others let me photograph them, for a fee–usually about $ US 1.

The Maasai walk a lot. They graze their cattle over many kilometers and to them it’s nothing to walk 50 km to the market to sell their cattle. So I saw a lot of sights like this guy walking down the road to who knows where.

Two Maasai men. The guy on the right works in Zanzibar and spoke fluent Italian and Spanish. I could not believe it. I guess some of them have abandoned their pastoral tradition and work in the tourist industry. But when they go home they put back on their Maasai dress. Hearing a Maasai warrior speak fluent Spanish was a bit surreal.

Another Maasai woman and man on the road.

At one point I was desperately low on food. I stopped in one very tiny Maasai village where all they had to offer me was a freshly slaughtered goat. I had no choice but to buy a roasted goat leg and carry it around all day, snacking on it. I cut up what remained and had goat soup for dinner that night.

Here I am waiting for my goat leg to roast, posing with a local Maasai warrior from the village.

The guy let me take some photos of him (no charge). You can see the circular brand marks on his cheeks which distinguish the tribe. They are branded at a young age, about 10 years old. At that age they also have their lower two front teeth knocked out. Strange.

Later that day, here I am chomping on my tough roasted goat leg. This was after five days in the bush, where every day is a bad hair day.

A little boy strolling around in the Maasai village.

Tradition–a comfort or a curse?

I got thinking about the Maasai during the many quiet long hours on the road. In some ways traditions and societal norms can make life easier. Maasai women, for example, don’t have to decide if they should get married or go to college. Those decisions are made for them. You just perform your role and live as your ancestors have always done.

But what if you don’t want that? What if you want to get an education, or work in the big city? In Maasai culture you would become an outcast, excommunicated from your tribe. You would have no family or friends. All your connections would be severed.

Are they happy, I wondered? Are people happier when they fit into roles expected of them, thus maintaining the social order and keeping the universe unruffled? Or do people need to examine their own wants and needs and decide for themselves what makes them happy, even if it disappoints their family and friends?

How many of the people reading this blog are happy with their choices in life? Most people get a job, get married and raise a family. This is normal and most people expect it. But how many people get pressured into marriage and family because others expect them to do it? Family, friends and society dictate certain norms and behaviors that most of us find difficult to resist. But how many of us really do exactly what we want to do? How many of our decisions are influenced by society’s expectations of us rather than following our own hearts?

How do we even know what we really want, since what we think we want has already been influenced by our environment? That, I guess is my fundamental question. How much of who we are is a result of our environment and upbringing, and how much is inherent in us as human beings? We are clearly influenced by our environment but it takes strength and self awareness to go against the grain and do what you truly want. Frank Sinatra may have did it “his way”, but how many of us can say that?

Further, it may not be a good thing to do it “your way.” Maybe individuals should conform to society, for the good of the group. If everyone just did whatever they wanted, wouldn’t chaos reign? If everyone decided to not have children, quit working, and just enjoy traveling, the world would stop and the human race would die out. So keep working everyone.

Finally, I thought, we do what we want in order to be happy. But if everyone did what they wanted all the time, would we be happy all the time? Is it possible to be happy all the time? Isn’t happiness only relative to unhappiness? If you are never unhappy then by definition, you can never be happy either, you are just in a normal state.  We need to be unhappy from time to time to understand what happiness really is.

The same is true with freedom. Freedom only makes sense relative to “unfreedom.” If you are completely free all the time to do what you want then freedom has no meaning. If you are never unfree you can never be free.

I think I am losing my mind. I better stop before I end up in therapy.

So, that’s what you get after riding alone for several days in central Tanzania. Looking forward to your comments. I will be in the bush for a few more days but I am rapidly closing in on  the capital of Tanzania, Dar es Salaam.

Then at Tanzanian immigration I got ripped off, I think. My guide book says Americans are required to buy a visa. A single entry visa costs $50. But when I got there the immigration official told me Americans need a multiple entry visa, which costs $100. I had never heard of such a thing and was sceptical. I protested, saying that can’t be true. I don’t want a multi entry visa, only a single entry for $50. He did not hesitate. He threw my passport back across the desk and said in an irritable tone, ” well go back to Rwanda then,” With no choice, I had to fork over the $100. I was seething.

At first Tanzania was great. Nice paved roads, little traffic, great weather, no people. Then it all changed. Dirt roads, rain, people, and steep hills. I was moving so slowly I got frustrated and had to resort to a cramped, noisy, uncomfortable bus ride for a few hours. But that’s better than an exhausting, sweaty uncomfortable four day bike ride up muddy hills.

Here are some pix from Western Tanzania.

This little girl had the cutest smile.

A poor man’s checkers.

The usual crowds of people staring at me when I stopped for lunch. Imagine trying to eat lunch and this group is just standing there, staring at you. Would you too get annoyed or is just me? I am getting more comfortable telling people, “go away! Leave me alone!

I stopped for a rest by this school. Soon, dozens of kids ran over to take a look.

A couple kids I saw in one small town. I liked the colorful dress on the girl and the boy just seemed forlorn.

Typical sight on the Tanzania back roads.

At one point I had to take a ferry across a part of Lake Victoria. Near the city of Mwanza I saw these interesting rocks. I liked the shapes and shadows.

I stopped for lunch in a small village and this woman sat nearby scarfing a bowl of chicken feet. I lost my appetite.

Kids playing in a tree.

Serengeti National Park

I was not allowed to ride my bike inside Serengeti National Park. This is too bad, it would have been great. But they claim it is dangerous. Hmmm. I really can’t see a lion attacking me. Elephants yes, but I can avoid them. Same with cape buffalo. So where’s the danger? Anyway I have pepper spray. That should stop a lion shouldn’t it?

As it was I had to hitch a ride with some people who were passing through the park. It only cost $40, which was a  lot less that the $400 a tour company was asking. That’s the problem with these parks. They are just so darn expensive. When you add up the vehicle cost, park fees, and accommodation, you could easily shell out $200-$300 per day. Too much for my meager budget.

Having said that, Serengeti was phenomenal. I have never seen so much wildlife in one place. In the space if a few hours we saw the following: wildebeest, cape buffalo, lions, elephants, zebra, antelope, gazelle, crocodiles, hippos, ostriches, giraffes, warthogs, baboons, monkeys and assorted other big birds. It was incredible and worth a trip back when I have more money and no bike.

Here a re few pix I took.

An eland? Not sure.

Giraffe, zebra and ?

There were thousands of wildebeest loafing around.

A lioness. Her old man was laying behind some rocks. I decided not to climb up closer for  a photo.

Big bad hippo. One of dozens lounging in this river.

Crocodiles waiting for an easy meal.

There were thousands of Thompsons gazelle.

I also got bit by a tse tse fly (no photo).

One year and counting

I passed another milestone a few weeks back. On April 21 it was 365 days since I pedaled away from my sister’s house in the Tokyo suburb of Setagaya-ku and headed west along the Tamagawa River. My goals that day were pretty modest: To get to a town 50 km away, not get lost, and learn the Japanese characters for “hotel.” I managed to achieve that.

That’s the way you have to approach long distance cycling. I was not thinking, ” oh in a year I want to be in Rwanda.” It seems so far as to almost be discouraging. But if you just focus on the next small distance, it seems doable. Add them up, and after a year you have gone a long way.

What’s next? I am headed southeast to the coastal island of Zanzibar. But first I have to negotiate an ominous sounding place called the “Maasai Steppe.” Here is my route.

Rwanda is called the Land of Thousand Hills, and it’s true. There is not a flat spot anywhere. I struggled up some 800 m high hills and realized how out of shape I had become. I have not climbed such hills since the highlands of Ethiopia.

But I wanted to visit Rwanda for a couple reasons. One, it is probably the only French speaking country I will visit in Africa (although bad news for the francophones: they decided recently to teach English instead of French–sorry). The other reason was that I am interested in the horrific genocide that took place here in 1994. Between April and June 1994, an estimated 800,000 Rwandans were killed in the space of 100 days. More on that later.

First, a few photos of the Rwandan countryside. In the Land of Thousand Hills, they must use terracing to create flat spaces to grow their crops. Here’s a typical sight. They must have strong legs from all the climbing.

On the way to Kigali I passed through many towns that had signs erected like one.

It says something like, “the people of Rulindo pledge to stop genocide at its roots.”

Some views of Kigali. I liked the movement in this shot. It was unintentional–the photo was taken at dusk. But it expresses the hustle and bustle of a big city.

A woman and child begging for money on the streets of Kigali.

The Really Bad Stuff

It was exactly 15 years ago this month that extremist Hutu soldiers and militia began an unbelievable campaign of genocide against the minority Tutsi in Rwanda. I’ve done a bit of research of the subject and so bear with me while I try to summarize it. If you are not interested in the genocide you can skip ahead to the photos.

Roots of the conflict

Rwanda is comprised of three ethnic groups, the Hutu, who make up about 84%, the Tutsi, about 15%, and the Twa pygmies about 1%. At the Berlin Conference of 1884, where the European powers divided up Africa among themselves, Rwanda was awarded to Germany, but after WWI, the area was given to Belgium. Before that time the Hutu and Tutsi lived more or less peacefully together. Sure there were occasional tribal squabbles, but there was frequent intermarriage, they spoke the same language and shared many of the same customs. Physically, though, the Hutu were short and squat while the Tutsi were tall and angular.

The Belgians took over Rwanda in 1916 and immediately began to exploit the ethnic difference. This “divide and conquer” strategy was common by the colonial powers. They deliberately tried to set different tribes against each other to prevent a common front.

The first thing they did was to classify people by ethnic group. This was not always easy. What ethnic group did the child of a Hutu father and Tutsi mother belong to? In many cases the Belgians just randomly assigned people to one group or the other based on their appearance or social status. Then, they issued identity cards which indicated which ethnic group each person belonged to. This aided the genocide which was to come.

The Belgians considered the Tutsis to be superior to the Hutus. Not surprisingly, the Tutsis welcomed this idea, and for the next 20 years they enjoyed better jobs and educational opportunities than their neighbors.

Resentment among the Hutus gradually built up, though, culminating in a series of riots in 1959. More than 20,000 Tutsis were killed, and many more fled to the neighboring countries of Burundi, Tanzania and Uganda.

In 1962 Belgium relinquished power and granted Rwanda independence. By this time Belgium had decided to support the Hutu and Rwanda’s first president was Hutu. Over subsequent decades, the Tutsis were portrayed as the scapegoats for every crisis.

In 1973 Juvenal Habyarimana, another Hutu, became president in a coup and for awhile things settled down and Rwanda enjoyed relative peace.

The situation in Rwanda had been influenced to a great extent by events in Burundi. Both countries had a Hutu majority, yet an army-controlled Tutsi government in Burundi persisted for decades.

Another seven years of sporadic violence in Burundi (from 1965 - 1972) existed between the Hutus and Tutsis. In 1969 another purge of Hutus by the Tutsi military occurred. Then, a localized Hutu uprising in 1972 was fiercely answered by the Tutsi-dominated Burundi army in the largest Burundi genocide of Hutus, with a death toll nearing 200,000.

This violence led to another wave of cross border Hutu refugees into Rwanda. Now there were large numbers of both Tutsi and Hutu refugees throughout the region, and tensions continued to mount.

In 1988, Hutu violence against Tutsis throughout northern Burundi again resurfaced, and in response the Tutsi army massacred approximately 20,000 more Hutu. Again thousands of Hutu were forced into exile into Tanzania and Congo to flee another genocide of Hutu.

Meanwhile, the many Rwandan Tutsi refugees who had fled into Uganda had formed an effective fighting force called the Rwanda Patriotic front (RPF) led by current president Paul Kagame. Their aim was to overthrow Habyarimana and secure the right to return to their homeland. Habyarimana chose to exploit this threat as a way to bring dissident Hutus back to his side, and Tutsis inside Rwanda were accused of being RPF collaborators.

Civil War

In 1990, the Tutsi-dominated RPF invaded Rwanda from Uganda. Some members allied with the military dictatorship government of Habyarimana responded in 1993 to the RPF invasion with a radio station that began anti-Tutsi propaganda and with programs against Tutsis, whom it claimed were trying to re-enslave the Hutus.

The situation worsened when the first elected Burundian president, Melchior Ndadaye, a Hutu, was assassinated by the Burundian Tutsi-dominated army in October 1993. In Burundi, a fierce civil war then erupted between Tutsi and Hutu and tens of thousands, both Hutu and Tutsi, were killed in this conflict.

Between 1990 and 1994 Hutu extremists in the Rwandan government and military had carefully planned how to implement the final solution to the Tutsi “problem”. Their stated goal was to exterminate all Tutsis in Rwanda. To this end they recruited and trained thousands of poor youth from the country and supplied them with machetes, hand grenades and guns. The most notorious of these was the militia group called the Interahamwe (meaning those who attack together).

Meanwhile the civil war between the Rwandan military and the RPF continued. Then came the spark. On April 6, 1994, the president of Rwanda, Habyarimana, was assassinated when his jet was shot down. Exactly who killed the president has not been established. Whoever was behind the killing, its effect was both instantaneous and catastrophic. Extremist Hutu began to implement their deadly, well organized campaign of genocide.

Genocide

In Kigali, the presidential guard immediately initiated a campaign of retribution. Leaders of the political opposition were murdered, and almost immediately, the slaughter of Tutsis and moderate Hutus began.

Within hours, recruits were dispatched all over the country to carry out a wave of slaughter. Encouraged by the presidential guard and radio propaganda, the Interahamwe was mobilized. At its peak, this group was 30,000-strong.

Soldiers and police officers encouraged ordinary citizens to take part. In some cases, military personnel forced Hutu civilians to murder their Tutsi neighbors, and even family members in some cases. Participants were often given incentives, such as money or food, and some were even told they could appropriate the land of the Tutsis they killed.

Rwanda became a bloodbath. Gangs of soldiers and Interahamwe militia roamed the countryside at will, slaughtering entire families of Tutsi wherever they were found. Most of the victims were killed in their villages or in towns, often by their neighbors and fellow villagers. The militia members typically murdered their victims by hacking them with machetes or beating them with clubs, although some army units used rifles. The victims were often found hiding in churches and school buildings, where Hutu gangs massacred them. Ordinary citizens were called on by local officials and government-sponsored radio to kill their neighbors, and those who refused to kill were often killed themselves. One survivor claimed, “Either you took part in the massacres or you were massacred yourself.”

Other groups of killers set up roadblocks, checking the ID cards of passersby. Any Tutsi found were killed on the spot.  In one town about 500 Tutsi sought refuge in a catholic church. The Interahamwe arrived and slaughtered them. Only two people survived.

The savagery was incomprehensible. Men, women, babies, and the elderly were hacked to death with machetes. Many were left to bleed to death from their injuries. Some were burned or buried alive. Others were bound and thrown into rivers. Fetuses were gouged out of pregnant women. Bodies and body parts littered the streets, causing an awful stench.  Dogs ate the flesh of the corpses. Garbage trucks had to be brought in to dispose of the bodies in mass graves. 5000 bodies a day were seen floating down one of the main rivers in Rwanda.

Rape and sexual assault was also used frequently as a weapon. Families were forced to watch soldiers and Interahamwe militia gang rape the women and girls before everyone was hacked to pieces.

In all, an estimated 800,000 to one million Tutsi and moderate Hutu were killed in the space of just three months. This is almost 10,000 people killed every single day during this period.

The Rwandans were largely left alone by the international community. A small UN peacekeeping force with a narrow mandate was denied by headquarters from intervening. After the recent embarrassing events in Somalia the UN and in particular the US, did want to be come embroiled in another African morass. It is a shame that with a little more resolve, a few troops and some weapons, a half a million innocent people could have been saved.

The Aftermath

Finally, in July, 1994 the RPF captured Kigali. The government collapsed and the RPF declared a ceasefire. As soon as it became apparent that the RPF was victorious, an estimated two million Hutus fled to Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of Congo). Mr. Kagame became president.

He seems to be doing a good job. He has abolished the ID cards and consistently supports the notion that there are no Tutsi or Hutu, only Rwandans. Of course, everyone knows which tribe the belong to, but if the government can continue to minimize tribal distinctions perhaps some peace can finally come to this beleaguered little country.

In Kigali they have created a Genocide Memorial museum which describes the events that took place in chilling detail. It also has exhibitions of other terrible genocides that have taken place in the 20^th century—The Armenians in 1915, the Holocaust in Nazi Germany, the Khmer Rouge in Cambodia (although in my mind, technically not a genocide), and the Balkan conflict between Serbia and its neighbors.

Here are some photos. Warning—some are quite graphic, but I think it is important to show them.

The entrance to the museum. There was no word for genocide in the local language, kinyarwanda. It had to be created.

These are some of the dead killed in a church.

Typical sights during the massacre.

Skulls of the dead.

One room had thousands of photos of those killed provided by surviving relatives and friends.

photos of children who were killed.

There was a video which played some horrific scenes. I tried to photograph some of them.

One of the most moving sections showed large photos of children who had perished, along with some personal details.

Name: Nadia Chanelle Ruterana Kanyage
Age: 8
Favorite sport: Jogging with her father
Favorite sweet: Chocolate
Favorite drink: Milk
Favorite song: My Native Land which God Chose for Me.
Enjoyed: TV and Music
Cause of death: Hacked by machete

Name: Patrick Gashugi Shimirwa
Age: 5
Favorite sport: Riding his bicycle
Favoriet food: Chips, meat and eggs
Best friend: Alliane, his sister
Behavior: A quiet, well behaved boy
Cause of death: Burned alive in the Gikondo chapel

I left the museum in a somber mood. How, I wondered, could people behave so savagely? How can people harbor such hatred toward others that they could kill so many in such brutal ways? Were these people violent psycopaths who concealed their true nature prior to the massacre and pretended to live normal lives, waiting for a chance to become brutal killers? Or were they normal people who got caught up in mob mentality and peer pressure, temporarily changing them into beasts? If the latter is correct, could all of us be susceptible to such behavior, under the right circumstances? I can’t imagine a situation where I could perpetrate such awful acts. I mean, who do I hate that much that I could kill them? I am annoyed sometimes by my snobby South Beach neighbors, but I don’t think I could take up a machete and hack them to pieces. But you never know. There’s a great line in the movie Chinatown that touches on this:

Noah Cross: See, Mr. Gitts, most people never have to face the fact that, at the right time and the right place, they’re capable of… anything!

Were these people disaffected because of decades of Tutsi favoritism? Was it like the Balkans, where people said, “ your great-grandfather killed my great-grandfather, therefore I must kill you.”

I guess the question has been asked many times before. Why did the Nazis hate the Jews so much? Why did the Turks kill the Armenians? Why does the KKK exist in America?

The museum also poses another question: can future genocides be prevented? The answer clearly is yes. A genocide is not a spontaneous outbreak of killing. It must be planned, coordinated and organized. For four years in Rwanda people were recruited and trained to kill. Weapons had to be procured and lists of people drawn up. The killing has to be organized. Cells were established throughout the country with each group responsible for killing in their area.

All this takes time. People talk, word gets out. There is opportunity for the international community to discover what is going on and to intervene. We just need the resolve to do it.

There was plenty of evidence that a genocide was probable in Rwanda. Even the CIA issued a report saying that up to 500,000 Tutsi could be killed. This was before the genocide started, and was the reason why the US sent in a team to evacuate all 257 Americans in Rwanda in April, 1994. The UN, UK, France and Belgium had loads of evidence—outright statements from military leaders, stockpiles of weapons, “death lists”, and radio propaganda—that clearly showed the intentions of the government towards the Tutsi. People knew what was possible, but no one wanted to get involved.

Innocent civilians in Rwanda were abandoned in their time of desperate need. Nobody seemed to care about a poor small African country. Not the UN, not the great powers of the world, not the media. Romeo Dallarie of Canada, head of the UN peacekeeping force,  repeatedly asked for support and warned of the impending catastrophe. He was ignored or brushed off. Later, former US president Bill Clinton claimed he did not realize the extent of the violence until it was too late. The UK’s John Major also claimed ignorance. The truth is people knew but they just did not care. The leaders of the US, UK, France, Begium and the UN secretariat must surely take some responsibility for the tragedy.