Sammie is a celebrity and we have little kids come to the car all the time asking to see him, to play with him and to touch him. They overwhelm him at times and he runs to us for protection, “help me, help me!” When we hide him in the car, we have many unhappy little boys begging us to let him out. It is a fine balancing act in letting them play with him and protecting him from overuse!
Andrej, Hugo and Will go to the city with a taxi whilst Willie and I stay to catch up with administration and internet stuff. We’ve not received any satisfactory answer about our container/furniture situation yet. Sammie is a celebrity and we have little kids come to the car all the time asking to see him, to play with him and to touch him. They overwhelm him at times and he runs to us for protection, “help me, help me!” When we hide him in the car, we have many unhappy little boys begging us to let him out. It is a fine balancing act in letting them play with him and protecting him from overuse!
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A taxi driver picks us up at 12 and takes us to the church and office complex of our friends whom we have worked with during the time we stayed in Paris. We see several friends and it is wonderful to be with them, hear how they and their families are doing. It is as if we’ve seen one another yesterday. Khamal shows us the center and shares with us everything that they are doing – a wonderful visit. We all go for lunch to a traditional Jordanian restaurant and we have a feast. Hugo and Andrej enjoy listening to the fascinating stories and especially enjoy the delicious meal. We return home with our taxi driver who shares such interesting cultural information with us about Jordan, the government, education and the role women play in the more modern context. A troublesome situation with our container in Namibia has developed. Our container has arrived and the contents were unpacked in a customs warehouse without our permission. We are now told that I (Caren) have to be and they will not release the furniture to the person we have given permission to. This, in spite of the fact that we’ve communicated all the information to the individual shipping companies as early as September of last year when we started to make arrangements for our move. As we received more information it became clear that there was some major miscommunication between the shipping company in Germany and the company in Namibia. E-mails and phone calls have been going back and forth and we have no clear answer or decision yet. Our travel plans can be majorly affected by this, because if we do not work this problem out, I will have to go to Namibia to sign the necessary papers as we are paying daily storage fees for our stuff in the warehouse! I do not feel that this is really our problem, since we’ve been clear in our communication from the very beginning; we’ve given permission for our friend to sign for our container and to move everything into a storage place we’ve arranged. Please think of us in regards to this. It seems that we solve one problem another pops up and it does make traveling far more difficult if you have a cloud like this hang over you. 4:30 Will, a friend of Hugo and Andrej’s arrive. He is teaching English as a second language in a school an hour away from Amman. What an interesting place to have a reunion! Hugo is still coughing up a storm in spite of all kinds of syrups and tablets. He says he feels better though. We will give it another day or two.
The sun is shining and we slept well. We have to repack the car before we leave for the airport. The campsite is close to the city of Jerash, site of the well preserved remains of a Roman city which we only see as we pass by. We arrive at the airport just after 10. Our car is considered an airport hazard with the gas bottle and diesel-filled jerry cans and there is no way that we can enter the premises unless we unload everything! I decide to stay in the car with Sammie, outside the airport gate and the police officer finds someone who will take Willie to the airport building. He is back ½ hour later with Hugo, Andrej and their backpacks! It is wonderful to see them and I realize how much I’ve missed them. Hugo has a horrible cough and does not feel well at all. They went to Istanbul with Andrej coughing and they come back with Hugo coughing! They had a wonderful time in Istanbul. We are thankful to Gabe and his roommates for their hospitality, friendliness and kindness to the boys. Our campsite is Amman is at an interesting place: The Theodore Schneller Schule. We arrive just before 12 and receive a very friendly welcome. Yes, we can camp in the parking lot and we are welcome to join the church service which will start at 12. Hugo took some medication and went to bed whilst Willie, Andrej and I went to church. We did not understand a word, but it was soothing to sit in the peaceful surroundings, and listen to the songs in Arabic, all with familiar melodies – songs that we also sing in Afrikaans, English, German… … I would like to share some interesting facts about the Schneller Schools in the Middle East: Schneller Schools: Learning to Live in Peace The title is the motto of the programme: the Schneller schools (Lebanon and Jordan) are institutions where Christian and Muslim children live together. Some are orphaned children, but many come from refugee families or from difficult family situations and many of them are marked by experiences with violence. At the Schneller boarding schools, children receive a secure and loving environment in boarding school groups. They attend the in-house together with children from the surrounding area and can then complete their apprenticeship in workshops that also belong to the schools. The children learn the values and principles of peaceful coexistence and to respect the religion of others. Both institutions follow the tradition of the Syrian Orphanage which was founded by the Swabian teacher Johann Ludwig Schneller in Jerusalem in 1860. He took on orphans irrespective of their religion. His work was devoted to the motto “So that they can earn their daily bread honourably.” The work of the two schools is mostly funded and supported by the Evangelical Association for the Schneller Schools. The Theodore Schneller School in Amman, Jordan The school here in Amman is situated on the outskirts of a Palestinian refugee camp and many children are orphans or refugees from Palestine and Iraq. Facing challenges with holistic education: it offers education and training to educators and teachers. The experience-based educational high rope course helps children to develop more confidence in their skills and towards other people. At the petting zoo for remedial therapy, they learn how to treat animals with gentleness. A sensory garden will complete the range of options. The 130 children and young people live in 6 homes with their respective dorm parents. Important social and relational skills are taught in these homes, of which one of the most important is respect for one another and for their religious differences. This is the crux of the Schneller philosophy: that children from Muslim and Christian backgrounds will eat together, communicate and live together as a family in the same home. A Kindergarten opened its doors in 2009. · Children receive their education in three languages: German, Arabic and English. · Volunteers from other countries serve to support teachers and staff and many opportunities are available · Three playgrounds and sport facilities on the premises are well used. · A guesthouse welcomes visitors from all over the world and provides facilities for conferences and exhibitions. You can contact me if you need any more information. School’s contact information: Theodore Schneller School P.O. Box 340649 Marka Amman 11134 Jordanien Tel: +962-5-3616103 Fax: +962-5-3612767 E-mail: tschneller@zaindata.com Website: www.evs-online.org The children are out on the playground after church and Sammie becomes the main attraction. Dogs, especially tame, friendly dogs, are not something common in the Arab world, so everyone wants to touch Sammie. They yell and scream when he moves, and they touch him as if he is a hot plate. He runs after a stick that one of the boys threw and in a flash 20 little boys are running around with sticks for Sammie to fetch. Poor Sammie is mobbed and we have to put him in the car to take a break. The boys are not happy with us and now the car is mobbed, because they all want to see through the window where Sammie is. I think this is how you feel when you are a traveling circus: all eyes are on you, your car, your stuff and your pet! Andrej plays marbles with some of the boys; others sit around us and bring us crisps and candy. We meet Christina, a volunteer from Germany who has just arrived and she shares very interesting information about the history of the school with us. Willie calls our friends in Amman whom we will see tomorrow.
We’ve realized that we need something more effective to cook on. We’ve used a gas stove, but it took ages to cook anything, so Willie went to a shop the previous day where we’ve seen a sturdy cast-iron burner. Between hand gestures and a calculator Willie bought the burner, pipes and fittings for an excellent price. Our English speaking grocer friend tried to find us a gas bottle without success and our campsite landlord finally came to our rescue and sold us his bottle for a good price. We are happy and excited to try our new stove! We stop at Bosra on our way to the border to look at a ruined Roman city and theatre built from blackened lava stone which gives everything a very unusual appearance. Syrian border again! I do have border-angst, but less than when we tried to enter. I reckon it will be easier to leave than to enter? We are surprised to hear that we have to pay money to leave and a rickmarole follows; Willie has to change money again, because only Syrian pounds are accepted and then again, because they need money for both of us! I am relieved when we finally say goodbye to Syria. Jordanian border: It is time consuming because we are bringing a car into the country, but so much easier. The Jordanian officials are friendly and helpful and no pressure for ‘bakshish’ (bribes). We hear afterwards that it is not allowed and bribe-askers can get into deep trouble. The process takes us 2+ hours and we leave the border after 4pm. Syrian border again! I do have border-angst, but less than when we tried to enter. I reckon it will be easier to leave than to enter? We are surprised to hear that we have to pay money to leave and a rickmarole follows; Willie has to change money again, because only Syrian pounds are accepted and then again, because they need money for both of us! I am relieved when we finally say goodbye to Syria. Jordanian border: It is time consuming because we are bringing a car into the country, but so much easier. The Jordanian officials are friendly and helpful and no pressure for ‘bakshish’ (bribes). We hear afterwards that it is not allowed and bribe-askers can get into deep trouble. The process takes us 2+ hours and we leave the border after 4pm. We only have time to drive to our campsite and it is already dark when we find it. It is on the grounds of the Olive Branch hotel, suitable called, because we are surrounded by olive trees. Willie has time to assemble our new stove and boy, what a difference? What took us ½ hour to cook, now takes 10 minutes! Awesome!
We are excited to see Andrej and Hugo tomorrow. The campsite owner explains to us where to go to pick up a minibus that will take us to the center of Damascus. We get into a bus whose driver nods his head when Willie shows him the map and point to center. All eyes on the bus are on us – I feel on me more for different reasons: maybe because I do not wear a covering, I’m blond or gray and I look and dress different. I can understand why if you look at the women in the street. 95% of them wear headscarves, a smaller percentage the full veil or burkha. I do want to be sensitive and I did bring head scarves, but the British girl whom I met told me that she entered the Syrian border post building with a headscarf and the tourist assistant came to her and asked whether she is Muslim. When she said no, he told her that she should not wear a headscarf, she is a tourist. So it remains confusing to me and I try to be as discreet as possible. Friday in Syria is definitely Holy Day – Day of Prayer – far more so than what we’ve seen in Turkey. Almost all the stores are closed and the streets are strangely quiet. I have to say I enjoy the more peaceful atmosphere and tranquility. Your personal space bubble inflates some and I can enjoy looking around rather than trying to negotiate your way through the crowds. We find the famous Souq that takes you right to the Great Mosque. Here and there a vendor is out selling clothes, pastries, vegetable peelers, or children’s toys. There are many people, men and women dressed in black lingering around the mosque – waiting to enter There are noticeably more families out – father, mother with children – everyone smartly dressed, other than during the workweek when you see mostly men out on the streets. We walk around the mosque which has a long history. I discovered interesting facts about the Great Umayyad Mosque. It is considered, alongside Jerusalem’s Dome of the Rock as one of the most holy shrines of early Islam. It was originally a pagan temple to Hadad, local Semitic god of storms; the Romans reused the site to build a colossal temple to Jupiter. With the advent of Christianity the temple was converted to a cathedral dedicated to John the Baptist, whose tomb still lies within the mosque. In 636 the Arabs conquered Damascus and the mosque was used by Christians and Muslims who directed their prayers towards their spiritual homes. As the Muslim population grew a Caliph decided that the mosque should become only Muslim and in exchange for the mosque he gave the Christians four other sites in the Old City where churches were to be erected. Syria played a key role in the evolution of mosque architecture. The Kaába at Mecca was Islam’s first monument, but it consisted merely of the holy stone which was circumambulated. After Muhammed’s death the Calif spent a huge amount of money on the construction and beautification of the Great Umayyad Mosque. It was his goal to show the newly Christian subjects that Islam could outdo Christianity, creating a building with representations of Paradise that exceeded any previous Christian monument. Minarets were first used in Damascus at the Great Mosque. Before minarets were built the Muslims would climb on the roof to make the call to prayer., but here they recognized the benefit of extra height. Islam furthermore forbids the use of the human form in all decorative art, so verses of the Koran were used instead, embellished in exotic calligraphic styles, along with foliage, trees and geometric patterns Domes, often characteristic of a mosque’s architecture gives a honeycomb effect – symbolizing the honey the believer is promised in Paradise. As we walked around the mosque we find the now blocked-up gate which was the shared Muslim and Christian entrance. An elaborate lintel with a Greek inscription is above the blocked gate. To enter the mosque courtyard we had to shed our shoes and I received a full length robe with hood to cover my hair. The courtyard was bustling with activity and it is interesting that I feel a strong constraint: Watching the reverence, the piety of the worshipers make we want to retreat. Taking photos of people, regardless of religion, feels invasive although many Syrian looking people are taking pictures and videos, and it does not seem to bother anyone. I leave the photography part to Willie as I sit down just to observe. It is difficult to find words for what I’ve seen: such seriousness; such devotion; such sincerity…in different places in the huge prayer hall small groups of men are gathered around their spiritual leader who delivers his message very passionately eliciting strong emotional reactions from his listeners: many of them cry as they listen with intent. Outside the railing a group of women (women are not allowed inside the railing) dressed in black and fully veiled sit on the carpet to listen to the spiritual leader. I wish I could understand, but it is of course all in Arabic. The tomb of John the Baptist is in the Prayer Hall and are visited by hundreds of people, mainly women. They kiss the bronze railing as they pray with fervor in front of the tombstone. The tallest minaret is called the Tower of Jesus and the Muslim tradition holds that it is here where Jesus will descend when He comes again to judge the Anti-Christ – a fascinating coming together of different worlds , belief and religion which I have to be honest creates more questions than answers and inner turmoil. We continue our tour of the very quiet Old Town. A few more stores in the souqs surrounding the mosque are open and I am drawn to the beautiful colors and aromas flowing from the spice and homemade soap stalls. We both want to go to the bathroom and to do that we had to find a café where we could drink a cup of tea! It still costs us money to use the facilities in spite of the tea! English speaking visitors tell us where we can find an ATM and internet cafè, which is as difficult as to find chicken teeth! (an Afrikaans saying we have: ‘skaars soos hoendertande”) We leave 9:30.I give Achmet a pair of thick socks, because when he saw the socks I washed the previous day he showed me his and they were thin and worn. 3 km away I realized that I might have forgotten my shoes under the car. We drive back, but no shoes, and I am perplexed about it. I’m sure I would have remembered if I’ve put them in the car. Anyway… We drive 160 km through flat, dry desert terrain on the same road that also goes to Iraq and Baghdad and that feels really weird – to think that 130 km away is a place that has been ravaged by war, whose inhabitants are struggling to recover and live normal lives; who live in daily uncertainty never knowing when and where the next suicide bomb will explode – very weird and I am reminded to be thankful for such incredible mercies bestowed on us, where we lived, how we lived in such safety with so many luxuries that you take for granted: electricity, water, stores filled with wonderful choices. I do not want to get blazè about a life lived in peace, safety and security and I pray that I will have a spirit of contentment and joy under all circumstances. Driving into Damascus was a cultural experience by itself. We arrive at peak business -, peak traffic-; peak noise-; peak everything hour. We drive miles through the outskirts – an ordered maze of little shops selling, fixing, building, breaking, collecting, baking, inflating, deflating, filling any and everything. This is the real Syria – the everyday activity of ordinary, hard-working people: traders through the centuries. I try to take pictures as we pass interesting sights. What I find extremely interesting is the apparent low value placed on exterior aesthetics, traffic rules or not-littering. Almost every building is unfinished in some kind of a way: - getting ready to be fixed; getting ready to be a derelict; getting ready to be built; or getting ready to be added on to… Mosques though, usually are in an immaculate condition. Plastic bags of all colors and sizes line the streets, sit like birds on the trees or fences; containers, paper, bottles, cans as well as livestock: goats, sheep and cows co-habitate happily together with the people. A 1-line road easily accommodates 3 cars 5cm away from each other; it is not uncommon to see a car or motorbike drive on the wrong side of the road – sometimes, not always, will they flash their lights to make you aware; honking is a language used extensively and can mean anything from: one short honk: a friendly warning I’m behind you; 2 short honks: friendly request - scoot over I’m passing; One long and loud honk: not-friendly warning accompanied by theatrical gestures – what are you doing, you idiot! One short, light tap honk: Friendly thank you – when they’ve passed you; Loud, repetitive, long and short honks: impatient call – I’m waiting outside your door Willie follows his compass nose and we find the camping site with relative ease in the midst of traffic chaos. We go for a walk in the neighborhood and meet a very friendly grocer that speaks fluent English. An older man, an interior designer who has lived all over the world: Quatar, Europe and America. He told Willie he came back to Syria where he sells vegetables, because he is a farmer by heart. He gives us useful advice in where to buy what and even calls his friend who has a kebab restaurant to “warn” him about the foreigners coming. We follow his directions into the heart of the neighborhood: alleyways filled with men, women, children, cars, buses, taxis, 2 and 3-wheeled motorbikes – walking, running, talking, yelling, laughing, honking, sputtering, spilling fumes…
Hundreds of tiny stores sell their goods: clothes, shoes, candy, gas bottles, cell phones, toys, pastries, belts, jewelry, fruit, vegetables, food; ANYTHING you can think and not think of. Woven through the sounds, colors, smells, flickering lights and constant activity are homes – usually apartments where families live – big families and often more than one family share an apartment. Eyes follow us as far as we walk – not often do foreigners come here and it is excellent cultural education for us, because this is where life happens, this is what life looks like; not the tourist adjusted smoothness that you find at attractions and down/old towns. Willie and I share our thoughts about what we tend to do with differences: it is so easy to judge, find fault or criticize, because differences often make us uncomfortable as well as frustrated, maybe even impatient at times, especially when one adds the communication barrier to the mix. You feel and look like a fish out of water – a fish in the desert! I feel like an ornament on display at the little restaurant, because we are asked to sit on high chairs at the entrance while the chef prepares our schwarmas. We enjoy raw Syrian friendliness and hospitality and eat a most delicious meal for less than 2 euros total! Palmyra: Palmyra lies 150 km into the barren desert where one can see into the future. We are again the only campers in a Bedouin (desert dwellers) run campsite. Everything is quiet, but all the evidence is there that this becomes a bustling paradise during the summer. We pitch our tent under the shade of olive and pomegranate trees next to the imposing side wall of the Bel Temple. It is wonderful to arrive early at a campsite and to have time to perform some maintenance and cleaning tasks. Palmyra, set on the edge of an oasis, was an Assyrian caravan city for 1000+ years. It was taken over by the Greeks, and then annexed by Rome when it became a centre of unsurpassed wealth. The city’s most famous character was Zenobia, the half-Greek, half-Arab queen who claimed descent from Cleopatra. She became ruler of Palmyra after the suspicious death of her husband. The city was torched by a Roman emperor and finally completely destroyed by an earthquake in 1089. Bel (Baal) was the most important of the gods and the Temple of Bel is the most complete and impressive part of the ruins. We walk over to the Palmyra ruins as the sun starts to draw water. The ruins are fully integrated into the daily life of the Palmyra locals which I find fascinating. The photos will do a much better job than me grasping for words trying to describe this vast, stretched-out complex of well-preserved ruins. We join Achmed, the Bedouin camp guard for probably 5 glasses of tea; he gives us dates and olives from his ‘Mama’ in the desert and also shows us the inside of a traditional Bedouin home. From Aleppo to Hama where we stop to take pictures of the 14th -15th century norias: giant wooden water wheels – some with a diameter of 21m (23ft to 69ft) used to lift water up to the aqueducts which carry it off to the fields for irrigation. In a park I sit down on a low wall to adjust a setting on my camera when 6 pairs of shoes came to a standstill in front of me. I look up into the friendly faces of 2 young, beautiful girls and a young man. “What’s your name?” asks one of the girls. I told her and she immediately introduces herself, her sister and sister’s fiancée. Suria’s sister proudly shows me her wedding ring and between my no-Arabic and Suria’s very limited English I understand that the couple are getting married in the summer; all 3 of them are students in 3 different towns; they have student holidays until next week. I tell them we are from Africa and call Willie, who looks like Crocodile Dundee in New York with his floppy leather hat; introduce him and we take pictures with one another. They tell me I am beautiful and I tell them how beautiful they are. Suria’s sister invites us to come and visit them in the country. We say goodbye and they leave with the now familiar greeting, “Welcome to Syria.” A brief, but sweet and unforgettable encounter. From Hama, along the Libanese border to Crac du Chevalier: a spectacular and almost perfectly preserved Crusader Castle. A UNESCO World Heritage Site, the castle is considered a pinnacle of medieval military architecture. The castle’s mighty defenses were never breached, even though it was under siege many times. It finally fell as result of trickery. Under siege by Mameluke Muslims, a letter was sent supposedly form the Crusader commander in Tripoli, advising the knights to surrender. The 300 knights, with a 5 year supply of provisions, did as they were told only to discover it was forgery! As we drive into the campsite we see a Land Cruiser with a German Lö license plate which means the owners are from the same area where we’ve stayed. How small can the world be? We visit the castle, perched on a hill at an altitude of 750m which allows for spectacular views of the surrounding area and valley. Author Paul Theroux described Crac as the epitome of the dream castle of childhood fantasies: complete with immense sloping walls, a moat, courtyard, staircases, baths, hidden alleys, look-out towers, chapel (now converted to a mosque) – endless… if you are an explorer. We meet our German friends when we return to the campsite. On their way back to Germany after almost 2 years of traveling to South Africa through West Africa and back through East Africa. We, of course, had 1000 of questions about safety, campsites, border crossings, problems, etc. They had valuable advice and travel tips for us and it was very reassuring and comforting to talk to such seasoned travelers. While talking another 2 4x4’s appear. It turns out to be a group of 5 from England on their way to South Africa traveling the same route as us. What amazing coincidence? We talked till late in the night, looked at each other’s equipment, shared questions and concerns and picked our German friends’ brains even more. Shared experiences bring an immediate camaraderie and closeness that is difficult to explain. Sammie was happy for the company and added several more friends to his already long list. The boys leave for Istanbul 9:30 and Willie, Sammie and I head back for the border. We repeat all the procedures that we’ve performed less than 24 hours ago. At the Syrian border we join many others; intense, loud conversations with border officials; ‘bakshish’ (bribes), and suddenly smiles and all are well! Our turn – a big, unfriendly official takes time to study our passports; he finally looks up and asks Willie where our Turkish exit stamps are. We gave our new passports to enter and exit Turkey, but our old ones to enter Syria, since our visas are in the old ones. Not a good idea to have 2 passports! After a long conversation and explanation with the official Willie asks whether he can speak to someone else. Our passports are carried away and I have all these visions of being escorted out of Syria again. After half an hour another face appears with our passports, a long conversation in Arabic takes place; the next moment the unfriendly man looks up, smiles at Willie and says, “Mr William, what was your mother’s name?” More questions about our car follow and relief slowly trickles in after he hands our passports to the official who will give us the final stamp. What a beautiful sound! Next hurdle: Our hearts sink when we stood in line for the vehicle inspection as we watch how they make people unpack all their belongings. I’m not exactly sure what they are looking for, but my guess is that people buy certain goods cheap in one country and then carry it across to sell in the other. As we watch it became very obvious that ‘Bakshish’ is the magic trick. Our turn: We show the car’s passport to the custom’s official, he examines everything and waves us through – without ‘bakshish!’ One more stop where we have to show our passports for the last time and then at last! Entering Syria was like painful labor, literally and figuratively, because we are born into a different world from the very beginning. Willie and I look at one another and with a sigh of relief Willie says, “So here we are in Syria, Mamma.” We have enough time to go to Aleppo, 45 minutes from the border. Aleppo, one of the oldest cities in Syria, was the trade centre for silks, spices and precious metals from the East headed for the Mediterranean. Best known for its covered souqs (markets) – a network of bustling passageways that cover 12 km (7 ½ miles) of winding, narrow alleys. We walk around and find a place to sit on one of the main pedestrian walkways, lined with street vendors on the one side and little cafè’s and stores on the other. A gentle charm exudes from the scene playing off before our eyes – small groups of women, very conservatively dressed – fully covered or veiled walk from vendor to vendor to inspect what they have to offer - anything from glasses to perfume to make-up to nuts to tea to shoes, clothes – virtually anything. Men and boys walk together, talk, drink tea and smoke; little children run around, laughing and playing. I don’t know if we were just tired after the border ordeal, but we have no desire to do anything else, but just watch. Willie buys us 2 delicious schwarmas for less than 2 euros and we return to our car, accompanied by a beautiful sunset.. We have way points of a camping site and arrive there after dark. We are greeted by a Dutch speaking woman from Belgium who is married to a Syrian - a very nice surprise to be able to communicate and to be understood. 3 am we had our first call to wake up – the neighbor’s insomniac rooster – every 15 minutes and 4:30 he was joined by the imam calling from the minaret. I woke up groggy, but with a name for our campsite: Shoot-a Roost-a Camp! It stormed all night and when there is a brief pause, we pack and are happy to be back in the car. Really hungry we stop at a kebab restaurant where we probably enjoyed the highlight of our meals this far. Wonderful fresh bread served with hummus, tomatoes, peppers and parsley; a big bowl of salad and home-made kebabs on a skewer.
The storm has not let up when we got back in the car. We are quiet as we near the border: we had no idea what to expect, but we do not have high expectations after some of the stories we’ve heard. I can elaborate or not. I’m not going to rehash the unpleasant experience. The final answer was, “No! – not negotiable – No!” We are escorted back to the gate – back to Turkey! We are not too sad, but disappointed. So plan B goes into action: find a bus to take Hugo and Andrej back to Istanbul; find a place for them to stay;book a flight from Istanbul to Amman which means they skip over Syria into Jordan. Willie spoils us by finding a hotel room where we can regroup, hang out all our wet clothes, make all the arrangements and have a hot shower, dry with white towels and sleep under white sheets… |
AuthorCaren "There is something about safari life that makes you forget all your sorrows and feel as if you had drunk half a bottle of champagne - bubbling over with heartfelt gratitude for being alive. One only feels really free when one can go in whatever direction one pleases over the plains, to get to the river at sundown and pitch one's camp, with the knowledge that one can fall asleep
beneath other trees, with another view before one, the next night." - Karen Blixen - Out of Africa, Kenya 'Of course as I am reading this, I know that you DO get your visas and the container DOES get released, but oh the internal struggle we face even though we should trust (as Hugo does) that God has His hands on all things and is constantly taking care of us.'
From a Friend: :) Crazy to think that we are ALL made of blood, bone and water yet we speak in so many tongues that getting along together becomes a massive task within itself. Archives
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"Julle sal dit maak! Opwindend, dis 'n geleentheid 1x in 'n leeftyd. Ons wens ons kon deel wees daarvan. Sterkte en ons bid vir 'n veilige reis!"
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