Scrumdiddlyumptious!

One of our favorite parts of vacation was the food. One, because we needed a change of pace; and two, because it was just stinking incredible!

Spicy Noodles ($1 for one large helping): I’ve already eluded to the “spicy noodles” which usually comes with a mix of lamb, peppers, tomatoes, garlic, and noodles. This is just the base, however, and it often includes eggplant, carrots, potatoes, or a wide variety of other vegetables. The combinations are endless and I think no two bowls of spicy noodles are alike. They also have a variety where they fry the noodles, which is also quite tasty.

Nan (7 cents each): A’s favorite was, hands down, the bread, which is literally slapped onto the side of a big clay oven to bake. It comes out flat and generally has charcoal on the bottom that must be picked off. It usually comes with poppy, fennel, or sesame seeds sprinkled on top. It was always good, but one morning we got some straight out of the oven and I vowed to never have it any other way again.

Mutton dumplings (7 cents each): These can be found every morning on any street corner and are also cooked on the side of clay ovens. They are generally pretty good, but some of them are all fat and gristle inside. One morning I bought six for breakfast, but after three my mouth was completely saturated in fat and I couldn’t eat any more. Unfortunately, I was nowhere near my toothbrush, so I walked around all morning feeling like my mouth was coated in wax.

Kebabs (14 cents each): These are my personal favorite and I ordered kababs with every meal. Mostly, it is lamb on a metal skewer, but chicken is sometimes available, and you can usually find a street stand selling liver kababs (which are pretty good, too).

Polo (75 cents per bowl): This is a rice dish with fried vegetables. Usually, the vegetable was carrots or this yellow thing that we never identified. These were served up in bowls large enough for me to crawl into and take a nap. There were also chicken parts mixed in (legs, wings, etc.) which you could ask to have added to your bowl (28 cents extra).

Soups (14 cents per bowl): There were a wide variety of soups, usually with onions and some type of dumpling inside. Most of the other ingredients were unidentifiable because it had been pulverized though I saw the occasional celery stalk or carrot piece. The best part of the soup at the street market is the ambiance. Imagine joining 7-10 men three times your age on stools about 8 inches of the ground. People are walking by, brushing against your back as you scarf down your bowl. The lady selling the soup is crouched on the ground in front of her two pots screaming the name of it every 6 seconds while lifting the lid to show her goods. Following those around you, you eat everything but the piece of meat. When you have guzzled every last bit of goodness from the bowl and only the meat is left, the lady takes the bowl and then offers you your piece of meat. You take it with your hands, eat all the meat off the bone, and then throw the bone in the bone-pile on the ground in front of you. Then (because you have watched to see what others have paid so you don’t get ripped off) you hand her exact change, smile, and make your exit. A priceless experience.

Durap (14 cents): We wandered up to a stall where everyone (about 40 people) had a bright orange bowl of white substance and were watching TV (12” screen). I can never turn down something that I have never seen before, so I ordered a bowl and we grabbed a seat. According to Lonely Planet it was, “a potentially deadly mix of shaved ice, syrup, yoghurt and iced water.” Deadly was right, I could hardly finish it.

Opke (75 cents per head): This dish is also made in an incredibly large pot and is a soup with about 50 goat heads bobbing in it. I had to try this on a day that A stayed in the hotel. I attacked the cheek first, ripping the cheek and lips of in cave-man fashion in one large chomp. Then moved to the tongue and finished with the brains before slurping down the juice. Everyone around looked quite pleased and I think I may have been the first foreigner to take them up on the dish. I have to confess, however, that I couldn’t quite stomach the ear, which still had hair attached and was all cartilage anyway.

Grapes (raisins ranged from $3-6 per pound): By far one of the best parts of the trip was the grapes. We even visited “Grape Valley” where 13 different varieties were grown. Though the grapes were good, the raisins were by far the best. We brought home 5 different kinds and let all of our friends try them out. I put two varieties in some trail mix and it is amazing.

Tea (free at any restaurant or food stand): We also brought home some tea, which is black (though they call it green tea) and served hot. What I think makes it awesome, however, is the dash of nutmeg they add to it. Perfect for washing down nan, kababs, and goat heads.

Markets

We also had the opportunity to go to one of the largest open-air markets in Asia. People have been gathering at this market in K-town for the past 2000 years and much of the wares are still the same. One of our favorite parts was the animal market, where you could buy anything from a herd of sheep to a cart for your donkey. People here shop for sheep much like a judge at your local 4-H show. One thing we noticed was that a hand-shake didn’t mean a done deal. People would clasp hands to enter into negotiations and not let go until an agreement had been made. It made me want to buy one just for the experience…maybe someday! Here are a few pictures:

The Torture Chamber

After we safely returned to K town and spent a few more days, we decided to head north to another city (T-ville). We had hoped to get train tickets, but for reasons never fully disclosed to us none of the travel agents in town could get us tickets. Instead they suggested the sleeper bus. Initially, the sleeper bus sounded like the next best thing, it seemed, after all, just like a train on wheels and without a restaurant car. The only thing we were apprehensive about was the duration…20 hours on a bus just didn’t sound like fun. Our only other option, however, would be to fly to the closest airport and then take a 3 hour bus the rest of the way, but we were more apprehensive about forking over the money than we were about the 20 hours.

After stowing my backpack I ran to a little store to get a few provisions (nuts, fruit, bread, and bottled water) to cram in A’s stuff-sack with our other essentials (camera, toilet paper, Clif Bars, a deck of cards, two books, an Outside magazine, a Time magazine, and 3 Newsweeks). When the time came to climb on, we were given a plastic sack to keep our shoes in. This is apparently the subtle, polite way to say, “I don’t want whatever is on the bottom of your shoe in my bus.” Once we found our “bed” we truly began to panic. I don’t know exactly what I had in mind, but three rows of bunk beds with two rows of walk spaces was not a promising start. Imagine the sadistic designers of economy-class jumbo jets sitting around trying to design something truly space-saving, uncomfortable, and profit maximizing. Those guys would be fired because they couldn’t come up with something as ridiculous as these bus designers. For starters, the walk space was barely wide enough for me, or A for that matter, to walk down sideways. Ditto for the beds. I had to wedge myself between the wall and the purposeless rail on the edge of my bed to be able to lay on my back, and even this was only accomplished by perpetually shrugging and folding my arms across my chest. Add to that the fact that the beds were at a 45° angle so they could shove the legs of the person behind you under your head and likewise your legs under the person in front of you so that it almost felt as though they were in your lap. This brilliant design allowed the bus company to stack people on top of one another, double their profit, and provide jobs for trauma counselors all at the same time! The main problem, however, with the angle, was that I kept sliding down the bed and my feet and legs would get smashed into the cubby-hole at the bottom.

Moving from the claustrophobia, I will now move to the anti-hygiene issues. Aside from the fact that you could contract whatever infectious disease or sickness from the 8 people within arms reach or 29 people within sneezing distance or 2 people you were virtually spooning (luckily for me one of them was my wife), was the possibility of contracting something from the previous 15 people who slept, ate, farted, and shed in your bed since the sheets had been washed. Indeed, upon surveying the cabin it became apparent that the first order of business for all passengers was to rake leftover crumbs from their bed onto the floor and their neighbors bed and then to pick all the hair from the surface of your pillow.

I know you are all in suspense, but I will let the cat out of the bag – we survived. How? Well, for the first hour, we passed the time by hyperventilating, convulsing, and crawling into a fetal position and bawling our eyes out. Then we realized that we were only lunatic, weenie Americans who couldn’t seem to cope, so we dried our eyes, calmly stated to each other our dying wishes, and decided to play cards. Facing each other to play cards was a precarious balancing act which couldn’t be sustained for long periods of time, so we interspersed that with reading. After about 5 hours or so, the bus pulled over so everyone could grab some supper. We decided to head to the unpopular empty restaurant down the street and both ordered the only dish we could name – something the locals call “spicy noodles” which we had grown fond of. When we got on the bus it was too dark to read or play cards. I contemplated becoming a basket case again, but got distracted by the incredible night view. It seems that the desert is the place to go if you are a star-gazer. As I looked out the window I saw more stars than I think I have ever seen in my life. I was so amazed, the next three hours passed like three minutes and the spell was only broken because the bus stopped for a potty break.

The excrement chamber was torture chamber number three. Not for me so much as A. Well, I think I’ll just let her tell you: “There was absolutely no privacy. I don’t really want to go into it, but if you were shielded from the bus you were in full view of the road and visa versa.” She still can’t quite talk about it, but I will say that it was also a communal experience. Everyone just squatted in a group with everyone talking to their friends.

When we got back on the bus, I was so uncomfortable I just went for a new tactic completely. Feigning that I was incredibly interested in learning the language in one night, I went and sat on the front steps and made friends with the driver and the boss. I just figured I would be more comfortable staying up all night than trying to sleep. It seemed that I was welcome company since the boss was interested to learn a little English. He knew “father” and “son” but wanted to also learn the female version “mother” and “daughter.” I also taught him: husband, wife, boy, girl, bus, train, thank you, okay, train, bus, sleeper bus, public bus, get on the bus, get off the bus, this is my bus, boss, I am the boss, etc. I contemplated just telling him that the English word for his vehicle was “torture chamber” and looking back I wish that I would have. Imagine the favor I would be doing to the next foreigner if before buying their ticket the bus owner had said, “Hello! This is my torture chamber! Please get on the torture chamber! Yes, this is a public torture chamber!” I learned several words as well, but mostly we talked in our mutual second language. I learned many things about the torture chamber. It holds 39 prisoners at a time. It makes the 600 mile round trip every 4 days: 2 days of travel, 2 days of rest. It is a 3 man crew with two alternating drivers and the boss who takes care of everything other than driving. It costs about $140 US to fill up the tank, which must be done 3 times per round trip. They also pay about $140 US in toll booth fees one way. There is a toll booth every 100 km (60 miles) and the fee varies at each booth. They must stop at each police checkpoint, which is about every 200 km. They each make about $300 US per month, though I’m sure the boss gets a little more. I also learned A LOT about each of their families. Finally, several hours and 3 toll booths later my eyes were getting heavy and I headed to my 2 ft² of space for the night.

The next day passed slowly, but we eventually pulled in to T-ville, tired, smelly, a little grumpy, but still alive. All told, we were glad for the experience, but next time we’ll walk. We left with two new friends and a taste of what the heavens look like from the desert…and a nasty looking rash on A’s arms.

-L

Easy Money

The night’s rest at Glacier Lake made A feel much better. We were up early…not because we wanted to be, but because communal living dictates sleep schedules. My agenda for the morning was to find a vehicle headed to K town and A’s agenda in the meantime was to move as little as possible. She parked herself on a rock and had her quiet time. In the picture below you can see that a goat decided to join her. We had two transportation options: wait for the bus that came through between 10 and 12 (depending on who you asked) or flag down a vehicle and negotiate a price.

The two of us and a guy from Australia hitched a ride in a small Toyota pickup. In my mind, once we negotiated how much we would pay for him to drive us to K town, I thought it would work like a taxi…get in and the driver takes you straight there. Well, not exactly. It seems we weren’t the main cargo. He stopped in 4 other villages and picked up about a dozen propane bottles which got tossed precariously on top of my backpack before hitting the road. Also, though I had no leg room and there was barely room for A and I and her backpack, he wouldn’t be satisfied until the backpack was in our laps with someone else occupying the extra 6 inches of seat space, which he quickly filled with someone who took a shower before his wedding 10 years ago. Luckily, this guy weighed less than my right arm and took up about as much room.

About a third of the way back, just before making it to where we had encountered the mudslide the previous evening, we made a detour and were told, “No pictures!” We headed into a military base to pick up a few more propane bottles. Then when I thought we could not possibly hold any more, a guy flagged us down and we picked up (I kid you not) a V6 engine, and one other guy who rode in the back on top of the propane bottles (which were still on top of my backpack).

As we continued to make our way passed the mudslide and down the mountain we recognized His provision. It seemed that the mudslide we encountered was only the first in a long string (I think I counted 9 total) over about a 30 mile stretch. It must have taken them all night to clear the road. So, had we found a vehicle headed back, or tried to wait it out, we would have been stuck in a vehicle all night. Or worse, gotten caught in one of the mudslides!

But for me, the most incredible part of the journey was the brilliance of the driver. He made that journey with almost 100%, no overhead. How? He made the entire 120 mile downhill trip coasting in neutral. Literally, he started the engine about 6 times for no more than ½ a mile to 2 mile stretches. Heck, even when he got to the relatively flat land on the edge of town he didn’t waste any gas on us…he just said, “You out here.”

-L

Headed Down...Or Not

With the sun setting and Glacier Lake grandma cooking supper we didn’t have much time to make a decision. We had two options: one, to let A sleep it off and hope she felt better in the morning, or, two, get to lower elevation (the only real cure for altitude sickness). Normally, I would have suggested rest, after all we had both been looking forward to this part of the trip for months beforehand; but dizziness, nausea, splitting headache is a miserable combination even from your resort hotel in Aspen. With no bathroom facility (much less the possibility of a shower), and sleeping on camel hair in a smoke filled room I realized that the decision was a basic choice of how to view A: either as a traveling buddy who needed to “suck it up and deal with it” or as my delicate wife who “needed a knight in shining armor to whisk her down the mountain” as she later put it. Well, I didn’t actually whisk her down the mountain myself, but I did persuade and bribed a driver, who was initially reluctant to make the journey as the sun was already setting. We loaded our backpacks, said good-bye to our Glacier Lake family (who seemed equally sad that we couldn’t stay) and headed toward K Town.

I’ve pretty well gotten used to the way people drive in developing countries, so for me to say anything about the journey should clue you in that it was a truly edge-of-the-seat experience. Not only edge-of-the-seat as in scary, but literally try not to fall into the floor around hairpin curves at breakneck speeds. I’m determined the guy was trying to make the 120 mile trip and still be back in time for supper. After making it about a third of the way down the mountain we screeched to a halt and found ourselves witnessing, within yards of our vehicle, a mudslide in full procession gushing over the road in front of us. I had never seen a mudslide before, but imagine a 100 yard wide river of mud moving almost as fast as water carrying with it boulders larger than the size of your TV. We took some pictures, but they really don’t do justice to the scene we witnessed.

As our hearts sank, our driver turned around and we assessed the situation. He gave us two options. He would either take us back to Glacier Lake or drive us through the mountains to the next town. The next town was equally far from the lake, but also fairly high in elevation. We were told they had a hospital, but I think A was more interested in a hot shower and a bed. The problem was that after the 4-5 hour drive to the town we would have to wake up and head back in this direction for a total 10+ hour trip to K Town…if the roads were clear.

As we debated the choices given us while racing back up towards high altitude another idea came to mind. (Mom, skip the rest of this paragraph.) I had the driver go back to the mudslide. Donning my running-come-mudslide shoes I made my way across the 100 yard obstacle course which was now moving considerably slower to see if I could find a vehicle on the other side also planning to turn around that could take us the rest of the way down the mountain. Mudslide traversing could be the next adventure sport, and though I had visions of being the first winner at the next X-games, I was also wondering how in the world I was going to make the follow-up journey with a 40lbs. backpack, much less my dizzy-headed wife! On the other side, though I didn’t find someone to take us, I found out that road clearing crew was on the way in a matter of hours (in other words, “it may be clear by daybreak tomorrow”).

Though that plan fell through and our driver was unwilling to wait that long, it gave me an idea of a fourth option: find a vehicle on our side that is also planning to wait it out and go down with them. This, however, also proved elusive, and we were forced to return to Glacier Lake. At the time, we felt as though we were being thwarted by the Enemy. But later, we came to see this string of events as the provision of our Great Protector.

-L

Yurts

The Family We Stayed With

The Lake

The Lake Experience

By far the biggest adventure was to a lake which I’ll refer to as Glacier Lake. The lake is home to a handful of nomadic people who carve out their living by raising goats. It is renowned for its mountain top views which are home to some dozen glaciers which can be seen in every direction. The lake itself is 120 miles from the nearest town (we’ll call it K Town) and sits somewhere between 13,000 and 14,000 feet in altitude. We were told that the lake was a must-see and that transportation to and from the lake was around $10 US each and that families would take boarders for the night (in yurts made of canvas, mud, and camel hair) and offer 3 meals for under $5 per person per night. This was an opportunity we jumped at. We were greeted off the bus by a family of 5 (grandmother, her son and two daughters, and one of the daughters little girl) who immediately took us into their home and offered home-made bread and tea.

As you can see, the lake was truly stunning and an added bonus was that the 20 year old son of our family/host offered his motorcycle for a small fee for us to visit a small remote village high in the mountains (just under 15,000 feet) which also offered picture perfect views of glaciers. While visiting the village, another family invited us into their home for bread accompanied by a large bowl of home-made goat yogurt. Though a very sweet gesture of hospitality, and despite my adventurous taste buds, it was a challenge to eat the yogurt to say the least and eating it with a straight face proved even more elusive.

Our motorcycle excursion was both a blessing and a curse. We both had a blast, but by the time we returned, A was headlong into a serious case of altitude sickness. And thus, the real adventures began…

-L

A Few Pics

Journey to the West (though still in the East)

No, we didn’t fall off the face of the earth as some of you may have suspected due to our long silence, we just went up to the edge and peered over it.* In other words, we went on vacation to the middle of nowhere. We had an absolute blast and a much needed retreat from day-to-day life. Though we were only gone for two weeks, we had a years worth of adventures which we will translate for you in a series of forthcoming blogs. Above are some of our favorite photos. These were all taken in a region of the Middle East that is one of the most land-locked in the world. Most of the people from this region are from one of a plethora of Mslm nomadic people groups who live today much like their ancestors have for hundreds of years.

-L

*And then when we returned our internet was out for the next week...