A Dubai-ous Day of Commerce

Dubai doesn't quite fit the profile of the cities we've visited thus far - it has a very modern infrastructure (read: drinkable tap water), its oldest standing structure was erected after 1800, it's very safe, and the main attractions are modern architecture and commerce rather than ancient culture and prehistory.

After disembarking, we traversed the "old town," an 1800's-1900's quadrant of Dubai that still clings to its Arabic culture. Old town is known woldwide for its inexpensive gold, silk Persian rugs, and hookah pipes. We quickly resolved to shop for all three.

We decided to use Thursday as our "see every product available in Dubai" day, Friday as our "lets think about what we want to purchase at the beach" day (most shops are closed for holy Firdays), and Saturday as our "hemmorhage money (UAE Dirhams) to the Arabs" day.

We spent the majority of Thursday refining our taste and expertise in Persian carpets. Here's an abridged lesson for you - actually, imagine we're explaining it to you in the middle of a crowded arabic parketplace with bright textiles and chickens on spit-roasts...

----

Us: So, you have to consider the carpet material - silk or silk substitute such as acryllic, wool, or some blend thereof. Silk is more expensive, but the color is sharper and it lends an interesting shine, making the colors shift subtly from different angles.

You: Ooh, let's go with silk.

(A man interrupts: "My friend, you want copy watch? Copy Rolex? Copy Omega?")

Us: Excuse us - thanks. Next, you have to consider whether you want your silk carpet hand-made or machine-made. Hand-made can be ten times more expensive, but wow - some of the richness and color gradients really can't be produced by a machine. The hand-made pieces really exemplifiy the Iranian attention to detail.

You: Well, I'd rather not expel somebody from my home for dirtying my floor covering, and I like to maintain a healthy blood pressure - so let's look at the machine-made pieces.

(Another man approaches and leans in: "Copy handbags? My friend, you want copy handbags?")

Us: Ahem. Very well, so now you just have to consider thread length and silk origin, which determines the texture. Then just consider size and design - and happy shopping!

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Oh yeah, we forgot to mention - there's lots of people selling knock-off products.

Shopping for gold in the Gold Souq (gold market) was equally exhausting. There's a great deal of modestly-priced, generic-looking gold jewelry (and watches) available in the dozens (maybe hundreds) of accredited, camera-survaillanced shops; however, the more traditional Persian pieces were much more distinctive and interesting. Many were so ornate that they look like fake stage jewelry, so it's a cautious endeavor.

We wrapped up the day with an hour-long search for a restaurant - gold and thread everywhere, but not a crumb to eat! - and we settled for some delicious burgers and a relaxing hour at a hookah bar.

Today, at the Arabian Sea beach in Dubai, we're discussing what we saw and learned and asking ourselves the incessant consumerism question:

Do-buy or not do-buy?

Oh, man - that's too funny. Let's just leave it at that.

The Doc's First Patient

Pssst - Sara wouldn't want me to tell you this because she thinks it's "dorky," but I think it's pretty cool, and I think you'll agree.

Allow me to set the scene...

March 28, 2007. Emirates Airlines flight EK0722, departing from Nairobi to Dubai. The craft has boarded and is about to commence liftoff. It's 23:46, so everybody's drifting off to sleep - including the Doc, in her sky-blue Target eyemask. I'm uncomfortable, because I can never figure out how to relax my neck while in an upright seated position.

...But as destiny would have it, danger brewed five rows ahead. A fellow passenger was ailing and was unfit to take to the skies this fateful night.

A flight attendant bellowed: "Is there a doctor or medical professional on board with their license handy?"

Nobody raised a solitary hand. A long pause. The Doc removed her sleepwear and misplaced it somewhere in that long moment.

She bellowed again: "Is there any doctor aboard with any identification at all?"

Still, no hands raised.

The Doc then calmly raised her hand, and the flight attendant approached. "Are you a registered nurse?" The attendant cocked her head.

I shot her a "you sexist!" glare, but the Doc politely corrected her, offered her passport as identification, and more fully qualified her medical expertise. The Doc rose to see the ailing passenger, and the craft hushed. Several tumbleweeds blew across the aisle (well, not really - but it'd have been fitting).

I sat patiently as she assessed the situation several rows ahead. Three visibly panicked flight attendants flanked her as she spoke to the ill passenger, nodding politely and docilely.

I covertly filmed the majority of this exchange with our digital camera, as I awaited the prognosis with the rest of the captive audience.

Due to HIPAA policy, I'm unable to disclose specific patient information, but the Doc suggested that the passenger leave the flight. Now, I applaud the Doc for her swift and righteous justice, but removing the passenger and respective luggage added another hour to our flight. The Doc returned to sleep quickly, but not before accepting a free Emirates Airlines pair of socks and a replacement sleeping mask.

Perhaps I'll write a limerick to honor the event - or maybe an epic poem - or maybe a rag-tag guitar tale in the style of Jim Croce or Arlo Guthrie. In any case, I can't sleep since I'm so excited!

Hooray for our not-yet-employed Doc!

Turfin' Safari

We left Nairobi for a three-night camping safari through Kenya - it's a great lineup of trekking and watching large predators from a somewhat-armored, open-roofed, safari cruiser.

We're traveling with four other tourists - an Argentinian couple, a Brazilian airline pilot, and a friendly Australian girl - an adventurous and enthusiastic bunch.

The guide and staff are another animal altogether - our "guide" for the four-day excursion is "Winston." You know that feeling you get with some people - the "this guy is trying to screw me over big-time" feeling? Well, you'd get that feeling talking to Winston.

Some contextual information:
Most Eastern African excursions operate based on two payments - the advance, corporate payment, and the sizable cash-only local payment. The later is used for entry fees, foodstuffs, and other such on-the-spot expenses included in the itinerary.

Well, Winston is trying to skirt all said on-the-spot payments or discourage us from participating in several included activities. We [our band of tourists] are persistent in demanding our share. Cough it up, Winston! And so, our trip:


Hell's Gate National Park

Our first day is Hell's Gate - named for its steaming hot springs and tortuous gorges.

The terrain above the gorge is a boxed red-rock canyon with herds of zebras, warthogs, and gazelles running along the dirt roads. We spent the majority of the ride with our torsos through the sunroofs, just as everybody dreams of doing in their prom limousines.

The Hell's Gate gorge took an hour to traverse - canyoning down rocky streams, shuffling through obsidian gravel, and using the sandstone ravine walls as fingerholds for climbing. We wore flip-flops (Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!) but we made it down to the boiling springs without injury or snakebite (black mambas are indigenous to the area).

Winston apologized for some of the confusion over our dinner campfire. We're still skeptical.


Masai Mara - Northern Serengeti

We drove several hours of plains to the Masai Mara - the ride there was scattered with gazelles, zebras, and gnus, so by the time we arrived we were already a bit jaded. We were ready to see some big game and some carnivores.

The reserve is so expansive - thousands of acres, and that doesn't even include the Tanzanian side. Here's a recap of some of the more interesting sightings:

• A family of giraffes running across the plains



• A herd of twenty elephants walking single-file through a valley



• A male and female lion sleeping (in the "spooning" position)



• Several hippos (actually the deadliest animal in Africa, by the numbers) bathing and singing in a pond



• A leopard high in a tree with the remains of a most unfortunate gazelle



• A massive eagle dive-bombing and making quick prey of a smaller bird

All-in-all, a very productive day of observation. We'd rather see it all on our feet (rather than on wheels), but we'd quickly become prey ourselves and it's hard to cover enough ground - after the next full day of safari, we'd be ready to get back on our legs.


Masai Village

We left camp early and headed to a Masai tribe village for a quick glance at their ceremonial dancing, traditional architecture, and cultural traditions.

We witnessed two dances - male and female - both of which entailed call-and-answer singing, and both of which are performed at circumcisions (yes, both male and female circumcision). The most impressive feat was the standing vertical jumps the males used in their dance.

The village huts are constructed from sticks, straw, and cow manure - they're expected to stand for about five years until the next tribal migration. We'll probably build a similar establishment in the middle of Lincoln Park in Chicago to inhabit during the residency/Ph. D. years.

Trevor, can we rel on your civil engineering signature to certify its structural soundness? (You'll have to check the books for the cow manure load-bearing coefficients.)


Lake Nakuru National Park

We spent the afternoon game-watching at Lake Nakuru, a famous living and breeding grounds for the white rhinoceros. We saw our fill of rhinos, but even more impressive were the pink flamingos on the lake itself. On the horizon, between the dark lake and the green hills is a thick band of solid pink - more pink than even Lisa Baldwin can comprehend.

We also saw our fill of baboons - so many that they're considered menaces at the lakefront. So, as far as baboons go, we're done for now. If you have some baboons waiting for us in the states, sell 'em back. We're through with the 'boons for now, but we deeply appreciate the gesture.


Safari Afterthoughts

We're happy that we went on safari and we're delighted with the multitude and density of wildlife we saw. However, we now know that safaris are passive activities - sunroof gazing, picture-taking, and (if you're lucky enough to get an enthusiastic, informed guide) listening to a wildlife lesson or two. There's another brand of safari out there - the trekking safari - where it's just you and a rifle-bearing guide stomping through the wild. It's more expensive, but it may have suited us better.

As the saying goes, "a satisfied customer tells one person, a dissatisfied customer tells four" - so readers (at least four of you) take note:

Do not use Nomad Tours (the company based in South Africa) for East African excursions. The itineraries are unrealistic, the guides are dishonest and unprofessional, and they do a poor job of allocating our payment fees. Other firms, such as Gap Adventures, provide better service for a similar fee. Hope this appears in search results so other people can be happier on their excursions.

So, having climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro and seen the predators of the Northern Serengeti, we believe (as per Steve's question) that we now understand Toto's 80's-riffic single entitled "Africa". We'd love to share our understanding, but you really have to come here and see it for yourself.

Until then, (to make an acute cinema allusion) you can listen to Toto, but you can't hear Toto. Let's leave it at that, Steve.

Also, happy belated birthdays to Kristin and Jenny!

We leave for Dubai tonight - we'll catch up with you all then, and we hope to have more frequent computer access.

Kilimanjaro

(Don't skip to the end - to keep the suspense and stuff!)


Nairobi, Kenya

Nairobi is the largest city in Kenya, if not the largest city in Eastern Africa. All tourist literature we've read suggest that it's not a premier tourist destination; and the USA government websites we've visited give it a 5/5 for crime... and 5 is bad. he only other 5 we could find is Baghdad. In the words of "Airplane": it's worse than Detroit.

Our hotel suggests not leaving the premises with jewelry or valuables, and strongly recommends to "take special care" between 18:00 an 06:00.

So why are we here? Good question. Our Kilimanjaro trek an safari both depart from this city, from the very hotel we're patronizing. So... room service and card games it is!


Moshi, Tanzania

After several hours on buses (listening to some friends' mixes, TV on the Radio, and Steven Wright stand-up) we crossed the Tanzanian border and arrived in the town of Moshi, via Arusha. The trip would have been faster, but our bus stopped several times for cattle stampedes crossing the dirt road, and for border patrol passport checks.

We spent the night at a hotel near the base of Kilimanjaro, where we met our guide, received our briefing, and rented additional equipment (sleeping bags, hiking poles).

At the loge, we made two friends: Czar, an RN from Southern California, and Charlie, an accountant from Canada. Czar signed up for a different Kilimanjaro route (his afforded him an extra day) and Charlie will climb with us an share our guide.

Our guide is "Johnnie" - a young man from a Mozambique tribe with a calm countenance and a winning smile. We'll set off in the morning; our group consists of three tourists and several attendants (guide, cook, and porters to carry the food and some of our spare clothing).


Ascent Day 1: to Mandara (2750m alt.)

Today we hiked about five hours uphill, mostly through rainforest terrain on a clay path - the weather permitted us to wear shorts and t-shirts.

The porters and cook set off ahead of us, carrying most of the supplies in tarps balanced on their heads.

We paused or jaunt only for carb-heavy snack breaks and to learn about indigenous flowers.

Oh yes. We also paused to gaze at the ants. Big ants. Big ants crawling into our socks, leaving itching welts on our ankles. Each of us sustained tens of bites on both feet; however, walking subtly scratched our bites, which yielded a satisfying motivation to climb faster.

Also present on the hike was the Tanzanian flag bandanna we purchased at the mountain base. the wearer is granted the wisdom of Tanzania's greatest national park. Plus, it makes you look like Rambo - or perhaps, "Tanzaniambo."


Ascent Day 2: to Horombo (3750m alt.)

Godliza, our cook, boiled seven liters of water for the two of us to carry on our backs for the day's hike - Johnnie suggests that we drink the entire quantity within the day to prevent dehydration.

Today we wore rain pants and fleeces; the weather looked ominous initially, then the clouds broke an we were left with a chilly-yet-sunny day... and third-degree sunburn.

By 10:00 we left rainforest terrain an entered "Moorland" altitude - short, coarse, bushes with "hot poker" flowers and weedy grass. No more monkeys, unfortunately - just lizards and huge birds that threatened to snatch our lunch. Nobody messes with lunch.

We hiked 200m altitude past our sleeping point before returning for dinner - overshooting your altitude is just what the doctor ordered for healthy acclimation. Climb high, sleep low, yo.


Ascent Day 3: to Kibo (4703m alt)

We slept well - better than we could have asked. Yet, that didn't make the day any less tasking.

We donned our fleece pants, long underwear tops, winter hats, ski mittens, and balaclavas (the facial windguard, not the tasty Mediterranean dessert). We didn't want to add windburn to our growing list of ailments.

By nine this morning, the Moorlands disappeared and we trekked across an expansive alpine desert. For the most part, no foliage can survive here, and the fauna disappeared as well. The wind tears across the dusty ground - and it's not warm.

The itinerary for the rest of our climb is daunting, at best. Here's what's on the platter:

• 4:30PM: Dinner
• 5:00PM: Sleep for the "night"
• 11:30PM: Wake up, eat "breakfast," and begin the hike to the summit, so we get there and back before the sun melts the frozen gravel an the path gets slippery.
• 3:00PM (next day): Arrive at our encampment downhill for the night.

That's right - 15 consecutive hours of altitude-defying, joint-burning, lung-gurgling, hiking.

Stretch out on a couch for us.

Day 4: Catching the Night Train to Uhuru (5895m alt.)

"Ridin' the night train - never coming doooooown!"

- Guns 'N Roses, Appetite for Destruction - "Night Train"

...So that's similar to our nighttime summit - except that "going down" is on the itinerary. Also dissimilar, GNR uses a train as a metaphor for their hard-living, "loaded" lifestyle - and we're climbing an African mountain.

Anyway, note that yesterday we expected to sleep from 5-11:3PM. Nay. One million times nay. Not a wink of sleep - mainly due to other tourists in our miniature barracks speaking inconsiderate German, Swahili, and French (the anxiety probably had something to do with it as well).

O' pity us, fair reader! Fifteen hours of subzero summit-hiking on no sleep!

Okay, enough with the excuses - here's now it went down:

• 11:40 PM: Begin tedious zig-zag "switchback" hike up Kibo volcano with headlamps, three layers of pants, three layers of jackets, hats, balaclavas, ski mittens, an two layers of heavy-duty socks.
• 11:50 PM: "Hey, this isn't so bad"
• 1:00 AM: "Why am I traversing the loose gravel of this desolate lunar landscape in the dark, foot after numb foot? I paid for this? I'm a moron."
• 4:40 AM: Arrive at "Gillman's Point" (5861m alt.), where many people end their climb. It's situated on the rim of the volcano, so it's a great place to do a high-five an start your trek back down. However, if you're more daring (or perhaps, more "dangling") you can continue to Uhuru Peak, the topmost point on Kilimanjaro and all of Africa - "Africa's Ceiling."
• 5:00 AM: Depart westward for Uhuru, treading through the snow on the rim of the volcano's crater - this is all before sunrise, so only the snow is visible.
• 6:00 AM: Altitude sickness (cerebral edema) further closes its icy grasp. Begin frequent anti-nausea breathing breaks.
• 6:20 AM: The three of us made it! We pose by the official Uhuru Peak sign for a quick snapshot. Excited by the fulfillment of our longtime goal, we sigh relief and start back Eastward.
• 6:30 AM: Sunrise. We're able to discern our surroundings, and are imbued with newfound energy. We run through the icy slopes of the volcanic rim and are captured by the expansiveness of the glaciers on the rim and crater of the volcano, and by the landscape of clouds below. We repeatedly risk frostbiting our fingers by snapping photos of the scenery. Our guide suggests climbing down before the sun melts the icy rim into a hazardous terrain.
• 7:00 AM: Look down at the newly-lit, steep, zig-zag path we traversed in darkness for five hours up the volcano. Cue ominous music.
• 7:10 AM: Learn "shortcut" technique of surfing down the gravel in our boots. Much more fun, and much faster.
• 8:00 AM: Arrive back at Kibo encampment. Brief meal and relaxation.
  
• 10:00 AM-4:00 PM: Trek down to our final encampment. Soak our feet, hallucinate from exhaustion and sleep deprivation. Good times.
  

Hopefully, a good night's sleep will cure nausea, headache, delirium, third-degree sunburn, and fire-ant welts. Well, we can hope.

Kilimanjaro Afterthoughts

Time well-spent. And not just the mountainside experience - the training, too (thanks for letting us use your skyrise, Jen).

It was great to have Charlie with us on our trek. He resolved early-on to avoid decisions and just concentrate on "putting one foot in front of the other" and enjoying the scenery. "Resolute indecisiveness" would be the most fitting oxymoron. He also maintained the most reasonable and constant pace, which abides by the Swahili saying "pole pole" (pronounced "polay-polay"), for "slow-slow". Charlie, if you're reading this, it was great having you mountainside.

We're currently at our Moshi, Tanzania hotel - at the pool sampling some local lagers. Our feet have nowhere else to take us right now, which is nice - because we can ask of them no more favors.

Interlude

We're currently stealing high-speed Internet in a first-class lounge (and we're flying economy - sticking it to the man).

Just wanted to say "Thanks" to everybody who's reading and leaving comments - it's fun and motivating to see that people are tuning in.

Gotta go - they have free food here, too!

Match.

Match! Match, match, match.

For those of you who aren't acquainted with the medical residency match process (and how could you be, if you've hung out with us for any length of time?), all medical students learn where they'll be living for the next 3-4 years on March 15 at a midday envelope-opening ceremony.

We and the Axners tried to recreate a similarly formal atmosphere by wearing clean(er) clothes and underwear. AS we were twelve hours ahead, this meant recreating the event around midnight.

Our official match evening commenced with a late dinner, a trip to the Haagen-Dazs cafe, and hopping three Thai pubs.

On our way to the third pub (around 11 PM) we received the call from Minnesota - one whole hour before we expected it!

[Drum roll...]
Northwestern University in Chicago, Illinois!
[Drum hit]

Throw the confetti - the future has been spoken, and it is good! We spent the next two hours celebrating and, well, breathing.

If you're looking for us this Summer, we'll be in Chicago (Sara: medical residency program at Northwestern / Scott: computer science PhD and research at Northwestern). Anybody on the North Side want two clean houseguests for the next four years?

After completing our international "Midnight Match," we believe our system to be superior than that put on by American medical schools. Our system may be more perfect - informal, colorful, celebratory, and with the optional assistance of dirt-cheap alcohol. (Of course, we have no basis for comparison.)

We have some gentle planning and sighs of relief ahead of us - we'll have plenty of time for the former (probably not the latter) on our next endeavor... A six-day climb to the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro! (dum, dum, dum!)

We leave for Nairobi today - we'll try to be in touch before we start our ascent.

To all of our Minnesota med-friends: congratulations on your excellent matches. We wish we could be there with you, as long as we could return here without any time elapsing. Due to the physical implausibility of this, we send you an electronic high-five.

[Smack]

Hot damn.

The Northern Thai Trek

We'd have been fools not to partake in Northern Thailand's top visitor attraction: trekking. We signed up for a private four-person, three-day two-night trek with the Axners and a designated guide.

Pan, our gentle, all-knowing Shirpa (playable by a young Pete Postlethwaite) picked us up from our hotel and drove us to the elephant training grounds (read: elephant school). They begin education at age six, reach their peak education at age eighteen, and retire to the tropical woodlands at age sixty-five - much like us humans. They have an abundance of free roaming space and live richer lives than many humans (so don't feel bad when you see the video we captured of the elephants doing their little dance). We rode on elephant-back for an hour through varying terrain, then we began our trek.

The first day was a three-hour uphill trek to a small village where we stayed the night in a "farang" (white foreigner) cabin. Pan cooked us a feast of soup, chili paste, and stir-fry, and we crashed after several hands of rummy.

• 1:00 AM: Cock-a-doodle-doooooo! Cock-a-doo! ...a chorus of roosters perform a medley of varying lyrics, intonations, and gusto. Interesting to witness.
• 1:05 AM: We lose interest.
• 1:30 AM: Ahh, silence. Sleep at last.
• 1:50 AM: Chorus begins next verse. Repeat every twenty minutes until 7:00 AM.
• 7:30 AM: Breakfast, discuss beheading the village roosters.
  

The next day held a seven-hour trek, mostly uphill, through varying terrain - woodlands (reminiscent of Northern Minnesota), rainforest with parasitic strangle-vines and orchids, meadows of green tea bushes, and a sprawling bamboo forest. Wild banana trees were scattered throughout - if you opt to peel and eat one of their fruits, mind the seeds). Pan mentioned the possibility of sampling some authentic Thai moonshine (fermented from corn) at the destination village.

By 4 PM we arrived at our next accommodation, Baan Pha Daeng - a tiny Lahu village. We slept and ate in a charming bamboo and thatch hut on stilts with a private porch, adjacent to similar cabins. If you view it from the front, you can see a half-obstructed view of the landscape behind it; though the bamboo paneling represents privacy, frosted bathroom glass would suppress more sights and sounds.

We ate another of Pan's tasty Thai candlelight suppers, and he made good on the moonshine - it was warming, reminiscent of sake, and could probably fuel a small go-cart.

We turned in for bed two hours after sunset and lied on our backs on the floor of the bamboo hut, under our mosquito nets. At the risk of sounding pedantic and overly-sentimental, this is our account:

We could hear through the bamboo panels to the adjacent huts, and we could share in their evening episodes with our eyes closed: a teenage mother frustrated because her crying infant wouldn't feed, a nylon-stringed classical guitar strumming basic, open chords, a woman pouring used dishwater from her stilted porch onto a family of chicks, Pan speaking quiet Thai with a Lahu village elder.

The village finally fell silent for the night, the stray and wild dogs of Northern Thailand held a brief forum of howls, and then all that remained was the ring of the cicadas, phasing in and out of unison.

Hours later, the dogs and roosters reminded us that they, in fact, owned the morning, and we were merely members of their captive audience.

In recounting our other Southeast Asia experiences and sharing in Baan Pha Daeng's humanity, we had acquired a colorful, albeit rudimentary, understanding of life and culture in this corner of the world.

Though we suffered a nigh-sleepless night with a morning hike ahead of us, we were already comforted by the memories we'd created on this leg of our trip, and we regretted nothing.

We ended our trek yawning under the sun on a bamboo raft.

Eat some snow for us.