tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79413222428819926092024-03-19T20:28:10.004+00:00Impulse to TravelPaul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-37368239192104787282015-01-19T21:01:00.001+00:002017-05-12T07:40:06.601+01:00Night train to Mombasa<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">It has been a while since I took the night train from Nairobi to
Mombasa, but I still remember that last unforgettable journey and
my futile attempts to sleep.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The railway track was an engineering marvel of its time, created with
the intention of opening up markets in Uganda.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">There are two books to read which tell the story of how this line was
built, 'The Man Eaters of Tsavo' by Col J H Patterson and 'The Lunatic Express'
by Charles Miller; where everyday hazards included </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 18px;">waterless deserts and </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">consumption by lion . The hunt for the lions was made into the film 'The
Ghost and the Darkness'.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Despite all the odds the railway has lasted the test of time, which for
Africa <i>is</i> impressive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">My previous trip to the coast by overnight bus had been enlivened by
unscheduled stops in remote dark places for unknown reasons, where the
slightest light attracted vast swarms of flying insects into the
coach to happily feast upon their captive audience for the remainder of the
journey. I felt sure any alternative would be an improvement.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">In Nairobi the train was clean and smart, with sittings organised for
dinner and the service was great. It all looked quite promising until it was
time to turn in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">It quickly became apparent that there was going to be a party in the
next compartment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">They had come well prepared with a primitive music machine and two
unspeakable tracks which they played again and again at increasing volume.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">One visit to the near riot next door assured me reason would not
prevail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I returned with a selection of my favourite African music tapes as a
contribution to the revelries and left them to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The rest of that terrible night was to hear my once favoured music
tracks slowly murdered at volumes I would not have thought possible for the
human ear to endure .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Sometimes the train stopped and the faint hope the torture would soon be
brought to a close was extinguished, until with agonising slowness the
journey shuddered back into life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Finally as the sun came up you could feel the temperature increase as
the coast drew near.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">The music had expired and the inhabitants of that appalling pit next
door lay sprawled, stunned unconscious by the racket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">I left the train, excited to be back in Mombasa, and assured that
however tired I felt, my nocturnal suffering would be as nothing compared to
what my fellow passengers were about to endure when they woke up.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The landmark tusks - Mombasa</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Today the lunatic express is an experience for the history books</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> for in May 2017 it ran for the last time; the end of a legend.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">After my
first camel safari the length of Somalia, I was hooked. There is only one thing better in life than
loading your camels in the pre dawn
darkness, with the embers of last nights blaze slowly dying away and another day
in the deserts of Africa and Asia to look forward to; and that is making the same journey by
the light of a full moon.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Camels are so
much more than transport. They are perfectly adapted to semi arid environments; their soft padded
feet suited to the fragile soils and their
selective browsing quite unlike the devastation caused by overstocked herds of
cattle and flocks of goats.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">As for
personality, when you get to know them, each has its own character and temper,
and if mistreated they will remember and wait for that moment when you are all
on your own and no one is looking. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Camels are bred for a wide range of characteristics be it milk production, riding or pack camels. In the Middle East a good racing camel can be worth a small fortune. For me they are simply the best excuse to travel in and experience remote lands.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5RldRqLGOTEYRppF49noHBIqX0v9h41F2nDsHUYZwHh_0fxmoSK2p3sLf39xOp7QoQNsAZnj2aDwanugeUdvBGv0yRE2LHD_pmX6oTo6SKHi6nzQf4_jC7QNKJ0Fq4zpRx5P4yVn6M25/s1600/paul+kenya+camel+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA5RldRqLGOTEYRppF49noHBIqX0v9h41F2nDsHUYZwHh_0fxmoSK2p3sLf39xOp7QoQNsAZnj2aDwanugeUdvBGv0yRE2LHD_pmX6oTo6SKHi6nzQf4_jC7QNKJ0Fq4zpRx5P4yVn6M25/s1600/paul+kenya+camel+5.jpg" height="400" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">one big camel </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjunzIOPaJicaMJ-SGkkyZ4Dc8lvYbshGSulAqRiGlqkgpg3_7lyWRHxbgF_ZqWjj2BozYCRIwUfU-sUs9YDyF4Yg11fUZzTKEzmfYWFaFOo9nP3Ny-Vl4i6RZ4NjetkfGyzgrh7JTUN0s7/s1600/paul+camel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjunzIOPaJicaMJ-SGkkyZ4Dc8lvYbshGSulAqRiGlqkgpg3_7lyWRHxbgF_ZqWjj2BozYCRIwUfU-sUs9YDyF4Yg11fUZzTKEzmfYWFaFOo9nP3Ny-Vl4i6RZ4NjetkfGyzgrh7JTUN0s7/s1600/paul+camel.jpg" height="268" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perfectly adapted for semi arid environments.</td></tr>
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Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-20247471578600893482013-08-24T10:34:00.000+01:002017-04-27T09:01:09.770+01:00Northern Pakistan - Takht I Bahi, Churchill’s Piquet and the Malakand Pass. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Northern
Pakistan is a land of superlatives. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The area
abounds in Buddhist temples and stupas to remind you of the rich heritage that
stretched north to Afghanistan and the now tragically destroyed Bamyan Buddhas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Takht I Bahi
started out as a Zoroastrian temple before it began its long history as a Buddhist
monastery. Its magnificent hilltop location protected it from the ravages of wars and
invaders that have swept by through the ages.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">As the finest and most complete Buddhist monastery in Pakistan, it was listed
a UNESCO world heritage site in 1990. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4QzMbFn9YuLjuzoaDV2jhoR9YJaJ7sOXfLsw0ObrHy2YxxdI7Ii2HA2w3tVyA7J4ZndP898Z8B7fF-36C4_xfVUtMhkaRuLjz5Rgbp7UXvfeUmxqO7B-us4nj5PgHfF6CEi34tOi2NK8y/s1600/Pakistan+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4QzMbFn9YuLjuzoaDV2jhoR9YJaJ7sOXfLsw0ObrHy2YxxdI7Ii2HA2w3tVyA7J4ZndP898Z8B7fF-36C4_xfVUtMhkaRuLjz5Rgbp7UXvfeUmxqO7B-us4nj5PgHfF6CEi34tOi2NK8y/s1600/Pakistan+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Takht I Bahi</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXI0uePsi9Qoi_wJ9GT_3D2o1uNhCCo9Z-h-iKXXsUF5trimjuPxO9y_gtk_PUPmN95RxGXAdTTUJO7qklLdMskgTwO7UwRvqfbETtG66rKuxDtpr9t6Cky4hyat6uw9BHmXv9ImpawUQ/s1600/Pakistan+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXI0uePsi9Qoi_wJ9GT_3D2o1uNhCCo9Z-h-iKXXsUF5trimjuPxO9y_gtk_PUPmN95RxGXAdTTUJO7qklLdMskgTwO7UwRvqfbETtG66rKuxDtpr9t6Cky4hyat6uw9BHmXv9ImpawUQ/s400/Pakistan+6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the road to the Malakand pass</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUe25qr7q9K3xwaCYxYYC277vTAP-7jIeCeVewy27qGpdxXeo5WH0B2IPtE1VUh-8Leqt0qpxnYHQmvnz71gMrBh-Ea1aLv5iw3zzRWb66i04nKCIeh1Ue3-uCg5vCPgUe3PTgQSe7N-7/s1600/Pakistan+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHUe25qr7q9K3xwaCYxYYC277vTAP-7jIeCeVewy27qGpdxXeo5WH0B2IPtE1VUh-8Leqt0qpxnYHQmvnz71gMrBh-Ea1aLv5iw3zzRWb66i04nKCIeh1Ue3-uCg5vCPgUe3PTgQSe7N-7/s1600/Pakistan+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">I first travelled through Malakand and the Malakand pass in the 1990’s. The Chitral relief force passed this way in April 1895 leading to the formation of the Malakand field force.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";">The Pathan tribes and the British go back a long way. </span><span style="font-family: "arial";">Serving in the Malakand field force a young Winston Churchill gave his name to a fort still perched high on the side of the Swat valley.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJh3KLOgMicrW4lLi0nGeB50HG_RPtP5WLVJaIemifDSUa98jUyB2CvSkbB3ZFHRkY9GD9Ia7_2oWEK7FebyghFkaCbiSeC_ZyEosM52cXSIm03BhilHPj334ahnMqG2mhmkQYfVLa-8h/s1600/Pakistan+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJh3KLOgMicrW4lLi0nGeB50HG_RPtP5WLVJaIemifDSUa98jUyB2CvSkbB3ZFHRkY9GD9Ia7_2oWEK7FebyghFkaCbiSeC_ZyEosM52cXSIm03BhilHPj334ahnMqG2mhmkQYfVLa-8h/s1600/Pakistan+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lower Swat valley</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2upin7vFBmhhSC-ZiWHGlD-w_FWafgIQ7WTRiR3zp8IeClCW5BWbIZyOebN7q2AcOBdslvRWfqh4esdiVNGzehMyzzh20OY7NsBokfnpOFa-Y2Idy-ppCGh_pITPlThFGXBd46V8wfWLV/s1600/Pakistan+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2upin7vFBmhhSC-ZiWHGlD-w_FWafgIQ7WTRiR3zp8IeClCW5BWbIZyOebN7q2AcOBdslvRWfqh4esdiVNGzehMyzzh20OY7NsBokfnpOFa-Y2Idy-ppCGh_pITPlThFGXBd46V8wfWLV/s1600/Pakistan+4.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Churchill's Piquet - high above the valley</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="299" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTkExeLFLAKMYd1f9vVRNaZkG7sfbiOGvTOnNCvlnaO3BKFtfJn" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The malakand pass today</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Upper Swat has been compared to Switzerland for its panoramic landscapes, but any further comparison would be greatly misleading. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">As a land of high adventure this really is the genuine article.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="238" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQzbsMzcaekhDy7whEWZB6jqRmF1Jit7eoECk0i8btdPecG0Uqt" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upper Swat</td></tr>
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<a href="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRqjTSQPX7qDcSOuVnrZDZUFrHS2Bx4tHI5AI00ZT-NqNAZ59JI" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRqjTSQPX7qDcSOuVnrZDZUFrHS2Bx4tHI5AI00ZT-NqNAZ59JI" width="320" /></a></div>
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Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-67863813393429395572013-08-04T09:06:00.000+01:002015-01-19T22:19:43.757+00:00Zwedru - Liberia<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Years of
working in conflict zones meant inevitably that you had to sit down and deal with
some very questionable people.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Often it was
just hustlers trying to scrape a living from whatever angle they were touting.
Occasionally it was more serious when presented with the option to hire trucks or other equipment
that had clearly been looted from their original owners. Peeled off letters
from Agency landcruisers, tended to leave a clear outline on the vehicles
paintwork.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Then once in
a while you met someone who simply radiated bad news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They could exude the charm of a self
confidence backed up by their militia and a terrified<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>local population; or they would just maintain
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a brooding silence, their face hidden
behind <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a pair of dark sunglasses. Some
had inflicted considerable suffering on the population amongst which they still
continued to live</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Zwedru
located in the far south east of Liberia was identified as a centre for an
agricultural rehabilitation programme. Access at that time was by helicopter, with
ECOMOG<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>maintaining a visible presence on the ground. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw4xXfdOagzDFTbFN0jY7xnSqEWA2Mp1DFwk_i8TetwUBBp9xCn9AAOyNwj7dlXNafkBKR3kUiyiCjApRm_FULgjoyct6qKZWzPpzU3AUbnMnm9YhCeD7mCOcr0m3ahuFVlXFUPCNyZsPH/s1600/Africa+scan++%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw4xXfdOagzDFTbFN0jY7xnSqEWA2Mp1DFwk_i8TetwUBBp9xCn9AAOyNwj7dlXNafkBKR3kUiyiCjApRm_FULgjoyct6qKZWzPpzU3AUbnMnm9YhCeD7mCOcr0m3ahuFVlXFUPCNyZsPH/s1600/Africa+scan++%25285%2529.jpg" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mhQA7u2bBlId33eVmGiBl57Rw8zZP11bpewWV35oRf-y1FeQcf7TILfUn8C1IUCXwupNs4KVGS9D9fJAbe79NwCMR-1dkG5bGYpLEi5lcYs-Gwyu7uxehs1CHnw2SEBFBNYEjUrtQttQ/s1600/Africa+scan++%25284%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mhQA7u2bBlId33eVmGiBl57Rw8zZP11bpewWV35oRf-y1FeQcf7TILfUn8C1IUCXwupNs4KVGS9D9fJAbe79NwCMR-1dkG5bGYpLEi5lcYs-Gwyu7uxehs1CHnw2SEBFBNYEjUrtQttQ/s1600/Africa+scan++%25284%2529.jpg" height="263" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCC3YTw3xFbBCb8Ze34zsBehyphenhyphenYr1dK4qV6QpjMQ9cRwmG6iT5chTNj6C3NUS7Ggw7ghVOAjiS78CFYFahZAaq7ICekkHTfBUMa_8u_Qoa6FWdqTylQepr_hkD6tjwNBjDLeyxozfFyMdKJ/s1600/Africa+scan++%252813%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCC3YTw3xFbBCb8Ze34zsBehyphenhyphenYr1dK4qV6QpjMQ9cRwmG6iT5chTNj6C3NUS7Ggw7ghVOAjiS78CFYFahZAaq7ICekkHTfBUMa_8u_Qoa6FWdqTylQepr_hkD6tjwNBjDLeyxozfFyMdKJ/s1600/Africa+scan++%252813%2529.jpg" height="268" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An assessment of the agricultural infrastructure </td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">With a
Country Office already established in Monrovia, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it was time to identify a suitable base for a
field office. Introductions were made and I found myself in the presence of a group who had clearly been actively involved in the fighting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Both</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">sides had a vested interest. I needed a
compound to rent and they were after hard currency.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Options were limited but i</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">n the end I walked away from the deal as actual ownership was unclear. The last thing needed was to find the place had a complex history or worse.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil5vAjf8DmmQh3y1roUhlWI6FFaW0k_pcn-S1vvfJ23B_WRKGh24_D6j7g8wT_hpiw_UYHL_y2oX30w6cwHfUWxdLH2GU4U-GYnwLPnDX4AU-dHnpxeFljQE-aRl0onjaBvn6qw3p6ecEs/s1600/Africa+scan++%252824%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil5vAjf8DmmQh3y1roUhlWI6FFaW0k_pcn-S1vvfJ23B_WRKGh24_D6j7g8wT_hpiw_UYHL_y2oX30w6cwHfUWxdLH2GU4U-GYnwLPnDX4AU-dHnpxeFljQE-aRl0onjaBvn6qw3p6ecEs/s1600/Africa+scan++%252824%2529.jpg" height="263" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">I still
remember sitting down in that darkened room. eyes slowly adjusting after the glare of the </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">sun. The militia standing around the room, backs </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">against the wall whilst</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">their leader and I weighed each other up across
a table. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> It was on reflection the right decision.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhELeH2CJaQzQvfyNMsk2Vjz0MuPsRaKcyDUiBIF-FrW5Ov1JBoUVdYfBHHKbdC1fsLqKpxDfgjTqwH9-scptcfdMTGBWk_-vkOG6fkKUYddBSFngQd-EeEt2aSvcTxxlq0se3Fdsxvrg0J/s1600/Africa+scan++%252810%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhELeH2CJaQzQvfyNMsk2Vjz0MuPsRaKcyDUiBIF-FrW5Ov1JBoUVdYfBHHKbdC1fsLqKpxDfgjTqwH9-scptcfdMTGBWk_-vkOG6fkKUYddBSFngQd-EeEt2aSvcTxxlq0se3Fdsxvrg0J/s1600/Africa+scan++%252810%2529.jpg" height="400" width="268" /></a></div>
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Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-10492926669771848832013-07-27T18:09:00.001+01:002022-09-02T08:59:31.967+01:00Hargeisa –'Truly impressive'. - Somaliland<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">My first
visit to Hargeisa was in the 1980’s, walking camels up from Kismayo – it was one of those journeys that shapes your life forever. </span></div>
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">Back then Hargeisa the former capital of British
Somaliland </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">was showing its age. The
resident Isaaq clan were already pressing for greater autonomy, and as the country began its long slide into anarchy no-one could have imagined what the
President of Somalia, </span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">Siad Barre was
about to do next.</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">I returned
again in 1991 during a bleak period in the civil war to establish an
agricultural rehabilitation programme in the south of the Country, flying first
into Hargeisa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Alongside the airstrip a</span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif"> nomad was firing his M16 into the air, no-one paid attention. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">Hargeisa was a shock. All that remained of the old cinema was the flat concrete roof on
the ground, underneath lay the people that had been packed
into the building for shelter when it was bombed flat.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="299" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRY89seCTWxIcMBqArLlbBuI3Ph-WEF0x6VnMJJEsBtyzH8Rzej" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">Yet 1991 was
to be the year things began to take a turn for the better in Hargeisa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of slipping into the grip of
warlords, Somaliland chose a different path. Without international recognition and the associated financial support, they began to rebuild Hargeisa with their own hands to create
their State of Somaliland. What they have achieved is 'truly impressive' (a quote from the English Guardian newspaper).</span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">Most of the
money to fund this miracle has come via remittances from the diaspora</span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">, but there is a thriving commercial sector as well.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">Against all the odds Somaliland is a success in a region used to</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">bad news stories.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">Somaliland is
only recognised internationally as an autonomous region of Somalia and not as an
independent republic, which remains at odds with its existence as an independent State prior to merging with Italian
Somaliland in 1961.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">The icing on the cake for Hargeisa is the marvellous neolithic rock art cave system at Lass Gaal, discovered by the outside world in 2002.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Over 5,000 years old, they are some of the most pristine on the Continent. </span></span><br />
<div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="299" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSB90mrxHhAyloy3uiQ2RiByFpmSbwtdaDPxgLa_wldjgoKt8o--Q" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Laas Gaal cave painting</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">Somaliland
now has an elected parliament and a thriving economy, all
achieved from the rubble of a bombed out capital without large scale international aid.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">It just goes to show what can be achieved with determination and self-belief.</span></div>
Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-31320242192998694392013-07-21T10:10:00.000+01:002017-08-04T21:46:03.422+01:00Three Years in Lunsar - Sierra Leone<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">For a while
33 Portland Place London felt like my second home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Like the country it represented, it exuded a rumpled old world charm clearly in need of a makeover. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Downstairs across
a well-worn counter I accumulated numerous visas as I travelled to and from
Sierra Leone. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Sadly 33 Portland Place was later acquired by another leaseholder under very questionable circumstances and as a High Commission it is no more.</span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Lunsar in the
early 1990’s had already taken a battering from the fighting. Buildings still standing showed signs of gunfire.</span><br />
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEv59lUcj9H61cBaERs4m-pYlF4eGMZ7A8X8h8LEyG35uf20iELstRVQM3eXz_PrPBeLEKRTmwNAlX-ZTNX-9MJzwtoIkmW4ASjSFwc9nMLxeDQWvkbL0eJuhymD5miwP2Rp0QHkC6C5O/s1600/Sierra+Leone+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEv59lUcj9H61cBaERs4m-pYlF4eGMZ7A8X8h8LEyG35uf20iELstRVQM3eXz_PrPBeLEKRTmwNAlX-ZTNX-9MJzwtoIkmW4ASjSFwc9nMLxeDQWvkbL0eJuhymD5miwP2Rp0QHkC6C5O/s1600/Sierra+Leone+1.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hB9D_0pi1EJBp1xDdkt9tSkQw1hyLFUlQd1L9uY_X7eue8Kp0p-PcPDwQkYgVCtS1KozDxINYpexb4wrv1icgatumxP1HBODGhxzIWj8oc1EYb3Vkk1hF08PpK1wzn9QGvy6te2bj7c5/s1600/Africa+scan++%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3hB9D_0pi1EJBp1xDdkt9tSkQw1hyLFUlQd1L9uY_X7eue8Kp0p-PcPDwQkYgVCtS1KozDxINYpexb4wrv1icgatumxP1HBODGhxzIWj8oc1EYb3Vkk1hF08PpK1wzn9QGvy6te2bj7c5/s1600/Africa+scan++%25281%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Outside the town lay the
rusting machinery that had once chipped away at Massaboin Hill, a
mountain of iron ore which in the local dialect gave the town its name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Lunsar
was the base for a swamp rice rehabilitation programme in the surrounding countryside. Security
could best be described as fluid as the fighting ebbed and flowed to and from
the south and east of the country.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">It was hard
to believe that the Queen made a State visit here in 1961. Back
then some up country towns had street lighting. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">One day I paid a visit to an
old Paramount Chief, reduced to tears as he showed a framed black and white
photo of his introduction to the Queen during her tour. Outside few buildings
were left standing and the street lights had long since ceased to shine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">What makes
Sierra Leone special are the people. They are some of the nicest you will find
anywhere, despite one of the world’s worst mortality rates and the horrors of
what the RUF rebels perpetrated.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDChZOiWBSicmoySL7UCZYEGmrDpVU0WvH6NOuytHEKq6tMsEryWVdtGonG7f_wuLQtQhuvZZZn8a01uYnq6y6vJ8ngSqNhW1M85WFOccvXdvKZu_ofHC9WZT8cQHNY0i_tlxTxJJnV8pz/s1600/Rwanda+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDChZOiWBSicmoySL7UCZYEGmrDpVU0WvH6NOuytHEKq6tMsEryWVdtGonG7f_wuLQtQhuvZZZn8a01uYnq6y6vJ8ngSqNhW1M85WFOccvXdvKZu_ofHC9WZT8cQHNY0i_tlxTxJJnV8pz/s1600/Rwanda+%25283%2529.jpg" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The local blacksmith using hand bellows</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">By 1995 the
RUF had reached close to Lunsar and in places were only 20 km from Freetown.
This was the time of Executive Outcomes and their highly efficient campaign to
secure the Freetown perimeter and push back the rebels. When their funding was
stopped in 1997, the RUF inevitably overran the capital
with appalling consequences, leading eventually to the intervention of British
Forces.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Now finally
Freetown is again buzzing with new investment. A return visit to River
Number Two and Lumley beach, Freetown's cotton tree and Lunsar are long overdue. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUtnHue3c_AOURpYLOXx4pJd1FI6i0XlDdHHrtDht8F7Xcp_7Q52jlRs0s-s1lmGSFlMILYnWU8AcOKJTYzetxFpDW-lJwVWHNZhxGsc4-iJ-Qjk-T_kHBbuDOfaTsRX8ILEiahNa7eItb/s1600/Sierra+Leone+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUtnHue3c_AOURpYLOXx4pJd1FI6i0XlDdHHrtDht8F7Xcp_7Q52jlRs0s-s1lmGSFlMILYnWU8AcOKJTYzetxFpDW-lJwVWHNZhxGsc4-iJ-Qjk-T_kHBbuDOfaTsRX8ILEiahNa7eItb/s1600/Sierra+Leone+2.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boarding the Lungi ferry at Freetown</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-2885369405906618472013-07-13T20:54:00.000+01:002013-07-14T06:41:13.665+01:00A journey across Transnistria<span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">My first visit
to Transnistria followed on from a field visit to Moldova,
once one of the wine production regions of the Soviet central planning
system. Moldova is holder of a Guinness World record for the largest single
underground wine storage area –over 200 km of tunnels - Yes 200 km.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Moldova had
gained its independence with the fall of communism and turned toward Romania as
its bridge to the west whilst moving to the Latin script. The Russian
minority objected and a short war in 1992 ensued with Russia invited in as
peacekeepers. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The result is Transnistria a small section of eastern Moldova
across the Nistria River which has remained determinedly Russian. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">It is not a
recognised state and appears more Russian than Russia itself. Entering the
capital Tiraspol was quite literally stepping back in time to another era.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">Travel across
the border is reasonably straightforward and Transnistrians appear to be able
to travel to Moldova without any problems. However as it is only recognised by a
few equally marginal states such as South Ossetia and Abkhazia you are likely to be without consular support if you have a
problem.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRkKb3-48ZHoiCLXOGkbwMU5fNIiXvdppUgGWsnc55YHNjQl2wd" height="239" width="320" /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">If you
are in the region it is certainly worth the detour to step into one of the 21<sup>st</sup> century's unresolved political dilemmas. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif";">The people are polite and always excited to
try out their English language skills as travellers are a rarity. The one thing Transnistria is not geared up
for is tourism. Chisinau to Tiraspol to Odessa is in the summer a journey through soviet history in the region.</span>Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-47957505921110426052013-07-08T16:01:00.002+01:002022-09-09T12:41:19.958+01:00The Battle of TalasBased in Osh in the early 1990's, I needed to inspect factories in the Kyrgyz capital Bishkek to see if they could supply the kit I needed for a NGO programme in the central Tien Shan mountains. There was only one route from Osh to Bishkek through the Tien Shan which at that time was difficult even in summer.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With heavy snow on the ground and no local flights operational, the only alternative route was considerably longer. Andijan to Tashkent and then through Kazakhstan via Chimkent and Taraz then back into Kyrgyzstan to Bishkek, effectively circumventing the Tien Shan range.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fuel was purchased from vendors with glass jars by the side of the road. And then sliding from side to side into banks of deep snow I headed towards the Kazakh border and Chimkent. Away to all sides the snow lay deep and continued to fall.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmua9nfY3xYXavcZ4oPT-bxAmxrkydOm1hyphenhyphen1GDh2BNq13T1tT4p_GEd1H6O-hSSSEUOKwpCMNTP7cMNCONkqhdi6-7L7adXMoKDCI4kFxyTkW9Y8P7lukb4yIBxcS_ySvKIAWsbYpSP_O/s1600/Central+Asia+1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmua9nfY3xYXavcZ4oPT-bxAmxrkydOm1hyphenhyphen1GDh2BNq13T1tT4p_GEd1H6O-hSSSEUOKwpCMNTP7cMNCONkqhdi6-7L7adXMoKDCI4kFxyTkW9Y8P7lukb4yIBxcS_ySvKIAWsbYpSP_O/s1600/Central+Asia+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Soon the snow was blowing horizontally<br /><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
Back then Chimkent was still a lead smelting centre for the old centrally planned economy. Large clouds of dark brown smoke emitted from huge chimneys offered a distant welcome. One can only imagine what it was like to live there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Between Chimkent and Taraz a local bus stopped. It was one of those moments captured in time as an old lady alighted and marched off into the deep snow with no destination in sight, The wind chill outside was more suited to a polar explorer.</div>
<div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEI-CgoCJjSpNKDjiUisRyDr_1DvlTElh20fsqAYmNW07d2ng2nMb0EfAB2j5GdhItQPlqsGLIy0P66Dqfzel3F2zHaK-AuudPLSbIp7KwKqgtbl4VxBNvCdEJWgTvWv7e3zmTz7nyLGju/s1600/Central+Asia+2.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEI-CgoCJjSpNKDjiUisRyDr_1DvlTElh20fsqAYmNW07d2ng2nMb0EfAB2j5GdhItQPlqsGLIy0P66Dqfzel3F2zHaK-AuudPLSbIp7KwKqgtbl4VxBNvCdEJWgTvWv7e3zmTz7nyLGju/s1600/Central+Asia+2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Off into a polar landscape</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The next way point on the journey was Taraz. Nearby in 751 AD the defining battle of Talas was fought between Arabs and the Chinese Tang Dynasty which changed the course of history for Central Asia.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Abbasid Caliphate won and Chinese influence and Buddhism thereafter faded in Central Asia, with a corresponding rise in the influence of Islam . There is also a belief that Chinese paper makers captured during the battle facilitated the transfer of paper making technology to the Muslim world and later to the West. Until that point the Chinese had kept the manufacture of paper a state secret. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then finally I arrived back in Bishkek which is one of the most welcoming cities in Central Asia. Of recent construction, it remains a time capsule of Czarist and Soviet town planning with wide boulevards and a central monument to the Kyrgyz hero Manas.</div>
<div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSIoK0KhxYQ7unI9ni6r6B7xkmzSGBodsKmuWexvdCJvisek7snRg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSIoK0KhxYQ7unI9ni6r6B7xkmzSGBodsKmuWexvdCJvisek7snRg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Manas</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div>
<div>
The Epic of Manas is a poem of over 500,000 lines recalling his leadership of the Kyrgyz around the 16th Century, making it the third longest poem in history (after the Mahabharata and the Tibetan Epic of King Gesar). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Traditional Kyrgyz storytellers known as the Manaschi, recite the Epic. Those few that can recite the entire Epic from memory are revered as Great Manaschis.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-54278350017836682652013-06-29T08:18:00.001+01:002020-12-30T22:04:21.925+00:00A winter in Osh - Kyrgyzstan<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">For over 2,000 years Osh has been a landmark of Central Asia. Alexander
the Great passed through on his way towards India and it was a key trading centre on the Silk Road. It is also one
of the few cities left from the old days that retains its statue of Lenin in the central square.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">Osh is a
gateway to the Pamir Highway that leads to Kherog in Tajikistan and then
finally on to Dushambe. It is an epic journey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">I have since been back many times but that first
winter in the early 90's was a real shock after Africa. The cold and wind chill ensured every field trip required careful planning.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""></span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">The old order had departed back
to the Russian Federation taking its expertise and Kyrgyzstan existed in a surreal twilight
zone, quite unsure of what was going to happen next. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">People made
the best of a difficult time. </span><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">Dances were held in the Hotel Osh. The heating
had failed and in that sub zero freezer, people danced dressed in thick fur
coats and hats. </span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">Stalls out in
the snow sold shashliks and plov and champanski and beer. Soft drinks and beer were
hopeless as they froze in the bottle before you could swallow them. Some local
vodkas were drinkable, but many tasted suspiciously of diluted diesel.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">Above Osh is
the Sulayman Mountain, Kyrgyzstan's only world heritage site. A mosque on the top was built by Babur a decendant of Tamerlane. Streams of ribbons attached to branches mark the way to the top, left to invoke prayers and wishes, particularly by women hoping for children.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQb038vWzX4gIzTZGZGT4pkUqr5JjD6-BRmmRb3c5-8UK3P4ATWnRQw-qG6rk1FTKHb6M1BwWl_iNNRPuc5RDsfbQ1k9DqHcq0caKPF_rXYdN0jPJVFlPGf7SIxpbYRK6xndW5Gi2AAigN/s600/10-CNV00010.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQb038vWzX4gIzTZGZGT4pkUqr5JjD6-BRmmRb3c5-8UK3P4ATWnRQw-qG6rk1FTKHb6M1BwWl_iNNRPuc5RDsfbQ1k9DqHcq0caKPF_rXYdN0jPJVFlPGf7SIxpbYRK6xndW5Gi2AAigN/s600/10-CNV00010.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On top of the Sulayman Mountain</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">Osh Market is
one of the biggest in Central Asia and that winter it was encased in thick ice
which made staying upright virtually impossible.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif"><br /></span>
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">The crowd was so dense it was also virtually impossible to fall over, so
when you began to slide it was a human version of pin ball as with increasing
speed you bounced off the Kyrgyz around you until someone would grab hold until
you regained your balance. Most fruit were seasonally available and non
existent in winter. The pickled variety for winter consumption left a lot to be desired.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvVdW5jBWMvgX9ASl_Omu1L_0ADunJ9yYEolWGEx2uXuXgSqiipq4VFaBmnT7A6z5DklF9F8cqy7nzq0AazZtkfAI5FXLFfkKuvZ937JQrOV3HUBFnHd7QopF-Cytf51aQU-MrsaMYzhV/s601/Paul+Kyrgyzstan+4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvVdW5jBWMvgX9ASl_Omu1L_0ADunJ9yYEolWGEx2uXuXgSqiipq4VFaBmnT7A6z5DklF9F8cqy7nzq0AazZtkfAI5FXLFfkKuvZ937JQrOV3HUBFnHd7QopF-Cytf51aQU-MrsaMYzhV/s601/Paul+Kyrgyzstan+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bus stop in the shape of the national hat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span face=""arial" , sans-serif">When spring
arrived the city was transformed into a carpet of blossom. The snows finally
melted and travel into the surrounding mountains was at last possible.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsvGoaGrpzhaKylh7ycG9H5o3nE9YFc65-rJjVb9Chpf7NbSB2B8Ab7namM0GNqHMaEAYg-A0fHJsq29zZYixQufBz6U7JkTS4Rdhr7aApRJmAXeZOSh2ajlUKJNaM5oa1YtY-c-kBsP_/s335/Paul+Kyrgystan+1.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCsvGoaGrpzhaKylh7ycG9H5o3nE9YFc65-rJjVb9Chpf7NbSB2B8Ab7namM0GNqHMaEAYg-A0fHJsq29zZYixQufBz6U7JkTS4Rdhr7aApRJmAXeZOSh2ajlUKJNaM5oa1YtY-c-kBsP_/s335/Paul+Kyrgystan+1.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
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Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-2920177646513763032013-06-22T08:47:00.000+01:002017-05-12T07:41:55.075+01:00Hanoi & the hill tribes<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Hanoi in the
early 1990’s was different from Saigon. Much more a sense of State control. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYb8VJiR0TNacMSOfBsdE7sbf-5c2m19B6xWfHWlO8ve71aS1235wKpTUdagQxyJdoE2oHl5cQoEm3yGW5BW6RZ7K3n5f818U1qvxbmRklXHT1tIQbzTHa8BQfIrCAUAliwvxNG_p3aFHB/s1600/1-Vietnam+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYb8VJiR0TNacMSOfBsdE7sbf-5c2m19B6xWfHWlO8ve71aS1235wKpTUdagQxyJdoE2oHl5cQoEm3yGW5BW6RZ7K3n5f818U1qvxbmRklXHT1tIQbzTHa8BQfIrCAUAliwvxNG_p3aFHB/s1600/1-Vietnam+1.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The museum's tribute to
the war of independence<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>included a
panoramic model of Dien Bien Phu surrounded by French tourists of a certain age
recalling their place in the battle. There are numerous collections of arms, munitions and pilots helmets recovered during the fighting.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOk7Mqu0gteprAyOtMBsarWsAJbrktBoAjGgV_xmdhb1CygCg_vZ7T7EDDVOhKiwvz9kPQrLIH9KsQw35iGC78pYdfUOW9Yn4_XyAO3bUfoKsSpvsTyLk3VAb4zb-3ypWY6u_e-EPoXoIm/s1600/8-Vietnam+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOk7Mqu0gteprAyOtMBsarWsAJbrktBoAjGgV_xmdhb1CygCg_vZ7T7EDDVOhKiwvz9kPQrLIH9KsQw35iGC78pYdfUOW9Yn4_XyAO3bUfoKsSpvsTyLk3VAb4zb-3ypWY6u_e-EPoXoIm/s1600/8-Vietnam+8.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A military history museum<br />
<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The traffic in Hanoi even then was becoming a challenge. The side roads were still quiet, but in the busiest hours the main streets were a continuous flow of mopeds and motorbikes moving at speed and stopping for nothing. You really did take your life in your hands when crossing the road. These days it's much worse.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQfcIp-MTuMK4WkgF13rCEEP0stOa0IinG0kZ4goFVs-a4L6a-YWLn8w5iO5_M3U8b5ZaTiAxnE4WYakJj_UpJYI_c2kQUvdFPwt7b_sC4cvnZgvNkWiQikabT2Dwd3KAw9JYdSKFVdRx3/s1600/4-Vietnam+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQfcIp-MTuMK4WkgF13rCEEP0stOa0IinG0kZ4goFVs-a4L6a-YWLn8w5iO5_M3U8b5ZaTiAxnE4WYakJj_UpJYI_c2kQUvdFPwt7b_sC4cvnZgvNkWiQikabT2Dwd3KAw9JYdSKFVdRx3/s1600/4-Vietnam+4.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before the traffic really deteriorated</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrfGaMo1eqnt85xujkn8Jmb2hl2rrUngSq9q3ilmJ4_6zhP2JGeGN2dzVCCmtZXrtUZb8YR75uzW4F1NzAZwYSOfZrrpYm5acFETF6iPmGMolOW9yOS4sP4bgl_nJo_MhtWNqrJBtAcuhV/s1600/3-Vietnam+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrfGaMo1eqnt85xujkn8Jmb2hl2rrUngSq9q3ilmJ4_6zhP2JGeGN2dzVCCmtZXrtUZb8YR75uzW4F1NzAZwYSOfZrrpYm5acFETF6iPmGMolOW9yOS4sP4bgl_nJo_MhtWNqrJBtAcuhV/s1600/3-Vietnam+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">At night the
streets came alive to the noise and smells of Hanoi street food. The locals set
out their stalls on the pavement and start cooking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favourite was an elderly lady who turned the
front of an oily garage into her emporium, producing the most amazing chilli beef
on a two upturned crates.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Qd2Sqv_SyDizuUzbn-rX9tsGtmLH6VTMbEretU8JhrWYsFnXdD_Yf2zOxXkcbp_YOerHrmvKQ1NYFzDr2sXjXJ7e-VWawMvgqe4_x3TGVUlmseA7uxcKJq1ZNCVdV41D7V7VNLEAJijr/s1600/7-Vietnam+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Qd2Sqv_SyDizuUzbn-rX9tsGtmLH6VTMbEretU8JhrWYsFnXdD_Yf2zOxXkcbp_YOerHrmvKQ1NYFzDr2sXjXJ7e-VWawMvgqe4_x3TGVUlmseA7uxcKJq1ZNCVdV41D7V7VNLEAJijr/s1600/7-Vietnam+7.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hanoi Flag Tower. <br />
Over 200 years old with views across the city .</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Hanoi was the
base to travel upto the Sapa hill tribes for a proposed development programme. In the early 1990's Sa Pa District was just opening up and outsiders were a rarity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Sa Pa is a
land to take your breath away, but only when the sun comes out. Otherwise the view is restricted to a few metres of fog and drizzle and there are many days of fog in Sa Pa.</span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img class="rg_i" data-src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQfIl94BJsLZMAQ__MKhkxKRbUm3mUbtXeiqK23cs2ZOJSrn_O1DA" data-sz="f" name="bkVm71VlzIyQQM:" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQfIl94BJsLZMAQ__MKhkxKRbUm3mUbtXeiqK23cs2ZOJSrn_O1DA" style="height: 189px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; width: 267px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rice terraces </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-41704289110000172852013-06-15T21:28:00.000+01:002017-04-24T11:28:25.831+01:00Zanzibar - The Spice Islands<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Zanzibar is a unique place that draws you back.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">An immense
sense of history pervades the main Island Unguja, from the first Portuguese explorers <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>through to the rule of the Omani Arabs and <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Livingstone’s last lodging before he left for
the interior. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The magical Stone Town is now a UNESCO world heritage site, and
the cathedral of Christ Church<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>built
on the site of one of Africa’s biggest slave markets with the altar sited over
the location of the main whipping post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
Cathedral also holds a wooden cross made from the tree under which Livingstone’s
heart was buried at Chitambo.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"></span><br />
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</div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It is also as
everyone keeps reminding you </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">the
birthplace of the Parsi - Farrokh Bulsara whose family practised the Zoroastrian
religion first brought to these Island's by Persian traders around the time of the
decline of the Roman Empire. Farrokh was better known to the wider world as
Freddie Mercury – lead singer of Queen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4Bphl_fgt7yyoBcyy5efjYRDvIo1_RT22jhzz8O5uJSLI87deqeF6FzJa6ai5m1cpxDvveSBsUVSgRFeMgeEdDi1U-1sktFA_pb47KVHJCMOX1BjR7t1nDqdJSGK2Ra9ZrKkvjISlr5p/s1600/01-Zanzibar+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4Bphl_fgt7yyoBcyy5efjYRDvIo1_RT22jhzz8O5uJSLI87deqeF6FzJa6ai5m1cpxDvveSBsUVSgRFeMgeEdDi1U-1sktFA_pb47KVHJCMOX1BjR7t1nDqdJSGK2Ra9ZrKkvjISlr5p/s1600/01-Zanzibar+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the beach</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Zanzibar also
comprises the smaller island of Pemba to the north of the main Island.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Here there are far fewer visitors, but many
who do come, often across vast distances are there as students. Pemba remains an important
centre of learning for voodoo and traditional healers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">
Stone Town
remains a must see and my favourite place to stay is the great Emersons House,
a restored Omani Palace.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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The east
coast beaches border crystal clear waters and the smell of cloves drifts across
the Islands from the plantations.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0nFIHjVMyetEStQO2aalXXm01mVx0hAeJWB1xotYTfKzGmY6HCjTnN6u6YGLJmvoUw32jP4mMZ_dBBMmiYbSOpdp23zPgYm3MvjLtbYs078TLJk_lrRqOxPb7GFzM2ezYOohjR5FnuU8q/s1600/12-Zanzibar+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0nFIHjVMyetEStQO2aalXXm01mVx0hAeJWB1xotYTfKzGmY6HCjTnN6u6YGLJmvoUw32jP4mMZ_dBBMmiYbSOpdp23zPgYm3MvjLtbYs078TLJk_lrRqOxPb7GFzM2ezYOohjR5FnuU8q/s1600/12-Zanzibar+12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">seaweed farming</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZmyceJnyNC2eQIT11R0eGKHjINeOT2mCSNbwx-r03erjOzAVN-Q7yWhU5Uf_Cn-6gg31Y4zs4QU7yHN0VV_2hOLSkEiPU4se1Nlh3tWrjfaI2zvYshONjyPnlZw-iknwEpqpOZC_dLDZ/s1600/05-Zanzibar+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLZmyceJnyNC2eQIT11R0eGKHjINeOT2mCSNbwx-r03erjOzAVN-Q7yWhU5Uf_Cn-6gg31Y4zs4QU7yHN0VV_2hOLSkEiPU4se1Nlh3tWrjfaI2zvYshONjyPnlZw-iknwEpqpOZC_dLDZ/s1600/05-Zanzibar+5.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">There are
many layers to the history and culture of this place including a volatile
political record since independence from Britain in 1963.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">When you scratch the surface, there is a
great deal more to these islands than most travellers will ever see.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset</td></tr>
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Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-67917546433480359372013-06-10T21:41:00.000+01:002017-05-24T08:25:06.261+01:0030,000 feet over the Sahara - Flying in Africa & Central AsiaAcross Africa and Central Asia international flights are by
and large uneventful, with regional hubs such as Abidjan and Nairobi perfectly OK. However, mention old favourites such as
N’djili and Murtala Muhammed and hardened field workers will wilt at the
memory.<br />
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In fairness many of the truly awful anecdotes hark back to
darker times.<br />
<br />
Murtala used to be nothing
more than an organised crime shakedown from the plane to and including the taxi
outside. No one who knew would go
anywhere near the place. You either flew to Kano or over to Togo and drove back
across the border.<br />
<br />
These days it is a revelation in comparison. This was
certainly helped by a shoot to kill policy, to deter the habit of blocking international
aircraft taxiing on the ramp and then robbing the cargo hold as passengers
looked on through the plane windows.<br />
<br /></div>
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N’djili in DRC
certainly has seen better days. Today it is OK getting in if you retain a steady nerve, though more of a challenge getting out.
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
International flights from the better organised hubs
can still be interesting.<br />
<br />
Two from
memory are a hard landing at night in Jomo Kenyatta. The pilot of the twin prop
came on the tannoy to announce that whilst we may have considered it a hard landing
he thought it was excellent, as the airport had just had a total power failure
including the landing lights.<br />
<br />
Having
found our way into the customs hall by a set of stairs (it was pitch black), I
spent the next hour standing over the customs officer with my torch
whilst he stamped everyone’s passports.</div>
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<br />
At Dushambe the plane was wildly overloaded. The standing passengers forced off
through the front exit, promptly ran to the back and returned through
the rear exit. This continued in suffocating heat until the guards finally
closed the front exit and stood with pointed rifles at the rear.<br />
<br />
A vivid memory was an airbus flight from Abidjan on a European
airline that thankfully no longer exists. Suffice to say it was the national carrier
for a country created in 1831.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
.<br />
Somewhere
over the Sahara on a beautiful moonlit night one of the engines made the sort
of noise you really do not want to hear at 30,000 ft, on a two engine plane. <br />
<br />
Then slowly and inexorably we began to descend.<o:p></o:p><br />
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Absolutely nothing was heard from the flight desk as crowds
began forming at the windows pointing excitedly. Time passed the dunes grew
larger, and ground speed increased. By
now the passengers was really excited, some were kneeling and praying.<br />
<br />
The sound of the
landing gear going down caused even more panic as belly landings are not
performed well with wheels extended. Looking out the windows there was absolutely
nothing to see apart from high moonlit dunes, speeding past just below us. Then
suddenly we flared and with a loud bang we were down.</div>
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<br />
All was still and calm. There was no communication
from the deck. Time passed until an exit door slowly opened and a head appeared in
the darkness. We were all marched down a set of steps and into a small
passenger holding area. The crew disembarked separately and vanished forever.<br />
<br />
It turned out that we were in the Algerian Sahara. Our onward journey to Europe was
finally accomplished in one of the decrepit Russian planes that abound
Africa. After the fall of communism,
they just never went home.<o:p></o:p></div>
Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-91268516314218961792013-06-10T20:30:00.000+01:002019-04-24T12:24:47.896+01:00The pool by the Jacaranda - Nairobi Kenya<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Travel has
inevitably included many nights in far flung hotels ranging from rat infested
hovels to historic gems. Favourites have
included Deans in Peshawar and the beach huts in Zanzibar - with revolving ceiling fans at neck height. In Liberia Mamba Point was at
one time one of the few safe place to stay in the country with nightly rates
fixed accordingly, and Abidjan's Hotel Marly endlessly playing Celine Dion’s album 'D'eux' .</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">For Kenya,
The Fairview was the traditional colonial hotel in Nairobi exuding character,
with the balcony of The Norfolk the place to meet. However the old Jacaranda remains my favourite. The Jacaranda
no longer exists in its old form. It was taken over by new owners revamped and is now a modern hotel. Back then every day was a new adventure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The Jacaranda
became the base for many aid workers going in to or from Somalia during the
fighting of the early 1990’s. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Sometimes
water flowed from the taps and sometimes it did not. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">One day a broken water mains was repaired when everyone had
gone out for the day leaving their non functioning taps on, resulting in a spectacular waterfall from the top balconies with the
torrent pouring out under the doors. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">On another day the pool was a sea of shampoo bubbles. It was the only place left to
wash. It took some time to clean the pool out and refill it for its normal use.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><img class="rg_i" data-sz="f" height="150" name="vvgVb93UiS7-bM:" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRWZNoYjEirbRGkalSXCZu0DlTGV6JguBjNdhMgZMBTIKFHRFyW" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;" width="200" /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The Jacaranda sometimes employed newly qualified staff fresh from catering college. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Two stood behind me one evening having a
blazing row - should I be served from the left or the right.
Eventually the girl threw the bowl of soup to the floor and stormed off; I
remained unfed.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">I also
managed to incur the worst bout of food poisoning ever and spent a night
doubled up, but these are minor hiccups compared to the effect the Jacaranda
had on those just back from the Somali bush.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The place was
an oasis of calm in hectic Nairobi; the
food by and large great; and the staff welcoming. It's attractiveness grew exponentially when camping out in some forsaken corner of unloved Somali desert. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The one distressing quirk was the outside door the staff used to enter the kitchen. It always
shut with a loud bang. It did so with a
group recently evacuated from Somalia sitting by the pool. You have never seen
so many reflex dive for cover.</span>Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-47221296550500083122013-05-31T07:09:00.000+01:002017-05-15T10:30:12.123+01:00Merca and the story of Ali Maow Malin - SomaliaMerca was famous as a beach resort many years ago, used by the British as a rest base for troops pushing up towards Addis in an earlier conflict. <br />
<br />
I had a field office close by the mosque, to manage an agricultural rehabilitation programme in the nearby countryside. Swifts used to circle the minaret after their epic seasonal migration from Europe.<br />
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Merca at that time was quieter than Mogadishu and provided easier access to the programme area. This was long before the international military intervention led by the Americans. The webi shabelle flowed close by, and the single access road into the town from Afgoi was buried under moving sand dunes and just passable with a 4 wheel drive.<br />
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<br />
We used to come back filthy and exhausted after days in the field, to face an even greater challenge - the TV.<br />
<br />
One of the national staff had produced this ancient contraption and equally ancient video recorder. When it was plugged in and the generator started, the crackling noise from the plug and faint air of electrics about to ignite pervaded the whole cinematic experience. We had no TV signal and only one video ‘The Mirror Cracked’ an Agatha Christie mystery. Sometimes we had the picture with no sound and at other times the sound with no picture.<br />
<br />
How the compound did not burn down remains a complete mystery, as did the ending of the film. No-one ever managed to stay awake long enough to find out who did it. Over the intervening years when the opportunity arose I have never been able to bring myself to try one more time to watch the wretched thing to its final scene.<br />
<br />
Merca has its place in history for one event of global importance. The final eradication of smallpox. Nearly twenty years earlier in the 1970’s Somalia was one of the last strongholds of the disease. An outbreak in 1977 led to a WHO containment programme which eventually led to Merca’s hospital and the hospital cook Ali Maow Malin. He had ducked his jab in an earlier inoculation programme and became infected. His treatment was to be as the last patient before the WHO announced in October 1979 the full eradication of smallpox in the world's population.<br />
<br />Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-65485058324853950552013-05-27T10:57:00.002+01:002022-12-09T16:43:22.177+00:00A spot of malaria on the Webi Shabelle - Somalia<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">The ritual at the start of each day in the fields around Baidoa was a visit to a young entrepreneur at the entrance to town with a large mound of coconuts and a panga. For a few shillings you had a freshly opened coconut and they were delicious.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1FKkIS5DpDDP2Byx8Y8OF8lLsO5QNuQhuQhivkQZXUaZ7aUxFgv5Rj4AA79CVwuPKn4toSTOHfDg-NBw6Fh1HvSEjKgqcIH4s01zDzVNjwayQeBgcsn382sJ_IbcaqIHbiOtQXQY_UCtl/s1600/CNV00009.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1FKkIS5DpDDP2Byx8Y8OF8lLsO5QNuQhuQhivkQZXUaZ7aUxFgv5Rj4AA79CVwuPKn4toSTOHfDg-NBw6Fh1HvSEjKgqcIH4s01zDzVNjwayQeBgcsn382sJ_IbcaqIHbiOtQXQY_UCtl/s1600/CNV00009.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The market</td></tr>
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<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">Another routine was to walk the irrigation ditches to check they were in good order. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn7AtR9rkbDFf1VCKAxy4ofUXMmCs7MzDn_vyuilajqDoARmu-0qGoYquXdaPknKK0Qxcq8GTDfm9dvnHnJWiA-bC1gymmVT2gLmXSgJ9_DBmlLhALsgti8ABZgsTj1jO2qWzmwEOWL5EV/s1600/Somalia+x600.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn7AtR9rkbDFf1VCKAxy4ofUXMmCs7MzDn_vyuilajqDoARmu-0qGoYquXdaPknKK0Qxcq8GTDfm9dvnHnJWiA-bC1gymmVT2gLmXSgJ9_DBmlLhALsgti8ABZgsTj1jO2qWzmwEOWL5EV/s1600/Somalia+x600.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span><span face=""arial" , sans-serif">One morning with a bout of malaria simmering below the surface, I came to a reed bed outside of town and out stepped a few feet in front of me a bird of jaw dropping height. It did not look up, rather it stared straight forward, more curious than alarmed. After a minute or so of complete silence between us on that deserted track, it turned away and vanished back into the reeds, leaving only the hum of cicadas in the intense heat.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxd0gvVcW-RorWuhvrfpOe1VGVuK0J9KPibF2HfnzaBwzDEunD-3NrSykSrTBAX2MiQ8cvNEGnL3j0wLZa8esP67YNlOvFvomutyAxWgqjJU0I_heLkQryipwU7WL9NZwNn1z9Vm4JzSsH/s1600/CNV00007.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxd0gvVcW-RorWuhvrfpOe1VGVuK0J9KPibF2HfnzaBwzDEunD-3NrSykSrTBAX2MiQ8cvNEGnL3j0wLZa8esP67YNlOvFvomutyAxWgqjJU0I_heLkQryipwU7WL9NZwNn1z9Vm4JzSsH/s1600/CNV00007.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A verdant landscape rife with malaria and dengue<br /><br /></td></tr>
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<span face=""arial" , "sans-serif"">When I reported the encounter to my Somali friends, they exchanged looks, fell silent and quickly changed the subject. Gerald Hanley’s experience with the spirit world in these parts came to mind and I was left to wonder if it was just malaria that has left me with the distinct feeling that I had just met with something far more elemental than possibly the largest Saddlebill Stork in existence.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span face=""arial" , "sans-serif""><br /></span></div>
Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-6531502142564003322013-05-24T19:37:00.000+01:002017-05-12T08:57:40.878+01:00Three brave men - Somalia<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Long before the arrival of the Americans in Somalia,</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> farmland near Baidoa was the location for an agricultural rehabilitation programme. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbMPbpHdpYzCQQdXGiTr6fnYEOZcs29z4zD1bV60ukiCsX-SaYDc6IREhidGvPB06imwOlVglihokUIHowaG5Wlff9kokT8f-ykC7kZNbGi9CnkvDYjv6oufYpXQvZhG2kuZqnAYksNiD6/s1600/CNV00004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 13.33px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbMPbpHdpYzCQQdXGiTr6fnYEOZcs29z4zD1bV60ukiCsX-SaYDc6IREhidGvPB06imwOlVglihokUIHowaG5Wlff9kokT8f-ykC7kZNbGi9CnkvDYjv6oufYpXQvZhG2kuZqnAYksNiD6/s1600/CNV00004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing the Shebelle with agricultural extension workers</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Unlike the
surrounding desert Baidoa was green and verdant with abundant coconut and
banana plantations. You could still see the concrete huts in which the former
Italian colonists kept their plantation workers. During the rainy season stagnant pools
between the houses were ideal breeding grounds for mosquitoes – dengue and
malaria were rife.</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZ0qZLyenM8kDRC25jjLpqp2Y6ik6qKjOdCUnjhTMAMvou_B95QOcMJ_UNnt6JlA9SbNitjJYJivrHBPUqxRcCK2npH6pbEkpkM2OESaXwK5LVQxhZCdOGRKyRF76oxo8Y8Q4Zc-lX5bk/s1600/CNV00010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmZ0qZLyenM8kDRC25jjLpqp2Y6ik6qKjOdCUnjhTMAMvou_B95QOcMJ_UNnt6JlA9SbNitjJYJivrHBPUqxRcCK2npH6pbEkpkM2OESaXwK5LVQxhZCdOGRKyRF76oxo8Y8Q4Zc-lX5bk/s1600/CNV00010.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.33px;">seed trials</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Much of the
work was restoration of irrigation channels and the perennial problem of raising
water from the Shebelle River. The pumps long since looted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWZWZ482nDiS_W0hCdCMyjmWbRTSvwwmArbl5TQooROAm0AqmvjcHpHfXRiPuXtDnkTb3_FN4AwpfWvFGx3kbYYxSp7JNSjn5oDgIhM95rshOKt2DCU-AOtwJMaQJ0HMeNMiCaTO8tqRZ/s1600/04-CNV00004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZWZWZ482nDiS_W0hCdCMyjmWbRTSvwwmArbl5TQooROAm0AqmvjcHpHfXRiPuXtDnkTb3_FN4AwpfWvFGx3kbYYxSp7JNSjn5oDgIhM95rshOKt2DCU-AOtwJMaQJ0HMeNMiCaTO8tqRZ/s1600/04-CNV00004.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where there was once a pump to raise water from the Shabelle</td></tr>
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That we managed to bring large swathes of agricultural land back into productive use was down to the determination and bravery of three exceptional extension workers.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLcxH9dLNUEsFJBWFRdeKGN9WMdC9EUXbDIwJurUEALdSKm-mpAQBNyFyi3NAtFTEcrxWqWFQ0M5p4T7oT_3Q3A5gO8NpdckP6YXs6ipG_HPvJOdqCBd0as0lx_Vp3oMNl9g5uEn0JxQz/s1600/Somalia+upright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLcxH9dLNUEsFJBWFRdeKGN9WMdC9EUXbDIwJurUEALdSKm-mpAQBNyFyi3NAtFTEcrxWqWFQ0M5p4T7oT_3Q3A5gO8NpdckP6YXs6ipG_HPvJOdqCBd0as0lx_Vp3oMNl9g5uEn0JxQz/s1600/Somalia+upright.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Three brave men.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNpPO_U-W8Q4qk6RuMnws1ibR8duGKOCIfvvzOHIPnNoI3g_JteAYZWZ5qsn_dVwYBZqpW9XGzA6JaWgdVtl3ZJuyoEJm5v8CPlMpSdHlZPywPNpLzc3lb3RKXNq_yMw0rl3j1BwsMJOVj/s1600/CNV00002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNpPO_U-W8Q4qk6RuMnws1ibR8duGKOCIfvvzOHIPnNoI3g_JteAYZWZ5qsn_dVwYBZqpW9XGzA6JaWgdVtl3ZJuyoEJm5v8CPlMpSdHlZPywPNpLzc3lb3RKXNq_yMw0rl3j1BwsMJOVj/s1600/CNV00002.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and their appreciative audience</td></tr>
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</div>
Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-36804507921974686742013-05-23T17:44:00.000+01:002017-04-12T14:32:19.459+01:00A Year in Mog - Somalia<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Somalia is a place that really gets under your skin.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> A land of extremes that draws you back again and again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I made one
of my all time unforgettable safaris before the civil war, walking camels up from Kismayo to Hargeisa. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">The book I took on that journey is <em>the </em>Somalia book, that I have re-read many times -</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> 'Warriors and Strangers by Gerald Hanley. Later during fighting</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> in the early 1990's I returned to establish and manage agricultural rehabilitation programmes
along the Juba and Shabelle rivers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Looking back
at old black and white photos of the Italian colonial era it never ceases to
amaze that a place could be so comprehensively trashed and still provide a home for so many.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Each day of
blazing heat was greeted with the cry ‘turned out nice again’
before heading to the field. The Somalis were just as affected by the pulsating sun and white glare reflecting off an unforgiving landscape, perfectly matching their highly volatile nature's. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Back then Mog
had the daily backdrop of almost
constant automatic weapons fire. Usually
M16’s and AK47’s and occasionally something heavier when the Technical’s became animated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">One faction
owned a flatbed truck with a four barrel anti aircraft</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">gun attached. It tended to </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">appear out of side streets, horizontally
traverse that gun and let rip. Everyone scattered to the hills as its destructive
impact within an enclosed urban space was spectacularly appalling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Most NGO's had hustlers outside their compounds trying to sell or rent what they
had looted. Occasionally these groups became fractious,
and the normal backdrop of gunfire grew in intensity and volume. One security briefing continued under a heavy dining table with bullets pinging off the wall above our heads<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Then one day
the firing outside really did become intense and the compound filled with smoke. Bursts of gunfire tended to last a minute or two, but this
just went on and on. It was the ambush and murder of 24 U.N. Pakistani peacekeepers, an event which contributed to the intervention of the Americans. The rest of that story is now history.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Two outstanding people I worked with and will never forget were Dan Eldon of Reuters and Sean
Devereux of UNICEF. Both were exceptional but found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time and did not
make it back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNDVhw2Cp12Il_3h0G8lhiw9veNEo2OSSp140mM8Po4NSDJXlfXmnrHUR5xfQ-O3ev6CBM-0Z_NAJF8XTAuiwxwuf1sMu9ylUa-7MBWVRCEXSU4BgBp3t_wThfuFmatDZ0fEn3KFLyMZxp/s1600/CNV00003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNDVhw2Cp12Il_3h0G8lhiw9veNEo2OSSp140mM8Po4NSDJXlfXmnrHUR5xfQ-O3ev6CBM-0Z_NAJF8XTAuiwxwuf1sMu9ylUa-7MBWVRCEXSU4BgBp3t_wThfuFmatDZ0fEn3KFLyMZxp/s1600/CNV00003.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Preparing for a trip to the field</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">In 2013 the Brits re-opened an Embassy
and and funded solar powered street lighting which has made a huge difference to the atmosphere in Mogadishu after dark.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The diaspora are starting to return, leading to a spectacular
rise in the value of habitable real estate and now there is even a dry cleaners. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">If Somalia can emulate the success story that is Somaliland, those old
black and white photos may cease to be distant memories.</span></div>
Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-8243182959345518932013-05-11T13:38:00.001+01:002020-08-17T11:52:51.997+01:00Living with the Pokot (Part 2) - Kenya<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> The Pokot
circumcision ceremony.</span><br />
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">In the 1980s
I was living with the Pokot in Northern Kenya, working on a camel programme, with the occasional visit
from Sir Wilfred Thesiger passing by on the way up to Lake Turkana. </span><br />
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<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">The Pokot
were locked in a near permanent cycle of cattle rustling with the Turkana and
the Karamojong from over the border in Karamoja, Uganda. Unlike today fighting
was mainly with spears, with automatic weapons appearing only in the most
extreme of circumstances. It was their equivalent of Saturday afternoon football,
and served greatly to alleviate the routine of their daily lives. </span><br />
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">A principal driver in all this rustling was to accrue enough cattle for the bride price 'lobola', a cause of unending disputes and grief across Africa.</span><br />
<br />
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Like many
nomadic tribes in the region each individual belongs to an age set that moves
through the stages of life together from childhood to old age. One of the most
important rites of passage within Pokot Society is
the circumcision ceremony 'Sapana' marking their passage to adulthood.</span></div>
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<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Given that a
consequence of the operation would be to have hundreds of men of fighting age
out of action for days if not weeks, the ceremony had been delayed again and
again whilst the prevailing security situation was so volatile.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Eventually
with many of the age set now well into adulthood it was decided that they could
wait no longer and I was fortunate to be there,
to see many friends advance through a key stage of their lives.</span><br />
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
</div>
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">This is not
the place for an anthropological analysis of purpose and meaning within the
ceremony, suffice to say it was<i> hot </i>even
for the oven that is Pokot. In clearings across their
territory groups of initiates were brought together under the auspice of an
elder who was to act as compere for the day. Each initiate attired in dyed
skins and tasselled faces (nicely weighted down with coke and fanta bottle tops)
paraded past his fellows whilst cheered on by the surrounding mob of women and
children.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyMkZwjzNdpS-swhio_Wkf2X6FlM_MtdBqMBbSpcqQOY15a5RzEynYdkVHnYeep8cEMnLkQxzVG9IltHouEaGrV7H87Uu2Wnlz_rDsEzNJU6KCkagjRYC9iCoDsXkx_SWNoDortlxetBP/s1600/Pokot+4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixyMkZwjzNdpS-swhio_Wkf2X6FlM_MtdBqMBbSpcqQOY15a5RzEynYdkVHnYeep8cEMnLkQxzVG9IltHouEaGrV7H87Uu2Wnlz_rDsEzNJU6KCkagjRYC9iCoDsXkx_SWNoDortlxetBP/s1600/Pokot+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The master of ceremonies formed them into a semi circle</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwdsaQOJssyE5-2s0snHFopD1ITGjAgAM5jmWTXQJbB_gs-0T19td7IUw9a4q_VXVaLi9rBkWHuYxDpYm9haDmfAfqEa7ADUAg68lxTj1QfIBdzW7EvY2d7wJcH_lUfhSPtEioAqZJVw3P/s1600/Pokot+5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwdsaQOJssyE5-2s0snHFopD1ITGjAgAM5jmWTXQJbB_gs-0T19td7IUw9a4q_VXVaLi9rBkWHuYxDpYm9haDmfAfqEa7ADUAg68lxTj1QfIBdzW7EvY2d7wJcH_lUfhSPtEioAqZJVw3P/s1600/Pokot+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A final blessing</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8f7-S0FAMPZtYvFvCWMpOHcFL4Mk9gffPVhTsmYoZyoqo-LOsPlsWYnr0lPzSmbVUEZBzR92plAKTunAgHq2VwSj7DaIx4zscgnzs0i69vOODjNUY3nHO5eCaYyEr8JwW1phNKtK2WR8M/s1600/Pokot+1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8f7-S0FAMPZtYvFvCWMpOHcFL4Mk9gffPVhTsmYoZyoqo-LOsPlsWYnr0lPzSmbVUEZBzR92plAKTunAgHq2VwSj7DaIx4zscgnzs0i69vOODjNUY3nHO5eCaYyEr8JwW1phNKtK2WR8M/s1600/Pokot+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheered on by the women and children</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Then as the
groups were marched off to the hills, their singing faded until all that remained was</span><span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"> the hum of cicadas in the intense heat.</span><br />
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmkawD1X-FpGo2Ons9QCtfHw6SRwHnRzVxLWyBEKrd19njfecDTRLDxss57Zy0lkYgrzJF3v48bb3ZMHAjzsLA7OD2v5JVJdB5JD8ppe_CZ6onDG_xrivODdXVs-Ayp-9qbPCrqt1W49zF/s1600/PaulPokot.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmkawD1X-FpGo2Ons9QCtfHw6SRwHnRzVxLWyBEKrd19njfecDTRLDxss57Zy0lkYgrzJF3v48bb3ZMHAjzsLA7OD2v5JVJdB5JD8ppe_CZ6onDG_xrivODdXVs-Ayp-9qbPCrqt1W49zF/s1600/PaulPokot.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A very hot day in Pokot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">The next days
armed with first aid kits & supplies of painkillers I headed to the hills to
dispense some relief to the survivors of the ordeal.</span><br />
<br />
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">At first they
were nowhere to be found until guided to carefully camouflaged
depressions in the hills, which had been layered over with branching and
vegetation providing approximately four feet of clearance above the ground. In
these darkened caverns, when one’s eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, were dozens and dozens of silhouettes most sitting in absolute silence.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Painkillers were
applied direct to mouth to prevent their use elsewhere. It was clear that the
circumciser had taken a while to get their eye in, or the knives had been of an
unusually blunt design. Celibacy seemed an entirely reasonable life choice for
some time after.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span face="" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Then finally when led
away from the hidden lairs back to the valley floor with a gift of goatsmeat wrapped in aromatic leaves, I felt very fortunate to
have been part of a rapidly disappearing Africa.</span><br />
<br />
<br />Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-55316279287097902812013-05-11T11:59:00.000+01:002017-04-11T12:54:11.422+01:00 Living with the Pokot (part 1) - Kenya<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">For a while I
lived with a semi nomadic tribe in Northern Kenya, working on a livestock
programme. This is where I became hooked
on camels. Camels were a vast improvement on the existing herds of low yield cattle that were
rapidly degrading an increasingly arid and fragile environment. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj79MdCOxTGRIrf3OJhz4LAHZ7xMUJZaTQFj1CJc2Es2nHHMBtKVKi-149maQiRUSD6pNCzq55mKxVt7ZZ4IJVZ7LxxhxKm3Q1bfLKGPSxSE0NHzRG07LOgICQJeZJxEkiMuln45iOOl2BD/s320/paul+camel.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Pokot remains home to the largest black mambas, spitting cobras and camel spiders I<i> </i>have seen anywhere. One mamba who lived by the seasonal riverbed was in the T Rex class of scary reptiles.<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Encouraging a
stock substitution programme from cattle to camels is never easy. Often a
person’s entire wealth may be ‘on the hoof’ and there is the matter of personal
status as well. Cattle are also usually required as payment for lobola ‘the bride price’, which is a subject that deserves its own separate post. Camel husbandry requires its own set of
skills which have to be learned carefully, as their loss would be a severe blow to
the owner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT5rBeaU4j98Gns07abYK_4fHt71sXW2uQxGbzfLUnanU-FiVyVxkt1C-3S-VYK9JdxApLCstSK7-rNlpRl-xIZp-zVmG13DmNyM6n2w8Bqtfc20smY7NviWZ7y-1dO4hPc6VmkSqHFC8v/s1600/Pokot+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT5rBeaU4j98Gns07abYK_4fHt71sXW2uQxGbzfLUnanU-FiVyVxkt1C-3S-VYK9JdxApLCstSK7-rNlpRl-xIZp-zVmG13DmNyM6n2w8Bqtfc20smY7NviWZ7y-1dO4hPc6VmkSqHFC8v/s1600/Pokot+7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spraying the camels for external parasites</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"> However benefits easily outweigh the risks. They can lactate far longer into the dry
season, providing a milk supply particularly valuable to the women and
children. The soft padded feet do not
compact the soil and there are selective browsers often of thorny bushes rather
than grazing cattle that quickly remove the sparse vegetative covering and of course they have a greater tolerance
to thirst and hunger than cattle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The Pokot
eventually used scoops harnessed to camels to create dams which
would capture and hold water when the rains came. One of these dams was nearly my undoing. Returning
late at night on a XT500 motorbike, I ran
into a very large bad tempered crocodile that had unexpectantly made one dam its home and was out for a midnight stroll. With much wobbling I managed to
stay on the bike and avoid its open jaws. It was rather a shock for both of
us.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESQgSUzm91FMHl3AHkEldeCuFuBhhdhyZ-eA-WGrCZHuuxb4JKlaWycoNbirufkPoXa0RGa4gGRjH1aE1G-7OGSj7PBUPXdYLC2w-uNts3_6rMyBXUj8gp0aMBKi4QKWYjysfBnbX3Zmw/s1600/Pokot+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhESQgSUzm91FMHl3AHkEldeCuFuBhhdhyZ-eA-WGrCZHuuxb4JKlaWycoNbirufkPoXa0RGa4gGRjH1aE1G-7OGSj7PBUPXdYLC2w-uNts3_6rMyBXUj8gp0aMBKi4QKWYjysfBnbX3Zmw/s1600/Pokot+6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camels scraping out a seasonal dam </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The increasing
aridity of these marginal land's and increasing competition for finite water and
grazing gives camel herders a distinct advantage in the survival stakes. </span>
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<br /></div>
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<div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">
<br /></div>
Wajir was one of those Kenya frontier outposts during the days of Empire where the administration could keep an eye on the south west migration of the Somali clans. These days most of the north east of Kenya’s population are of Somali descent.<br />
<br />
I first drove up to Wajir in the 1980’s for a camel management meeting. Even then security was an issue with roving bands of opportunistic shifta looking for easy pickings.<br />
<br />
Wajir was in those days a scene straight out of the Old Testament with ancient mzee's slumped over donkeys moving slowly in the midday heat<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" class="rg_hi uh_hi" data-height="150" data-width="336" height="150" id="rg_hi" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT5k3_3XzHa7y5s7uLtk29DdgB3skRLRGatir196aDqD7PG-ZR7" style="height: 150px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; width: 336px;" width="336" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Wajir was famous then for its wells where camels were brought to drink. The wells have a high level of suspended mica which can wreak havoc with ones innards when having a pee. It used to be known as Wajir clap with good reason.
Then one day the rains came unexpectedly early and the Lorian Swamp began to fill. The District Commissioners of old had created the fictional Wajir Yacht Club to amuse themselves in the endless miles of desert and scrub, but that journey back through the swamp remains just as vivid today. Digging out and pushing the land cruiser as the waters deepened, passing trucks stuck fast or abandoned and as far as you could see just fetid water. If you do travel this way just take a lesson from experience and check the weather forecast first.<div><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cgbLXiGSaehCBw3YwRxfRQGKwICKaouI5chw1OIjL0DAFFfyF8E9RFhVHkEJF1DFTNLBw4ebFXXFd3xFAGW9bDQP7v5K4MNnsgNkBrWW-fRS8XfAwBfimC6mHXCQJIM8j2A4Ffk8ILc6/s1600/Kenya+1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7cgbLXiGSaehCBw3YwRxfRQGKwICKaouI5chw1OIjL0DAFFfyF8E9RFhVHkEJF1DFTNLBw4ebFXXFd3xFAGW9bDQP7v5K4MNnsgNkBrWW-fRS8XfAwBfimC6mHXCQJIM8j2A4Ffk8ILc6/s1600/Kenya+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The start of a terrible journey</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMTgPU4WTE3bLsObpU-EK8CO-C1UDAxvkAzUTgyRaGd3oSKRV4_wXg8K3VEwrWOSUeElB-uAMh7fa1HWIa-4ZMb1EdBGz3GF_n5-QRF_cOqKaFtX5gszbwhRZB_LPN81BojnI-ysWp6-u/s1600/Kenya+5.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMTgPU4WTE3bLsObpU-EK8CO-C1UDAxvkAzUTgyRaGd3oSKRV4_wXg8K3VEwrWOSUeElB-uAMh7fa1HWIa-4ZMb1EdBGz3GF_n5-QRF_cOqKaFtX5gszbwhRZB_LPN81BojnI-ysWp6-u/s1600/Kenya+5.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.33px;">The waters rising</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSCJLKUpdZpeXgskWud6bhJF_a4l9f2nb6MnjqwGSkZeIPNfsVQ0yxeHO0NpaBzwh_vusMsN-ORv-q70-9DZ0ARVhXUIf9G-LXjO-CVytOsfxd7p6-ke6zhAUxLePJIoO4GoQVd70HuuwM/s1600/Kenya+6.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSCJLKUpdZpeXgskWud6bhJF_a4l9f2nb6MnjqwGSkZeIPNfsVQ0yxeHO0NpaBzwh_vusMsN-ORv-q70-9DZ0ARVhXUIf9G-LXjO-CVytOsfxd7p6-ke6zhAUxLePJIoO4GoQVd70HuuwM/s1600/Kenya+6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The road to Isiolo</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Tm6KOzz-XulKWDY6VxzUWZsmOVNyEcQZJqBuoFVcoDRk3w76wXwUptS2hXF1D6KovXhsHZZBTYWFepdO_xFFPCiGsPGwMs3ByW3eZqOivplxbgRN0iSeLvcKEansLYB9vGWLWghoL4kh/s1600/Kenya+4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Tm6KOzz-XulKWDY6VxzUWZsmOVNyEcQZJqBuoFVcoDRk3w76wXwUptS2hXF1D6KovXhsHZZBTYWFepdO_xFFPCiGsPGwMs3ByW3eZqOivplxbgRN0iSeLvcKEansLYB9vGWLWghoL4kh/s1600/Kenya+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Those that did not make it<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPlNp9vwciXIDjhBHgaMxsInuD2oFiQ5CG7ZYAv-KxriopJvVhZTXClGWswmpjdtrSmX7z18tTN_l0DYP-gYWbpsoJ3NgzK-KPhYLr9wRrPWqEmj6CWL5gutL5NhNUsMVSaNme5m3BtfeX/s1600/Kenya+7.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPlNp9vwciXIDjhBHgaMxsInuD2oFiQ5CG7ZYAv-KxriopJvVhZTXClGWswmpjdtrSmX7z18tTN_l0DYP-gYWbpsoJ3NgzK-KPhYLr9wRrPWqEmj6CWL5gutL5NhNUsMVSaNme5m3BtfeX/s1600/Kenya+7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">stranded<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyvTNfZ3bD_PNYvk5bpdSy5ny1bD-32eek843f_w1_Ly3ju_I1FbJdsrtCwsogbpuiBdWtrP8O0QKHJIoYbh3tQCw9Z0q8wgbw_Fes0-WtFFkfzEHH7gs_V-Lgi2rmM6zMfMKbaneI5UMV/s1600/Kenya+3.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyvTNfZ3bD_PNYvk5bpdSy5ny1bD-32eek843f_w1_Ly3ju_I1FbJdsrtCwsogbpuiBdWtrP8O0QKHJIoYbh3tQCw9Z0q8wgbw_Fes0-WtFFkfzEHH7gs_V-Lgi2rmM6zMfMKbaneI5UMV/s1600/Kenya+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.3333px;">Some decided to swim for it</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4e7QS5SBKRlnNpTEFH-CNTcRLefmZq1EFYs8rrr0A56llhDWQC-QV3sqVFiH9RTAQasH9KMnBBMHJSse7PHpYu5SZgReAGBdWRPeLRQWSEBDM5udXBbzzP9-i2D9IqQ4yL7HUq7PRpom1/s1600/Kenya+9.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4e7QS5SBKRlnNpTEFH-CNTcRLefmZq1EFYs8rrr0A56llhDWQC-QV3sqVFiH9RTAQasH9KMnBBMHJSse7PHpYu5SZgReAGBdWRPeLRQWSEBDM5udXBbzzP9-i2D9IqQ4yL7HUq7PRpom1/s1600/Kenya+9.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.3333px;">Then it got worse</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaNiaERe5w3Y2ZZJgJHtF5oLa3Q_cjL9tWKmvCWfRy92yAZeag4Jhd6p4Zc_pbIaxapitusxsq80ZVUwm1RZURfLjtzL5VJQ-BQZCLzw0ghnH5rM4lkaPUjbdBPJSwr2kvvc0znoSXDmxg/s1600/Kenya+10.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaNiaERe5w3Y2ZZJgJHtF5oLa3Q_cjL9tWKmvCWfRy92yAZeag4Jhd6p4Zc_pbIaxapitusxsq80ZVUwm1RZURfLjtzL5VJQ-BQZCLzw0ghnH5rM4lkaPUjbdBPJSwr2kvvc0znoSXDmxg/s1600/Kenya+10.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13.3333px;">The bow wave from the front of the Landcruiser</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPucYgvKGU1OkOB9uYnFIOwLet74fQoY-Ns8hsy2PtB7gRteoipooeXzZBVRv149OYXruivr-oP1A5msTNNEHvOHoG5ozM3aqJgQJ8WOuTvYinHTVZdqAbvMk_mSvtvMBWYuffiXI7Zc7/s1600/Kenya+8.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPucYgvKGU1OkOB9uYnFIOwLet74fQoY-Ns8hsy2PtB7gRteoipooeXzZBVRv149OYXruivr-oP1A5msTNNEHvOHoG5ozM3aqJgQJ8WOuTvYinHTVZdqAbvMk_mSvtvMBWYuffiXI7Zc7/s1600/Kenya+8.jpg" width="290" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finally on dry land and a promise never to try this again</td></tr>
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<br /></div>Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-76580368050376805042013-05-04T10:49:00.001+01:002017-05-12T08:49:38.005+01:00Bukhara & Genghis Khan- Uzbekistan<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Whilst Kyrgyzstan
is without doubt my favourite country in Central Asia, Bukhara in Uzbekistan remains my favourite city.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Bukhara has
seen it all. Alexander the Great passed this way. When the Horde ransacked the city, Genghis Khan marvelled at the
Kalyan minaret, before using it to fling his victims to their </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">deaths. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">When survivors eventually returned to the remains of their city they renamed it the Tower of Death. </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="269" src="https://encrypted-tbn1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRIyYMhHkniqcouC44KO0hM-bSDaeIVrtUEJfAUQHRi9RsvXjod" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kaylan Minaret</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The extremely bad tempered 19<sup>th</sup>
Century Emir- Nasrulla, favoured lingering deaths for his victims in a bug infested pit, including two unfortunate British Officers which he eventually beheaded. He finally fled the advancing Russians to Tajikistan,
leaving a trail of dancing boys in his wake as an unsuccessful diversion.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Bukhara had
the greatest collection of madrasas in Central Asia before the communists arrived and left them to fade away. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">It was also a disease infested place with many
of the inhabitants suffering from guinea worm known locally as Bukhara boil, contracted from the pools of
water built in this desert oasis for people to wash, bathe and drink from. One of
the first actions of the Russian regime was to fill these pools in, and to
construct alternative water supplies, leaving only the marvellous pool of </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Layb-I- Khauz and its chai khanas intact.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw8MAR4LrggGMvdD0JUxdKU2UA57P5xn-78V_Z7Zc9I8eiLGmIw0JZlX6OdAPH8hbwD8Qccr_SK_8zEKer-VrlOSgHKa2VyBC-JkwCKDQ2N-U_iDu5JIfQogvRLMTyDzvO9Y1TtZkkVf1J/s1600/09-CNV00009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw8MAR4LrggGMvdD0JUxdKU2UA57P5xn-78V_Z7Zc9I8eiLGmIw0JZlX6OdAPH8hbwD8Qccr_SK_8zEKer-VrlOSgHKa2VyBC-JkwCKDQ2N-U_iDu5JIfQogvRLMTyDzvO9Y1TtZkkVf1J/s400/09-CNV00009.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking tea at the pool of Layb-I-Khauz</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The Ark was
the Citadel of the Emir and it was in front of these gates that the bodies of
Stoddart and Conolly the two British Officers were buried.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Ark</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Walking
through Bukhara is history brought to life. Bukhara Burnes may have
travelled this way only a week or two before instead of 186 years ago. For over 2000 years Bukhara has
played a key role in the region, from stop overs on the Silk Road to the Great
Game.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-60603591266588272472013-05-02T20:34:00.000+01:002017-05-15T09:23:33.132+01:00Travels in the Celestial Mountains - KyrgyzstanThe <i>Tien Shan</i> Mountains are aptly named.<br />
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The range links the Pamirs in Tajikistan, The Hindu Kush in
Pakistan and The Alti Mountains of Mongolia. More importantly it cuts Krygyzstan
in half .<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdYr86Daui6uIToOpCimO4bmCEJosh5eaXLt30bf5bgu2eafj36H01UR1HPUp2V0DtXbf-UOZqplX7ZO9z6_eAWU4Ww9g6xlwkXefvQI3j8gVFtVxjyMt-5QSVEa6qkTmrftzO5TvM1Pm8/s1600/02-CNV00002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdYr86Daui6uIToOpCimO4bmCEJosh5eaXLt30bf5bgu2eafj36H01UR1HPUp2V0DtXbf-UOZqplX7ZO9z6_eAWU4Ww9g6xlwkXefvQI3j8gVFtVxjyMt-5QSVEa6qkTmrftzO5TvM1Pm8/s400/02-CNV00002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Tien Shan Range</td></tr>
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In the early 1990's only a
difficult route through the centre of the Kyrgyzstan from Osh to Bishkek existed. In the harsh winter of
1994 when I set up and managed Save the Children Fund's first Central Asia Programme it was easier to travel from the south to Bishkek
via Tashkent in Uzbekistan then onto Chimkent
in Kazakhstan and finally back into Kyrgyzstan; effectively circumventing the range.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Travel across the Tien Shan from Osh to Bishkek is one of life's great experiences. Villagers rarely saw outsiders let alone foreigners and the
welcome was always overwhelming.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SCF's first programme in Central Asia</td></tr>
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Often the villages were completely cut
off by snow in winter and eventually we borrowed helicopters to move
supplies.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Travel in the Tien Shan by horse was possible
but only from late spring onwards.<br />
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The range reaches to Lake Issyk Kul near Bishkek. Set at 1,600 m above sea level, the lake is one of the highest mountain lakes in the world.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Image result for LAKE ISSYK KUL" src="https://kyrgyzstan.orexca.com/img/issikul/issikul4-4.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Issyk Kul</td></tr>
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Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-12358004715438026992013-04-26T17:29:00.000+01:002017-05-24T07:25:22.747+01:00KyrgyzstanKyrgyzstan has changed since I first visited in the early 1990's, but remains a magical place. Back then it really was stepping into an alternate reality. Communism had gone away and suddenly a forbidden world was accessible after so many years of isolation.<br />
<br />
I was one of the first westerners in the south of the country, establishing and managing the first programme for Save the Children Fund in Central Asia. Within the English department of the University I found interpreters and researchers. The geologists based in Osh, who knew the mountains, provided the field workers. Rarely have I seen such a team - they were immense in every way, and the driving force behind them all - Alfia, remains a close family friend. The one word she would never accept was '<i>nyet'.</i><br />
<br />
The government buildings I visited were long corridors of empty offices in pristine condition. Phones rang on identical polished desks in identical rooms but no one was there to answer, they had all left. It <i>really</i> was surreal.<br />
<br />
The mid winter weather was the hardest challenge after Africa. The cold was unrelenting and just daily washing when you had to break the ice on the water<i> indoors</i>, was a challenge. You could see why they all drank vodka; beer froze solid in its bottle before you could swallow it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkrQkbkMbue-YXa3Qzc0j40vKfVd8U6owb8YGs9J5jm9HJbbby4-lHiTF7dqbK2lspd-Q3wlCLqODuknt18wDOyi_CtHgeIDhCCeYnzs-bf2EgSe8gl904-Q3MgTJs-sU__K1B2Vca_P-I/s1600/Kyrgyzstan+1+x600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkrQkbkMbue-YXa3Qzc0j40vKfVd8U6owb8YGs9J5jm9HJbbby4-lHiTF7dqbK2lspd-Q3wlCLqODuknt18wDOyi_CtHgeIDhCCeYnzs-bf2EgSe8gl904-Q3MgTJs-sU__K1B2Vca_P-I/s400/Kyrgyzstan+1+x600.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kyrgyz horseman in the Tien Shan</td></tr>
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None of that mattered once you got to the Tien Shan mountains and Lake Issyk Kul, the sheer scale of the place is majestic. Endless peaks and Krygyz men hunting on horseback with full sized eagles on their arms. The hospitality of villagers who rarely see an outsider let alone a foreigner is overwhelming.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrH3QfRUf-pxzZqvcxHWRqp3XwDftqMsjIogc6jwn32YgUZnc55muy3cU9JNjW0ct9LISHGBSyDPPyDzBxjdcUn0R896_ZGnvAO9Y35R0ZnYuflOFOXnGeyP68il-637hjJ1lJgoN8RzFR/s1600/06-CNV00006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrH3QfRUf-pxzZqvcxHWRqp3XwDftqMsjIogc6jwn32YgUZnc55muy3cU9JNjW0ct9LISHGBSyDPPyDzBxjdcUn0R896_ZGnvAO9Y35R0ZnYuflOFOXnGeyP68il-637hjJ1lJgoN8RzFR/s1600/06-CNV00006.jpg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An eagle ready for hunting</td></tr>
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It is a place where I have made many friends and to which I return as often as I can.<br />
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There is often talk of marketing the country as the Switzerland of Central Asia, but this is to do an injustice to Kyrgyzstan. This land is on a far grander scale.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGVk42CZ5dwKrmlqzIgMVo3Hqn-cUns-DVWmRSb-bttDs7ysJ60zxCJYRh1vgvDjMNIUuMwz7dhXDyvzpMSgADI6X0EtdH3mRBuOHovksON-JCGDwoFk4y_ZP0L19f6GgnSkgIKLB81jT/s1600/Kyrgyzstan+2+x600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGVk42CZ5dwKrmlqzIgMVo3Hqn-cUns-DVWmRSb-bttDs7ysJ60zxCJYRh1vgvDjMNIUuMwz7dhXDyvzpMSgADI6X0EtdH3mRBuOHovksON-JCGDwoFk4y_ZP0L19f6GgnSkgIKLB81jT/s320/Kyrgyzstan+2+x600.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The national hat of Kyrgyzstan -the 'Al Kapak' for sale in Osh market.</td></tr>
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<br />Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-85017122234142387202013-04-21T10:01:00.002+01:002017-05-11T08:49:47.543+01:00Lake Victoria of the Pamirs – Travels in Tajikistan.<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Tajikistan is
the Country with nature on the grandest scale.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Access is via the Pamir
Highway, the second highest international road in the world, </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Dushambe to Khorog - 13 hours of stunning scenery, bumpy roads and scary edge of cliff track sections.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">I first worked in Tajikistan in 1994
during a particularly vicious civil war which lasted up to 1997. Dushambe was full
of Russian military and a place to be firmly indoors before dark. The Garm Valley was one of the centres of
opposition to the Government as was the remote eastern Oblast of Gorno Badakhshan. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The people unlike Turkic populations
of the surrounding countries have a different culture, historically looking
towards Persia (present day Iran), <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">The Fann Mountains and Lake
Iskanderkul are stunning but eastern Gorno Badakhshan and Khorog are the places to draw one back again and again. Khorog was built to firmly establish the
area within the Russian sphere of influence in an area contested with the
British and the Emir of Bukhara.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Here the Fedchenko </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Glacier is the longest outside of the polar regions, </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Pik Lenina one of the highest and Lake Victoria of the Pamirs, named by British cartographers in honour of their Queen. The </span><i style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif;">Black Lake</i><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> now goes by the name of Lake Karakul. It's nearly 13,000 feet above sea level, 52 km in diameter and set in what is believed to be a meteorite impact crater.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="Related image" height="266" src="https://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/karakul-lake-china-eric-phan-kim.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lake Victoria of the Pamirs</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">If the Yeti
exists anywhere it is up here in the Pamirs. Stories of its existence have been circulating since the 19<sup>th</sup> century and expeditions have been sent. One can readily believe in the
possibility when alone in the High Pamirs.</span></div>
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Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7941322242881992609.post-29184371341738780202013-04-16T19:13:00.000+01:002017-05-12T09:04:39.247+01:00Grapes on the Shamoli Plain - Afghanistan<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I crossed</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"> Afghanistan's Shamoli Plain in 1997 to ascertain the
viability of an agricultural rehabilitation programme. The area had once been famous
for its vineyards and exports of grapes and raisins to neighbouring countries.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">As one of the
most fertile areas of Afghanistan in close proximity to Kabul, the Plain was cursed
with anti-personnel mines from an earlier conflict. It was considered
one of the most heavily mined area in Afghanistan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Vineyards
were abundant, but clearly untended for some years. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Given the lack of foliage early in the year,
it was evident that many
landowners were collecting munitions and stacking them in the corner of
their fields There were no indication of their condition or evidence of the danger they posed. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEA1JMbT_OIsPki9aeTkm3Zs1A8oH79LLVUrvKm-EMzGb0Euit9ox6-VB09qv3CILYmGJ6xHNbeCv1yVd2I3ZyAIMJvHZjH_Eru1DIXdu5FdrxszBGi4LEXGcasRZHu8G7krLfNEWFaeu/s1600/Afg11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVEA1JMbT_OIsPki9aeTkm3Zs1A8oH79LLVUrvKm-EMzGb0Euit9ox6-VB09qv3CILYmGJ6xHNbeCv1yVd2I3ZyAIMJvHZjH_Eru1DIXdu5FdrxszBGi4LEXGcasRZHu8G7krLfNEWFaeu/s400/Afg11.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Many fields were mined</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Occasionally one could see the regular edges of dark metallic objects protruding from the mud. Some fields had been
sprayed with butterfly mines whilst in others stick mines stood at odd angles. They were clearly deteriorating and far from secure. Bounding mines when detonated had the
unpleasant habit of shooting into the air before lethally showering the
surrounding area with shards of metal. Children and livestock were regular
victims. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">All fieldwork was undertaken
from the top of dykes and well walked pathways. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">Later on in
the year - 1997 - the tide began to turn against the Taliban, and they were to
inflict appalling suffering on the principally Tajik population of this area before
destroying irrigation channels, poisoning wells and destroying what crops they
could find.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Now finally
there is some good news for the Plain. By 2013 many minefields had been cleared and NGO’s were managing to bring
the vineyards back into production.</span><br />
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Paul Philpotthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14075894543219261440noreply@blogger.com