Tibet - China

Technorati Profile
All throughout my travels in China and Tibet have I never came across any brawl
between ethnic Chinese and Tibetan people.I found there was peaceful coexistence amongst ethnic Tibetans and Han Chinese people.On one of my journeys however I came across certain individuals whose mission was very dubious indeed. Their claim to work as volunteers for an American N.G.O. was not accurate.I say this because they revealed to me that they are aiding Tibetan exiles to slip back from the Indian part of the Himalayas, walking over hundreds of miles in mountainous areas.What happens is that China critics are being smuggled into Tibet and cause dissent and political upheaval.Who is to suffer as a result? It is those foreigners and Tourists who have good intentions. Tibet is all full of laughing faces, the hearts of Tibetans are pure.Whatever the political implications are, we as foreigners should not dabble in their politics.
We need to rethink our policies of interfering in other sovereign Nations affairs.There is much to be cleaned in our own backyards.

http://twitpic.com/5w1a

oldest printinghouse in Tibet

http://www.squidoo.com/Obama-President

Obama will succeed against Clinton

http://www.squidoo.com/spyware-control

With a few hitches it is actually easy to control Spy ware; All with free-of-charge, solid anti spy programs to download;

..I depart from Mandiana customs check point in the afternoon and hit the road towards Niani. Without a proper map (as there is none) the road is not clearly marked, especially its condition. To my astonishment I find it in much better condition than the ones I got used to since entering Guinea.

At 40-50 mph this seems a real highway to me. A few checkpoints on the way, nothing spectacular, the usual 'pay 'n drive' method works well here.

The scenery has changed into complete Savannah now. Grasslands and scrubs, solitary Baobab trees, but no more the dense tropical jungle.
Life in these areas is dreadful, no running water, no electricity, as in dark ages. People though can adapt to any condition that is put upon them.
We reach Niani at night close to 19 hours P.M. and my fuel is close to nil. Of course Niani, the border town must be having fuel, or so I think. What I finally find is not the usual filling station.
After crossing the town, which is not much of a settlement, I am directed to the 'station'. I can not somehow forget this scene, it is another milestone on a long road through Africa.
I find a petroleum lit grass hut, crooked stems serve as poles, a straw covered roof. The fuel is all filled in beer bottles of 0.7 ltrs, lined up in a row on front of the 'gas station'. If it were not for the acute shortage, I would laugh at this, but now I realize I have no choice, for after Niani there is a 100 miles nothing except bush and unknown territory.
So I fill a 50 bottles of 'beer' gas, its price almost double inflated to the normal rate. I do not even want to look for food, for I know I have to continue to Mali tonight. So I leave, with a unforgettable memory in place.
The evening brings some cool air, I sense the mighty river nearby. And when I reach the bonfire that is lit near the main road I recognize the Guinean border guards who camp here.
To describe this would take another chapter, however this is an entry / exit point and I must say the guards are the friendliest I ever found in Guinea. The exit stamp in my passport, i carry on, the dark road passing through the middle of the bush, beside the river.
Driving carefully in the dark, against my mentors advice, I focus my full attention on the rough road ahead of me. 
The river Sankarani I cant see, as it is dark, but to me it is more a lake than a river. Floating gently, but mightily. A build up to the mighty dam that feeds three quarters of Mali with electricity, the Barrage de Selingui. A gigantic project as I am to see later on. A premonition overcomes me I can't explain why, but I slow down my vehicle to a mere 10 mph. I cannot see the road ahead of me, and the high beams are not helping much either. I notice the concrete structure that stands in the dark was once a bride crossing a creek beneath. Now, the bridge has been washed away, and I am standing 6 meters over the creek that floats beneath under it. In the darkness I maneuver the car back and find a diversion I passed minutes ago, leading to the creek's bottom. The normal type of vehicle would not be able to drive through this makeshift road, but I manage to cross the waters which aren't deep surprisingly and climb up the other side to continue my journey.
The road turns to the left and leads into pure grassland, with bumps shaking us to the brink. In the distance a see a shimmering light, a line decorated with obsolete plastic carrier bags in all colors indicate a further check point. No one in sight, in the middle of the Savannah. I blow my horn. It is now 20 hours and I still have to make headway, I force myself. After a few minutes a customs guy appears and tells me the border is closed for tonight, from his uniform I can see we have reached the Malian customs.

I beg, a common way of getting things done in these parts, to let me pass, as I have pressing business in Bamako. After consultation for which he disappears back into the dark, he reappears and removes the rope that serves as a barrier. We cross the line and follow him, guiding us to a shelter build from grass, roots and pieces of logs. The papers I am asked to submit. He disappears into the hut, and I wait. 5 minutes, 10 minutes pass. After 15 minutes I follow him and see three customs officials inspecting my 'international vaccination card'.
I am asked if all my vaccinations are in order, which I confirm. Something they must find, and in my case they ask me for a valid 'Vaccination contre Meningitis' as you guess right the vaccination against Meningitis is what delays my departure. 5000 CFA change their hands and I carry on through the night.

next episode : night in the bush

ags: Ivory Coast, rainforest, Guinea, Ghana, Yamoussoukro
 

• Yahoo blog 
• Articlebase Heinz Rainer

Encounter at dusk, Odienne forest, border Guinea

The Renault truck was loaded to the top with no room left to spare. 30 tons of merchandise consisting of packaging materials and other goods had crossed from Gonokrom, Ghana towards Ivory Coast, Agnibilekrou. On the first night they slept at the border to complete formalities to obtain transit documents, a cumbersome affair.

They had made friends with the border customs officials in order to facilitate the process faster. The wife of the head of the customs border point invited them to dinner, consisting of Fufu (mortar pounded Manioc, plantains and yams), and the delicious peanut butter stew.

The days that followed were in stark contrast to this, the truck transiting Ivory Coast from the north to the south, just 150 km before Abidjan, and then turning right towards Yamoussoukro. It took 3 days before Yamoussoukro was reached, and heavy rain poured down on them in the center of the metropolis built by the former president. Houphet Boigny
They slept the night in their vehicle, the crew of 4 and the woman in charge of the goods. It was cramped, uncomfortable and sticky hot, but they had managed all through out their journey the conditions were similar.

The made an attempt to call to inform their whereabouts but no telephone line was available to contact those waiting for news.
Next morning the truck moved north towards the regional capital of Odienne http://www.britannica.com/eb/article-9056764/Odienne, and the driver took the decision to cross the rainforest into Guinea, without knowing the road and its condition.

Being on African roads is a danger in itself, with vehicles parked in broken down condition during nightfall, blocking the roads, and without a warning triangle as the norm. Many people lose their lives this way, from passenger cars ploughing into those trucks on the road. Thousands of people die as a result but nothing is being done to alter the situation. No government since 50 years has ever been able to control this number one cause of road accidents.

The road through the forest is unpaved, a stretch of 50 miles of green, impenetrable jungle awaits them, only cut by a narrow, laterite road that serves as the main route to the border with Guinea. So narrow is the path that no two vehicles would be able to pass each other would they meet. On some areas the road is wider, and this would be the only way to allow two trucks to pass side by side, leaving only inches of room.

The truck could not move at more than 10-15 mph due to the bad condition of the road. In the afternoon the torrents pour more water on them, the jungle becoming a morass.
Visibility is reduced to a few meters. The driver does his best to continue, he is aware of the many dangers that lurk in this thick, green hell. They must make it to the border post. The rain still gushing down on them, he was crossing a creek overflowing its embankments. The floods are dark from the soil of the rainforest, and the driver can't see the huge rock that is laying in the middle of it. All he feels is a heavy jolt on his truck, and he forces the car to move out from the creek to stop on the other side and inspecting his vehicle. He had unwittingly damaged his radiator whilst running over a big bolder of rock hardly noticeable because of low visibility and the dark brown floods.

Desperation overcomes them when they see the damage. No way could they continue till the water tank had been repaired. They decide to stay over the night and remove the tank the following morning.
It was late afternoon close by the time they had crossed the flooded creek. Tropical rains happen to be a regular menace to drivers and as fast as they come they will go. At 6 PM all was over and the forest was getting dark, quickly.

They prepared for the night in their cramped vehicle once again, only this time in the middle of the jungle, and without knowing their exact location.
After the rain the canopy over them turned into a lively neighborhood with green monkeys jumping from branch to branch, amidst loud screams they were protesting the human presence below them.

Night fell and the jungle voices rising, myriads of mosquitoes descending on them. Windows could not be closed completely unless they would suffocate, so they fell prey to the blood sucking insects. It was real hell, no food except a few loafs of bread was with them. A negligence they realized at that moment.
The night creeping endlessly, with the occupants feeling prisoners in their tiny cabin which had two bunks infested with another insect, fleas. In addition to their already dreadful condition, the fleas attacking them in the bunks and menacing them.

When daylight comes they are relieved, move out from their vehicle and disappear in the bushes behind. The creek is now at its normal level and the rock can be seen clearly. Nobody will move it except by nature's force. After a meager breakfast of a few chunks of 'tea bread, water from the creek, the driver and mate remove the radiator, a task of two hours. It is near 10 AM when they depart back to where they came from, carrying the heavy tank on the drivers head, the African way.

No one knows how long it would take them to return. A pathetic thought in the middle of nowhere, only a breakdown in the desert could be of similar magnitude. So they wave goodbye and pray to return safely.

The day passes slowly, the jungle steaming with the day heat, the sun now over the canopy they melt in this near 100 % humidity environment. They watch the monkeys over their heads, and pass the time with telling their own problems to each other.
The owner of the vehicle was a laborer in London, UK and saved up in many years to be able to acquire this truck to enable him to make a living back home. Many tales are told on this day, for there was no other means to beat the time.
They wonder where their companions may have reached, their hopes are dim, knowing the condition of the road.

Afternoon brings again the daily rain. Everyone is waiting for the storm to finish before preparing for the night once again. A bucket of water is carried for the woman to the vehicle to the rear of the cabin to take her bath. She has no choice and uses her African printed cloth to wrap it around her big bosom and cover herself from the view of the others. Sitting on the back on the top of the spare tire, she manages to take her shower.
The water is fresh and invigorates her after the hot day. Proceeding with lotion her body, using a perfumed body lotion to smoothen her skin, she suddenly hears a sound from the side of the road behind her.
She calls the attention of the vehicle's owner and points to the shadow that comes towards her. As dusk has set in she is unable to see clear, yet she notices the abnormal size of what comes towards her. She tells Paul in the front to look at this big dog. When the remaining mate sees it he is shocked and calls in a quiet voice, she should move into the cabin, as this was not a dog, that rather it was a lion. With her Adrenalin rising in a flash, her 220 pounds of flesh moved as fast as in no time before. She jumps to the cabin like a 14 year old schoolgirl, slamming the door behind them. They see the Forest Leopard standing behind, whacking his tail nervously, confused. The scent of perfume is an unknown odor to him, and this saves the life of the female. They see him and hear him, a few meters away from the vehicle, growling deeply, his spotted skin vaguely visible in the dark.

They had crossed the path of a Forest Leopard http://www.africaguide.com/features/trvafmag/015.htm, and escaped his attack by a margin. The margin was the body lotion that sent the Leopard into confusion. God was on their side. The Leopard still standing, and growls on more time in a deep, catlike outburst of dissatisfaction, till he finally disappears back into the jungle.

Continuation : Bougoula border, Guinea........

Category: Travel and Places

Imagine this : You drive an hour through dusty roads, in the Savannah. The dust whirled up by oncoming trucks and vehicles covers you from top to toe. In the middle of this, a barricade with  a sign that shows : 'Fuller Falls'. No one around,
you begin to wonder. There is pad lock to prevent you from entering the bush path. Then a bicycle with Ahmadou appears, grinning and recognizing us, he must be punished for 'desertion of beat'. But here, in the middle of nowhere, his job is not scrutinized, the local government offices has more pressing issues to take care of.
When we enter the bush road, it is as if a different world opens up before us, suddenly we are in a tropical forest, surrounded by Savannah.
We step down to the falls, warning signs tell you not to wear perfumes, or make noise, for there are inhabitants which will become 'wild beasts', refering to wild hornets, and bees who inhabit these forests.
We are aware of the warning and one gets an uneasy feeling when descending down the falls. The gigantic trees that surround the river falls make a stunning view, over 40 meters tall, they reach far into the sky.
Ahmadou always guides us, he is at home in the village that lies adjacent to the falls.
After a prolonged day of heat, dust, its like entering an oasis. The spraying mist of the falls cover your face and body. The tranquility and peace surrounding this place have made it a center for prayers and meditation, with the local catholic church members descending here on sundays.
We sigh and gaze in sheer astonishment, everytime we come. And it has been many times we came here.

• Who links to me?

European Travel Guide | atlanta airport taxi | Hawaii Travel | Ski Vacation | Apartments booking
Free Link Exchange

• Check your web pages at SiteReportCard
• Link Exchange
• Steve's blog 
  
       ..

Tags: Freetown, Sierra Leone, Ghana Air
 

• Heinz Rainer Article base
• Heinz Rainer Google
  

The Meetings have passed with ease, our contact is happy with the arrangements made.

Return flights to Accra from Freetown are once a week, we opt to fly out on a Sunday. The weather has been moody, in Freetown it rains every day, the clouds are hanging low over the foamy sea. Last nights dinner was sumptuous, as always, the quality of food outstanding considering the location and the time. Credit to the Italian Management Paolo, and his girlfriend and the fact that we have the right contacts.

Late night we are informed that the Hovercraft is non-operational, and we must fly  with a local commuter plane departing Hastings airport to Lunghi International. Also we are informed that the rooms are all fully booked, so we have no choice but to leave. Military personnel from all over, U.N. UNHCR, Peacekeepers, High ranking officials from OAU, CIA, Mercenaries alike, all are lodging at the Cape Sierra, a somewhat funny arrangement, yet without choice. Cape Sierra is the only foreign run Hotel in war torn Freetown.

Early morning we move, after breakfast we say goodbye to our friends, and move with the Car provided by the Hotel.

Hastings Airport is about an hour drive from Cape Sierra Hotel, we pass the U.N. Security barrier, the OAU barrier, slipping through devastated Freetown in the middle of misery and carnage that befell this city. We can see houses destroyed, tin roofed buildings in desolate condition, people without hope. Yet somehow, life goes on. Talking about it brings back memories that are not at my top list. I try to forget the kids without limbs, but somehow the sight keeps coming back. A pity to see small children in their misery, for what ? Power, greed, money. Same story happens today in another part of this planet, without making a direct reference.

When we reach Hastings airport, the rains pours down in full force. Nigerian OAU troops are guarding the airport, their Captain shaking our hands, welcoming us. We sit down on a wooden makeshift bench, one hand holding our valuables in an Attachecase, the other bag with our necessities.
We are told the plane coming from upcountry is due to arrive shortly and will take us to Lunghi Int'l. I wonder, with a visibility of 50-100 meters, the clouds so low that you can almost touch it, it needs a special Pilot skill to land in such weather. Although the ILS is working, the Pilot cannot see the tarmac till he almost touches down. We are conversing with the Captain about the war and its repercussions on the civil population. One thing that strikes me is the explanation that behind all the carnage in Sierra Leone is one man, Charles Taylor. He manages to supply arms to the main rebel leader Fodeh Sankoh in return for Diamonds, which both should make them rich. However, for every seller there must be a buyer. And I know that De Beers has its offices in Freetown, throughout the war. We can debate the negative ness of this, but one thing is sure, that I won't buy anymore diamonds for anyone as long as I live. (I already have, anyway).
We hear the distant rumbling of a planes engine, a turbo prop twin of Czech origin drops out of the sky, lands safely, taxiing to the main tarmac.
Hastings is a small airport, we can follow all the movements precisely. We grab out bags, and walk towards the parked plane, to take a ride to Lunghi. Njet, Njet says the Russian pilot. No way he flies again in such weather. We stand like paralyzed, trying to convince him to take us. The OAU Captain does its best, to no avail. The guy remains stubborn, nothing will make him move this plane again today. as long as the clouds hang so low. We glance at our watches, the time close to 11.00 AM, our Ghana Air flight departing at 13.00 PM from Lunghi.
We are sitting on needles, I turn to the Nigerian Captain, asking him if they have choppers stationed here. He nods, but says he can't ask them to take us. I say: 'Come on, help us, if we can't leave today, we won't be able to leave till another week'. He moves away to see what he can do, but returns with resignation, no way.
I do not know what happens on this day, except that somewhere some angel must guard over me, for in about 20 minutes I hear the distinctive whirl of a chopper, a large Transporter or fighter, we cannot see because of the fog. It comes closer and gets louder by the second, then the craft slips out of the sky like the twin before it, I notice the distinctive marks of a MIG 8. The MIG rolls along the runway, turns towards the Hangars, its Rotors spinning in near half throttle, anyone would know he does not stop here.
Our Captain gets into action, runs towards the monster, now turning its tail 30 degrees towards us, the Captain exchanges a few words with the pilot who opens his cabin and leans out. A mighty white, hairy arm waves towards us, come on and hop in, the Captain now running back towards us, waving us to hurry up. Needless to say, we grab our bags, and run with our business attire towards the chopper. The captain receives a buck from us for his troubles, and advices us to tell the Pilot that we love Cuba. We reach the chopper, after waving goodbye to the soldier who helped us, and we are both helped into the vibrating aircraft, its Rotor blades now picking speed we can hear the from the turbines sound.
The Interior is a junk yard and a warehouse, two machine gunners with heavy submachine guns guarding both entrances, open door, we lift off almost instantly.
Flying very low over the Mangroves that occupy the are between Hastings and Lunghi, I wonder what it would be like to make a hard landing in this waters below us. I have time to study the interior, they carry supplies to the troops, from rice in bags, to toilet paper rolls, all is stuffed in the craft, and so are civilians who are sitting in the back. I am amazed to see how much stuff goes into that craft. Vibrating, with the gunners watching carefully the Mangroves below, we fly towards our destination, a mere 10-15 minutes ride, our lifeline to the outside world.
And when we reach Lunghi, I see the Ghana Air F27 approaching and land on the runway. The Pilot moves the MIG to a close area near the main building, and we thank him, amidst the noise jumping out of the aircraft, and running to the main building. The departing passengers give us a curious look, because from where we come not other passengers appear. Immigration, Customs are passed quickly, leaving our last Leones, the main currency. The plane meanwhile has parked and we are the first, occupying seat Nr. 1 + 2 in the front. I recognize another friend who is a member of the security forces of Ghana, accompanying the plane from Banjul, Conakry, Freetown on to Abidjan and Accra.
Long after taking our seats, the plane has taken off, I realize how fortunate we are, for if this chopper hadn't taken us we would be still waiting for another week in this forsaken place, but with uncertainty where to sleep, as all the rooms are booked out. We sip on our welcome drink and try to relax.
In the news a week later we hear that Freetown has been overrun by the Rebels again, and we know that the favorite place of the rebels is the Cape Sierra Hotel, the Hotel staff explaining to us whilst we are there. If this is not luck, then what is....
We thank those brave soldiers of the Nigerian peacekeepers for making our return possible, to the Pilot of the MIG; and I pray for those children who lost their arms, that they will find a somewhat normal life again. It remains a vague hope though, because one can imagine what it means to live without his right or left hand, or both. God bless those who can.
Freetown, Sierra Leone, part 2. .

read more.