MadameReya, dilettante extraordinaire

I have visited the Martyr’s Monument in Savar, Bagladesh, twice – in 1996 and 1998. After having enjoyed the peacefulness of the place on my first visit, I felt compelled to return.

On both visits, I made the journey to Savar by auto rickshaw with a couple of local acquaintances. The trips were rather long – about an hour to and from Savar from the capital city of Dhaka. My most acute memory of those trips involved the olfactory assault of dust and human toil, mingled with inescapable vehicle exhaust fumes; those combined to produce dizzying effects.

However, upon entering the park and gardens surrounding the Martyr’s Monument, the typical hustle and bustle of the Bangladeshi roadside abruptly ceased. Paths lined with flowering shrubs, low bridges over a small stream, and reflective ponds seemed to embrace the park’s dominant feature – a towering seven-pronged stone monument to those that died in the war of 1971, fighting for Bangladeshi independence against West Pakistan (Bangaldesh was known as East Pakistan before gaining independence).

I found a certain sense of solemnity in the park when I went – a certain meditative energy. Perhaps the degree of peacefulness that I found at the Martyr’s Monument was a perfect foil to the atrocities committed in that short, but brutal, 1971 war. I hope that this park will remain such a tranquil place, and that those who visit will remember its meaning.

If you drive to pavement’s end on Quinchao Island (a small island off the east coast of Chiloe Island), you will reach the little time-warped town of Achao.

We happened upon Achao while more-or-less randomly exploring the countryside of Chiloe. Upon reaching the fishing village of Dalcahue (pronounced doll-ka-way), we found a small car ferry servicing the island of Quinchao, and decided to get on board. The ride to Quinchao took all of five minutes!

We joined the island’s main road and followed it to its paved terminus in Achao, arriving just in time for SIESTA! Now…I have traveled quite a bit in southern South America, and I can vouch for the fact that every small town street is vitually deserted between 1 PM and 3:30 PM. But in Achao, the temporarily closed shops and sparsity of human beings coupled with the feeling of being cut off from the technological advancements of the industrial age, giving us the sense of being caught in a time warp. How long had Achao been just like it was that day? ...a hundred years, perhaps…

We walked along the lonely waterfront, upon a sidewalk made of crushed white seashells that squeaked and crunched with each step. Half a dozen small fishing boats were tied up at a small pier, and one fisherman was hauling in his catch.

We walked past the town’s small wooden church, reputed to be the oldest such church in Chiloe. The wooden churches are UNESCO heritage sites, and each is unique.

Driving out of town, we happened upon a fantastic panoramic overlook of Achao, from which we could see the Andes in the distance. There was a small thatch hut/kiosk, from which a local woman was selling handmade items made of woven straw. Being a sucker for this type of stuff, I picked up a straw teacup/saucer and teapot.

Since I was a child, I had wanted to visit Coyhaique. Having spotted this isolated city on my globe during early adolescence, I concocted many short stories set in ‘mysterious’ Coyhaique, without having any real knowledge of the place.

So, naturally, when I planned my first (solo) trip to Chile in 2001, Coyhaique had to be my first stop.

From the international airport in Santiago, I flew directly to Balmaceda – a tiny airport a short distance from town. I was astonished by the beautiful scenery we flew over…lakes of every imaginable color, and frigid-looking mountains and hills tumbling down into the ocean. No sign of civilization could be seen south of Puerto Montt.

Coyhaique surprised me. It was quite a small town, set into the bowl of the Rio Simpson Valley, and its culture was similar to that of most other small southern South American towns. I stayed at the diminutive “Hotel El Reloj ( http://www.elrelojhotel.cl/hotel.php ) ” for a few days, covered the town on foot, conversed in Spanglish with some shopkeepers, and found it difficult to believe that this town was so remote. And then I rented a car.

Within minutes Coyhaique was out of sight, and the Chilean Patagonian countryside seemed to spread limitlessly in all directions. At the time I went, many hillsides had been stripped of native trees, to provide adequate land for new farmer-settlers. I saw mostly small farms, with geese and ducks wandering about.

This region is also quite famous for its fishing, and I passed several lovely lakes embedded in rolling hills. As I drove along the coast of one such lake, a ‘sunshower’ passed over, lending an ethereal beauty to the landscape.

I think that the taxi driver who brought me from Balmaceda to Coyhaique summed up the town the best: “Coyhaique es muy tranquilo.”

Okay – so Nipigon doesn’t boast the highest altitude or latitude. What it CAN boast, however, is being the northernmost point along the circle tour of Lake Superior. To me, Lake Superior is an aqueous Everest, and Nipigon is its climax.

Nipigon is a sleepy hamlet studded with interesting cliffs. The only road of any consequence in the town is the one following the circle tour; it is not possible to access points in northern Ontario by road beyond Lake Nipigon.

Lake Superior isn’t big and wide like the ocean at Nipigon, but one can view its lovely bays and inlets nearby.

Stopping for food and fuel at the local diner/gas station, I felt VERY conspicuously foreign; although I have been through many small ‘everyone knows everyone’ towns, this feeling was amplified in Nipigon. It is VERY remote.

Much to my mother’s chagrin, my visit to the Vatican did not result in any sort of religious conversion on my part. The art was definitely worth seeing, however – lots of violence and nudity, of course. ;)

Me and my husband landed in Haverfordwest on Bank holiday weekend in late August when, unbeknownst to us, Wales becomes a tourist mecca. After searching almost every hamlet in Pembrokeshire for a room, we found luck in Haverfordwest, and I am glad that we did.

We enjoyed a very memorable evening in this town. After taking a walk through the delightfully abandoned downtown (we had been dodging hordes of tourists all day), we ate a very good Chinese meal (GREAT Irish coffee!). While we ate, the fog had started to roll in, and dark, misty, narrow, winding lanes offered an opportunity for a memorable digestive stroll. Upon returning to our hotel, we found a musician playing covers of 70’s classics in the adjacent pub, and we had a couple of drinks to mellow out.

This town is off the tourist map, but our time in Haverfordwest was just as memorable as in any other town we visited.

worth visiting!!

...so we were towed by another, similar boat!

We actually spent a good portion of the day out on the water before that happened, though, so I got a nice tour of the countryside from the river…lots of net-fishermen, cattle-herding, and manual farming operations – throwbacks to a simpler time.

This photo was taken on on my first trip to Bangladesh – I was 20 years old at the time. The people around me were friends/penpals, and the fellow sort-of behind me was my primary translator!

fashion note: nice spectacles, Reya…(ugh).

Me and my friend travelled to Kaza from Manali by bus, which entailed a passage via the Kunzum-La pass, high in the Himalaya.

It was a terrifying trip.

We were in the very last seats on the bus, and some of the hairpin turns up the mountainside necessitated putting the bulky bus in reverse – which meant that, as ‘last seat passengers,’ we could peer straight down into the few thousand-foot abyss between us and the valley below. I had an understandable panic attack, and my friend’s efforts to calm me almost got us thrown off the bus (touching was, apparently, the equivalent of soft porn to the bus conductor)! In addition, at the time we were there, hostilities were high in other valleys nearer the Pakistani border, and we were stuck in a bit of a high-altitude traffic jam – behind a convoy at 11,000 feet!

The trip took approximately 12/13 hours, and by the time we got to Kaza, I had never had to use a bathroom so desperately in my entire life!!

But – holy cow – the scenery at the Kunzum-La pass itself was mind-blowingly spectacular!

The small Buddhist monastery in Kibber is centuries-old, and overshadowed by the nearby Key monastery, which is located between the towns of Kibber and Kaza, in Himachal Pradesh, India. Kibber is a serene little town which looks a bit like a ‘town on the moon,’ and its inhabitants (Hindi speaking Tibetans) were very warm/friendly, and generous. The monks at this monastery gave us a tour of their home, and offered me and my friend a meal when we were returning back to town from our hike (they were cooking on the hillside, around a small fire pit).

My memories of this place are wonderful!

Me and my husband have gone to New Orleans twice; in 2002 and 2004 (the second trip was combined with a tour of the Mississippi gulf coast, from NO to Pensacola, FL). We found NO to be a very fun, vibrant, adult city (not sure if it is suitable for a family vacation, in other words), and we very much enjoyed our time there.

Amongst other things, we…

enjoyed fantastic margaritas in a Bourbon Street jazz club (the chanteuse sounded like Stevie Nicks, and the tenor sax player was amazing).

discovered Cafe Du Monde, from which we now order all our coffee!

visited the magnificent Oak Alley Plantation in Valcherie, LA.

took a paddleboat cruise on the delta.

enjoyed walks around the French Quarter & the above-ground cemeteries.

sat in on a Cajun cooking class (“New Orleans School of Cooking”).

ate some of the most amazing food we have ever had, thanks to restaurants NOLA, Court of Two Sisters, The Gumbo Shop (drooool).

enjoyed the multitudes of street performers who were, for the most part, very talented.

It is a great town!