Ships of the desert...ships that pass in the night...Malek the philosopher
Posted: Tuesday, 02 October 2007 |
I mentioned in an earlier blog that a person who spends to much time in the desert can become Erg-challenged, and would either end up as a poet a philosopher or ye god's forbid mad...!!! I have yet to meet the mad (but stranger things have happened) as for a philosopher...I was humbled by a meeting today.
***
A strange place the Sahara, a blank page upon which to write an invisible text.
Things move slowly out here in the Sahara, my time in the field has been extended by a week, my rotational colleague having broke his foot (that’s a new one, that’s 3 feet he has ?) so I will miss out on the Tiree windsurfing extravaganza.
But worst things could happen.
When I do eventually get home to Tiree I will be over burdened for the first week or so with the inevitable culture shock...and it will take some time to be at peace with myself.
Strange but I never feel out of place when I go somewhere remote or poles apart on the cultural ladder, but I always feel it when I get home. Little things like walking into the COOP and seeing so much on the shelves; Been at a loss to have a conversation with people, people...a TV, a clean toilet. I seek solace in my children and walk on the beach with my boy Finn. Inevitably I drink to much the first night or two (7 weeks without a drop certainly removes all resistance to the demon brew)...I sit entranced in front of a TV...adverts, cooking programs, the lotto draw, I don't care it's amazing. Oh and my comfy Ikea seats…and a fire place, and my bed my wonderful bed under my massive Velux sky…bread with lurpack butter, bacons butties and real coffee..
My wonderful home with the sound of the ocean and not the continual drone of a generator...kids playing on the Machair, geese in the garden and hare’s dodging my thundering Landrover. Music…lots and lots of music…
All just little things I notice...and a small part of the list. The luxurious conflict of have and have not…from the right side of the fence.
I sat today not far from our new camp location, the desert tracks run clear south from here to the Sudan border…about 1000km of nothing. And watched two very moving things (or two moving things depends on your outlook)…A camel train to Kufra, the weather is beginning to cool and it was only 41c today…time for the seasonal camel trains.
It’s a magical sight watching these particularly strange beasts appear from the watery mirage lumber up, and pass on to their fate. The Tuareg guys (Tuareg means blue man, because they used to use blue mud as a sunburn preventative prior to cheap sun cream) always come near, “As alum Alikum, kev halik, kev cum”…”Alikum salaam, quess hum d Allah’’ the reply…I digress and could go on.
Strange things camels, three gears…fast, plod and won’t get up…and then the horse designed by committee waddles off over my shoulder…time-less like the Sahara.
I drove for about an hour and saw trucks, amazing trucks… and one broken down truck near a deserted oil well support camp…it’s customary in the desert to ask if all is well…but it was not, is not.
30 men from Darfur driven out by the conflict…we chatted. My Arabic is poor, my French limited…I chatted with an older man, the driver and his friend. I drove back to camp went to the store and took a goat carcass…I drove back to the refugees (REFUGEES). We waited for sun down, they said their prayers to their god, we broke the Ramadan Fast & I ate supper with some of these men…proud men. Men like Malek,
Mr Malek, father, husband and philosopher
I felt humbled at what they told me about Darfur, I felt like I knew nothing about life, yet our common ground was a meal, the love of our families…the things they told me are not suitable for a blog built around our love and lives in the Scottish Isles. They are not suitable things for any human being to have to come to turns with…I have learnt a lesson today in humanity, the best side and the worst side. Of murder, rape and displacement…of men who can cry at their lot and at the same time have faith in a better day tomorrow…laugh at my inept linguistic skills...had fits of laughter that i should live in a place that was cold and wet...and then apologise for any inconvinience they may have caused me.
I was upset on the way back here to the camp...and now I am smiling when think of Malek.
And now I want to go back to my home and hold my children tight, and stare at the TV, walk on the beach and be bemused at all the things we have in the COOP.
Strange place the Sahara… a blank page upon which to write an invisible text.
And as Omar Khayyam wrote, “The writing hand having written, moves on”
***
A strange place the Sahara, a blank page upon which to write an invisible text.
Things move slowly out here in the Sahara, my time in the field has been extended by a week, my rotational colleague having broke his foot (that’s a new one, that’s 3 feet he has ?) so I will miss out on the Tiree windsurfing extravaganza.
But worst things could happen.
When I do eventually get home to Tiree I will be over burdened for the first week or so with the inevitable culture shock...and it will take some time to be at peace with myself.
Strange but I never feel out of place when I go somewhere remote or poles apart on the cultural ladder, but I always feel it when I get home. Little things like walking into the COOP and seeing so much on the shelves; Been at a loss to have a conversation with people, people...a TV, a clean toilet. I seek solace in my children and walk on the beach with my boy Finn. Inevitably I drink to much the first night or two (7 weeks without a drop certainly removes all resistance to the demon brew)...I sit entranced in front of a TV...adverts, cooking programs, the lotto draw, I don't care it's amazing. Oh and my comfy Ikea seats…and a fire place, and my bed my wonderful bed under my massive Velux sky…bread with lurpack butter, bacons butties and real coffee..
My wonderful home with the sound of the ocean and not the continual drone of a generator...kids playing on the Machair, geese in the garden and hare’s dodging my thundering Landrover. Music…lots and lots of music…
All just little things I notice...and a small part of the list. The luxurious conflict of have and have not…from the right side of the fence.
I sat today not far from our new camp location, the desert tracks run clear south from here to the Sudan border…about 1000km of nothing. And watched two very moving things (or two moving things depends on your outlook)…A camel train to Kufra, the weather is beginning to cool and it was only 41c today…time for the seasonal camel trains.
It’s a magical sight watching these particularly strange beasts appear from the watery mirage lumber up, and pass on to their fate. The Tuareg guys (Tuareg means blue man, because they used to use blue mud as a sunburn preventative prior to cheap sun cream) always come near, “As alum Alikum, kev halik, kev cum”…”Alikum salaam, quess hum d Allah’’ the reply…I digress and could go on.
Strange things camels, three gears…fast, plod and won’t get up…and then the horse designed by committee waddles off over my shoulder…time-less like the Sahara.
I drove for about an hour and saw trucks, amazing trucks… and one broken down truck near a deserted oil well support camp…it’s customary in the desert to ask if all is well…but it was not, is not.
30 men from Darfur driven out by the conflict…we chatted. My Arabic is poor, my French limited…I chatted with an older man, the driver and his friend. I drove back to camp went to the store and took a goat carcass…I drove back to the refugees (REFUGEES). We waited for sun down, they said their prayers to their god, we broke the Ramadan Fast & I ate supper with some of these men…proud men. Men like Malek,
Mr Malek, father, husband and philosopher
I felt humbled at what they told me about Darfur, I felt like I knew nothing about life, yet our common ground was a meal, the love of our families…the things they told me are not suitable for a blog built around our love and lives in the Scottish Isles. They are not suitable things for any human being to have to come to turns with…I have learnt a lesson today in humanity, the best side and the worst side. Of murder, rape and displacement…of men who can cry at their lot and at the same time have faith in a better day tomorrow…laugh at my inept linguistic skills...had fits of laughter that i should live in a place that was cold and wet...and then apologise for any inconvinience they may have caused me.
I was upset on the way back here to the camp...and now I am smiling when think of Malek.
And now I want to go back to my home and hold my children tight, and stare at the TV, walk on the beach and be bemused at all the things we have in the COOP.
Strange place the Sahara… a blank page upon which to write an invisible text.
And as Omar Khayyam wrote, “The writing hand having written, moves on”
A Blog for Staffa and Nan...
Posted: Wednesday, 03 October 2007 |
A Blog for Staffa and Nan.
In 1958 my Mom and her parents traveled by steam train from Birmingham to Oban, no mean feat way back then when I was but a distant happening on the horizon.
My grandmother died young but I can remember her telling me about a magical Isle called Staffa, my grandfather didn’t make the trip out from Oban but “Nan did” was a family thing. (My Uncle George made it to Hirta (St Kilda) in 1960 and helped carry out one of the first bird counts, but to me Staffa had a Norse ring to it, pirates and caves). My grandfather kept the story of Staffa alive and it was always a dream of mine to one day see and walk upon my childhood memory.
And so as it was that I crewed upon An Sulaire (www.ansulaire.com) Kenny Morrison was the childhood salty sea dog Skipper. On a glorious day 3 years ago we set sail from Scarinish and headed across the briny blue to the Treshnish isles and on towards Staffa. Felix Mendelssohn playing in the back ground, and bacon butties cooking in the bilge.
Sails tight in the wind this magical wooden boat from Lewis and the men of Ness took us safely towards our destination. The Sgoth Niseach (Ness Boat) is now the only full sized one left in existence.
Under azure skies we rounded the Island after a few hours sailing, the incredible geometry of the Staffa columns stark against the greens and blues that surround. At the landing point we were taken by a helping pleasure craft to the small jetty and clambered around to see the cave. It was fortunate that the island had only a hand full of visitors on this day.
And I was lost in thoughts of my Nan’s presence on this magical jewel, I felt that little kid again, by my side holding onto my Nan’s hand. I felt so happy.
The cave is such a fantastic place on such a fine Islands day, Fingals Cave, how apt one of my boys should be called Finn, and that he also shares a love of the ocean and of the Isles.
We returned to An Sulaire after an enchanting walk across Staffa’s green sward, dotted with alpine flowers. Mull and Beinn Mor spred out across the bay.
But the amazing day had not as yet finished, gently we slipped into the cave in An Sulaire and Kenny’s partner played a jig or two on her whistle…and we danced there in this incredible sea cut cathedral.
The tourists looked on bemused at our antics…and my Nan did a little jig by my side, while we all marveled at the hypnotic basalt ceiling, shape shifting in the reflection of the sea...the beautiful sea...
It has taken me a good few years to save for my own boat, the good ship Impromptu…during that life experience, day sail to Staffa with the friendly crew of An Sulair, I made a decision to buy a boat of my own and one day visit Hirta (St Kilda) for as I have said there is also a family connection with the island…but that’s a tale for later...the sailing season for me at least has finished.
A well traveled lot us pseudo welsh Brummies…
May i just add that this is the "Black Pearl" and not the yacht I intend to sail to St Kilda in...mind you the cabin boy is a fine fellow...and is learning to hold a steady course...
In 1958 my Mom and her parents traveled by steam train from Birmingham to Oban, no mean feat way back then when I was but a distant happening on the horizon.
My grandmother died young but I can remember her telling me about a magical Isle called Staffa, my grandfather didn’t make the trip out from Oban but “Nan did” was a family thing. (My Uncle George made it to Hirta (St Kilda) in 1960 and helped carry out one of the first bird counts, but to me Staffa had a Norse ring to it, pirates and caves). My grandfather kept the story of Staffa alive and it was always a dream of mine to one day see and walk upon my childhood memory.
And so as it was that I crewed upon An Sulaire (www.ansulaire.com) Kenny Morrison was the childhood salty sea dog Skipper. On a glorious day 3 years ago we set sail from Scarinish and headed across the briny blue to the Treshnish isles and on towards Staffa. Felix Mendelssohn playing in the back ground, and bacon butties cooking in the bilge.
Sails tight in the wind this magical wooden boat from Lewis and the men of Ness took us safely towards our destination. The Sgoth Niseach (Ness Boat) is now the only full sized one left in existence.
Under azure skies we rounded the Island after a few hours sailing, the incredible geometry of the Staffa columns stark against the greens and blues that surround. At the landing point we were taken by a helping pleasure craft to the small jetty and clambered around to see the cave. It was fortunate that the island had only a hand full of visitors on this day.
And I was lost in thoughts of my Nan’s presence on this magical jewel, I felt that little kid again, by my side holding onto my Nan’s hand. I felt so happy.
The cave is such a fantastic place on such a fine Islands day, Fingals Cave, how apt one of my boys should be called Finn, and that he also shares a love of the ocean and of the Isles.
We returned to An Sulaire after an enchanting walk across Staffa’s green sward, dotted with alpine flowers. Mull and Beinn Mor spred out across the bay.
But the amazing day had not as yet finished, gently we slipped into the cave in An Sulaire and Kenny’s partner played a jig or two on her whistle…and we danced there in this incredible sea cut cathedral.
The tourists looked on bemused at our antics…and my Nan did a little jig by my side, while we all marveled at the hypnotic basalt ceiling, shape shifting in the reflection of the sea...the beautiful sea...
It has taken me a good few years to save for my own boat, the good ship Impromptu…during that life experience, day sail to Staffa with the friendly crew of An Sulair, I made a decision to buy a boat of my own and one day visit Hirta (St Kilda) for as I have said there is also a family connection with the island…but that’s a tale for later...the sailing season for me at least has finished.
A well traveled lot us pseudo welsh Brummies…
May i just add that this is the "Black Pearl" and not the yacht I intend to sail to St Kilda in...mind you the cabin boy is a fine fellow...and is learning to hold a steady course...
Things that have obviously? gone bump in the desert… METEORITE’S
Posted: Tuesday, 09 October 2007 |
Things that have obviously? gone bump in the desert… METEORITE’S
What do the Sands of time have for us this time ?
Well I am on the final countdown to my homeward journey from the sands of the Sahara to the Sands of Tiree…but before ye go.
What with Island Wanderers reference to Sputnik and Mountain mans reference to the celestial wonders I feel I have to let the kitty out of the bag (or canine out of the soviet steel sphere). So here are some closer to home matters.
There is a high probability that if a meteorite lands in the desert there will be nobody in the vicinity…so does it make a sound ? like bump? Or maybe a wheezing sigh at finally coming to rest somewhere solid, does it do the Speilberg “Der, DERR! Der, de, da” Yep it’s time to go home the madness is just around the corner and the heavans are throwing rocks at my glasshouse.
110kg of cosmic matter
.
Well anyway, I certainly made all sorts of little noises of a less cosmic scale when I found my first Sahara meteor. I was absolutely awestruck and still don’t really know what to do with it (them, there are more 6 including the most recent). All but one have a final resting place on my fire mantel place…and enjoy visitations from us earthlings
Oh joy !!!!
Here is a link if you want to know more http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meteorite
If there is anybody out there who can shed more light on who or what keeps throwing these objects please let me know...
Amazed
In the last two years I have found six meteors in total ranging from half a kilo or so up to my latest find a whapping 110kg…now as my access baggage allowance won’t actually stretch to this amount (neither will the bank balance) it can stay in its lonely location. If anybody wants a piece it is at 28º35’27.73 N 20º18’29.62E and is an Iron /stone meteor.
They are fairly easy to spot out in the Sahara, mile upon mile of similar terrain, in myriad shades of earth. The majority of the areas we work in are sedimentary or metamorphic (look it up or as our Mull based rock doc) so if I see a dark object that obviously looks out of place I will walk or drive over to it. Unfortunately there is even rubbish out here (there go the rose colored specks) so more often than not a rusty tin can is the find…But occasionally a less earthly object.
SPUD'nick
To say it is an amazing feeling to pick up a piece of the cosmos that was once not Gaia bound…is an understatement of cosmic proportions…However if my assumption is correct, holding these objects is, I suspect, as near as I will come in this lifetime to looking down on this Blue planet that we call home.
For anyone who is interested in earth impacts, and lies awake at night worrying about that approaching piece of planetary matter go to Google and zoom in on…28º08’33.30” N 22º23’35.76”E …yes that is a meteor crater 2.8 km wide there are another 3 within 150 km one 18km wide…what a busy place the Sahara is.
A NASA image of the crater...note they colored the Sahara green, what can i say?
And I thought the United States had the monopoly on invading matter and alien beings from outer space…perhaps dropping their rocks (giggle) here is less likely to get a response; for the locals here are generally happy to watch the world pass by without interfering…meet son and daughter of Laika...
Given that these Fennec never heard me approach upon my trusty steed Bucephalus (look it up...tut, tut '), I sumise that either they need big ears because they are hard of herring, or meteors sort of sneak down like floating leaves or a falling feather...
Sleep well…I leave you with a Saharan sunset, a smile...and Bucephalus
What do the Sands of time have for us this time ?
Well I am on the final countdown to my homeward journey from the sands of the Sahara to the Sands of Tiree…but before ye go.
What with Island Wanderers reference to Sputnik and Mountain mans reference to the celestial wonders I feel I have to let the kitty out of the bag (or canine out of the soviet steel sphere). So here are some closer to home matters.
There is a high probability that if a meteorite lands in the desert there will be nobody in the vicinity…so does it make a sound ? like bump? Or maybe a wheezing sigh at finally coming to rest somewhere solid, does it do the Speilberg “Der, DERR! Der, de, da” Yep it’s time to go home the madness is just around the corner and the heavans are throwing rocks at my glasshouse.
110kg of cosmic matter
.
Well anyway, I certainly made all sorts of little noises of a less cosmic scale when I found my first Sahara meteor. I was absolutely awestruck and still don’t really know what to do with it (them, there are more 6 including the most recent). All but one have a final resting place on my fire mantel place…and enjoy visitations from us earthlings
Oh joy !!!!
Here is a link if you want to know more http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Meteorite
If there is anybody out there who can shed more light on who or what keeps throwing these objects please let me know...
Amazed
In the last two years I have found six meteors in total ranging from half a kilo or so up to my latest find a whapping 110kg…now as my access baggage allowance won’t actually stretch to this amount (neither will the bank balance) it can stay in its lonely location. If anybody wants a piece it is at 28º35’27.73 N 20º18’29.62E and is an Iron /stone meteor.
They are fairly easy to spot out in the Sahara, mile upon mile of similar terrain, in myriad shades of earth. The majority of the areas we work in are sedimentary or metamorphic (look it up or as our Mull based rock doc) so if I see a dark object that obviously looks out of place I will walk or drive over to it. Unfortunately there is even rubbish out here (there go the rose colored specks) so more often than not a rusty tin can is the find…But occasionally a less earthly object.
SPUD'nick
To say it is an amazing feeling to pick up a piece of the cosmos that was once not Gaia bound…is an understatement of cosmic proportions…However if my assumption is correct, holding these objects is, I suspect, as near as I will come in this lifetime to looking down on this Blue planet that we call home.
For anyone who is interested in earth impacts, and lies awake at night worrying about that approaching piece of planetary matter go to Google and zoom in on…28º08’33.30” N 22º23’35.76”E …yes that is a meteor crater 2.8 km wide there are another 3 within 150 km one 18km wide…what a busy place the Sahara is.
A NASA image of the crater...note they colored the Sahara green, what can i say?
And I thought the United States had the monopoly on invading matter and alien beings from outer space…perhaps dropping their rocks (giggle) here is less likely to get a response; for the locals here are generally happy to watch the world pass by without interfering…meet son and daughter of Laika...
Given that these Fennec never heard me approach upon my trusty steed Bucephalus (look it up...tut, tut '), I sumise that either they need big ears because they are hard of herring, or meteors sort of sneak down like floating leaves or a falling feather...
Sleep well…I leave you with a Saharan sunset, a smile...and Bucephalus
The Erg' nomics of travel...91Čȱ¬ward bound.
Posted: Sunday, 14 October 2007 |
I find myself departing the Erg, for greener lands...a place of water, sky, sound and air you can drink...back to Tiree after 7 weeks in the wilderness... I leave this incredibly harsh place to the shifting sands, the fennec and the passing swallows.
Life hangs on here to the hope of a heavy dew...It is no place for a person to linger, I need the sound of the ocean and the comfort of friends, the laughter of children...and the CoOp.
Back to this................
Offshore view has left the building..............................
Life hangs on here to the hope of a heavy dew...It is no place for a person to linger, I need the sound of the ocean and the comfort of friends, the laughter of children...and the CoOp.
Back to this................
Offshore view has left the building..............................
"muterings about life and distant shores...an off shore view"
A World wandering from my Tiree home
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