Dove

As usual, I was in a hurry to go from one hotel to the other. Fortunately, the hotels ly in "my street", a long, straight, wide road. Here I can smoothly drive 70Km per hour.

But as always when you're in a hurry - Murphy's Law, right? – there were some obstacles: some goats, a dala dala.

Fortunately there was no oncoming traffic, so I  can overtake the dala dala: I accelerate and... suddenly I see in the middle of the road a dove. I think quickly:  will I braking? Will I dodge more? Or maybe she will fly when she sees me coming?

I opt for the last solution but slightly dodge anyway. I pass the dala dala but I don’t see the pigeon fly.

When I look in my mirror, I see the pigeon on the pavement waving with her wing. A sense of guilt overwhelms me.

Suddenly a boy of about nine years comes from the roadside and runs to the doves.

My guilt fades ... Tonight one family will have meat for dinner...

Africa, you love it or you hate it.

For those who want to know how it is to work in Africa, for those who want to know what it is to work in a place where people have a completely different culture… this is a real, but daily story, of how I work in Zanzibar.

I have written it before: people àre very nice and friendly here. But friendliness has not always much to do with working and knowledge.

As an (over-organised) European, you just have to be patient… and don’t loose your smile in such situations…

So this morning… I arrived at hotel “La Gemma dell’Est”, a 5 star resort in the Nord of the island. As all hotels, they have security at the gate checking who comes in and who goes out of the hotel. As I wear a uniform and I drive always the same car, most hotel guards already know me by now and let me in.

In La Gemma dell’Est it is a bit different. I was stopped by the guard.

Guard: “Good morning. How are you?”

Me: “I am fine thank you.”

I never ask “And how are you?” which is actually a bit rude. But if I ask, another question from his side  will follow (And how is the work today?) and then another (And how is your family?) and another… and there will be no end. And most of the time I am in a hurry.

Guard: “How can I help you?”

Me: “Well, you could help me by opening the barrier.”

Guard: “Where are you going?”

You should realise now that the gate of La Gemma is already 100 inside the territory of the hotel, so there is no other possibility than going to the hotel.

Me: “I am going to ‘The Royal Zanzibar’.”

That is the hotel nearby…

Guard: “Why do you come here?”

Me: “For fun, I just come here for fun.”

It is clear the guard has not understood anything. He looks at me.
I tell him: “Ask me a ‘good’ questions (I cannot use the word ‘intelligent’, that is too difficult for him) and I will give you a good answer.”

And the guard: “Yes madam, so how can I help you?”

Me: “Well, you could help me by opening the barrier.”

Guard: “Where are you going?”

And of course, I do it again: “I am going to ‘The Royal Zanzibar’!”

Guard: “But this is La Gemma dell’Est. Why do you come here? “

Me: “As I told you, I come here for fun.”

All this time I have my uniform, my name tag and behind the front window of my car there is a board with the Thomas Cook and the Neckermann logo.

Fortunately, the guards colleague comes to the gate, he sees me and asks the other guard to open the gate.

He opens the gate, but in his eyes I can still see the questions:” Can I help you? Where are you going? Why do you come here?”

When I leave the hotel, about 45 minutes later, he opens the barrier spontaneously. But the question marks… they are still in his eyes…

Education

We have an animated conversation at the table. Taking about the slowliness of the Zanzibarin people, their stupidity (or maybe this is difference in culture).

It depends all on their education that they are not willing to leanr.

Education? They don’t even receive any education. They are running freely in their villages, educated by everyone and by nobody. They don’t know what discipline is.

Maybe something of this is true.

And than suddenly a young girl passes at the reception of this 5*hotel, wearing only a bikini.

Who is now not well-educated?

I found this picture on facebook. It tells a lot on education, culture,…

Ndimu.

7:30, the restaurant is open since half an hour. I take a place at the managers table and one of the waiters notices that I don’t have a cup. He walks – a walk that is something between the walk of a penguin and a Jamaican musician – towards another table, takes a cup, gives it to me and disappears.

Oh, I get a cup but I don’t get anything to drink.

Some time later a trainee comes to ask if I want coffee.
No, but I would like to have a bottle of water, wìth a glass.

He looks surprised: a glass?

Sic… most of the guests take their bottle of water away, but I want to drink water.

After breakfast I would like to have a cup of tea. I ask another trainee, this time it is a girl, to bring me tea with lemon please.

She disappears and comes back with tea and… milk

What’s this?

Milk!

Did I ask for milk?

No!

So please take away the milk and bring me what I asked for.

She disappears again and I see at her behaviour that she has no intention to return to bring me something else.

When I see her after some minutes I tell her: I’m still waiting for the lemon.  She answers with the typical “aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah” and leaves again.

This time she disappears completely and does not return at all.

The other trainee comes by and asks me if I want some more water.

No I don’t, thank you, but maybe you could look for your colleague who is looking for lemon for me.

Are you still waiting for your lemon? The chef, who has joined me, asks me

Eh... yes.

Most probably she doesn’t now what lemon is and she has disappeared for not admitting it.

Starting from tomorrow I will ask for “ndimu”.

                                                                                                          

Many greetings from Zanzibar

Dear all,

After almost three weeks in Zanzibar, here an update of the situation.

Sorry for the impersonal character, but I'm provisionally quite busy making it rather difficult to give everyone a personal message.

How have those almost-three-weeks run?

I spent 2 weeks shadowing Peter, the tour guide that I know from Kenya. It was nice to see him again and since we know each other, the cooperation went very smoothly. In between I also have gone on safari to Tanzania and made some other trips on the island: a spice garden, Stone Town and red colobus monkeys in Jozani National Park. Again some pleasant experiences.

Concerning the work: that seems to be quite a lot. Thomas Cook has save money and instead of 2 tour guides ... there is only 1. And that’s me. This means that I do not only assist the Belgian, Dutch, French and German guests but also the Polish, Czech and Hungarian. Of course I do not speak those languages, but in theory these guests know that they will be assisted only in English, German or French. In practice, it is true that especially the Polish guests do not speak much more than Polish. And me I thought that Polish people are gifted for languages ​​...

In addition, guests do not only com with the Thomas Cook (Condor) flight from Frankfurt on Monday, but they come every day of the week, at any hour of the day with flights from national airlines like Ethiopian or Oman Airlines. That means that every day I have to go somewhere for a welcome meeting.

But not worries: I drive around here with a nice jeep of which the radio only functions when he is willing to function. And that willing is quite often associated with the flatness of the surface. Not so much.
Cattle lies at the leash, the danger of riding down a cow is fairly small. Different situation with the chicken, so I constantly feel like I'm somewhere in the middle of a "chicken run".

Zanzibar is very vast, highways are not available so I am quite a lot of time “on the way”. The furthest hotel is 85 km from the hotel where I live, that is about 1h30 driving. But the scenery is beautiful, especially the palms and banana trees. And lots of crossing wild: goats!

I live in Neptune Pwani hotel, is owned by the same family as the Sentido Neptune hotels which I have worked for in Kenya. That's nice: some colleagues here know colleagues over there. Yet again a small family.

Nice, spacious room, with a clumsy desk and  no BVN (or Rai) on TV. Good food and sea view from my spacious terrace. What do you want to have more in life?

Zanzibar  is Africa, the same and yet different from Kenya.

The same as the people are of the same tribes (mainly Maasai) but different because they are islanders. They are actually even slower than the Kenyans ... But friendly and helpful they are. In this sense no difference.

But to be honest ... I miss the enthusiasm of Kenyans the have for mzungu’s. No children who exuberantly  yel "jambo mama" and wave their hands till they got tired and also the sense of humour is not like in Kenya.

But as this is Africa, so because of their hospitality and cheerfulness it remains a nice destination. You'll also do not see the extreme poverty like in Kenya, there is enough food for everyone, and the vast majority are respectable (clean) dressed, the veiled Muslim women are sometimes tied with coloured scarves.
But: no supermarket on this island. My Thomas Cook boss (a man!) will occasionally come from Kenya and offered me to bring what I need. But how can I explain to him what shampoo and face cream he should buy for me :-)

But ... actually I have all what I need, just like the other Zanzibarians (or how they may be called).  I just had a nice "4 ladies only " dinner at the restaurant of the hotel, in a mix of English, Italian, Swahili, German and French.

Zanzibar is OK!

Many greetings and ...

Ilse

Mens sana in corpore sano

I did it, the second Start to Run, 10 km in 30 lessons is over.

I started the first series "Start to Run*, from 0 to 5 km" when I was in Kenya, then started and almost finished the second series, "Keep Running, from 5 to 10 km", but I stopped running. Since I am in Montenegro I started the second series again.

And now it is over, I will have to look for a new challenge.

In those past 10 weeks I received an incredible amount of tips of Evy Gruyaert about running shoes, heart rate monitors and nutrition, training and resting, about injuries and precautions ...

To avoid to stress my body too much, I get up at 6 am, around 6:15 am I am ready. I start with a bit of warming up to “wake up” my heart and muscles.

6:15 is early, I know, but it is still pleasantly cool. The sun is not yet in the sky, nevertheless I put a cap as at around 7:30, when I am on my way back, she is there! When I am running in the morning, I'm not alone, others in sports outfits and running shoes, sometimes with headphones are trying to keep their bodies fit.

Nothing wrong so far...

However, I do not understand… the running not really stops, it goes on throughout the day.

There is always someone out jogging or running. But the farther the day progresses, the stranger it gets. On the promenade, men run in their mini-swimsuit with overhanging belly. No T-shirt, no cap to protect themselves against the sun. And I have never smelled sun milk. Often they run on sandals, even flip flops or water shoes, on a hard surface: concrete tiles. Very bad for feet, legs and back.

Panting and sweating they run, with red faces and sweat dripping down their bodies. I think some are near to a heart attack.

Is running really so healthy?

---

*“Start to run” is a running program sponsored by the Flemish government. It encourages people to start running. In 30 podcast, to download for free, Evy Gruyaert – a familiar voice – coaches you while she gives tips on how to train, nutrition, sports clothing, running shoes and heart rate… . Two series have been produced: “Start to Run, from 0 to 5 km”, and “keep running, from 5 to 10 km”.

Travel Ilse

It seems that I have been in many places and have seen quite a lot things...

1. San Gimignano, Italia
2. Al Karnak, Egitto
3. Goreme, Turchia
4. Riserva Nazionale di Masai Mara, Kenya
5. Il Cairo, Egitto
6. Luxor, Egitto
7. Courtrai, Belgio
8. Gand, Belgio
9. Istanbul, Turchia
10. Dahab, Egitto

• Crea la mappa dei tuoi viaggi o un blog di viaggio.
• TripAdvisor: airfare deals

Working permit

We had to go to the police station to obtain our working permit, me and 3 tour leaders.
We already had collected some paperwork: a bank account with 315 euro, a copy of our health insurance, a prove of our respective hotels that we are living there. Somebody else had already paid some taxes on our behalf and we also had the proof of that.
But many people ask for a working permit and there are long queues.
Therefore one of our colleagues had to go to the police station at 4 o’clock in the morning, write our names on "a" list and than wait in front of the door.
I didn’t know if I had to think of the long waiting queues at the refugee centres in Belgium or the parents camping in front of the school to enrol their kids in the Kindergarten.
When our colleague Sammy arrived there was already a list with 64 names so we became respectively nr. 65, 66, 67 and 68.
And then suddenly a certain "Christian" came, also he wanted to obtain a working permit. He called out the names of the list. Those who were not present, their names were cancelled. So we moved upwards with more than 20 places to places 41 to 44.
7:30 in the hotel, our Team Manager Miro picks us up to drop us at the police station. There is really a lot of people. Sammy is happy to see us, now he can go home, have a shower, take breakfast and come back. Plenty of time, the police station opens only at 10:00. And still more people coming…
Sammy comes back with a big white sheet so we make it ourselves comfortable on the grass. And as we are bored, some discussions start…
“This is so indecent, so poorly organised.” I am still thinking of the refugee centres and camping parents…
“And why do we need a working permit, we are Europeans!”.
I react: “Why shouldn't we? We are as foreigner here as Montenegrins are in Belgium. All countries require working permits for every foureigner.”
We keep an eye on the door, regularly people go in, regularly people come out. But nobody calls out our names.
It is about midday when we realise they are cheating us: “Those foreigners do not understand anything, so let them wait…”. Suddenly somebody takes it for us, with result. At about 12:20 Karen and Sammy are allowed to go in, Els and me, we still have to wait outside. But 10 minutes later they allow us inside.
And also inside the office there is a queue. And only 2 windows open. It takes about 7 minutes for one dossier, you can calculate how fast it goes…
Suddenly one of the clerks says: “You can all go out, we stop working at 13:00h.” At least we think she said, as a murmur starts and there is some movement in the group.
The lady behind me is pushing me in my back. I kindly ask her to keep some distance. Her answer is, according to the reaction of the surrounding people, not so very kind but I don’t understand it.
When the lady at the counter once again says that she will close at 13:00, some people leave, including the pushing lady.
We still wait: only one person in front of us. We agree we will say that we are together, the four of us. Would she then take our dossiers together?
Suddenly the “pushing lady” is back, but now she is attacking Els. Els is not as calm as I am and fights back.
In the meantime the man in front of us has gone, Karen gives her dossier to the lady at the counter. She opens it, starts to look into the papers and takes out one of them, saying: “I need this in Montenegrin”. Karen doesn’t understand. I look to what she is holding in her hand, take out my paper of the hotel where I live and show it to her: “Is it this what you mean?”
She takes over the paper, examines it and asks: “Who is Ilse Vandek…”?
“That’s me!”, I answer and I hand over my whole dossier. She gives Karen’s dossier back, accepts mine and starts working on it. After approx 7 minutes I get my passport back and she says: “Take a picture, there!”.
I do not know what to do exactly. Somebody helps me: "Go in there, they will take a picture of you."
I enter, another lady takes a digital picture, takes digital finger prints and a digital signature. “On 23rd of July you can pick up your working permit!”.
Amazing, I hardly can believe that everything is ok!
I join the others: because of that one paper the hotel they live in has made up in English, they have to come back tomorrow. Starting all over again: wake up at 4 o’clock, put the names on the list, wait in front of the police station’s door, queue up…
They are grumbling:” This is unacceptable! They DO understand English. Why couldn’t they accept the paper in English then?”
I reflect: how would it be in a Belgian police office if you give in a paper in another language. We in Belgium have the most difficult language laws on earth…
But I don’t say anything…

Salvador Dalì in SENTIDO Tara

Running under police escort.

This morning I went jogging on the beach, as I do so often.

There are two possibilities: if I go to the left, I can run for about 3 km on the promenade along the sea. Nice but rather hard on the stones. If I go to the right, there is first a slight slope and then I can run for approx 500 m. on a pathway. Nice views and much better for my legs. But unfortunately not so far.

This morning I went to the right: I had some acceleration excercises to do and I prefer doing them on the softer earth way.

During the warming up I had seen them again: those 10 tough guys that go running every morning at 6:45h. The run faster than me, but never go so far as I do. And they always run the direction of Sveti Stefan, the paved promenade. I thought it was a football team or similar.

I had been running for a while when suddenly one comes in my direction. Good looking. But this is clearly not the way home.

“Hi, how are you.”

”Yes, wat do I say? “All OK. Also running…”

”Nice to meet you, my name is Igor. And what is your name.”

”Nice to meet you Igor, my name is Ilse.”

”How long are you here?” So he noticed me also the previous days…

"I came here one month ago and will stay till the end of October.”

”Ooooh. Good, good, October. What are you doing here?”

”I work in the SENTIDO Tara hotel. And you?”

”Me, I am a policeman. Later on we go diving. I stay in the Belgrade hotel. “

”Oh, can you take me out for diving then? “

”Oh no, I am sorry: that is not allowed. Can you dive?”

”Yes I can, but I am not a professional like you. Just for pleasure.”

En than of course follow the classical questions: “Are you alone here?”

I have to answer with a white lie. It gets a bit silent..

Suddenly he asks: “How long do you go on running?”

I know I have to accelerate for two more times (training program in the mp3-player). And then cooling down .

“Approx 15 minutes. And now I have to accelerate.”

And as an arrow from a bow I shoot of. For 30 seconds, then I slow down again.

He keeps up with me: “Hmm, I will be late.”

”Ok, I think you have to go now. See you later, down at the diving base.”

And he left. Disappointed? I don’t know. He waved at my when I passed the diving base.

Tomorrow those men go home. It’ a pity, running under police escort is nice.

A day in Albania

Pictures of a day in Albania: click here

Montenegro, the pictures

Pictures of Montenegro: click on the link to see the slide show

Montenegro

It's still fun ..

It is 2 weeks now that I am in Montenegro. And it remains a positive experience, even today, although it is, cloudy and rainy.My first fear that the Montenegrins would be like the Russian tourists, stiff and rough, was quickly negated by their friendliness and hospitality.Remains the second question of course: will they accept me here? And even that ... Meanwhile almost everyone knows that I am not a tourist and that I stay longer than 14 days. And they start to know me. Although I can not speak with him, the handyman waves me from afar in the morning. My maid is happy that she needs to clean my room only every 2 days, though she still gets some tips. The IT manager understands that the Internet is important for me. The F & B manager has found a buddy for making jokes. And even the front office lady, who received me with suspicion because she feared for her position, gives me some compliments now and then. The Saga tour guide and the bell-boy are constantly giving me tips for my daily newsletter. And the best of all, the bar waiters at the pool bar start making a delicious espresso for me as soon as they see me coming: warm cup, half full, nice layer of foam on top.Work can be great huh

Malta, the pictures!

Pictures of Malta: click here

Chinese food

Recently we (Thomas Cook colleagues) were invited for Lunch. The owner of the “Captain Morgan” boats invited us in a Chinese Restaurant.


I am not so fond on Oriental food, but it was a good alternative for the too-much-english-influenced-food I have in the Maltese hotels.


We were served different dishes all unknown for my. But I was surprised that as well my Belgian as my British colleague knew very well what they were eating, as they had tasted the same at home. How can this be?


China has the highest population in the world, maybe therefore also the highest number of emigrants in the world. And everywhere there are Chinese Restaurants.


How can it be that they (apparently) all serve the same food.


If you go to Italy or France, you have the kitchen according the region you are in. In Belgium it is the same, and our country is even smaller. Also Kenya, a “poor” country has different meals according the region you are in. So why do Chinese restaurants all over the world serve all the same meals? I cannot believe that the Chinese kitchen is universal and from North to South, from East to West China people are preparing their food in the same way.


So I had a “Made in China” feeling, when I was eating…

Malta, should I laugh or should I cry?

The first 24 hrs in Malta.

When I get out of the Airport of Malta, it is 23:00 hrs. I am happy that I can start working again, though it’s when I see only white people that I realise I am not back in my beloved Kenya: Malta is the place to be for the next couple of weeks or months. A slight feeling of sadness is coming over me.

Filip is waiting for me and he’s happy to see me: my arrival means that he can go on holiday within one week. He is a nice and gentle colleague. While we are driving to the hotel where I will stay for the first week, we chat about the work in Malta. It will be ok; no big problems here.

Some minutes before midnight I arrive in San Pawl hotel in St. Paul’s bay. Check in goes smoothly but my room is a kind of disappointment.

First of all it is cold; there is no heating in the room. And this with temperatures outside that hardly reach 10°C. I am too tired to get worried about this and get dressed to go to sleep. But when I take off the (dirty!) bedspread I discover that there is no blanket, only a thin sheet. In panic I open the wardrobe door and fortunately I find there a duvet. So before I go to sleep I need to make up my own bed… though this is a 3* hotel it remembers me of my youth hostel times.

Unfortunately the duvet is so thin and the room so cold that I hardly can sleep: I wake up several times with shivers of cold.

I am not really fit when I get up in the morning and hope that breakfast will bring some consolation. A group of rather noisy English people is waiting outside the restaurant: I go in, it is 7:30…

It is clear that this is a hotel for British guests: a full English breakfast is available with eggs and bacon and more but no Danish pastry, no yoghurt, poor marmalade (3 different colours but all of the same taste) and only two kinds of bread. And all kinds of nescafé powdered hot drinks and artificial juices; no grained coffee, no fresh tea, even no water…

Before I leave the hotel I inform the lady at the reception that I was really cold during the night. She seems to be surprised and asks: “Don’t you have heating in the room?”. I am even more surprised about her question: doesn’t she know the hotel rooms have no heating?
She promises me that she will inform the lady from housekeeping.

Today I go on a “Highlights of Malta”. A mini bus picks me up to bring me to the gathering point where the tour starts. On the way I see a bus full of school children, all dressed up for carnival: I expect they will wave to me, as I was used to see for the last two years. But they are not waving to me, they look at me indifferently, even the black boy among them. A voice in me: “Ilse, you are no longer in Kenya, kids will not wave to you, kids here are ‘cool’.”

Malta is a nice place with lots of culture and art. I will like this place and will need time to see all of it.

Lunch is included in this trip and we get a 3-course meal. There are French fries on the main dish and instinctively I add some salt. The German tourist who sits in front of me remarks “You add salt without even tasting it!”.

Immediately it comes up in my mind to answer him: “Mind your own business, these French fries are mine, not yours” but I take a deep breath and answer him calmly that I had seen that there was no salt on the French fries. I think he understands…

After a nice and interesting day I am dropped in my hotel. I go up to my room to discover that no room steward has made up my bed. No second blanket or heating available.

I go down again and ask the young lady at the reception if room service is not daily and what she is going to do about the cold in the room. She answers she will check.

I leave the hotel for an exploration walk in the area and to sea if there is any possibility to go jogging in the morning. Although Malta is an island with 136 Km coastline, there are no beaches. No jogging.

When I reach the hotel 2 hours later, still no room service, still no heating. I ask the reception lady and she answers that someone will come immediately. In the mean time I make up my bed again.

I wait for more than one hour in the room and when I am almost frozen, I go down and I have to insist with the lady at the reception: “I want the heating in my room when I come back from dinner.”

But even after dinner no heating. I decide to speak with the manager on duty. A fat black dressed man comes to see me. I try to explain him all the problems I had till now (dirty bedspread, bed not ready, cold room, promise that a heating will come) but the only answer he can give me is that there are no heaters are available at this moment.

I hardly can believe my ears. For him I just have to wait, even when I am already completely frozen. At 22:00 hrs there will come one available, and he will bring it to my room. This is incredible and I am almost getting angry. Though somehow I see he is also embarrassed and in his eyes I read: “This guests is unhappy but completely right and I am not able to help her”.

I recognise a similar situation but at that time it was a problem with towels.

I can do nothing else than going back to my room and wait for two more hours. I continue reading my book (jumping around my room would warm me up but it would also disturb my neighbours!).

But at 22:15 I have to go down again: why is there still no heating? Because there is none available. My blood is boiling now, or better: completely frozen. I call Kurt, the TC admin manager and explain the problem. He cannot help me further: moving to another hotel is not possible as there are no other places available. He says he will call the hotel manager.

I go back to my room, hoping that something will happen.

22:30: the duty manager knocks on my door: “I have a heater for you madam”. Finally. I am relieved. I see he is also relieved an much more friendly than before. 

It is 23:00 hrs: I am now 24 hrs in Malta. While writing all this a realise that a couple of years ago I would have been really angry. Now I have a smile on my face. Of course it is not pleasant. But I have learned a lot in Kenya. There are worse situations. And getting angry do not resolve the problem (though raising the voice sometimes might accelerate the situation).

But for sure: I will not turn off this heating during the night.