Turkish Nights, Turkish Delights

I'm very sorry that the Baptism post came so late. Wanna know why? It's only because I've been on a business trip to Istanbul all blooming week. 

You wanna know what it was about? It was a conference about Public-Private Partnership financing arrangements for renewable energy schemes in developing countries... now are you wishing you didn't ask? Do you want me to just talk about Turkey and pretend like the "business" part of the trip never happened? Your wish is my command.

So sadly, I only had one night of exploring at my disposal, but don't worry, folks, I made the most of it. I was staying in Beyoğlu, which, regrettably, is not the Old town, so I quickly had to give up any dreams of visiting the blue mosque or the grand bazaar. But all was not lost, the İstiklâl Caddesi was about 1km from my hotel. Beyoğlu is an old immigrant district in Istanbul. The İstiklâl Caddesi is a beautiful old cobbled street, lined with 18th century French apartments, confectionery shops, perfumeries, old bookshops and a handful of  Starbucks' and Burger Kings (oh globalisation... where would we be without you?)

 

A vintage tram runs up the middle of the street and it's all fully pedestrianised. It's really lovely, and it was raining a bit, which made everything all shiny and beautiful.

My fingers went numb from the half-European cold and so I treated myself to some roasted chestnuts. I'm sure it was my first time having chestnuts, but they really look better than they taste. They don't really seem to have much flavour at all! Anyway, everyone was eating them, and I didn't want to feel left out.

At the foot of the İstiklâl Caddesi is the Galata Tower. My picture doesn't do it justice, it really was breathtaking. I couldn't go up, no matter how much I batted my eyelashes, the guards assured me it really was shut - we're not in Africa anymore, Toto.

Then, I did a little bit of shopping - possibly made some mistakes - would you still love a girl in real Turkish harem trousers?

Oh Happy Day!

Hey Gang,

So I need to write about this, but I will try my best to not be all preachy and come across like a crazy person. I'm British, and so naturally believe that Religion and Politics are not discussion topics for polite company, but you will have to excuse my manners a little because this was a pretty big deal.

I only went and got myself baptised. Oh yes. I took the plunge, and got rid of all those nasty sins. Okay, quips aside, let's get down to business. This is what happened:

When I was in Uganda I underwent a series of changes, a bit of soul-searching, a touch of heart-ache and a big dollop of drama. For peace, routine, reflection, singing (man, I love the singing) and because it's fun to dress up, I used to go along to church every Sunday. Church-going in Uganda is a way of life. They were absolutely jam-packed and people even sat outside listening on speakers, or in the pews. The church that I went to on the University of Makerere Campus (one of three) started services at 6am and ran them back-to-back all day until 9pm. I used to go at 7:30am, or sometimes 9am. The sheer mass of the congregation blew me away, so unlike the UK, where attendance is so low that churches are commonly sold off and turned into restaurants, bars or dwellings.
Anyway, although the singing was good in Uganda, there wasn't much of a fellowship, or a community, it was more like a duty, a chore for most people.

Anyways, In Tunis, I've found a church where I feel like I've really grown and embraced my faith. In truth, I have always believed, since I first became a Christian, but I never really found a place that I could practice my faith like I have here. It seemed like the natural time to get baptised into the Church.

So I had to do a bit of prep for the big event. This mainly involved going over to my pastor's house (which I used to call "going to God School") and trying not to swear in front of his young, impressionable children. It seems I passed, because last week, I secured my place in Heaven (!). 

Want some pics? Alright then!

That's right kids, full immersion. And the water was cold. It is November after all!

Afterwards all my friends came round mine and we had a proper tea party. With sausage (REAL pork - smuggled in!) sandwiches, cheese and pineapples and fruitcake. 

There was quite a stir about the fruitcake. I had made it myself, and everyone thought it was great. Maybe I'll develop it into my signature dish - I'm just worried about marginalisation... there are people out there who don't actually like fruitcake. I know, I know... who are these uncouth monsters with such primitive pallets? This is what I used to think too, but then you end up sitting next to one at a wedding and "Hello! More for Me!" happens... and you realise that taste-bud-diversity makes the world go round.

I will give it some thought. It was so yummy. I LOVE fruitcake.

So that's that. I'm off to heaven, have already started tearing my way through the New Testament too, as one of the goals. It's good stuff - there are so many stories that I swear I have never heard before.

Don't swear, Michelle, You're supposed to be a good Christian now.

...Oh yeah... sorry.

Wien we went to Wien

 

There are some places in life that you have really high expectations of, that you really look forward to, and although they don't fail to deliver, you're always left feeling a little dissatisfied, I often feel this way about Disneyland Paris, McDonalds and Ikea. Then there are places from which you don't expect much, but they completely knock you sideways, like the Italian Circus in Tunisia, Kampala Snake Park and (just occasionally) the hairdressers at home. A third, rare category exists, it is made up of places that you have dreamed about, but are scared to expect much from lest you be disappointed. But they blow you away, and you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you actually dreamed them into a reality, they are that perfect and wonderful. Enter Vienna.

 

Vienna was perfect. From the classical music playing on the underground, to the exquisite and accessible art, the well stocked supermarkets, to the incredible dining options. The city oozed charm and beauty and class, while still being so understated, humble and conservative. It was everything that I had hoped for, and it was effortless.

 

We arrived on Thursday night, to refreshing, crisp autumnal weather and an eerie sense of quiet. This was one of the first things that struck me about Vienna - it's so quiet. Where is everyone? But there is a population of just 1.6 million (less that Botswana) which hasn't grown, infact it has shrunk, since the 1920s. Our hotel was easy to find, and close to Belveredere Park, close to everything infact, so we did alot of walking, even though public transport was everywhere.

 

Our first dinner was at a microbrewery called Salm Brau where we had Schnitzel, Wiener Sausage and Bradtwurst. It was my first time to have pork for a long time, and it was brilliant. There was a distinct lack of vegetables on the table, the meat was served with either bread, some parsley potatoes or a pretzel. This was okay with everyone involved.

We spent the evening just walking around, catching our bearings and enjoying the quiet and safety. Looking for a coffee shop or a late-night tipple, we stumbled upon Hotel Sacher, the alleged creation place of the famous Sachertorte. Well, it would be rude not to, right?

Sachertorte is a famous Viennese cake. It's a chocolate sponge with a plum jam filling and chocolate icing. It was lovely - but honestly I preferred the Apple Strudel (be still my heart).

The next morning we headed straight to the Belvedere Palace right near our hotel. The have a huge, fantastic collection of Gustav Klimt artwork. And they have "the Kiss". You're not allowed to take pictures inside - infact the museum staff were pretty highly strung - I reached in my bag at one point to get some chapstick, and a museum lady almost had a baby: "Ziez iz a Muzeeum!!!" - err yeah, surrounded by such beauty, all the more reason not to walk around with chapped lips, Honey. 

The Kiss was beautiful, the colours and patterns so appealing. It is so tender and awkward and glorious. I loved it. They also had 'The Bride' too, which was a lovely surprise.

So that evening, we got a great Restaurant recommendation from a friend of Jung's for a place serving Tafelspitz, which is an Austrian Beef stew. At first I was skeptical, but I was so wrong. The beef in the stew turned out to be huge, tender steaks. It was all a bit complicated and you even got an instruction card that showed you how to eat it. There was one part where you had to remove the massive hunk of (dinosaur) bone from the stew and spread the bone marrow onto your toast. 

When Jasmin exclaimed, "Great! I LOVE bone marrow" I really wondered how well I knew these ladies! haha!

On Saturday morning, we headed over to the Leopold Museum at the MuseumsQuartier, aside from some great Secession art (including Klimt's "Life and Death") they were also having an exhibition of Nude Men in art through the ages. 

 

So amazing, and it generated our conversations for the entire afternoon and evening - we were all a bit surprised by the rawness of the art - but also we were alarmed at how shocking we found it all. It just goes to show how little the nude male form has been depicted in art, particularly before widespread formal education of women began in the middle of the 20th Century. So the question that we pondered so much is: should we really be blaming modern media for the growth of illnesses like body dis-morphia, when females have been exposed to man's idea of the "perfect female form" for centuries, whereas when three well-educated women go to an exhibition of nude men, they have been so little exposed to such art that they... giggle like schoolgirls throughout...?  

 

 Saturday night was our last night - and we had some little plans, but it started snowing, and our wardrobes just couldn't cope with that kind of coldness. Instead we found a TGI Fridays and drank cocktails until we could no longer walk.

It was beautiful. I already want to go back.

 

 

Warm October and Canadian Thanksgiving

I first arrived in Tunisia last November. Coming from Uganda, and assuming Africa is Africa, I had no coat, gloves, scarf or clue. I soon realised that weather in North Africa is not far off that of Europe and the Christmas song that declares "...there won't be snow in Africa this Christmastime..." really didn't have its facts straight.

All of this considered, October has been a fantastic month in terms of temperature. Everyday in the early 20s, it's been like a typical British Summer, and the rains are just starting now, providing a welcome relief.

A couple of weeks ago a colleague and close friend of mine, Laura, who is a Canadian Vegetarian hosed us all for a Mediterranean-style Canadian Thanksgiving, with a real turkey and stuffing, Mediterranean vegetables, stuffing and olives and hummus.

Even though she hasn't eaten meat for about 15 years and neither does her husband, Laura gallantly preped, basted and roasted a whole turkey, for us, and accidently ended up cooking it upside-down because she "didn't know which way up it was supposed to go." It turned out really fantastic though as all the juices from the fattier parts like the thighs and legs ran through the typically drier breast meat - making it particularly succulent, I will definitely be doing this with chickens in the future. Yumba-Rumba! Laura was much more comfortable with the Pumpkin Pie, which she made three of, even though she lamented that you "can't get canned pumpkin in Tunisia"... whatever that means...

When it came to carving the turkey, we couldn't find a single volunteer - so I happily stepped up to the plate. We didn't have an electric carving knife, but I think I did a pretty good job, and everyone was thankful... which was the whole purpose really.

I'm Baaaack! Did you miss me?

Hello Beautifuls!

Sorry for the silence! Guess what? I'm back, I'm writing here, lots of things have changed, some things have stayed the same... you want a quick run-down? Okay, here it goes:

• I got a new job
• I left Uganda
• I moved to Tunisia
• I am frantically learning French
• I still love knitting (but don't get to do it so much)
• I still love travelling and Tuesdays and chocolate
• I still hate cockroaches and thunderstorms and driving
• I'm going to turn thirty in less than 2.5 years and I set myself some MAD TARGETS (look at the bottom of this post)

So I thought about starting a new blog, but then I thought, this is still me, this is still who I am, yep, I've been quiet... but this is where I belong.

So please find above a little tab where you can see my mad targets of 30 things that I wanna get done before I'm thirty and some of the motivations behind them. I made the list on my 27.5 birthday (20th September 2012) and have already got cracking with some of them.

Prepare for more updates, it's gonna be an exciting journey.
Vienna on Thursday!!

30 Before 30

Travel
1.Vienna, Austria
2. Cairo, Egypt
3. San Francesco, United States of America
4. Rio de Janero, Brazil 
5. Seoul, South Korea
6. St Petersburg, Russia

Experiences
7. Glastonbury Music Festival 2013
8. Ibiza Weekend with the Girls
9. Climb Kilimanjaro, Tanzania
10. Run a Marathon
11. Ride in a Helicopter
12. Sleep on a Sleeper Train

Skills
13. Develop a signature dish
14. Pass French DELF level B2
15. Do a headstand / Cartwheel
16. Write a Knitting Book
17. Get a basic Command of Portuguese
18. Learn to play a Musical Instrument

Career
19. Pass my Engineering Professional Review
20. Secure a Permanent Position at my Job
21. Mentor a Younger Woman
22. Speak a my Former School
23. Get Published
24. Get my Finances in Order

Spiritual and Horizon Broadening
25. Keep a plant alive for a year
26. Read the Big Russian Novels
27. Read the Whole Bible
28. Set up some volunteer work that I do regularly and that is important to me
29. Go for a Meditation week at Taize
30. Look after my Nephew for 24 hours.

A Weekend of Contrasts

So last weekend, in the lenten period for the great celebrations that will accompany the arrival of my sisters (or baganda bange in luganda - I will do a post all about luganda soon - promise), I took a quiet one in town an busied myself with local activities.

Saturday night, I went with some friends from work to see a Caberet sponsered by Alliance Française (where I take my french classes) at a boutique hotel called Emin Pasha, with French hits sung by Joël Prévost, who WON the eurovision song contest in 1978 with the song "Il y aura toujours des violons" ("There Will Always Be Violins"). I mean - how could we NOT go??

It was a great evening, despite the wildly-overpriced food. It was mainly a francophone crowd in attendance and the participation element of the concert became a bit nervewracking as a mircophone began to be enthusiastically passed around the audience. We didn't know any of the songs, but happily clapped along anyway. 

On Sunday we then attended the 3rd National Uganda Motocross Championship at Gayaza. If you thought Africa was all about mud huts and malaria - dream on. Ugandas too have a need for speed! My friend Joseph was racing, as were his too little boys. I won't pretend to know alot about motocross, but the event was REALLY popular and all over the news the next day, as the leading champion had been overthrown.

The track was not lined with proper seating areas, so you had to push to get a good spot... unless you were good at tree climbing! When the crowd in the tree cheered the whole tree shook. But the people watching from beneath didn't seem nervous at all.

The best race of the day was the hotly contested boda-boda race. The winner received 1,000,000/- which is more than a month's salary, so the competition was fierce. However, the drivers took the time to pleased the crowd with a few jumps!

This one's dedicated to my Nan...

So… I’m so so sorry.  Sometimes things happen here – elections / Besigye arrests / murder of homosexuality rights campaigners / documentaries made my Scott Mills… etc and I feel ill equipped to comment on them, but I can't very well write to you guys without mentioning them, or at least how they have been affecting my life. I was imagining writing casually and just throwing in the odd… “…oh and we could hear gunshots from our office today…” “…been riding around this week with my windows up and the AC on because the teargas lingers in the air…” but I was worried about alarming the mummies and the daddies.  Truth is, these things are kinda affecting my everyday life – so I guess I will just bite the bullet (excuse the pun) and write whatever’s happening. I hope you are ready for this? You asked for it!!
 
Anyway, I have two nice travel stories to kick off with, which I have NO EXCUSE for not writing up sooner. None at all…
 
Easter In Kabale, South West Uganda

I had a really nice Easter in Kabale.  I went with a guy called Noah, who did an internship with my company last summer, and his friends from University – one of whom had a mother living in Kabale, who we stayed with.  Being a student trip, it typically started in a bar, and involved a 7 hour coach ride that we commenced at 1am on Good Friday morning (there was a lot of talk of postponing to the 5am coach, but in the end sense prevailed).
 
Cross country coached in Uganda are nothing like the National Express in the UK, they are very cramped; you are surrounded by your luggage, everyone elses luggage, tyres, chickens (live, in plastic bags tied at the neck, to stop ‘em flapping) and odd children that seem to vomit spontaneously in their sleep. There are no seatbelts and they are notoriously dangerous – but you just can’t argue with the price. A 7 hour journey for £5, you could easily pay more going Herne Bay to Canterbury.  So the bus flew along at an alarming speed and we arrived in Kabale at 7:30am in a quasi-drunk, dream-like state.
 
We were picked up and drove straight to Graham’s Mum’s house.  I walked into the living room, and behold! I thought I must be dreaming, I thought it had to be something to do with the lack of fresh air or a horizontal bed, but no, in truth, there it was: A Big Beautiful Knitting Machine!
 
I proclaimed: “Graham, what’s this??”
And he replied (to my complete delight) “Oh, it’s Mum’s, she’s a knitting teacher at a local girls’ vocational college”
 
I quickly scanned the corners of the room for hidden cameras fearing a set-up, but as the actual power was off, it didn’t seem likely.  Imagine that!
 
It was decided that the guys would do all the cooking for the weekend, which suited me just fine… until the great slaughter-fest. I tried to look excited when everyone was talking excitedly about the goat-roast, but the trouble for me was that the poor little one was standing in the garden listening, while we were all talking about it.

 
A local butcher came to the house and slaughtered it for us. Apparently, it is very important to go out and watch.  I didn’t really understand the significance, but I went along anyway – for fear of missing out on anything spectacular… Possibly the biggest mistake: Presumably I had completely forgotten about the fact that I am terribly squeamish? But I soon remembered as I dropped to my knees, and lost consciousness as the metallic stench of blood hit my nostrils. Oh well, at least I’ll be remembered.

 

 

So the weekend otherwise was really relaxed, spent relaxing out in Kabale and visiting Lake Bunyonyi, the deepest lake in Uganda, a really beautiful spot. The altitude in this region actually makes the temperature quite cool.  Being all hardy and British, I didn’t bother to take a jumper – instant regret.

 
 
Kalangala, Ssese Islands

 
So this trip was taken just last weekend.  I organised it through work – but only a couple of people came. Nevermind, with colleagues like these, who needs friends?
 
So our journey began on Friday afternoon, with a drive to Entebbe for the “port”.  Lack of planning and EXTREME JAM slowed us down. And we missed the ferry (the only one of the day) by mere minutes!  We sadly watched it float away as we sipped on our Mirinda Fruity (a refreshing soft drink that tastes and looks freakishly like Vimto… as I type this, the idea of Cheeky Mirinda Fruities slowly dawns on me).  But in Uganda, there is always a plan B, and luckily this came in the form of celebrated Ugandan musician and womanizer Jose Chameleon, who was travelling to the same islands as us by speedboat.  A couple of hours and some big smiles and wads of cash later, and we were on.

We stayed at a great place called Hornbill Camp, where there are little, inexpensive, colourful bandas to sleep in and whiled away the weekend. There were even hammocks – though Alex couldn’t really work them.

On Saturday we took a canoe ride and a hike into the forest (in flip-flops) to seek out John Speke’s house, Kalangala’s only famous former resident.  It looked more like an ancient bit of wall and had a massive tree where the middle of the house was supposed to be, but I get the impression that things grow faster here in Kampala.

A nice bit of knitting
Here is a sneak peak at a bit of knitting that I recently finished… I can’t show you the whole thing – but I think that you can gather that it’s buff.