Baqa Camp kids

The Peace Boat docked in Aqaba, Jordan in the early hours of Oct 19th. We cruised up the Red Sea past the dunes of Saudi Arabia, the jagged mountains of Egypt’s Sinai Peninsula, and the bright lights of Eliat, Israel. 2 years ago I spent about 8 days exploring marvels such as Petra, Wadi Rum and Jerash. But on this occasion I was a tanto (leader) for a very different GET challenge to the Baqa Palestinian refugee camp near the capital Amman. Passengers had raised about US$7000 the night before for the camp by auctioning off their talents to each other. A four hour bus drive took us to the camp where we met our home stay family. This was of course a very rare opportunity to meet people in Baqa camp, the largest Palestinian refugee camp in the world, and to learn about their lives, experiences, sufferings, hopes and their dreams. When most people think of a refugee camp they think of rows of tents. But Baqa camp was first established after the 1948 war and had major intakes of refugees after the the 1967 Six Day War with Israel and again after the first Gulf War. Because of this length of time, dwellings have become more permanent and conditions in the camp have improved… at least in comparison to other Palestinian refugee camps in Syria, Lebanon and other friendly Arab states. They are still unhappy, some are desperate. They are still refugees. (more…)

Drinking a coconut in Kochi

Such an unmistakable smell; we had definitely arrived in Kochi, India. The old black and yellow rickshaws were waiting for us. Passing through that gauntlet of brisling moustaches offering tours and rides brought back my old memories of India. Too bad it was only for a day. We began with a local ferry to the mainland of Ernakulum and sat down for chai and masala dosas at the Indian Coffee House. I checked out some markets, bought an orange dhotti, and sat on the road side drinking a freshly machetied water coconut. The Shiva Temple wasnt quite what I remembered it and the smell of raw sewerage down that part of town bought back more memories. (more…)

Kandahar Street

The Peace Boat docked in Singapore having navigated the pirate infested straits of Malacca. We poured off the boat into an hour long wait at customs. The effiency of the MRT (subway) wasn’t what I’d expected either. (When purchasing a ticket you have to pay an extra dollar deposit which you need to claim back when you get off.) We had only 12 muggy hours in Singapore so a small group of us planned to head uptown to the Arab and Indian towns first. An unintentional detour led us around Midtowns parks and colonial buildings, watched over by towering sharp angled skyscrapers. But in the Arab district the ’scrapers gave way to colouful shuttered buildings and narrow lanes and a food market on Kandahar street. The Indian district was full of (surprise!) Indians. But not only.. the multicultural feeling of Singapore is total. Noone is a foreigner.
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Danang Welcome

I was still sleeping when the ship’s engines wound down after 7 days at sea. I woke to the sight of land and small Vietnamese boats skirting around the merky harbour. We had docked in Danang. A group of young Vietnamese welcomed us with a dance performance. Huge smiles broke out across our faces. Dry land can do that to you. We were ready for Vietnam!
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