We’ll it’s that time again; time to move along, next country, next people, next language, next adventure.  I’ve been slow to get myself moving aging, after nearly a month of traveling in style and comfort with friends it’s taking a special sort of kick in my ass to get motivated again. It’s back to cramped musty rooms that smell like somebody’s basement and are barely big enough to turn around in. Then there are the “showers” which, when they do work, are barely more than a cold trickle of water.  The inevitable bus rides promising 8 – 12 hrs of bouncing along on a seat built for a pigmy, crammed with noisy people, queasy people, and an assault of smells that can only be replicated at the Sunday animal market.  Of course my favorite the never-ending negotiations with shady touts and surly taxi drivers. Sounds great huh?  Ahhh… the romance of travel.  

Well I must say just writing that down has again awakened in me that sense of challenge that helps keep me going, that and my camera never seems to tire of going strange places.  I’ve always thought of myself as the independent type, but I realize my camera has me completely whipped.  Tucked away in its clean and padded little compartment it seems to arrive fresh and ready to go no matter what we have had to endure to get to the next destination.  Hmmm… maybe I could just go to the Seychelles or some resort area in South Africa and tell my camera that this is all that’s left in Africa.  I’ll explain that we waited too long to come here and now the entire continent is built up into resorts with nice poolside bars.  Thanks to Michael Jackson’s song(s) in the late 80’s so much money was raised and it was so well invested by the smart and selfless leaders of Africa’s poorest nations, that now all of Africa is more developed than Dubai, and everyone is happy and well cared for.  All that Discovery Channel footage comes from the Hollywood back lots (right next to where they filmed the moon landings).

 In case my camera calls my bluff and twists my arm to venture into remoter regions,  I have another trick I sometimes use to get myself motivated.  Whenever my bones don’t feel like making the jump to the next place, leaving whatever familiarity we have found to navigate the confusion of the next new location I play a little game called remember the regular life.  I think back to home life where everything is so clean, orderly, simple, and at times rather sterile in comparison to developing countries. I remind myself that this style of living is only a few months away for me and I will find myself in its clutches again soon. When I remind myself of this then the dusty unpredictability of the road starts to sound better and better.  After all,  finding myself dancing on the streets to African drum beats, swatting flies off my eyeballs in remote villages, and the opportunity to photograph creatures in the wild that are elsewhere only relegated to zoo’s has been a lifelong dream of mine.  Now its here, right in front of me, I can literally smell it, so its time to go. Off in a southern direction to the tip of Africa, through countries I have never known existed before and some of which may not be on a map anymore after 20 years. 

 In particular I can’t wait to meet Mr. Douglas Anwa from Nigeria. This nice man has been writing several emails per week to my hotmail account asking for help because he needs to transfer money to America, but doesn’t have a bank account in the States.  He has been pleading with me, for the sake of his family’s well being, to send him the details of my bank account and social security number for a few years now.  Imagine how pleased he will be when I show up in person to assist him and offer to hand carry his money back to the US with me.   I know it seems like an awfully generous thing of me to do, flying all the way over here to help this man out, but after all he carefully selected to reach out to me via the internet.  His email was so sincere and honest what else could I do?  I’ll just need to explain to him that I have to make a quick stop in Russia on my way back to the US to meet Ivana Hotpot who has also been writing to me on a regular basis, she has been kind enough to offer me a free sample of some pills that promise to enhance my life.  Strangers on the internet are so generous.

 We’ll until lack of motivation and procrastination sits me down to write again I’ll say au revoir and bon chance.    

 -Pete

To see whats been occupying my time these last few weeks…ok ok months, you can check out the photos.

Pete Niesen Photography Galleries

Whoever said “it’s the thought that counts” may not have actually ever received a great gift.  Because when you have received something that is exactly what you have secretly wanted, at a moment when you can most appreciate it, no thought can compare to something tangible.   This year I was on the receiving end of such a gift and every greedy part of me soaked it up.  Despite Charles De Gaulle airport trying to keep part of my gift for itself and just sheer luck that TAP airlines didn’t mistakenly fly my gift to Zimbabwe, or just loose it outright, my Christmas and New Years presents were delivered. 

 So what was this gift?  Was it a huge shatterproof bottle of Jack Daniels with backpack straps that I could carry with me through all the dry countries of North Africa?  No.  Was it a power washer to blast away the pieces of the 3rd world that soap just can’t seem to remove?  No.  Was it a specially trained porter monkey to carry my backpack and scare away annoying tourist touts?  No.   How about a truth-o-meter that would shock taxi and rickshaw drivers when they said “special price for you my friend” and then tried to charge 10x the actual price?…also no.  In some ways my gift was a little bit of each of these, but more importantly it was better than all of them put together.  My gift was the  gift of presence. 

Some very good friends of mine temporarily abandoned their busy lives back home for a few weeks to come clown around with me.  This is no small feat in modern America.  Many Europeans might not understand that the precious few weeks one gets for vacation in America are often not really yours to use at your discretion. Employers use guilt, shame, intimidation, and sometimes desperate pleading to try and keep Americans from actually ever using their vacation. Lord help you if you try and take a lump of 2-3 weeks off in row.  Getting “permission” to use more than one week at a time of your own vacation time is more difficult than haggling over 10 yuan with an old Chinese woman in a Beijing market.

Despite the cartwheels that had to be turned, the expense, and the general hassle of crossing 1/3 of the planet, my friends came to spend the holidays with me in Morocco and Portugal.  We had a rather non traditional Christmas on camels, in the Berber tents of the Sahara, and a New Years Eve in Lisbon that was unforgettable… but not entirely remembered.

 It was the gift of old friends, a reminder of who I really am, a collection of new memories that I will be able to rehash with people I know for years to come, and it was greatly appreciated.  All these months traveling about and meeting new friends is great, but there is nothing like having some people around who know you.  People to be silly with, people who understand your sarcasm, people who will put you in your place, people who tolerate a poorly worded rant and forgive you,  people who bring you back to reality.

 I’ve been told that good etiquette after receiving such a gift is to write a thank you note, so here it is. 

 - Thank you Alex for being our local guide everywhere

- Thank you camel for not giving Rebecca mad camel disease for Christmas

- Thank you TAP airlines for losing Alex’s luggage so I wasn’t the only one wearing the same clothes every day.

- Thank you John for the show of solidarity by also wearing the same clothes everyday

- Thank you Portugal for showing us there is no limit to the layers of meat, cheese, and bread that can fit on a plate.

- Thank you Rebecca for quite powerfully saluting everyone’s mother in Spanish on new Years eve

- Thanks to the heavens for giving me the smooth moves to be the dancing ambassador of good will in Bario Alto.

- Thank you Mustaffa for accidentally kissing that Norwegian man on the mouth, that one still keeps me laughing.  Just FYI – It’s supposed to be an air kiss on both cheeks.

- Thanks to Porto’s Karaoke bar for having Hank’s Family Tradition

- Thanks to Tristan and Yuka for introducing little baby Ronin to his aunts and bad uncles. (from Tristan’s side of the family of course)

- Thanks to that Portuguese man for letting us out when Keri and I got locked the fort

- Thank you Keri for carefully pointing out all the slippery stairs in Lisbon by throwing yourself down them first

- Thank you Rebecca for taking a picture of me picking Che’s nose.  I guess he and I can’t be friends now.

- Thank you Rebecca for calling Alex’s bluff and taking the cab home

- Thank you Alex for keeping up tradition and getting drunk and lost in a strange city on New Years Eve

- Thank you Caroline for carrying Orson along all that way.  If he/she develops an aversion to Camels we’ll all know why, but I won’t tell.

- Thank you sea monkeys for attacking my luggage

- Thank you John for starting a new tradition of being the only one to remember all the details of New Years Eve, though I still don’t believe you.

- Thank you Mr. Vodka for revealing that you can also be a mixer

- Thank you Rak-a-Tak

-Thank you John for throwing yourself down the sand dune when I couldn’t

- Thank you Fozzy the Frenchman for perpetuating the disturbing mysteries of French love and family life

- Thank you camel blankets for finally giving John the satisfaction of telling Caroline she also smells like a camel.

- Thank you secret meats

- Thank you Little Miss Berber van

-Thank you mush mouth people for listening to us butcher your mush mouth language. A big mush mush to you all!)

- Thank you Irish Caroline for your bright colors, good humor, and all those funny Irish words that come out of your mouth, otherwise Portugal in winter would have been a lot colder.  (I love the Irish they are always a good crack

- Thank you Portuguese people for making us feel like supermodels

- Thank you Morocco for all the bread and olives

- Thank you Alex for slapping that horse

- Thanks George Lucas for preparing us for the sites and sounds of N. Africa via Star Wars

- Thank you Caroline for the look on your face when they brought out half a sheep on that huge tagine

- Thank you John for showing those Berber women how to really move their junk

- Thank you belly dancer girl

- Thank you again belly dancer girl!!!

- Thank you Hamid for taking us to the Chateau, and also for drinking all of our wine at Medieval Berber Times

- Thank you call to prayer for giving us hours of hours of fun performing our own versions

- Thank you Rebecca for walking in on the English couple and scaring them out of the room next to us

- Thank you Irish Caroline for showing us 35yr olds can still out drink 23yr olds.

- Thank you Keri for emerging after 10 years and being the same wonderful person I remembered

So from now on I think I will say, “well the though counts for something, but being there is a lot more fun”. 

Thank you and Big Welcome

Pete (aka Ali Baba)

See the full photo galleries of Morocco and Portugal

Morocco Snapshots

 Portugal Snapshots

 Morocco All Galleries