oh..i want to backpack to middle east countries when i'm older!! it's so fun
and exciting!!
courtesy of straits times and asiaone!!
By Arlina Ashad - June 5, 2007
The Straits Times
Here are some ways on how to maximise fun
and save money when travelling in the
Middle East
Ways to maximise fun:
Bring something unique from home to share,
like family photographs.
We brought chopsticks and taught locals how to use them.
When interacting with locals, teach them how to write and read
Chinese characters. They'll warm up to you.
Plant yourselves strategically along busy streets and learn to greet
passers-by in the local language. Useful words to know are hello, which
is 'salam' in Farsi and 'assalamualaikum' in Arabic, and thank
you, which is 'merci' in Farsi, and 'syukran' in Arabic.
In Iran, buy tea from men walking around with giant kettles, and drink
it the local way (pop a sugar cube in your mouth and sip the drink,
making the cube last for as long as possible).
Make conversation with friendly locals. They may invite you to tea,
or even for meals in their homes. Bakers will gladly take you on a
tour of their bakery and let you have a go at making na'an flat bread.
Don't reveal your religion unless someone asks. Whether
you are Muslim or non-Muslim, adopt a neutral attitude
towards different cultures and beliefs.
Single women travellers should say that they are widows
without children. The rationale is this: Singles, with or
without boyfriends, will be hit on by local men. Locals
find it odd when married women, with or without kids,
travel alone. Divorce is taboo. Widows without children
get sympathy and are left alone.
If you find yourself in a dangerous situation, stay calm and
negotiate your way out in the least hostile manner. Never
panic, scream or turn aggressive.
Ways to save money:
Walk around town, which is free and also the best way to get
acquainted with a new place. Taking overnight public buses
saves on lodging costs. Catching trains or buses to get from
city to city is cheaper than flying.
Stay in budget hostels and guesthouses instead of hotels.
Book one that offers free breakfast, and fill up on free bread
so you can skip lunch.
Book tours with the guesthouses as most have links to local
tour operators.
For horse-riding in Turkey, book directly with ranch owners,
not with tour agents
Hammams, or bath houses, in Cappadocia charge lower rates
than those in Istanbul. Syrian ones are cheaper than Turkish ones.
Tap water is drinkable in the three countries. Dine at
smaller fast-food joints instead of restaurants. Avoid
restaurants in touristy areas (they charge tax).
Keep shopping to a minimum. If you have to shop, go to local
souqs and bargain hard, like the locals do.
Turkish toilets are not free (60 cents per entry) so use
toilets at restaurants.
Middle-eastern vendors will mistake any Asian for a Japanese or
Korean. Make sure they know you are from less affluent
Asian countries so they will moderate their 'foreign price'.
Save on tips by travelling light so there is no need to engage porters.
If you have to take a taxi, agree on a price first. If you are
adventurous enough, hitch-hike or accept offers of free meals
and rides. Carry a whistle to attract attention in case of emergencies.
Backpacker Series: Living monuments in Iran
By Lim Wei Chean - June 5, 2007
The Straits Times
Whether they are city dwellers or nomads, the people of Iran
are hospitable, chatty and ever curious about us
IN APRIL, my colleague Arlina Arshad and I, along with our friend
Dorothy Ng, went a-wandering in Iran, Turkey and Syria with our
knapsacks on our backs. Using a combination of taxis, cars, trains,
ships, buses, horses and plain foot power, we travelled across cities,
deserts, forests, mountains and oceans in the Middle East.
For two weeks in Iran, we left our trails in Teheran, Esfahan,
Kashan, Abyaneh, Yazd, Meybod, Chak Chak, Shiraz, Persepolis,
Pasargad and Firuz Abad. We spent a week in Turkey visiting
Istanbul, Pamukkale, Olympos and Cappadocia.
The remaining time was spent in Syria, in Aleppo and Damascus.
We met enough locals to fill a small Lido theatre and came back
with stories to tell.
--------------------------------------
WHEN I look up, two dozen faces are staring curiously at us. 'We have
become a public event,' observes my friend Arlina. It is our first day in
Iran and we are sitting in a corner of the Imam Khomeini Mosque in
the capital of Teheran hoping to observe the locals going about their
business. We end up being gawked at instead.
In April, Arlina Arshad, a fellow journalist at The Straits Times, our
friend Dorothy Ng, who works at the National Museum, and I went
on a month-long backpacking trip through Iran (14 days), Turkey
(seven days) and Syria (seven days). We got by spending just
$3,800 each, including airfares.
In Iran, we try to blend in by wearing headscarves but end up
feeling like ugly ducklings among graceful swans. Our scarves
are held down by utilitarian knots secured under our chins, a
marked contrast to the trendy bouffant bangs and tinted tresses
the local women sport, revealed by strategically placed scarves.
In a city where even the man polishing shoes is decked out in
smartly pressed shirt and trousers, our backpacker togs of jeans
and long-sleeved blouses look drab.
If we are curious about them, the Iranians are even more eager to
learn about us. They are friendly, hospitable and always eager for
a chat, even if all we can manage is sign language.
Teheran is a noisy city where drivers seem to have
one hand permanently on their vehicle horns.
After a whirlwind two-day tour of the city and the northern
suburb of Tochal, we head for the Central Railway Station for
an overnight train to the city of Esfahan.
We share a sleeping car (couchette) with three Iranian women.
Public transport is segregated by gender.
To make ourselves comfortable for the eight-hour ride, we shed
our coats and scarves. The Iranian women clearly feel comfortable
enough with us to fool around. One tosses me a come- hither look then,
jiggling her bosom suggestively, peels off her black coat to reveal a tight
baby-blue tank top.
A rapid-fire knocking on the door startles us. 'Bale, bale!' ('Yes' in
Farsi, the Iranian language), the woman shouts as we scramble
to don our jackets and scarves.
It is a male train conductor who wants to check our tickets. When
he leaves, we burst into laughter.
Inside Iranian homes
ESFAHAN is a picturesque city littered with historic bridges.
We meet three men - Amir, Sapun and Reza - on the streets and
they show usaround the magnificent Jameh Mosque and grand
Naqsh-e Jahan (Imam Square).They then take us to a restaurant
and treat us to Iranian kebabs, rice and sweets.
Through them, we get our first glimpse inside an Iranian home.
Amir's house looks like any modern brick building except that
beautiful carpets line the floor in every room.
He has a flat-screen TV which is playing an Iranian music video
featuring skimpily clad women prancing around. With a shrug,
Reza says that while Iran bans satellite TV, 'everyone'
subscribes to the programmes beamed by an Iranian production
house from Las Vegas.
He says anything that is banned can be enjoyed behind doors.
Guns? Knowing the right people will get you one. Wild parties?
Just be invited to someone's house.
That night, Mr Mortezr, a middle- aged man who is related to
our hostel owner, invites us to his house for dinner and a
'cultural exchange' with his wife and children. He speaks
excellent English.
He and a nephew drive us to a house in the outskirts. But
there is no dinner, no wife and only one 12-year- old child
present. The 'cultural exchange' turns out to be six men
swirling to Iranian music. Worse, they try to get us to dance
- intimately - with them.
We cite exhaustion and ask to be taken back to our hostel,
which Mr Mortezr agrees to reluctantly.
In Abyaneh, an ancient red-mud village untainted by time
near Esfahan, a group of giggly 13-year-old schoolgirls invite
us to a picnic with them.
At the Si-o-seh Bridge, named for its 33 arches, we watch
the world go by with a cup of black tea sipped the
Iranian way - sugar cube tightly clamped between incisors.
We meet cousins Shahnaz, 32, and Fatima, 18, who speak a
little English.
They make our last night in the city magical by taking us
on a walk up the Sofeh mountain to catch the pretty lights.
We also bask in the night-time grandeur of the Imam
Mosque and the changing colours of the Sheikh
Lotfallah Mosque.
Deserts and nomads
TINY DANCER: In Firuz
FIVE hours by bus and we are in Yazd. In this dry desert
town with grand hotels converted from old Persian mansions,
the only camels we find are dished up as curries on our plates.
More than the mosques, it is the Zoroastrian sites that
captivate us in Yazd. The religion, which was practised in
Persia before the coming of Islam, left behind many
mud-caked ruins and holy sites.
Yet another bus journey, this time seven hours long, and
we arrive at our last stop - Shiraz.
Unfortunately, the people aren't friendly and it doesn't help
that sightseeing fatigue has set in.
The highlight is an overnight stay with the nomads
whom we have seen shepherding sheep around.
These itinerant people had come from Turkey and settled down
on the Persian plains centuries ago. Today, they are
naturalised Iranians but continue to speak their
own Turkish dialect and dress in their unique costume.
We visit a community in the town of Firuz Abad. With our guide
Mohammad acting as translator, we learn about the rigours of
their life and how girls typically marry at 18. Mohammad's oldest
daughter Zenat, we find out, is of that age.
But the girl is unaware of any match-making plots being hatched
for her as she busies herself preparing a dinner of rice, salad and
chicken.
She does not stop apologising for what she considers poor fare
for her guests.
Over a water pipe and tea, a teacher tells us that theirs is a
vanishing lifestyle as more young people head for the city
and desk-bound jobs.
After an enjoyable time with them, we leave, wondering
if the likes of Zenat yearn for another type of life.
Deserts and nomads
FIVE hours by bus and we are in Yazd. In this dry desert town
with grand hotels converted from old Persian mansions, the
only camels we find are dished up as curries on our plates.
More than the mosques, it is the Zoroastrian sites that
captivate us in Yazd. The religion, which was practised in
Persia before the coming of Islam, left
behind many mud-caked ruins and holy sites.
5 things to do
1 Do accept invitations to dinner. The best Iranian cooking
is that found in homes.
2 Do take a trip to visit the nomads for a look at a different
way of life.
3 Do go haggling in the bazaars with the locals to get
a sense of local retail therapy.
4 Do bring paper and pen as you never know when someone may ask
for your autograph.
5 Do bring a pair of chopsticks, or anything from home, for some '
cultural exchange'.
don'ts
1 Don't praise your host's cooking with a thumbs-up sign or
reply to questions with an OK sign. Both have rude
connotations in local parlance.
2 If you are a woman, don't forget your headscarf and don't tell
people you are single. It is better to say that you are married or
have a boyfriend back home. That will fend off some unwanted
attention.
Backpacker Series: Traipsing through Turkey
By Arlina Arshad - June 5, 2007
The Straits Times
Must-trys are the Turkish baths, horse treks, hot thermal
springs and balloon tours. Just steer clear of cold showers
LYING face-down on the cold marble table clad only in my underwear,
I see the Turkish woman approaching. 'You, proh-blaym!' she roars,
slapping my rear repeatedly. She splashes soapy water on my back
and tries to strip me.
'No, don't take it off, I'm shy,' I yell. My legs do can-can kicks in
protest and my arms wrestle hers.
She gives up, then attacks my neck with soap and a rough sponge.
I laugh and cry, begging for mercy. She ignores me, singing merrily
as she scrubs me till my body gleams.
With that first memorable visit to a hammam, or Turkish bath
house, Wei Chean, Dorothy and I kick off our week-long Turkey
leg on a high and happy note, paying $40 for the hour-long
experience in Istanbul.
Having come from more conservative Iran, Turkey
is a culture shock.Women sport big hair and
colourful clothes, billboards scream
international brands and cars are flashy.
Sultanahmet, Istanbul's historic centre, boasts sights, restaurants, hotels,
cafes and too many tourists.
After two days of shopping and sightseeing, we are broke. Food,
accommodation and entrance fees to attractions are markedly
more expensive than in Iran.
At the Golestan Palace in Teheran, entrance to each museum
displaying the wealth of the Qajar shahs costs only US$1 (S$1.50).
Entrance to the Topkapi Palace in Istanbul boasting sultans'
jewels and treasury is US$7.
So we leave the busloads of richer tourists and snaking queues at
Topkapi and resort to getting free thrills, like admiring the
city's pretty tulips, which grow everywhere, and quirky people.
And there are many.
A clothing trader quickly becomes a friend. Every day, we get
to hang out with his 'son', a white tomcat caked in soot,
dust and grime.
A Kurdish restaurant owner - a Robert de Niro clone - joins us
for dinner at his restaurant. He is frank, amorous and very proud
of his Kurdish roots.
'Kurdish people are perfect. Our body... strong, our face... beautiful.
Am I perfect?' he asks.
He has refreshing views on cultures and people, and is unafraid to
voice them.
'Are you sad to be alone?' I ask the divorcee.
'Life is good. I like kiss, I like happy, I like free. Are you free?' he asks.
We are not alarmed. We have become used to fending off stares,
flirtatious overtures and cheesy pick-up lines. But keeping a
straight face is hard. Once, I burst into manic guffaws when I
heard this classic line: 'I saw you from across the street, and I
fell in love.'
We share our dorm room (about $20 a bed) with a 37-year-
old Swiss window display designer, Lilian Moro, who is on a
three-year motorbiking tour around the world.
She is full of life yet down-to-earth. She tells us hilarious
stories, like how a chicken she slaughtered on a boat
jumped out and bounced around on the water headless.
She also shows us her black chador, an Islamic dress for
women, which she would wear while riding in Iran. Ooh,
we joke, Black Lily would be quite a sight.
Our hostel booked us on a customised 'backpackers package'
that will cover expenses for the remainder of the Turkey leg -
budget accommodation, bus tickets, guide fees and day trips
at several places of interest in Pamukkale, Olympos and
Cappadocia. We pay $450 each and from then, we only have to
worry about meal expenses.
We leave Istanbul for Pamukkale, nine hours away, by public
bus. Turkish buses get our thumbs-up. Those we board are clean,
comfortable and run on schedule. Efficient bus stewards
serve cakes and beverages every few hours.
Bonding with nature
MEET THE LOCALS: Female worshippers
outside the Blue Mosque (Sultanahmet Camii)
in Istanbul.
AT PAMUKKALE, we visit one of Turkey's natural wonders,
hot thermal springs. We also visit Hierapolis, near Pamukkale,
which has been reduced to ruins after two earthquakes.
Thieves have looted giant stone tombs where the
country's heroes were laid to rest.
We crack mummy jokes and fantasise about life as a mighty,
powerful and wealthy warrior.
In Olympos, a six-hour drive from Pamukkale, we stay close
to the ruins of a Roman theatre, a Byzantine basilica and a
Roman temple.
Wei Chean and Dorothy climb a rocky cliff to view the beach
and the Mediterranean sea. I am stuck midway because
of my fear of heights. I perch on a rock in the wilderness
and wait for their return.
It is chilly in Cappadocia when we arrive. We check into a
budget guesthouse where rooms (about $20 each but
covered in our package) are carved out from limestone
mountain caves. The room has no heater and the bathroom
has no hot water.
The two girls skip showering on one particularly cold morning
but I give it a go. I dab water all over my body and count to
three, before turning the shower knob at maximum blast
for an unbelievably near-freezing jolt.
Every day for three days, people tell us we must take a
hot-air balloon flight over the area because it is 'beautiful'
and 'a lifetime experience'. We are tempted, but at over
$300 for a 45-minute flight, it is pricey.
We opt to go horse-back riding but our steeds turn out to
be temperamental beasts.
Wei Chean's horse is speedy, Dorothy's greedy and mine is
simply needy.
Batman, my horse, is easily influenced by her two neigh-bours.
When Dorothy's horse stops to do the Amazing Graze, mine
does the same - only to scoot off
after spotting Wei Chean's horse galloping demonically into
the sunset.
We develop a communication system - an approving 'Ah'
and dissenting 'Whoosh'. I go: 'Batman, ah ah ah ah ah.
No, Batman, whoosh whooosh!'
Our amused guide laughs, listening to our unique monologues,
which actually seem to work.
Finally, we manage to ride in a single file, like heroes, into
the sunset.
5 things to do
1 Do visit a bath house, or hammam, in Istanbul or Cappadocia.
Prices are between $40 and $100 plus. Some baths are
segregated by gender.
2 Do explore the valleys of Cappadocia on horseback. It's
20 Turkish lira (S$23) for a one-hour session if you book
directly with the ranch owner. Travel agents
insist on a minimum two-hour ride.
3 Do take a balloon tour over the region if you can afford it.
It costs over $300 for a 45-minute flight.
4 Do sip apple tea from tulip cups and eat baklava for tea
at any cafe, like the locals do.
5 Do bargain hard at the Turkish bazaars. A Turkish hat
costs $6 at the Grand Bazaar but only $2 from a street vendor.
don'ts
1 Don't forget to check if your guesthouse has a
heater and hot water, especially if you are visiting
during the cold winter months.
2 Don't just hang around the touristy Sultanahmet
area where most of the attractions are located.
Venture out to see the real Istanbul.
Backpacker Series: Welcome to Syria
By Arlina Arshad - June 5, 2007
The Straits Times
It's impossible to go hungry in generous Syria -
just make sure you have a visa to get in
OPEN your bag. I want to check for rifles and bullets,' says
the Syrian customs officer at the border between Turkey
and Syria. 'No weapons, sir.
Only dirty clothes,' I say.
Tired and hungry after a 15-hour bus journey from Turkey's
Cappadocia, we forget we are in a part of the world where
weapons are a reality.
'Last week, I opened a bag, I found guns. Many, many guns.
Open!' says the officer impatiently. He unzips my bag and
fishes out a pack of detergent.
By now, we have attracted a crowd of curious onlookers,
mostly bus and lorry drivers. Satisfied, the officer lets us go.
More hurdles await us. We have no tourist visas to enter
Syria so we have to get it done at the border.
But none of the customs officers has heard of
Singapore. The superintendent looks through country
names in his notebook and scratches his head.
'Singafura? No Singafura,' he says.
'Singafura is a very small island, 45 minutes' drive east to
west. Close to Malaysia,' I explain to a dozen customs
officers in the room.
'Maleysee? Mahathir your prime minister?
Proton?' he adds.
'Malaysia is our friend. Indonesia is also our friend,' I reply
excitedly.
Wei Chean, who carries a Malaysian passport, breezes
through the checkpoint without a visa and waves her
passport triumphantly. She leaves before the
officers change their minds.
'Why do you want to come to Syria? Are you a journalist?
You come to write bad things about Syria?' another customs
officer quizzes us.
'I'm a teacher,' I say. Well, I used to teach once.
'We heard Syria is beautiful so we want to see your
country,' says Dorothy.
The superintendent takes our passports away and
says he will apply for visas for us from the immigration
headquarters in Damascus.
'You wait for fax reply, maybe two hours, three hours,
one day, two days. Maybe never,' he says.
Sitting outside the immigration office, we make new
friends, mostly concerned Turkish and Syrian drivers
and tour guides wanting to help us.
At midnight, after 12 hours of waiting, we get the green
light. We hop into a taxi and zoom off to Aleppo where
Wei Chean is waiting in her pyjamas.
Nine meals a day
TALK SHOP: Wei Chean fends off flirtatious
stallholders at a souq in Aleppo, where friendly
locals are always up for a chat.
AHLAN wa sahlan. Welcome to Syria, say the
locals, and, boy, do they mean it.
In Syria, we have triple breakfasts, triple
lunches and triple dinners - for free. The locals keep
feeding us cookies, pistachio cake and lamb pie even
though they know we have had our meals.
'Full, we had breakfast already,' we tell a baker,
patting our tummies. He shoves some bread into
our hands anyway. Syrians are a truly generous people.
Syrian souqs, or local bazaars, are a pleasure to stroll in.
They are much livelier than those in Iran but less
commercialised than those in Turkey.bWe get lost all
the time in the warren of thousands of shops selling spices
and soap to sequinned scarves and lamb parts.
The vendors are a chirpy bunch, waving and
calling 'Ya Habibi' b(my beloved) when we
walk past. One man with a giant golden teapot
slung around his arm dishes out sous (herbal drink
made of licorice) to passers-by as a charitable gesture.
We scrunch up our noses at the first gulp.
At another souq, we meet witty 'loti' - an Arabic
word to describe homosexuals. The gay
businessmen are very open about their
sexuality, cupping one another's rears
and pecking one another on the lips.
We also follow the path of Roman warriors, looking
at the city from the parapets of the Citadel - a
former military fortress now in ruins. But
instead of chariots, we spot yellow taxis.
John the Baptist's head
UNDER COVER: Visitors have to wear
grey penguin-like robes to enter
Umayyad Mosque in Damascus.
IN DAMASCUS, four hours' drive from Aleppo, we visit
the Umayyad Mosque where many local and foreign
pilgrims come to visit.
To enter, we have to wear grey penguin-like robes.
A shrine in the mosqueis said to contain the
head of John the Baptist - supposedly found
during excavations when the mosque was built.
John the Baptist is honoured as a prophet by
both Muslims and Christians.
There is also the tomb of Saladin, who is remembered as
the man who united fractured kingdoms to form a f
ormidable Islamic empire.
We sign up for a tour with a restaurant owner to visit a
waterfall in Hama on the outskirts of Damascus.
It turns out to be an organised
gathering for Syrian youngsters to socialise.
Through songs and dance, they work hard to get one
another's attention. One girl takes out a jump rope
and starts skipping in the middle of a carpark. Three
boys start doing push-ups close to her.
On the bus, it is a game of musical chairs. Nobody sits
with the same person for too long, unless, of course,
they like each other. The trip produces two new couples.
One of them, Mohamad, a lawyer, shudders when he
learns I am Javanese. 'You, Jahwah? From Indunehsee?
So, you can do witch magic?'
I joke: 'Yes, of course. It's in my blood.' He is not amused.
Later, he asks if I can rid his house of evil spirits supposedly
planted there by an Indonesian maid.
When I say no, he turns to Wei Chean and Dorothy, who
jokingly adds: 'Malay ghost cannot help you, Chinese ghost
also cannot help.' He laughs.
The week-long stay in Syria ends our month-long
Middle Eastern sojourn. It leaves us hankering for more.
5 things to do
1 Do get your tourist visa done in Istanbul instead
of at the Syria-Turkey border.
2 Do get lost in the many souqs, or local bazaars, and
chat with the locals.
3 Do hang out at the parks and learn Syrian folk
dances from the youngsters.
4 Do eat ice cream with pistachio topping
at the famous Bakdash Ice Cream parlour
in Souq Hamidiyeh in Damascus.
5 Do learn different styles of tying a kafiyeh,
or headdress worn by Arabic men, from
textile merchants. Red is worn by Syrians,
green by Iraqis and white by Saudi Arabians.
2 don'ts
1 Don't be afraid to approach anyone on the
street for help, even the women who cover
their faces with veils. Most will be willing to help.
2 Don't forget to visit a hammam, or Syrian bath
house, and watch a local movie at the cinema.
I WANT TO VISIT TURKEY, ISTANBUL, IRAN AND SYRIA!!
(= I WANT! I WANT!! I WANT WANT WANT!!!
