travels with janne

Mana Pools is a great place to go for a walk, and we do so for several hours every day, usually taking off in the early, cool morning and walking until lunch, by which time it is rather hot. We normally drive to our destination, then leave the car and walk from there.

Our guide, Mike Scott, instructs us to walk in a single file and to be quiet. We are not immediate experts at either of these behaviours. We are all curious and not only wonder but wander, sometimes in different directions.

After a while, we get the hang of it and take turns at being at the front of the line, just behind Mike and his excellent tracker (and cook), Bernard.

One of the joys of walking is having the feeling that you are a part of the landscape, not just an onlooker. You can leave the track, feel the ground under your feet, touch the plants, hear the sounds and see the minutiae, such as bones, footprints and insects. Besides, it is nice to get exercise.

A large hole in the ground grabs our interest. Bernard inspects it more closely before letting us approach. It could be a leopard den, and who wants to stand face to face with a tangle of claws, fur and fangs? Apparently, though, the hole leads to a burrow that is empty, so Bernard signals that we may gather round for a closer look.

Safari life is a simple but good life. We get up early every morning, go exploring, eat lunch, rest, do some more exploring in the afternoon, eat dinner and go to bed early. We explore either on foot or by car, doing it one way in the morning and the other way in the afternoon.

We set up our tents under shady trees, facing the river.

Two canvas cubicles each contain a toilet while the third has an upside down bucket hung from a tree for showering.

We eat breakfast and dinner under a shady tree in camp, while lunch is usually enjoyed somewhere out in the bush. Apart from my two friends from Denmark and me, our group includes a spry senior lady from the US and a fellow from England who I know from a previous trip to Zambia (18 years ago!). Our guides and I go way back (22 years, to be exact), and I have been on safari with them several times before.

We spot large numbers and varieties of animals every single day – often without even having to leave camp. Since our camp is by the river, we receive visits from elephants, impala, buffalo, baboons, hippos, waterbuck, and warthogs.

The animals typically mosey by in the afternoon. They go down to the river to get a refreshing drink of water, then come back up through our camp area before disappearing back into the bush.

Boswell is one of the elephants that comes by, and he performs his characteristic stand-up-on-hind-legs trick.

A teenage elephant goes to grab some of the branches with fresh leaves that Boswell has pulled down, but Boswell trumpets and chases it away. However, Boswell altruistically lets the herd’s youngest elephant – a small calf – in on an exclusive munch of the goodies.

The number and variety of animals that we see in Mana Pools is fantastic. Just arrived at the park gate we meet an enormous bull elephant with a very impressive pair of tusks. His name is Boswell. He is popular in the park and is even a YouTube star.  

With his great height, he can reach branches high up in the trees. However, that is not enough for Boswell. Like a circus elephant, he balances on his hind legs to reach branches that even the tallest elephant would otherwise not be able to reach. Elephant groupies follow him closely, in expectation of getting a share of the branches, fruits, leaves and pods that he pulls down.
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His large stature, huge tusks and stumpy tail (he has lost the brush at the end of it), make Boswell easy to recognize. He also wears a radio collar. Boswell is quite protective of the youngest calves in the herd and almost seems to have taken over the role of matriarch despite his being male.

Before we arrive at our campsite, we see more elephants, in addition to impala, waterbuck, Southern ground hornbill (a large bird that looks like a black turkey), hadada ibis, black-winged stilts, and a mix of crested guinea fowl and helmeted guinea fowl. It is quite unusual to see the latter two hanging out together because the crested guinea fowl prefer woodland while the helmeted guinea fowl prefer open land.

I sit on a campstool in Zimbabwe, gazing out over the Zambezi River. In the distance, I can see the mountains in Zambia, bathed in the glow of a pinkish-yellow sunset. Hippos in the river grunt and snort. Birds chirp and flit. Crocodiles lie still and furtive on the riverbank.

For me, this is a meditative time, when the animals’ day shift prepares to go to rest and the night shift yawns, stretches and gets up to go hunting.

The hippos enjoy the twilight hours in the water before they emerge to walk up on land for some night grazing. Hooting night owls replace the daytime’s tweeting warblers. Lions and other predators start thinking about dinner and marking their territory, while impalas try and catch some shuteye in the dangerous night.

We have driven about eight hours from Harare, the capital of Zimbabwe, to the national park Mana Pools, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, stopping for lunch along the way at the Zambezi Escarpment.

Now, having reached our primitive campsite Mucheni in Mana Pools, along the banks of the Zambezi River, we have set up our tents, rolled out our mattresses and found our headlamps. Our guides have started a campfire and will soon be cooking dinner. All things are falling into place before the sudden African darkness falls like a theatre curtain.

I love being on safari in Africa. Sniffing the sweet smell of the dew-fresh morning grass, suddenly spotting an elusive leopard, feeling and tasting the dry, fragrant air, puzzling over tracks in the sand, and lying awake at night in my tent following the sounds of the animals’ nocturnal pastimes all fill me with great pleasure.

On the second stage of this year’s walk up through Jutland, I walk alone. I tend to make the decision about hiking at the least minute. That way I can be more certain of experiencing good weather. However, this makes it difficult to make plans with other people, who cannot always drop everything to go walking with me.
I start the journey in the beach resort Lønstrup. This is a town where I have memories. When I was a mere 17 years old, I worked at one of the town’s two hotels, one month as a lowly scullery maid and one month as a chambermaid. The less said about that job the better. The owner of the B&B I am staying at knows the woman who owned the hotel (she is now about 90 years old) and her two sons, so he brings me up to date on their activities and the fate of the hotel.

In those days, Lønstrup was a sleepy, peaceful and picturesque little fishing village, where a few German tourists came up in the summer. The local fishermen dragged their fishing boats up on the beach, the bunkers that the Germans built when they occupied Denmark during WWII dotted the coast, and the waves pounded the shore.

 
Things have changed somewhat. Now, as is the case with many other fishing villages on the Danish coast, Lønstrup is packed with tourists. There are restaurants, cafes, boutiques, artists and artisans, and accommodations of all sorts. Traffic jams the single main straight street that runs through town. Due to erosion, the German bunkers have moved down to the beach, and some of them are even partly submerged in the ocean.

However, Lønstrup is still picturesque. The dunes are still fragrant with the scents of wild roses, beach grass and salty ocean air, seagulls still patrol overhead, looking for something to eat, and waves still crash onto the shore and will do so in all eternity. The colour palette incudes the blue and turquoise hues of the sky, sea and ponds and the different shades of brown, yellow and green of the sand and grasses.

It is somewhat heartening to know that at least the waves are a part of nature that we cannot control, although humans do try, in order to protect summer cottages that lie too close to the edge of the dunes.

I trudge along for many peaceful hours, the wind and sun in my face. Much of the time, I skirt the coast and can see the sea; at other times, I am behind the dunes and walk through grassy areas filled with wildflowers or through woods where I am protected from the wind.

In Denmark, you are never more than 52 km from the coast. The coastline is 8754 km long – the world’s 17th longest. Hiking that would be a very long-term project!

The first day I walk 31 km and reach the town of Hirtshals, a busy commercial fishing harbour. Not the most interesting of towns, but it marks a milestone in that it is the official end of the Hærvejen. Following this route from the southernmost part of Jutland – where Denmark borders Germany – all the way up through Denmark’s mainland to the northerly town Hirtshals, I have covered almost 600 km on my “Grand Hike”.

However, I am not quite finished yet. My intention is to keep going until I reach the very tip of Denmark at the most lovely spot called Skagen. So, on day two, I keep going for another 23 km and end up in a place called Tversted, where my car and a pair of sandals await – and that’s all, folks, for this year with regard to the hike. The rest of the summer will be given over to travelling abroad, so Skagen will have to wait until next year. It’s only about 35 km more but there will be lots to tell from this beautiful and interesting part of Denmark. Stay tuned!

My project of walking from the southern border of Denmark all the way up to the northern tip of the country continues in 2019. On the first stage of this year’s walk, I am joined by my girlfriend Tove.

We begin our journey on foot a sunny day in June in the seaside resort Blokhus. This is where my grandparents once had a summer cottage with a direct view to the sea. Now the area is covered with summer cottages.

Tove and I follow the signs for the Hærvejen route. Nevertheless, we manage to get lost right from the start.

After going in circles and ending up at our starting point twice, we ignore the signs and strike out in what we believe must be the right direction: north. This works better but leads us right past all the summer cottages and adds about seven extra kilometres to the first day’s walk. We end up walking 23 km the first day (and almost 18 km on the second day). Eventually, we are fortunate enough to meet someone who knows the area. He points us in the direction of the right footpath.

After re-discovering the path, over two days of hiking, we walk through quiet, scrubby woods that smell of pine and heather, pass through flowering meadows, wander high up on wind-swept dunes that skirt the shore, and trudge along the windy beach where the waves pound the sand in eternity.

Along the way, we see half-buried bunkers (remnants from the German occupation in World War II – photo below), hardy little flowers, and the 90 m high dune Rubjerg Knude (above photo), where the sands shift constantly due to the wind. The wind erosion eats two to four metres of the coastline every year, so the lighthouse at Rubjerg Knude, which was built in 1899, became dangerously close to falling in the sea. When we see it, it is only 20 m from the sea. Today, October 22, 2019, as I write these lines, the lighthouse has been moved 70 m inland – all in one piece. Quite the engineering feat!

We see a cuckoo up in a tree (usually only just heard, not spotted), hear larks warbling their merry melody in the sky and come very close to one sitting on the ground – also a somewhat unusual experience. Sand martins (bank swallows) fly busily back and forth in their swallow society in the dunes, the cuckoo sounds like a Swiss clock, the surf beats its eternal rhythm, and butterflies and other insects flit quietly about.

Egypt is the world’s oldest tourist destination. The ancient Greeks were attracted to and suitably impressed by the pyramids that already at that time were more than 2000 years old. Now the pyramids are about 4500 years old and still standing. Modern day builders could learn from that. The Egyptian language did not last as long as the pyramids, and the language in Egypt is now Arabic (and they call their country Misr).

Other things have changed, too. Around 2500 BC Egypt was the richest and most advanced society in the world. Now it is a developing country with 20 percent under the poverty limit, 25 percent illiterate and a burgeoning population (at present 99 million people). Less than four percent of the land is farmed (an area roughly the size of Denmark) – the rest is desert – so where will all their food come from?

Like millions of others, I am attracted to the majestic pyramids and the mysterious sphinx at Giza, which are designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. One of the pyramids is Cheops Pyramid, the largest of them, and the oldest of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World (and the only one still intact). Seeing them in real life is quite something. They are truly wondrous. The stone blocks that the pyramids are made of are enormous and it is difficult to imagine not only how the ancient Egyptians managed to pile and snugly fit the blocks on top of each other but also how on earth they transported the stone blocks from distant quarries to Giza.

Pyramid pests
The pyramids were built by the local people (not slaves, we are told) during the period of the year when the farmland was flooded by the Nile and they could not farm. I try for a walk on my own around one of the pyramids, but am constantly assaulted by annoyingly persistent hawkers of camel rides, horse buggy rides, private guided tours “just for you my friend”, advice on good photo opportunities and more. I try and ignore them. Doesn’t work. Then I try and say no thank you. Patience and politeness on my part do not work, neither do less patience and less politeness. Finally, totally frustrated and getting pretty angry, I use the f-word and they scurry away, no doubt in shock at my behaviour.

Another thing that frustrates me is the laissez-faire attitude to preserving the pyramids. There are signs everywhere saying “No climbing” but what do people do? Climb! Oftentimes perching right beside the sign – and no one does anything about it.

Maybe it is just me that is ignorant, but I did not realise that Giza is so close to Cairo. You can actually see the tops of the pyramids from the city. Cairo is dirty, dusty, noisy, exotic, chaotic, and crowded (pop. 20 million). It is one of the world’s largest cities – and one of the most polluted. Somehow, though, it is quite charming, especially the souk, where throngs of Egyptians go to eat, drink coffee, smoke water pipes, talk, meet each other, shop, haggle, hang around, and listen to music. At no time do I feel insecure (although I would have if I had had to drive in the crazily chaotic traffic), and I find the people very open and friendly – and no one brash and aggressive hustles me like at the pyramids.

My excursion to Cairo includes a visit to the amazing Egyptian Museum. The museum is huge, so a couple of hours is not at all enough. This is where the antiquities found in the pyramids are on display. You can see mummies, including children, dogs, cats, crocodiles, birds and pharaohs, sarcophagi,
mummy masks, jewellery, and bits and pieces of furniture and household goods that were necessary for the afterlife.

Unfortunately, there are a gazillion tourists in the museum at the same time, including numerous school classes, so it is somewhat of a struggle to make your way to the display cases. The authorities should limit the number of people they let in. I shudder to think what would happen if there was a sudden need to evacuate the building.

Just yesterday (i.e. December 28, 2018), a terrorist bomb went off by the buses at Giza, killing three Vietnamese tourists and their Egyptian guide. It is pretty scary to realise that is where I was one month ago. I cannot fathom what terrorists expect to gain by these acts.

Horrible as these things are, we must take comfort in the fact that the sun keeps rising, no matter what we do to each other or Mother Earth.

Good morning, good morning, and good morning. On my one-week holiday to hot and sunny Egypt in the middle of November, I make a habit of getting up at 5:30 in the morning to say hello to the sun. Some mornings the unrises are magnificent while on other mornings it just goes from being dark to being light without a lot of fanfare.

No matter what, I relish my early morning forays Down to the Red Sea where I have things mostly to myself. The only sound is the surf, and the only other people are a few joggers and a yoga enthusiast. This is before the hotel guests commence their daily competition for the sunbeds, before inane pop music sounds from variously placed loudspeakers and before I get caught downwind from cigarette smokers – of which there are rather more than I like. I really appreciate the fact that Denmark has so many non-smoking areas. Egypt could learn.

It is very rare that my holidays are in the ‘sunbathe, loll-on-a-sunbed, swim, eat, sunbathe and read’ category, but that’s what it’s like this time around. My two main goals are 1) to spend as much time as possible in the water either swimming in the pool or snorkeling in the sea and 2) to see the pyramids and sphinx at Giza. Happily, I meet both goals.

Life as a mermaid

Spending time in the water is not difficult. The hotel complex has several pools. I quickly find my favourite one. It is the deepest and longest, has a snack bar with delicious food and the music is not overly loud. I choose a sunbed as far away from the others as possible (does that sound anti-social?) to avoid the loudspeakers and smokers and spend hours reading edifying literature and swimming in the rather icy water as much as possible.

The other pretty wonderful possibility is to snorkel from the pier belonging to the hotel. I discover that it is least crowded and there is less current in the mornings, so early bird that I am I snorkel among the corals, clams and colourful fish in the mornings and loll about the pool the rest of the day.

The marine animals are the main thing here, but there is also a neat bird called hoopoe. Several of them are regular guests at the hotel, where they spend their time pecking for grubs or whatever it is they find in the lawn. When alarmed or showing off they fan out the showy crest on their head and look very pretty.

Aquatic adventures in a national park

The absolutely best time spent in the water is at the Ras Muhammad National Park. I go on a full-day excursion where we snorkel from a boat at three different locations. The underwater world here is pretty amazing. There are more than 250 types of coral and about 1300 species of fish, many of them endemic and most of them stunning.

Bright yellow, purple, pink, striped, multi-coloured, and in many different
shapes and sizes. The Red Sea is the saltiest sea (the Dead Sea is actually a
lake), so it is very easy to float.

I lose complete track of time as I swim slowly through the watery landscape, eyes wide open to all the sights. At one point a large figure emerges in the distance and swims directly towards me. It morphs into a sea turtle that does not seem the least bit fazed by my presence in its path.

It is escorted by two small fish that keep it clean. I stop moving in order not to scare the turtle away. Unfortunately, some other tourists come barreling in from the right with their selfie sticks, so that ends my meeting with the turtle, that abruptly dashes off to the left and disappears in the shadows. I snorkel until I am too cold and tired to continue and get back on the boat, reluctant to leave the aquatic paradise behind.