(Dracaena cinnabari)
One of the legends explaining the existence of this unique Socotri tree is about a furious fight between an elephant and a dragon. This one bit the elephant, which fell on the dragon. They both died and this tree is the result.
martes, 27 de noviembre de 2007
sábado, 24 de noviembre de 2007
Tourism as a Threat?
Few days after I arrived, I had the pleasure to have dinner with one of my assistant’s friends. His English is really good and the great intelligence he had been granted with was immediately obvious to me. He also has a lot of experience taking tourists around, therefore my mental and cultural instincts did not surprise him at all and he could easily cope with them.
During the dinner, the conversation rapidly became most fluent, interesting and frank. Maybe it was also certain that sooner or later we would have talked about tourism and its impact on the island, but I could have not ever expected that it would imply many aspects that are maybe not so obvious.
Socotra is an island of very peaceful people who stick to their traditions and way of life. Actually, even if the population of the island is small, the Socotri People managed to preserve its own language. The island is also a place that immediately makes you feel comfortable: I am sure that its beauty plays an important role in that, but the tranquillity of the people is indeed an important component of this little heaven on hearth. If it is not sufficient evidence that this is what I see and feel since the day I arrived, I also talked to some tourists: they agree that smiles here never seem to be a hypocrite part of the all-included package tour operators sell.
We all know that tourism has become part of the “Western people’s lifestyle”, their income would only determine how far, and for how many days, they would tour. Other cultures are also starting to be costumers of the industry, which is moving an enormous amount of money, and part of it also falls in the pocket of those who receive the tourists.
Tourism is also an important resource of this island. Apparently, the personal quality of tourists coming here is quite high, as they normally have good salaries and education. They are aware of the environmental fragility of this place; the young man I was having dinner with said that tourists are generally very clean and do not leave garbage behind them when camping in the countryside, something the local population does not always do. I must admit I was very surprised about this.
You would legitimately think by now that foreigners are most welcome: people here are aware that tourists come to leave behind them for a few days the “difficult living conditions in their cities”, and the efforts Socotri people do to make them feel comfortable are considerable (including an enormous tolerance towards behaviours and manners that sometimes can even insult the local costumes). If not camping in some nice spots, tourists are housed in small, basic hotels or even in people’s own houses (“eco-tourism”).
So I simplistically thought that maybe Yemenia Airways should put more than two planes a week connecting the island to the mainland. I did not find the young man too sure about this point. He sadly confirmed the existence of some plans for big investements from abroad are already being made and he was not sure that any law or international organisation would be able to stop this trend.
His statement was crystal clear: “We do not want any mass tourism here!” His concern was not only about the threat it would imply to the environment, but also to his People: he is afraid of the impact a big number of tourists would suddenly have on the local costumes and every day life.
I thought about my previous adventures among people who had suffered from violent colonisation, which did not bring many good things to them. Rather, such long lasting economic exploitation also involved their tremendous cultural impoverishment. We had not only stolen their resources, but also their principles, their history and, at the end of the day, their soul. And most of the things we left behind are our vices.
I think this is what the young man had in mind, and many others here agree with this. Tourism is welcome as long as its impact (in terms of number of foreigners and facilities to house them) is under control (“sustainable development”). Just think of this simple example: I picked up a beautiful shell from the beach, and a Socotri said: “You can have it as long as you keep it in your house, but if you want to take it abroad, you may have problems at Socotra airport if they find it in you luggage”. What if each tourist picks up a shell? How many beautiful shells would be left? Not that many, I am afraid… And I leave to your imagination what other nasty things we would leave here instead.
Mass tourism does not automatically imply more money to the local population, but could imply a great threat to the environmental (I read that the importance of Socotra is comparable to the Galapagos!) and cultural conservation of the island. It is the responsibility of the foreigner not only to avoid leaving garbage behind him in the places he goes to, but also not to dump his cultural garbage. Would it be too rhetorical to call it “cultural ecology awareness”?
Barcelona is a city that may soon die out of its mass-tourism industry. Socotra refuses the same destiny. The people of the island still welcome their guests and they are, for the time being, unable of any bitter or hypocrite smile. Let us all make sure that they keep their authentic smile: otherwise the day would have come for the beginning Socotra’s agony.
During the dinner, the conversation rapidly became most fluent, interesting and frank. Maybe it was also certain that sooner or later we would have talked about tourism and its impact on the island, but I could have not ever expected that it would imply many aspects that are maybe not so obvious.
Socotra is an island of very peaceful people who stick to their traditions and way of life. Actually, even if the population of the island is small, the Socotri People managed to preserve its own language. The island is also a place that immediately makes you feel comfortable: I am sure that its beauty plays an important role in that, but the tranquillity of the people is indeed an important component of this little heaven on hearth. If it is not sufficient evidence that this is what I see and feel since the day I arrived, I also talked to some tourists: they agree that smiles here never seem to be a hypocrite part of the all-included package tour operators sell.
We all know that tourism has become part of the “Western people’s lifestyle”, their income would only determine how far, and for how many days, they would tour. Other cultures are also starting to be costumers of the industry, which is moving an enormous amount of money, and part of it also falls in the pocket of those who receive the tourists.
Tourism is also an important resource of this island. Apparently, the personal quality of tourists coming here is quite high, as they normally have good salaries and education. They are aware of the environmental fragility of this place; the young man I was having dinner with said that tourists are generally very clean and do not leave garbage behind them when camping in the countryside, something the local population does not always do. I must admit I was very surprised about this.
You would legitimately think by now that foreigners are most welcome: people here are aware that tourists come to leave behind them for a few days the “difficult living conditions in their cities”, and the efforts Socotri people do to make them feel comfortable are considerable (including an enormous tolerance towards behaviours and manners that sometimes can even insult the local costumes). If not camping in some nice spots, tourists are housed in small, basic hotels or even in people’s own houses (“eco-tourism”).
So I simplistically thought that maybe Yemenia Airways should put more than two planes a week connecting the island to the mainland. I did not find the young man too sure about this point. He sadly confirmed the existence of some plans for big investements from abroad are already being made and he was not sure that any law or international organisation would be able to stop this trend.
His statement was crystal clear: “We do not want any mass tourism here!” His concern was not only about the threat it would imply to the environment, but also to his People: he is afraid of the impact a big number of tourists would suddenly have on the local costumes and every day life.
I thought about my previous adventures among people who had suffered from violent colonisation, which did not bring many good things to them. Rather, such long lasting economic exploitation also involved their tremendous cultural impoverishment. We had not only stolen their resources, but also their principles, their history and, at the end of the day, their soul. And most of the things we left behind are our vices.
I think this is what the young man had in mind, and many others here agree with this. Tourism is welcome as long as its impact (in terms of number of foreigners and facilities to house them) is under control (“sustainable development”). Just think of this simple example: I picked up a beautiful shell from the beach, and a Socotri said: “You can have it as long as you keep it in your house, but if you want to take it abroad, you may have problems at Socotra airport if they find it in you luggage”. What if each tourist picks up a shell? How many beautiful shells would be left? Not that many, I am afraid… And I leave to your imagination what other nasty things we would leave here instead.
Mass tourism does not automatically imply more money to the local population, but could imply a great threat to the environmental (I read that the importance of Socotra is comparable to the Galapagos!) and cultural conservation of the island. It is the responsibility of the foreigner not only to avoid leaving garbage behind him in the places he goes to, but also not to dump his cultural garbage. Would it be too rhetorical to call it “cultural ecology awareness”?
Barcelona is a city that may soon die out of its mass-tourism industry. Socotra refuses the same destiny. The people of the island still welcome their guests and they are, for the time being, unable of any bitter or hypocrite smile. Let us all make sure that they keep their authentic smile: otherwise the day would have come for the beginning Socotra’s agony.
viernes, 23 de noviembre de 2007
jueves, 22 de noviembre de 2007
miércoles, 21 de noviembre de 2007
domingo, 18 de noviembre de 2007
The Arrival
12th November, 12 AM. After of couple of flight hours and a short stop in Mukhalla, the Northern coast of Socotra finally appeared in all its beauty. Some of you know that airplanes and turbulences are not the things I like the most, so my happiness and relief was considerable at the end of my long way to my duty-station.
At the airport, seing a young gentleman holding a sign (“Robertto”) assured me that this time somebody came to pick me up: he was my assistant, who, during the following days, made clear that, without him being around most of the day, I would have had serious difficulties to get started. “Smile, you are in Socotra!” was what he said, while starting the engine of one of the Yemen Red Crescent Society pick-ups. I smiled, as actually nothing allowed me to do otherwise.
He took me to the house/office in Hadibo, capital village of the island. It’s a simple, beautiful house that quickly became my new home: my two-bed room, another room for guests (!), a terrace, a bathroom, the shelter for the generator, a kitchen, the actual office with its door to the outside. All this is scattered around a Socotri patio and garden, with a beautiful tree in the middle. The house is made of big stones held together with cement mixed with reddish sand and a wooden roof. I met my house-mates, mother cat Soma and her eight-months-old daughter, who I named Ona. Those of you who know how much I like cats should definitely be sure by now that yes, there are good reasons indeed to be happy in my new home.
I also met the lady who will take care of the house and cooking, she is always smiling. Yes, she grants me the honour to see her face, as she is used to the previous foreign inhabitants of the house and, after all, my house is not in a public place! The smell of the food she had prepared invited my assistant and me to the first Socotri lunch.
The day after, my assistant, who is rapidly becoming a friend, took me to one of the amazing beaches of the island to have lunch there with other colleagues and friends: another great experience of the flavours and tastes of the local food, as well as the kindness the people I was with. I later swam in perfectly clean water, exploring the amazing bottom of the shore: fish and crustaceans I even did not know they existed, and corals all over me. See picture obove.
The rest of my first week in Socotra was fast: meeting key people in key restaurants, shaking many hands here and there and starting the first professional activities.
Smile, I am in Socotra.
At the airport, seing a young gentleman holding a sign (“Robertto”) assured me that this time somebody came to pick me up: he was my assistant, who, during the following days, made clear that, without him being around most of the day, I would have had serious difficulties to get started. “Smile, you are in Socotra!” was what he said, while starting the engine of one of the Yemen Red Crescent Society pick-ups. I smiled, as actually nothing allowed me to do otherwise.
He took me to the house/office in Hadibo, capital village of the island. It’s a simple, beautiful house that quickly became my new home: my two-bed room, another room for guests (!), a terrace, a bathroom, the shelter for the generator, a kitchen, the actual office with its door to the outside. All this is scattered around a Socotri patio and garden, with a beautiful tree in the middle. The house is made of big stones held together with cement mixed with reddish sand and a wooden roof. I met my house-mates, mother cat Soma and her eight-months-old daughter, who I named Ona. Those of you who know how much I like cats should definitely be sure by now that yes, there are good reasons indeed to be happy in my new home.
I also met the lady who will take care of the house and cooking, she is always smiling. Yes, she grants me the honour to see her face, as she is used to the previous foreign inhabitants of the house and, after all, my house is not in a public place! The smell of the food she had prepared invited my assistant and me to the first Socotri lunch.
The day after, my assistant, who is rapidly becoming a friend, took me to one of the amazing beaches of the island to have lunch there with other colleagues and friends: another great experience of the flavours and tastes of the local food, as well as the kindness the people I was with. I later swam in perfectly clean water, exploring the amazing bottom of the shore: fish and crustaceans I even did not know they existed, and corals all over me. See picture obove.
The rest of my first week in Socotra was fast: meeting key people in key restaurants, shaking many hands here and there and starting the first professional activities.
Smile, I am in Socotra.
viernes, 16 de noviembre de 2007
Aden
It took me a long time to get to Socotra; therefore, dear reader, you will be just as patient to read things concerning the island.
There are not many planes going between the mainland and Socotra, and the one leaving from Sana’a was the same day I had to do the administrative tour. Therefore, I had to catch it in Aden. Again, the Federation of the Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies made sure that I would have had a hotel to sleep there one night. “You’ll be fine, they assured, the hotel has a private beach”. Yeah…
Aden gives the name to the gulf in the South of the Arabian Peninsula, but it is also an enormously important port. Many merchant ships from Europe, Asia and Africa stop there to unload any kind of goods.
I was told that the city wasn’t really of any touristic interest so, not being completely stupid, I decided to finish my recovering on the sand of the beach and watch the sunset under a straw umbrella. Aden is also a place where the Yemenis come on their honeymoon and holidays in general, so it was normal to see them sitting on the beach and bathing in the hot sea water. Yemeni women bath like they usually go around in public places: completely covered with a black robe, leaving uncovered only a fin slot for the eyes. Tolerantly, Western women are allowed to sunbath in their bikini. Also, some Chinese were sitting few metres away from me, surely talking business. A special corner, with carpets and a straw roof, is provided to those who want to rest or chew some khat.
Time for dinner and for surprises. “Would you like a cold beer, Sir?” After few seconds of hesitancy, the waiter finished me off: “Amstel? Heineken?” Yes, I definitely wanted a beer, and he left with a smile on his face to get my dinner. When the bill came, I called the waitress (western-style dressed Yemeni) and kindly told her I did not take any “7 USD fruit punch”, and she answered: “Actually, it is the tin of beer you had, Sir!”
Aden is a big port, and in big ports many sins are tolerated, especially if committed by foreigners. But when I shall feel sinful in Aden again, I shall surely ask for the price of a cold beer before having it.
There are not many planes going between the mainland and Socotra, and the one leaving from Sana’a was the same day I had to do the administrative tour. Therefore, I had to catch it in Aden. Again, the Federation of the Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies made sure that I would have had a hotel to sleep there one night. “You’ll be fine, they assured, the hotel has a private beach”. Yeah…
Aden gives the name to the gulf in the South of the Arabian Peninsula, but it is also an enormously important port. Many merchant ships from Europe, Asia and Africa stop there to unload any kind of goods.
I was told that the city wasn’t really of any touristic interest so, not being completely stupid, I decided to finish my recovering on the sand of the beach and watch the sunset under a straw umbrella. Aden is also a place where the Yemenis come on their honeymoon and holidays in general, so it was normal to see them sitting on the beach and bathing in the hot sea water. Yemeni women bath like they usually go around in public places: completely covered with a black robe, leaving uncovered only a fin slot for the eyes. Tolerantly, Western women are allowed to sunbath in their bikini. Also, some Chinese were sitting few metres away from me, surely talking business. A special corner, with carpets and a straw roof, is provided to those who want to rest or chew some khat.
Time for dinner and for surprises. “Would you like a cold beer, Sir?” After few seconds of hesitancy, the waiter finished me off: “Amstel? Heineken?” Yes, I definitely wanted a beer, and he left with a smile on his face to get my dinner. When the bill came, I called the waitress (western-style dressed Yemeni) and kindly told her I did not take any “7 USD fruit punch”, and she answered: “Actually, it is the tin of beer you had, Sir!”
Aden is a big port, and in big ports many sins are tolerated, especially if committed by foreigners. But when I shall feel sinful in Aden again, I shall surely ask for the price of a cold beer before having it.
jueves, 15 de noviembre de 2007
Sana'a
9th November, 2 AM local time. I finally landed in Sana’a, capital of the Republic of Yemen. My boss assured me that somebody would have been at the airport waiting for me to make sure I would have comfortably arrived at the hotel, but she had been very farsighted also in giving me the photocopy of the hotel’s manager business card, “just in case”. Useful tactic, as nobody showed up. Meantime, while trying to figure out what to do and thinking about the enormous amount of Kalashnikovs this country is also famous for, I saw a white guy, much whiter than me, who seemed to be just as lost. “Let’s share a taxi and I’ll pay it all!” was the freaked-out deal I proposed him. He accepted in a strong, shameless French accent. After going around for more than one hour (the driver had sworn three times he perfectly knew where my hotel was, and no rooster had sang yet…), I finally arrived to the hotel, in the old part of the town.
4:15 AM. Not even 15 minutes after I got in bed, the minaret right in front of my window called for the prayer. It sounded as a polite, exotic welcome. I would have been honoured with just that, but until 5 o’clock I could hear the whole city’s minarets. And I can assure you that their loudspeakers work really well. Yes, I know, it was a Friday, the weekly day for minarets to do their best!
The morning saluted me with a wonderful view from my window. I said hallo to the minaret, “Yes, I think I’ve…heard you before!”, and rushed for my camera: the picture above was the panorama Sana’a welcomed me with. Wow…
I impertinently staid all day in the hotel. Blame the jet-lag; blame the Kalashnikovs; but the Italian TV (RAI 3!!!), Al-Jazeera in English (the best news-channel I’ve ever seen!!!) and the comfortable bed advised some rest. Tomorrow, we shall think of something.
The day after, a very kind Hamid, sent by the Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies, took me for an administrative tour of the city: the bank, the Yemeni Red Crescent Society HQ, Yemenia Airlines office, and lunch in a typical restaurant downtown. Not for tourists, but for local people and local manners: one plate for all, no cutlery but those given us by Mother Nature, no left hand is allowed. I cursed the day I was born left-handed. The food was absolutely delicious: fish and goat.
A lot of men have a traditional and beautiful dagger in their belt (jambia), right over their belly, but “Hamid, I shyly asked, where are all the rifles people here in Yemen are supposed to have so naturally hanging on their shoulders?” He explained that one year ago a law was passed and now you don’t see them around anymore. Now I hope to have buried my memories of Congo for good.
The day had been long. Back to my bed and ready for my next stop: Aden.
4:15 AM. Not even 15 minutes after I got in bed, the minaret right in front of my window called for the prayer. It sounded as a polite, exotic welcome. I would have been honoured with just that, but until 5 o’clock I could hear the whole city’s minarets. And I can assure you that their loudspeakers work really well. Yes, I know, it was a Friday, the weekly day for minarets to do their best!
The morning saluted me with a wonderful view from my window. I said hallo to the minaret, “Yes, I think I’ve…heard you before!”, and rushed for my camera: the picture above was the panorama Sana’a welcomed me with. Wow…
I impertinently staid all day in the hotel. Blame the jet-lag; blame the Kalashnikovs; but the Italian TV (RAI 3!!!), Al-Jazeera in English (the best news-channel I’ve ever seen!!!) and the comfortable bed advised some rest. Tomorrow, we shall think of something.
The day after, a very kind Hamid, sent by the Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies, took me for an administrative tour of the city: the bank, the Yemeni Red Crescent Society HQ, Yemenia Airlines office, and lunch in a typical restaurant downtown. Not for tourists, but for local people and local manners: one plate for all, no cutlery but those given us by Mother Nature, no left hand is allowed. I cursed the day I was born left-handed. The food was absolutely delicious: fish and goat.
A lot of men have a traditional and beautiful dagger in their belt (jambia), right over their belly, but “Hamid, I shyly asked, where are all the rifles people here in Yemen are supposed to have so naturally hanging on their shoulders?” He explained that one year ago a law was passed and now you don’t see them around anymore. Now I hope to have buried my memories of Congo for good.
The day had been long. Back to my bed and ready for my next stop: Aden.
miércoles, 14 de noviembre de 2007
Mare...nostrum?
If you fly from Barcelona to Amman, you have to cross the “Mare Nostrum”. Some still use this Latin name, which could be translated into “Our Sea”, to call the Mediterranean Sea. To be frank, and without any fear of appearing chauvinistic, I like very much this name. Not only because of my being Italian, it is rather because this pool unites the lands that have given the greatest contribution to my cultural identity, whatever that means and in spite of being born in a landlocked State in the middle of Europe.
It is obvious, and those who know me well are already aware of it, that I love mother Mediterranean. I feel thankful to her: a mother that civilized her children and gave them so many different, rich and beautiful languages, taught them tasteful manners to prepare their daily and healthy food. And we, sisters and brothers, sometimes do not understand ourselves and often are unaware of this enormously rich culture to which we all belong. It is widely known that a mother always forgive the silliness of her children, but we also know that her patience is not really legendary either.
Believe it or not, but these were the thoughts that accompanied my flight. On a beautiful 8th November, I was leaving behind me the reborn plain of the Llobregat River, ready for a new and exciting experience on unknown lands.
Sardinia was covered by a thick blanket of clouds, but soon after appeared the Tyrrhenian coast of Calabria, the Strait of Messina and the majestic Etna, decorating the horizon with a thin stripe of its puffs. It was my mothers’ farewell, under a wonderful sunset. As I was moving eastwards, such miracle did not last very long, and I could only be sure I was flying over the Peloponnese from the video screens of the airplane cabin. Darkness had put an end to this beautiful day, “so many give away”.
Maybe it was better that way. I would have felt harmed and drowned by a bitter gloom if I saw the terrible scare my brothers and sisters had left last summer on my mother’s side.
Already near to the south coast of Cyprus, I was close to the coast where the misunderstandings and hatred among some of my sisters and brothers are most bitter. The Mother’s side that is being mistreated and disrespected and nobody seems to notice her screams and pain. Electric lights along wide and well-ordered roads confirmed I was overflying Tel-Aviv.
I want my mother to be respected. She had given us all she could and that was so much. We are not capable yet to show thankfulness for her teaching and love. We kill each other on her, and we kill on a daily base what only belongs to her. What if she loses her patience for good? What would we be without her? What would we give to our daughters and sons?
Forgive us, Mother Mediterranean.
It is obvious, and those who know me well are already aware of it, that I love mother Mediterranean. I feel thankful to her: a mother that civilized her children and gave them so many different, rich and beautiful languages, taught them tasteful manners to prepare their daily and healthy food. And we, sisters and brothers, sometimes do not understand ourselves and often are unaware of this enormously rich culture to which we all belong. It is widely known that a mother always forgive the silliness of her children, but we also know that her patience is not really legendary either.
Believe it or not, but these were the thoughts that accompanied my flight. On a beautiful 8th November, I was leaving behind me the reborn plain of the Llobregat River, ready for a new and exciting experience on unknown lands.
Sardinia was covered by a thick blanket of clouds, but soon after appeared the Tyrrhenian coast of Calabria, the Strait of Messina and the majestic Etna, decorating the horizon with a thin stripe of its puffs. It was my mothers’ farewell, under a wonderful sunset. As I was moving eastwards, such miracle did not last very long, and I could only be sure I was flying over the Peloponnese from the video screens of the airplane cabin. Darkness had put an end to this beautiful day, “so many give away”.
Maybe it was better that way. I would have felt harmed and drowned by a bitter gloom if I saw the terrible scare my brothers and sisters had left last summer on my mother’s side.
Already near to the south coast of Cyprus, I was close to the coast where the misunderstandings and hatred among some of my sisters and brothers are most bitter. The Mother’s side that is being mistreated and disrespected and nobody seems to notice her screams and pain. Electric lights along wide and well-ordered roads confirmed I was overflying Tel-Aviv.
I want my mother to be respected. She had given us all she could and that was so much. We are not capable yet to show thankfulness for her teaching and love. We kill each other on her, and we kill on a daily base what only belongs to her. What if she loses her patience for good? What would we be without her? What would we give to our daughters and sons?
Forgive us, Mother Mediterranean.
Letter to you
Dear friend,
This blog is like an NGO: it is easier to say what it is not, rather than what it actually is. The idea is that you will hardly read anything strictly connected to my professional duties, or any touristic promotion of the beauties of this little paradise between the Arabian Sea and Indian Ocean. I shall try this experiment to write down my personal feelings, emotions, frustrations, and happiness or, simply, thoughts that accompany me in this new, dramatic and amazing experience in a new land. I think I am doing this for myself: maybe just a narcissistic exercise, which aim is to explore the “heart of darkness” inside myself. Anyway, I hope you will enlighten me from time to time with your own thoughts, arising from what you will read. Please give me your feedback and don’t leave Kurtz behind.
Please make sure to read the very first post before: it will give you an idea about Suqutrah, precious pearl and pride of its lucky People.
I hope you will enjoy reading this blog from time to time. I shall be sure of this if one happy day you will come to see me.
Yours,
This blog is like an NGO: it is easier to say what it is not, rather than what it actually is. The idea is that you will hardly read anything strictly connected to my professional duties, or any touristic promotion of the beauties of this little paradise between the Arabian Sea and Indian Ocean. I shall try this experiment to write down my personal feelings, emotions, frustrations, and happiness or, simply, thoughts that accompany me in this new, dramatic and amazing experience in a new land. I think I am doing this for myself: maybe just a narcissistic exercise, which aim is to explore the “heart of darkness” inside myself. Anyway, I hope you will enlighten me from time to time with your own thoughts, arising from what you will read. Please give me your feedback and don’t leave Kurtz behind.
Please make sure to read the very first post before: it will give you an idea about Suqutrah, precious pearl and pride of its lucky People.
I hope you will enjoy reading this blog from time to time. I shall be sure of this if one happy day you will come to see me.
Yours,
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