tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74415698506521728822024-03-13T04:45:44.641+02:00 LILLY'S WORLD STORIESAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.comBlogger40125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-69327573884483423672015-04-15T21:36:00.000+03:002015-04-15T22:28:58.963+03:00A few of my favourite things about Innsbruck<div style="text-align: justify;">
My first home abroad was an one bedroom flat at the end of a dead end in Innsbruck. At Löfflerweg str.! When I arrived at the lovely cute Austrian city and saw the apartment, it was late at night and dark. I became seriously worried due to the distance from the center, the steepness of the road and its remote position. In the morning, everything seemed much better, as it often happens. The distance was not so big after all. Just a 15 minute walk through an aristocratic neighbourhood. The abrupt street to the house was just a nice way to keep fit. The position was quiet and offered an amazing view. </div>
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As my first residence outside Greece, Innsbruck deserves the first list of <span style="color: #e06666;"><i>a few of my</i></span><i><span style="color: #e06666;"> favourite things :</span></i><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666;"><b>1.</b><i> </i></span>The locals are always up for <span style="color: #e06666;">sports</span>. The Austrians ski literally like pros from age four to eighty four. Skiing is as natural to them as walking or breathing. I was particularly excited to see handicapped people enjoying the fun of winter sports, as well, using special equipment.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #e06666;">2.</span></b> The main means of transportation are <span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #e06666;">bicycles</span></span>. The bike roads run through the whole city and are very picturesque. Twice a day I was cycling along the Inn river to arrive at home, gazing at the impeccable beauty. Longboards, skates, inline skates were also very popular. Some young parents used to have trolleys dragged by their bicycles, were the babies were sleeping comfortably. It should be noted that the regulations about the lights are strict and are actually implemented. I once saw an officer giving a ticket to a rider that had no lights, while the snow height was over a meter. I reckon that it was not a delightful task for the officer and certainly not for the offender, who had to pay 20 euros for each nonexistent light.<br />
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3. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Leberk%C3%A4se" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Leberkäse</span></a></span><span style="color: blue;"> </span></b>was my favourite treat. I used to buy it during the uni intervals, from the nearby supermarket or bakery. It costs close to two euros and is warm and tasty. A Semmel, Leberkäse, ketchup and mustard. Yummy!</div>
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<b><span style="color: #e06666;">4.</span></b> The dress code was always <span style="color: #e06666;">sporty</span>. Even at the clubs, people put on a snowboarding jacket, beanies and sneakers. Only at the <span style="color: #e06666;">Uni's oral exams</span> everyone revealed a smart attire under the usual snowboarding jacket. Boys wore a suit and girls heels and pencil skirts. Unaware of the custom, I showed up in jeans at my Philosophy of Law exams. When I realised that the smartly dressed students were waiting outside the same door as me, felt I wanted my fairy. Where is she really every time I need her?<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">New year's party and fireworks at<a href="http://www.nordkette.com/en/the-mountain-in-the-winter/cloud-9.html" target="_blank"> <b><span style="color: #e06666;">Cloud 9</span></b></a> Igloo Bar</td></tr>
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<b><span style="color: #e06666;">5. </span></b> The big, modern <b><span style="color: #e06666;">Universitäts- Landesbibliothek</span></b> had always the latest international newspapers hanging on one wall. As a student I enjoyed the privilege to borrow books through a self check out machine using my own student card. A Criminology book about Serial Killers had given me a neck pain because of the many times I looked behind me in the dark deserted Löfflerweg. </div>
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<span style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="color: #e06666;">6.</span></b> At Christmas, the city looks like a fairytale scenery. </span><a href="http://www.christkindlmarkt.cc/?n=1" style="text-align: left;" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;"><b>Christmas Markets</b></span></a><span style="text-align: left;"> offer the traditional Wurst, hot chocolate, </span><b style="text-align: left;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mulled_wine" target="_blank"><span style="color: #666666;">Glühwein</span></a>, </b><span style="text-align: left;">crepes, Christmas events, rides with horses, but mostly they create that magical atmosphere. You feel that there is no better place to be in Christmas than just there.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #e06666;"><b>7.</b></span> <span style="color: #e06666;">Pets</span> are also enjoying quality life in Innsbruck. For instance, taking out the dog on roller-skates is undeniably a mutual fun! </div>
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<b><span style="color: #e06666;">8.</span></b> <a href="http://www.treibhaus.at/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #e06666;">Treibhaus</span></b></a> was my favourite venue. It has two stages for live music and a cafe bar. The atmosphere is cheerful and the customers pleasantly alternative. </div>
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<b><span style="color: #e06666;">9.</span></b> For those who won't fly unless they hide a Masticha drink, a Lexotanil and various herbal anti-stress remedies in their cabin bag, Innsbruck is an amazing start point for their Europe trips by train! Its <b><span style="color: #e06666;">strategic geographic position</span></b> favours <a href="http://www.oebb.at/en/index.jsp" target="_blank"><span style="color: #666666;"><b>trips</b></span></a> not only inside Austria, but also Italy, Germany, Switzerland, Lichtenstein and Czech Republic. For young travellers (-26 yr), there is a discounted <a href="http://www.oebb.at/en/Customer_cards/VORTEILSCARD/VORTEILSCARD_Jugend/index.jsp" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: #666666;">Vorteilscard</span></b></a>, that offers multiple benefits. </div>
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<b><span style="color: #e06666;">10.</span></b> Once I overheard a man on the next table to talk about <span style="color: #e06666; font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zivildienst" target="_blank"><span style="color: #e06666;">Zivildienst</span></a>, </span>an alternative civilian service to the compulsory military service. After I received that information, I started observing more closely some unusual for a Greek incidents. At supermarkets, people on wheelchairs were often escorted and assisted by younger men. Maybe they were serving their Zivildienst, I thought. How much does that alternative change the lives of both parts!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-65674966443644359422015-04-11T14:00:00.001+03:002015-04-15T21:53:02.054+03:00The bridge over the Inn<div style="text-align: justify;">
In my last year of legal studies I needed badly to try life abroad. Hence, <b style="color: blue;"> </b><a href="http://esn.org/" style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">Erasmus</a> exchange Program was the answer for both continuing my studies and get to know a new European city. The list was out on January of 2011: UK, France, Germany, Italy and so on. Hmm. I saw a university in Austria that I haven't heard before: <a href="http://www.uibk.ac.at/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Leopold Franzens Universitaet</b></span></a>. Google solved my problem. It is located in <a href="http://www.innsbruck.info/en/home.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Innsbruck</b></span></a>, the capital city of Tyrol, on the west part of Austria. During winter it is the place to be, because of the numerous winter sport possibilities in the area. Snowboard bought and Erasmus application complete.</div>
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At first sight, Innsbruck is the typical European city. It is neat, clean, organised, with an old town, identical beautiful buildings and the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inn_(river)" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Inn river</b></span></a> cutting the city in half. But at the same time, it is so much unique. The mountains, that surround the city, are protecting the valley from the bad weather and tear the clouds apart. Although everything is in order, there is no tension in the atmosphere. People, of all ages, are enjoying the nature and love mountain activities. When the sun is out, they head to the nearby mountains for hiking and mountain biking. </div>
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<span style="text-align: justify;">When snow covers the mountains, the actual fun starts. Personally, I bought the <b><a href="http://www.snowcard.tirol.at/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Snow Card Tirol</span></a><span style="color: blue;">, </span></b>which was the golden ticket to 87 Ski centres in Tirol. Due to my student ID, I had a discount and paid around 550 euros. It worths </span>buying, if you intend on skiing for more than 15 times. There are so many choices for skiing close to Innsbruck. The closest, is just twenty minute away from the center of Innsbruck on a cable, <b style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.nordkette.com/en" target="_blank">Innsbrucker Nordkettenbahnen</a>.</b> I particularly loved <a href="http://www.axamer-lizum.at/de/winter/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">Axamer Lizum</span></b></a> and <b><a href="http://www.patscherkofelbahnen.at/de/winter#hausberg" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Patscherkofel</span></a><span style="color: blue;">, </span></b>that are both less than an hour drive from Innsbruck.</div>
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Although, I did not experience the crazy Erasmus life, because the Erasmus students were not many, I travelled throughout Austria, met lovely German people and of course I skied a lot. After all, Innsbruck taught me that there are alternatives to a big city life, that if I go for them I would still be happy.</div>
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P.S. Thank you Marilia for the amazing photos!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-57771915610611860202015-03-27T16:26:00.003+02:002015-03-27T17:17:37.770+02:00Snowboarding in Greece?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
The touristic image of Greece is equivalent to blue sky, serene beaches and white houses. While indisputably Greece has this exotic side in the summer, during the winter more unknown choices are unfolding. The variety of greek sceneries is what I love most about my country. You can never get bored here. </div>
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Once, a British windsurfer nagged about cold in Athens. He said that "It's supposed to be always summer in Greece". When I proposed to him to go snowboarding in the mountains instead of windsurfing, he merely believed me. We had to reach the ski center and actually see the snow in order for him to add some winter in the way he saw Greece.</div>
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After an awesome summer in Ghana and a not so exciting semester in Athens, I felt the dire need to descend a snowed mountain. Two ski centres are located within three hours drive from the Greek capital. </div>
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In Peloponnesos the skiing opportunities are found on <a href="http://www.kalavrita-ski.gr/" style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">Kalavrita ski center</a><b style="color: blue;">. </b>It is a cute ski center, with a snow park. Styga is the most interesting slope, which starts from the top and goes all the way to the bottom. Many experienced skiers are enjoying off piste skiing. Almost every weekend, events are running on KSC. There is also four <a href="http://ai.kalavrita-ski.gr/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>all inclusive packages</b></span></a>, that are ideal for a convenient snow trip, since they could combine accommodation, ski pass-renting, dinner. You can choose from Full Pack, Light Pack, Ski and Full Pack, Ski and Light Pack. The <a href="http://www.kalavrita-ski.gr/index.php/prepare/module-positions" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>prices</b></span></a> are ranging between 5 to 25 euros depending on the special category of the ticket and the season. <a href="http://www.kalavrita-ski.gr/index.php/ski-center/snowbus" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">Coaches</span></b></a> are frequently scheduled from Athens and cost 15 euros.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjI-v8ZNG987udIr8hmh4jZpU9VzD6DaHLwidTwlR_bwzyaN4BeFkcqMwWdY_lK3kEmj_f7ZJhdLHL-u8_0AED9sV5d63r0KmwepNXHMiE7KBuE78pknLtetgW9PalQAF-B6Ri0CN8GVQ/s1600/P1070463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjI-v8ZNG987udIr8hmh4jZpU9VzD6DaHLwidTwlR_bwzyaN4BeFkcqMwWdY_lK3kEmj_f7ZJhdLHL-u8_0AED9sV5d63r0KmwepNXHMiE7KBuE78pknLtetgW9PalQAF-B6Ri0CN8GVQ/s1600/P1070463.JPG" height="418" width="640" /></a></div>
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The ski center I picked this time is <a href="http://www.parnassos-ski.gr/eng/page.aspx?itemID=SPG1" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">Parnassos ski center</span></b></a>, that is the biggest and, as said in its advertisement, the best organised of the country. It is near the beautiful village <a href="http://www.arachova-guide.com/index1.html" style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Arachova</span></a><b style="color: blue;"> </b>and the archaeological place <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Delphi" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">Delphi</span></b></a>, that was believed to be the navel of the earth. The Temple of Apollo is also worth visiting, as it is where the famous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pythia" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Pythia</b></span></a>, the ancient oracle, after chewing the daphne leaves, uttered her Apollo inspired prophecies. </div>
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On this season, millions have been invested on new lifts, that make the skiing safer and more pleasant. All that I would explore myself, if I woke up at 4.30. So I did, surprising even myself. The drive to Parnassos lasted 3,5 hours including the stops. At 9 o clock everyone was ready, wearing boots, gloves, even the gopro-cams were placed on the foreheads. Due to a strong wind though, we had to wait for three hours before indulging the perfect snow. Just about the time that the patience of some was running out, the lifts opened. Regardless the thick cloud that was going down every time I was at the start of the slope and vanished when I was on the lift, I had an awesome time. Surely snowboarding is like bicycle after all. Two seasons off the sport did not take a toll on me. :-P</div>
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For more information about skiing in Greece visit <span style="color: blue;"><b><a href="http://www.snowreport.gr/snowreporten.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">snow report</span></a>..</b></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-13863646507532353372015-03-10T01:54:00.001+02:002015-03-31T15:17:58.771+03:00Oxford comma<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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An unbelievable sunshine was spreading all over <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oxford" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Oxford</b></span></a>. It is one of these cute little british towns, where the buildings are so pretty and harmonic that you feel that it must be a movie set. A river and each ever matching bridge fulfils the dreamy scenery. Some ducks are floating on the surface of the water. </div>
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My sister had noted down some must-see places. One of these was <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Carfax,_Oxford" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Carfax Tower</b></span></a>, the tallest building of the town on top of a cathedral, that you had to cross the church to approach the entrance. At the time the choir was having its scheduled pre christmas session. Once we had ascended the spiral stairs, we found ourselves in a very narrow balcony facing the incredible panoramic view over Oxford. The decoration of the tower looks a lot like the characters of the movie the Hunchback of Notre Damme.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">View from Carfax Tower</td></tr>
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The most popular asset of Oxford is of course the University! It is the historical institution that major personalities have passed through, such as Steven Hawking, Oscar Wilde, T.S. Elliot, J. Locke, Tolkin etc. The entire town is based on the university and its students. Libraries are everywhere. The silent, almost sacred, gigantic rooms, that accommodate the wisdom of centuries. It is where the knowledge searches for new potent brains to nest and flourish. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Bodleian Library</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-77643259336407228442015-02-12T10:10:00.001+02:002015-02-13T18:31:43.870+02:00Love actually<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The day that all the flower and the chocolate selling shops have been waiting for has arrived. In London the atmosphere bespokes an erotic Saturday night. The Pubs have prepared their Valentine's menus, various sweets have been baked in a special festive edition and the stores have decorated their windows with the eternal symbol of love, the heart. At this point I would like to express my childhood confusion about the real shape of this organ. Until not very long ago, I was under the impression that I have a cute little <3 in the middle of my chest. Suddenly, I saw a picture of the bloody, not at all cute, organ and I was very reluctant to believe that this was actually what was ticking inside me and even worse it is not even in the middle of my chest but on the other side of where the tic-toc sounds. </div>
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At Notting Hill a lingerie shop had a pretty inspired window, making use of the new movie of the best-selling book, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fifty_Shades_of_Grey" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">"50 Shades of Grey"</span></b></a>. It would honestly fit much better at a different kind of shop, a kinkier one, given the fact that in the movie the underwear plays a minor role compared to the Christian Grey's collection of erotic gadgets. I was just throwing an idea.. </div>
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I have come to the conclusion that Valentine's day is not particularly devoted to the people in love. The business acumen of the club owners has reserved the single people the right to not hide in their single apartment and cry over their singleness until the day is over. The Anti-Valentine's parties are filling specifically that gap. Whatever you do this Valentine's day make sure you do it with love ;-)</div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-10712756636406130432015-02-12T02:33:00.004+02:002015-02-12T10:11:11.204+02:00As British as you can get<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3lf4ibDjTBTWI3kFDsZMFTVjJYq5HsvU9hdBPtiej7OWaGGMXLAu_9QKvTCnRgDKpeybqQskXXn6-LUuHbyPB902isgsDo1ibSBal4sXG2YcqwTwjOUsY1SfRvcTvjgV1NmN_mTnJaU/s1600/SAM_0893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin3lf4ibDjTBTWI3kFDsZMFTVjJYq5HsvU9hdBPtiej7OWaGGMXLAu_9QKvTCnRgDKpeybqQskXXn6-LUuHbyPB902isgsDo1ibSBal4sXG2YcqwTwjOUsY1SfRvcTvjgV1NmN_mTnJaU/s640/SAM_0893.JPG" /> </a> </div>
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The British are known for their devotion to certain things they love. Walking on the streets of London I made a list about some of those tremendously British things. </div>
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1. The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_telephone_box" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>red telephone box</b></span></a>, regardless the spread of the cell phones, is still decorating the UK streets. I could not actually picture London without the cute red boxes, which nowadays serve mostly photographic purposes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSYbprk5W-py-_SynEu41l2dnHa7I3dCUSgIK8ffddAWVa3FcA_PLUBBJ6na2FWH9ORT1_2wvE0mT1oW_yNyvox4SEy2p9yFvFe-D0CXXNhL0Y1YyZtWc7go8Tx5vYc0qgeClNC1f7MoQ/s1600/SAM_0890.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSYbprk5W-py-_SynEu41l2dnHa7I3dCUSgIK8ffddAWVa3FcA_PLUBBJ6na2FWH9ORT1_2wvE0mT1oW_yNyvox4SEy2p9yFvFe-D0CXXNhL0Y1YyZtWc7go8Tx5vYc0qgeClNC1f7MoQ/s640/SAM_0890.JPG" /> </a> </div>
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2. The identical houses with the red bricks, that are stuck to each other remind me vividly the magic residence of Harry Potter's godfather at the <b><a href="http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/12_Grimmauld_Place" target="_blank"><span class="irc_su" dir="ltr" style="color: blue; text-align: left;">Number 12 Grimmauld Place</span></a></b>. This house was invisible to the neighbourhood residents and had the magical ability to appear only to the selected wizard ones, pushing its way between the numbers 11 and 13. The muggle owners of the following houses put their own personal details. For instance, they give different colours to the doors, or they place discreet flower pots on the threshold. </div>
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3. I wonder which is the amount of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tea_in_the_United_Kingdom" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">tea</span></b></a>, that is anually consumed in the UK. I dare to guess pretty big. The traditional English tea is served with milk and a cube of sugar. Some tea shops offer <span style="color: blue;"><b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tea_(meal)" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">afternoon tea</span></a>, </b></span> which is pretty impressive next to the tiered cake stand. That three floor stand carries sandwiches, scones and cakes. While in Britain we payed a visit to the cute <a href="http://www.camelliasteahouse.com/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Camellia Tea house</b></span></a> and tasted an amazing caramel salted cake and a red velvet. The cookies and cupcakes are also a British favourite habit, which makes a perfect match with the tea.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNY2UOZDDpghKTCln5xpRdTgO-Lqe92Z0usihfACKgl1mEzu6Xlgkx6yrI1j2tUMqPUN6o72Y127nl6FoerHAopa_tIfVscwMeRQWGQep1-LAEQ_apA4F0UXoezCDm6OlYslCEcRKoOF8/s1600/SAM_1243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNY2UOZDDpghKTCln5xpRdTgO-Lqe92Z0usihfACKgl1mEzu6Xlgkx6yrI1j2tUMqPUN6o72Y127nl6FoerHAopa_tIfVscwMeRQWGQep1-LAEQ_apA4F0UXoezCDm6OlYslCEcRKoOF8/s1600/SAM_1243.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Red velvet cake</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSE_b2iOIyc-qOdq2G2ExqzLbJrdbH1I3AEotwKQFjg5P7opeBgsUmbZAqgldPqZYewQRQ-2a7rZr7c16hF1a_ALStUW07qeIBQw8rTYbQKQwqs7cz0ZGD8VO2d9vYzPNSqY9bVIwtgT4/s1600/SAM_1251.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSE_b2iOIyc-qOdq2G2ExqzLbJrdbH1I3AEotwKQFjg5P7opeBgsUmbZAqgldPqZYewQRQ-2a7rZr7c16hF1a_ALStUW07qeIBQw8rTYbQKQwqs7cz0ZGD8VO2d9vYzPNSqY9bVIwtgT4/s1600/SAM_1251.jpg" height="640" width="360" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Ben's Cookies</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVVSCo018luWIcoyYpj_7dDI0fp_h9Ngoo0QPwLRET4wzleZiT8rc4IK2gwfYTGvXpNn9ii7-jxH3sygMYT8u-_VOl1Y0zzUjo-fOEAhd7mlDfynAr-XwhaFsSJOn9686Eve7Zz0ZABdE/s1600/SAM_0997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVVSCo018luWIcoyYpj_7dDI0fp_h9Ngoo0QPwLRET4wzleZiT8rc4IK2gwfYTGvXpNn9ii7-jxH3sygMYT8u-_VOl1Y0zzUjo-fOEAhd7mlDfynAr-XwhaFsSJOn9686Eve7Zz0ZABdE/s1600/SAM_0997.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Hummingbird Cupcakes</td></tr>
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4. The <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pub" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">Pub</span></b></a> is another British love. Every Thursday the schedule includes drinks at the pub right after work. There are many kinds of Pubs. First comes the traditional one, that is usually located in a neighbourhood, and despite the bad microwaved food has became a venue. The decoration is rather minimal and darts are hanging on the walls. It is more than likely that a pool is on display and pool tournaments are taking place between friends and neighbours. The aroma of the place brings inevitably coherence to Beer. This kind of Pub mainly has male frequenters. On the other hand, there is another species of Pub a lot more posh and refined. It offers a larger range of traditional english delicacies and I would describe it more like a Bar- Restaurant, except its architecture and the fact that it has a funny name as all Pubs do. The Queen's Head, the Idle Cook, Bucket of Blood, the Swan, the Mad Dog, Dirty Dick's and the list goes on and on. A useful tip is that most of the times there is no service at the tables, but you should order at the bar.</div>
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5. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fish_and_chips" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Fish and Chips</b></span></a> has worthily earned a place on my list. It seems that when it comes to that chapter me and my sister were incredibly lucky, or the opposite (it depends on the point of view). She happened to live right above the most renowned Fish and Chip's of London: <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/Restaurant_Review-g186338-d2332133-Reviews-Micky_s_Fish_and_Chips-London_England.html" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Mike's fish bar</span></a><span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;">. </span>In Mike's portion the chips are forming a pile and are wrapped on a greaseproof paper. Even for me it is almost impossible to manage one portion on my own. The cod is covered by a thin crust of breadcrumbs and it tastes literally nothing like the captain Iglo's fish sticks.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaptkyEJXswX15OPtKk6TDV0kzlkG1R4ngcdeo-apkInjKmdVHsVCEVgqVq16xyorSxv3B4OoEwgH4mSa8SxM0RM99p6kTclJ3QnvKyXCL1yFmoVjQuwKZ2-BALv9tfjAlrxm0W8cjwuM/s1600/SAM_0992.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaptkyEJXswX15OPtKk6TDV0kzlkG1R4ngcdeo-apkInjKmdVHsVCEVgqVq16xyorSxv3B4OoEwgH4mSa8SxM0RM99p6kTclJ3QnvKyXCL1yFmoVjQuwKZ2-BALv9tfjAlrxm0W8cjwuM/s1600/SAM_0992.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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It is honestly hard to put a full stop, as the list could be much more extended than this. The double decker buses, the english breakfast, the driving at the left (aka wrong) side of the road, the strange habit of giving brands different names ( Opel-Vauxhall, Axe-Lynx), the bizarre beach houses, the stand up comedians, would all worth to mention. But then again I would spoil entirely the mystery of England. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-90024760707231915462015-02-06T11:17:00.001+02:002015-02-12T10:11:33.238+02:00Mind the gap<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiISL04WTatGcIkdsyScBGw61N6XO6-EoPr8LtQ19225lXkSPEEBVEHm-RJ72QcfI5qVM9V9ysW4CT57wtCKxSHEmH0iPwzTd8C623C0gLj3yT280JBOkKRdQ75dC4HkobhIhua3Fa3fY/s1600/SAM_0906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiISL04WTatGcIkdsyScBGw61N6XO6-EoPr8LtQ19225lXkSPEEBVEHm-RJ72QcfI5qVM9V9ysW4CT57wtCKxSHEmH0iPwzTd8C623C0gLj3yT280JBOkKRdQ75dC4HkobhIhua3Fa3fY/s1600/SAM_0906.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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In the UK the security issues are first priority. Especially in the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/London_Underground" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">underground</span></b></a>, that is used everyday by thousands of people, the precaution measures are particularly enhanced in a unique british way. "Mind the gap" is the perfect slogan. Not too big, not too short. It even sounds melodic. Nowadays it's been stolen by most of the undergrounds of the world, that failed to find something as catchy as the ultimate "mind the gap".</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYomhIq4AUrdUL2ef6E0sCCYcblVNmgW5Lo_jA3_9j7Ri5iBJHRsaI2KNvZUDNdMlPZeU6Cj3qXF5pS6xSWlVrypSl1S6z4G9r1Ah1K19pN8wTl7_UYxWz4bducKHd7RVfnm7uZR8AvE/s1600/SAM_0897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYomhIq4AUrdUL2ef6E0sCCYcblVNmgW5Lo_jA3_9j7Ri5iBJHRsaI2KNvZUDNdMlPZeU6Cj3qXF5pS6xSWlVrypSl1S6z4G9r1Ah1K19pN8wTl7_UYxWz4bducKHd7RVfnm7uZR8AvE/s1600/SAM_0897.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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In Paddington station, there is a mysterious magic line that leads your steps to Hammersmith and City line. The contribution of the yellow and pink line should not be underestimated. When off the Bakerloo line, following the signs, you find yourself in a massive train station. Right at the point when you feel that you are complitely lost and you turn your head to the ground hopelessly, the yellow and pink line appears as a lifesaver on the floor and brings your smile back. The line does not let you alone for a minute. It keeps lightening your way even on the stairs. I wondered whether they were influenced by Harry Potter's Marauder's map for that descreet but powerfull line.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguGYNMUd9s9_zdBn4WNfFlCQm0ZrCMU7COkzS0vX9uGK9ZfyEuHcxNwUhUNtIIGtu1deXR-9Rh0rkDJt62STYlDF_ksL6urLFDqVlJzWnhYj_hjIyudD9dmBbBNSXPnFOcgIXW8DU2glo/s1600/SAM_0895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguGYNMUd9s9_zdBn4WNfFlCQm0ZrCMU7COkzS0vX9uGK9ZfyEuHcxNwUhUNtIIGtu1deXR-9Rh0rkDJt62STYlDF_ksL6urLFDqVlJzWnhYj_hjIyudD9dmBbBNSXPnFOcgIXW8DU2glo/s1600/SAM_0895.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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With no second thought, the human size stickers, that depict the mark of bodies on the ground, are influenced by the old police tecnique in case of a murder. What is special about them, is the message which accompanies them. Always in a british humor atmosphere, they urge the passengers to not forget their manners.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN31ATKr61owEnkv0S287LU2nSKm1-AsNsOPk8UOE5aSURKzTTSMgiLnalq7VKhXYk5pyWsJDH2JmmpuaXUL4Rajp-C677n3ehmupKJTEkYDKl1oBDff9-heJGtb3MWVbnOlXTMUzd5HI/s1600/SAM_0899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN31ATKr61owEnkv0S287LU2nSKm1-AsNsOPk8UOE5aSURKzTTSMgiLnalq7VKhXYk5pyWsJDH2JmmpuaXUL4Rajp-C677n3ehmupKJTEkYDKl1oBDff9-heJGtb3MWVbnOlXTMUzd5HI/s1600/SAM_0899.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZjIBfBV6Do5czo7XWd2mD_NF_ckzCpy3oLhyzqF54E4Exwrip_x0dVUwNbUYUPKYiQGgECplRUk8M7IRMw-U97q0frIcDAQ35zscRqvaVGbvm2B1i0xJbhGa2PoqUoLBwcEaSWvBhyphenhyphenc/s1600/SAM_0908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdZjIBfBV6Do5czo7XWd2mD_NF_ckzCpy3oLhyzqF54E4Exwrip_x0dVUwNbUYUPKYiQGgECplRUk8M7IRMw-U97q0frIcDAQ35zscRqvaVGbvm2B1i0xJbhGa2PoqUoLBwcEaSWvBhyphenhyphenc/s1600/SAM_0908.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BpPSyJ8t2tC1GmCLtjm8YjGrwcrGXpEoiAnVBQZaYlq9cm9-3XenTS4mmCqzy9jH1vI8PcjYBQcrMEz2BEXMThXUPh0zF00dXEnFxR55gePvNBy6T121Rqza63wTKR26C2aSx-jCd3Q/s1600/SAM_0909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4BpPSyJ8t2tC1GmCLtjm8YjGrwcrGXpEoiAnVBQZaYlq9cm9-3XenTS4mmCqzy9jH1vI8PcjYBQcrMEz2BEXMThXUPh0zF00dXEnFxR55gePvNBy6T121Rqza63wTKR26C2aSx-jCd3Q/s1600/SAM_0909.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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London underground is seeking new modern ways to stay in fashion, although the oldest tube in the world. To be honest there is nothing more fashionable than the classic London underground . Or maybe there is an at least one competent opponent: the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Paris_M%C3%A9tro" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Paris Metropolitain</b></span></a>. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2LN_ReORI9At1xnLOZScYECACmoEoWQXwQu7_B9FoSEMATIHBZNNuNqBbsNNyhRCJJje5RlVn6PzYS8yWhuVU6FCUJ6pBa8QF7saqSYR7cdABGz7qyqod-9xN7wCZWzUUbkdrj4xpPY/s1600/SAM_0910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit2LN_ReORI9At1xnLOZScYECACmoEoWQXwQu7_B9FoSEMATIHBZNNuNqBbsNNyhRCJJje5RlVn6PzYS8yWhuVU6FCUJ6pBa8QF7saqSYR7cdABGz7qyqod-9xN7wCZWzUUbkdrj4xpPY/s1600/SAM_0910.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-63710029698091714412015-02-05T19:52:00.001+02:002015-02-12T10:11:54.955+02:00The red bricks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: justify;">
After I said farewell to the number one suspect in the UK, I caught a couch to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baker_Street" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">Baker street</span></b></a>. The identical british houses with the red bricks seem kind of melancholic on a cold Wednesday night. I couldn't help but wondering ,who inhabits them. Are they happy, ambitious, in love, British, migrant, young, old? What is their daily routine. Do they maybe have a horse to take care of every evening? Do they read a book or watch teli? </div>
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An hour and twenty minutes later, the driver announces our arrival at the Baker Street. I take my luggages and wonder how I will meet my always late sister without a charged phone. "Pret a manger" gives me the answer. I rush inside and order a cup of tea. The melancholy gave its place to excitement. This city is not only red bricks. It is bustling with people. I looked quickly around me. The musterious people, i was so curious about acouple of minutes before, were sitting next to me. Talking on the phone, reading a book, socialize after work.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvY-FN2FqScqijjhcb1iaBRev_mKv_38sklpZ8IKDBFv0SewXQC3q0_wjhbrMgHkj-b2F-3N9ahX4Z2uzgHKMPFNM9c00TK9hYSQp0Lr0OXpIZeh0DOrZsC5S9hAnhx-5mmbVTk5HY0Xg/s1600/SAM_0852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvY-FN2FqScqijjhcb1iaBRev_mKv_38sklpZ8IKDBFv0SewXQC3q0_wjhbrMgHkj-b2F-3N9ahX4Z2uzgHKMPFNM9c00TK9hYSQp0Lr0OXpIZeh0DOrZsC5S9hAnhx-5mmbVTk5HY0Xg/s1600/SAM_0852.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9uwBelW2TLQKdq5PMVEtShO2pE3WXiad4UCn7CMr_3Ni3k-oKMbt6Rf12VJmQ6cMUM9DO0q4Ab8Uc2Mwu81xgEhWI9bBd80J2kvdvPbea9VBpFhr1ozqkPm0mUh0NCZYfbuXW4NNbN8/s1600/SAM_0851.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9uwBelW2TLQKdq5PMVEtShO2pE3WXiad4UCn7CMr_3Ni3k-oKMbt6Rf12VJmQ6cMUM9DO0q4Ab8Uc2Mwu81xgEhWI9bBd80J2kvdvPbea9VBpFhr1ozqkPm0mUh0NCZYfbuXW4NNbN8/s1600/SAM_0851.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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My running-late sister met me at the coffeeshop and we decided to take our chances to the tiny and popular Burger shop: the <a href="http://pattyandbun.co.uk/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Patty and Bun</b></span></a>. We walked through Baker Str to<b><span style="color: blue;"> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marylebone" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Marylebone</span></a></span></b> and saw some more houses with red bricks. This time I knew that in the past a very bright British personality lived on the number 221B of that street. One hotel was named after him : <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sherlock_Holmes" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Sherlock Holmes</b></span></a>. </div>
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The shop was packed, as expected. A tall skinny guy showed us the way to the outdoors waiting bench. Fortunately my new coat looks and feels like a mattress and did not let the freezing cold to reach me. The waiting lasted for approximately twenty minutes. The burger did reward us. It tasted like real meat, something a little rare in London. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3pt-7TlAmeUefd6dOW_W3aHs3q05GUyRJ05pzVWvQpd1HKZZnoAwXsMlcJMR6b3HWlkFT8ZVQ9R-DeN9x9tyLCePmQcEVDsPETfMYAsJIUwq4OzQp1gCMnySi_kztIn5tZ6UpJdr9Fdk/s1600/SAM_0861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3pt-7TlAmeUefd6dOW_W3aHs3q05GUyRJ05pzVWvQpd1HKZZnoAwXsMlcJMR6b3HWlkFT8ZVQ9R-DeN9x9tyLCePmQcEVDsPETfMYAsJIUwq4OzQp1gCMnySi_kztIn5tZ6UpJdr9Fdk/s1600/SAM_0861.JPG" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-aVXot6CD7q77eRUYmXYc3EMcfWDS6lvaSG3I-43hmu8jH0Z-9iGEhATDjOZ6ZWRGZ9EIoq4AmgJ3VzujfIkyBgc5fG91u8KZZqtvgDncfy5_R77h73A3bgbyxlZ_NGc1NWR1l2ODibQ/s1600/SAM_0867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-aVXot6CD7q77eRUYmXYc3EMcfWDS6lvaSG3I-43hmu8jH0Z-9iGEhATDjOZ6ZWRGZ9EIoq4AmgJ3VzujfIkyBgc5fG91u8KZZqtvgDncfy5_R77h73A3bgbyxlZ_NGc1NWR1l2ODibQ/s1600/SAM_0867.JPG" height="640" width="360" /></a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-19294813564302579152014-09-28T19:07:00.000+03:002015-02-15T10:58:27.209+02:00West African Fashion<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The perspective of African Fashion I had before I ever saw an African woman in a traditional clothing, was a total distortion of reality. In my mind animal print, wooden accessories, white light shirts and khaki shorts constituted the African style. In Ghana though you will barely see someone dressed in these, while the white clothes are easily getting stained by the mud.</div>
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From the very first time I saw a woman in African dress out of my trotro window, I was drawn by the lively colours and designs. I soon learnt that those dresses were made from scratch according to the personal preference of the owner. Then it dawned on me: I would make my own authentic Ghanian fashion collection! On this article, I share some tips for the fashion lovers.. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcjT6DEC9IeXb5QfkxCQDujQXXyTial8bg1LP4qt3OfhNroOefA7ZscsSsSFpSg_Ca3S_mzKB8R5wHhg4WYjTSeJ8f7Ogh1y2QWfaOGblbWV2hTRgL4BG4SlMhzY09bxNDvtkseUtD6CY/s1600/Vlisco_2013-Q2_Hommage-a-lArt_07_39L-700x325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcjT6DEC9IeXb5QfkxCQDujQXXyTial8bg1LP4qt3OfhNroOefA7ZscsSsSFpSg_Ca3S_mzKB8R5wHhg4WYjTSeJ8f7Ogh1y2QWfaOGblbWV2hTRgL4BG4SlMhzY09bxNDvtkseUtD6CY/s1600/Vlisco_2013-Q2_Hommage-a-lArt_07_39L-700x325.jpg" height="296" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<u><b>Step one:</b></u> you select the cloth. It is produced by ghanian factories and is wax printed. You can find it literally in every corner. Women are selling it on the streets or in shops. At the malls it is posible to find more refined fabric by famous brands such as <a href="http://www.vlisco.com/home/en/page/305/?CNID=19&noshipping=false" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Vlisco</b></span></a>, which costs three times more than the common one. The price range varies based on the quality of the fabric and the saling spot. A usual price is 7 to 10 ghanian cedis ( 1,74- 2,48 euros) per yard. The total fabric comes in 6 yards and the most luxurious ones, which are destined for special occasions, are not sold in pieces. But in most cases you can select the size of the garment. 3 yards are adequate to make a short dress or a skirt with a top. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNF0qfsLXL3lnrnFsNrG2PuZNGkJFsIiFBRh-AD7zcCiUGRjl_chEQfBtFZs6BVjgqTtuEDgYTX26h7tDBvZ5D9qsfBayd1PjoWoCzPpPy138lP-IownlcCvToIG2GB-TAaemoggvlTQQ/s1600/gh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNF0qfsLXL3lnrnFsNrG2PuZNGkJFsIiFBRh-AD7zcCiUGRjl_chEQfBtFZs6BVjgqTtuEDgYTX26h7tDBvZ5D9qsfBayd1PjoWoCzPpPy138lP-IownlcCvToIG2GB-TAaemoggvlTQQ/s1600/gh.jpg" height="640" width="521" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Vlisco ad 1</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJtrCYvPaSRfPCnGPiK4pimmMkArcx8LLxodO1m_KnpYfLgMA8nUM7-Mbcy-8lymB1o_LzTB9RYaSx0vvALXoKzh28R71cb3B5cOBQytB1JlrpMA3LSWHJOadHT7Ni14cimcUDXyukj4/s1600/3_img_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJtrCYvPaSRfPCnGPiK4pimmMkArcx8LLxodO1m_KnpYfLgMA8nUM7-Mbcy-8lymB1o_LzTB9RYaSx0vvALXoKzh28R71cb3B5cOBQytB1JlrpMA3LSWHJOadHT7Ni14cimcUDXyukj4/s1600/3_img_1.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu96MDvSuiwhANKWXfiRne6JggeRliCFiptclMxCPAZ57eP0lazg43jaLwXsv_3t9F3KsjkzFCbahpebM6VDvfYtIULiZ-UJjgXS6I2NNQma4Q4oFFJnckqGM8iTl1doOkv5gSpeJLFXs/s1600/3Vlisco_2014-Q4_Splendeur_04_RGB.jpg.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu96MDvSuiwhANKWXfiRne6JggeRliCFiptclMxCPAZ57eP0lazg43jaLwXsv_3t9F3KsjkzFCbahpebM6VDvfYtIULiZ-UJjgXS6I2NNQma4Q4oFFJnckqGM8iTl1doOkv5gSpeJLFXs/s1600/3Vlisco_2014-Q4_Splendeur_04_RGB.jpg.jpeg" height="640" width="394" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Vlisco ad 4</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JVsRhhMMFH0nMMgwDv6P1XCEuAUnIaoW_9VMBz5Zqrz44wRyDfWUxpWpJe40ZsP1-U4uFLIdK9eqR0gGT77AWVKQV945rrMTg2K0Pz7fOc7SPVeIbUsNfF4Jn5S0ML4mmfBVm2BdVYg/s1600/Vlisco2+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6JVsRhhMMFH0nMMgwDv6P1XCEuAUnIaoW_9VMBz5Zqrz44wRyDfWUxpWpJe40ZsP1-U4uFLIdK9eqR0gGT77AWVKQV945rrMTg2K0Pz7fOc7SPVeIbUsNfF4Jn5S0ML4mmfBVm2BdVYg/s1600/Vlisco2+(1).jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Vlisco ad 5</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifwuYcvoZWDl7nTulE9XOr5c2XtSeCRBIoefn8eraXPlXGjb29eQqBc1Cl6CPdraMnlwwlASAHDwyelv9ayiT06ZU5CLeS1WqKPurQF21aeVMht55Pf3EhvuoEvItGHafg-Mp2wtfFy_g/s1600/Vlisco3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifwuYcvoZWDl7nTulE9XOr5c2XtSeCRBIoefn8eraXPlXGjb29eQqBc1Cl6CPdraMnlwwlASAHDwyelv9ayiT06ZU5CLeS1WqKPurQF21aeVMht55Pf3EhvuoEvItGHafg-Mp2wtfFy_g/s1600/Vlisco3.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Vlisco ad 6</td></tr>
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The predominant colours are vivid green, red, orange, fuchsia, blue, yellow. Leaves, hearts, seeds, african signs, and adsent designs are printed on the fabrics. A friend of mine, who is keen on the darker colours was observing the side of a store where the dark brown, black and purple fabrics were stored. A nice lady approached us and said spontaneously: " we only wear these colours in funerals". The lady was not exaggerating at all. I honestly saw dark dressed people only in funerals. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyP8X19k11xKIToUbaDHQTgf4-D_MLA7F4AuDVPZt-iK3zG-kKSkm17qI4Lz6B2ZFGKsBc2lDp3r1TstZcS1AbxPpdi-S8s49rAyzO0N5FFHKV0xXMhsyArQzHWTJ4BN8j6-V4rrOD-I0/s1600/Ghana-market.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyP8X19k11xKIToUbaDHQTgf4-D_MLA7F4AuDVPZt-iK3zG-kKSkm17qI4Lz6B2ZFGKsBc2lDp3r1TstZcS1AbxPpdi-S8s49rAyzO0N5FFHKV0xXMhsyArQzHWTJ4BN8j6-V4rrOD-I0/s1600/Ghana-market.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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One of my favourite print is called "Angelina" and is very popular in Ghana. Another is named "Eye of the tiger". The fabric feels rough at first but it softens after multiple washes. The traditional Ghanian textile, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kente_cloth" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Kente</b></span></a> is actually <span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #252525; line-height: 22.3999996185303px;">silk and cotton fabric made of interwoven cloth strips</span> and requires a lot of work. In the rest Westafrican countries, I was informed that they have similar prints, but the texture of the fabrics is a little different. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7LSzGD_oteqKToOJzm1yUz95XLLq6viC5nyMBJicZZ-xZIikrBevn1XcyJl4pxc_-GlmlEur-0VoBm3vyYVc22PK3RZZcvU17Gex_FS19Yurnlw2qzI0TfkPwqb2K_jn6Tjl8OmOpcGU/s1600/4001845601_9e6e1b9823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7LSzGD_oteqKToOJzm1yUz95XLLq6viC5nyMBJicZZ-xZIikrBevn1XcyJl4pxc_-GlmlEur-0VoBm3vyYVc22PK3RZZcvU17Gex_FS19Yurnlw2qzI0TfkPwqb2K_jn6Tjl8OmOpcGU/s1600/4001845601_9e6e1b9823.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">kente cloth<br />
by kaylarjones</td></tr>
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Recently, I read an interesting article that describes the history of the African fabrics and reveals the Dutch origin of the wax prints: <a href="http://beyondvictoriana.com/2011/04/10/african-fabrics-the-history-of-dutch-wax-prints-guest-blog-by-eccentric-yoruba/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>“African Fabrics”: The History of Dutch Wax Prints</b></span></a>. My fabric paradise was located a quarter away from our interns house, in Madina Market. Much as I was apalled by the first central Market, I fell in love with this one. Frequently after school I was heading to Madina Market in order to get lost in the colourful streets with the peculiar objects. The fabrics were always my personal favorite. I was often being told off by my Botswana friend because I spent all of my money in cloth. I kept replying grinning that "the way I see it is not a waste of money rather an investment". Once I was so concentrated on my shopping that I forgot that it would get dark soon. That night I saw my Market more beautiful than ever, calm and easy in the dim light of the lanterns... <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRh1pqKHE1msfq6PRh7ymVYI7eXi-a0RLGaiyjorObKZgXDIq2lfl21itpHHgY_7C786gtwUzZtzh9s__kPLARJ0uO0qjmKQaZ5I-Zg2yov3acVugxYRwT8DgLjOIuEgZvhVq6uEOdUmQ/s1600/IMG_8065.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRh1pqKHE1msfq6PRh7ymVYI7eXi-a0RLGaiyjorObKZgXDIq2lfl21itpHHgY_7C786gtwUzZtzh9s__kPLARJ0uO0qjmKQaZ5I-Zg2yov3acVugxYRwT8DgLjOIuEgZvhVq6uEOdUmQ/s1600/IMG_8065.JPG" height="425" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3simoYRt-6ygMwXLBmnxQsx7XFaZ3jKbbm3vrqQpfSqsCsM_V5wQeAzeWphAhZhST5HWw2xR5Bc51M-W3zI9gFD6p_3K4IC9SZV8phr14JvREMdCbrfc7MKr8TpEqGTV_TNyMLyF9KA/s1600/IMG_8087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiN3simoYRt-6ygMwXLBmnxQsx7XFaZ3jKbbm3vrqQpfSqsCsM_V5wQeAzeWphAhZhST5HWw2xR5Bc51M-W3zI9gFD6p_3K4IC9SZV8phr14JvREMdCbrfc7MKr8TpEqGTV_TNyMLyF9KA/s1600/IMG_8087.JPG" height="425" width="640" /></a><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgId2DOp61H2qSFkpG62K_Xg-fEsClblpMh47xfJbjQUuXwQTT3Clr88ML-KEQV_KILXrOGnuf54gP8PHv9IJOfudHIu3ki3u-oapdXWnsZ68kqrhpQjpU7LcEPGBRZ13pi3VYETluKihc/s1600/IMG_8063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgId2DOp61H2qSFkpG62K_Xg-fEsClblpMh47xfJbjQUuXwQTT3Clr88ML-KEQV_KILXrOGnuf54gP8PHv9IJOfudHIu3ki3u-oapdXWnsZ68kqrhpQjpU7LcEPGBRZ13pi3VYETluKihc/s1600/IMG_8063.JPG" height="425" width="640" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy02EERnVmQ3lCHUDXJtLumht0m7c6rZNp2xNnXnpqHdsz_b3J_iD1gr5qsK5oB5sWTm4tvS8FCztG5m36GfkhXqgd_e80RGKaEvKLfh1kCIKpw9dMgy_nF6preLTxDnSoFHZCe_o2ZkA/s1600/IMG_8067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy02EERnVmQ3lCHUDXJtLumht0m7c6rZNp2xNnXnpqHdsz_b3J_iD1gr5qsK5oB5sWTm4tvS8FCztG5m36GfkhXqgd_e80RGKaEvKLfh1kCIKpw9dMgy_nF6preLTxDnSoFHZCe_o2ZkA/s1600/IMG_8067.JPG" height="640" width="425" /></a> </div>
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<u><b>Step two:</b></u> you have to decide on the exact design. The web gives you the opportunity to go through countless african fashion choices until you feel dizzy. Most of my decisions are attributed to <a href="https://gr.pinterest.com/" style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">pinterest</a><span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;"> </span>. Other relevant sites, like <a href="http://www.africafashionweekny.com/" style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">africa fashionweek ny</a>,<span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;"> </span>are very enlightening too. The tailors also have big posters on the wall whith many different designs, which are a little too traditional for me. The following pictures depict some of my favorite african outfits, which I tried to imitate. </div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;"><u><b>Step three:</b></u> you need to find a good tailor. Just like the fabric selling stores, the taylor shops are numerous in the streets. I advice you to ask your local friends for their recommendation on the issue. The tailor will take your measurements and create the clothing of your choice. That way you will add a unique piece in your garderobe! I was so excited about this freedom. Personaly, I had a failure before I found the tailor of my life, Isaac. Firstly, a lady came at school and we assigned her to sew three different cloths, which eventualy were neither delivered on time nor fitting to us.</li>
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The second tailor, whom the other teachers at school introduced to me, was Isaac. His workshop is in the porch of his house, near the school. However, it is hidden in a mystic neighbourhood, in whose paths I was lost more than once. His expertise are in my opinion the dresses, while he can make almost anything if you give presice description. Our collaboration resulted in four skirts, five dresses, a pair of shorts and a top. He is taciturn and very collaborative. If the skirt was tighter or the dress longer than I wanted, he'd amend it at the same minute, not looking annoyed at the slightest. The payment of the tailor depends again on his popularity, the difficulty of the design and the quantity of the cloths you are making. The more the cheaper. Indicatively, most of my dresses cost from 20-30 ghanian cedis (=4,97- 7,45 euros) to sew.</div>
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After the final stage the African clothes are ready to wear! I did not mind so much whether a white girl in african traditional fabric was a weird spectacle, or not. I wore my first dress as soon as I got home from the tailor. Apparently I did look weird but the Ghanians in the streets gave me looks of approval, laughing benevolently at the same time. When I showed up at school in an African dress I received a rain of compliments : "Lilly, I like your dress"! Frankly, there is no better fashion critic for me than my five year old students. </div>
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My africanfashion-mania was obvious even at my last minute in Ghana, as I was runnig at the tailor to receive my final pieces on my way to Kokota airport.</div>
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<span style="font-size: 13px; text-align: right;"> Photo by Daisy</span><br />
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My african wear collection</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-35930222909457814252014-09-06T19:37:00.002+03:002015-02-02T19:28:08.689+02:00Good reads about Africa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Personally, I love books. I love to enter a bookstore and head to the department that is hiding all the wisdom of the knowledge area that I am currently exploring. I love to open my new books for the first time and slightly fold the rigid pages. I love to be carried away by the unexplored worlds, which are inaugurated via my books.</div>
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For that reason, once I booked my tickets to Ghana, I was convinced that a good book would become my best friend to my new adventure. The lady in a big Athenian bookstore, when I let her know what I am searching for, pointed at the shelf with the English books. She recommended a small book with the devastating title <b><span style="color: blue;"><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Things_Fall_Apart" style="background-color: white;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">"Things fall apart"</span></a>,</i></span></b> by the most popular Nigerian author, <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinua_Achebe" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Chinua Achebe</span></a></b>. She further explained to me that this novel is being taught in the Greek University for "English Literature studies" as a representative sample of African writting.</div>
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I will not argue that this read is a little depressing, but at the same time somehow intriguing. It reveals the story of Okonkwo, a hard-working, well-respected man in a village of <span style="color: blue;"><b><i><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Igbo_people" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Igbo</span></a> </i></b></span>tribe. T<span style="font-family: inherit;">he story is set in the <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #252525;">pre-colonial Nigeria in the 1890s and includes many interesting information about local tradition, supersttitions, religion and every day life of the time. The most unique element of this story is that it unfolds the transition from the African religions to the Chiristianity and also the first traces of the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colonial_Nigeria" target="_blank"><b><i><span style="color: blue;">British colonialism</span></i></b></a><span style="color: #252525;">. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #252525;">My second book, concerning Africa appeared in front of me without prior research. Just out of the blue. I was in a Greek Island (Ikaria), shortly before I travel to Africa, when I noticed, right outside my room, a corner with some old and dusty books. One was particularly thick. I went closer and I read its title in big bold Letters:</span><b> <a href="http://astore.amazon.co.uk/royaafrisoci-21/detail/184627155X" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">"</span></a></b></span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.3; text-align: left;"><b><i><a href="http://astore.amazon.co.uk/royaafrisoci-21/detail/184627155X" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Africa: Altered States, Ordinary Miracles"</span></a></i> , </b>by <i><b><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Richard_Dowden" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Richard Dowden</span></a>.</span></b></i> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.3; text-align: left;">Of course, I grabbed it instantly and read its last page. It is written by a British journalist, who has expertised in African issues. Through the book the reader can follow Dowden in his real-life journeys across Africa. The chapters are divided according to the African countries, which he has visited in different points of his life holding another role each time. Firstly, he traveled in Uganda as a volunteer in a school, exactly what I was going to do. The most captivating characteristic of the book is that the author shares his sincere feelings, concerns and fears about Africa with his readers. He also instills his hard earned wisdom, to his readers. For me, the book was enlightning and soothing, for I felt that my concerns were not unfounded, but someone else, fourty years before, had simillar concerns and wrote them down for me to read.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.3; text-align: left;">Last but definately not least, comes my favourite book of all. I also run into it out of luck, while I was strolling around in a big bookstore in the Mall of Athens. It bears the title <a href="http://www.marilynhewardmills.com/clothgirl.htm" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">"<i>Cloth Girl</i>"</span></b></a>. The author of this amazing book, </span><i><span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.marilynhewardmills.com/biography.htm" style="line-height: 20.7999992370605px; text-align: left;" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">Mairilyn Heward Mills</span></b></a>,</span></i><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 20.7999992370605px; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; line-height: 1.3; text-align: left;">is a Swiss-Ghanian, who was raised in Accra. </span></div>
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The story is set in colonial Gold Coast ( Accra before independence) and was inspired by the grandmother of Heward Mills. The protagonist is Matilda, a fifteen year old poor girl, whose outstanding beauty defined her fate. She was selected by a rich Ghanian lawyer as his second wife at the young age of fifteen. Her dreams to acquire education were shuttered and the family making and maintainig it became her only concern. Despite her age, Matilda served her duties the best way she could. In the novel, many different characters make their appearance. An employee of the British Government, who adores Ghana and his British wife, who on the contrary withers in Africa. The respected Ghanian lawyer, who had studied in Cambridge and adopted many of western habits and manners. His first wife who, although Ghanian, is acting and dressed like British. The family of Matilda, who is thrilled about the new affinity with the lawyer.</div>
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The reader indulges the vivid and accurate description of Ghanian scenery, that is not much altered until nowadays. In the course of the story, significant political events, right before the delibaration are also mentioned, contributing in the realistic essence of the novel. This book not only lightened many obscure aspects of Ghanian way of thinking, but also boosted my admiration for the Ghanian family bonds, respect, commitment. </div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “<i>People had warned me about the culture shock of going to Africa. Nothing prepared me for the culture shock of coming the other way. No matter how much I talked no-one understood what I was saying.”</i> Richard Dowden.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-1766228564023842532014-07-29T12:38:00.000+03:002015-02-24T23:34:33.598+02:00Our big fat Greek party<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: justify;">
On Monday we had our day off. That particular Monday we were up early and it was obvious that the Greeks were preparing something under high secrecy. The laptops were on and each girl had undertaken another greek area of interest. History, philosophy, mythology, tourism, cuisine.</div>
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The particular presentation had a strict dress code. An ancient greek <a href="http://lt.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chitonas" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>"chitonas"</b></span></a> was the suitable attire. At eight i clock all you could see at our living room was Africans, Asians, Brazilians and Europeans dressed in Ancient greek style using mainly their bed sheets. The atmosphere was genuinly cheerful and everyone was anticipating the presentation and the following party of course. </div>
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The presentation was the longest so far. Filo, who had plenty of experience in presentations, was directing the team successfully. From our wall paraded ancient theaters, philosophers, traditional food, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caryatis" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Caryatis</b></span></a>, islands, greek words. </div>
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Thankfully, I had bought last minute an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ouzo" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Ouzo</b></span></a> from the duty free shops before departing for Ghana. In combination with loukoumi, it was much appreciated from the already excited audience. That was exactly what was needed for starting a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sirtaki" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>sirtaki</b></span></a> dance. So, we did embrace each other, made a circle and gradually reached a very quick sirtaki rhytm. </div>
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At the end, after approximately two hours, surprisingly noone had left. For the closing we made a game introduced to us by Dimi. It goes like that: Everybody sits on the floor on a round. A skein is thrown from one person to another. The person who receives it ties the thread to his finger and mentions the part of the presentation that he enjoyed or infatuated him the most. Then he throws it again to someone. At the end, the spectacle reminded a lot a spider's web. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-76050070979611872642014-07-18T15:52:00.000+03:002015-02-01T14:13:59.123+02:00Countries presentation: China<div dir="ltr">
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You may all know a popular saying: "it all seems greek to me!". Obviously it stretches the incomprehension of another language or topic. In greek the same expression would raise even more confusion, since Greek is our mothertongue. For that reason our equivalent is : "It all seems chinese to me". </div>
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Greek and Chinese although they are both ancient cultures, they share no common characteristics. The philosophy, language, religion, history, martial arts of China feel so strange yet enticing. In our multicultural house, the chinese representatives could not have been missed. A Chinese boy and a girl surprised us all, when they jumped into the trotro to join us to a beach trip right after a twenty hour flight. Their traveling and exploring spirit stayed firm!</div>
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On <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/China" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>China</b></span></a>'s Monday, the three Chinese overcame their cute introversion and prepared a very interesting and interactive presentation. When Daisy came in dressed in a traditional white costume, we had no idea of the performance she was about to give us. She got cocentrated and started a combination of slow and accurate moves. It was indeed a short <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kung_fu_%28term%29" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Kung Fu</b></span></a> display. </div>
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Later on, we were given a Chinese language lesson and all you could hear was "Nee haoww" (=hello) from at least twenty different directions. After we learnt to say hello fluently, we were given a traditional <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ink_brush" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>chinese brush pen</b></span></a> in order to try our writting skills in chinese calligraphy. </div>
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At the end of that day I felt wiser, as a new world had revealed to me. Before that, I had little wondered about the cuisine or the way of life in the far away Chinese Land. Now I know that <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_cuisine" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Chinese cuisine</b></span></a> does not include only sweet and sour dishes, but there are parts of the country that the food is really spicy (no wonder now how Bill could eat all of his food at school). I also realized that none of my Chinese friends has any siblings as a result of the <b style="color: blue;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/One-child_policy" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">one-child policy</span></a>. </b>Moreover Facebook and Youtube are blocked in China as well as 2.701 other sites, as imposed by the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Internet_censorship_in_China" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">internet censorship policy</span></b></a>. It just dawned to me that posisbly my blog is not permitted in China. </div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">三人一条心,黄土变成金 sān rén yì tiáo xīn, huáng tǔ biàn chéng jīn </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">- <i>If people are of one heart, even the yellow earth can become gold</i>.<i> </i></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Chinese Proverb</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-925692676633248422014-07-17T13:25:00.000+03:002015-02-01T14:14:14.491+02:00Countries presentation: Nigeria-Benin<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: justify;">
On the first days of the interns' arrival we felt the need to organise our nights in Ghana. The activities were divided between the working days and the weekends were free for traveling. Movie night, Salsa or reggae night, inhouse party, barbecue, game night and my personal favorite countries presentation. They were all written formally in a paper and hanged on the living room wall. </div>
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The first presentation was about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nigeria" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Nigeria</b></span></a>. Two happy Nigerian boys were challenged to present their country in a romantic, dark atmosphere created by electricity shortage. They talked about the vast nigerian <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demographics_of_Nigeria" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>population</b></span></a>, the expanding big cities, the different religions, the recent sad <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boko_Haram" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Boko haram</b></span></a> incidents. But it couldn't end differently but by a big nigerian party. It is believed that Nigerians always attract the lights and they really know how to party. The dances did not differ much from the Ghanaians, like many other cultural elements such us food and fashion. The similarities are explained by the proximity of the two countries. </div>
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Second in a row came <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Benin" style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">Benin</a><span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;">, </span>a small African country near Ghana. They were much luckier than the Nigerians, as the electricity paid its tribute to their night. Three girls and three boys had prepared a power point presentation. Although their mothertongue was French and some were not very fluent in English, their presentation was great and did trigger a very interesting discussion about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/West_African_Vodun" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Voodoo</b></span></a>.. I learnt that Voodoo is a traditional religion which used to be widespread in WestAfrica. Nowadays, while the majority of the population had converted into Christianity, some still believe in Voodoo, and at the same time in Christianity. The annual Voodoo festival which takes place on the 10th of January is celebrated by everyone, beleiver or not, as part of the forefathers tradition. We were also shown a video of a creature carrying a huge cone and swirling quickly. It is said to be a tortoise or a chicken, meaning normally incompitent to lift such weight and swirl at such a speed. All the presenters reassured us that they had attended such spectacles and that noone was hidden underneath that cone. The Voodoo spirit (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zangbeto" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Zangbeto</b></span></a>) is believed to be responsible of that dance. What's more the python is worshiped as sacred and it is a tremendous crime to kill one. When someone meets a python on his way should change route and not walk past the sacred animal. Another abnormal activity of some people, that I had no prior knowledge of, is vanishing! They are thought to disappear from a place and appear in another. It vividly reminded me of my childhood dream: Apparition influenced by the magic Harry Potter world! The presentation ended by a very useful information for men that consider to visit Benin. Eric said in an exaggerating tone that if a man is hitting on someone's girlfriend runs a serious life risk. Of course another Benin girl laughed and urged us to not think in any case that a traveler in Benin is at any risk. Personally, I was convinced and I dare to say that Benin would be one of my next African destinations..<br />
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Find out more about Voodoo <span style="color: blue;"><b><a href="http://www.wanderlust.co.uk/magazine/articles/destinations/dark-secrets-voodoo-in-benin?page=all" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">here</span></a>.</b></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-65079829185365941782014-07-16T23:39:00.000+03:002015-02-01T14:14:32.285+02:00Astronomy class<div style="text-align: justify;">
Every time that one great trip was over, I felt the anticipation of getting back home, and by home I mean the interns house in Accra. Batteries loaded for a creative school week. </div>
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At that time, the interns at school had doubled and two interns matched each classroom. In mine came a very willing, smiling Chinese boy. The students summoned him "Chineseman" and wellcomed him with Kung-Fu moves. He always smiled at them back and copied their moves. One day, as I was squeezzing my mind to find a way to capture the attention of our little students, I decided that the only effective way would be an interractive class. So I grabbed an Encyclopedia, I had found in a super market, and opened it randomly. Astronomy it was! Although I had no clue about this exciting science, I looked at the pictures and got an idea. The teacher made the introduction for us to teach. The students kept quiet. The plan was to imitate the rotations of the earth and the sun. I asked Bill (the Chinese boy) to make the Sun, while I would be the Earth, moving around him and around myself at the same time. After a well dizzy three or four rounds and equal time of childish giggles, we gave the flour to the children to show us what they've learnt. "Me, me, me!" Everyone wanted to swirl. So they did! The experiment worked. In the end I asked them "Is the earth moving?" and they knew the answer.<br />
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The same night we had a party at home. Next door to our cute place lived a dog. A very strange one. I had well-founded suspicions, that there was something wrong about it. Every night at 12 o'clock the dog barked in a frightening way, as if it was mourning or suffering. I was counting the stars in the endless sky, thinking at my students, when the clock struck 12! Some clouds hid the fullmoon and darkess covered the yard. The dog, or whatever this thing was, started its usual ritual. Standing in the dark alone, hearing this creature's scream, I realized that I had undergone a little transformation. The way I look at the sky will never be the same again. The curious happy faces of my little students will simultaniously come in my mind, no matter where I am. Maybe they will even remember that the planets are moving, when they look at the sky, and giggle at our funny pantomime.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-83263932768692263432014-07-14T21:30:00.000+03:002015-04-11T11:28:02.169+03:00Overnight at Benyin beach<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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At dinner time little groups headed to different directions in quest of food. I and two of my friends decided to ask recomendations from the locals. Two little girls waived at us. We asked them where we could find some food and they urged us to follow them. Soon our company became bigger. More kids joined us looking happy with such unusual guests. They assured us that our friends went to a nearby hotel to dine. I thought how strange, but at the same time sensible, it was that five people passed before us and got noticed right away by the curious kids. They looked also very confident that we were all friends. Our little guides escorted us gladly to the end of the village, where a senior instructed them strictly to return back. So they did unwillingly. At the hotel indeed we found our friends.<br />
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Later on the night our plans included a beachparty. A very kind local put up a fire for us, which, irrespective of our hard efforts, did not last long. It seemed that some of us did not feel like sleeping. The youngest girl from our company, eighteen years old, was sitting on the sand gazing at the mighty ocean. She happened to be teaching at the same school as me. I approached her and commenced the most sincere and deep conversation I had in Ghana. That night two girls, a Greek and a Brazilian one, shared the same fears, the same agony and the same unanswered questions. How essential is our help after all? Will our presence at school make any difference to the kids' life? What will happen after we leave? Are we going to continue our lives as if those two months never happened, while at the same time our little students will keep on struggling for a better life? No need to even utter our thoughts after a while. We sighed under the strong moonlight and looked at the endless blackness of the ocean.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-78341394106674577442014-07-13T00:57:00.000+03:002015-04-11T11:51:34.298+03:00Nzulezu - A village on the water<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We were traveling all night. This time the trip had been very popular and no seat was vacant. In the morning we arrived at our beautiful destination: <a href="http://www.spyghana.com/ghanas-beyin-beach-among-cnns-best-25-african-beaches/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Beyin Beach</b></span></a>. The scenery reminded vividly documentary scenes. The sea shore seemed endless. Exceptionally high palm trees were laying on the beach. Beach houses made by wood and palm trees' branches were standing on poles above the ground. Even the toilet was bizarly marvelous, while an open window was right ahead of it offering unrestricted view to the ocean. </div>
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We were all expecting to visit the unique village of <span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nzulezo" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Nzulezu</span></a> </span>(=surface water). As its name states a village on the water. The canoe station was at walking distance from the huts. We went aboard the big, but rather short canoe, and indulged the beautiful trip. At the beginning the passage was short and could not fit two canoes at the same time. Later it became wider and the nature thicker. In the end a big lake appeared-<a href="http://www.globosapiens.net/ghana-travel/Western/Lake+Tadane.html" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b> Lake Tadane</b></span></a>. An incident brought be violently back to reality. A little local boy, who was traveling with us, sunk his bottle into the still lake water and took a big sip out of it. Instantly I remembered a similar scene from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=frSgIfDLHEE" style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">documentary</a><span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;"> </span>in<span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;"> </span>Siera Leone, which had made me crying.</div>
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After a while there it was. Nzulezu, a village on stilts nominated for Unesco World Heritage Site, was spreading in front of us. Photography fee paid and our tour among people's houses began. The locals seemed to be familiar with the tourists, for sculpted miniature canoes were on sale in the little shops and receipts were offered to the tourists. Other than that life on the village seemed to be usual. Women were preparing family lunch and doing the laundry while kids were playing around. The sole path led us to the school, which for some of our team had a sentimental meaning. A few years ago they had realized a social project, through the same student NGO, concerning the school library. When we were on the narrow corridor in front of the school, observing the outstanding spectacle of houses made of rafia on the water, a cracking noise was followed by a feeling of descending. Thankfully the corridor moved only by an inch or so and did not drop us into the unwelcoming lake waters.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">The School</td></tr>
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We were seated at an open air venue next to the school and informed about the <a href="http://www.dearghana.com/attractions/nzulezo-stilt-village/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>history of the village</b></span></a>. At the end, we were offered the floor to make questions. Some wondered about rubbish collection, electricity, rain issues, burial. There seems to be an "extension" of the village on shore,with which Nzolezu is connected and supplies it with the nec<span style="font-family: inherit;">essities. Moreover we learnt that "Thursday" is a sacred day at Nzulez</span>o: no fishing is permitted and no tourists are allowed at the village. Snails are revered by the inhabitants, since it <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 22.1000003814697px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">is believed that the early settlers or the ancestors were led there by a snail. Another interesting fact concerns the "judiciary system". The elders of the village and the chief, </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 22.1000003814697px;">hence the most respected personalities, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 22.1000003814697px;">form a regulatory body and decide upon criminal offences, apart from felonies. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 22.1000003814697px;">Leaving the village on the water behind, I and my Greek friend started singing Greek songs from classic </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 22.1000003814697px;">black and white movies. Maybe this was the first time that the lake creatures have heard such peculiar tunes!</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-49652354374469969702014-07-09T16:34:00.000+03:002015-02-12T10:54:47.085+02:00A day at the Paradise, in other words "Ada Foah"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Our exciting day had started by hiking in Afadjato Mountain, continued with swimming in Tagbo Waterfalls and would end with a beach party in <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Maranatha-Beach-Camp/393891713958394?fref=ts" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Maranatha beach</b></span></a>, or at least that was the plan. After the Waterfalls we headed to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ada_Foah" style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Ada Foah</span></a><b style="color: blue;">. </b>From<b style="color: blue;"> </b>the narrations of Eduardo, a Brazilian intern, this place would be one of the most beatiful sceneries of Ghana. Every Saturday night the beach is transformed into an outdoor beach club, that promises a lot of fun. Everything was set. We had had contacted the owner of the resort and made reservations for the beach huts. A boat would pick us up from the one side of the lake and deliver us to the other, where the party would take place.</div>
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We were all anticipating to test and improve our dancing skills once again. But the way was long, the weather rainy and oops we also got lost. Consequently we arrived at the meeting point a little.. later than agreed. Something around one o clock at night. Needless to say that the party was over and no canoe was waiting for us any more. There was only one solution: to spend the night in our beloved trotro. That would be a bit of a mission, because this time every seat of the trotro was occupied. Thus there was no free space to stretch ones tired bodies. But it was not only us in the trotro. Mouldy clothes and sneaky tropical mosquitos were also accompanying us. The excess amount of the antimosquito spray did not cease their bloodthirsty attacks. Some of us managed to sleep, like the Chinese for example. A couple others stayed outside the trotro for the night. A French and a Brazilian guy were holding their laughter back while watching "Ice Age". I would switch between the three options, sleeping, "Ice Age", hanging out.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjfpX3KVXJbMkKsaeqm1URfoqH04Iz-gKWX9iTJWUNqNm6fw-UJ_9WB1elV-4NJLzS-w97rb6_Fn-fmtCQMfdu6cvsbkfmz_Yg69aVT33tDAs5kcJJyGURH-DlLuGzUq27z8tT_YsL9xo/s1600/IMG_1606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjfpX3KVXJbMkKsaeqm1URfoqH04Iz-gKWX9iTJWUNqNm6fw-UJ_9WB1elV-4NJLzS-w97rb6_Fn-fmtCQMfdu6cvsbkfmz_Yg69aVT33tDAs5kcJJyGURH-DlLuGzUq27z8tT_YsL9xo/s1600/IMG_1606.JPG" height="480" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">The fullness of the trotro</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5GYkdUwG4p4vjSmhV3u4sOlpgorbIeI0eQpIkmR1HBtCcInAOMmWYmRG4qb51sVvLV54Uwi1UWj5gW12eiILOr5kwkACo9vZcop5kdObIGSQJ0R71p6AafKwThvLki_NgoJ4hgEK3F2g/s1600/IMG_1680.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5GYkdUwG4p4vjSmhV3u4sOlpgorbIeI0eQpIkmR1HBtCcInAOMmWYmRG4qb51sVvLV54Uwi1UWj5gW12eiILOr5kwkACo9vZcop5kdObIGSQJ0R71p6AafKwThvLki_NgoJ4hgEK3F2g/s1600/IMG_1680.JPG" height="390" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Next day morning</td></tr>
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Finally, the time had come to visit our "Ithaca". It definately worths waiting for. The sun had just come out, the water was serene and the view hard to describe with words. High palm trees, painted in blue, pink and yellow, were poping up from everywhere. The doors of the beach huts were painted in a flag's colours (no matter how meticulously I searched, I did not find one in blue and white stripes). The traces of the previous night party were still tangible. At first we laid in the sunbeds in order to regain our horizontal shape. The lake was so calm that even Mario's (medical student's) warnings about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Protozoa" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>protozoa</b></span></a> infection hazard, did not stop me from diving.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD603J6Vd-iA9umfaMtNRr39b2y0jxRW4mcRVWN6PWJbbpgLLtpP4Mc0fF42P4PvFepkxPryrANSQlIVCScp_lcP6ohwRQOjVMOow9qsnVMY7W43PQUV109qQfjqbVKfZQHUT_LxAa_LE/s1600/IMG_1687.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD603J6Vd-iA9umfaMtNRr39b2y0jxRW4mcRVWN6PWJbbpgLLtpP4Mc0fF42P4PvFepkxPryrANSQlIVCScp_lcP6ohwRQOjVMOow9qsnVMY7W43PQUV109qQfjqbVKfZQHUT_LxAa_LE/s1600/IMG_1687.JPG" height="478" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Comfortable sunbeds</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1NIqMINRUc1xtIEDxDYGlGhGcWuUCKeRQd3MSHP_lcKZnJSfNA4rmdcbqgAvkUlDDvZ8Is5Sdkl0Pc-mu8ijGrBYdQ1ug5suYOmgvRXGtyAXIXpT0-yTwvmys6WGNeVf2sdPiDxwvP10/s1600/SAM_1175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1NIqMINRUc1xtIEDxDYGlGhGcWuUCKeRQd3MSHP_lcKZnJSfNA4rmdcbqgAvkUlDDvZ8Is5Sdkl0Pc-mu8ijGrBYdQ1ug5suYOmgvRXGtyAXIXpT0-yTwvmys6WGNeVf2sdPiDxwvP10/s1600/SAM_1175.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMvy9-AmUKKbEqxeNrL27uldeWa_w5TsvxY2VLHY6oBgL86lvmtWANUJC_1EafsrYIPQgjVmU9nZz_G-0Ye9BzTZaJWGNz6vBfScs_MkQYRzJanfPjzYSXEHPV5JL8kdOFytw8aWAalr8/s1600/DSC00722.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMvy9-AmUKKbEqxeNrL27uldeWa_w5TsvxY2VLHY6oBgL86lvmtWANUJC_1EafsrYIPQgjVmU9nZz_G-0Ye9BzTZaJWGNz6vBfScs_MkQYRzJanfPjzYSXEHPV5JL8kdOFytw8aWAalr8/s1600/DSC00722.JPG" height="342" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Beach huts for rent</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDL5yknleXYl0RHGyqWgzhSU9v2xxkkLHi1otGJRKMcDcU7tzH_HBTWqX4-aQxqch3IS_WU5NFBM-3Gjny1USRUrpKfx26ethoKYk9lfHeqQvK4JS1zcMvV274ZSDXfSFliTFmPHZDQIs/s1600/SAM_1186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDL5yknleXYl0RHGyqWgzhSU9v2xxkkLHi1otGJRKMcDcU7tzH_HBTWqX4-aQxqch3IS_WU5NFBM-3Gjny1USRUrpKfx26ethoKYk9lfHeqQvK4JS1zcMvV274ZSDXfSFliTFmPHZDQIs/s1600/SAM_1186.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">A little piece of heaven</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDU2jDqM0aK3TQJ7w4IrvKuB6WdKbDThgRtzodxevQ3o16kvfZtcowc0-o0rEfGhtGqp-c1J8-4ChR7eoYbO1m1tCGqJWILRd1v40O7-_yGO7aE-j_BrUhoBZ0rQQIqS_B0wCgUcF_PaI/s1600/SAM_1185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDU2jDqM0aK3TQJ7w4IrvKuB6WdKbDThgRtzodxevQ3o16kvfZtcowc0-o0rEfGhtGqp-c1J8-4ChR7eoYbO1m1tCGqJWILRd1v40O7-_yGO7aE-j_BrUhoBZ0rQQIqS_B0wCgUcF_PaI/s1600/SAM_1185.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggAO2AIbievnqqEwRs1TNTI8t5ABqaBpuLH9EOJZVVjOyQSs7BvHR4WrDw9qFcDMtf3pgUd6JA6zpR1w0uQ7K8m0VOHDCap8k91ynycKCuDfG7qxs20c7Q1W33fpQ7XsaMk9WIcmYoI3Y/s1600/SAM_1188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggAO2AIbievnqqEwRs1TNTI8t5ABqaBpuLH9EOJZVVjOyQSs7BvHR4WrDw9qFcDMtf3pgUd6JA6zpR1w0uQ7K8m0VOHDCap8k91ynycKCuDfG7qxs20c7Q1W33fpQ7XsaMk9WIcmYoI3Y/s1600/SAM_1188.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">The transportation means of Maranatha</td></tr>
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Later on, I decided to follow the bravest to the other side for exploration and swiming in the sea. Just a few steps away from the resort's area, the rubbish were forming small hills. The sea was just how I remembered it, wild and wavy. Some peculiar, almost transparent, white crabs were running around in great numbers.<br />
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A little further from the "touristic" area is laying a small village. The houses are built on the sand and made by palm tree fronds, weaved skillfully. The sun was burning and I was clever enough to not wear my flip flops. Thankfully Mario lent me his. Apart from rubbish hills, I noticed some other hills by shellfish, that in Greece are considered a luxurious delicacy. It seems though that shellfish and tourism has not influenced much the village, whose inhabitants face multiple problems. At some point we encountered a new school, in a basic structure. It does give a spark of hope for the future.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cunhIsWbniChfnIsvClOsJ8JM4XwLJ1UEUtC2FdmD-yUbdYF9BLbFM8zgpD0oNh23PjTo-nM1VKRqIIJlVNVvwTHBNpGmCsWX9fup9Sn8bR76FRgmSNkXaUbvWJSlvWwimUZyNt6tPI/s1600/SAM_1196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5cunhIsWbniChfnIsvClOsJ8JM4XwLJ1UEUtC2FdmD-yUbdYF9BLbFM8zgpD0oNh23PjTo-nM1VKRqIIJlVNVvwTHBNpGmCsWX9fup9Sn8bR76FRgmSNkXaUbvWJSlvWwimUZyNt6tPI/s1600/SAM_1196.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Ghana, Greece, Brazil, France</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8VrIy6-F0ej-EUySID3Nb0qCoWmvroUXamcM3SMUHqW6_2ish67ZhkdPKG5jNvqtaxQJI95rTv22jVxj0tHCTtYfqAf_CFWIGuzJM_SE7PaIm-uC3ZTX38HCwIPzM-IiPF2Z4zT2BtZI/s1600/SAM_1195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8VrIy6-F0ej-EUySID3Nb0qCoWmvroUXamcM3SMUHqW6_2ish67ZhkdPKG5jNvqtaxQJI95rTv22jVxj0tHCTtYfqAf_CFWIGuzJM_SE7PaIm-uC3ZTX38HCwIPzM-IiPF2Z4zT2BtZI/s1600/SAM_1195.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">The way to the village</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SBoXhX1HBai_8LzXtOWBhOdr7GINXVMbKEPIuVqf7tz8JBS4guujn7TZq9H6C_XDKC90XVgDnZV-F9zXPSPsJEH2v1olouTrLMVLMebZGaoZxNmhieFes9TwkIZJCrcW3SoMleh_Gs0/s1600/SAM_1190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1SBoXhX1HBai_8LzXtOWBhOdr7GINXVMbKEPIuVqf7tz8JBS4guujn7TZq9H6C_XDKC90XVgDnZV-F9zXPSPsJEH2v1olouTrLMVLMebZGaoZxNmhieFes9TwkIZJCrcW3SoMleh_Gs0/s1600/SAM_1190.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">shellfish</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWOqB1BpFIIhidJXAZqBDini0ducC7mR0LBydHxO1SpXNQb8jC20UGHbceSwp8gYYPWA4u9i7WedIqELeX8-CRQ8glZDrEcxSpWdh7qt-oIYgUEjsnUIU7zZt2pfIf7uAi-mbLSZe7hFA/s1600/SAM_1253.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWOqB1BpFIIhidJXAZqBDini0ducC7mR0LBydHxO1SpXNQb8jC20UGHbceSwp8gYYPWA4u9i7WedIqELeX8-CRQ8glZDrEcxSpWdh7qt-oIYgUEjsnUIU7zZt2pfIf7uAi-mbLSZe7hFA/s1600/SAM_1253.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Testing my balance skills</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Travelers playing soccer with local boys</td></tr>
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<ol style="text-align: left;">
<li>"The Tribe" Documentary by volunteers in Maranatha: <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://vimeo.com/107603820" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">1</span></a><b>, </b><a href="http://vimeo.com/108468064" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">2</span></a><b>, </b><a href="http://vimeo.com/108892756" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">3</span></a><b>, </b><a href="http://vimeo.com/110127837" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">4</span></a><b>, </b><a href="http://vimeo.com/111285125" style="font-weight: bold;" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">5</span></a><b>, </b><a href="http://vimeo.com/111051277" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>6</b></span></a></span></li>
<li><b><a href="https://www.blogger.com/http://www.flyingfourchette.com/2013/10/19/ada-foah-a-little-piece-of-paradise-on-the-coast-of-ghan" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Flying fourchette blog about Ada Foah</span></a></b></li>
</ol>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-38833229140397273452014-07-05T23:14:00.000+03:002015-04-07T11:12:51.212+03:00A tropical conundrum in Afadjato and Wli Falls<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In our second trip we would explore <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Volta_Region" style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;" target="_blank">Volta region</a><span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;">, </span>on the east part of Ghana, close to neighbouring Togo.<span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;"> </span>The trotro<b style="color: blue;"> </b>picked us up in the midst of the night. The ride was so crazy that I preferred to sleep than to be awake and consequently aware of the extreme speed, overruning and turbulence on a bumpy dark road. Things went as planned until an extended horn noise and some blindingly powerful lights woke me up. Although we were in the middle of nowhere, a huge lorry was speeding right towards us. I shut my eyes, convinced that I would soon see my life in photo frames. A laughter of relief coming from Mario interrupted my thoughts and assured me I was still on earth. He said "I was just thinking from which window I should escape".<br />
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A few hours later we arrived at our accomodation to rest till the morning. Next day, still shaking from last night's drive, we were warmly wellcomed by the owners of the hotel. Milo, eggs, yums were served in the restaurant as a breakfast in order to load up our batteries for the rest of the day.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: blue;"><b><a href="http://thethreemonkeys.com/">http://thethreemonkeys.com/</a></b></span></td></tr>
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Next up was hiking on <span style="color: blue; font-weight: bold;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mount_Afadja" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Mountain Afadjato</span></a>. </span>A silent teenage girl with short hair, some of which was grey, sold us boiled eggs and water. The way to the top was steep and seemed pretty long under the hot sun. Finally, we reached the peak of the mountain, sweaty and proud. A group of excited students surrounded us, the obrunis, to take a picture together as if we were any Hollywood actors. A sign congratulated us on our acchievement <i>"Wao! You have made it! You are on top of the highest mount in Ghana! Enjoy the panoramic view!"</i> . But the sign was soon refuted by the sight of one clearly higher mount right next to it. </div>
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As it often happens in a tropical climate, the sun was succeeded by thick clouds, which resulted in no time in heavy rain. And there we were: On the top of the highest (or not) mountain of Ghana, exposed to tropical rain. The struggle of the Chinese to maintain their dryness subsided. Soon we were all soaking wet but totally happy. The way back was transformed into a muddy slide. I took off my non-suitable allstars and kept sliding barefoot. Some travellers were not discouraged by the rain and mud, and kept ascending the mountain. By the time I returned at the starting point I literally looked and felt like a dirty pig. Luckily our next stop would be <a href="http://www.dearghana.com/attractions/wli-waterfalls/" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>Wli Falls</b></span></a>, where we could have a nice swim.</div>
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In a little while we were at the entrance of the Waterfalls. We paid the fee and walked through the rainforest escorted by a guide, who was holding a vast umbrella. He was very helpful and obviously expected a tip. As we were approaching the highest Waterfalls of Ghana, the sound of the falling water pounding on the lake became more and more loud. The moment I saw this amazing spectacle, I had no second thoughts about swimming. Everybody was in the water, knowing how to swim or not. The sand was moving at some places and the depth of the lake variated. The Waterfall was so mesmerizing that we moved as close as possible to it, holding each other and creating a human chain. The water was gently "whipping" our backs, like a good massage. The feeling of freedom was unique.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-66355813541531788152014-06-23T01:45:00.000+03:002015-04-05T15:13:19.290+03:00The gate of no return<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It was Sunday morning. I woke up early in order to indulge my breakfast in my Oasis.I picked up my Africa book and sat at a table close to the beach. I ordered the popular <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Milo_(drink)" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Milo</span></a> </b>chocolate<b> </b>beverage, which came to pieces. Hot water, milk, sugar cubes and Milo- chocolate powder. The kind waitor helped me to cook my drink. </div>
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In a while the rest of the company woke up and we moved to the beach. An interesting everyday scene was unfolding before our eyes. A dozen of big fishermen were dragging the nets out of the sea. They were also singing a motivational fishing song in an African language. The nets were spread far into the sea and judging from the hard effort depicted in the fishermen's faces, fishing was not an easy case. The majority of the fishes was gathered at the end of the nets. Nontheless some small fishes and sea snakes were accidentally caught on the way. They were collected carefully in plastic buckets by naked experienced kids. A man approached them and bargained on the price of the catch with the liliputian fishermen.</div>
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When the entire net was laying successfully on the shore the song seazed. Turmoil prevailed among the group. They were argueing upon the share of the catch. The amount of the fish each would take home, was depending primarily on the personal contribution. Some were accused of inadequate input in the fishing process, while others underlined their essential help.</div>
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A girl, selling sachets of water, passed slowly in front of us. Her eyes were modestly looking at our direction. On her attempt to bring the heavy platter down, half of the sachets fell clumsily on the ground. She picks it up hastily, while shame was conceivable in her moves. Another woman was selling fried bread and cut it wide open to fill it with peanut butter. When the fishermen had vanished from our eyesight and everyone had taken a generous breakfast was time to head to the<span style="color: blue;"> </span><b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cape_Coast_Castle" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;">Cape Coast Castle</span></a> (<span style="color: blue;">http://www.ghanamuseums.org/forts/cape-coast-castle.php</span>).</b></div>
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Driven by ignorance, a day before I had asked my Ghanian friend and guide, if Cape Coast Castle is an exciting place. He answered with a mysterious tone that I will figure out myself. So I did. Excitement was not the feeling that Cape Coast Castle caused to me, rather bewilderment, shame and repugnance. The place, where we were standing, was actually one of the thirty "slave castles", where the slaves were held before shiped once and for all to the "New World", America. A spirited guide narrated the dreadfull history of the Castle. It had changed several hands in the past. Portuguese, Swedes, Danes, Dutch, French had passed from this strategic venue for trade, before the British established their power. For 150 years, the atrocious exploitation of human life had been the most prolific source of wealth for the Europeans and Americans. Cape Coast castle is a painful reminder of this inhuman human activity.</div>
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The captives generated from many neighbouring african countries and were forced to come to Ghana by foot. The captives, who had survived the unfavourable trip were to be held underground until they were picked, sold and shiped away. Sometimes this process lasted even months Our first stop was the main concentration room for the men slaves. It had a tiny hole high on the wall and the atmosphere was sultry. It was imposible to imagine that a thousand men used to be held in that room. Scientific findings confirmed that the ground was covered by layers of human waste, blood and urine.</div>
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Close to this room the Europeans had built a church in order to not miss the chance to pray to their God. Ha! How ironic!</div>
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The next room was the cell where the people who dared to escape were to find excruciating death. The room had no windows at all and the walls were extremely thick. No food, no air, no light was accesible to the sentenced. Scratches on the walls and the floor gave away the pointless struggle of the slaves for survival. It felt as if the walls screamed from the horror of the untold human tragedies.<br />
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The women were held separately. Some of them were destined to become sex slaves. The children, who were born via rapes, were given European names and received western education. This way a new caste arose.</div>
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The "Gate of no return" was leading straight to the atlantic ocean. Its name was attributed to the fact that any slave who passed it would never view Africa again. The guide assured us bitterly that we will return.</div>
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Then we moved to the first floor, which belonged to the commander of the Castle. The contrast was unbearable. The space was huge, with vast windows, which allowed plenty of air and light to go through the rooms. A question was swirling in my mind: How could he ever sleep in this luxurious apartment while at the same time over a thousand people were dealing with diseases, hunger, fear, solitude, many of whom leaving their last breaths just a floor below?</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">“Those who deny freedom to others, deserve it not for themselves” </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">― </span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/229.Abraham_Lincoln" style="background-color: white; color: #666600; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; text-decoration: none;">Abraham Lincoln</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">, </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/23910874" style="color: #666600; text-decoration: none;">Complete Works - Volume XII</a></i><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-3099835186322057292014-06-22T14:50:00.000+03:002015-04-01T13:21:22.684+03:00World-Cup vibe in Cape Coast<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://www.google.gr/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=4&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CDoQFjAD&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.oasisbeach.net%2Ffull%2520version%2Findex.html&ei=XD06VJnMN8LEygOAoIHAAQ&usg=AFQjCNEr2V339Uq6I_RZ0_1pmChxeUDxzg&sig2=ScZrMb2npUgNtj3VM_bwBw" target="_blank"><span style="color: blue;"><b>"Oasis beach resort"</b></span></a> is best described by its name. After the exciting yet tiring canopywalk we headed to Cape Coast. A six-bed dormitory was waiting for us in Oasis. The resort is located straight on the beach. The big mighty atlantic waves create a mesmerising sound, that is spreading in the atmosphere. The summer resort is consisted of an open air restaurant, which serves both traditional and western dishes, and several accomodations in different styles and shapes. Some were white round huts, with big tribal signs engraved on them. Others were made out of wood and had a small porch with matching wooden stools in the front. Hammocks and picnic tables were completing the idyllic scenery. Cute little puppies were joyfully playing with the customers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The resort was accomodating mostly volunteers, like us, who were</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> travelling Ghana during their free time. Canadians, Americans, Germans were among the costumers. I honestly hadn't seen so many "obrunis" gathered in one place in Ghana. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">The average age was twenties to thirties. The vibe was extra-positive, with a little anticipation in it. You see, that night was a World Cup night and not just any World Cup night, but The Most Important one for Ghana. Germany vs </span>Ghana<span style="font-family: inherit;">. The entire country was tuned in the Football match rhythm. Huge posters were advertising the big football event, supporting the </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ghana_national_football_team" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">Black Stars</span></b></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">, Ghana's national team. Everyone were talking feverously about the good chances of an African team managing a highplace in this World Cup. Even in the trotro a preacher mentioned the hope of Black Stars winning the Cup. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Most of the obrunis were wearing a white T-shirt with <span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 22px;">African-inspired graphic print inserts on the neck and sleeves. It should be noted that the Ghanian kit is considered to be one of the most fashionable in the World Cup. The Germany fans were also not missing. Even some Ghanians were supporting the European team. Jokes and teasing were increasing as the time approached. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; line-height: 22px;">Shortly before the game started we made a walk in Cape Coast. The people seemed happy, although did not have even the basic comforts. Many small roads had been turned into World Cup venues. Neighbours were bringing their chairs together in order to view their team playing against one of the most powerful opponents. On the way back to the hotel, we took a shotcut and crossed the dark beach. We could merely see one another. A strange noise was coming from somewhere near. We discovered astonished that the noise was actually made by two cute pink pigs!</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #222222;">The restaurant now was much altered compared to the serene place we had left an hour ago. Costumers of the hotel and residents of Cape Coast had secured a place in front of the big screen. In every worth-to-mention phase of the game the crowd was both cheering and booing. Go, go, go Black Stars. Each Ghanian Goal was followed by happy Ghanian music. </span></span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 22px;">The </span><a href="https://www.google.gr/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&sqi=2&ved=0CCUQygQwAA&url=http%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2F2014_FIFA_World_Cup_Group_G%23Germany_vs_Ghana&ei=mVo6VJrBDqLMyAO694DQDA&usg=AFQjCNEUpyDqGXKGilM_Hh-8jb7V2m_uBg&sig2=OGDe6iujzHGFMIqBca3yOQ&bvm=bv.77161500,d.bGQ" style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 22px;" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">final score</span></b></a><span style="color: #222222; font-family: inherit; line-height: 22px;"> was satisfactory for both teams. It was a draw. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 22px;"><span style="color: #222222;">The match succeeded a fun beach party. Some African men impressed us once again with their dancing skills on the raised dancing floor. After a non-stop performation in the party, we withdrew to the beach. Six girls from different parts of the world were chatting gazing at the ocean. Although unsaid, we shared a common comprehension that night. How far were we from our homes!</span></span></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-6276158207042725822014-06-21T17:14:00.000+03:002015-04-04T01:16:10.556+03:00Walking on the canopy <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Our first trip began in the most cheerful mood. Our personal trotro driver showed up on Saturday morning to make our virgin trip outside Accra happen. The agenda included Kakum national park and Cape Coast. </div>
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When in the trotro, I felt that I was actually in a tropical place. The flora was dense and consisted of peculiar plants I had never met again. Plantain, banana trees, coconut trees. After a four hour drive, we found ourselves at the entrance of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kakum_National_Park" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">Kakum National Park</span></b></a>. Salesmen approached the trotro trying to entice us with cute bracelets, african masks etc. </div>
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The fee is up to thirty ghc for the foreigners (<a href="http://kakumnationalpark.ghana-net.com/" target="_blank"><b><span style="color: blue;">http://kakumnationalpark.ghana-net.com</span></b></a>). The entire place was crowded by tourists but mostly schoolkids. They were all wearing school uniforms and no girl had long hair. I asked my local friend who confirmed that in the public highschool girls are not allowed to have long hair, but a short boy's cut. Moreover many of the students at puberty age had two scars in their cheecs. They were tribe marks. A distinctive way to indicate in which tribe each person belongs to. Although I was informed that the practice has been prohibited, it seems that it is still broadly implemented. </div>
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The surrounding area of the Park is very pleasant, where one can visit the gift shop, buy a refreshment or spicy sausages. The cashier is located in a room with short information about the Park. The most interesting was about the forest elephant, who inhabitates there. The chances to encounter him were signifficantly low though, because of the human made fuss. </div>
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We would soon experience the canopy walk, that has been pined in my wish list from the first moment. In fact, there are 7 air bridges, which connect the huge tropical trees. The employee let us know that there is a shortcut of 3 bridges instead of the 7. We declared brave enough and followed the hard path. Right behind some 15 year old students. </div>
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Ropes were holding a wooden path. The extreme part was that in some points the wood was missing and a small hole replaced it. The tip is to always watch your step. According to the norms of nature the canopy should shake a little, but the school boys ahead of us decided to intervene and make the shaking much more intense. They aimed to scare the girls and raise their manly shelf esteem. Goal achieved! The girls were screaming, eliminating the already scarce chances to meet any forest elephant.</div>
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We were practically in the heart of a rainforest. The beauty was impeccable. The walk did not last more than ten minutes and the fear of the unknown canopy walkway was diluted from the first bridge. Nonetheless, at the exit we took a traditional touristic picture under a porch which congratulated us for surviving the canopy walk!</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-43443450906394562042014-06-20T17:15:00.000+03:002015-02-01T18:32:21.779+02:00Black and white<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Half a year ago if someone told me that I would soon test my teaching skills in an African school, I would probably question their mental sanity. Even when I flirted with the idea of an adventurous trip outside Europe, the entire plan felt too distant and utopic. I pictured Africa as a semirealistic place that you could only approach through documentaries. In my mind Africa was wild animals, palm trees and barefoot kids. </div>
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It only took a ten hour flight for those misleading documentary pictures to fade away. Ghana is a country of real people who play, dance, work, go to school. The kids at my school are unique little individuals, bearing names as Mary, Patience, Prince, Sheriffa, Christopher, William, Bismark, Deborah, Kelvin.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCjvU8xrNXWB0MGy9P7mMKbp1whl_bgCnJeeP6-hqq7svRYW1_lrQEj5HA_gAcVSFrd1QETtVA-2mgdy-v10Y-JMVQcD1vDITptgQu6Vz0fInnwRNdJ0asGLW8uwjAcHA_NNfp0kLnhiI/s1600/SAM_0148-001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCjvU8xrNXWB0MGy9P7mMKbp1whl_bgCnJeeP6-hqq7svRYW1_lrQEj5HA_gAcVSFrd1QETtVA-2mgdy-v10Y-JMVQcD1vDITptgQu6Vz0fInnwRNdJ0asGLW8uwjAcHA_NNfp0kLnhiI/s1600/SAM_0148-001.JPG" height="640" width="442" /></a></div>
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To start with, it was kind of difficult to learn the names. I had to ask each kid a hundred times "What is your name?". I am getting to it though. It should be noted that twin brother and sister often have the same name. For instance "Sherif-Sheriffa", "Joseph-Josephine". Most of the Ghanians also have European names such as Philip and Fransisca, but there are also some traditional names given like Madwa and Kabu.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-t754_ZtCrj21UmVTVJZ0Qlcr8G9I5MUpYv4hdxFeLI7MVN6aeubGkdfVFBg0zbIN7_JGIhhwexYrxT9Ub7apyw_l5o7SgEXMD_uNFFk-BvGglrt64hnT9Zqs-Wai5C0-GjBWq8ayQo/s1600/SAM_0569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd-t754_ZtCrj21UmVTVJZ0Qlcr8G9I5MUpYv4hdxFeLI7MVN6aeubGkdfVFBg0zbIN7_JGIhhwexYrxT9Ub7apyw_l5o7SgEXMD_uNFFk-BvGglrt64hnT9Zqs-Wai5C0-GjBWq8ayQo/s1600/SAM_0569.JPG" height="640" width="518" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">two girls playing</td></tr>
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Some of my students have made their existence noticeable from the very first day. One of these kids is Mary, a brilliant little girl. She introduced herself right away and asked my name only once. From our first meeting she would always greet me, offer me her snacks and help any way she could. One day, she had an unusual request. </div>
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Mary: <i>Oh, Lilly. You are so pretty!</i> she said caressing my hair</div>
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Me: <i>Thank you Mary. You are very beautiful as well.</i></div>
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Mary: <i>No I am not. I wanna ax (=ask) you somethin.</i></div>
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Me: <i>Of course, you are. But tell me, what do you want?</i>.</div>
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Mary: <i>I wanna be white..</i></div>
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Me: <i>What are you talking about? </i>I replied astonished</div>
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Mary: <i>I want you to use your magic and turn me into a white man like you. Please, please, Lilly.</i></div>
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Me: <i>But you do not need to become white to be pretty. You are already very beautiful, Mary</i>.</div>
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Mary: <i>No, You whitemen should make blackmen white, when they ax you.</i> She gets stubborn, trying to explain her argument.</div>
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Me: <i>But how would I make you white, Mary? Could you please make me black?</i></div>
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Mary: <i>No I don't have magic, but you do! Please, please, Lilly. I Beggin you</i>. She actually fell on the floor in a begging position.</div>
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Since that day, every time she sees me she is puting her hands together and looks me straight in the eyes in order to convince me to use my magic and turn her white. My reply is the same every time: If you make me black, I will make you white. She is not satisfied and tries to persuade the other interns to talk to me and change my mind about the issue.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHOo2iXunnnXzgjcjhVxuQiVgaXlbdSQ9ItuAtIvLsG66O6ux4W-yZZtqKTp0TdfJL_1rGraynCW03yOQL80RoMQzj3k4EZWlvhLJJRnVnF5J2shyH-nCHWEbCZgfN1X1pTuILG1emaE/s1600/SAM_0965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYHOo2iXunnnXzgjcjhVxuQiVgaXlbdSQ9ItuAtIvLsG66O6ux4W-yZZtqKTp0TdfJL_1rGraynCW03yOQL80RoMQzj3k4EZWlvhLJJRnVnF5J2shyH-nCHWEbCZgfN1X1pTuILG1emaE/s1600/SAM_0965.JPG" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: right;">Girls are taking care of a Brazilian intern's hair</td></tr>
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In the beginning I became seriously worried. I ran to my Ga friend, whom I always make dizzy with my countless questions and remarks about school. "<i>Why does this clever girl want to be white? Doesn't she love herself the way she is?</i>" Frankly, I was not expecting his reaction. He laughed! He actually found it funny and attributed it to the movies, which intrigues kids' imagination. A lot of girls at this age are carried away by the movies they watch, he added. His explanation was rational and calmed me down a lot, but I cannot defy the impression that little kids in Ghana have about white people and it is not only the kids.<br />
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"Obrunis" are thought to possess two positive characteristics: beauty and wealth. Although the infatuation from white skin is too incomprehensible for me, the latter attributed characteristic is not completely unfounded. A coeval Ghanian girl with me once told me " <i>You white people are lucky, because you have money. We, black people have rich country, but no money to make use of it</i>." My first response to this was that <i>not all white people are rich</i>.<i> For example, Greece is facing severe financial crisis.</i> Later on, when I had acquired deeper insight in African reality, her words became more sensible, with a little alteration. In the sentence of my Ghanian friend the word "money" should be replaced by the word "means". Right now, in construction's field chinese companies are predominant, the social care is an unknown word, there is no running water and electricity in many households and every time the President passes from the road a ridiculously long procession of expensive jeeps and motorbikes follow his car horning. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-7575582052950751642014-06-20T13:20:00.000+03:002015-02-01T14:18:35.454+02:00Alternative teaching methods<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Every morning when we make our appearance at school, we encounter some students in front of the wooden table with the snacks, counting carefully their coins and ordering biscuits or juice. They are the first to notice us and call loudly our names with excitement. " Li-lly, Li-lly, Li-lly", sounds like a rhythmic children's song and spreads from class to class successively. The kids shout, laugh and jump at the same time. It is the best start of the day. The most warm wellcome, that reminds me why I had traversed 6.000 km to be in La.<br />
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On the way to the class, some students climb to the windows and wave their little hands vibrantly. Once I enter the last classroom in the row, one by one my students summon me:<br />
-Lilly...( They expect my response)<br />
-Yes, please?<br />
-You are wellcome! (They say with sparkling black eyes)<br />
The same dialogue is reproduced about twenty times with unabated enthousiasm.<br />
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The prayer inaugurates the start of the lesson. First comes Maths, according to the timetable pined on the grey wall. Most of the students were assigned to solve little mathematical problems. Just a few though were behind at Maths, so they had an easier task: to write a number repeatedly in a whole page. Due to the minimal furniture of the class, there are no shelves or bookstore to keep the books and the pencils. Instead, everything is located on the teacher's table. The pencils are in fact too small for me to even hold them properly. At the likely event of a broken pencil nose, a cutter is used by the teacher, not a sharpener. The erasers are also so scarce that their value raises vertically. Once the work is completed, the kids come up to the teacher's table to show their colourful books. "I'm finish" they declare. This time, I was armed with thousands of stickers to award each student for his effort. When they see the sticker album they become at once overexcited- rushing to finish their work so they could get a valuable sticker. They intend to use it either as a decoration in their bags, or as a jewellery on their forehead. One is not satisfactory for the most of my little students who are frequently complaining that another classmate was given two stickers, or a bigger or a nicer one than theirs.<br />
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When Maths lesson has officially finished and the battle for the stickers as well, plenty of teaching time remains. In order to fill it productively I observe the room around me. Which of these precious little objects could be of any use? Aha! The most classic one. The blackboard! The other teacher announces to the class that I am going to teach them. I take a chalk and draw an empty room on the blackboard. "Who knows what there is in a kitchen?". The enthousiastic students mention many kitchen devices, food, furniture. Then they appear on the blackboard, by my childish drawing skills. Sometimes the roles reverse since my students explain to me many interesting things about Ghanian cuisine and other Ghanian habits. My trick works. They stay focused on the game and ask for more. So, a jungle, zoo, sea, follow.<br />
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The game triggered our appetite. The ritual of the lunch did not take long to start. Today's menu includes rice with fish in a green sauce.<br />
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After lunch, a familiar commotion prevails in the school. The dance teacher has arrived by his bycicle, carrying a big drum. Twelve of my students participate with great joy in the graduation's choreography. The sound of the drum, intertwined with the voice of the teacher and the happy kids created a cheerful atmosphere.<br />
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Most of the students who did not take part in the dance, remain in the classroom. I am under the opinion that they should be engaged in some equally interesting activity as their classmates. Thus, I tear the pages from the drawing book I had brought from Athens and distribute it. The pages were not enough for everyone though. I suggest that two students share one sheet, which was double-fache, while I and the teacher were copying some of the drawings for the rest of the kids to colour. Fortunately, my coppying skills outweigh my free design ones. In the end, every kid coloured a dragon, a boat, a fairy, a rabbit and many more cartoons. Looking at the bright side, shoestring fosters creativity and unity.<br />
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At three o clock the school day comes to an end. Every time that I unhang my bag, worried faces look at me and ask :<br />
"Are you goin?".<br />
" I am going home now, but I will come back tomorow."<br />
At the sound of my answer, they regain their usual carefree expression and greet me grining. "Bye. Bye!"<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-81260156899971212422014-06-17T04:00:00.000+03:002015-02-01T14:18:47.520+02:00My first attempt to teach<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The big question before I even commenced my adventure was: how would I manage to teach a classroom of fourty kids, since I was completely irrelevant? I had neither previous education nor experience in this field. I was squizzing my mind to remember what activities we were engaging to when we were at the age of 5. A blury memory of this time includes a song of a dinosaur and some art craft. </div>
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I presumed that the stationary would be inadequate at school. Thus I visited a big store in Athens, where you can find pretty much everything, from balls to frying pans. The abundant colourfull toys in the shelves enticed me and I wished to transfer the whole of the store in Ghana. My sister put me back together. We agreed that I should purchase things that would easily fit in my luggage and be apropriate for teaching children aged 2-6. The outcome was: colour pencils, bubbles, pumped up animals, spins, books of stickers, drawing books, puppets, small cars, cards with animals and veggies.</div>
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After the trial period of three days, I had collected enough information for the school system, the difficulties and the specifities. The time to take action had come. I requested some teaching time from the teacher, who offered it to me eagerly. At first, I selected the puppets, because they had caught the attention of my little students, who asked me persistently what they are and whether they are allowed to play with them. I answered that they actually belong to the teaching material and we would soon all play with them.</div>
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The puppets were 5. Three pigs , a wolf and a red riding hood. Two different fairytales could be narrated with their contribution: "the three little pigs" and "the red riding hood". I took a minute to recall the stories properly. I felt more confident about "the three little pigs". So I started from this one. The children were abnormaly quiet. They were all expecting to listen to the new story accompanied with the new clean puppets. In order to refresh your memory, the story goes as follows: The three little pig brothers had to part with their parental house, because they had grown old. The oldest builds a house of straws in one day, as he was idle. The second born built a house out of wood in a week and joined the first in playing. While the youngest one buckled down and built a strong house of bricks in one month under the teasing and laughter of his older brothers. To cut a long story short, the wolf blows the house of the first pig and burns the wooden house of the second. The two brothers seek shelter in the habitat of the youngest pig, which at the end proved to be the wisest of all , as his stable and firm structure assured their survival from the menace of the wolf.</div>
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When I was halfway the story, I felt that my students were not following me. I was describing the residences of straw and wood as insecure and inapropriate and instead of disapproval for the oldest pigs i could only discern confusion in their cute black eyes. And then it dawned on me. The houses of the story might seem much more luxurious and safe than their own. Some houses in the community were even a wonder to stand still and not collapse. Through the trotro window I had seen houses, which were leaning and had no doors or windows. Small ones were shared by big families and the furniture were little and old. My shame was undescriable. I rushed to finish the fairy tale and decided to fathom the reality of the kids standing before me. One thing was for sure: the western stories were incomprehensible and useless. Therefore, my new task was to search for traditional ghanian tales, that would "speak" genuinely to my students.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7441569850652172882.post-41282356153783704922014-06-16T18:48:00.000+03:002015-02-01T14:15:19.222+02:00A bad trotro day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Three girls from Bazil, China and Botswana joined me at school on Monday. Because of my three days experience in traveling around chaotic Accra I was going to be their guide. Their first day ended up being quite adventurous, when it comes to trotro rides.</div>
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On the way to school we boarded in a white trotro. The driver was in a hurry like every other driver in Accra. It feels as if they run on a formula competition or play a computer game. When some poor pedestrian is trying to cross the road, instead of cutting down the speed the cars accelerate. </div>
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Overtaking is also an extreme activity. The cars try to squeeze into one line when the road becomes narrower or they intend to turn. This time it looks like the drivers play the "chicken" game. Nobody is willing to retreat and give away their position till last minute. That day, our vehicle lost one of these battles, having as a result a little crash with a black fancy car. A man in a suit went out of the car looking cool. Of course they had to exchange details for the insurance companies. But it was not as simple as that. It took a lot of time to come in an agreement and we also deviated from our route. An hour later we eventually reached our destination. The newcomers were not complaining, just looking a little confused. I tried to explain that it was actually the first time that I had a trotro accident.<br />
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37 trotro station</div>
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The Ministry of Defence on the background</div>
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To my great surprise, the second time came fast. On the way back from the school, we boarded in a dark blue trotro with leather seats. The mate was diligently doing his duties. The rolling door was disobedient though, and all of the sudden ... BOOM. The door went off the tracks and fell down with a thundering noise. Luckily noone was close to the trotro at the time and we had not gained fast speed. We instantly looked at each other with a fearful expression drawn in our faces. Next minute we bursted into laughter. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13053839702894186305noreply@blogger.com0