The inquisitive, gallant male who had witnessed my ungainly fall at Wadi Dirhur, had been a sensitive, shaggy goat of grey and white colour. He along with the rest of his herd had spied upon me as I had frolicked among the pool and plants of the lonesome canyon and upon my terrible landing, had boldly come up to comfort me. Although very much an animal lover, I had never kind of considered goats as awesome pets and that afternoon, he had changed my notion for good. As I had rested on a boulder to inspect my bruises, my courageous “Alpha Male” had come right upto me, put his hoof on my knee and blatantly demanded cuddling. It is next to impossible to resist a cute guy (and an “Alpha Male”, that too) who demands cuddles and so, he had spent the better half of that day tucked away on my knee, getting his ears scratched.

He had not been alone in his demands for some loving and as the shaggy team had queued up for some ear tickles, I had realized that the wadi had been a popular grazing ground for shepherds from the nearby Bedouin villages. It had also been a well known picnic spot for local and visiting expat Socotrans and upon further exploration, we had found hooves, horns and discarded goat skins scattered all over the wadi. Picnic is a very popular activity among the islanders and they usually include barbecuing freshly slaughtered goat meat, rice pulao (rice dish speckled with dry fruits and spices), umpteen cups of tea and gossip. Socotrans love gossiping and they huddle for juicy conversations at tea shops, at dinners/lunches at someone’s house, in the middle of the road and on carpeted date palm groves in the island’s hidden wadis. They picnic in big groups, carry sumptuous lunch baskets (and personal chefs) and buy the festive meat from the small Bedouin villages. That had been the reason why I had spotted the maximum number of nomadic settlements near the picturesque tourist spots and most herders had always been found ambling close to the main road. Now, as per Socotran standards, maximum number of settlements usually mean 4-5 houses/ families, maybe a couple living in caves and at least 2-3 dozen goats and cows.

The island’s biggest attraction had been it’s isolation and at times, I had been tempted to pinch myself into believing that such a place had still existed on earth in 2015. That Wadi Dirhur day, we had been the only humans at the canyon and my little friend had remained safe with me throughout the night. Anwar had cooked lunch on a portable stove and it had been a proper camping trip meal. Conjured up from stuff stored in cans and bottles, it had been a sorry meal of pasta with potatoes and tomato sauce, shredded tuna, cinnamon tea and oranges. Food had been a major disappointment and Socotra is definitely not for those looking for materialistic comfort. Secluded, remote and stunningly beautiful, it is as basic as it can get and best for those looking for either adventure and/or pristine natural sojourn. Post our measly lunch, my Wadi Dirhur afternoon had been utter bliss. Peaceful, quiet and very tranquil, I had lazed on a folding mattress catnapping under scrubby, thorny trees and flapping off the big, yellow Egyptian vultures from stealing our food.

It had been my 1st Socotra day in the open and the beginning of a week long journey with Anwar. While sharing a secluded wadi with a strange male guide at night had definitely given me some serious initial concern, the impending dusk had made getting out from the unlit canyon seem more dangerous. Thus had begun my 1st apprehensive Socotran night in an isolated canyon under brilliant starlight and with a faithful bleating companion. Although, I had undeniably been more than a little worried that night, I am happy to say that Anwar had been worth his weight in gold. A serious guide and an excellent driver, he had been safe, responsible and reliable. He had also given the term “roughing it out” a whole new meaning and from that day onward, I had been dedicated duties of a water bearer, part time cook, helper and CD changer in a very military manner. All that however had been furthest from my mind, as I had cuddled my bleating buddy close to me and had pleasantly dozed off. It had been very beautiful too and in the cool shade the desert roses had dropped pink blossoms all around us. The late afternoon sun had glowed a dull gold and in the shimmery haze, the blood dragon tree topped canyon ridges had seemed too high. Sky had felt caught in between the bordering rocky gap of the wadi and the green brook had gurgled silently.

The evening had been a placid one, devoid of any gorgeous colours and dusk had fallen fast at the canyon. Soon returning shepherds’ lanterns had marked tiny spots of illumination among the date palm crevices and bleating crowd had risen dust in the silent wadi air. My “familiar” foreign presence had stopped both the herders and their inquisitive teams in their tracks and they had gawked at me, as I had scurried on to finish my duties. There had been a whole of work to do before the dusk had settled in comfortably and Anwar and I had alternated between gathering firewood, collecting water for cooking and setting up a fire. Stars had popped out fast by the time we had finished our chores and soon the pitch dark canyon had felt repressed under their glittering crowd. Dinner had been another quick forgettable meal and sleeping arrangements had been mattresses spread out under the entire Milky Way. Silence had descended upon the hidden wadi like heavy sleep and strangely, the entire canyon had seemed to be devoid of any nocturnal creature. No buzzing of crickets, flapping wings of bats or hooting calls of owls had broken the dark silence and the only audible noise, had been of our own breathing.

It had been most liberating and my 1st Socotra night in the wild had presented me with one of the most precious gifts of our century. Sleep had arrived like an adrenaline rush and I had dozed off like a sated baby among the canyon, stars and streams of Socotra.

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE.

My 1st night of sleeping in the open in Socotra had been most rejuvenating. Morning sun on my face had woken me up and I had found my bleating companion for the night missing. Anwar instead had stared down at me impatiently and we had left Wadi Dirhur after a quick breakfast. Our next stop of Dogub cave had been a couple of hours away and Anwar had wanted to leave before the day became too hot. Thus we had left the gorgeous canyon of desert roses and missing friends and I had kept looking back hoping that like all pets,  he would follow me. The goat concerned however had not been found and with arrival of new tourists into the wadi, I had hoped for him to escape the butcher’s knife. 

Diksam had started at the mouth of the canyon and huge patches of blood dragon trees had left scattered shadows. This time however we had not stopped for them and I had nearly sprained my neck, trying to get my last few glimpses of the iconic creations of nature. I had not been sure if I would ever return to Socotra again and had wanted to savour those magical, blessed travel moments as much as possible. Anwar, however either jaded by their sight or immune to my feelings had sped right on and soon Diksam National Park too had melted away in the distance. Dogub cave had been located in the southern part of the island and though not as spectacular as Hoq, I had been guaranteed of its uniqueness. Socotra island had been dotted with many such caves and the bigger ones had provided astonishing archaeological finds upon exploration. From telltale remnants of pre historic humans to ancient sailors’ scribbles, Socotra caves had been important throughout human history. 

Dogub cave had been located in the Nogid part of the island and it had been dry, red and inhospitable. Nogid had recently received an asphalt road and Socotra’s only highway had connected it with the rest of the island. Huge rocky hills had bordered the arid plains of Nogid and a beautiful blue ocean had hugged it’s other end. Sugar white sand dunes lie scattered along the coastline and the rest of the area has sparse vegetation of dry, leafless, scrubby bushes. Camels had roamed Nogid plains and only a few human settlements had dared to brave the harsh weather conditions of the region. The drive from Diksam to Nogid had been spectacular and just when I had thought that Socotra could not get any wilder, a whole new shocking vista had opened up in front of my eyes. Nogid had consisted of only 2 colours, red and yellow and from my altitude, I had been able to see the end of the island. The harsh aridity of the region had been difficult to bear and a few dry river beds had snaked through the area like desiccated veins.

Nogid had been Anwar’s favourite place in Socotra and I had suspected that to be the reason behind his rush. A little smile had flitted on his serious, taciturn face as he had cranked up Bollywood numbers on his car music system and had happily whistled along with them. The collection of Bollywood songs had been his only request from me and I had cringed in embarrassment as the saucy song called “Baby Doll” had blasted through that Socotran day. The landscape towards Nogid had been rough and lava sheet like grey rocky slopes had held swollen trunks of desert rose trees. They had grown in neat rows as if in a plantation and a few small caves had held actual homes. Small pieces of cloth strung at the mouth of the caves had served as curtains and behind their privacy, standalone families with their entire herd of animals had lived.

The road had been pretty high and as we had neared the end of the central highlands, a steep drop had suggested another canyon. This one, too had a lost valley embedded in it’s heart, but without any water running through it, the dusty depths had been devoid of any human life. The most beautiful part of Nogid had been it’s stunning rock formations and Dogub Cave had been a yawning hole in one of them. The access to the cave had been fairly easy and I had been most pleasantly surprised by Dogub’s size. Picturesquely twisted stalagmites had guarded the mouth of the cave and the sweeping interior had been large enough to hold at least 20 cars. Several small chambers had bifurcated inside the cave and dripping thin streams had created small natural wells of fresh water. The world’s fastest disappearing liquid, is a precious commodity in Socotra and Dogub’s treasure trove attracted many herders, animals and birds.

A severe bat stench had pervaded the interior of the cave and I had shared my mattress and lunch with more inquisitive goats, a stray lone herding dog and a bunch of curious villagers. They had pestered Anwar with way too many questions till he had played the hideous list of Bollywood songs on the car system and I had thankfully drifted off to sleep soon. The loud rumbling of the Indian Ocean had woken me up and I had found the blue strip very tempting. As much as I had liked Dogub, the bat stench along with some suspicious “turdy” looking things in it’s background had appalled me a lot and I had looked forward to the sugary white coastline. Thus we had left Dogub and it’s residents amidst much Bollywood inspired “dancing” merriment and I had secretly wondered if I had spoiled Anwar with my gift. It had been 5 in the evening, by the time we had arrived at Zahak and the sun had been still very harsh. Zahak had been famous for beautiful snowy sand dunes and they had shifted in position and size with Socotra’s temperamental winds. Although I had done sandboarding and dune bashing in the past, never before had I slid down white grainy slopes on my bum, and with soft sunset colours, it had been a most enjoyable experience.

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE.

Zahak sand dunes had seemed like endless mounds of sugar. They had been located near Dogub cave and had stretched on an arid patch near the ocean. Soft, rippled and nearly glowing in the mellowing sun, they had started in sprinkles. We had stopped the car right at the edge of the dunes and the sand had felt like soft powder beneath my feet. Although, I couldn’t see the ocean which had lain right behind them, I could hear its sighing waves and the breeze had smelled strongly of salt. Anwar eyes had lit up at the sight of the dunes and he had scampered up the nearly vertical sand masses like a rabbit. With his long limbs streaking against the afternoon sun and his futa (Socotran version of sarong/lungi) fluttering in the breeze, he had made it look so effortless that I had jumped out of the car, to run after him. 

But what had been made to look awfully easy by Anwar, had been deceptively tough and I had soon struggled against the shifting sand on all fours, like a monkey. It had been quite hard to climb the dune, especially since every step had required digging and retrieving each foot, one at a time and the soft, squishy sand had sunk deeper with every ounce of pressure. The wind which had felt nicely mild on my face, until then, had blasted thousands of grains all over my body and my ears and nose had soon got sand coated. I had felt neither remotely happy nor adventurous, as I had scrambled up the dune and the constant veil of fine sugary wind had nearly made me blind. It had been as annoying as possible and I had nearly turned to get back to the safety of the car, when thankfully, Anwar had come to hoist me up the sand dune. It had been a nice gesture and the view from the top had been absolutely breathtaking.

Soft, rolling sugary dunes had stretched right till the turquoise blue ocean and the sun had created beautiful shadows in midst of their sensuous grooves and cuts. The whistling wind had created rippling patterns on the sand in front our eyes and the translucent lovely ocean waves had complimented them perfectly. Personally I find the Indian Ocean to be the most beautiful among the 7 seas and that day, against a dazzling white coastline, it had looked magical. The shifting, nearly alive Zahak sand dunes had been an amazing sight and I had gawked as long as it was possible to squint against a constant sand loaded wind. It had gotten windier with each setting sun ray and suddenly I had started getting goose bumps under my clothes. The setting sky although not glorious, had been beautifully sublime and the region had seemed to be drenched in fresh honey. The arid landscape had been awash with gold, white and blue and a huge empty sky had stretched overhead.

In the not so far distance, amber coloured stark mountains had looked down upon orange plains and the 3 or 4 newly constructed houses had looked awfully lonesome on the vast arid land. A few camels had stirred among the solitude and in the evening sun, the thorny foothill forests had mingled into 1 continuous violet patch. The sea breeze had gotten stronger by the minute and soon I had to shout into Anwar’s ears to be heard. Anwar, in spite of all the sand and breeze had seemed to have had a great time and it had been quite a struggle to get him going from there. We had planned to camp on the nearby Omak Beach for the night and being road weary, I had looked forward to resting for a while. Omak had been promised to be very beautiful and quiet with gentle, swimmable waves and I had badly wanted to get away from Zahak.

With the abrasive sand constantly blasting on my face, I had rushed back to the car and needless to say, had dragged Anwar too. It had been a very glum Socotra man who had reluctantly driven out from amongst the sugary sand dunes and he had raced past deepening plantations of feathery date palms silently. The Bollywood songs on the car music system had thankfully remained silent and strange birds had called out from the date groves. Socotra is famous for sinfully sweet and small pitted dates and every July sees the tough islanders hoard these precious fruits in masses. Every monsoon, the island remains closed to the world for the entire season and during those months the islanders depend solely on dates and other local products for food. Sources of livelihood on the harsh sun swept island is pretty limited and till today the residents like to stick to ancestral traditions, which have been handed down through generations.

The ancient Socotrans throughout ages have developed a complex and intricate knowledge of natural medicine, sustenance and conservation using the locally available products and for an island, so unique and endemic, continuing those traditions make sense. Thus Socotra traditional medicines use many interesting land ingredients like honey, herbs, dates, snails, head lice etc, while from the sea, they derive dolphin fat, shark liver oil, dried shark meat etc. Fishing, date palm plantations, wild bee keeping, animal husbandry and primitive kitchen gardens constitute of their livelihood sources and in some hilly villages, people still store water and sour milk in animal skin bags. Donkeys and camels continue to bear both goods and humans and life in Socotra revolve around such precious, yet scanty materialistic possessions. Thus it had come as no surprise that every stone house in Socotra had a few fiercely enclosed date trees and fishermen walking along coastal highway, peddling fresh catch off the sea had been a common sight.

That day however, the only items being peddled on the highway, had been struggling little fuzzy goats and although, they have been laughably cheap, I did not have the heart to buy one for food. Thus our dinner that night had once again been pretty forgettable and add to that the continuous whispering breeze constantly filling my ears with sand, Omak Beach had been quite hard to love.

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE.

By the time we had reached Omak, a very violet sky had deepened into luxuriant purple and gold. The sun had set most spectacularly and a massive perfect golden disc had disappeared behind the horizon of tapering single highway. The rocky arid landscape had drowned in blood red colours and home coming villagers and their animals had kicked up clouds of chaotic orange dust. Omak Beach had been a bit of a drive from Zahak and it had been late twilight, when our tired 4 * 4 had crunched to a stop on it’s powdery soft sand. After being on the road for 2 rough days, I had been dying for a shower and toilet facilities. Socotra, owing to it’s untouched nature, had provided none such comforts and in the dusky evening light the bordering date plantations had provided me with privacy required for such needs. 

It had felt awesome to enjoy that privacy and for the 1st time in 2 days, I had been able to use the natural toilet without a bunch of inquisitive goat eyes staring at me unblinkingly. We had camped right on the beach and after a quick dinner, had dragged our mattresses out from the car. It had been a beautiful clear night and a velvety inky blue sky had been crowded with stars. Thankfully not a single dot of artificial light could be spotted for miles and the diamond bright stars had twinkled with clear hard glitter. The sea which had rumbled just a few feet away had been pleasantly mild and only a sweet, rushing sound of it’s waves had reached our ears. The constant sea breeze had felt chilly at night and I had slept at the foot of a big sand dune to escape the cold. The decision had turned out to be a bad one and in the morning, I had to be nearly excavated from underneath a mound of sand. 

The Omak dawn had broken with a rosy blush and I had woken up to Anwar staring down at me in serious contemplation. Sand had covered my body like a neat blanket and a few pesky intrusive grains sitting on my eyelashes, had stung bad. The sand coating on my lips had crunched on my teeth and I had waited, unmoved till Anwar had dug me out. Needless to say, it had not been my most blissful morning but the beauty of the sunrise had washed away all the wear and tear. I had looked straight up and breathed in lungful of  fresh blue sky.  The sand dune which had nearly shifted on top of me at night, had looked like a pile of dazzling sugar and white feathery clouds had fanned behind it. Severely sandy, rested and overwhelmed by beauty, I had rushed to the sea immediately upon getting unearthed and had happily savoured the experience of the breathtaking sun rise all alone.

It is not everyday or at every place that you get to enjoy a stunning sun rise on a magical stretch of white beach all alone and for those brief moments I had happily basked in “marooned on a deserted island” feeling. Not a single human, apart from me, had been visible either on the beach or on the sea and Anwar too had driven over to the nearest village to get fresh food. The young sun had risen slowly painting the sky in changing pearly shades and from faint silver to champagne gold, peach, pink, violet and blue, it had been a most beautiful transformation. The sea too had mirrored the sky colours and both had become one huge sheet of  restlessly changing molten shades. Anwar, as if on cue, had arrived just after the most breathtaking sun rise moments had passed and he had brought along with him a treasure trove of fresh food. With 2 back to back days of Nutella, honey, cheese, super sweet jam and dry bread for breakfast, I had looked forward to change and that morning we had feasted on a small bucket of milk, some fresh bread and sweating chunk of cheese.

For a person, who is in love with food, Socotra had been a hard experience and I had nearly wept in joy at the sight of the loot. Apart from the sunrise, Omak had been a bland experience and the beach had not been particularly very spectacular. The sea had been a bit too cold for swimming and the sand had been strewn with some trash. Thatched huts had lined the edge of the beach and beyond them, enclosed date palm plantations had stretched till the road. Omak’s biggest attractions in my eyes had been it’s shells and I had found some most beautiful ones scattered on the beach like strewn jewels. Big, intact, ridged and with iridescent colours, they had come in beautiful shapes and varieties. Large conchs also had laid embedded here and there and I had been severely tempted to get one for my mother. A big lover of all naturally pretty things, my mother, during my travels as a child, had regaled me with stories of how she could hear 7 seas with conch pressed to her ear. I had always believed her, until the day I had grown up to realize that her mermaids and fish fairies do not exist in our real world.

The conchs of Omak, however, had been so enticingly magical, that I had actually held a large one to my ear with the hope of  hearing the sound of distant seas. The big, white conch, of course, apart from pouring some more sand into my ear, had not produced any aural effect, but the sun rays playing on it’s smooth pearly sheen had been looked fairy tale like pretty. It had somehow brought back some very beautiful childhood memories with my mother and I had secretly ached for her a lot. In our grown up world of responsibilities and busy schedules, we often skip making our loved ones, especially parents, feel special and even forget “missing” them. That beautiful morning, I had craved for my mom like no one else on earth and had secretly vowed to bring her there. With sun climbing higher, Omak’s fresh dewy beauty had faded off quickly leaving a blazing hot beach where fishermen had been busily catching crabs. I had soon gotten bored with the whole scene  and after shopping for a glistening pair of lobsters  had started our long drive to Qalanciya.

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE.

We had left Omak in a cloud of dust, bumped over the edgy road and rattled our bones till they had felt brittle. Nogid had been experiencing, yet one more blazing hot day and I had wanted to escape the heat, before it became unbearable. Our next stop had been Qalanciya, which had been on the opposite end of the island. Located in north west Socotra, Qalanciya had guaranteed more than 3 hours of drive and the island’s 2nd largest town supposedly had a spectacular beach. Post Omak experience, although I had mentally brushed off Anwar’s brags, the idea of exploring another part of the island had excited me a lot. The road had retraced our initial journey all the way near Hadibo and once again, I had gaped at Socotra’s central highland’s captivating beauty. It had been a sunny, windy day and the lonely, vast valleys and canyons had been deathly still.

No skippy, hoppy team of goats had rushed in front of our car, no Bedouin lady had stood out in blazing colours and wildflower petals tugged out by the wind, had floated in the air like handfuls of mad butterflies. Stone houses, devoid of any life movements had stood like remnants of abandoned human habitats and frankincense trees had struggled against the force. One of the 3 precious Gifts of Magi, frankincense can be traced back to pre Biblical times. Ancient Egytpian Pharaohs had loved it so much that frankincense traders had been immortalized on the walls of Queen Hatshepsut’s (who had died in 1458 BC) temple. The legendary Queen Sheba’s empire had been mentioned in Old Testament as traders of frankincense and the Greeks and Romans had valued it more than gold. The Chinese, not to be the ones to be left behind, had treasured it as a symbol of luxury and the maritime Indian traders had built fortunes on it.

In Socotra, although the frankincense trees are found in lush abundance around the Homhil Plateau, we had passed a few stray ones on our way to Qalanciya. To help me enjoy it’s perfume to the fullest, Anwar had lit a small twig inside the car and immediately a most soft, heady aroma had engulfed us like a cloud. The fragrance had lingered for the next few days and suddenly the world’s obsession with the ancient aromatic resin had become clear. With the sun playing hide and seek among the clouds and sharp wind tearing at our hair, we had driven non stop leaving the arid rocky reds of Nogid and flower filled Diksam in a flash. Qadama had appeared immediately upon descending from Diksam and surprisingly there had been no trace of the wet winds from the south. A pit stop between Hadibo, the main town and nearly every other part of Socotra, Qadama had been marked by a long coastline, stunning, desolate plains, shadowy mountains and one of the island’s only 2 gas station. 

A few lagoons had been scattered along the way and camels, goats and humans had again made their busy presence felt. Salt production workers had been hard at work and their rusty, old trucks had been parked next to the road. I had stopped briefly to peek into one of the green lagoons and had been startled by it’s teeming depth. Huge catfishes, barnacles and big red crabs had rushed up to nibble at my toes and I had skipped over the rocky edges, squealing in pain. Small fishing villages had dotted the beach in small pockets and colourful boats had bobbed on deep blue water. It had been quite a contrast between Nogid’s morning emptiness and Qadama’s afternoon liveliness and the mountains which had run along one side of the road had somehow divided the 2 existences. Small violet wild shrubs had carpeted till their foot hills and along the beach, village mosques had stood out against a huge blue sky.

The sun had been high, by the time we had entered Qadama and Socotrans had taken breaks from their chores to rest in the shades. They had smoked, stared and and waved at us as we had passed and with only a few tourists landing up in Socotra every month, recognizing outsiders had been a great pass time for the curious residents. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere, the road to Qalanciya had bent deep inside the island’s mountainous folds and it had been 3 in the afternoon, by the time Socotra’s 2nd largest town had appeared. The area around the town had been heavily littered and apart from a brand new hospital, Qalanciya had been a smaller, dirtier version of Hadibo. Dusty lanes had meandered into narrow bylanes where stone houses had stood in rows and a few new constructions had looked oddly out of place amongst them. It had been a Friday when we had hunted around the deserted village for an open store and muezzin’s call for prayer had rung through the silent date groves. Every house had borne an empty look and all the village lanes had been devoid of any life form.

Because of it’s desolation, I had not disliked Qalanciya a lot and had actually looked forward to see it’s much reputed beach. The hot mirage like afternoon air had borne an acrid smell when after replenishing our stock, we had finally headed towards the beach. Unfortunately a most heartbreaking sight had met my eyes because Qalanciya promenade had been horribly littered. The lovely mirror like little lagoon had been almost choked to death with florescent green algae and slippers, flotsam and jetsam, used diapers, plastic etc had been scattered in a most heartless manner. In the distance, rusty Yemeni army war tanks had pockmarked gorgeous sand coated mountains and it had been perhaps the most unexpected a sight to ever find on a beach. Disappointed to the core, I had seethed and ranted in annoyance when a very calm (and possibly non listening) Anwar had screeched the car to a stop. Urging me to get out, he had stared into the distance holding his expansive arms in a dramatic pose and I had halfheartedly followed his steps. But what had stretched had been nothing short of a slice of paradise and I had whooped in joy at the sight of Dewta Lagoon.

White, translucent blue and empty, it had been absolutely breathtaking and I had insanely wondered if the joy of such heavenly beauty could be passed to an unborn child by a mother. Wild thoughts and an excited me had urged Anwar to race ahead and we had chortled gleefully in childish enthusiasm all the way to my beach hut by Detwa. 

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE.

My Qalanciya days can be broadly divided into 2 parts, the unbelievable beauty of the place and the unimaginable warmth of the people of the little fishing town. Although, Qalanciya is officially Socotra’s 2nd largest town, in reality it has about 15-20 houses, a mosque, a school and a brand new hospital. Rocky mountains divided Qalanciya into the isolated Detwa Lagoon and the littered, humming fishing village community and the residents of the 2 usually did not cross over into each other’s territories. While traditional fishermen and date farmers had consisted of the villagers, the Detwa Lagoon had been more of the tourist’s zone. Beach huts had lined the crescent shaped lagoon and apart from occasional gawking, villagers had always respected the privacy of the holiday makers. 

Detwa had been a gorgeous blue green shallow lagoon which had reduced and increased with tides and amber coloured mountains had circled the water body. Sharp, sculpted with beautiful glistening coat of sand, the mountains had been spectacular and I had never managed to get enough of their beauty. They had seemed to change colours and moods depending on the time of the day and cloud cover had made them look like something out of the world. Several caves had ringed along the circular sugary mountains and they had contained several interesting characters and stories. One of them had been Abdullah, a friendly wiry fisherman whom I had met immediately upon claiming a beach hut and till today I am conflicted whether it had been his offer to cook calamari for me or his happy, infectious smile, which had made me his fan. 

Beach huts of Detwa had been as basic as possible and they had been 4 postered thatched structures which had allowed an unhindered view of the lagoon and freshest sea breeze throughout the day. They had no doors, attached bathrooms or toilets, but at night it had felt better to go to sleep without the fear of getting buried under shifting sand. Rudimentary bathrooms and toilets had stood at a distance and they had been concrete 4 walls, where I had bathed precariously positioning myself over the “throne”. An attached water tank had made the unit functioning and I had kept mine jealously secured with lock and key. My folding mattress had consisted of my only piece of furniture and in the evening, a portable electric lantern (along with an extended electricity connection) had made things comfortable. Only the kitchen had posed to be a problem and the biggest irk had been the dual task of flapping away thieving Egyptian Vultures while cooking. Our small camp stove had been much used in Qalanciya and Anwar and I had experimented with many seafood dishes there. While Anwar’s trials had been positively tasty, most of mine had been of questionable taste, look and odour.

Needless to say, it had been my culinary skill, rather the severe lack of it, which had drawn Abdullah to my beach hut and he had come rushing to save the sacrificial lobsters with a disapproving loud “tsk tsk”. Those had been the jewel coloured bright eyed pair which we had shopped for at Omak in the morning and Abdullah had grabbed them from my hand before I had massacred their edibility for good. Perhaps it had been his OTT love for seafood or my Hind (read Bollywood) connection which had made him shower me with a huge sunny smile and after that we had been fast friends. He had been so enchanted by my squeaky renditions of popular Hindi songs and Anwar’s CD (which had been gifted by me), that he had sealed our friendship by cooking us a big, slippery calamari which he had freshly plucked out of the lagoon. Thus had begun my Qalanciya sojourn, with Abdullah, Detwa lagoon, hiking the sugary sculpted mountains every morning and at night getting lulled to sleep, without the fear of being buried alive.

Abdullah had been quite a character. An expert story teller, he had loved fishing, hogging the limelight and regaling people with his notorious, and a bit embellished tales. He had apparently once discovered amber inside the belly of a beached whale and had sold it for a fortune. With the sudden downpour of wealth, he had chased women, lived the life of a high roller, drank, dined and in general had a pretty good time. For his family, he had built a concrete, comfortable house and had sent his father for the annual Mecca pilgrimage to purge his sins, in his place. He had bragged about his various ex girlfriends, while cooking our lunch and how they had disappeared after his fortune had gone bust. A dreamy smile had played on his lips as he had reminisced of his erstwhile days of wealth and he had confirmed that they had been all nice, vivacious ladies. It had been around 4 in the evening, when Abdullah had spun his outrageous stories and I had listened to him in dazed hunger.

Post lunch, I had mentally credited his stories to vivid imagination when Anwar had suggested a small hike to Abdullah’s cave. As atrocious as his stories of wealth had been, the reason behind his forced exile to the cave had been even more hilarious. The little Qalanciya fisherman, apparently had been sentenced to spending some parts of his time in the cave after his wife had lodged a civil complaint against him. The poor, overburdened woman had borne him 6 children and Abdullah, who had been aiming at having a perfect dozen, had refused to listen to her objections. In the end, the harassed, good lady had sought the local village council’s help and thus Abdullah had been barred from having any more children. It had been a hot lagoon afternoon, when a post lunch drowsy me and Anwar had hiked up to the cave and I had dragged my heavy feet behind the 2 Socotra men, unwillingly.

By then, I had liked the lovable fisherman enough to not harbour any intention of finding out the truth behind his stories and a nice siesta had tempted me wildly. Abdullah’s cave however had arrived at the mouth of the lagoon and the yawning entrance had totally blown my mind. Decorated with a huge whale jaw bone and pair of massive ribs, the cave house had all the telltale remnants of his fantastic adventure and I had slumped down on the turtle shell stool in open mouthed amazement. There’s more to what meet the eyes and Abdullah of Qalanciya had certainly been the epitome of it.

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE.

Abdullah’s cave had been something out of Arabian Nights and I had marveled at his incredible life. Remnants of big catches like the fateful whale, a few sharks and dolphins had decorated the cavernous interiors and fishing nets set for drying had marked off his bedroom from the sitting area. Abdullah had a few other guests that day and apart from me, there had been a Norwegian trio and an Italian solo traveler. All of us had been in the same position and from being slightly patronizing, we had gone straight to being almost dopey in admiration. Abdullah had loved it and had lapped up our crazy fan behaviour. Being surrounded by such an awe struck audience had perhaps made his dream come true and he had cooked, smoked and regaled us with his fishing adventures. So while we had sat inside a whale’s jaw and munched on oysters, calamaris and cinnamon tea, Abdullah had trained us on fishing techniques and secrets of the lagoon.

It had been a very entertaining evening. We had feasted on an orgasmic spread of fresh seafood, laughed like children at Abdullah’s tales and watched a beautiful golden sunset creating miracles over the tranquil little Detwa. To give us the complete experience of Qalanciya and his daily life, Abdullah had shepherded his little group into the shallow water of the lagoon and soon we had found ourselves stepping over oysters, sea grass and soft squishy sand beds. Starfishes had scuttled away at our approaching footsteps and octopuses, urchins, seahorses and puffer fishes had observed us from safe distance. Drenched in the golden shower of setting sun, we had walked slowly and languorously with rushing tide rippling around our feet. It had not been easy though and after watching baby squids bursting open from translucent white eggs, I had gladly returned to my hut. With so less to do, Qalanciya nights had been most relaxing and being completely out of all communication range, I had truly indulged the time on myself. 

Suddenly all my favourite songs had been enjoyed, old buried memories had been raked and I had idly wondered if the reef shark had visited Detwa’s water at night to lay her eggs in safety. Because of it’s bottle neck mouth, which had prevented the entry of large predators, Detwa had been a favourite nesting ground for the sea mothers. Expecting squids, octopuses, turtles and sharks had frequented the lagoon at night and there had been plenty of young ones frolicking or embedded in it’s soft safe sands. This had brought aquatic birds in hordes and during low tides flamingos, gulls etc had waded on it for hours. Apart from frequenting Abdullah’s cave, fishing and hiking up the sugary white sandy mountains, my favourite Qalanciya activity had been to swim and sun for hours on it’s tranquil, empty beach. Most of the times, it had felt unreal to watch only my footsteps tracing across a beautiful expanse on earth and as usual, the light had played stunning magical illusions. I had swum, floated and had aimlessly played with strange thoughts on my mind. 

I had loved floating on the blue green ocean, being one with the restless waves and during my most poignant moments had imagined them to carry me all the way to my loved ones. That had perhaps been the closest, I had ever come to know how a marooned man at sea must have felt and it had been deeply liberating to luxuriate in such aimless thoughts. The solitude and the silence of the beach had been complete and more than once, I had to wait for tide to ebb, to be able to get back to Detwa. During high tide, the slice of beach had been completely cut off from the rest of the semi circular lagoon and during that complete isolation, I had counted huge clouds racing across the sky. Socotra had been a land of magical skies and dramatic falling light and one night, I had witnessed a huge lightning suddenly crack open the black inkiness in the distance.

Such had been the complete natural innocence of Qalanciya and I had given in to it’s breathtaking power without any protest. Only the rusty Yemeni war tanks, perched on the mountains had been terrible eye sores and more than once, I had wondered if I had been watched during my swims. It had not been a pleasant thought and later I had started getting accompanied by the other solo traveler. Thus eating, swimming, sleeping, fishing and gossiping had marked my Qalanciya days and needless to say, I had lingered there longer than planned. 

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE.

I had left Qalanciya with a heavy heart and had headed towards Hadibo again. Homhil, Di Hamri, Arhar etc had been yet unexplored and I had missed out on the spotlessly white Shoab Beach. Accessibly only by a short boat ride, Shoab Beach is famous for dazzling white sand, azure blue water and ring of cucumber trees which grow along it’s sea facing cliffs. Only 2-3 fishermen live on that beach and a jutting headland makes driving/walking over to it nearly impossible. The water around Shoab is supposedly teeming with marine life and loggerhead turtles and playful dolphins fearlessly come close to the swimmers. As tempting as these had sounded, for a solo traveler, a return boat trip to Shoab had been around 200 USD and unfortunately, at that time, being the only tourist in Qalanciya, I had no one to share that cost with. Thus I had spent my last Qalanciya day with my friends and the evening especially had been pretty eventful. By stroke of good luck, it had been Abdullah’s eldest daughter’s engagement ceremony and we had been invited over to his house to join the celebrations

I had got along very well with Abdullah’s wife and their  brood, and his eldest daughter had been my favourite. Her name had been Jamila and she had been a bright eyed, friendly girl of 17 who had hated studies and loved fashion. We had spent a few evenings together, where I had helped her understand “Hind/Indian” and had once wrapped a length of cloth around her like a sari. So while not totally unexpected, the invitation had been most touching and I had spent the day with the family, participating in all the auspicious rituals. The celebratory customs had been vaguely familiar and for once, it had seemed like a scene straight out of the Indian subcontinent. The hard working Socotran ladies in the privacy of gender segregation had let their hair down and given into a day full of merriment. They had enjoyed henna painting, singing, dancing and making horrendously lewd jokes and more than once, I have had to render fullthroated renditions of popular Bollywood songs accompanied by dance steps.

It had not been easy to dance gracefully with hands and feet painted with gobs of wet henna and taking advantage of my tourist status, I had soon escaped to the other room where the men had peacefully smoked, gossiped, feasted and discussed Yemen’ political situation and fishing woes. The festivities had heightened post sunset and had continued the entire night, but I had bade them goodbye after the communal dinner. A wedding is a matter of great joy in the island and Abdullah had certainly pushed the envelope for Jamila’s functions. The food spread had been an orgasmic feast of pomegranate rice, red beans, fish, roast chicken, goat meat with an assortment of fresh seafood platter and the guests had gorged on them the whole day. Waking up early the next morning after such a heavy and late dinner, had been tough and I had dozed off nearly all the way to Hadibo. In that silvery morning light, a quietly smoking Anwar had driven in peace and he had picked and dropped his fellow islander enroute.

Transportation had been a major problem in Socotra and the residents had to wait for hours by the highway to travel even to the next village. Hitchhikers had dotted the Socotri road, just like it’s other omnipresent sights and we had always helped them as long we had space. A grey, moody day had welcomed me to Hadibo where familiar sights, sounds and chaos had once again choked my senses. A fine rain had thankfully smothered the rising dust and the looming Hagghar mountains had looked nearly indigo in the blanketing mists. The heavy, rain pregnant clouds had bore down on the tiny city and after a quick breakfast, we had sped towards Moumi Plateau. I had re experienced the familiar relieving feeling immediately upon leaving Hadibo and the widespread sunshine in the open areas beyond the capital city had been a welcome sight. The weather moodiness had been a typical Socotra feature and the rugged topography had given rise to the unique constant play of sun and shade.

Anwar, who had drooped into complete fatigued silence at Hadibo, too had brightened up and once again my gift of Bollywood music CD had blasted through the Socotra air. We had plans to visit Moumi Plateau that day, with a possibility of camping there overnight and the next morning had Arher Beach on our schedule. Located on the eastern part of Socotra, Moumi had been a vast rocky limestone area with inter hill-plains covered with lots of endemic and rare plants. Only a few ancient shepherd villages had pockmarked those open spaces and there had been a few incredibly beautiful lagoons. Keriya had been one of them and because of the dry season, only a thin stream had meandered between the deep red canyons. The brook had sparkled bright silver in the sunshine and at a gap it had flattened out into a shallow sheet of water. The stone villages and date plantations had bordered the water body and the deep blue sea had dashed in the distance. For such a small island, Socotra had been packed with natural attractions and the eastern part had certainly been one of its prettiest areas.

Di Hamri Protected Marine Area had been on the way and we had stopped there for some lunch and snorkeling. The marine park had been teeming with fishes and the coral reefs had been unbroken and spectacular. A whole crowded colourful world had existed underneath it’s glassy water and the warm sun had made the experience even more pleasurable. I had loved splashing about with Nemo and his friends, but Moumi had beckoned me to move ahead. Thus I had unwillingly left Di Hamri in a rush and the result had been drying my wet clothes on me during the rest of the drive. The air had gotten considerably colder as we had wound in and out of the hills and plains and by the time Moumi had arrived, I had run a slight temperature.

Moumi had been very pretty and large tracts of flowering bottle trees had been the 1st sight which had met my eyes. A sea of pink flowers had run along a small gorge and a green stream had gushed past wild date trees. It had been vaguely familiar with Wadi Dirhur with the exception of a small multi tiered waterfall which had tumbled into a green rock pool. The Wadi had run deeper into the folds of the canyon and the steep red rocky slopes had been covered with profusely flowering trees. Homhil Protected Area had not been too far and the frankincense, myrrh and dragon blood trees had made their presence felt. Known and popular for it’s rich bio diverse flora, Homhil had not allowed any overnight camping and I had initially made plans to hike over there to check out it’s beautiful reptiles. Apart from the unique tree population, Homhil had been home to many special flowering bushes and a whole range of endemic fauna.

Spotting the chameleon (Chamaeleo Monachus), the carnivorous beetles, strange land snails, the bright red freshwater crab (Socotrapotamon socotrensis) etc had been on my Homhil list, but the fast rising temperature had made me drop the idea. Soon along with the fever, my ears had started aching, I had made a very worried Anwar rush back to Hadibo for medical attention. By the time we had reached the town, Hadibo had been drowning in rain and apart from popping a few Egyptian medicines (with Arabic written instructions on chemicals, date of expiry etc), prescribed by the local pharmacist, I had no option of any medical help. Anwar had bought me a hot plate of food, sat silently as I had pushed a few forkful in my mouth, handed me the prescribed pills and had tucked me at Socotra Taj Hotel. He had left for the night soon, with a promise to check up on me at the earliest and I had cried into the thundering Socotra night in pain. Nothing had felt worse than falling sick in a foreign country and in spite of being a paradise island, Socotra had been the last place I would have ever had liked to get ill. 

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE.

20.1.16

Hadibo 

1800 Hrs

I am back in Hadibo and my body has given up. I had never thought that I will look forward to the littered town as much as I did and it sure is the biggest town in Socotra. Roughing it out for more than 6 nights in Socotra has taken it’s toll and I feel battered. Hadibo is undergoing a massive construction boom, very odd since the island is an Unesco World Heritage Site. It is set to welcome tourism in a big way and the island will never be the same again. I am perhaps the last lot of tourists who are blessed to see its unspoiled way of life and beauty and on my next visit, this Socotra will have ceased to exist. It will be perhaps another Zanzibar; touristy, raped with all it’s innocence lost, another paradise sacrificed to tourism. Socotran children will no longer run around with cans or wheels stuck on rods and people will cease to acknowledge each other. The rat race will kill the warm, generous hospitality and time will gallop here. The only road will branch out and the island (one of the world’s most isolated places) will be lost forever. That is change and it is inevitable.

2000 Hrs

News channels are showing political problems in Yemen mainland and it is strange to see Socotra silently rejoice as Sanaa bleeds. But once again the underdog has won and the Arab Yemeni mainlanders have lost out in the cultural divided tug of war. The proud country is at mercy of the hodgepodge resident islanders to bail them out with it’s unique eco tourism and it is the only place where the violence of the mainland has not reached. The mainlanders will no longer be able to sidestep Socotris with the so called step motherly treatment and this table turning is intriguing to watch.

I visited Wadi Moumi recently and it’s beauty has taken me by surprise. Light has washed over the island in veils and the mountains had reminded me of the moors like Horton Plains of Sri Lanka. These mountains occupy the center of the island and the magnitude of their empty space is humbling. Date palm orchards lie in neat gardens around stony river beds which perhaps gush with water during the rain and I love the old stone house villages. Wadi Moumi with it’s waterfall, bottle tree forests and date palms has been beautiful, but the crystal clear water has shown massive traces of lime green algae.

Blood red crabs hid under rounded pink pebbles and there has been litter everywhere. Garbage has started killing the island and the lack of empathy among the islanders is most mind boggling. The coastal road ran along Delisha towards Di Hamri Protected Area before bending onward to Arhar Beach and the stretch towards Moumi is breathtaking. Keriya Lagoon is still protected and flamingos and herons had waded over it’s clear blue green water. Moumi has been ablaze with pink bottle tree flowers and goats were having a merry time chomping them off the short fat branches.

24.1.15

Hadibo 

1900 Hrs

I am watching the blue strip of ocean from my balcony as the late noon sun makes Hadibo blaze golden. It’s 2015 and still now the capital city roads are unpaved, houses are constructed of rocks, people live in caves and urban lagoons are bordered with palms, canoes and flamingos. Mountains tower fantastically beyond the little town and paradise is the word which comes to my mind. I understand T’s obsession with the island now. Strange, brooding T; whose eyes speak volumes and who lives inside his head. I have never been more happier to meet a man as much happiness meeting T has given me. He has restored my faith in men. Always happy to see me, he comes bounding whenever I am been visible, yet has never crossed the border of familiarity. Last evening had been nice.

We had listened to music under the new moon as my fever had subsided and though we had never said a word, it was just so comfortable to be around another similar thinking human. He gave me space, guarded his space and it took him some courage to ask for my contact details. It has been strange but very comforting to not get jumped upon for being a solo woman traveler and having a man around who maintains respectful space is liberating. Meeting the other stuck expats at Hadibo has been pretty pleasant too and thank god for the Yemeni, to invite us over to his house for dinner. We once again got blessed by the warm Arab hospitality and it has distracted our minds from the gruesome ISIS beheading video.

We shared the Yemeni family’s food with them and they have thoughtfully kept my glass of tea and shorba (soup) replenished all the time. It has been a mini global summit and we have exchanged travel stories from home and around the earth as our hearts have craved for our soil. The Socotri host shared stories of Kani tribals of Kerala, India and suddenly the reason behind the party is evident. He is a traveler, who is dying to share his achievements with people who understands him and who can appreciate his experiences better than our motley group of travelers.

The ex Sultan’s African Socotran camel driver was also invited and he told us tales of a world which now exist only in museums. The dinner had been fun and as our lives have suddenly come to a stand still in Socotra, the world outside our paradise continue to burn.

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE.

25.1.16

Arhar Beach

1500 Hrs

The drive along the coast has been breathtaking. It went deep inside the central highlands and Hagghar mountains scraggy jagged peaks had stood deep blue in the distance. Obscure Bedouin villages had lain amidst valleys and flashes of Bedouin colours of shepherds had painted the red canyons. Dry river beds had curved along the rocky ground and they had met the impossibly blue sea in the distance. Due to lack of public transportation people had waited by the road, hitchhiking for rides and we have picked and dropped them along the way. This time I had hated it and had growled in annoyance when Anwar had turned up the volume of music for their enjoyment. My head had hurt and my body had been hot rivers of racking pain. I just WANT to go home. I WANT my mother.

Our passengers have been varied and all of them, sensing my moodiness have kept quiet. Even the little boy and his goat who had boarded after the old man with orange beard and 2 wives, had sat still like a mouse. The Bedouin woman who lived in a cave had been kind to find out what’s wrong and had left a handful of ripe dates for me. Life in Socotra moves at true island pace, languorous, enchantingly stress free and human virtues come in a most innocent and priceless manner. Fishermens’ settlements have dotted along the coast and the coastal folks have been friendlier than the dour bunch of Bedouin people.

1900 Hrs

I am watching yet another sunset from my balcony and the earache has started again. Soon, it will be unbearable. I hope Anwar comes with dinner fast and I can sleep after taking the pills. I don’t feel like having guests over tonight. They can watch TV at the corner tea shop. I like the sunsets here and love the way nature plays breathtaking miracles on the island. Summer supposedly turns Socotra skies into vivid scarlet but at the moment my dark cloudy sunset is not too bad either. Golden light is falling into the island in stunning veils and I can never forget this sight of sunshine breaking through clouds, till I die. Hadibo in spite of it’s filth and squalor has beautiful moments too and sunset colours paint the town pretty.

2200 Hrs

If I can’t go home anytime soon, I will not mind teaching or volunteering here just like the South Africans family. But then I want to go back to India soon. Arhar with its massive sand dunes, crystal blue aquamarine sea and rose red mountains had been lovely. Grassy banks had started along the beach where spring water, pouring from the mountains had run into the ocean and huge yawning caves had pockmarked their peaks. Soft white sand, seabirds and endless blue sky had featured in Arhar. It had just been perfect. I wish my health had permitted me to camp there.

Shoab is left but it’s not happening anytime soon and I don’t know when I am going to come back to Socotra. My money is running out too and I hate these b*@ody extremists for creating such ruckus. I hope they all just perish and burn in hell for eternity.

26.1.15

Hadibo

0800 Hrs

By now I have gotten used to Socotra’s flies but can never tolerate the annoying “overfriendly” gestures of Hadibo men for long. Someday I will turn around and whip their a*s, if they ever try to touch me again. Will also tell them that honking loudly to attract my attention on the road is not helping their cause, if trying to be on my “to date list” is what they have in mind. Food is an issue here and I can’t stand eating out of cans or bland food any longer. I wonder how the vegetarians will fare here.

1200 Hrs

Just when my Facebook page had nearly opened, I am engulfed by power cut. I have nothing to do the whole afternoon and taking a siesta will guarantee yet another sleepless night. Maybe I will sit in the balcony once again and count the Egyptian Vultures. Electricity is erratic and nonexistent during the day but thanks to the sea breeze the tropical heat doesn’t bother. Internet is slow enough to drive people mad and at this time I am feeling borderline hysterical. I have been stuck here for more than 5 days and home seems like another planet. Wonder when I will actually get home?  Will Noni ever understand her nomadic mother? I wonder if my mother is thinking of me now and I want some home food. Perhaps Spot is patiently waiting near my bed for me to return. I so want to cuddle him right now.

1500 Hrs

No message, a concerned naggy one liner or even a hi on FB, from anybody. D has not written to me for 5 days at a stretch, in spite of knowing about Yemen situation. He doesn’t miss me. I am sure he is fed up with my schedule by now. If only I can get out of here, I will give him so much time, that all his insecurities will go away. I know life will be much nicer, once I get out of here.

1530 Hrs

Even my mom has not dropped a line. Nobody misses me. Oh God! And my earache has started again. I hate everything. I hate the world right now. Should try to get some sleep now and STOP overthinking. Maybe the medicines are making me have such mad thoughts and feel so weepy. Shall not cry once again, otherwise will have awful puffy eyes in the evening. Internet’s back. Hmmm..K has a new baby. She looks so happy and proud. Think will have another baby this year and quit this crazy schedule. It will be much smoother and life will be good. I am so jealous of K right now and I so miss Home. And the b@**dy power has gone yet once again. I hate Facebook. I hate Socotra. I just want to get out of here.

1900 Hrs
It’s India’s republic day and I am coming to know about it from TV. Home has never seemed so far and I am upset about being stuck in Socotra. In India President Obama is drowning in laurels and here my favourite tea shop man gave me a length of homemade goat hair rope to make me stop crying. “You can make it into a belt when you go back home”, he had said kindly, as I had burst into tears at the sight of our Republic Day Parade on TV. I have pushed back thoughts from home as much as I could, until now but it’s impossible to keep the lid on anymore. Why did I have to fall so terribly sick in Socotra in midst of Yemen’s political unrest? What if I can’t go home, by the time I get well? What if the embassy shuts shop and goes away? I WANT TO GO HOME.

2100 Hrs

Dinner and medicines have helped. I am much calmer now. Life is so strange and varied. It’s funny how the primadonna flight attendant, called “the queen” by my loved one, is grateful to be able to wash her hair once a week and I am not even a hardcore adverturist. Sanaa will happen hopefully soon and it’s funny how much Yemen has undergone during my stay. From a country facing major travel advisory and trickle of tourists, it is now on a complete NO GO list and embassies have gone back. People are living in volatile moments, apprehensive of dark days and even the Socotrans feel the palpable tension of uncertainty. The government has disappeared completely and I am perhaps one of the last few tourists visiting Yemen in a long time. With our return to our respective countries, Yemen will perhaps plunge into zero tourism (except for maybe Socotra) if the situation is not controlled.

Socotra too will face dire straits if the much advertised direct flight from Dubai is not introduced and there are hardly any chances of a foreigner wanting to undergo Sanaa to visit the island. A selfish part of me is however happy about it. The island will get a longer lease of life and a more prolonged preservation of innocence. I am ready to go home if only my bl*@dy illness gets over. And I want to get out of here fast before situation traps me in Socotra for good. I will not go anywhere for a long, long time and stay put at home. But someday I will return to Socotra with my mother and we will walk on soft sand and sleep underneath the stars.

22.3.15

Moscow

I had left for home soon after 26th of January and my last day at Sanaa, had been most emotional. I truly love the city and with the cloud of danger looming too close over it’s beauty, I had taken a long last look as I had boarded my Dubai flight. The city had shimmered innocently in the evening light and the mosques had called out for prayer.

Sanaa is a city of 103 mosques and most of them are both historically important and beautiful. I remember tears forming in my eyes as I had turned my back to it, because I had not not been sure if the gorgeous old Arabian jewel will remain standing for long. I had feared it to be heading the Syria, Iraq and the other unfortunate civilizations way and sadly on 20th March 2015, serial bombers backed by ISIS had killed over 140 innocent lives. With the fear and apprehension, which we had felt during our Socotra days, nearly coming true, I hope that the collective prayers of hundreds of Sanaa’s mosques will be able to dispel the danger which is slowly engulfing Yemen.

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE.

“It is not down in any map, True places never are” – Herman Melville

This is completely applicable to Socotra Island, one of the most fascinating destinations I have ever traveled to as a professional travel blogger. To say, that it is incredible, is like downplaying its beauty and the island is truly one of the last rarely discovered places on earth. Intriguingly isolated at nearly 220 miles from the mainland Yemen, the country to which it belongs, Socotra is home to legends, history, strange plants and some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Any mention of this hot, harsh windswept island without fail draws two reactions and they are invariably either “Where is this?” or “Wow”. These reactions are well deserved for Socotra and the island is in the middle of nowhere. An UNESCO World Heritage Site, Socotra is Yemen’s largest island a very difficult to access destination.

Famous for its extraordinary and endemic flora and fauna, legends claim that Socotra had once been a habitat of dragons and the Phoenix. Titled as the ‘Galapagos of the Indian Ocean’, Socotra’s mushroom shaped blood dragon trees have put this tiny obscure island on the map of adventurers across the world and time had truly stopped there. It is a kind of a place, where many residents still live in caves, you can call endless stretches of pristine beaches as your own and strong winds shut out the island from the world for many months. The island which is home to approximately 50,000 inhabitants has more goats than people and hitch-hiking is the most common mode of transportation. Crime is unheard of at Socotra and its capital, Hadibo is the size of a small dinner plate. Only a few hotels exist at Socotra and the island got its brand new airport a few years back.

This has increased Socotra’s tourism footfall to approximately 1,000 a year and the gorgeous island is definitely the most incredible place I have ever visited. In this photo series, I will reveal Socotra Island’s beauty as I had experienced it on a day to day basis and include travel tips, costs and other extras. Until then, let us allow Socotra’s time forgotten simplicity and unbelievable natural beauty to escape commercial tourism and hope that the marvelous one of a kind natural heritage destination is admired and protected by locals and tourists alike.

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE

The four islands group of Socotra are located around 217 nautical miles off the Yemeni coast and approximately 130 off the coast of Somalia. This well kept Yemeni secret is a treasure trove of botanical and zoological wonders and the legendary island of Socotra used to be the source of ambergris, dragon’s blood, frankincense, and myrrh during the ancient times. Now protected as an International Biosphere Reserve, the island which is also an UNESCO World Heritage Site is often referred to as the Galapagos of the Indian Ocean, and one of The Most Alien Landscapes on Earth. For centuries, the islands of the Socotra have intrigued early explorers’ and naturalists’ and by the end of the 90’s they shot to fame in the adventure tourism circuit too. However, due to its isolation, the trickle of tourists visiting Socotra is ridiculously low and according to local tourism industry, in 2013 only 1000 foreigners had traveled to Socotra. This figure had risen a tad bit in the following years, only to dip to nearly nothing in 2016.

While difficult accessibility to the islands is one of the reasons why Socotra tourism is not on a travel hit list, being a part of Yemen takes a toll on it too. The reality however, is that it is too far removed from any of the civil disasters happening on the mainland and life on Socotra is peaceful and quiet. In fact, I clearly remember how isolated and cut off I had felt during my last days at Socotra, when the mainland had been embroiled in war and all the embassies, airlines and civil foreign offices had shut shop. The only news I had received of my fate of return to India had been on television and media had as usual sensationalized the whole event totally out of proportion. While there’s no denying that Sanaa had been indeed been burning under air raids and bomb drops at that time, but at Socotra not even a murmur of the war had reached.

As mentioned in my last Socotra travel blog post, the island, despite being one adventurous roller coaster ride had been a life changing experience for me and it is truly a destination unlike any other. So, presenting a brief note on Socotra tourism through the eyes of an Indian travel blogger and solo woman traveler’s perspective, as well as my trip costs. Please note that it is extremely advisable to check travel advisories to Yemen before embarking on a journey to this fantastic island and for the latest updates, check the Ministry of External Affairs page.

Visa – Yemen offers visa-free travel to only a handful of countries like Iraq, Syria, Jordan, and Turkey and most Yemeni embassies do not entertain direct visa requests. The requirements too are extremely changeable and the best option is to avail it through a local tour operator. They’ are also very adept in getting necessary permits required for moving around the country beyond Sanaa and taking care of any bureaucratic hassle. After a bad experience with a shady operator, I had used the services of Al-Hamed Tourism Agency Socotra Island and he had been both reliant and professional.

P.S – Though it is possible to discover Socotra in a very DIY adventurous manner, the best option is to either get a complete tour package with transfers, accommodation, guide, visa etc or join any of their small group tours. Also note that it is important, to find out about the kind of accommodation, English speaking guide/cook/driver and type of food the package will include.

When to Go – When visiting Socotra, keeping a consideration of the climate is important. For nature enthusiasts the best time to visit is from early October to late April and wildlife and natural viewing is best from the end of January through May.

Getting In – At the time of my visit in late 2015, Socotra Island could be accessed only by flights from Sanaa and there had been talks of direct connectivity from Dubai and Abu Dhabi. Felix and Yemenia airlines had catered to Socotra on a weekly basis and sometimes the Yemeni air force had carted passengers to and fro from the island. Because of the two annual monsoons (southwest from June-October and northeast from April-May), no natural harbor and a flourishing piracy, arrival by sea even from the closest port of Aden is next to impossible and it makes sense to depend upon the national carrier Yemenia’s flight schedule. A return ticket to Socotra from Sanaa by either of the two airlines can cost around $300, round-trip and Felix has a bad reputation of canceling their flights without prior notice at the last minute.

Getting Around – Public transportation being a joke in the island with only one road, hitchhiking is the most common mode of transportation and most travelers commute by their own four wheel drives. Transportation is always included in a Socotra Island package and it is also possible to rent a car there on a daily basis at very steep rates.

Accommodation – The capital town of Hadibo has a cluster of hotels like the Taj Socotra (not to be mistaken with the Indian luxury chain) and be prepared for basic amenities even at the most expensive property. Internet, television channels, great room service etc are spotty at Socotra and on the beach camping at the lovely Delisha Camp, Detwa Lagoon Camp or similar makes more sense. For the rest of the island, either sleep under the stars, in caves, in the shadow of sand dunes or at a Bedouin’s home. The Socotra Island tour packages include mattresses and tents and it is advisable to carry your own sleeping bag. My stay at Taj Socotra hotel had cost around 60 USD/day and my ten days itinerary had been for approximately 3360 USD. This had included visa, accommodation, food, transfers, guide, transportation, water and other beverages etc.

Eat – Local Socotri food is available at Hadibo restaurants and apart from goat meat, which is available in plentiful, it is best to opt for fresh seafood. Ful is one of the best options for vegetarians and the little town market sells stuff which arrives by planes or boats. You can load up on quick snacks, cereal bars, chocolates etc from home if you wish quick bites for the road. A good meal at a local restaurant at Hadibo is as low as 2 USD/per person.

Shopping – Local products like wild honey, goat hair accessories, blood dragon henna etc are some of the souvenirs you can buy at Socotra. Please be aware of buying endangered plant or animal product at Socotra as it can be a punishable offence.

Activities – Camping, trekking, snorkeling, fishing, windsurfing etc.

Places to Visit – For beaches (Qalanciya,  Shouab, Arhar, Nogid, Omak), For Wadis and fresh water pools (Homhil, Wadi Dir Hul etc), For Caves (Hoq), For trekking/hiking (Hagghier Mountains, Moumi Plateau etc), For Blood Dragon Trees (Diksam Plateau)

TRAVEL TIP – Socotra is the home to over 300 endemic plants along with nearly 200 species of insects and birds. The critically endangered Egyptian Vultures are also found here in large numbers. The most striking plants to watch out for blood dragon, desert rose and cucumber trees.

For information and travel blogs on Socotra, check out

http://foxnomad.com/2013/05/23/how-to-travel-to-yemen-and-socotra-island/

http://wanderingearl.com/video-why-you-should-travel-to-socotra-island/

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE

“It is not down in any map, True places never are” – Herman Melville

This is completely applicable to Socotra Island, one of the most fascinating destinations I have ever traveled to as a professional travel blogger. To say, that it is incredible, is like downplaying its beauty and the island is truly one of the last rarely discovered places on earth. Intriguingly isolated at nearly 220 miles from the mainland Yemen, the country to which it belongs, Socotra is home to legends, history, strange plants and some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. Any mention of this hot, harsh windswept island without fail draws two reactions and they are invariably either “Where is this?” or “Wow”. These reactions are well deserved for Socotra and the island is in the middle of nowhere. An UNESCO World Heritage Site, Socotra is Yemen’s largest island a very difficult to access destination.

This is Socotra Island

Famous for its extraordinary and endemic flora and fauna, legends claim that Socotra had once been a habitat of dragons and the Phoenix. Titled as the ‘Galapagos of the Indian Ocean’, Socotra’s mushroom shaped blood dragon trees have put this tiny obscure island on the map of adventurers across the world and time had truly stopped there. It is a kind of a place, where many residents still live in caves, you can call endless stretches of pristine beaches as your own and strong winds shut out the island from the world for many months. The island which is home to approximately 50,000 inhabitants has more goats than people and hitch-hiking is the most common mode of transportation. Crime is unheard of at Socotra and its capital, Hadibo is the size of a small dinner plate. Only a few hotels exist at Socotra and the island got its brand new airport a few years back.

This has increased Socotra’s tourism footfall to approximately 1,000 a year and the gorgeous island is definitely the most incredible place I have ever visited. In this photo series, I will reveal Socotra Island’s beauty as I had experienced it on a day to day basis and include travel tips, costs and other extras. Until then, let us allow Socotra’s time forgotten simplicity and unbelievable natural beauty to escape commercial tourism and hope that the marvelous one of a kind natural heritage destination is admired and protected by locals and tourists alike.

A destination in the middle of nowhere

Isolated, obscure

And wild

It is like

No other place on earth

For more photos of this incredible place

Stay tuned to my Socotra Island photo series

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE

The post Socotra photo series appeared first on Maverickbird.

The four islands group of Socotra are located around 217 nautical miles off the Yemeni coast and approximately 130 off the coast of Somalia. This well kept Yemeni secret is a treasure trove of botanical and zoological wonders and the legendary island of Socotra used to be the source of ambergris, dragon’s blood, frankincense, and myrrh during the ancient times. Now protected as an International Biosphere Reserve, the island which is also an UNESCO World Heritage Site is often referred to as the Galapagos of the Indian Ocean, and one of The Most Alien Landscapes on Earth. For centuries, the islands of the Socotra have intrigued early explorers’ and naturalists’ and by the end of the 90’s they shot to fame in the adventure tourism circuit too. However, due to its isolation, the trickle of tourists visiting Socotra is ridiculously low and according to local tourism industry, in 2013 only 1000 foreigners had traveled to Socotra. This figure had risen a tad bit in the following years, only to dip to nearly nothing in 2016.

While difficult accessibility to the islands is one of the reasons why Socotra tourism is not on a travel hit list, being a part of Yemen takes a toll on it too. The reality however, is that it is too far removed from any of the civil disasters happening on the mainland and life on Socotra is peaceful and quiet. In fact, I clearly remember how isolated and cut off I had felt during my last days at Socotra, when the mainland had been embroiled in war and all the embassies, airlines and civil foreign offices had shut shop. The only news I had received of my fate of return to India had been on television and media had as usual sensationalized the whole event totally out of proportion. While there’s no denying that Sanaa had been indeed been burning under air raids and bomb drops at that time, but at Socotra not even a murmur of the war had reached.

Beautiful isolated Socotra Island

As mentioned in my last Socotra travel blog post, the island, despite being one adventurous roller coaster ride had been a life changing experience for me and it is truly a destination unlike any other. So, presenting a brief note on Socotra tourism through the eyes of an Indian travel blogger and solo woman traveler’s perspective, as well as my trip costs. Please note that it is extremely advisable to check travel advisories to Yemen before embarking on a journey to this fantastic island and for the latest updates, check the Ministry of External Affairs page.

Visa – Yemen offers visa-free travel to only a handful of countries like Iraq, Syria, Jordan, and Turkey and most Yemeni embassies do not entertain direct visa requests. The requirements too are extremely changeable and the best option is to avail it through a local tour operator. They’ are also very adept in getting necessary permits required for moving around the country beyond Sanaa and taking care of any bureaucratic hassle. After a bad experience with a shady operator, I had used the services of Al-Hamed Tourism Agency Socotra Island and he had been both reliant and professional.

P.S – Though it is possible to discover Socotra in a very DIY adventurous manner, the best option is to either get a complete tour package with transfers, accommodation, guide, visa etc or join any of their small group tours. Also note that it is important, to find out about the kind of accommodation, English speaking guide/cook/driver and type of food the package will include.

When to Go – When visiting Socotra, keeping a consideration of the climate is important. For nature enthusiasts the best time to visit is from early October to late April and wildlife and natural viewing is best from the end of January through May.

Getting In – At the time of my visit in late 2015, Socotra Island could be accessed only by flights from Sanaa and there had been talks of direct connectivity from Dubai and Abu Dhabi. Felix and Yemenia airlines had catered to Socotra on a weekly basis and sometimes the Yemeni air force had carted passengers to and fro from the island. Because of the two annual monsoons (southwest from June-October and northeast from April-May), no natural harbor and a flourishing piracy, arrival by sea even from the closest port of Aden is next to impossible and it makes sense to depend upon the national carrier Yemenia’s flight schedule. A return ticket to Socotra from Sanaa by either of the two airlines can cost around $300, round-trip and Felix has a bad reputation of canceling their flights without prior notice at the last minute.

Getting Around – Public transportation being a joke in the island with only one road, hitchhiking is the most common mode of transportation and most travelers commute by their own four wheel drives. Transportation is always included in a Socotra Island package and it is also possible to rent a car there on a daily basis at very steep rates.

Accommodation – The capital town of Hadibo has a cluster of hotels like the Taj Socotra (not to be mistaken with the Indian luxury chain) and be prepared for basic amenities even at the most expensive property. Internet, television channels, great room service etc are spotty at Socotra and on the beach camping at the lovely Delisha Camp, Detwa Lagoon Camp or similar makes more sense. For the rest of the island, either sleep under the stars, in caves, in the shadow of sand dunes or at a Bedouin’s home. The Socotra Island tour packages include mattresses and tents and it is advisable to carry your own sleeping bag. My stay at Taj Socotra hotel had cost around 60 USD/day and my ten days itinerary had been for approximately 3360 USD. This had included visa, accommodation, food, transfers, guide, transportation, water and other beverages etc.

Eat – Local Socotri food is available at Hadibo restaurants and apart from goat meat, which is available in plentiful, it is best to opt for fresh seafood. Ful is one of the best options for vegetarians and the little town market sells stuff which arrives by planes or boats. You can load up on quick snacks, cereal bars, chocolates etc from home if you wish quick bites for the road. A good meal at a local restaurant at Hadibo is as low as 2 USD/per person.

Shopping – Local products like wild honey, goat hair accessories, blood dragon henna etc are some of the souvenirs you can buy at Socotra. Please be aware of buying endangered plant or animal product at Socotra as it can be a punishable offence.

Activities – Camping, trekking, snorkeling, fishing, windsurfing etc.

Places to Visit – For beaches (Qalanciya,  Shouab, Arhar, Nogid, Omak), For Wadis and fresh water pools (Homhil, Wadi Dir Hul etc), For Caves (Hoq), For trekking/hiking (Hagghier Mountains, Moumi Plateau etc), For Blood Dragon Trees (Diksam Plateau)

It is a lost world

The most alien looking

Place on earth

TRAVEL TIP – Socotra is the home to over 300 endemic plants along with nearly 200 species of insects and birds. The critically endangered Egyptian Vultures are also found here in large numbers. The most striking plants to watch out for blood dragon, desert rose and cucumber trees.

For information and travel blogs on Socotra, check out

http://foxnomad.com/2013/05/23/how-to-travel-to-yemen-and-socotra-island/

http://wanderingearl.com/video-why-you-should-travel-to-socotra-island/

Home to many rare species of life

Shy elusive culture

And incredible flora

It is like

No other place

On earth

Often referred to as

Galapagos of the Indian Ocean

Socotra is definitely

The most surreal looking place

I have ever seen in my life

Time have stopped

At Socotra many years back

And the incredible island

Full of friendly people

Is the closest

You can ever get

To your own paradise

RESPONSIBLE TRAVELING-BECAUSE I CARE

The post Money Matters Socotra appeared first on Maverickbird.