Greek ruins in Western Turkey. And within the entire 'city' is a fortress-like structure that could easily be mistaken for Troy. The story of the place is that a group of people from east of here, in present day Tanzania, migrated to this valley sometime in the 12th or 13th century (I can't remember which right now). They used granite blocks, which they shaped by first heating the rocks, then dousing them with water to fracture the granite structures. Like the Greeks they splayed the stones so that the lower wall was wider than the top. No mortar was used. Like Pergamum they perched a castle-like fortification on a nearby hill, and put the King's residence there. For six bucks I hired a guide who answered all my silly questions without complaint.Getting to the ruins was half the fun. My hostel host told me if I hoofed it to a nearby college I could catch a minibus to the ruins. I followed her instructions but one part didn't work out as seemlessly as I expected. The van dropped me off near a dirt track. The driver pointed down the road and said, "Go that way." My first thought was about the warthog that had just crossed in front of our van a mile or two back. My second thought was, "is this guy taking the tourist for a (literal) ride, dumping him in some backwater from which I will never emerge?" But so far everyone in Zimbabwe had been straight with me so I set off through the underbrush to find The Great Zimbabwe. The 'road' was a dirt pathway that had been obviously created by many horsedrawn wagons traversing the ground. Two ruts were separated by some tufts of grass. I walked for a few minutes till I came to a fork in the path. Ahead was a farm house with a lady hanging wash. So I motioned to her. "Left?" I signified. She nodded. So I trod onward, avoiding the feces on the path (cow or baboon?). After a few minutes I came to another paved road. Which way, right or left? I guessed right and, shortly, I noticed bright colors in the distance. Those turned out to be a streetside crafts market. The market ladies shouted instructions to me ("Turn here. Go through the hotel, you'll find the park behind the hotel.")
The ride home to my hostel was even better as I got a ride in the back of a covered pickup truck with an old man and a young girl going my way. The ride to the ruins was $2, the ride back was $1. Can't beat that.
Masvingo, where I 'm staying now, is a small city with an air of commerce about it--unlike Bulawayo. It's not prosperous (the electricity is turned off each night at 4:30) but the stores are very clean, and dozens of young men are engaged in building a sewer system of sorts. Their jackhammers woke me at 5:30 this morning. Most of them are digging with picks and shovels. The sad part is that the sewer is intended to direct all the
untreated waste into the city's river. The river is barely a quarter mile from town. And there is a nice crafts market just beyond the river. I can't imagine the stink that this will all bring to the neighborhood, not to mention the trash that will fill the river.I'm really in a quandary about tomorrow. I could head north to Hararre, the Zimbabwean capital. There's a train from Hararre to my next destination, Gaborone in Botswana. But really there is nothing attracting me to the capital except that Zimbabwe has been such a pleasant surprise. I admit to getting a little tired of all the deprivations of this, very poor, nation. Botswana is likely to be more modern and comfortable. I will probably head south, instead, hoping to catch that same train in Bulawayo tomorrow afternoon. That would get me to Gaborone in two days. But that is really too early.
I'd rather get there on about August 2nd. I could head east to Mozambique, but transportation is so bad in Mozambique that I might never make it to Gaborone. Time to study my Lonely Planet.
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