Bike Yemen!

Anyone who knows me, even if as a passing acquaintance, is likely aware how passionate I am about biking and how much I like it to be a part of my life/daily routine. I am especially passionate, as well as adamant, about relying solely on biking as my form of transportation. In the past, and now in my time in Yemen, I have eschewed automobiles as a means of getting to and from places and instead chose to use my bike as my primary method of travel. My reasons for biking are varied and include the following: it provides a guaranteed and built-in workout in my day to day life, helps me reduce my carbon footprint, allows me to get fresh air (though this is not always the case in the bustling hubbub of Sana’a!), and offers me greater freedom from which to explore my surroundings/milieu. Having expressed my reasons for biking, I would now like to share my perspective and experiences from biking Yemen thus far.

Before I go any further, however, I would like to explain that my desire to bike and steadfastness in this pursuit even involved me turning down a Mercedes-Benz that the Sana'a International School (SIS) administration had picked out for me. Yes, this car would have cost me, but the school would have provided me with an interest free loan which I could pay off throughout my time in Sana’a. Despite the temptation to be the ‘owner’ of a Mercedes-Benz and have a set of gas-powered wheels here in Yemen, I immediately pushed the idea aside and stuck with my original plan to be automobile-free in my new home. Contributing to this decision included not just my desire to save money, but also my determination to reduce my carbon footprint, increase my level of fitness, my eagerness to enjoy Yemen in a more intimate connection, and perhaps a hint of pride too. :-)

Wild. Unpredictable. Fast-paced. Insane. Frustrating. Absurd. Exhilarating. Surreal. Ludicrous. These are a few of the many adjectives that could be used to describe the experience of biking in Sana’a. Not included are those which would prevent this blog from remaining all-ages friendly. To say the least, biking in Sana’a is unlike any other experience life has ever afforded me and is one crazy adventure. It is an experience that engages nearly every one of the five senses, though sometimes I think there may be a sixth sense of that wards off the risk of sudden death, and in the process keeps me hyper-sensitive to my surroundings.

Each morning I begin my bike ride to SIS at roughly 7:10 am and see many of the same scenes at nearly exact locations each day. I wave to the guards outside the Prime Minister’s Office just as I leave the street I live on, pass by the early morning street sweepers and garbage collectors, and cruise onto the campus of Sana’a University approximately five minutes and twenty seconds into my journey. Since I have biked only during Ramadan thus far, I have had the luxury of having very peaceful rides during the early morning hours. Little traffic is encountered on the streets of Sana’a during this time and makes for a wonderful and pleasant way to begin my day. The return trip is a completely different story and I will soon get to its details, but please allow me to continue with the serene morning journey a bit longer.

As I near the opposite side of Sana’a University I almost always have to wait for the guard to be roused from his post, where he reads the newspaper, to have him open the gate to allow me to exit the campus. Occasionally along the stretch in the campus I ride through the middle of soccer games enjoyed by Yemeni youth on the otherwise empty streets and almost always have a few things yelled to me in Arabic (don’t worry, they are being friendly). Once I leave the campus I then make the decision about whether I should continue straight up Wadi-Dhayr road and take the quick route to SIS or, if time and energy permit, I should turn right on Sitteen (60 Meters Road) and put an extra couple miles and five to seven minutes of biking in before beginning my day of teaching. Lately it seems I have been choosing the latter, both because of my efforts to explore alternate routes and the simple fact that I feel like biking more. If I go straight on Wadi Dhayr, I continue on a gradual uphill that takes me past countless shops, all closed at this hour, and I share the road with occasional taxis who almost always honk in their approach behind me. One highlight along this stretch is the familiar smell of rotting animal flesh that greets me at about the 3.3 mile mark and almost always takes me back to the farm in South Dakota. I still am unsure about its specific source, but am positive of this all too familiar and, strangely enough, refreshing smell. HOME.

Also on this stretch are the occasional flock of goats being pushed across the road by weary looking herders that frequently includes reluctant looking children as well. As I near SIS I look to my right and see its familiar white perimeter fence outlining the mountain ridge that serves as the school’s southern border. I then take a left at the 4.4 mile mark (this is if I take the short route, it is closer to 6 or 7 if I take the detour along Sitteen) and glide along the last .3 miles, readying myself for another great day of teaching! Again there are the occasional goats on this stretch, though now they are not being moved anywhere but spending their morning rummaging through some of the (unfortunately plentiful) garbage that litters the side of many Yemeni roads. It is true that goats will eat about anything. And you people wonder why I abstain from consuming animal products!! (I jest, haha.) The guards open the levered gate and I give them my usual morning greeting. As I finish my early morning ride, I almost always invariably think of the contrast between the peaceful ride I just finished and the hectic adventure that will see me back to my apartment later in the day.

It is now roughly 4:45 pm, give or take a half hour either way, and I am just hopping on my bike to begin my precarious journey home. As I exit the gates for SIS the guards pass on their cheerful farewells and I cruise down the hill towards Wadi-Dhayr to greet the stimulating stream of cars that is Yemeni traffic. Unlike my morning ride, the afternoon/early evening involves a constant influx of stimuli to deal with and make decisions about. Before I have even reached Wadi-Dhayr I have likely already been greeted by half a dozen small children, some yelling greetings to me in English while others say things in Arabic I do not yet understand. As I then merge with the traffic on Wadi-Dhayr, I again make a decision about whether I want to take the quick route home or enjoy a lengthier route. This decision is generally dictated by whether or not I need to buy any produce, as my favorite produce stand is just down the road on Wadi-Dhayr. Regardless of the route I take, my ride positively involves a fair amount of adrenaline, cat-like reflexes I did not know I possessed, and an addictive rush I am fast becoming hooked to.

The once barren streets of the morning are now jam packed with traffic of all types: cars, taxis, motorcycles, pedestrians, debubs (basically Yemen’s version of a bus system, except that these are small vans that keep their sliding door open and almost always seem to pull over right in front of me!), bicycles, large trucks, and everything in between. Throughout the next twenty to thirty minutes, depending on the route I take, my vision is nearly constantly scanning the area in front (and behind) me; my ears key in on approaching traffic horns from my rear and to the upcoming side streets; my hands grip my handlebars and remain on my brakes like minutemen soldiers, ready to answer the call to arms at a moment’s notice; my mouth and nose settle into a rhythmic pattern of inhaling/exhaling that unfortunately is sometimes filled with more exhaust fumes than air; and my mind plays an inner dialogue in response to the chaos unfolding in front of me that may sound something like this: “What the hell are you doing pulling in front me like that for? This is insane, why aren’t there any practical traffic regulations. What a friggin great adventure, I love this.” As with the adjectives earlier, the dialogue is often more like Christian Bale’s rant on the set of Terminator Salvation than it is a Garrison Keillor memoir of Lake Wobegon. Use your imagination to fill in the blanks.

Irregardless of the route I take, my journey involves a number of sights and sounds that have become instantly etched into my memory bank. For example, just this evening I was passed by a taxi that was full in both the front and back as well as housing two grown men in the open trunk, one of whom lazily dragged his sandaled foot along the pavement. Another image are the fur-covered motorcycles (Yemenis think it makes them more manly) that pass three or four men deep, almost always offering me some type of greeting whether spoken or gestured. There are the constant shouts and stares I encounter as the novelty of a biking foreigner challenges the locals’ previous experiential memory bank. Little children stare from passing car windows, some hanging nearly halfway out, adults gesture from the open doors of debubs, broken English greetings are hurled my way “How are you? Welcome to Yemen!” Fortunately nearly all of the attention focused towards me is out of friendly curiosity and genuine interest. Very rarely do I ever experience any hostility or negativity from the Yemeni people.

As I continue along my way home it is inevitable that I will hit traffic jams that are bumper to bumper and which move in single feet (or inches) at a time. This is when my choice to bike really pays off and I am affirmed in my decision, as I maneuver my way through the nooks and crannies of the stalled cars and weave my way past traffic that I leave in my dust. It is a fact that I get around quicker on a bike at these times and free myself from much of the headache that can be associated with city traffic. It is not uncommon for me to pass vehicles during this time as my human powered accelerator zooms past the slow moving manual transmissions of the vehicles sharing the roadway. I feel invincible in these moments and proud as I fly by holding a steady twenty miles per hour. It is these breaks from the hubbub that make it all seem worthwhile, though I do not need these lulls to continue to bike my way through this life.

As I begin to hit the home stretch on my return trip, I should note that the time is fast approaching the daily occurrence of iftar that happens during Ramadan. This is the time in which the daily fast is broken. It is preceded by a great increase in traffic and activity as well as a seemingly exponential build up of emotion and irritability coupled with a steady decline in patience and self-control, as the collective blood-sugar level hits a daily low from twelve plus hours of fasting. Despite making this all the more hectic and unpredictable, it also makes it all the more interesting, exciting, and exhilarating. I continue to forge my way through traffic, seizing even the slightest breaks in the flow of vehicles to cross busy intersections and undoubtedly taking great liberties on my two wheeled human transport system. My ride is nearing its end and I can not help but feel a bit sad that my excitement must come to a temporary close, until I start it all over the following day. In this last stretch I ease into a slower pace and express gratitude that I have once again survived a biking adventure through the spasmodic streets of Sana’a. Thank God/Allah that I get to do it all over again tomorrow!