Destination: Donostia

This journey was a toss-up between Dakar and San Sebastián. I preferred a shorter return journey in case something happened to my father. When the Iran war broke out, the decision suddenly felt more urgent. It was immediately clear that airfares would soar, and I didn’t want to spend too much money on a one-week holiday.

Then, out of nowhere, the YouTube-algorithm served me Anthony Bourdain’s Parts Unknown episode, The Culinary Capital of the World, and the die was cast. I booked a KLM Cityhopper flight to Bilbao in the Basque Country. I packed my yellow raincoat because of the forecast and its fitting nautical vibe.

I arrived in San Sebastián (Donostia in the Basque language) in the early afternoon and dropped my bag at the hotel. I hadn’t eaten all day except for KLM’s famous Dutch cheese sandwich. It’s supposed to be typically Dutch, though I only ever eat cheese sandwiches when I fly KLM.

I found a small place in the Gros neighborhood, just outside the Old Town and close to my hotel. Gros has a relaxed atmosphere, with modern apartment blocks mixed among Belle Époque architecture. Parched, I ordered a sangria and nearly downed the glass in one go. Then came salted anchovies, wood-grilled red peppers, all drizzled with olive oil, and a glass of white wine. Both the anchovies and the peppers were exceptional.

Then I remembered the KLM stewardess on the flight telling me to try the cheesecake. So I did — and it was very, very good. I had arrived in the Culinary Capital of the World.

I was quite pleased with my hotel. The room wasn’t especially clean — a window had been left open, a few flies were buzzing around, reminding me of home, and tiny ants were busy exploring the floor. But I could hear the sea, and when I looked out the window, I could see the surfing beach, which is always the coolest part of any coastline. The sea itself was literally only a few hundred meters from my window.

Camino del Norte: San Sebastián - Irun

I had arrived in the Basque Country not for the food, at least not primarily, but to walk the Camino del Norte for a week. The Camino Francés and the Routes of Northern Spain were added in 2015 to the 1993 UNESCO World Heritage listing, “Routes of Santiago de Compostela.” The northern route is actually the oldest pilgrimage route to Santiago and consists of several paths. I wanted to stick to the coastal one.

I had done absolutely no planning. I hadn’t even looked at a map before flying in. All I had was a day pack, walking shoes, a yellow raincoat, and my new wide-brimmed Tilley hat. The rest of the hike would come down to improvisation and a bit of luck.

On the first day, it seemed logical to walk to Irun on the French border. After that, I could cover the sections between San Sebastián and Bilbao and see how far I could get within my limited time. The stretch from Irun to San Sebastián was supposed to take a full day. Unable to help myself, I started early at 7 a.m., and before long I had climbed out of the city, leaving it behind in the distance.

Then I hit my first — and only — problem: the path was blocked because of a landslide.

Google Maps was somewhat useful but not really suitable for plotting an alternative hiking route. I downloaded the Wise Pilgrim app, and within minutes I had found a detour. The app turned out to be invaluable for the rest of the week, since the trail markings were not always obvious.

Well before lunch I reached Pasaia, a small harbour town with no bridge connecting the two sides of the river. Instead, there is a tiny ferry that takes you across for €1.95. It doesn’t even wait for more passengers; I had the boat entirely to myself.

On the other side it was still too early for lunch, so I stopped for a coffee and two pintxos.

After a fifteen-minute break I continued on my way, and four hours later I reached the centre of Irun at 2 p.m. — much faster than I had expected. It was lunchtime rather than dinnertime.

I quickly discovered that tabernas look like ordinary bars from the outside, but hidden in the back there is usually a small dining room. I picked Pensión Bidasoa (Estación Kalea, 14, Irun) and was handed a handwritten menu, and because the room was tucked so far inside the building, I had no internet connection to translate anything. I ordered the fish soup and guessed that solomillo con pimientos would mostly involve red peppers. I was craving vegetables.

Instead, solomillo turned out to be a tenderloin steak served with fries and only a few red pepper.s Oh well. The entire 0.7-liter bottle of cider quickly claimed my attention, and the fish soup — packed with shellfish — was excellent, so I didn’t mind the steak and fries too much. For €15 the meal also included dessert: Flan de huevo o café.

Georgia

I had planned my journey to Georgia mainly out of geopolitical interest. After visiting Ukraine in February 2024 and Moldova in April 2023, I felt compelled to visit the third country with Russian-occupied territory. With the Russian-backed separatist regions of South Ossetia and Abkhazia, roughly 20% of Georgia’s territory has been under Russian influence since 2008.

I booked an apartment in the center of the capital, Tbilisi, for the full eight nights because I hadn’t yet figured out which parts of Georgia I could—or wanted—to visit. I arrived in the dark, and a Bolt Tesla quickly brought me to the “Old Town” of Tbilisi. According to Booking.com, my apartment had a synagogue view, which was almost true.

Ovanes Tumaniani St, Tbilisi

The back of the Great Synagogue.

Day 353 of uninterrupted protests in Georgia

I was really in a hurry to join the daily protests. I dropped my bag, unwisely skipped dinner, and walked toward Rustaveli Avenue. People were already gathering, waving Georgian, Ukrainian, US, and EU flags. A few dozen police officers were blocking Rustaveli Avenue. The night before, protesters had wandered onto the avenue and blocked traffic.

The protests were a direct result of the 2024 elections. On 28 October 2024, after the preliminary official results were released, the ruling Georgian Dream party declared victory. That same night, a large crowd assembled, accusing the government of election fraud. Ballot stuffing, multiple voting, widespread voter bribery, intimidation, and voter control were documented by the local watchdog ISFED. The OSCE Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights (ODIHR) stated: “On election day, frequent compromises to the secrecy of the vote, several procedural inconsistencies, and reports of pressure and intimidation, including through the recording of the process, negatively impacted public trust in the process and an otherwise generally procedurally orderly election day.” [source]

On 28 November 2024, the European Parliament adopted a resolution that explicitly rejected the outcome of the 26 October elections and called for new elections within a year. That obviously didn’t happen. The people of Tbilisi have been protesting in large crowds every single night since 8 October 2024.

But even before the elections, tensions were already brewing. In the spring of 2024, the Russian-style “foreign agents” law was passed. The law requires media outlets, NGOs, and civil society organizations to register as “organizations pursuing the interests of a foreign power” if more than 20% of their funding comes from abroad. Registered organizations must then publicly label themselves as “foreign agents.”

I had skipped breakfast in anticipation of the lunch served during the flight. That lunch turned out to be little more than a bread roll with a sliver of ham. After an hour at the protest, I was too hungry to keep hanging around. The day was almost turning into a one-day fast, and I began to feel dizzy.

Once again, a large crowd of protesters is marching through Tbilisi streets for day 353 of uninterrupted, nationwide demonstrations in Georgia. 🇬🇪 🎥 Mo Se

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— Rusudan Djakeli (@rusudandjakeli.bsky.social) 15 November 2025 at 18:58

Sunday 16 November

I had reserved the first day to explore a city I knew almost nothing about. It was autumn, yet midday temperatures reached a balmy 20 degrees Celsius.

At first, the city confused me. The architecture felt unfamiliar. The UNESCO World Heritage Convention refers to a unique “Tbilisian spirit.” Situated on historic Silk Road trade routes between Europe and Asia, Tbilisi’s historic center is a visual record of those who passed through or ruled it. The local Georgian character is visible in native masonry, wooden construction, and the social culture of balconies and courtyards. The sulphur baths reveal strong Sasanian and Persian bathhouse traditions. Ottoman dominance influenced both the street layout and the wooden house culture. From the early 1800s onward, as Tbilisi became a key city of the Russian Empire, it absorbed Russian provincial classicism, followed later by neoclassical boulevards and Art Nouveau mansions.

In the afternoon, I hiked up to Mtatsminda Park. On the very first day, I realized how hilly Tbilisi is—and how little mountain walking I’d done in recent years, having spent almost every weekend at my parents’ place since 2018. Could I turn my city trip into a mountain hiking vacation?

The hike took about an hour and consisted mostly of stairs. The Tbilisi TV Broadcasting Tower is also located on Mount Mtatsminda. Built in 1972, the entire structure is rusty, but it is also an intriguing feat of mid-Soviet-era engineering.

With a great view over the city, a restaurant is located on the mountain. The Funicular Complex building dates back to 1938. I ordered shkmeruli (შქმერული), chicken and liver cooked in milk (or sour cream) and garlic—a dish from Georgia’s Racha region. I also had my first glass of Georgian wine, a full-bodied white that paired perfectly with the shkmeruli.

A street cat begged for a piece of liver. I pretended to have a heart of stone, but in the end I gave the poor cat some.

Monday 17 November: Stalin Museum

On the second day, I felt restless—I had to see what lay beyond the city. Nothing seemed easier than visiting the Stalin Museum in Gori. Minibuses run between Tbilisi and Gori, but I much preferred the fixed schedule of the train, even though only two trains a day serve the route. One departed conveniently at 8:20 a.m. The fare was 11 lari (€3.50) for the one-hour journey.

Judging by the overpass, it was clear that not much money has gone into the Georgian railways. The VL10 two-unit locomotive (not my train to Gori) was built in Tbilisi, but in its blue livery it belongs to the Armenian railways.

Gori’s Soviet classicist–style railway station is a 15-minute walk from the city center, on the other side of the Mtkvari River. The current building was likely constructed in 1953, while the railway line itself was established in the early 1870s.

There are plenty of modern cars and Teslas in Georgia. Many are imported second-hand, often directly from left-hand-drive countries. Old Soviet-era vehicles are becoming increasingly rare.

Before the Stalin Museum opened in 1957, the house in which Joseph Stalin was born had already been converted into a memorial museum in 1937, during Stalin’s own lifetime. The tiny house was not accessible to visitors when I was there.

In 2025, the Stalin Museum feels like an anachronism. It should either have been dismantled or fundamentally reworked to focus on the brutal years of Stalin’s rule (1924–1953). At 24, he appeared as a strikingly handsome revolutionary; by the time of his death, Stalin was responsible for an estimated 10 to 20 million deaths. These include the Holodomor famine in Ukraine, famines in Kazakhstan and Russia, the Great Terror (1936–1938), the Gulag system, the mass deportations of Chechens, Crimean Tatars, Volga Germans, and others, as well as World War II–related repression.

Stalin statue by sculptor Silovan Kakabadze.

“Out of the protest against jeering regime and Jesuitical methods existed in the seminary I was ready to become and I have really become a revolutionary.”

— Stalin, talk with the German Author Emil Ludwig, 1931

Since the 2010s, there has been a “Stalin revival” in Georgia, especially among generations who remember the Soviet era. Despite the brutal reality of his totalitarian regime, some Georgians view the “local hero” Stalin as having done much good for the country. This perception is often intertwined with a desire for national pride and a deflection of present-day economic hardship—summed up in the sentiment that “in Soviet times, we had it better.”

Not a painting, but silk embroidery.

The 50+50=120-graffiti might be completely unrelated to the denial of reality by the Party in George Orwell’s 1984 but I immediately had to think of this book.

“In the end the Party would announce that two and two made five, and you would have to believe it. It was inevitable that they should make that claim sooner or later: the logic of their position demanded it. ”

— George Orwell, 1984

“Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four. If that is granted, all else follows.”

Brotherhood

K. Tsamebuli Street, Gori. I was happy to find a traditional restaurant in Gori: the Brotherhood. I ordered chakapuli with veal and a glass of wine, which turned out to be filled right to the rim.

Chakapuli with veal and plenty of tarragon.

Back in Tbilisi, I found my way to a small restaurant that was said to serve excellent khinkali—dumplings filled with meat, usually pork or beef, and sometimes lamb or cheese. Inside each dumpling is a spoonful of broth, so you have to eat them carefully: take a small bite first and suck out the broth before taking a second bite, otherwise it will spill everywhere.

Khinkali alone didn’t seem quite enough for dinner, so I ordered khashlama, assuming there would be some vegetables involved. Instead, it turned out to be just boiled pieces of meat—very tasty, though.

Khashlama (ხაშლამა): boiled beef.

Khinkali (Georgian: ხინკალი))

Day 355 of uninterrupted protests in 8+ cities across Georgia. After making fools of themselves for days, police seem to have given up on chasing protesters through the streets and trying to block their every move.

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— Rusudan Djakeli (@rusudandjakeli.bsky.social) 17 November 2025 at 18:52

Next post: Hummus and sulphur baths

Hummus and sulphur baths

On Tuesday, I woke up with very sore calves. I immediately made some promises to myself: more long-distance walking and actively seeking out hills. Unfortunately, the closest place to both Amsterdam and my parents’ place where you can spend a full day on hilly single-track trails is along the Ahr River in Germany—about three hours away by car from either location. In the meantime, I decided that Tuesday would be a relaxing day in Tbilisi.

For a late breakfast, I was craving hummus, and since I was staying so close to the synagogue, there were many kosher restaurants to choose from. The Jews of old Tbilisi didn’t eat hummus—the earliest written recipes appear in 13th-century Arab cookbooks from what is now Egypt, Syria, and Iraq. However, fermenting vegetables in salt water is a simple, kosher way to add both flavor and vitamins.

The name Tbilisi apparently means “hot water place,” and it can be inferred that the city was founded around these hot springs. The area around the sulphur sources feels distinctly non-European. The neighborhood surrounding the baths is called Abanotubani (აბანოთუბანი, literally “bath district”), and walking through it feels like being transported to Iran.

Turkish delight and coffee in Abanotubani.

At the eastern end of Rustaveli Avenue lies Freedom Square. It’s hard not to pass through this square multiple times a day. Atop the column stands the golden Freedom Monument (2006), depicting St. George slaying the dragon, created by Georgian painter, sculptor, and architect Zurab Tsereteli.

Amber wine

Strangely, I had never heard of amber wine. Then again, Georgia has about 525 different indigenous grape varieties, so I knew there was a lot I didn’t know. Although only 30–40 varieties are commonly used in modern commercial wine production. Amber wine is made from white Georgian grapes such as Rkatsiteli, Kisi, Mtsvane, or Tsolikouri.

White grapes are fermented with their skins—and often with stems and pips as well. The maceration can last from a few days to several months and is traditionally done in qvevri, large clay amphorae buried in the ground. After fermentation, the vessel is sealed, and the wine continues to mature on the skins. This long contact extracts color pigments as well as tannins and phenolics. Qvevri winemaking is recognized by UNESCO as intangible cultural heritage.

I found a little wine bar called Tbileli Bar & Restaurant on 1 Abo Tbileli Street and ordered a glass of organic amber wine aged in qvevri for 15 Gel. It was afternoon and I drank slowly.

The Georgian term „ქარვისფერი ღვინო“ (karvisperi ghvino, “amber wine”) was coined by Shanshiashvili in a poem titled Wine, published in 1920.

Tourist Society of the Caucasus

Most Western Europeans do not consider Georgia to be part of Europe, but geographically it is European, and post-Soviet generations of Georgians consider themselves European as well. The war against Ukraine has further cemented this European outlook among the people. It is tragic that a pro-Russian government has taken power.

After some walking around it was time for dinner. I walked into Racha on 4 Mikheil Lermontovi Street. This is a somewhat old fashion restaurant. You order at a counter and the lady uses a number rack to calculate the amount, only to be paid in cash. I opted not for the healthiest option: Jigari (ჯიგარი): entrails. According to the menu it was pork entrails, but it can also be made of veal intestines. The jigari at Racha was rather dry. I have also seen recipes simmered in white wine and tomato sauce and included herbs as: dried summer savory, caraway and black pepper.

More pickles!

My apartment with “synagogue view” from the outside.

Chreli Abano Sulphur Baths

You can’t visit Tbilisi without going to a sulphur bath. Some are public, but the Google reviews were concerning: multiple visitors reported that the masseur seemed intent on killing them. Not out of fear, but out of preference, I opted for a private room, which was quite pleasant. I ordered tea, which was brought to me, and was advised to spend 15 minutes in the sulphur bath, take a cold shower, and repeat until the hour was over. The colorful Persian-style tiled façade of the Chreli Abano Sulphur Baths was constructed in the late 19th century, around the 1890s.

Since I was alone for a full hour and had time to reflect, I realized how rare it is for me to have a full hour without being online. When I’m not sleeping, my iPhone or iPad is always with me. I check the news at least a couple of times a day, and when I’m not reading the news, I watch 1990s music videos or people prepare Vietnamese or Indonesian recipes on Instagram—the more chilies or fermented fish sauce, the better. I rarely comment on social media.

It was hard to focus on nothing while submerged in the hot water. I imagined my father dying. A faint panic took hold, and it was time for the cold shower. After an hour, I did feel reborn.

After the baths, I went to bed early, but once back in my apartment I heard the loud noise of the protest—they were marching right down my street! I quickly got dressed again, locked the door, and joined the procession all the way to Freedom Square.

I didn’t know who the man in the green cap was, but he seemed to be one of the leaders that night. By the end of my journey, I would learn his name.

On Sunday, 23 November, the day I left Georgia, police crept up behind Davit Gunashvili and detained him while he was peacefully marching with other protesters. Davit had only recently been released from administrative detention. I can’t be completely certain, but Davit Gunashvili was wearing exactly the same outfit as the man I had been standing close to. I am confident that the man I photographed was Davit Gunashvili.

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In Tbilisi, I started following @rusudandjakeli.bsky.social on Bluesky. Most online communication about the protests takes place in Georgian, mainly on Telegram or in Facebook groups, so I had to rely on this English-language Bluesky account. I’ve been following it ever since and have watched the police grow more oppressive week by week. Just this past week (the third week of December 2025), police began arresting bystanders standing on the sidewalk.

Not my photo.

Next post: Blue fenugreek

Blue fenugreek

On Wednesday I took a day trip to Telavi. The main reason I ended up there was that my Georgian Airlines Boeing 737 was named Telavi. There was supposed to be a minibus leaving every hour from 8 o’clock in the morning. I arrived at 7:30, but it took almost two hours before a minibus with Telavi as its destination finally arrived. Then it took another half hour before the bus actually departed. My entire day’s schedule went out the window, and I didn’t really have a plan B.

This 737 has an interesting history. It was originally delivered to the Canadian airline WestJet in May 2008. Under the registration EK73786, it was operated by Aircompany Armenia from July 2016. In May 2017, it was re-registered as 4L-TGO and operated by Airzena/Georgian Airways, before being returned to Aircompany Armenia in July 2019. In June 2021, the aircraft was re-registered with Georgian Airways as 4L-GTI, where it remains in the fleet under the name Telavi.

I arrived in Telavi after noon instead of early in the morning. Without having had breakfast, I was ravenously hungry. The minibus station was next to a market, which I found fascinating: cuts of meat I can only dream of. Dutch butchers don’t offer much meat I can use—I want bones and fat included. I don’t eat meat often, maybe twice a week, but when I do, I want it to taste good. Given the strong link between red meat consumption and heart disease, I started to wise up.

Driven by hunger, I walked into a restaurant more or less at random. After the first bite, I wasn’t pleased with the quality. I didn’t want to spoil my hunger by eating something mediocre, so I paid and left. I didn’t realize it would be evening before I ate again. I had no Plan A, and Plan B was still elusive.

I had never seen an ATM with the Bitcoin logo before. Blockchain.ge is a cryptocurrency exchange and trading platform based in Tbilisi where users can buy, sell, and trade major cryptocurrencies like Bitcoin, Ethereum, and others. Georgia is considered crypto-friendly. It even attracts crypto businesses and mining due to low energy cost.

The statue of King Heraclius II (Erekle II). He ruled as King of Kakheti from 1744 and, after 1762, as the king of the united kingdoms of Kartli and Kakheti and attempted to strengthen Georgian independence amid pressure from Persia and the Ottoman Empire. In 1783 he placed his kingdom under Russian protection in hopes of safeguarding Georgia — a move that had complex long-term consequences for Georgian sovereignty.

I collected so many recipes and food ideas during all my travels that I was sure I wouldn’t go looking for another dish to try at home—until I read about blue fenugreek. I know fenugreek well and keep it in my kitchen, but I had never heard of blue fenugreek. The name alone was evocative.

Blue fenugreek is the dried seed pod (and sometimes the leaf) of Trigonella caerulea, a plant related to common fenugreek but not the same species. In Georgian, it is called უცხო სუნელი (utskho suneli, literally foreign spice). Outside Georgia, it is used in the Swiss and Austrian Alps, where it is known as Blauschabziger or Schabzigerklee.

In Georgia, blue fenugreek is used in khmel-suneli (the country’s classic spice mix), lobio (bean dishes), adjika, satsivi, pkhali, chakapuli, and various walnut sauces and stews. I bought three packages and was given a fourth for free. Since then, I’ve been using it back in Amsterdam to flavor Georgian vegetable dishes and bean stews.

Deutschlands flora in abbildungen nach der natur" (1798).

The last minibus back to Tbilisi was supposed to leave before dark. I could have booked a hotel in Telavi, but I decided to head back to my apartment. I hadn’t had time to visit the vineyards, but you can’t have it all in life.

Back in Tbilisi, I returned to a place where I’d had a late breakfast on my first day. I ordered a soupy Kharcho stew, some pickles, bread, and a 0.25-liter glass of what I thought was 12-year-old aged wine. Or so I thought. I had simply ordered it from the wine card, but when I returned from the toilet, there was a small carafe of clear liquid and a tiny glass waiting on my table. A strange glass size for water, I thought—so I poured myself some.

It turned out to be chacha, a grape pomace brandy. Technically made from grapes, yes, but I hadn’t expected it to appear on the wine list. With an alcohol content usually between 40 and 60 percent, it was far too strong for my liking. I quickly Googled the drink and learned that, out of courtesy, you’re expected to drink at least three shots. By the third glass, I was toasting complete strangers who happened to be sitting within my line of sight.

I still don’t like chacha.

Thursday, 20 November

That day, I decided to stay in Tbilisi and go on a long hike. This journey wasn’t only about seeing as much of Georgia as possible; it was also a week for myself. I needed some physical exercise. For breakfast, I had the most common version of khachapuri: Imeretian khachapuri. More visually iconic is Adjarian khachapuri. They served me a full, round khachapuri rather than a few slices—far too much to finish for breakfast—so I had half of it packed up for lunch later that day.

As you can see, Tbilisi is surrounded by hills rising about 300 meters. It takes roughly half an hour to reach the trail, after which you can simply follow the ridge for as long as time allows. I continued until, by my own calculation, I had to turn back to make it home before dark.

It was just endless single-track trails and a few stray black dogs, both of them friendly.

Salobie Bia სალობიე ბია

Hidden beneath the Rustaveli National Theatre is the restaurant Salobie Bia—“Beanhouse Bia”—which offers a modern take on traditional recipes.

There are two main versions of this dish. Kharcho can be a soup made with beef, rice, cherry plum purée, and chopped walnuts, but in the Samegrelo region, Megrelian kharcho is prepared as a stew rather than a soup. Rice is omitted, and it is typically served over a bed of ghomi (Georgian polenta). At Salobie Bia, they served the Samegrelo version. It looked rather plain, but the recipe was perfectly executed.

I ordered homemade juice without realizing it would be served in a one-liter jar. It was hard to finish on my own. In Georgia, you have to be careful with portion sizes: many dishes are meant to be shared, so as a solo traveler it’s easy to order too much.

In Georgia, people are now being arrested for… wait for it… squeaking a rubber duck at the police. According to journalists on the ground, this is the only apparent reason for the arrest of Vano Skhirtladze at tonight’s protest. Day 358 of nonstop protests. 🎥 Levan Zazadze

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— Rusudan Djakeli (@rusudandjakeli.bsky.social) 20 November 2025 at 20:27

Next post: South-Ossetia

South Ossetia

During the week, I had booked a wine tour, which turned out to be difficult: November is a quiet month, and not many tours are available. When my booking was canceled, I quickly rearranged my itinerary and planned a visit to the South Ossetian border on Friday, 21 November. There was a train to Gori, but beyond that there was no public transport. Only a few hundred people live in border town Nikozi, so even a minibus doesn’t have enough passengers to run regularly. In Gori, I had to arrange a taxi for half the day.

In Gori, I quickly found a taxi and set off toward the border with South Ossetia. The mountains in the distance lay beyond Georgia. I wondered how many tourists would take this route that day.

Nikozi ზემო ნიქოზი

After half an hour, we reached Nikozi. The Zemo Nikozi Church of the Deity was first mentioned in a chronicle dating to around 800, written by the Georgian prince (eristavi) and historian Juansher, which refers to the appointment of a bishop by the 5th-century king Vakhtang Gorgasali. The current building dates largely from the 14th to the 16th centuries, while the tower was constructed in the 16th to 17th centuries.

Zemo Nikozi was the seat of the Bishopric of Nikozi, one of the oldest Christian dioceses in eastern Georgia. The church was of great importance in the 5th–7th centuries.

When I needed to negotiate a taxi for the day, there were five cars waiting. More or less at random, I ended up in a turn-of-the-century Opel Astra G—the driver was simply the first to roll down his window. I had estimated the cost at 80 lari; he quoted 60, so I agreed without haggling. The driver didn’t speak any English, but that didn’t bother me—or him.

The Zemo Nikozi church of the Archangel is a 10th-century Georgian Orthodox church. It is part of one of Georgia’s oldest Christian settlements and one of the few surviving medieval structures from that period and represents the architectural and ecclesiastical heritage of the time.

The photo below shows the close proximity of the Zemo Nikozi Church of the Archangel to the Zemo Nikozi Church of the Deity—just a few hundred meters apart. I hadn’t expected to see so many visitors at the church. As far as I could tell, it wasn’t a special Orthodox feast day; the visitors appeared to be regular believers, all local, arriving on foot.

Some fences around the farms were still riddled with shrapnel holes from Russian artillery that exploded in Nikozi in 2008. During the August 2008 Russo-Georgian War, artillery shelling by Russian and South Ossetian forces caused serious damage in and around the village. The Zemo Nikozi Church of the Deity complex was heavily damaged; emergency stabilization and repair work was later carried out with support from the Council of Europe.

The idea that Russia wants peace in the Russo-Ukrainian war is laughable. What Witkoff and Kushner are negotiating is not a peace deal, but at best a business arrangement. If Russia is rewarded for the invasions of 2014 and 2022, the world will be less secure for a generation.

While I was taking photos of the shrapnel-riddled walls, I heard a dull explosion in the distance. I’m no expert, but it sounded like a muffled artillery blast. Russian and South Ossetian forces continue to harass Georgia.

Ergneti ერგნეთი

To get even closer to the border, we drove back to the nearest bridge to cross the river and then headed north. In Ergneti, there was supposed to be a small war museum, which I wanted to see.

When we arrived, it became clear that my taxi driver hadn’t been here before. He wasn’t sure where the museum was, but a roadblock and several police officers made it clear we were only meters from the actual border. There was some conversation in Georgian between my taxi driver and the police, and a few men were standing in the road. As I approached, I heard: “Het is toch geen Nederlander?”

“Oh God, nee toch,” I replied.

I wasn’t the only tourist that day. I had to show one of the policemen my passport, after which we were allowed to visit the museum, located in the first house next to the border. The lady of the house opened the gate for us.

When the woman heard we were Dutch, she immediately mentioned the Dutch journalist and cameraman Stan Storimans. In 2008, he was killed during artillery shelling—not on the front line, but while standing in front of Gori’s city hall when a cluster bomb exploded. Eleven Georgian civilians were also killed in the blast. The cluster munition, consisting of twenty exploding submunitions, was delivered by an SS-26–type missile launched from the Russian Federation. Russia has never signed the Convention on Cluster Munitions (CCM), nor have the United States, China, India, Israel, or Ukraine.

Below Gori’s city hall in 2025.

The woman was the owner of the house and ran the museum herself. As I left the war museum, I heard more dull explosions in the distance.

“Rusi?” (Russian) I asked the taxi driver.

“Rusi,” he simply confirmed. Because my taxi driver was so relaxed and never rushed me, I tipped him an extra 20 lari.

The War Museum.

The Brotherhood

Back in Gori, I had lunch at the Brotherhood again. This time, I ordered kharcho (ხარჩო), made with beef, rice, cherry plum purée, and chopped walnuts. I also ordered some Imeruli (Imeretian) cheese, which I love and can’t find back home in the Netherlands. I emphasized that I wanted just a glass of wine, but they still brought me a full pitcher.

I wondered how Tbilisi has become such a popular tourist destination while part of Georgia remains at war with Russia.

Of course the situation is much more complicated in reality. The South Ossetians are a different ethnic group. They speak Ossetian, an Iranian language (related to Persian, not Georgian or Russian). North Ossetians live in North Ossetia–Alania, a republic within the Russian Federation. The conflict is not simply “Russians vs Georgians”, but involves a real minority population. And then you also have the Abkhazians living in Abkhazia, the disputed region on the northeastern coast of the Black Sea. Georgia considers Abkhazia as part of Georgia.

Georgian protester Elene Berikashvili was sentenced to administrative detention today along with several others. At rallies, she would read the police oath out loud for the officers. Today, her friend brought a speaker and played Elene’s recording for the police. Uninterrupted protest, day 359. ✊🇬🇪

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— Rusudan Djakeli (@rusudandjakeli.bsky.social) 21 November 2025 at 18:28

Last post: Turtle Lake

Turtle Lake

Back in Tbilisi

I arrived back in Tbilisi—and in a different world—by train. I didn’t need to buy anything, but I still lingered at the market in front of the railway station. When I travel, I love markets—it’s usually not the most affluent people who shop there. There were so many plastic Crocs clogs on display, but I already have three pairs at home.

On Friday evening, I ended up at the Aslan barbershop. I explained that I wanted a haircut and a tidy beard. Half an hour later, I found myself with cotton swabs sticking out of my nostrils and ears—a clever way to pull out hot wax used to remove stray hairs. Shortly after, a facial mask followed, and I realized I was getting the full treatment. I figured I was rich enough to pay and didn’t protest. In the end, it cost about half of what I would have paid back home.

On my last day, I decided to take a long city hike along the mountain ridge to Turtle Lake. I was simply curious to see the lake—no other reason. For breakfast, I had beans and porridge at Mtatsminda Park. When I arrived at 9 a.m., all the food places were still closed, and I had to wait almost an hour. On the trail, I knew there would be nothing to eat.

It was only half an hour farther than my hike on Thursday, but this time the walking felt much easier. Within a week, I had grown used to the hills. I brought some tap water and was hardly hungry—the beans and porridge had provided enough energy to last until late afternoon.

Because I stayed in the same apartment for the full eight nights, the journey felt more relaxed. I even had time to reflect on life. I realized that I don’t hike nearly as much as I used to. Working full-time, combined with the self-imposed obligation to visit my father every Saturday and help him maintain the house and garden, meant that the last time I could truly decide what to do with my weekends was before 2018. That was the year my mother was hospitalized for the first time, and since then I’ve dropped everything on weekends—except when I’m traveling.

Turtle Lake was underwhelming. I had expected a secluded high-mountain lake, but instead it was very much at city level and could be reached by car from the other side of the ridge. Still, the sun was shining, and even after a week the autumn temperatures remained around 20 degrees Celsius.

When I got back to the TV Tower, I caught the smell of a barbecue. With no need for more carbs, I ordered the classic tomato-and-cucumber salad with a crumbled walnut dressing. For meat, I chose a single skewer of pork, called mtsvadi, along with a glass of red wine. Mtsvadi is essentially the same as shashlik—the word shashlik even entered the Dutch language as sjasliek. At home, I own half-meter-long metal skewers, and once a year I indulge myself by roasting a skewer of pork.

Just fifteen minutes of climbing from my apartment, the Narikala Fortress towers over the Old City. The site was under construction at the time, so it was closed to visitors. According to legend, it was first built when Tbilisi was part of the Kingdom of Iberia (c. 302 BC–580 AD). Over the centuries, the fortress was captured by the Persians, then fell into the hands of the Umayyad Caliphate and later the Kingdom of Georgia (1008–1490). However, most of the structures visible today date from the 16th and 17th centuries.

Salobie Bia სალობიე ბია

17 Shota Rustaveli, Tbilisi

Because my lunch was postponed until the afternoon, I had my last dinner quite late. I went back to the Bean House on Rustaveli Avenue for a classic lobio, served with pickles. When it comes to longevity, this was probably the healthiest meal I ate in Georgia. Lobio can be flavored with adjika and walnuts. Adjika is made from red chili peppers, garlic, walnuts, fresh green coriander, dried coriander, summer savory, oil, white wine vinegar, and salt.

Every day, Georgian police carry out countless unlawful orders. Today, they suddenly decided that standing on the raised platform in front of Parliament is forbidden — and arrested young activist Sopo Markozia for simply being there. Day 360. 🎥 Tornike Jandieri

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— Rusudan Djakeli (@rusudandjakeli.bsky.social) 22 November 2025 at 18:36

On Sunday morning, my flight took off from Tbilisi. I left behind a city with increasingly restrictive laws against peaceful protest and a police force that was suppressing the daily demonstrations more and more aggressively. One day, a man was arrested for squeaking a rubber duck at the police; another day, a woman was arrested simply for standing on the sidewalk. In total, five Georgians are now being charged with “obstructing movement” for protesting peacefully on a sidewalk. Each faces up to 15 days of administrative detention and up to one year in prison for repeated “offenses.”

The Georgian courts are also keeping 61-year-old protester Zurab Menteshashvili in pretrial detention. He is being prosecuted criminally under Georgian Dream’s new repressive laws for “blocking the road”—meaning peacefully standing in the middle of Rustaveli Avenue during the daily protests.

This news hit protesters hard. According to a BBC investigation, the Georgian Dream regime used a World War I–era chemical agent called “camite” during last year’s protests.

Despite mass arrests, draconian laws, and heavy fines, Georgians continue to take to the streets every single day. At the time of writing, this marked day 394 of daily, uninterrupted protests in Georgia. I think they are all heroes.

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Napoli, contorni e dintorni

What is the first thing you do in Napoli? Order a caffè in the first bar down the street from your hotel, of course. The ritual is simple, yet feels like a rite de passage that allows you to become part of the city.

I had entertained the idea of visiting Sicily via Napoli for a couple of years. Pietro Nullamento, my neighbour in Amsterdam, was born in Napoli and migrated to the Netherlands in the 1970s. I helped him deal with Dutch authorities and utility companies because he never became fluent in Dutch. I liked his Neapolitan temper and hospitality. Sometimes he would open the door with a Caesar-style salute, stretching his arm out. Politically, he had sympathy for the communists.

His son Marco was always absent. One day he visited Pietro, borrowed his credit card, and then disappeared again, leaving Pietro with a huge debt. Pietro had to take out a bank loan at a lower interest rate, and for several years I had to schedule his monthly payments in the online banking system. I remember Pietro’s relief when he finally became debt-free. I even vowed I would hit Marco in the face if I ever met him.
An article in NRC explained that Marco had been homeless since the age of 27 and had struggled with a gambling addiction his entire adult life. Shortly after Pietro passed away, Marco took his own life in 2024 at the age of 43.

Visiting Napoli was a small hommage to Pietro who, despite being working class, was always proud of Italy’s great thinkers and writers — from Niccolò Machiavelli to Dante Alighieri.

“Napule è nu sole amaro - Naples is a bitter sun
Napule è addore ’e mare - Naples is the smell of the sea
Napule è ’na carta sporca - Naples is a dirty piece of paper
E nisciuno se n’importa - And no one cares
E ognuno aspetta ’a ciorta - And everyone waits for fate”

— Napule È, a 1977 song by Pino Daniele

Aperitivo

Certainly a moment I had anticipated for months: my first aperitivo in Napoli, another cultural ritual, the transition from day to evening. I found a place on Via Vergini in the neighborhood of Rione Sanità, once filled with noble palaces and baroque churches, now a working-class district. I watched the scooters drive by. Some children must have been born on a scooter; otherwise I cannot explain how well they balanced on the backseat or stood between the driver’s legs.

Antica Cantina Sepe
Via Vergini, 55, 80137 Napoli

Negroni sbagliato

In the 1950s, a large number of Italian guest workers came to the Netherlands—especially to Amsterdam and the working-class neighborhood of the Jordaan. The music inspired many artists from the Jordaan. When I hear this Neapolitan singer, I immediately think of singer André Hazes.

50 meters below ground

The city put a lot of effort into the metro stations. Some are quite magical. Toledo station opened in 2012. It was designed by the Spanish architect Óscar Tusquets Blanca in collaboration with artist William Kentridge. The water hall is covered in blue mosaics that create the sensation of being under the sea. Toledo lies 50 meters below Naples, making it one of the city’s deepest metro stations — though not as deep as Arsenalna on the Kyiv Metro in Ukraine, which is about 105 meters underground.

Pizzeria Pellone

Via Nazionale, 93, 80143 Napoli

In Napoli you don’t drink wine with pizza — Napoletani order beer. Pizzeria Pellone reminded me most of a German beer hall, with the same utilitarian atmosphere. This is not fine dining. Coincidentally, the draft beer served at Pizzeria Pellone is Helles from the Auerbräu Brauerei.

The classic: Margherita. Ingredients: pomodoro, fior di latte, formaggio, olio d’oliva e basilico. The cheese is fior di latte, which is made of cow’s milk and melts with less moisture compared to mozzarella di buffala.

Domenica 14 settembre

Having worked during the summer months an average of almost ten hours a day I couldn’t wake up early on the first day in Napoli. I had breakfast at 10:30 am, the classic: cappuccino and a pistachio cream filled cornetto. Simple, satisfying.

The metro station Chiaia is layered according to Roman mythological gods. When you get off the train hundreds of eyes stare at you from the ceiling: the red eyes of Pluto, god of the dead and the king of the underworld. When moving up the stairs of escalators you move through the layer of Proserpina, Queen of the Underworld, then the green of Ceres, next Il blu profound del mare of Neptunes, and finally the sky white and blue of Jupiter, just below the exit.

Leaving the metro station Chiaia you are indeed quite close to the seafront. I love how Italians make most of any tiny piece of access to the sea. I’d left my Speedo in my bag, so I had to wait until Sicily to submerge myself in the warm water.

Il blu profound del mare

Castel dell'Ovo

The Castel dell’Ovo was closed for renovation, but the small peninsula was still accessible, with a little marina and a few spots for aperitivo. The castle was named “Castel dell’Ovo” (“Castle of the Egg”) in medieval times, though it is much older. The Romans built a villa on the island in the 1st century BCE. During the Byzantine Empire, the site became a fortress, and in the 12th century the Normans turned it into a royal palace for the kings of Sicily.

I ordered a Campari Spritz just a stone’s throw from the yachts. I love its amaro taste and find an Aperol Spritz a bit too sweet for my liking.

Quartieri Spagnuoli

My ferry to Palermo was leaving at 8 p.m., so I didn’t have much time to explore the different neighborhoods of the city. I chose to visit the Quartieri Spagnoli (Spanish Barracks), which feels very much like a working-class district. A famous mural of Diego Maradona has turned into a full-blown place of pilgrimage.

Naples felt distinctly like a working-class city. Social mobility remains very low in southern Italy — in the more affluent northern provinces (like Milan), the probability of moving from the bottom 20% to the top 20% is estimated at 22%, while in some southern areas (such as Palermo), it drops below 6%.

Ristorante Amici Miei

Via Monte di Dio, 77/78, 80132 Napoli

I was almost too late for lunch at a typical Italian restaurant. It was supposed to close at 3 p.m. and reopen at 7:30 p.m., but they let me in just before closing. I settled for il piatto del giorno — pasta with slow-simmered onions and meat. It was a simple dish; the piece of meat was no more than 50 grams, but the flavor of the onions was amazing, especially paired with a glass of red wine.

The GNV ferry to Palermo takes about 11 hours. The 214-meter-long GNV Sirio, built in 2004, joined the GNV fleet in 2024. Deck 5 has 258 cabins, and I stayed in a four-berth cabin. On Deck 7 are the second-class seats.
When the Sirio left Napoli it was already dark, so I spent some time in the bar on Deck 6 before heading to bed. I had a small argument in the restaurant when they charged me twice for the same bottle of wine I’d bought earlier at the bar, but the manager resolved it by giving me another bottle instead of a refund.
Before going to sleep, I memorized the escape route to the upper decks in case of an emergency.

Palermo

The ferry arrived at 6:30 a.m. in the harbor of Palermo, just before sunrise. The check-in time at my hotel had changed from 2 p.m. to any time in the morning—except between 8:30 and 10 a.m., when the owner had to take her children to school. After a cappuccino and a cornetto, I hurried to the hotel.

“Plans should be ephemeral, so be prepared to move away from them.”

— Bourdain

Before each journey, I carry a motto in the back of my mind. This time it was the one above, by Anthony Bourdain. Never met the guy, but he feels like a kindred spirit. Because I wanted a hotel very close to the sea, in a spot not accessible by public transport, I had to plan each day and night in advance—something I normally don’t do. When there’s even a small change of plan, the whole house of cards can collapse. But so far, everything had gone according to plan.

Another fear I have before every trip is that my 91-year-old father might have a medical emergency the day before I leave or while I’m away. I’m always thinking about which flight I could take home if I needed to.

Mercato Ballarò

With just one night in Palermo and a morning train to catch, there was no time to lose. Lately, I hardly take the time to read up before my travels, so Palermo was a bit of a blank slate for me—except that I knew the markets were famous for their street food. It was still early when I wandered through the first market, Ballarò—one of Palermo’s oldest, with roots tracing back to the Arab domination of Sicily.

Any food market is a feast for my eyes. I can never actually shop for food, since my kitchen is in Amsterdam, but I always love looking at the market stalls. In the middle of the photo below is puntarelle—also called cicoria catalogna or catalogna chicory—and on the right, cicoria (wild chicory). I love leafy green vegetables and wish I could find more variety in Amsterdam. But they perish quickly, so it’s difficult to fly them in from far away.

Palermo Cathedral

I saw quite a lot of graffiti critical of tourism, and I can relate. I live in the centre of Amsterdam and see more tourists—including domestic tourists—than local residents when I step out my door. Because of this, I spend practically no time in local bars and have little sense of belonging in my neighbourhood.

Palermo’s port is projected to handle about 1.1 million cruise passengers in 2025, which is more than the city’s 625,000 residents. Then again, tourists spend money and are part of the economy.

Before eating anything, I came across a pomegranate juice stall. It’s hard to extract juice from a pomegranate, so a large glass set me back six euros. I’d never had pomegranate juice before—and it was incredible.

Mercato del Capo

Capo developed as one of the four historic markets of Palermo (the others being Ballarò, Vucciria, and Borgo Vecchio). It is located in the Seralcadio quarter of Palermo, which dates back to Arab rule.

A woman was frying fish. The fish are lightly coated in either Farina 00, Semolina flour or a half-half mix. Sicilian fried fish is never battered.

Citrus Gold Rush

When I saw the Teatro Massimo, built in 1897, and realized how enormous it is—the largest theater in Italy and one of the biggest in Europe—I understood that my preconception of Sicily as a poor country was only part of the picture.

The theater was constructed during the height of Sicilian emigration to the United States, between 1880 and 1924. Rural Sicilians were leaving their homeland because of land inequality, poverty, and widespread unemployment. In the decades before, lemons had become one of Sicily’s most profitable exports, making many families wealthy—wealthy enough to build a theater with a capacity of 3,000 (today reduced to 1,381 seats). But by the time it was completed, the lemon trade was already in decline.

There is evidence linking Mafia’s emergence to the 19th century lemon trade around Palermo. Wealthy landowners hired private guards (campieri) to protect their groves, oversee workers, and enforce deals — often through intimidation. These groups evolved into organized protection networks — the early mafia.

• Economist Diego Gambetta (in The Sicilian Mafia: The Business of Private Protection, 1993).

• Historian John Dickie (in Cosa Nostra, 2004).

Chiesa e Monastero di Santa Caterina d'Alessandria

The cannoli made by the monastery are famous, and you have to queue to enter the small shop and workshop where they’re assembled. The cannoli are enormous. I also bought a ticket to walk around the monastery, but I found it hard to reconcile the severed head of Jesus—and the many statues and paintings of his suffering—with the glorious sunshine outside.

For my peace of mind, I deliberately left out my fellow tourists. This journey wasn’t about people, but about finding both solace and solitude. The summer had been too chaotic at work; the weekends too short. I had spent too much time tending a garden that isn’t even mine. I wanted to have nothing on my mind except aperitivo and the blue sea.

La Vucciria

Another small Palermo market once included a slaughterhouse, which explains its name—likely derived from the French word boucherie. In recent decades, the market has transformed into a nightlife center, and I noticed plenty of small bars.

I also had my biggest food disappointment there: stigghiola. I had really looked forward to trying these barbecued meat skewers. The smell and flavor were good, but I simply couldn’t eat them—they were unbelievably chewy. I spent ten minutes chewing a single piece and calculated it would take me an hour and a half to finish the plate.

When ordering, I had asked which animal it came from—it was veal. But when I later checked the recipe, the skewers should have been quite tender: intestines filled with liver, onions, parsley—ingredients that shouldn’t be tough at all. Mine must have been made from meat with far too much connective tissue. Luckily, I’d ordered a cold beer on the side, so I just finished that instead.

Orto botanico di Palermo

Feeling not at all hungry in the afternoon and wanting to escape the tourists, I ended up in the botanical gardens. I asked ChatGPT to recommend a green, shady place, and it suggested the Palermo Botanical Gardens. Covering ten hectares, the gardens are quite large and were opened on their current site in 1795. The plant species are arranged according to Carl Linnaeus’s system of classification, divided into four quadrangles.

Quite special is the Ficus macrophylla, imported from Norfolk Island (Australia) in 1845. The photo doesn’t do its size justice—it’s far more impressive in real life. No other tree in Europe has foliage as large as this one.

La Cala

Even though I don’t lust after owning a yacht—or even a boat—I love spending time in marinas. This one has some very luxurious restaurants, but also a bar with a more relaxed vibe. Perfect for a cochineal-red Campari Spritz as an aperitif. Well, not really—Campari stopped using cochineal around 2006, so I suppose a Campari Spritz is now vegan.

Trattoria Trapani

P.za Giulio Cesare, 16, 90127 Palermo

Night falls quickly in Sicily in September. I found a simple trattoria; since I didn’t have a reservation, I had to share a table with a couple. I decided to go for the full three courses: antipasto, primo, secondo, and insalata.

But first they served me an unexpected amuse: Panelle (Sicilian chickpea fritters).

After the antipasto, I had a pasta alla Norma. By the time my secondo arrived—a thin slice of meat with a simple salad—I was already very full. To my shame, I could finish only a third of it. A wise lesson: never order antipasto, primo, and secondo in Italy—just go for two out of three.

After dinner, I lingered at a late-night gelateria near my hotel, but I was too full even for ice cream. The place was lively and crowded.

The next day, the intercity train to Roma Termini left at 10:15 a.m. I had to change trains in Messina to reach Catania. The carriages would be loaded onto a ferry to the Italian mainland. My train was scheduled to depart from platform 5.

Lido di Noto

This is not just a story about Lido di Noto, but also about Baroque Noto and the hilltop city of Antica Noto, founded by the Sicels—one of the pre-Greek peoples of Sicily. During the Arab domination of the island, it became an important fortified town until a catastrophic earthquake destroyed it in 1693.

A new Baroque city of Noto was rebuilt about eight kilometres downhill from the ancient hilltop site. I had booked a bed and breakfast in Lido di Noto, which Google Maps said was eight minutes from the beach on foot. I picked up my rental car in Catania and headed for the highway. When I arrived in Lido di Noto, it was clear Google Maps had made a mistake—the bed and breakfast Villa Tania was actually just one minute’s walk from the beach. The garden in front of the villa was a dream. I had to start keeping track of the dates; otherwise, I wouldn’t know which day to leave.

17 settembre

Spiaggia della Pizzuta

Exactly fifteen minutes on foot from Villa Tania was a small, secluded beach called Spiaggia della Pizzuta (Pizzuta Beach). It wasn’t deserted, but there were just few enough people to feel as if no one else was there. One morning, Pizzuta Beach really was deserted—I was the only one there.

Noto

It was a short drive to Noto, a beautiful Baroque city rebuilt from scratch after the earthquake. I arrived at that particular time in Italy when most shops close for a long lunch break. Fortunately, Noto attracts enough tourists for many restaurants to stay open. But first, it was time for caffè.

I’ve never owned one, but I’m a little obsessed with the first-generation Fiat Panda from 1980—though most of the Pandas still on the road today are from after the second facelift in 1991. I love the Panda because it’s so well suited to Italy’s narrow streets. It’s a case study in functional minimalism.

The Panda was designed at Italdesign by Giorgetto Giugiaro, based on the idea of an “honest design” — minimal ornamentation, clear geometry, and no wasted surfaces.

Your Sicily menswear starter pack: white shorts—ideally chinos without cargo pockets—and a blue-and-white vertically striped shirt. The first thing I did after returning from my trip was buy that same outfit: a shirt made mostly of linen with a touch of cotton, and a pair of white deck shorts.

A sandwich with a classic filling: fresh octopus, potatoes, and green olives. Sparkling water for me, since I was driving. After Noto, I headed straight back to the beach for an early evening swim. Most people carried an umbrella and a beach chair; I just had my Tunisian fouta.

Pasta con le sarde

It’s recognized as a traditional Italian food product under the Prodotto Agroalimentare Tradizionale (PAT) scheme of the Italian government. I ordered pasta con le sarde at the beach restaurant El Pampero in Lido di Noto. The flavor was far more complex than I had anticipated.

At home, I sometimes mix a can of sardines with pasta when I don’t have time to cook—but this was something else entirely. The dish combined sardines and anchovies with wild fennel, saffron, pine nuts, and raisins, and was finished with a topping of toasted breadcrumbs.

When people couldn’t afford sardines, they made pasta con le sarde a mare—literally, “pasta with sardines that are in the sea”—using only pine nuts and raisins instead.

18 settembre

Beachfront bars always look as if they belong in a movie scene. I had no fixed plans for the day, but I quickly knew I didn’t want to be anywhere but the beach.

Below the patio of Villa Tania. Today I didn’t touch the car, so I could enjoy red wine with a late breakfast—or an early lunch. I’d bought bread, cheese, and sausage at a local market. Around 3 p.m., I went back to the beach.

That day, there were waves and a strong current. There wasn’t much wind, so these were swells rather than wind waves. I couldn’t float peacefully in the water like on the first day, but the breaking waves reminded me of the North Sea. I dove into each one until a particularly hard breaker hit my ribs so forcefully that I had to retreat to my towel.

Un giorno mi comprerò una piccola sedia da spiaggia.

In the afternoon, it was time for a Negroni, which they made for me for seven euros. It tasted great—“the perfect drink,” as Bourdain once called the Negroni.

The best food spot near Villa Tania was a small stall run by an older couple. The wife grilled vegetables right outside on the street. They sold fruit, bread, drinks, olives, and their own freshly grilled vegetables.

Onions are very popular in Sicily and widely used in local cooking. For Cipuddata Siciliana (Sicilian Onion Stew), you’ll need sliced white or yellow onions, olive oil, a few ripe tomatoes, capers, green olives, sugar, and white wine vinegar.

First, cook the onions for about 20 minutes. Then stir in the tomatoes, capers, and olives, and cook for another 10 minutes. Finally, add the vinegar and sugar—or just vinegar—and let it simmer for another 5 to 10 minutes.

There were so many beachfront bars and restaurants to choose from. I finally had a granita al limone. Real Sicilian granita is slowly stirred as it freezes. The technique dates back to Arab rule in Sicily, when ice from Mount Etna was stored in stone cellars (neviere) and flavored with fruit juices.

Granita al limone

19 settembre

I finally managed to wake up before sunrise. I also wanted an early start so I could take a morning swim and still have time to visit Noto Antica on the hilltop. The sea was still rough, with long, rolling swells.

After my morning swim, it was time for a cappuccino at a small bar. The poor man had an average of one star on Google Reviews because he refused electronic payments. I gave him a five-star review for his excellent cappuccino, which brought his average up to 1.7 stars. I doubt he’s ever read his Google reviews.

Noto Antica

It was only 14 kilometres from Lido di Noto, but the road was winding and at times barely wide enough for one car. Luckily, there was no oncoming traffic—I had no idea who would have had to reverse for a kilometre on a curvy mountain road. At one roundabout, my navigation reacted too slowly, and I took the wrong turn. After a few kilometres, it wanted me to drive up a walking path—that’s when I knew I had to turn around.

The fortified castle of Noto Antica was under renovation, but the rest of the site feels like an open-air museum. There’s no entrance fee—you can walk the entire distance of the ancient city, or what remains of it. Hidden among the bushes, and sometimes in plain sight, are the ruins of buildings destroyed more than 300 years ago.

All the way down the hill was the old tannery (concerie in Italian). Water was essential for the tanning process, so the path led from the ancient city down to a creek below. There wasn’t much to see, so I walked back up. I drove back to Noto to visit the city for the second time.

My trusty rental car. It came with plenty of dents, the foam padding of the driver’s seat was showing, and it had well over 230,000 kilometres on the clock. I don’t like the design of the Ford Ka, but with so many dents already, I wasn’t too worried about adding another.

In fifth gear, a little upward arrow kept reminding me to shift into a higher gear—but there wasn’t a sixth gear. Very puzzling. Then an orange warning light came on, but I couldn’t be bothered to look up what it meant. It showed a light bulb and didn’t look particularly menacing.

Planned Baroque city grid

From the Noto city map dated at the start of the 18th century it is clear to see its street grid, axes, and piazzas, churches, palazzi were carefully pre-planned — not grown incrementally. The city’s plan embodies the Enlightenment ideal of order and rationality. Interestingly the city has some elements of plot-based principles because plots were subdivided, sold, or built on according to local needs and finances. Noto is a planned urban fabric with plot-based infill and adaptation over time.

The granita al caffè is often served for breakfast and accompanied by a brioche bun making a classic colazione siciliana. I had mine like a German Eiskaffee in the afternoon.

A Country for Old Men

The last afternoon at the beach. The waves were still breaking hard, and the shore remained empty, with no children in sight. In September, Sicily feels like a country for old men—and I was content with the solitude.

I took great pleasure in walking along the dusty, rocky single tracks by the coast in just my Speedo and flip-flops, with my towel, shirt, and shorts tucked away in a small backpack.

Tania, the owner of Villa Tania.

It took a while before I had my first arancino, the local rice cone. They’re filled with ragù and are surprisingly tasty and complex. This one was sold—and perhaps made—by the couple with the food stall near the villa.

Lido di Noto under Fascist Italy

Mussolini’s government was eager to showcase Italy as a modern, disciplined, and powerful nation. Urban planning, new towns (città di fondazione), and the development of seaside resorts were part of this effort. Beaches and coastal leisure areas were framed as spaces for both health and social order. Sicily, often regarded as peripheral and underdeveloped, was targeted by Fascist initiatives to "modernize" and integrate it more fully into the national identity. Establishing organized seaside resorts such as Lido di Noto fit into this broader agenda of modernization and control. The establishment of Lido di Noto in the 1930s wasn’t just a local development. It fit into Fascist Italy’s broader political project: to reshape Italian life through modernization, mass leisure, and a controlled but appealing public culturethat could strengthen national unity and the image of the regime.

The same location in 2025 compared to 1935.

Catánia

20 settembre

I can’t really explain why, but I preferred Catania over Palermo. Catania was founded in the 8th century BC by Chalcidian Greeks and has endured so many natural disasters that it’s a miracle the city still exists. It shares the same late Baroque architecture as Noto, having also been heavily damaged in the 1693 earthquake. Later, during the Second World War, it was bombed in eighty-seven air raids by the Allied forces. Its proximity to the active volcano Etna doesn’t help either.

I had to drop off my rental car at the rental office, which was located in the ancient city center. Quite an inconvenient spot for a rental company—but also fun, because you get to drive with the windows down so you can gesture easily when things go wrong. Of course, my navigation lagged once again, and I ended up driving uncomfortably close to terraces packed with chairs and tables.

Pentolaccia Trattoria

Via Coppola, 30, 95131 Catania

This trattoria was a gem. The antipasto piccolo—with grilled and stewed vegetables, fresh cheese, and olives—was the best thing I tasted on my journey. I don’t know how they did it. The green leaves were local wild chicory.

The Fritto Misto was also perfect.

Tiramisu

I’d planned to get a haircut on this trip, but a Negroni got in the way.

The culprit: “l’Americano alla maniera del conte Negroni”.

The Negroni was invented in Florence around 1919 or 1920 at Caffè Casoni by Count Camillo Negroni. He used to drink an Americano—made with Campari, sweet vermouth, and soda water—but one day he asked the bartender to make it stronger by replacing the soda with gin.

In Catania, I had even less time than in Palermo or Naples. My room near the airport wasn’t available before 2 p.m., and my gate closed at 6:15 a.m. the next morning, so I had to wake up very early to catch my KLM flight to Milan and then on to Amsterdam. Between the Negroni and a G&T, I wandered around, eating gelato and exploring as many streets as I could.

After the Negroni, I hadn’t planned on ordering a second drink, so there was still hope for a haircut. But when I sat down for a simple glass of white wine, I noticed the drink of an English lady nearby. She convinced me it was a very special local gin and that I had to try it. So I told the waitress, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The red military jet trainer, an Aermacchi MB-326, stands near Catania Airport—close to my room for the night. In the background was Caffè Parisi. I couldn’t believe it when I walked to the airport in the very early hours: the bar was already open, serving coffee and bread. According to Google, they’re open seven days a week, from 3:45 a.m. to 11:15 p.m.

North of Little Italy

Visiting the United States had been on my mind for quite some time. I found it almost absurd that I had never set foot in one of the most influential countries in the world. When Donald Trump was re-elected in November 2024, the idea took on a new urgency. Since the election, I had been spending more than four hours a day following the news from the U.S.—I needed to see it for myself. Because I didn’t feel like renting a car, choosing to visit New York and Washington D.C. was an easy decision.

The plane ticket was relatively inexpensive, but my first hotel—while modest by New York standards—still felt quite pricey. I found the name The Nolita Express amusing at first, though I later realized it likely had no connection to Jeffrey Epstein’s infamous Boeing 727. ‘Nolita’ stands for North of Little Italy, a neighborhood in Lower Manhattan. My room was barely larger than the bed itself—more of a ‘pod’ than a traditional hotel room. I think I transferred from the E train to the F train, getting off at 2nd Avenue to reach my ‘pod’.

I arrived early in the afternoon and didn’t waste any time. After dropping my bag at The Nolita Express, I walked through SoHo (South of Houston Street) straight to Ground Zero—officially known as the World Trade Center site. I remember exactly where I was on September 11, 2001. It was an attack that changed the course of world history. Without it, there likely would have been no ‘war on terror,’ no 2003 invasion of Iraq, and no two-decade war in Afghanistan from 2001 to 2021. But that’s the unpredictability of history: if there hadn’t been U.S. troops stationed in Saudi Arabia after Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait in 1990, Osama bin Laden might never have targeted the United States and the Twin Towers would still be there.

Reflecting Absence, by architect Michael Arad of Handel Architects and landscape architect Peter Walker, is the name of the memorial in Manhattan. It consists of a North and South Pool on the exact footprints of the Twin Towers. I was moved by the serenity. Later I realised the similarity of the Inslagpunt (Point of impact) part of Het groeiend monument of the El Al Flight 1862 crash, which destroyed my apartment in 1992. See the photo below.

Point of impact.

“We are the 99%”

After visiting Ground Zero, I wandered into Zuccotti Park—which, with no grass, feels more like a square. Its proximity to the World Trade Center made it a focal point for the Occupy Wall Street movement in 2011. Around the same time, the Tea Party was gaining momentum within the Republican Party. Fiscally conservative and opposed to big government, the movement rallied strongly against the Obama administration. In 2016, Donald Trump seized the moment, praising the Tea Party and earning the support of many of its members. While Occupy Wall Street helped pave the way for progressive activism, both movements—despite their differences—seem rooted in the same crisis of legitimacy.

Navigating Manhattan

Whenever I arrive in a new city, my first instinct is to get a sense of the space I’m in. Manhattan alone has about 1.7 million residents and measures roughly 21 kilometers long by 3 kilometers wide. The Dutch colony of New Netherland was established in 1614, when fur trader Juan Rodriguez began trading with Indigenous peoples as a representative of the Dutch. However, it wasn’t until 1624 that Peter Minuit acquired the land now known as Manhattan, and in 1625, the city of Amsterdam in New Netherland was officially founded. Below is a map of New Amsterdam overlaid on a satellite image of modern Manhattan—it corresponds roughly to today’s Financial District.

My hotel was in Nolita, Lower Manhattan, just below 14th Street, bordering the Bowery, SoHo, Little Italy, and Chinatown. Within walking distance are the East Village, Ukrainian Village, and countless other overlapping neighborhoods. These areas aren’t officially defined and tend to shift over time—neighborhood names in Manhattan are more of a colorful, informal way to navigate the city. By early evening, my biological clock was still set to midnight in Amsterdam, so to wrap up my first day, I headed to Chinatown in search of some cheap Chinese food.

Chinatown

I noticed Shanghai noodles with beef tripe on the menu. “Are you sure you want to order this?” the waitress asked. “Most people don’t like it.” I settled the matter by telling her I’d been to China.

After dinner, my head was spinning from lack of sleep. I stumbled upon the first “Made in China” Trump statues and spotted a T-shirt that read “New York Fuckin’ City.” It all seemed to vibe with my first impressions. I loved New York from the moment I stepped off the subway.

Zero-sum game

My ideal vision of politics is one of mutual benefit. But in the mind of a Manhattan real estate developer, politics becomes a zero-sum game: “If I win, you must lose.” This mindset inevitably leads to polarization—something we’re witnessing today. When I saw a mural in Nolita depicting Rich Uncle Pennybags, also known as Mr. Monopoly, it struck me as perfectly symbolic. The game Monopoly actually predates its commercial release by Parker Brothers. It was originally invented by Elizabeth Magie, a Virginia-born follower of political economist Henry George. She created The Landlord’s Game in 1904 to illustrate the dangers of land monopolies and unchecked capitalism.

No soup for you!

On my first full day in Manhattan, I woke up early and, just after sunrise—at 6:10 a.m.—reached the Brooklyn Bridge on foot. It was too early for breakfast, but the bridge was already glowing in the morning sun. Generation Z was out in full force, setting up tripods for the TikTok posts they were undoubtedly filming. Below the bridge there was barely any traffic.

Ukrainian Village

I spotted Ukrainian Village on Google Maps and it seemed like the perfect spot for breakfast. But when I arrived in East Village, it was still too early—Veselka, the Ukrainian restaurant I had in mind, didn’t open until 8 a.m. So I spent an hour wandering the neighborhood. I sat down in Tompkins Square Park and was amazed how peaceful it was in the morning.

A Green Thumb Community garden in East Village.

Make borscht, not war

I hesitated when I saw the prices, but quickly realized it was going to be expensive no matter what. I ordered the breakfast with eggs, dill, and buckwheat, along with a black coffee—and, of course, I had to try the “world-famous pierogi.” Afterwards, I had a bit of a Larry David moment when I told the owner I thought the combination of pierogi and chipotle sauce was a bit odd. I probably should’ve just agreed with him they were the “best pierogi in the world”—except they weren’t. Still, I appreciated the breakfast and the endless coffee refills, so I left Veselka buzzing from the caffeine.

“Was That Wrong? Should I Not Have Done That?”

New York Subway signs

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On my way to the Intrepid Museum, I passed through Times Square in the morning and noticed a 12-foot (3.6-meter) statue of an anonymous Black woman. I instinctively took a photo, and later learned that the artist was Thomas J Price, a London-based sculptor who had created a similar statue in Rotterdam, the Netherlands. Unsurprisingly, the sculpture in New York sparked the same kinds of reactions as it had in Rotterdam. Jesse Watters, Fox News host, remarked on his show: “This is what they want us to aspire to be? If you work hard you can be overweight and anonymous? It’s a D.E.I. statue”. Another Fox News columnist wrote: “Are there no notable Black women who actually exist to celebrate? How about a giant Condoleezza Rice?”.

The sculptor Thomas Price wrote in 2020: “if you’re a Black person being represented in sculpture, you don’t have to be an athlete, or strike a pose, or fulfill an expectation.” When an artist strikes a vein, it means they must be creating something meaningful. I personally like his work.

Pax Americana

My journey to the United States was inspired by the geopolitical dangers unleashed by the MAGA movement. The era of Pax Americana, which benefited Europe for decades, is coming to an end. Of course, Pax Americana wasn’t so great if you were a farmer in eastern Cambodia in the late 1960s and early 1970s, or living in Hanoi in 1972. The Truman Doctrine of 1947 marked the beginning of the world order I grew up in.
When the Soviet Union dissolved in 1991, we entered what Francis Fukuyama called the “End of History”—the supposed worldwide triumph of liberal democracy. However, this vision failed to account for the rise of religious movements, especially in the Islamic world. This became clear on September 11, 2001. But Washington was also caught off guard by the Islamic Revolution of 1979 in Iran.

By 2025, even in the United States, the concept of liberal democracy is under threat. Donald Trump, in particular, seems to aspire to rule more like a king than a president limited by the U.S. Constitution.

I planned to visit the Intrepid Museum, centered around the USS Intrepid (CV-11), an aircraft carrier built during World War II. In the postwar era, the Intrepid served in various roles and participated in multiple NATO exercises. Decommissioned in 1974, it has operated as a museum since 1982.

While waiting in line, I struck up a conversation with a retired New Yorker who had visited the museum a dozen times. I joked that I had come to New York to reclaim New Amsterdam. “Well, good luck with that!” he replied, with a thick New York accent.
He gave me a great tip: visit the USS Growler (SSG-577) submarine first, as the lines to enter can grow extremely long later in the day. The Growler was an early cruise missile submarine, designed to carry and launch the Regulus I missile—a direct descendant of the German V-1.

The missile was named after the Latin word regulus, meaning “basilisk,” a mythical dragon. Regulus is also the name of the brightest star in the constellation Leo. The warhead was a Mark 5 nuclear bomb—one of only 140 ever built. I wish I could be a pacifist, but I’m a realist: military deterrence is necessary because there will always be bad actors in the world.

On the Hanger Deck some unique war planes are exhibited including a Grumman TBM-3E Avenger torpedo bomber, a FG-1D Corsair, and many more.

Everyone entering the special Space Shuttle Enterprise exhibition was photographed. “How many?” the photographer asked. I looked behind me and replied, “I’m the Lone Ranger.” So I posed in front of the green screen, and later, after scanning the QR code, I took a screenshot of the preview image and vowed never to buy low rise pants again..

The original Enterprise.

Shrimp and sausage gumbo

When I think of New York, I think of Seinfeld—a defining comedy series for me in the 1990s It wasn’t until later that I discovered Larry David was one of the creative forces behind the show. Hearing him deliver a hilarious tribute to Mel Brooks gave me a deeper sense of the New York comedy scene and its roots.

Mel Brooks, born Melvin Kaminsky, had a rich background—his mother was born in Kyiv, and his father’s family came from Gdańsk. Larry David’s mother was from Ternopil, now part of Ukraine. Even Jerry Seinfeld has a fascinating heritage: his father was of Hungarian Jewish descent, while his mother’s grandparents came from Aleppo, giving him a Syrian Jewish lineage.

One of the most famous Seinfeld episodes is “The Soup Nazi”—Season 7, Episode 6, which aired in 1995. In it, Jerry discovers a soup stand that serves incredibly delicious soups. The only catch? The owner, Yev Kassem, is notoriously strict about how customers place their orders. One misstep, and it’s: “No soup for you!”

As it turns out, the original soup stand is still in operation, though the original owner is now 30 years older and the place is run by different staff. Not sure if the episode was actually filmed in the soup stand or was just inspired by it. The soups, however, remain just as delicious. I ordered a small shrimp and sausage gumbo for $9. It came in a brown paper bag, along with a piece of fresh fruit and a tiny mint chocolate.

After lunch, I returned to my hotel “pod” to drop off the souvenirs I’d picked up at the Intrepid Museum, then spent the afternoon wandering around SoHo and its surrounding neighborhoods.

“Eat a Knish”

New York is known for its rich Jewish heritage, so I was pleased to discover that Yonah Schimmel’s Knish Bakery—located at 137 East Houston Street and established in 1910—was just a short walk from my hotel. It was 3:30 p.m., the perfect time to try a knish.

I wasn’t very familiar with knishes. In Amsterdam, the Jewish population was historically made up mainly of Sephardic refugees from Spain and Portugal, followed later by Ashkenazi Jews from Central and Eastern Europe. While the word knish is Yiddish with Slavic roots, it never quite caught on in Amsterdam—though pickled cucumbers and onions certainly did.

Knishes come in both savory and sweet varieties. I figured a savory kasha knish would be the most authentic—kasha being buckwheat. It was hearty and filling, which was perfect, since I wouldn’t be eating again until much later, after my Broadway comedy show. More on that below.

I spent quite a bit of time wandering around SoHo, short for South of Houston Street. The neighborhood has a great atmosphere, with plenty of small local boutiques, bustling with tourists and serious fashionistas. I loved it.

After exploring SoHo, I took the uptown subway to Bryant Park, located between West 40th and West 42nd Street. Manhattan’s street system is fairly logical. Generally, the west–east streets are numbered—the higher the number, the farther north you are.

There are exceptions in Lower Manhattan, where many streets have historical names like Wall Street, Prince Street, or Houston Street. Numbered streets begin in the East Village with East 1st Street. Streets east of Central Park are prefixed with an “E,” while those to the west get a “W.” If you’re heading north by subway, you’re going uptown; if you’re heading south, you’re going downtown.

The north–south roads are also numbered but are called avenues. Still, there are exceptions—10th Avenue, for instance, becomes Amsterdam Avenue around West 60th Street.

Bryant Park is wonderful—free chairs are scattered around for anyone to use. I paid an eye-watering amount for a freshly squeezed cane sugar juice and struck up a conversation with a man reading a book. Books are great conversation starters; I often pretend to decipher the title, which usually prompts the reader to start talking about it.

He turned out to be on the community board of the Bronx Community College campus and was a history enthusiast. I told him about the 1:87 scale model of historic New Amsterdam that my employer is building—a project currently stalled due to lack of funding.

I thought it would be a good idea to visit a comedy club in the evening—maybe I’d witness the talent of tomorrow. More or less at random, I came across the website for the Broadway Comedy Club. With few other options available, I bought a ticket for the early show, which came to about $30 including fees.

When I arrived early, I was the only one in the room, and I began to worry I’d be the lone member of the audience. But about ten minutes before the show started, the room began to fill. Staff pulled a curtain across the back to hide the empty seats, and soon the space felt full.

The billed comedians were Spencer Wright, Drew Tessier, Ali Mehedi, Harrison Greenbaum, and Al Lubel. Spencer Wright served as MC. I definitely didn’t see Al Lubel perform—instead, a comedian from Trinidad took the stage, possibly as a last-minute replacement. Ali Mehedi appeared to be the biggest name on the lineup.

Two drinks were mandatory, and even a simple beer cost $11. I opted for two cocktails instead, since they were the same price as beer.

As for the show itself, the comedians weren’t particularly strong. I’m not saying none of the jokes landed, but most felt lazy. It’s just too easy to ask an audience member “are you from India?” and run with this.

Who is this guy?

Drew Tessier

Thanks to the two-drink minimum rule, I ended up having one gin-based cocktail too many and stumbled toward Times Square, feeling very hungry. I grabbed two pizza slices from a street vendor—which turned out to be the worst pizza I can remember. One was even drizzled with a sugary syrup. If you think pineapple on pizza is a mortal sin, this was definitely worse.

New York’s Times Square is a world-famous entertainment hub. It’s fun to spend some time there as a one-off experience, but it’s best to avoid it afterwards. The area is crowded and filled with people dressed as Disney characters and, I assume, King Kong. While it feels very safe—posing with these costumed characters can lead to attempts to wrestle money from you. But I did see the Naked Cowboy in his underwear playing guitar.

Taking the New York subway at night in Manhattan feels completely safe, despite how some right-wing media, like Fox News, try to discourage people from using public transportation. Those right-wing populists are some of the most fragile and fearful people.

“If you’re liberal, they want you to take public transportation ... the problem is that it’s dirty. You have criminals. It’s homeless shelters. It’s insane asylums. It’s a work ground for the criminal element of the city to prey upon the good people.”

— U.S. Transportation Secretary Sean Duffy on Fox News

Trump Tower and Harlem

After two nights in the city, I still hadn’t visited Central Park. My mother bought the 1982 album The Concert in Central Park by Simon & Garfunkel, so I’d been familiar with the park from an early age. The park itself is amazing—and so narrow that you can easily step out for breakfast and slip right back in, which is exactly what I did to grab a bagel in the morning.

Peaceful early morning reflections in Central Park. It is also a reflection on the Stone Mind koan.

Orwashers Bakery

I opted for another well-established bakery for breakfast: Orwashers, founded in 1916 by a Hungarian immigrant family. They now have several locations, and I visited the one on the Upper West Side at 440 Amsterdam Avenue, near the corner of W 81st Street.

Eating a bagel with a view.

I ordered a classic New York–style bagel filled with schmear and lox (brined salmon). The bagel, which has Polish origins, became incredibly popular in New York. In fact, by the early 1910s, bagel bakers in Manhattan had their own union representing over 300 craftsmen. I wasn’t disappointed—my 2025 bagel was undoubtedly a more luxurious version of the original.

The weather was beautiful, and I realized that New York was much cleaner and more pleasant than I had imagined. This was partly thanks to a new congestion fee introduced in January 2025 for the area south of 61st Street—charging $9 per car, depending on the time of day. By the time I visited, the city had nearly five months of data evaluating the success of the Congestion Relief Zone. The program is on track to provide $500 million that was initially projected. The revenue will be used to improve the subway, buy new rolling stock, and invest in zero-emission buses.

In February the Trump administration said it was rescinding federal approval of New York City's congestion pricing program. The program was approved in the final months of former President Joe Biden's administration.

Trump Tower

I had learned that you could visit Trump Tower on Fifth Avenue in Midtown Manhattan for free—and I wasn’t about to give the Trump family a single dime. I had to smirk when I found out why entry is free: in exchange for providing privately owned public spaces (POPS), Trump received a floor area ratio (FAR) zoning bonus that allowed him to add several extra floors to the building. By city law, POPS must be accessible from the street, offer seating, and not require any purchase. I’m sure he’d love to charge admission.

So, I wandered in, rode the famous escalator a few times, marveled at the golf balls in the Trump-branded store, and decided to use the publicly accessible restrooms, which had only two gender options. In 2025 Trump Tower, with its oversized American flags, feels dystopian.

The event which should have never led to success: Trump’s presidential campaign announcement in 2015.

Strangely, there was another souvenir shop inside Trump Tower—not the upscale store selling golf apparel, but a separate shop filled with the tackiest, cheaply made trinkets from China.

“Drain the swamp: remove entrenched bureaucrats and root out internal threats”

— The 4th Trump Commandment

Pink marble all over the public restrooms.

Executive Order 14168
Section 2.  Policy and Definitions. It is the policy of the United States to recognize two sexes, male and female. These sexes are not changeable and are grounded in fundamental and incontrovertible reality. - January 20, 2025.

Corner of W 55th Street and 5th Avenue.

Harlem

Harlem has a very distinct vibe. Although it’s part of Upper Manhattan, it feels like a different world. Originally, the area attracted poor Jewish and Italian immigrants, but that changed with the Great Migration of African Americans beginning in the 1910s. In 1910, only about 10% of Central Harlem’s population was Black; by 1930, that number had risen to 70%. The Great Depression hit Harlem hard, and the neighborhood has long struggled with issues related to education, poverty, and employment. In recent years, Harlem has begun to be revitalized through gentrification—a process that is neutral in theory, but often results in rising housing costs and shifts in the cultural landscape.

“To the genocidal gentrifiers, Harlem is still a Ghetto”

— Sign outside the Atlah World Missionary Church

I spent some time in Marcus Garvey Park in Harlem, where people were blasting loud hip-hop music. The National Jazz Museum was closed—it was a Monday—and I found myself contemplating what to do next. The list of influential figures who were either born in Harlem or left their mark on it is long: Tupac Shakur, Q-Tip (A Tribe Called Quest), Kurtis Blow, Puff Daddy, Nina Simone, James Baldwin, George Carlin, Louis Armstrong, Count Basie, and Duke Ellington, to name a few. Even Marcus Garvey himself once stayed in Harlem.

The ATLAH World Missionary Church is led by an extremist pastor who believed in 2014 that Barack Obama was a muslim and not legally president. The church is located in the former Harlem Club building from 1889. In the late 19th century Harlem was a vibrant suburb for well-to-do Victorian gentlemen, but quite far from the club district. The Harlem Club attracted bankers, brokers, lawyers, and merchants. The building has been in use as a church since 1935.

When I spotted a Ghanaian restaurant, I abandoned my plan to get soul food—I was suddenly set on a Ghanaian soup with fufu. The place was tiny and didn’t have a restroom, so I spent half an hour wandering through Harlem in search of a public toilet. It was impossible to find one, so I ended up buying a $5 aluminum bottle of water at Chipotle just to get the restroom access code. At least after that, I could finally sit down at Accra Express and enjoy my soup in peace.

I ordered the yam fufu—as opposed to plantain fufu—and an egusi soup with mixed meat. Egusi refers to the seeds of a plant from the gourd family, Melothria sphaerocarpa, known as egusi in Yoruba. The Ga language of Ghana borrows the word from Yoruba. I’ve never been to Ghana or Nigeria, but I’m confident this egusi soup was as good as anything you could find in West Africa.

From Harlem I walked all the way down to 59th Street, where I caught the subway to the area near Madison Square Park.

I had to travel all the way to New York to discover the Indian vegetarian restaurant chain Saravanaa Bhavan—only to find out it’s also located in Amsterdam. But when I looked at the Amsterdam menu, I noticed it’s quite different from the one in New York. They don’t serve a thali plate there, which is a shame.

South Indian Thali $24.49
Rice, chapati, sambar, rasam, korma, kootu, poriyal, special kuzhambu, curd, raitha, sweet pachadi, papad, pickle and sweet.

It is crazy to realise the Empire State Building held the title the tallest building in the world from its completion in 1931 until 1971. After visiting the Canton Tower in Guangzhou—briefly the tallest building in the world between 2009 and 2011—I’ve felt no urge to visit tall buildings. The elevator rides are expensive, and the views are not much different from what I see when looking out of an airplane window during takeoff. I can’t be bothered.

I spent the last hour of daylight in Madison Square Park. Manhattan’s smaller parks are absolutely wonderful. The iconic Flatiron Building is located there as well, though it’s currently under construction and wrapped in black cloth.

Washington DC

It was time to leave New York and head to Washington, D.C. That day, it was raining heavily—which wasn’t so bad, since I’d be spending half the day on a train. The ride on the Northeast Regional was pleasant. The Amfleet I passenger cars, though definitely old-school, were comfortable. First introduced in 1973, these cars are now over fifty years old! The locomotives, however, are modern Siemens ACS-64’s.

Moynihan Train Hall at Penn Station was fairly standard. Unfortunately, there was nowhere to sit— not even at the Starbucks in the corridor leading to the train hall. The food court seating wasn’t accessible early in the morning either. I don’t like the American grab-and-go food culture.

The 1973 Amfleet I passenger cars.

Upon arrival, I walked from Washington Union Station to Chinatown in search of a cheap meal. By the time I got there, I was soaked—I had completely underestimated the amount of rain. Fortunately, the restaurant had rice congee on the menu, which was exactly what I needed. It was served in plastic containers, with plastic cutlery and soy sauce packets. Why so much plastic?

My bed in the U Street Hostel in U Street Corridor was indeed a capsule. I had to leave my suitcase outside the capsule because there was really no space. Other than that, it’s comfortable. No electrical socket but an USB-A type charger. After checking in I walked around in the rain but I became too cold, found a bookshop and bought The Constitution of the United States and The Mighty and the Almighty: Reflections on America, God, and World Affairs, a 2006 memoir written by Madeleine Albright. I spent a few hours reading before falling asleep.

My capsule hostel was not far from Howard University. I tried to visit the Barnes & Noble located in the university building, but it had closed hours earlier than the posted time. Howard University is a Historically Black College and University (HBCU). This means it was founded before 1964 with the primary mission of educating African American students at a time when they were largely excluded from most other universities and institutions of learning.

I hadn’t realized how deep Washington’s African American history runs. In 1970, over 71% of the city’s population identified as Black. By 2000, that percentage had dropped to just over 40%. This shift is part of what’s known as the New Great Migration—a reversal of the previous 60-year trend of Black Americans moving north, with many now returning to the South.

Smithsonian Institution

On my first day in Washington, the weather was dry, but the morning began with low-hanging clouds. I spent some time walking around the National Mall, as it was still too early to visit the Smithsonian’s National Air and Space Museum, which was high on my list.

I had some time to track down the filming location of the ‘Department of Pre-Crime’ from Minority Report, which was shot at the Reagan Trade Center on Pennsylvania Avenue. We’re not quite living in that science fiction future yet, but modern artificial intelligence algorithms, when applied to government data, can lead to similar outcomes. U.S. citizens are likely already living in that once-futuristic timeline.

Smithsonian's National Air and Space Museum

This museum is absolutely mind-blowing. It holds so many iconic originals: the 1903 Wright Flyer, the Apollo 11 Command Module used by Buzz Aldrin, Michael Collins, and Neil Armstrong during the first lunar landing, moon rocks, and much more. Watching the timeline of the Apollo program—interspersed with music from the 1960s—it was hard not to get emotional. The first moon landing took place just a few months before I was born. My mother, seven months pregnant with me, probably didn’t even have access to a television. My parents were living in Doha, Qatar. What was the biggest miracle of July 1969?

The 1903 Wright Flyer.

It took just six years to develop the first military version of the Wright Flyer: the 1909 Wright Military Flyer, the world’s first military airplane. This is humanity at its worst. The military has always been quick to adopt new inventions. Coincidentally, there were also only six years between the discovery of nuclear fission in 1938 and the first detonation of a nuclear bomb.

The 1909 Wright Military Flyer.

Moon rock.

Koshari

I was lucky that day—there was a food market at the Reagan Trade Center on Pennsylvania Avenue. After checking out the other stalls, I knew I had to try the koshari. These guys had all three traditional sauces: a mild tomato sauce, da’ah (a tangy garlic-vinegar sauce), and shatta (a chili-garlic sauce). Most online recipes only include the tomato sauce. Best of all, they offered karkadeh, the hibiscus drink popular across the Arab world. I ordered it in Arabic, which they noticed. I held back on the ice and was glad it wasn’t overly sweet. The koshari was exceptionally good. I first drank karkadeh in the former North Eastern Province of Kenya, which is predominantly inhabited by ethnic Somalis.

The White House

It would feel strange not to walk up to the White House, even though you can’t get very close. The first president I remember was Jimmy Carter, followed by Ronald Reagan, George H. W. Bush, Bill Clinton, George W. Bush, Barack Obama, Donald Trump, Joe Biden, and now Trump again—the first president to run the government like both a mafia boss and an oligarch. I recall the Cold War, the humanitarian interventions during the Clinton years, and the war for regime change—or access to oil—in Iraq. Yet the way Donald Trump runs the government goes far beyond what’s normal in a liberal democracy.

It will get much worse. As I write this text in June Trump has already broken 18 U.S. Code § 1385, also known as the Posse Comitatus Act, which prohibits the use of the Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, and Space Force as a posse comitatus.

“What? Huh? Oil? Who said something about oil? Bitch you cooking? Me and my cabinet agree that that area is definitely right for regime change.”

— Dave Chappelle Show, President Black Bush

National Museum of American History

The National Museum of American History houses artifacts spanning everything from transportation to culture. There was an exhibition on U.S. democracy, which included an interactive section. A young Black girl tried to answer the multiple-choice questions about voting and soon sighed, “I’m never going to vote!” I looked at her and said, “Please do vote—it’s important.” I missed the chance to add that if everyone had voted in 2024, her president might have been Kamala Harris, but that thought came to me too late.

A Vice President Kamala Harris mug was available in the museum shop at the National Archives Building. They were also selling National Archives socks featuring Donald Trump or Melania Trump.

The 2 Live Crew’s album and song As Nasty As They Wanna Be were briefly banned in the USA in 1990 after a Florida court ruled the album legally obscene. In the mid-1980s, the Parents Music Resource Center (PMRC) published a list of songs they considered offensive, including Prince’s “Little Red Corvette” and Queen’s “Another One Bites the Dust.” In 1985, the Recording Industry Association of America (RIAA) began placing parental advisory stickers on certain albums to avoid government censorship. Today, the Banned in the USA vinyl has become a museum piece.

My hostel was right in the U Street Corridor, known as “Black Broadway” in the 1920s. Legends like Cab Calloway, Louis Armstrong, and Miles Davis all performed in its clubs. But the area was more than just music and entertainment—it was home to the city’s oldest African American-owned bank and hundreds of black-owned businesses, including law firms. Following the 1968 riots after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr., the neighborhood fell into decline.

Jack Rose Dining Saloon

Apart from the mandatory drinks at the Broadway Comedy Club, I hadn’t visited a bar yet. I noticed a whiskey bar within walking distance of my little capsule hotel. They were said to have 3,000 bottles of whiskey and bourbon in stock, with some of the pricier bourbons costing up to $65 per glass. I rarely drink whiskey and was worried I wouldn’t be able to taste the difference between a $65 glass and a $15 glass. However, the cocktail menu prices seemed average.

I ordered a Manhattan, since I had never tried that classic cocktail, invented in the late 1880s. According to the IBA recipe, it contains rye whiskey, sweet vermouth, and Angostura bitters. It was good, but the bar was loud, and there was no one to strike up a conversation with. So, I stuck to just one drink. When I entered, the bartender swiped my credit card to open a tab, which puzzled me since I intended to—and did—pay in cash.

Clear and Present Danger

The phrase “clear and present danger” was first coined by Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. in 1919 as a legal standard to justify limitations on free speech. Decades later, in Tom Clancy’s political thriller Clear and Present Danger, the term was reinterpreted to reflect the abuse of political and military power within a government bureaucracy, where accountability is elusive and actions skirt the boundaries of legality. Today, in my view, the current occupant of the White House represents a clear and present danger to the United States—and even to the world.

“Do not obey in advance. Most of the power of authoritarianism is freely given. ”

— Lesson 1. Timothy Snyder, On Tyranny

Harrison Ford as Jack Ryan in the 1994 movie adaptation of Clear and Present Danger.

On my second day in Washington, I had only visited a very small portion of the Smithsonian museums, but the sun was shining and I was curious to explore Georgetown. It seemed like a perfect place for breakfast. The Chesapeake and Ohio Canal—abbreviated as the C&O Canal—runs through Georgetown, nearing its endpoint in Washington. Its starting point is in Cumberland, nearly 300 kilometers to the northwest. The canal ceased operations in 1924 and is now preserved as the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal National Historical Park. When I visited, the water level in the canal was very low.

I had avocado on toast and a cappuccino at Blue Bottle Coffee—a chain, as I later found out. Despite the outrageously high price, the cappuccino came in a paper cup and the toast in a cardboard box. What is the obsession with disposable packaging? A cappuccino simply tastes better from a proper ceramic cup. It just feels cheap. I had to think of the European Mind Cannot Comprehend-meme.

Debris was floating in the Potomac river due to heavy flooding upstream.

In Georgetown, I came across a Barnes & Noble bookstore that had several books by Sarah Kendzior. I was hoping to buy her latest book, The Last American Road Trip: A Memoir, but it was only available in a bulky hardcover. Instead, I picked up a paperback copy of They Knew. It was such a beautiful day that I walked from Georgetown to the Lincoln Memorial and spent a few hours reading on a bench in the sun.

Before reaching the Lincoln Memorial, I passed the U.S. Institute of Peace, founded in 1984 by Ronald Reagan. I assumed that an institute with such a name would have felt the full force of the Trump administration, so I quickly snapped a photo. In March, Elon Musk’s DOGE team forced their way into the building. Trump fired the USIP’s staff, and DOGE locked the doors for two months. The USIP, with a modest $55 million budget approved by Congress, is tasked with promoting conflict resolution and prevention around the world.

“It is not enough for Trump to commit an illicit act: He needs to know that you know that he got away with it.”

— Sarah Kendzior, They Knew: How a Culture of Conspiracy Keeps America Complacent

The American flags were at half-staff because of Peace Officers Memorial Day on 15 May.

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Butterworth’s for the ‘weirdos and freaks’

On January 31 The Washington Post published an article about Butterworth’s, a Capitol Hill bar and restaurant which was suppose to cater to far-right intellectuals and enfants terribles. This triggered my interest, so I decided to visit—well before Italian aperitivo time.

The bar has been visited by figures such as War Room co-host Scott Presler, Raheem Kassam of Breitbart News UK, Grimes, Jack Posobiec, Kash Patel, far-right political blogger Curtis Yarvin and even Secretary of the Treasury Scott Bessent. Despite its appearance—resembling an old cabinet of curiosities—the bar only opened in October 2024.

Bart Hutchins on the right, the man with the white cap is the New York Times photographer.

“In February, according to a source present for this meeting, several senior House Republican aides from different congressional offices gathered at the Capitol-­area restaurant Butterworth’s, touted as the latest martini-heavy MAGA hot spot. At one point, after several rounds of drinks, a leadership aide took out a pen and pad of paper and started asking the table for increasingly ridiculous ideas for legislation that could bring a smile to the president’s face. The brainstorming session — described to Rolling Stone as “obviously” in jest — produced bullet points of mock legislation like making Trump’s birthday a holiday, and naming the National Zoo “Donald J. Trump Presents: the D.C. Zoo”

— Inside the billion-dollar effort to make Trump feel good about himself, Rolling Stone. June 6, 2025.

Wallpaper inside Butterworth’s restrooms.

I don’t believe someone like Curtis Yarvin should be given a platform on CNN. His ideas are too fringe to be treated as legitimate political commentary. Don’t give him oxygen. While it may be newsworthy that tech billionaires like Peter Thiel and Marc Andreessen are reportedly drawn to his views, promoting the idea of replacing American democracy with a tech-monarchy is a dangerous thought experiment.

I clearly arrived earlier than most. I ordered an Old Fashioned and settled in at the bar. The place was quiet, with only a few patrons. A photographer lingered nearby, taking photos of the sparse crowd. Not wanting to sound like a secret agent, I asked if he was “on a mission.” He replied that he worked for The New York Times.

“Part of the thesis of [Butterworth’s] was that politics are pop culture right now,” Hutchins says. “People are going to come here to be seen by these people they see on Twitter and on the news every night.”

He offers Bannon as an example. “Somebody like Steve’s just as famous to the average American — because we all watch the news 24/7 now — as Cindy Crawford was in the ’90s,”

Who needs another drink?”

— The Washington Post

I liked Butterworth’s. The bar is named after its principal investor, Alex Butterworth, an Australian-born senior counsel at Uber. Another backer, Raheem Kassam of Breitbart News UK, contributed to its reputation as a supposed right-wing clubhouse. The day-to-day operations are run by Hutchins, a 34-year-old bearded, operating partner, who is credited with shaping its distinctly European vibe. I imagined Hutchins had personally curated the 1939 “Visit the Belgian Congo” poster by Dutch illustrator N. Lenaerts—and perhaps even sourced the red fez and ceremonial sword himself.

After the Old Fashioned, I ordered an Espresso Martini, made with vodka, espresso, coffee liqueur (usually Kahlúa), and sugar syrup—though it has nothing to do with a traditional martini. I got hungry and ordered an $18 plate of fried soy sauce marinated cauliflower heads. I wanted to stay longer, but a third drink would have been too much. By ordering two cocktails, I had already broken my James Bond “one drink” rule. Including tip, I ended up paying $70.

My $18 plate of fried cauliflower heads

“In cafés where the boys are never wrong; in cafés where they are all brave …”

— Ernest Hemingway “Death in the Afternoon", 1932

It’s just coincidence that the $20 bill features Andrew Jackson—Donald Trump’s favorite past president. Like Trump, Jackson pushed the limits of executive power. But there are key differences: Jackson aimed to build a government that would endure beyond his presidency, something Trump seems neither interested in nor capable of doing.

When I stepped outside, the sun was still shining brightly, and the Capitol building had never looked more impressive to me.

Despite the presence of a far-right-aligned administration in the White House, daily life in Washington carried on as usual. Police vehicles blocked streets to allow Washington Capitals fans to head to Capital One Arena for that evening’s game.

Feeling hungry again, I ordered a plate of fried beef and vegetables in Chinatown. My fortune cookie read, ‘September will bring you peace and serenity of mind.’ It was May.

Somebody still demanded change for Joaquin Oliver who was shot in a hallway outside his creative writing class at Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School in Parkland in 2018. He was 17 years old. 16 others were killed in the same shooting.

Brooklyn and Queens

I took a FlixBus back from Washington to New York. For some reason, the train was outrageously expensive on a Friday, so I opted for the $30 bus ride instead. The journey took about four hours. It rained heavily along the way, but by the time we reached New York, the skies had cleared. The bus dropped me off right in the heart of Manhattan.

I spent my last two nights in Queens, just off Jamaica Avenue. Looking at the map, it seemed like a convenient spot for getting to Brooklyn—though, the fastest subway route between Queens and Brooklyn went through Manhattan. Interestingly, Jamaica Avenue isn’t named after the Caribbean island; its name comes from “Yameco,” a word in the Lenape language meaning “beaver.”

When I arrived at my hotel, a giant TV screen was already set to Newsmax. I spent a few hours watching, but it wasn’t the television news I remembered. I haven’t owned a TV since 2003. On Newsmax and Fox News, the news has become pure entertainment—little remains of real journalism. Between segments of dramatized opinions, the Mad King appeared, hawking cheap watches. The Wi-Fi password in my room read: americafirst.

Antojitos Restaurante & Bar

I wasn’t sure what to eat for dinner, so I walked up and down Jamaica Avenue until I spotted a Mexican restaurant. Antojitos means “little cravings,” and since a large part of the United States was once Mexican territory—from 1821 to 1836—I figured it would be interesting to have some Mexican food. Lately, I have this odd habit of connecting food with geopolitics.

After studying the menu, I went with Tex-Mex beef enchiladas and beans—plus a salt rimmed margarita, which hit the spot. The place wasn’t busy. Music blasted from a TV screen, and one of the two men sitting at a table across from me kept giving me a thumbs-up. Maybe he didn’t speak English and this was his way of communicating. I returned the gesture with a thumbs-up of my own. I decided I’d try barbecuing the same Tex-Mex dish myself this summer back home.

Brooklyn

I dedicated my final day to exploring Brooklyn. I joined the morning commuters on the subway, where everyone seemed lost in their phones. I can’t help but feel that phones have made us lonelier as a species.

The fastest route from Queens to Brooklyn was actually through Manhattan. I wanted to photograph some of New York’s bikes, so this was my last chance. Bike messengers have mostly switched to electric now—the fixies are gone. Their current weapon of choice is the Chinese EP-Arrow10, which costs around $1,800.

The view from DUMBO, Brooklyn, looking toward Manhattan with the Brooklyn Bridge in full view. In the distance you can see the Mexican Navy tall ship Cuauhtémoc, which would tragically collide with the Brooklyn Bridge later that day, resulting in the deaths of two crew members.

Jacob’s Pickles, Southern Comfort Food

The name sounded Jewish because of “Jacob” and the Jewish tradition of pickling, but the food was actually Southern. In hindsight, the word “biscuits” was a giveaway. I ordered the Honey Chicken and Pickles biscuit sandwich for $17 in DUMBO. The original Jacob’s Pickles is located on the Upper West Side near Central Park. The lunch was so filling that all I had for dinner was $1.50 worth of bananas from a convenience store in Queens. The biscuit was stuffed with two giant pieces of perfectly fried chicken, and the pickles were packed with spices. All in all, very satisfying. If I ever return to the States, I’d love to visit the Deep South—I’m a fan of True Blood, the TV series based on The Southern Vampire Mysteries.

Honey Chicken and Pickles biscuit sandwich.

Prospect Park

Another beautiful, large park in New York. I wished I had brought a book, but I left my bag at the hotel—I generally hate carrying stuff. Most visitors were running or playing sports. Since I wasn’t dressed for exercise, I just sat on a bench for an hour, watching the people go by.

I haven’t been to New York in the 1990s, so I can’t say how much has changed. But I found it hard to reconcile the raw lyrics of Gang Starr—both artists, Guru and DJ Premier, are from Brooklyn—with the affluent parts of Brooklyn I wandered through. I saw Gang Starr perform live twice back in the 1990s.

Iconic view of the 1909 Manhattan Bridge, famous for the 1984 film C’era una volta in America directed by Italian filmmaker Sergio Leone. I always feel a bit embarrassed taking the same photo as everyone else, so I quickly moved on.

American wine

You don’t often see American wines in Europe. It was sunny—perfect for a glass of red on a terrace. But finding a bar with pavement seating wasn’t easy, so I ended up back in DUMBO. The choice was simple: the menu offered only one American red by the glass—a 2021 Tensley Red Blend from California’s Central Coast, priced at $16. This winery was founded in 1998 by Joey Tensley. Though it’s a blend, Tensley specializes in Syrah grapes.

You might expect American winemakers to benefit domestically from the 20% tariff Trump imposed on European Union goods on April 9, 2025. But the TACO president backed down quickly—by April 11, the 20% tariff was off the table for three months and reduced to 10%. Still, the tariff war makes American wines more expensive. Portugal exports nearly 60% of the world’s cork, French oak barrels must be imported at higher costs, and China produces many glass bottles now subject to a 145% tariff.

Including sales tax and the customary tip, I paid $20 for a glass of red wine. Sitting under the Brooklyn Bridge (DUMBO stands for Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass, but is also located under the Brooklyn Bridge Overpass), the location certainly added to the price. By far, this was the most expensive glass of red wine I’ve ever ordered.

My last glimpse of Manhattan.

Back in my room, there was a critical segment on Putin’s Russia on Newsmax, but the main focus was on the attacks against evangelicals in Ukraine. Evangelicals make up only 2% to 4% of Ukraine’s population, yet they have a strong lobby in the USA. While JD Vance has said, “I don’t really care what happens to Ukraine,” Steven Moore, a veteran Republican Hill staffer, coordinates support for Ukraine from an evangelical Christian perspective.

Coda

With the American system collapsing under authoritarian rule—it remains to be seen what the situation will be in 2028—I had the word coda in mind as a theme for my journey: the concluding part of a musical movement or dramatic work. I felt a disconnect between the political reality and this vibrant, super multicultural city. Being in New York doesn’t feel like an era has ended. Tourism seems as strong as ever.

But something has changed. Eliot Higgins, founder of Bellingcat, said: “We built 20th-century democracies on the assumption that truth could be verified, and those in power could be held accountable. But the systems those assumptions relied on are in decline. In their place: an algorithmic chaos where every citizen is a broadcaster, every feed a battleground.”

We can only hope the 2028 elections, or 2026 midterm elections, will be fair because voters have the power for change.

On my last day, I had only the morning to spend in Queens before heading back to JFK.

The last time I had a haircut was more than five months earlier, in Indonesia. It was Sunday morning, but many hairdressers on Jamaica Avenue were already open. They all seemed to be from the Dominican Republic. I usually let the barber decide my haircut, and this was no exception. He asked if I wanted my beard trimmed too, but I said, “Just my hair.” After the haircut, he trimmed my beard anyway but didn’t charge the extra $10, which was kind of him. In the past three years, I’ve only had haircuts while traveling—in Saudi Arabia, Moldova, Ukraine, Indonesia, and now Queens. “I will make you look beautiful,” he said before he started.

My morning croissant and black coffee cost just $5 in Queens, about half the price compared to Manhattan. I left a one-dollar bill in the tip jar. Everybody else did a grab-and-go and left the store without taking a seat.

In Queens, there’s a strange juxtaposition between what looks like low income housing on Jamaica Ave and apparent wealth. The streets perpendicular to Jamaica Ave look quite affluent, with townhouses and nice cars. This is just a few hundred meters from the subway overpass.

Then there’s Forest Park with its Strack Pond, a glacial kettle pond. Suddenly, the city fades away, and you’re left with a glimpse of the massive glacier that once covered the area during an Ice Age. While writing this post, I tried visiting a few websites to find out which Ice Age created the pond, but I was met with this message: We recognize you are attempting to access this website from a country belonging to the European Economic Area (EEA) including the EU which enforces the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR) and therefore access cannot be granted at this time.

Back on Jamaica Avenue, reality set in. Many Americans struggle to make ends meet. The WIC program in New York is the state’s implementation of the federal Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children (WIC), administered by the USDA’s Food & Nutrition Service. In New York, U.S. citizenship is not required to qualify. The Trump administration proposed cutting WIC funding by $300 million in 2026. Additionally, the Cash Value Benefit (CVB) — used to buy fruits and vegetables for children — would be reduced from $26 to $10 per month. As of this moment of writing, the 2026 budget has not yet been approved.

After taking the subway to Sutphin Blvd-Archer Ave, I spent my last dollars on lunch at Viña Del Mar, a Salvadoran restaurant. El Salvador became notorious when Trump began deporting migrants without due process directly to the Terrorism Confinement Centre (Cecot), a mega-prison that President Nayib Bukele called the largest in the Americas. “It’s like Guantánamo on steroids,” said Juan Pappier, Human Rights Watch’s deputy director for the Americas.

I had no prior knowledge of Salvadoran cuisine, but they made a fine chicken soup for $10. Thankfully, it was made with bone-in chicken. Pupusas are filled corn tortillas, so I tried one filled with pork rinds and cheese for $2.50. The juice was made from tamarind. The pre-tax lunch cost $15.50, which was very reasonable for the quality.

At JFK, my KLM Dreamliner was waiting for me. But after I arrived home in Amsterdam, I read in The Guardian that ecologists are warning of a “new era” of ecological collapse due to the rapid decline of insects. “The hum of wild bees has faded, and leaves that should be chewed to the stem hang whole and un-nibbled.” It’s not just pesticides; a clear culprit is emerging: global heating. “Insects can’t hold water. Even a brief drought lasting just a few days can wipe out millions of humidity-dependent insects.” ‘Half the tree of life’: ecologists’ horror as nature reserves are emptied of insects

I’ve noticed that the little pond in my father’s backyard, which used to buzz with many insects, is now silent. Two weeks ago, I saw only one type of bumblebee. Gone are the honeybees, butterflies, dragonflies, ladybugs, and cockchafers. That is another coda to contemplate.

Soerabaia

Indonesia was on my short list of countries to visit, and in late 2024, an opportunity arose. I planned to visit Sorong in what was once Dutch New Guinea, a place where my father lived in the early 1960s, and to explore the ancestral village of a close friend, Nenik, in East Java. I flew via Singapore to Surabaya, and to my surprise, her entire family was at the airport to greet me. My first lesson: in Indonesia, you don’t travel alone.

While Tanjung Priok, the port of Jakarta, is more prominent, my father’s steam- and motor ships from the Rotterdamse Lloyd also docked in Tanjung Perak, the port of Surabaya. Most Dutch sugar factories were located just south of Surabaya, and I can imagine that this port city, spelled Soerabaia on an old Dutch postcard, was used for the majority of sugar exports. By the 1950s, Surabaya had become part of Indonesia, yet Dutch ships continued to sail their routes.

Nasi Bebek Hitam Spesial

I spent the first afternoon in my hotel room, trying to sleep off some jet lag. In the evening, I learned a new word: "hitam", which means black. This was in conjunction with my first dish, Bebek Hitam (black duck), featuring fried duck (bebek goreng) in a spicy black spice blend (bumbu hitam pedas), accompanied by lalapan (raw vegetables) and serundeng. The duck was so tender that I even ate the bones. It was a fantastic start to my culinary journey and a remedy for jet lag—at least that’s what I told myself. The price: 33,000 Indonesian rupiah (2 Euros). I drink black coffee so I quickly realised that I had to order Kopi Hitam.

The usual means of transport in many Asian cities: the scooter with a combustion engine.

My first impression the next day was of the breakfast courtyard at the five star Bumi City Resort Hotel. It felt warm, reminiscent of the tropical butterfly greenhouse I remember from Dutch zoos. As a child, the hot and humid greenhouse was my favorite part of the zoo. Now, I was having breakfast in a tropical greenhouse, and I was enjoying every moment of it.

One of my favourite dishes: pecel sayur. Because of the spicy pecel peanut sauce this is not gado-gado, a similar dish but made with a different bumbu kacang or peanut sauce.

Even though it was the rainy season, the weather hardly bothered me; the rain showers were quite brief. In the morning, I wanted to visit the harbor to experience its atmosphere. During my father’s maiden voyage with the steamship Overijsel, he didn’t reach Surabaya, but he did with later ships, the s.s. Tomini and the motor ship Kota Baroe. In 1955, my father signed off with the Rotterdams Lloyd.

Motor ship Kota Baroe leaving Rotterdam. Date unknown.

Liberty ship s.s. Tomini, built in 1943.

It is interesting to note that not all shipping lanes were between Asia and Europe. The Java-China Japan Line (JCJL), founded in 1891, maintained a network of shipping routes connecting Java, China, and Japan. Exports from Nederlands-Indië were finding markets in China and Japan.

View from Surabaya North Quay

The North Quay is open to the public. With a small entrance fee, you can access the second floor of the cruise terminal, which features a food court and views of the harbor. While there wasn't much to see, I specifically wanted to visit the harbour so we could slowly backtrack to the hotel and see the entire city.

The 10 November Museum, located beneath the Heroes Monument, was closed on Monday, so we decided to visit Chinatown and the Roode Brug instead. Surabaya's Chinatown is primarily a hub for Chinese traders, with the main activity consisting of trucks unloading boxes into small warehouses. This Chinatown does not cater to tourists.

The Chinese restaurants in Surabaya China Town are spartan.

It might not be a surprise that the “Roode Brug” gets its name from the distinctive red color of the bridge. During the Dutch colonial era the bridge served as an important transportation link across the Kalimas River.

While I am interested in architecture, there was not enough time to really delve into Dutch colonial architecture and what remains of it.

The Cigar Building (Gedung Tembakau) on Jalan Rajawali in Surabaya.

The distribution of sugar factories in Dutch colonial Nederlands-Indië highlights the importance of Surabaya as a port city and its influence on the current road and railway network in East Java.

Complete list of sugar factories in Java on 11-02-1932.

Metropolitan Police Museum

While visiting the Museum Hidup Polrestabes (Metropolitan Police) in Surabaya, I realized that Indonesians love to take photographs. It seems impossible to have a conversation without ending up posing for a picture together. I even found myself in a photo with the man who exchanged my euros for Indonesian currency—it’s a bit wild. The museum is housed in the old Hoofdkantoor van de Politie from the Dutch colonial period. I posed in front of weapons used in the aftermath of World War II. I immediately recognised the Bren light machine gun.

Detail of a painting in Museum Hidup Polrestabes.

“Nieuwe Zakelijkheid” in Indonesia

Gebouw van de handelmaatschappij Borsumij aan de Sociëteitsstraat te Soerabaja, ca 1936

If you love architecture, Surabaya has some hidden gems. Dutch architect Cosman Citroen (1881-1935) designed the office for the Borneo Sumatra Maatschappij (Borsumij), which was built in 1934 and completed in 1935 in a modern style influenced by the Nieuwe Zakelijkheid.

Citroen was well known for his Surabaya City Hall (1925). The city hall was build in the Nieuwe Indische Bouwstijl (New Indies Style), early modern (western) architecture (e.g. Rationalism and Art Deco), applied to local architectural elements suitable for the tropics.

Citroen passed away shortly after the Borsumij office building was finished, unaware that just over a decade later, a devastating world war would have occurred and that the Dutch would have relinquished control of Nederlands-Indië.

Surabaya’s role in the independence movement

This is not a real car but a replica of the 1940 LaSalle SB 723 sedan used by Brigadier A.W.S. Mallaby of the British Indian Army. In 1945, he attempted to negotiate a ceasefire between British forces and Indonesian nationalists in the post-war power vacuum. The British forces were tasked with re-establishing Dutch control; however, Mallaby's convoy was attacked in Surabaya near the Roode Brug. A photo taken in 1945 served as a blueprint for the current monument. His death led to the Battle of Surabaya in November 1945, culminating in a large-scale operation on November 10. This day is now commemorated as Hari Pahlawan (Heroes’ Day) in Indonesia.

Pecel lele

This fried catfish dish comes from Lamongan Regency, located near Surabaya. It was one of the meals I had been looking forward to before my arrival, so when I spotted fried catfish in a small warung, I couldn't resist. The catfish used is a freshwater variety. Pecel lele is typically served with sambal, steamed or fried tofu, and in my case, a small piece of cooked banana. The cost of this dish is usually very affordable; I paid less than one euro for the fish, vegetables, and white rice.

Indonesian food courts are usually bustling with numerous small restaurants operated by independent entrepreneurs.

Cocote Tonggo, Ceker Pedas! "Your Tongue, Spicy Chicken Feet!"

By chance, we stumbled upon this little eatery. The number of scooters parked outside quickly led me to believe this was the best spot for cheap and delicious food. The customers were predominantly young. The menu is straightforward: they wok either shrimp (udang), mussels (kerang hijau), cockles (kerang dara), chicken intestines (usus), chicken feet (ceker), or chicken wings (sayap) in the same spicy sauce. You can choose from five levels of spiciness: original, lamis (5 chilis), lower (10 chilis), lincah (15 chilis), or rusak (20 chilis). I opted for a safe choice of 15 chilis. "Rusak" means "damaged," and that sounded a little intimidating. In hindsight, I could have handled the 20 chilis. Yes, I had the mussels with chicken intestines, and it was one of the culinary highlights of my entire journey. The sauce was complex and flavorful. As we walked out, all the chefs clapped and cheered for us.

Most people eat with their hands in Indonesia.

The phrase "Luweh huenak teko cocote tonggomu rek?" translates to "Is it more delicious than your tongue, right?" in English. The place has a strong presence on Instagram and uses playful local crude Bahasa Jawa slang in their advertising. In principle, every Indonesian is bilingual. The official language is Bahasa Indonesia and in addition, each island has its own language.

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On the last night before our flight to Sorong, we decided to indulge a little at the bar of the Bumi City Resort and we ordered mocktails. I chose the Mint Rock, made with non-alcoholic rum. It arrived with a small sign that read: "I sat in silence, finding the dark side of myself in every sip of my drink." Don’t we all have a dark side?

“Aku duduk dalam diam. Menemukan sisi gelap diri, dan di tiap sesap minumanku ini. ”

— Mint Rock mocktail

Sorong, Papua Barat

I had a compelling reason to visit Sorong. For as long as I can remember, my parents attended the annual Sorong reunion for Royal Dutch Shell colleagues. When my father was in his late 20s, he worked in Sorong for a couple of years as a crew member on the landing ship, the Kais, which served as a supply ship for the Dutch oil industry. I wanted to visit Sorong while my father is still alive so I could entertain him in his care home with some new stories, hopefully keeping his memory active.

There are no direct flights between Surabaya and Sorong, with a total distance of 2,171 km—roughly the same distance between Amsterdam and Athens. We took a Lion Air flight via Makassar in South-Sulawesi. When flying domestically in Indonesia, about 90 percent of your options are with Lion Air or its subsidiaries. Currently, Lion Air operates 118 aircraft, mostly Boeing 737s. Notoriously, during the 2000s, Lion Air experienced many incidents, some of which were deadly and primarily caused by pilot error. However, in 2016, the airline was removed from the EU blacklist and is now considered safe. Ticket prices are quite affordable, especially given the distance.

Curiously, our plane was painted partially in Boeing's house colors and partially in Lion Air livery. The 737 looked a bit battered, but, jokingly, I considered it safer than the new 737 MAX. Remember Lion Air Flight 610?

Indonesia has many regional dishes, so during our stopover, I had to try sop saudara, a buffalo meat soup. Since we woke up at 3:30 AM to catch the early flight, it was the perfect breakfast. Another famous meat soup is konro, which is a bone soup. I tried konro in Sorong for breakfast a few days later.

In Sorong, we opted for a homestay, primarily because I wanted a local contact to help arrange transport to Klamono, a name my father had suddenly mentioned in his care home. The homestay was located in a lovely residential area that seemed safe, but the owner had installed corrugated iron plates against the mango tree to prevent thieves from climbing and stealing mangoes at night. A mosque and a church were nearby, and during prayer times, both places of worship used speakers to amplify their messages to the believers—the volume was so loud that conversations had to pause.

Krupuk drying in the sun. The girl is the owner's daughter, who showed us the way out of the neighborhood on our first day.

In the early 1960s my father was housed in simple barracks built by the Americans during the world war. It was a very different Sorong.

In Sorong, there is little visible presence of the Free Papua Organization (Indonesian: Organisasi Papua Merdeka, OPM), apart from some graffiti. "Papua Merdeka" literally means "Papua Independent." However, as recently as 2019, government buildings were destroyed in Sorong, resulting in over 31 deaths in the region.

Papua students are calling for a new referendum. When West Papua was transferred to Indonesia in 1963, following an agreement mediated by the United Nations, many Papuans felt it was done against their will. In 1969, Indonesia organized a referendum known as the "Act of Free Choice", which involved a council of around 1,000 selected representatives from various Papuan tribes. However, significant pressures and intimidation marred the process, leading many Papuans to feel betrayed.

To this day, a movement continues to fight for an independent West Papua. The Indonesian state is hitting back hard, using drones in the warfare against the West Papua National Liberation Army. One case, were the Kiwirok bombings in 2021. I have an excellent 700 page book on this topic: P.J. Drooglever, Een daad van vrije keuze. De Papoea´s van westelijk Nieuw-Guinea en de grenzen van het zelfbeschikkingsrecht (Den Haag 2005).

FWP stands for "Front West Papua," which is a political organization advocating for the independence of West Papua from Indonesia.

Tuna jaw

There wasn’t much time on the first day, so we had a deep purple fresh 100% dragon fruit juice and looked for a local restaurant serving fresh fish. A lot of tuna is landed in Sorong, and we came across a restaurant that wasn’t busy, but judging by the plate of the only customer eating there, we decided to go in. It turned out the man was eating a jaw of a tuna fish. We ordered the same, along with another grilled fish. The quality was simply perfect. The head of a fish has the best tasting meat.

A common grilled fish side dish is this spicy tomato sauce. It looks very similar to Malay air assam tamarind.

Ingredients;  3 small shallot (the dark Indian type, not the light Thai type). Peel it and dice it fine, 4 red rawit (birds eye chilli), cut 4 each, 2 red chilli sliced small, 1 semi ripe or green tomato - diced small, a pinch of salt, 1 tsp of sugar, 1 tbsp of fish sauce, 1 ping pong sized tamarind pulp, diluted in 1 cup of water, seeds and pulp removed, juice of 2 jeruk limo. Simply mix all ingredients together.

Of course, Nenik was feeding stray cats with pieces of fish, which led to a cat accidentally scratching her foot. We spent the last hour searching for a shop that sells disinfectant. During our search, we walked past a colorful little restaurant. I’m known for my adventurous palate, but I draw the line at bats. Later, I learned that bats (Paniki in the local language) are consumed as “medicine” for asthma.

Our homestay featured a typical Indonesian bathroom setup. The shower wasn't working, so the water in the white bucket was used for both showering and flushing the toilet. It may be basic, but it functions perfectly.

Pasar Ikan Sorong

Early in the morning, we visited the fish market. Although there were no restaurants, the market was bustling with both fishermen and customers. That evening, we would enjoy grilled fish again, likely purchased at this market just 12 hours earlier.

Streetfood

This lady was baking a mixture of desiccated coconut and palm or coconut sugar in clay holders. We bought some of the baked "cookies," wrapped in banana leaves and still warm. They were simply awesome—sweet and complex.

In the afternoon, we explored Sorong. We got around using tiny Japanese minibuses called Angkot (short for "angkutan kota", city transport). Angkots operate on predetermined routes and are inexpensive, although the buses can be quite battered. A single journey costs about 30 euro cents. Alternatively, you can take a Grab taxi, but the Angkots were more fun.

I thought it would be a good idea to visit the Taman Wisata Mangrove just outside of Sorong, but the walking path into the mangrove was closed. The Grab driver then took us to Taman Wisata Alam Sorong, a nature park, which turned out to be a little underwhelming. While there were some nice orchids growing on the trees, it was unclear how to explore more of the forest. I attempted to walk deeper into the jungle, but Nenik exclaimed, “Don’t go there!”

“Why not?” I asked.

“There’s no path!” she replied.

“Yes, there is; it’s just overgrown,” I countered.

“But there might be snakes!” she warned.

Me: “…..”

Taman Wisata Mangrove Klawalu Sorong

Once upon a time, Taman Wisata Alam Sorong must have been proudly inaugurated by local administrators, but it has now fallen into disrepair. There was little to see, and the paths were not well maintained.

Taman Wisata Alam Sorong

There is a strong Chinese presence in Sorong, but the Vihara Buddha Jayanti was only build in the 1980s. The temple was under renovation so we entered without paying the entrance fee.

View from the Chinese temple.

Tembok Berlin

You wouldn’t expect to find a Berlin Wall in Sorong, yet this is the name of a historical site that has become a symbol of independence from the Dutch. It is an old wall dating back to the Dutch colonial era. Today, the area is filled with grill restaurants in the evenings.

The principle is simple: you select a grill place, pick a fish from the table, and look it in the eye. They will grill the fish for you and serve it with rice and the usual sauces. You’ll need to order the vegetables separately.

Separate order: stir-fried kangkung (water spinach) with garlic.

Papeda

Papeda is a well-known dish found in parts of Sulawesi, the Maluku Islands, and coastal Papua. While it can sometimes be found in restaurants, it's not always available due to the time-consuming preparation involved; you need to pound sago flour with water until a sticky glue-like paste forms. The owner of our homestay kindly prepared a complete papeda meal for us, featuring spicy fish stew and vegetables.

To eat papeda, spoon the kangkung tumis vegetable soup into a bowl, add some of the sago-glue on top, and then pour in the spicy fish stew to taste. The vegetable soup also contained tiny leaves from the edible moringa tree, Moringa oleifera. I had never eaten moringa before; the leaves are particularly nutritious, rich in vitamins A, C, and E.

The oil fields of Klamono

My father worked in Sorong for two years, so I was familiar with the name. According to his own stories, he also visited smaller villages in the Papua jungle. As a hobby, he carried a small metal box with scalpels and some basic medicine, like aspirin, to help treat sick Papua. He never mentioned any specific names, but in October 2024, I pressed him to recall one. "Klamono," he suddenly said. I looked it up on Google Maps and discovered it was indeed a tiny village located roughly 50 kilometers from Sorong. I saved the name and planned to visit Klamono during my time in Sorong, though I had no idea what to expect.

There are no buses to Klamono. We hired a car and driver for the day for 600.000 IDR. When we arrived in Klamono, it looked like a dusty town in the Wild West. I decided to walk around a bit and soon I heard religious music in the distance. The sound was coming from giant loudspeakers attached to an equally giant church. In the greater district of Klamono there are apparently 3,000 people living, in the village the number is less than a 1,000. Not sure how accurate these numbers are, but the church seemed big for the community.

Some men standing near the church were a bit puzzled by my appearance. But they were extremely friendly, although they hardly spoke English. Posing in front of my iPhone broke the ice. Nenik could explain my presence in Bahasa Indonesia. When I asked my father which language the Papua were speaking in the 1960s, he said: kust-Maleis, which is also known as pasar-Maleis or Bahasa Dagang, dagang meaning “trade”. It was the language spoken in coastal areas and trading cities. The Papua also speak a local language called Kais.

We wandered around a bit and a man simply started walking with us, and when we returned to the car he just got in the passenger seat and we had ourselves a local guide.

The Catholic mission was as integral to Nieuw-Guinea as oil exploitation. Some Catholic priests were trained as scientists, studying and documenting the local languages. It wasn’t always easy; some priests lived remotely for years with little contact with the outside world. Additionally, there were problems unique to the Catholic clergy, as highlighted in this quote from the book “Toean, Toean, Kartu Abis!” by Jan Aartsen. The book (“Sir, Sir, We ran out of map!”) chronicles the adventures of the Dutch sailors working on the landing ship Kais in the 1950s.

“The next port of call, was the seat of the local ruler, while the Dutch bishop wielded the spiritual scepter there. After the greeting, a local church worker stepped on board with an urgent question: “Did you get any bottles from Sorong?”

With a happy face, he accepted the box of glass bottles. He explained that the sacramental wine was delivered in wooden barrels, which often burst due to the local climate conditions. It was then important to quickly transfer the wine from the barrels to bottles or directly to the ‘users.’ The bishop and his closest spiritual workers drank as much of the wine as possible, to prevent waste, as it was a shame to throw it away. When asked whether the church was perhaps breeding alcoholics, the priest replied that it was not that bad, compared to local administrators.”

— “Toean, toean, kartu abis!”, chapter 3

Landing craft Kais

My father was not based in Klamono but in Sorong, serving as a first mate on the landing ship Kais under Captain Piet "Snor" (nicknamed "Moustache" for his large mustache). The Kais was built in 1954 by the Arnhemsche Scheepsbouw Maatschappij N.V. and specifically designed to serve as a supply ship for the oil industry in Dutch Nieuw Guinea. I don’t think the 45-meter vessel could sail all the way to Klamono. My father cannot remember whether he traveled to Klamono by road or via the Klasafet River. The road was barely usable in the late 1950s, so the river seems more likely. The road was primarily used to inspect the pipeline and required regular clearing of the encroaching jungle.

Some of the oil products were used locally to develop the area.

“At an incomprehensibly fast pace they built a village (Sorong) from the ground. The roads were paved with the asphalt-rich oil, brought by the Minjak Tanah from Klamono.”

— “Toean, toean, kartu abis!”, chapter 3

Photo: 1950s.

Typical landing place for the Kais. Photo: 1950s.

This seems to be the Kais sailing up a river, maybe it could reach Klamono.

One day, my father, Kees, was on board one of the mappi, a small motor launch powered by a powerful diesel engine. Without prior warning, Captain Piet Snor handed my father the steering wheel. According to the story, my father didn’t know how to control the mappi, and after some wild manoeuvres, he accidentally hit the Kais, despite having been the third mate on the 136-meter-long oil tanker Omala just before being assigned to the Kais. The complete chapter can be read here: De mannen van de Kais, hoofdstuk 9

“The shock was somewhat dampened by the cork bags protecting the skin of the Kais, but Piet, who had apparently been too flabbergasted to get off his bench, was thrown backwards into the water by the impact.

Kees, as if in a daze, had a brilliant idea and closed the diesel supply tap of the still rushing launch and the boat came to rest. As if in a movie, Kees saw Piet Snor, who looked to him like a walrus in the water because of his fearsome moustache, swimming towards Kais.”

— “Toean, toean, kartu abis!”, chapter 9

Below the river and the quay were the ships of the NNGPM would land, bringing supplies.

Below our local Papaua guide. His right arm was about 10 centimetres shorter than his left arm

Just before World War II, the NNGPM (Nederlandse Nieuw-Guinea Petroleum Maatschappij), a subsidiary of Shell, discovered oil in Klamono, though it was of poor quality. During the war, the land was occupied by the Japanese, and it wasn’t until 1945 that the NNGPM could exploit the oil fields in Klamono. A pipeline was constructed all the way to Sorong in the 1950s.

I hadn’t realized there was still oil production in Klamono in 2024. I expected to visit a small village, find little to see, and then head back to Sorong. Discovering functioning pumpjacks—two in total—was a pleasant surprise, and I was as excited as if I had discovered the oil myself. The Papuan children were also thrilled to guide me, a guest from Belanda, to the pumpjacks, making it a highlight of my journey.

There is some localised oil spillage.

In my excitement at finding oil and the distraction of seven Papuan children, I hadn’t paid attention to which phone was used to take some of the coolest photos. Unfortunately, it was Nenik's Android phone, which has a really bad, cheap potato camera. Some of the photos below are not even sharp.

For reasons I still don’y fully understand, this young fellow was so happy to see me he was holding hands with me and at times he was literally clinging to my leg. All the children looked unfiltered happy grinning ear to ear all the time.

If you leave it to the jungle, it will take over every machine left behind.

Another small church in Klamono. opposite the church, in green, is a masjid, so there is a small Muslim population on Klamono as well. But in general the, mostly Dutch, missionaries have succeeded in converting the Papua’s of Klamono to Catholicism.

One young Papuan thought I needed a cool pair of sunglasses for the photo, and now I look like a member of ZZ Top—minus the long beard. The little shop belonged to the parents of the girl in the yellow T-shirt next to me, who was the only one able to speak some English. We tried to treat all the children to candy, but they all declined. In the end, we bought some water bottles for ourselves.

Above some old pre-1960 oil tanks. Below the current oil facility of Klamono.This is a pumping station. I don’t believe I have the complete overview of West-Papua oil industry. There is a report available for download for 125 USD. The oil refinery is located in Kasim, which is 90 kilometers from the oil terminal in Sorong. According to the report summary the Papua oil field recovered more than half of its total recoverable reserves, with peak production in 2020. Based on economic assumptions, production will continue until the field reaches its economic limit in 2069.

The oil company now based in Klamono is Pertamina, which is state owned by Indonesia. In 1957, Royal Dutch/Shell's assets in Indonesia were nationalised, from which Permina was founded. In 1968 Pertamina was created as merger between Permina and Pertamin.

Lunch in Klamono was definitely not Papuan. The only restaurant was run by a family from Madura, an island off the coast of East Java. A case of transmigration. I had ayam goreng lalapan, which consists of fried chicken and fresh vegetables.

In the afternoon we drove around the district Klamono. Below is Block B, apparently Indonesians are living here who came to West-Papua as transmigrants. The Indonesians call the movement of people between the different parts of Indonesia transmigration. They are often people from Java seeking job opportunities in parts of Indonesia with more space.

I never questioned how dragon fruit is grown, but in Klamono we drove past some dragon fruit cacti. It is the flower of a cactus native to the region of southern Mexico and along the Pacific coasts of Guatemala, Costa Rica, and El Salvador.

On our way back to the main road, a group of Papuan children waved at us. It would have been rude not to stop for a chat and another photo opportunity. They greeted me by kissing the back of my hand and then briefly placing my hand on their foreheads.

After our tour of Klamono, I felt we should give our impromptu guide something, but I had no idea what would be appropriate. In the end, Nenik gave him some money to buy betel nut, which he seemed pleased with.

In Sorong, I had noticed many red splashes on the pavement that I couldn't quite place. It turned out to be the spit of betel nut chewers. You buy the betel nut and betel leaves along with a mustard stick dipped in slaked lime powder, and then chew the combination, spiting out the red saliva.

How it ended for my father.

“Politics had put an end to the future of a Dutch New Guinea and Kees flew via the airport at Yefman with a small local plane to Biak to transfer to a Stratocruiser of the Panam and fly first class to Manila. After a night in a hotel with film star treatment, he continued via Saigon to Singapore. Apparently he was not allowed to go home yet. On the second day he was called by someone from the office in the Singapore hotel.

’How long do you need to pack,’ was the question. ‘Five minutes,’ said Kees. ‘Then you are the man I am looking for,’ came the sound on the other end of the line, ‘you are going to board the tanker Saroena, which will pass through the Strait in three quarters of an hour, but is not allowed to dock because it is sailing in Indonesia’.
’What about a visa?’, mumbled Kees.
’No time.’ And indeed, three quarters of an hour later, Kees boarded a sailing Saroena, from the agency’s little Shell boat, and was probably treated in the ship’s log as a picked-up drowning person.”

— “Toean, toean, kartu abis!”, chapter 9

Driving back to Sorong I noticed the Dutch made pipeline. Somebody told me it is still the original pipe, which was laid in the 1950s but I find it hard to believe. In the 1950s the road was difficult to navigate and inspections were carried out by motorbike and even from a Bell helicopter. In the 1990s the road between Sorong and Klamono was properly asphalted.