My sense of direction has never been my strong suit -- to put it mildly. So it’s no surprise that I have managed to get lost several times on an island that is only one square mile, even while carrying a map. (To my credit, it does not name all of the streets.)
Also to my credit, Maldivians don’t really need directions and therefore can’t help foreigners much. Places, not street names, are usually the points of reference, i.e. “I live next to the cemetery” or “The shop is near the Indian bank.”
Malé has a couple of “main drags” – narrow, two-lane roads – but is mostly a maze of small alleys. Even some of my friends who grew up here admit to getting turned around!
The thing about Malé is you don’t have to worry too much about taking a wrong turn – you’re going to hit the ocean or a recognizable landmark soon enough.
On my first adventure, I started walking around the periphery of the island (so that I wouldn’t get lost) before taking a turn inland (which I thought would probably get me lost but I did it anyway). Finding my way back took about five hours. It was a very hot and joyous expedition.
The second time, I went hunting for a dive shop and ended up far beyond where I thought I was on the map. I just can’t get used to how small this island is – and it again took me about five hours (including lunch) to find the shop and get to the hotel. Funnily enough, I ran into two places I need to visit. (Now if only I can find my way back!)
I’ve documented parts of my “wrong turn” adventures in these photos.
Last night, I managed to navigate my way through the back alleys and got from point A to point B. I’ve finally got a sense of direction -- just in time for me to leave. :(
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
First Impressions
I arrive in the Maldives from Colombo, Sri Lanka, on a sunny afternoon. The islands are so small here that you don’t actually land on the main island (Malé) but instead one nearby called Hulhulé (also known as the “airport island.”)
We are delayed over an hour because the plane’s navigation system had to be replaced – never a good sign when you’re about to fly into the middle of the Indian Ocean. Airlines must be required to inform passengers of these technical problems: I personally would rather not know the details!
As we deboard the plane and walk along the tarmac I expect a whiff of flowers – plumeria, perhaps – because that’s the fragrance that strikes you upon arrival in Hawaii. But I’m on a very different set of islands, one known more for its underwater life than its flora and fauna.
At the entrance to immigration there is a colorful sign that reads: “Maldives, the sunny side of life.” It’s an ad campaign that is run over and over and over again in the Middle East. (Dubai is just a four-hour flight away.) The Maldives attracts 600,000 visitors per year, and I am among a sea of Brits and Europeans coming here on holiday.
When we enter immigration, the first thing that strikes me is the Maldivians themselves.
“Everyone looks like they’re 12,” a foreigner told me shortly before my visit. “They’re really tiny people.”
So true it is. Passport control seems to be run by teenagers. Literally. Only they look younger. (Many Maldivians enter the workforce in their mid to late teens and the population is young – about one-quarter of Maldivians are under age 14.)
Because I’m working in the Maldives I need a business visa. A supervisor takes me to a seating area where I wait with a Sri Lankan who seems like she’s having a more difficult time than I in getting her papers. Plenty of foreigners work here – they run the resorts and work in service jobs – but the regulations are strict.
The male supervisor, who is maybe all of 20, is also about as tall as I am (5’2). As I look around, I realize that this isn’t uncommon.
The ethnic heritage(s) of Maldivians are a matter of some debate, but can generally (and not surprisingly due to the geographical location) be traced back to Africa, Arabia and south Asia, especially Sri Lanka. Maldivian features are striking and unique: Many have big, dark eyes, dark skin (some almost look African) and slight frames.
My visa is quickly processed and I head out of the airport to meet the information department employees who have come to pick me up. They, too, are in their teens, shy and quiet, and smartly dressed with hip sunglasses.
We ride a small boat to Malé and I am struck how gorgeous the ocean is – turquoise blue around the islands -- and by how small and close together the islands are. I can clearly see at least three islands. Up ahead is Male, easily distinguished by its buildings and ports.
The boat ride takes about 10 minutes, and after landing we hop in a taxi to the hotel. I’m surprised that there are so many cars here – the island is definitely walkable -- but motorbikes, which easily weave in and out of traffic, are the preferred form of transport.
My hostess points out the parliament and the president’s office on the way to my hotel, but because of jet lag I can hardly keep my eyes open.
We are delayed over an hour because the plane’s navigation system had to be replaced – never a good sign when you’re about to fly into the middle of the Indian Ocean. Airlines must be required to inform passengers of these technical problems: I personally would rather not know the details!
As we deboard the plane and walk along the tarmac I expect a whiff of flowers – plumeria, perhaps – because that’s the fragrance that strikes you upon arrival in Hawaii. But I’m on a very different set of islands, one known more for its underwater life than its flora and fauna.
At the entrance to immigration there is a colorful sign that reads: “Maldives, the sunny side of life.” It’s an ad campaign that is run over and over and over again in the Middle East. (Dubai is just a four-hour flight away.) The Maldives attracts 600,000 visitors per year, and I am among a sea of Brits and Europeans coming here on holiday.
When we enter immigration, the first thing that strikes me is the Maldivians themselves.
“Everyone looks like they’re 12,” a foreigner told me shortly before my visit. “They’re really tiny people.”
So true it is. Passport control seems to be run by teenagers. Literally. Only they look younger. (Many Maldivians enter the workforce in their mid to late teens and the population is young – about one-quarter of Maldivians are under age 14.)
Because I’m working in the Maldives I need a business visa. A supervisor takes me to a seating area where I wait with a Sri Lankan who seems like she’s having a more difficult time than I in getting her papers. Plenty of foreigners work here – they run the resorts and work in service jobs – but the regulations are strict.
The male supervisor, who is maybe all of 20, is also about as tall as I am (5’2). As I look around, I realize that this isn’t uncommon.
The ethnic heritage(s) of Maldivians are a matter of some debate, but can generally (and not surprisingly due to the geographical location) be traced back to Africa, Arabia and south Asia, especially Sri Lanka. Maldivian features are striking and unique: Many have big, dark eyes, dark skin (some almost look African) and slight frames.
My visa is quickly processed and I head out of the airport to meet the information department employees who have come to pick me up. They, too, are in their teens, shy and quiet, and smartly dressed with hip sunglasses.
We ride a small boat to Malé and I am struck how gorgeous the ocean is – turquoise blue around the islands -- and by how small and close together the islands are. I can clearly see at least three islands. Up ahead is Male, easily distinguished by its buildings and ports.
The boat ride takes about 10 minutes, and after landing we hop in a taxi to the hotel. I’m surprised that there are so many cars here – the island is definitely walkable -- but motorbikes, which easily weave in and out of traffic, are the preferred form of transport.
My hostess points out the parliament and the president’s office on the way to my hotel, but because of jet lag I can hardly keep my eyes open.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Islam + Islands + Journalism = My Fulbright
I’m in the Maldives as a Fulbright Scholar to help launch a journalism program at the college here. It’s not every day that a country launches its first j-school, and I’m honored to be a part of it.
I chose the Maldives because I wanted something new yet connected to my past. The Maldives is an Islamic (Sunni, to be specific) island nation. Between my familial history in Hawaii, my professional background in the Middle East and the college’s desire to launch a j-program, it seemed like a good fit.
The Republic of the Maldives is a chain of 1,200 coral islands – mostly uninhabited – in the Indian Ocean.
It’s the fantasy paradise that overworked urbanites dream about: Bungalows stand on stilts above the crystal-clear ocean, the marine life is breathtaking and resorts are built on tiny, uncongested islands. (No surprise it's popular with honeymooners.)
And a curious piece of trivia: The Maldives has the lowest high point in the world – just seven feet above sea level.
There are about 350,000 Maldivians, about one-third of whom live on Malé. It’s an island all right, but stands in stark contrast to the tropical inlets around it. (Except for the humidity, of course.)
Malé is about one square mile, making it the most densely populated place in the world. (See photo above.)
As the country's only urban center, one long-time expat called Malé “the Bronx of the Maldives.” In the spring of 2009, I will call this island home.
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