I crossed the border to Yemen. The atmosphere changed. Men ware no more elegant long Omani clothes, but shabby shirt and a cloth around their waist and legs, just like a skirt or "yukata". No caps.
Many men chew leaves all day long, keep on adding more and more in their mouth, and one side of their cheeks swells like a flog. Even policemen or soldiers do. Khat, it's called. I heard it had an effect as a weak drug after chewing half a day or so. I tried only a bit. It was just bitter. I ate it soon, felt no excitement nor anything.
There are few English signboards, no more Indians or Pakistani. Instead, there are Africans. I sometimes heard people crapping hands for fun. The fast rhythm attracted me.
Houses look "antique" often with very small windows. So are cars. I saw many huts or tents along the way, surely with no electricity. Garbage are scattered everywhere.
When I ate in a restaurant in a small village along the coast, I sat on a sheet on the ground, and ate with my hand. Fish, or something fishy, were the only choice. I quite suspected the hygiene while they washed everything in a bucket repeatedly. The taste was good though.
Beaches are beautiful. It was the same in Oman, but here there are hardly anybody except fishermen. I couldn't resist swiming when I saw a complete empty beach. The sea was clear and calm. I was all alone in sight. Great! But I felt sorry for my wife and didn't stay so long.
10 Mar 2009, Yemen, 16105km
