I remember stepping off of the camel, and there was ice everywhere. Pulling my parka close and, yes, avoiding the landmines, I gingerly plodded ahead, through the crowds and the noise and the filth . . . stumbling, me, Suzie, and the camel. . . on to the road to Hana.
The road, all 3.5 meters of it, was long and winding, of course. The smell of diesel fuel and cheap gin joints permeated the freezing cold night air.
Road to Hana
The most striking thing about the crowded streets of Hana is the NOISE! I had just about everything in my backpack stuffed into one ear or another, and I just couldn’t hear myself think. Often I sat in a frenzied stupor, gazing across the flat barren landscape, when some local would offer up yet another cement lollipop …