jbel boura
Slowed down by car troubles, and by photo stops of our companions, we don't make it to the top of Jbel Boura before sunset. Soon, as the road gets rough and the sky pitch dark, the scenic ride up the switchbacks of the mountain turns into a nerve-wracking endeavour. Relief when we finally leave the cars behind for a nocturnal trek up to Abdullah's house. Abdullah lives with his family in a town at the top of Jbel Boura, and is hired by Yemeni Dreams to guide us down the mountain the next day.
Arriving to a place in the dark holds the advantage of the surprize in the morning. This is true for Abdullah's place more than for any other I've woken up at - the view from his front door is breathtaking. A couple of stone houses structured verically around his entry path, then steep drops on all sides, terraces and clusters of houses scattered over the mountain sides as far as you can see, clouds packed in the valleys deep down below.
The hike down Jbel Boura - an absolute highlight of our trip - brings us through an incredibly authentic mountain society. The pictures below will give an attempt at impression of what we saw. Add a staggering third dimension, the cool mountain air, and the silence, only broken by the voices of kids playing across the ravines. Or go see for yourself, on a ten day trekking around Boura and the neighboring mountains for example (we'll join).
The question comes to mind inevitably - why do people live on the top of mountains? Quotes in italic from Tim MacKintosh-Smith's story will give an attempt at answer. Years ago, he hiked down Raymah, the mountain range just south of Boura.
Raymah, like much of Yemen, is an upside-down place. In other mountainous countries, people tend to live in the valleys; here in Yemen they seem to choose the most inaccessible ridges and summits for their dwellings, places only fit for eagles. Why? Is it for defence, or because of the climate? Or for the view? Or is it just contrariness of nature that makes them build on seemingly impossible peaks? (tMS)
Rain for the Arabs is barakah, a blessing, and it is particularly so for Yemen where the majority of cultivable land is rain-fed. In poetry, rain is a metaphor for human as well as divine generosity; historically, water is the reward of just government, and drought the punishment of profligacy. Barakah is for God to grant or withhold, but intercession can pay off. When there is no rain, the entire male population climbs to the high places and starts a litany. And if the rain comes, they do everything possible to hold it back. This is the function of the terraces which are so much a feature of the Yemeni landscape. (tMS)
The rain is trapped by them and contained in subdivisions separated by little bunds, before being released to the next level down in a slow and measured cascade. It is a system that calls for continual maintenance. The collapse of one terrace will affect the flow of water, and this in turn will lead to the destruction of terraces further down. The delicate balance can also be upset by the building of a surfaced road, which will speed up the flow of water and force streams into new channels. (tMS)
The proud men of the mountain tribes in the typical perspective (above), smiling down on the visitors (below). From right to left Natasha, Candi, Mamo (suffering), Matjaz, Ana and Abdullah.
I soon realized I could not keep up with the boy, who was about ten, and told him to go ahead. Later, I met him coming back from the market below Kusmah. It was still half an hour away but he had been there, done some shopping, and was on his way home. (tMS)
People have to live at the top. If they didn’t, the mountains would in time be stripped bare from top to bottom. Since the protective covering of forests was felled, the history of mountain Yemen has been that of a war waged against the loss of land. (tMS)
Down at the foot of Jbel Boura we land in the only forest of Yemen. Finally some real nature, after walking an entire day through vertical man-made scenery.
After a series of 'misunderstandings' and a self-arranged ride down to the Tihama, we finally find Kamal. But that's another story...
Arriving to a place in the dark holds the advantage of the surprize in the morning. This is true for Abdullah's place more than for any other I've woken up at - the view from his front door is breathtaking. A couple of stone houses structured verically around his entry path, then steep drops on all sides, terraces and clusters of houses scattered over the mountain sides as far as you can see, clouds packed in the valleys deep down below.
The hike down Jbel Boura - an absolute highlight of our trip - brings us through an incredibly authentic mountain society. The pictures below will give an attempt at impression of what we saw. Add a staggering third dimension, the cool mountain air, and the silence, only broken by the voices of kids playing across the ravines. Or go see for yourself, on a ten day trekking around Boura and the neighboring mountains for example (we'll join).
The question comes to mind inevitably - why do people live on the top of mountains? Quotes in italic from Tim MacKintosh-Smith's story will give an attempt at answer. Years ago, he hiked down Raymah, the mountain range just south of Boura.
Raymah, like much of Yemen, is an upside-down place. In other mountainous countries, people tend to live in the valleys; here in Yemen they seem to choose the most inaccessible ridges and summits for their dwellings, places only fit for eagles. Why? Is it for defence, or because of the climate? Or for the view? Or is it just contrariness of nature that makes them build on seemingly impossible peaks? (tMS)
Rain for the Arabs is barakah, a blessing, and it is particularly so for Yemen where the majority of cultivable land is rain-fed. In poetry, rain is a metaphor for human as well as divine generosity; historically, water is the reward of just government, and drought the punishment of profligacy. Barakah is for God to grant or withhold, but intercession can pay off. When there is no rain, the entire male population climbs to the high places and starts a litany. And if the rain comes, they do everything possible to hold it back. This is the function of the terraces which are so much a feature of the Yemeni landscape. (tMS)
The rain is trapped by them and contained in subdivisions separated by little bunds, before being released to the next level down in a slow and measured cascade. It is a system that calls for continual maintenance. The collapse of one terrace will affect the flow of water, and this in turn will lead to the destruction of terraces further down. The delicate balance can also be upset by the building of a surfaced road, which will speed up the flow of water and force streams into new channels. (tMS)
The proud men of the mountain tribes in the typical perspective (above), smiling down on the visitors (below). From right to left Natasha, Candi, Mamo (suffering), Matjaz, Ana and Abdullah.
I soon realized I could not keep up with the boy, who was about ten, and told him to go ahead. Later, I met him coming back from the market below Kusmah. It was still half an hour away but he had been there, done some shopping, and was on his way home. (tMS)
People have to live at the top. If they didn’t, the mountains would in time be stripped bare from top to bottom. Since the protective covering of forests was felled, the history of mountain Yemen has been that of a war waged against the loss of land. (tMS)
Down at the foot of Jbel Boura we land in the only forest of Yemen. Finally some real nature, after walking an entire day through vertical man-made scenery.
After a series of 'misunderstandings' and a self-arranged ride down to the Tihama, we finally find Kamal. But that's another story...
posted by Jan at 10:31 PM
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