Jetlag in London

Posted on September 15, 2016 by hilarylust

Jet lag is a bitch. Night three and I’m staring at the ceiling of Kelsey’s flat in a half drugged daze, unable to fall asleep. My eyes sting. My stomach is uneasy. The 8-hour time difference has wreaked havoc on my body’s inner clock. The air mattress makes a rubbery squeak as I roll over for the umpteenth time. Jodon is just as restless, creaking on the cot above me. Welcome to London.It’s been nearly two years since I’ve written a post. It’s embarrassing really. But life has its ways of tearing you away from the things that matter, and this blog has been left to collect cyber dust for the last 22 months. I have no excuses.

But the road was calling, and the bug has caught up to me once again. And so here I am, jet lagged in London with my partner in crime, Jodon. We plan on spending the next few months exploring Europe, marvelling at its history, and learning how to travel as a couple… without killing each other.

London has been a whirlwind. I don’t know how we would have made it through the days without Kelsey’s Grade-A guidance. I’ve never met anyone more organized than Kelsey. A plan, a list of directions, busses, trains, prices and must-stop food places were left neatly on the dining room table for us when we woke. We followed the directions like zombies fumbling toward living meat: dazed, half dead, unthinkingly.

Camden, Soho, Westminster, the Thames, Borough market, Tower of London: each neighbourhood offering layers upon layers of history.

I find it difficult to fully grasp the history that Europe has. Most buildings are older than the existence of Canada. The cobblestone streets we walk on, the buildings that now house H&M and Starbucks are older than the history of our entire country. The Tower of London has been a fortress, a palace, and a prison. It’s walls have held the kings and queens we learn about in school. William the Conqueror fortified it 900 years ago. 400 years later, Henry VIII beheaded his wives. The streets of London house the real life fairy tales of human history: even if they now lead to a McDonalds. It’s unfathomable to me.

And yet, through all the history, I still fall in love with the here and now of London: the bustling English-style pubs, the riverside restaurants and the hidden food markets that scatter the city.

Borough Market. My new happy place. I dragged Jodon, a non-market lover, to it two days in a row. Food stalls, cheese shops, wine and beer sellers, pastries, butchers, fish mongers: this place has it all. From Spanish tapas to Ethiopian cuisine. Life changing coffees to fresh baked baguettes. I got lost in the aroma of a stinky French cheese stand, smelling the molds, dying to try them all. My mouth salivated at the Pieminister stand; we bought a tarragon chicken pot pie and savoured in the flaky crust. Food markets are where I thrive. We splurged and picked up enough food for a charcuterie dinner, complete with French cheeses and chocolate truffles for dessert. Needless to say, it was sensational. Borough Market does not disappoint. And what’s more, the Market has been around since 1014AD… Just a casual 853 years longer than Canada. Mind blown.

So maybe it’s the time change, or maybe it’s the kilo of cheese I ate minutes before turning out the lights. Whatever the case, I’ve been carefully counting sheep for hours now without any progress. But the price to pay is small. The journey ahead is worth the week of restlessness I’m feeling now. And I’m already looking forward to our next stop: Paris.

Marseille

Posted on November 22, 2014 by hilarylust

I had absolutely zero expectations about Marseille. Which is probably the reason I loved it…
Whenever I’d mentioned to anyone that I was headed to Marseille their reaction was always the same: “eeeeeeh, yeah, Marseille, sure”
It never seemed to be anyone’s favourite stop, but it wasn’t terrible. It didn’t really matter to me; Kelsey and Peter were flying back down from London to meet me on the Saturday. Kels had found us a nice AirBNB to stay at in the city center, and if we hated sightseeing, we could always just drink wine, eat cheese and catch up on life.
But it turns out I really loved my day of sightseeing before the two of them arrived. For starters, the day was perfect: 20 degrees, sunny, not too many tourists with the off season. It was perfect.
I’d gotten a basic rundown of everyone’s favourite sites from some friends at the hostel the night before, and after a lazy morning drinking coffee, I set out for a day of exploring!
I walked for about 6 hours that day, only stopping for a short break to eat a baguette on the beach. I meandered all along the coast, through parks, and over stunning walkways that ran right along the sea. I ended up a couple hours South of the city at Prado Beach where I stopped for a snack. Then I worked my way back inland until I hit the famous Notre Dame at the top of the largest hill in Marseille.
You can see the Notre Dame church, and the golden statue that sits on top, from all over the city. It is the landmark of Marseille! And it comes with some stunning panorama views of the mountains, the port and the islands just off the coast.
I had been taking photos of the little islands off the coast all day; from every angle it seemed! I had photos from the port, from my walk along the coast, looking back at them from the beach, and now from the viewpoint at the Notre Dame. As I stood above the city, looking down at them I decided right then and there that I needed to see them up close!
So I cruised down the big hill to the port where I found a boat that would take me out. Being so late in the afternoon, I could only choose one island to visit: I chose the Isle D’If.
The isle D’If is very tiny. You could probably walk around the entire thing in 15 minutes. On the island sits a large fort. The fort was originally built to protect the port from pirates entering the area. But since it was so poorly designed as a defensive fort, it was soon turned into a prison.
The chateau D’If, as it was called, ran as a prison for many, many years. Over the years, it was home to numerous important dignitaries and military men. But in the end, the chateau D’If is famous for it’s fictional prisoners instead.
The Isle D’If was the setting for Alexander Dumas’ famous novel “The Count of Monte Cristo”. When the novel was released, the chateau D’If became famous worldwide. People travelled from all over to come see the famous prison where Dante was held captive. Over a century later, it was again the setting for the film “The Man in the Iron Mask”.
As it turns out, very few people remember any of the real life prisoners that were held in the jail. And so, even today, the chateau caters towards the Dumas fans, selling paperbacks of “The Count of Monte Cristo” in several languages, and even highlighting the room he was supposedly held in. As touristy as it is though, the chateau was great to explore. Plus the views back on the city as the sun set were worth the 10€ ticket out there alone!
The next day, Kelsey and Peter arrived in the afternoon and we had fun wandering the port area and the city’s famous fort for the sunset. Then we headed back to the apartment for a night of wine, beer and an epic cheese and meat spread we bought from the grocery store. We adopted a friend of mine from the hostel for the night, and the four of us played drinking games and caught up well into the night.
The next day it poured. Our plans to hike back up to the Notre Dame and sightsee for the afternoon were quickly thwarted. The rain had easily convinced us that a big lunch at the port and then naps back at the apartment was a much better plan of action for the afternoon.
So we spent the day relaxing as the rains continued, before finally all saying goodbye and carrying on our separate ways!

Carcassonne

Posted on November 20, 2014 by hilarylust

Carcassonne is considered one of the prettiest fort towns in Southern France. It’s walled old city, with a river running along the outside is exactly how you would imagine small, French market towns to be. And yet, my time there was mostly met with disaster…
Carcassonne is so small, you could walk around the whole city in a half hour. Since there were no hostels in town, I planned on spending only a few hours there on my way through to Marseille. But when I arrived to a tiny train station with no baggage check, I realized I might have a little problem of what to to with the life I was carrying on my back.
The information office was closed, the tourist office was closed, and there was no place to leave my bag for a few hours. According to an online chat group, one hotel in town would take care of a bag for a few hours for a small charge. When I arrived at the address, however, it had turned into a clothing store…
The other hotels I stopped by at in the area don’t keep luggage unless you are already staying at the hotel, so my only remaining option was to go sightseeing with my 75Litre pack and hope for the best. So I strapped myself in and started walking!
The first 20 minutes weren’t so bad! The town is mostly flat, and everything was so pretty I forgot about the weight of the world on my shoulders. But about a half hour in I started cursing the ceramics I’d bought in Morocco, and the guidebooks I hadn’t left behind in some random hostel. My back was aching, and I felt like I was being pulled slowly deeper into the Earth. I made it an hour and 45 minutes of hiking around the area before retiring in the main square and giving in to exhaustion. I was not made out for trekking.
I plopped down on the ground next to a water fountain with a makeshift lunch from the carrefour: a baguette, some cheese and a few apples and oranges. I was soon spied by a couple of chatty homeless men who joined me for lunch and offered me their prized cheap wine, poured into a 1.5L water bottle… Which I politely turned down. But it’s nice to know wine is so cheap here that even the homeless can enjoy a decent tasting vintage!
I didn’t really think it was strange at first, sharing an apple sandwich with two, old homeless dudes on the dusty ground of a small village in Southern France. All of us surrounded by our worldy possessions that we carry around on our backs. If you think about it, I too am kind of homeless at the moment. And too be fair, I’ve been confused for being homeless on a number of occasions throughout my years of travels, so why not embrace it!
The problem with being homeless though, is that after trekking around for hours, and chugging a tonne of water, you don’t have a bathroom to use. And I needed to pee!
Not wanting to have to buy anything at a neighboring cafe, I said goodbye to my new friends and trekked back to the train station to use theirs. Sadly, when I arrived, ready to burst, I realized there was only a single pay toilet out back by the tracks. 30 cents per use, and the door only accepted 10 or 20 cent coins. I stood there digging through my purse in a desperate attempt to find the cash. I had a million 1s, 2s and 5s but no 10s or 20s. I searched my pockets and the change that had fallen to the bottom of my purse as well: nothing.
All of a sudden the door popped open in front of me and a woman came out. She smiled at me as I was elbow deep in my purse looking for coins.
“Please” she said, and held the door open for me…
My angel!!
“Thank you so much!” I said.
She nodded and walked back towards the station.
I left my pack hastily outside and stepped inside the large aluminum room. The door shut and locked behind me and a motor turned on. I looked around for a light, but couldn’t find one. There was just a dim glow coming from somewhere, otherwise I was in a damp, metal room with a squatter toilet on the floor and a strange, seat that popped out of the wall and hovered over the hole in the floor… Just when I think I’ve seen every type of toilet in the world, I stumble across something new. As I quickly scanned the room for a place to balance my purse, the motor picked up and I heard a loud sound of water on metal.
My reaction time was just not quick enough. I couldn’t quite put it all together that fast. The damp floor, the swooshing sound, the French sign in red on the inside of the door that I roughly translated to “self cleaning”. But then it hit me. Literally.
The water moved steadily across the room like a wall of rain coming in from the ceiling, or the wall or something. It started creeping towards me, spraying so hard it was bouncing back off the aluminum floor and spraying me from two angles!
Turns out, the toilet self-cleans after each use, by washing down the entire room, top to bottom, side to side. Because the last lady had held the door open for me, when it shut behind me, the toilet assumed no one was there, and so, started its thorough cleaning process.
As soon as the whole thing clicked I turned and pushed on the door… Which had locked for cleaning. I turned around, watching the water come closer and closer. I stood for a moment in horror, then turned back in a second, more desperate attempt at the door. This time, I spotted a red emergency exit button. I hit it and pushed on the door and the thing swung open, throwing me back out into the light of day.
I was wet, but I think I’d just barely missed the worst of it. I let the door shut behind me, and listened to the rest of the cleaning inside. Not knowing what to do, I just stood there for a minute. Then, still needing to pee, I went back to ransacking my purse for change. Finally I checked the outside pocket and low and behold I found a 10 and a 20 cent coin right away. I had to giggle a little at the ridiculousness of it all. Then I put in the coins for attempt two.
When I’d finished, I opened the door and saw a man standing outside, waiting to come in. In a natural reaction I smiled and held the door open for him.
“Merci!” He said and started to walk in.
“No wait!!” I yelled at him. He jumped and looked at me, this half wet girl emerging from the toilet, shouting at him. He clearly didn’t speak English.
“Don’t go in there! It will spray you down!” He stared at me, now holding the door open himself. I made a lame attempt at a whooshing sound and flailed my arms (I’ve never been very good at charades).
He still stared at me.
So I risked being mistaken for rude and pulled the door from him and shut it. Immediately the motor started up and within seconds the thing started cleaning itself. I pointed to the sound and the man started laughing.
“Ahhh! Merci!” He said. Then looked me up and down and started laughing some more.
Even I had to laugh as I grabbed my bag and walked back towards the station. My time exploring Carcassonne was over, but the trains took a midday break so I still had over 2 hours to wait. I found a rock by the river and tried to relax. My back was still aching, I felt like I was getting a cold, and a super dysfunctional family decided to sit next to me and scream bloody murder at each other for the next two hours… It was fun.
Considering my day, I would still absolutely recommend Carcassonne to anyone driving through the area. Just make sure you’re a little more prepared and a little less homeless than I was…

San Sebastián

Posted on November 12, 2014 by hilarylust

It is said by many, that the city of San Sebastián, in the Basque region of Spain, is the best place on Earth to eat… Clearly I wasn’t going to pass this up. So I left Andorra, crossed back into Spain, and traversed across the whole north of the country to reach the seaside city of San Sebastián.
The city is absolutely stunning. With great boardwalk strolls, beaches for swimming and surfing, and an old town, with narrow streets full of Pinxto bars!
Since I’d discovered my new love for pinxto bars in Barcelona, I was beside myself to hear that they were supposed to be even better in San Sebastián. I spent my first evening roaming from one bar to the next with a couple American girls from my hostel. We tried cheeses and octopus and smoked salmon and blood sausages, anything we could find: we drank dirt cheap, delicious red wine and local beers on tap… we were having no fun at all, I assure you.
The next morning the weather matched my mood. A red wine hangover and stormy, windy weather. The rains had finally caught up to me on the trip. It poured and poured and poured. So as a compromise to my full day of sightseeing, I decided to hit up the city’s famous aquarium, where I spent about half the day curled up in front of the shark tank, watching all the fishes go by.
The next day the rains cleared up just long enough for me to explore the length of the city. I walked to the end of the boardwalk where the popular “Peine del Viento” modern art sculpture sits. The sculpture, known in English as “The Wind Comb” was designed by two men, a sculpture and an architect, in an attempt to bring together the sea, iron, wind and rocks. The crashing waves that come in from the sea on the West side of the city, hit the walls and crash upwards. The artists have put star shaped wind holes in the ground that send wind and water geysers shooting up 20 feet or so in the air. The whole piece, which includes large, iron sculptures melded into the rocks, is actually quite impressive! And on a day after a storm, the geysers and waves were in full force.
But apart from wandering the streets and parks when the rains slowed, all I really did in San Sebastián was eat. Which is exactly what I went there for… And the food was amazing! It was a fabulous way to end my time in Spain. I’m definitely going to miss tapas and pinxtos, but I hear France might have one or two types of food I like as well. Time for a new country!

Valle D’Incles and Andorra’s Largest Lake

Posted on November 11, 2014 by hilarylust

“It’s not in the hiking pamphlet,” said the man at the information center, “but in my opinion, the Valle D’Incles is the most beautiful area in Andorra.” He scribbled a circle around a little river in the North East corner of the country map. “If you’re looking for a nice easy walk, and you don’t have a car, it’s only 1 hour, each way, through the valley along a road and it’s one of my favourites”.
I was really excited about exploring the valley, but a 2 hour hike didn’t seem worth staying an extra day for. So I looked up hikes in the area through the Active Tourism app. Sure enough, at the end of the valley, there was a popular hike that was 2 more hours, each way, to lake Juclar.
Lake Juclar is pretty much right on the France border in the parish of Canillo, and is Andorra’s largest lake! The photos looked great, so I decided to do the valley and the lake in a combined 6 hour hike.
According to the app, it didn’t look so hard, after all, it only climbed 500ft in altitude, how bad can it be?
When my alarm went off before the sun rose, however, I had different opinions on the matter. Even under the layers of blankets in my hotel room I could feel the cold outside. I did not pack for cold weather. I always forget to pack for cold weather, despite knowing that I’m ALWAYS cold, even during the summer months. I also didn’t pack for hiking. I only planned on MAYBE hiking for one or two days during the two months I was away. Not really worth hauling boots around for. So instead, I looked ridiculous throwing on my tights and my toms to go out for the day.
The bus driver thought I was crazy when I told him what stop I wanted him to drop me at.
“But why? There’s nothing there…”
“For hiking!” I said, a little too enthusiastically for how I felt that early in the morning. He looked skeptically at me, but shrugged and kept driving.
When my stop came up, the driver pulled over on the side of the highway and nodded for me to get off.
“Gracias” I smiled. Proud of myself for trying something a little more off the beaten track. And I strolled off the bus with confidence.
But as soon as the bus was out of view my confidence left me. I was in the middle of NOWHERE! I was standing on the side of the highway, in the 6th smallest country on Earth, stuck right in the middle of a mountain range. And it was freezing. It was absolutely freezing. Tights were definitely a mistake.
I quickly found the little side road that would take me through the valley and started at a brisk walk to try to warm up. But the sun looked like it was hours from hitting the area, so it was much more of an effort than I expected. For the first ten minutes I had my face down in my scarf and my hood pulled so far over my head I didn’t see any of the scenery. But then I remembered this was supposed to be the most beautiful area of the country and I forced myself to pay attention.
The valley was gorgeous. Perfect little stone homes scattered the valley, with cows grazing in the pastures outside. A small river ran right through the valley, all the way to a larger mountain that stood at the end of the road. I assumed that’s where I was headed.
The walk was wonderful, and easy. It was paved, and I didn’t feel like my pathetic excuse for walking shoes were out of place. And it wasn’t an hour later before I reached the end of the road and found a few signs for walking trails in the area. One that read “Juclar” pointed up a small hill along a rocky path. Well that must be it!
Since the sun still hadn’t made it to the valley, the path was icy. The water that had run from the stream onto the trail had frozen overnight and made for some slippery terrain. Oh great, good thing toms have such a wonderful tread on them…
As I started my ascent I looked around for where the path might be going. I must follow along another valley somewhere if I’m only ascending 500ft, but all the areas pointed to up: way up. About ten minutes in a thought occurred.
“It’s funny that the app would list the elevation difference in feet when everything around here uses the metric system…” Then I stopped. Pulled out my phone and rechecked the app. Yup. I was right. It wasn’t 500ft, it was 500m, or 1500ft in elevation change… Oh my god.
Well I’d come this far, I might as well continue. So off I went. I climbed up and up and up until my legs were burning. And every time I made it to the top, there was another peak to climb. That rumour about the 7 false peaks of a mountain… Yeah, that’s a real thing.
Luckily for the mountain, the views were all worth it. During my two hours of hiking upwards, the sun still hadn’t reached me. Which now that I had seriously warmed up, was a welcoming fact. But looking back down the path I’d just climbed, despite looking into the shadows, was spectacular. It really made me and my toms and my tights feel accomplished!
And to top it off, the app was bang on. Exactly 2 hours and 10 minutes later I had made it to the end of the path. Exactly the time it had quoted. And I had made it to the country’s largest lake!!!
As I stood at the top of the mountain, looking down at the lake I had to laugh. Coming from Canada I think we have slightly different views on what “large lake” means. Not that the app ever stated it was a “large” lake, but instead the “largest” lake. Still, I think I had envisioned something larger. I’m pretty positive that some celebrities have swimming pools the size of Andorra’s largest lake. Not that I’m judging.
But since the climb had been such an accomplishment, the lake was one of the best things I’d seen all morning! So I climbed down the rest of the path: over a pile of boulders from a previous rockslide and down the edge of a cliff with a rope that had been provided by someone. And I sat down on the rocky shores of the lake. Well to be fair, it was two lakes, side by side, that probably meld together during the rainy season. I took off my shoes and dipped my toes in. The water was glacial! Not that I had ever anticipated wanting to go for a swim, but at this time of year and at a couple thousand meters in altitude, I don’t know how anyone would want to go swimming. On the other hand, I’d reached the sun! So I sat down for a picnic lunch and reveled in the scenery! There was a cabin at the edge of the larger lake that was a year round guarded cabin (these are fairly common on hiking routes in Andorra). The first two people I’d seen on the trip were two men surveying the area around the cabin. About a half hour later a French couple, decked in full out hiking attire passed by me as well. Otherwise, the area was pretty much empty.
After lunch I started my slow descent back to the Valle D’Incles. The sun had come out in full force and I went quickly from four layers of clothing to one. It was a little less than 2 hours to reach the bottom and a further hour to make it back to the main highway. Instead of hopping on the bus right away, I walked another half hour to the closest town to check out what very, very rural Andorra looked like.
The tiny, 3 road village of El Tartare, albeit just as gorgeous as the rest of the country, was completely shut up for the off season. So I jumped back on the next bus to Andorra la Vella and called it a day. The Pyrenees will definitely be seeing me again!

The Fez Medina

Posted on October 30, 2014 by hilarylust

As I was sitting at lunch today, I realized that I will never tire of people watching in the Fez Medina. With over 9800 streets, the Medina in Fez is by far the largest Medina in Morocco. It’s almost impossible not to get lost, and it’s inevitable that you’ll have some great entertainment along the way.
I decided to eat lunch in a small, covered side street of the Medina. In an otherwise torn up alleyway, a man and his wife set out plastic chairs around a small table and covered it in a regal purple velvet for a “classy” effect.
“Please!” Announced the man “my wife makes all the food! Come have a salad”
Even though I’d just turned down the touts at about 100 restaurants along the way, this mans enthusiasm drew me to have a snack. He reminded me of a plump version of Roberto Benigni in Life is Beautiful. His excitement over his wife’s food, the way he smiled and yelled “beautiful!!” after I told him everything tasted great, and the way he jumped around trying to make it all perfect: adjusting napkins, running to the corner store for cold water, checking salt and pepper levels. But he was right, his wife’s cooking was sensational!
It amazes me how many things can happen all at once in a medina. While I ate at the velvet covered patio table, a man across the alley sold dates in front of an old public fountain. Next to him, a rooster perched on the edge of a parked motorcycle, crowed away incessantly. Beside the rooster was an iron worker, sending sparks flying into the sky towards me while he welded together a cast iron chair, sans protective gear.
All of a sudden a man yelled “balak!” Meaning “get out of the way” as he dragged a huge horse through the medina, carrying close to 14 propane tanks on it’s back. This is all such a normal spectacle, no one bats an eye at the absurdity of it all.
The medina has some of the worlds most unusual combination of sights, and yet the only thing people notice that’s amiss from their everyday life is me…
“Shakira! You’re back!” Announces a man as I pass by him for a third time today, wandering around in a circle, trying to find my bearings in the labyrinth. The problem with getting lost here is, everyone notices. A thousand people must have passed by him since I’d wandered by, yet I’m the one he remembers.
“Come try my dates now, Shakira!”
“La, Shukran” I answer.
“La Shukran! La Shukran! Always no thank you! You kill me Shakira”
Everyone calls me Shakira here in Morocco. Whether it’s the only blonde woman they have ever seen before, or it once got a positive reaction and the word spread nation wide I’m not sure. But, c’est la vie, it’s my newest nickname and I hear it everywhere I go.
As I come upon a familiar street, all I hear are whispers of “chameau, chameau!”. “Chameau” is the French word for “camel”. Camels are given to women as dowry gifts when a wedding is arranged. A beautiful woman in Morocco will usually get between 200 and 300 camels for a dowry, an ugly one, just 3.
“I will give you 3000 camels” yells a young guy as I pass by in the street.
“I will give you all the camels in Morocco” shouts the man across from him. I roll my eyes… There’s no way he can follow through on that promise!
In front of me a young guy sees me walking, he turns around to his clothing store, takes a mannequin and immediately rips it’s hand away from it’s body. I stood, shocked as he turned around to face me with it.
“Madam!” He announces, “I give you my hand… in marriage” and passes me the amputated plastic hand. I had to laugh. I respect his pun, but reject his proposal.
Apparently the medina is a good place to find husbands! On top of that it’s a fabulous place for some retail therapy, and it’s also a workplace for thousands and thousands of Moroccans. Restaurateurs, metal workers, weavers, salesmen, and most notably in Fez, leather workers.
The tanneries are one of Fez’s most popular sites. The city is known for it’s supple leather: jackets, bags, wallets and more. There are three tanneries in Fez, the largest of which I managed to visit.
You can tell you’re close to a tannery because of the utterly nauseating stench that emanates through the nearby streets… The hides of sheep and cow and camel, sitting in the heat of the day; the mix of pigeon poo, cow urine and limestone; and the chemical smell of the dyes used to colour each pelt. It’s horrific to say the least. Tourists are given mint sprigs to hold in front of their noses to freshen the air, but no amount of mint can hold back the reek of the tanneries.
Tannery work is important work. People are born into the profession, and work at their jobs with a certain sense of pride: fez leather is the best leather. But with all the prestige of the final result, the work is terrible. It’s ancient methods come along with ancient safety procedures. Men work in temperatures reaching up to 47 degrees, with no skin protection, wading in chemicals that reach thigh high. They are paid per hide, instead of per hour, so speed is a more important factor than safety. But the process is fascinating: hides are dried, washed and stripped of hair. They are then soaked in a mix of limestone, pigeon excrement and cow urine. From there they are moved to pits filled with natural dyes: indigo, saffron or poppy. Then finally, they are laid in the sun to dry again. The process is insane to watch. Looking down from the terraces of neighboring shops give you the best view of the chaos below.
It’s true, I will never get tired of people watching in the Fez Medina. It is a world of unusual sights and smells and sounds, and you’re bound to find something new around each corner. Unfortunately, my time in Morocco has come to a close, and Barcelona awaits as my next adventure!

The Sahara Desert

Posted on October 23, 2014 by hilarylust

It was a grueling, 2-day journey to the Sahara Desert; cramped up in the back seat of a 15 passenger van, crunched over the wheel-well, I never thought I’d feel my legs ever again. Our tourist stops involved all 15 of us being dragged out of the car, usually in the freezing cold and wind to take photos of whatever was in front of us. Our driver spoke no English, but smiled and pointed and kept repeating “Photo! Photo!” It could have been the most famous sight in Morocco, or it could have been a donkey stall: none of us had a clue. We started each morning at least an hour after schedule. The first day we drove around Marrakech for over two hours picking people up, switching cars, realizing we were with the wrong driver, and switching again. The second day we waited 45 minutes for two Moroccan girls from Rabat to put on lipstick and fake eyelashes: only the finest for the desert! Then we piled in the van and hit the road. After our lunch stop, it was a race against the sun to make it to the desert for our sunset camel ride. Every stop seemed to take longer than expected. The 4 minute allotted time at the scarf shop, and 20 minutes at the Berber carpet factory turned into 15 minutes and 45 respectively. I felt like we were sheep being herded around, not knowing quite where to look and what to do. But at least I was a happy sheep.
It took all our skills to keep our driver awake for the final leg of the trip. He kept nodding off as we sped through the Atlas Mountains. We clapped and played music and kept talking to him, even though he didn’t understand us. We were determined to make it there: alive! When we did arrive, there were no camels. The other tour group had made it mere seconds before us, and even though we checked in and were ready before them, they took the camels and left us behind.
“Where are our camels?” We asked various people that looked like they were in charge.
“Yes. It’s no problem! No problem!” They smiled at us. But it was a problem. We were sitting at the edge of the desert with no camels, and the sun was going to set in a half hour.
It turns out, the company had overbooked. They sent us out on the tour, knowing there were limited camels, but figure it could be first come first serve.
“We thought there were 12 of you, not 15” one man said “so three more camels are coming, Inshallah”
Inshallah means “god willing” in Arabic. It is such a common phrase here in Morocco, and one I’ve even picked up saying over the past ten days. “I will come back to Morocco, Inshallah” or “the sun will be out tomorrow, Inshallah” but not “the camels are coming, Inshallah” this left me to believe that maybe the camels weren’t actually coming…
As the rest of the group got upset I stood up and walked over to the man who told us the camels were coming.
“Bonjour Monsieur. Can you please tell me when the last three camels are coming?”
“5 minutes”
“Okay, then shall we get the other twelve people on the camels while we’re waiting. Then we won’t miss the sunset?” After seeing how long it took us to do everything, this seemed like the most logical plan of action.
“It’s no problem, Fatima. The camels will come. You can sit down”
“I’d rather go see the camels thanks. Can we go see the camels?”
“Sure. No problem. That way.” He pointed towards a doorway leading out of the courtyard.
I walked outside with three of the girls I’d become close with during the two day drive. As we walked out, we found that there were not 12 camels, but only 5.
“Come come!” One man urged us over to him. “Get on, we must go” he pulled one of the girls over and dragged her on to the camel.
“But I’m not with this group” she said. The camels were in a line of 8. The first three already had people from the first group on them, the last five were empty.
“It’s ok. Everyone together. Get on” confused, she got on. Then the three of us, and finally one more girl that came along with the rest of our group got on the remaining four.
“Ok. We go now” and our camels stood up (with squeals from the girls as we nearly tumbled off) and started forward.
“But the rest of us…” We stammered.
“It’s okay. They are coming. We are all coming”
So that was that. We started off on the camels and into the desert. It wasn’t minutes later that all was forgotten. The car ride, the waiting, the sore bums, the forgotten group members: we were in the Sahara Desert!
It was truly magical riding on camelback through the desert as the sun set behind us. I’ve always wanted to visit the Sahara. I remember watching a movie as a child called “A Far Off Place” about two kids that were forced to brave crossing the Sahara by foot (upon fact checking, it was actually the Kalahari desert, but I’ve always thought it was the Sahara, and you get the point). Even though I haven’t seen the film in close to 2 decades, it still sticks in my mind as being otherworldly, a place of danger and excitement.
We rode bumpily over the dunes, taking photos and laughing about how uncomfortable downhill camel riding is. About an hour in our bums were as sore as they were in the car, and we remembered our forgotten group members back at Merzouga.
“Do you think they made it on the camels?” We wondered.
Just then, from away in the distance we saw black shapes moving towards us.
“That must be the other camels!” We were delighted that they’d made it, since we felt a little guilty being the ones that made it on. But the black shape moved much faster than any camels we’d seen. Soon we realized that it was a 4×4 driving towards us. We heard screams and yelling as it drove closer.
When it came around a closer dune we saw that it was all our group members, half on top of the 4×4, holding on to the roof rack, plummeting up and down sand dunes towards us. With each dip, they screamed in whoops of half fear and half excitement.
Turns out the camels never arrived. But the alternative was to get a wild ride through the desert to camp. Tomorrow the camels would come, Inshallah.
We arrived at camp, after dark, two hours after we left. The air was still surprisingly warm, and we were beginning to get skeptical about everyone telling us how cold the desert was at night. We were shown to our tent, which was a wooden frame, covered in Berber blankets, with four thin mattresses on the ground. It was sweltering hot inside, so we dropped our things and went for dinner.
The dinner tent was huge. It felt like a wedding or circus tent, with one giant curtain, as the ceiling and walls. It was simply set up with some folding chairs and tables for food. The food they served was some of the best I’d had in Morocco, and by far the best we’d had on our trip. Fresh bread, rice, and a huge Tagine with vegetables and chicken. One massive platter of each was placed in the middle of each table, and it was a free for all, no plates kind of a meal. The food was perfectly seasoned and cooked, I was so impressed that this all came from the desert!
When we’d sufficiently stuffed ourselves, we decided to hike the big sand dune next to camp to watch the stars. This was a bigger task than anticipated, as we climbed one step up and slid two steps back through the sand. It was dark, and windy, and our calves were burning just a quarter of the way up. At three quarters of the way up, it was getting so windy we figured we were better off lower down. So we sat at the midway mark, looking down at the ant-like lights buzzing around below us in the camp. We chatted and watched for shooting stars as we tried to pick out the constellations that we knew. It’s much more difficult to see the patterns when there are a billion stars in the sky! Then out if nowhere a young man came strolling down out of the darkness from the top of the hill to sit with us. He was from Costa Rica, and just happened to study Astrology in school. He showed us all the constellations, and how to properly see stars…
“Don’t look AT the star,” he explained “if you look next to it you will see it. It is our peripheral vision that detects light”
When we’d seen enough shooting stars, and the temperature began to drop, we left the random Costa Rican man and headed for the fire below. We realized afterwards, that in the darkness we had never even seen the guy’s face, and we’d never gotten his name. We didn’t see him again, so we referred to him as our “star angel” who may or may not have been a mirage in the desert.
Downhill was much easier, as we cruised down the sand dune to the campfire that had been lit below. The local guides were playing the drums and singing, so we all got up to dance around the fire. After a little while, however, the guides were right and it did get cold. With a six am start time, we figured it was bed time. So we curled up in our probably bed bug infested mattresses and went to sleep.
At 6am we were woken up and herded towards to camels again. Our guide had said all the camels arrived in the night, so everyone could take a camel back. So we hopped on and started our two-hour journey back to Mergouza. The way back was even more painful. We hadn’t quite recovered from yesterday’s ride, and on top of that our calves were still sore from our dune hike. But the sunrise was worth it! The light coming over the dunes and spreading over the sea of sand that lay in front of us was worth every moment of pain on the journey. But two more hours on the camels was enough time, and our stomachs were growling as we reached camp for breakfast.
When we arrived however, we learned that the camels had not shown up at the camp. Two of the people who had been left behind before were left behind again. They had to take the jeep back to Merzouga and they were not impressed. Nor would I be.
Luckily, they were sent sand boarding while we trekked back, and when our camels arrived, they set out for an hour trek on their own.
The Sahara Desert trek, although sometimes disorganized, was worth every penny. At only $100 for the three days, it was a steal in terms of price. This was definitely a bucket list item crossed off.
To finish our three day journey we spent another 12 hours driving back to Marrakech. It was painful from the get-go. But we made it back in one piece, and I’d do it all over again on a heartbeat!

Fifteen Minutes of Fame… And Then Some: Ait Ben Haddou

Posted on October 23, 2014 by hilarylust

It’s a sad truth that many places I visit in the world are disappointing. Well disappointing isn’t quite the word for it, more that, my ignorant, Hollywood skewed, image of things isn’t exactly what I had envisioned. For example, not everyone in Namibia lives in the bush and speaks in a clicking dialect. Similarly, the pyramids of Egypt, sit right on the edge of a bustling city, instead of standing alone, deep within the Egyptian desert. Hollywood films have often distorted our reality of how places on the other side of the world look, which is fair enough, it’s their job to make the world magical…
The tiny village of Ait Ben Haddou in central Morocco is the opposite of that. It’s actually how I envisioned all of Morocco to look more or less. Why is that? Probably because this little town is also the set of many, many Hollywood films.
In 1960, Ben Haddou was the setting for Lawrence of Arabia, and since then has been featured in over 27 major films. Classics like Ali Baba and the 40 Theives, and the Young Indiana Jones, and more recent films such as Gladiator, Prince of Persia, Babel and Game of Thrones have all been shot there. It is the quintessential “North Africa”. Originally built in the 1500’s, Ben Haddou is still an inhabited village. I’m not sure exactly how the locals feel about the constant stream of filmmakers in the area, but it sure has become a tourist destination due to them. And I can see why; staring at the town from across the river is one of those rare movie moments, where the place matches the ideal.

Essaouira

Posted on October 22, 2014 by hilarylust

The little beach town of Essaouira felt like the coastal equivalent of Chefchauoen’s mountain retreat. After spending an evening in Marrakech’s crazy medina, the cozy port town was a welcoming calm. Essaouira’s medina sits directly on the water’s edge. So close in fact, that while walking along it’s outer corridors, you can feel the ocean spray coming in over the massive walls. There aren’t many tourist sites in the little town, but you could easily get accustomed to the relaxing lifestyle the city offers. Strolling through the medina, a leisurely late morning coffee, a casual walk along Essaouira’s long stretch of beach, and a fresh seafood dinner at the port. It’s hard not to feel at ease in the little town.
I spend my one full day in Essa doing just that. It took all my strength not to buy half the medina as I wandered through spice stores and pottery shops. So I opted for a cafe au lait and some people watching instead. In the late afternoon I walked along the beach until I could hardly see the city walls anymore. I must have been lucky, because there was barely any wind that day. I’ve heard more than a few people complain about their beach walk due to the wind. Essaouira is known for it’s windy weather, and what’s normally a leisurely beach stroll can easily become a sandstorm, giving you an unwanted sandpaper scrub.
When I arrived back in the city, it was dinner time. I opted for the cheap, food stalls at the port; a “must” according to my guidebook.
I was feeling a little indulgent, and so figured I’d spend twice as much on dinner as I normally do. I walked up to one food stall that had a huge display of seafood, caught fresh that day.
“I would like 80 dirhams ($10) of food please. I’ll eat pretty much anything, so feel free to mix and match whatever you think is the best” the guy at the stall was so excited, since I was his first customer of the evening. He started grabbing this and that and putting it on a platter for me. Then he sat me down with a fresh salad and some bread rolls.
I think I may have underestimated how much food 80 dirhams was, because when my food started arriving I was overwhelmed. First, prawns. About 20 prawns on a plate were placed in front of me. Then came the fish: two massive sardines, and two other whole fish, splayed out and grilled up, were set down. Just when I thought that was everything, a bowl of calamari was given to me as well. How in the world was I going to eat all this?!
But I did, slowly but surely, one at a time. I read my book, and picked away at the tasty fish. The owner of the stall kept coming out and yelling at his staff, who were supposed to be coercing more people to have dinner, but who preferred instead to sit down at my table and ask about where I was from and how I liked the food. They would all jump up and rush around, yelling at people to come eat. Then the owner smiled at me and gave an exasperated sigh. I had to laugh.
When dinner was over I wandered through the medina again, trying to walk off the crazy amounts of food I’d just eaten. Before long I heard someone yelling.
“Hey, Canada!” I turned around to see Matt, an American guy from my hostel waving at me from across the street. He and an Australian girl were headed to a local restaurant to watch Omar, a local Moroccan they had befriended, play music. I figured I had nothing better to do than to join them.
The restaurant we went to was tiny. It only held about 15 people. The place was dark, and candle lit, and had a bench with Moroccan cushions all around the edge of the restaurant. The Aussie girl, Matt, Omar and I sat down for some tea and coffee and met up with Omar’s friend who would be playing with him. Then the show started. Omar played the guitar, while his friend kept beat on a drum and the two of them sang. The music was almost Latin sounding, with an African beat that was wonderful to listen to! They played for around 45 minutes, then sat back down to join us at the table. We chatted and played music into the evening, until I realized I was falling asleep and had to head back to the hostel.
I’m a little upset I had such little time in Essaouira. I could easily have lounged around the city for days. But there’s so much to see in the country, and my time is limited, so it was back to Marrakech the next afternoon!

Rabat

Posted on October 21, 2014 by hilarylust

It makes me a little sad that so many travellers decide to skip out on visiting Rabat. The capital city of Morocco, although perhaps lacking in nightlife and major tourist hotspots, is a wonderfully photogenic city. It’s a modern city, with nearly all the amenities of western culture, interspersed with ancient ruins and stunning Arab architecture.
Perhaps it was because I have family friends in Rabat, who were kind enough to show me the sites and hidden gems of the area, or perhaps it’s the very lack of tourists that makes it so appealing.
For a capital city, Rabat is fairly laid back. The crazy Medina’s of Fez and Marrakech are completely opposite from Rabat’s set prices and “I don’t care if I make a sale” attitudes. Rabat’s souks are hassle free, and yet still carry everything you could ever want to buy. Antiques, scarves, pottery, shoes, leather bags, or a full Addidas jumpsuit: the Medina carries tourist trinkets and household necessities in plentiful supply. Food venders sell bowls of steamed snails (not bad), grilled meat sandwiches and freshly squeezed fruit juices. We tried pomegranate juice that was selling for less than a dollar a glass. I could hardly see the profit in selling it for so cheap. The vendor must have gone through at least 5 pomegranates, banging the backs of them with a wooden stick to loosen the seeds, just to make one cup of juice. But it sure was delicious!
On my first day in Rabat, Tamara and I walked around the sites of the city while the girls were in school and Rick was at work. Apparently you can see all the sites of Rabat in two hours, but we managed to keep ourselves busy for two days of sightseeing. We visited Le Tour Hassan, a mosque, that was originally supposed to be the second largest in the world, at 60m high. Unfortunately, the building was left unfinished, and an earthquake destroyed parts of what was constructed. What remains, however, is a beautiful, red-brick mosque, a courtyard of half standing rows of pillars and a gorgeous, intricately designed mausoleum on the other side. There were some tourists milling about, but mostly the place was empty, apart from some ornately dressed guards on horseback at the entrance gates, and others standing at the mausoleum entrance.
From the mosque we walked along the city outskirts to the Chellah. Of all the sites in Rabat, I believe this was my favourite. Originally built by the Romans in 40AD, the ancient city of Sala Colonia was abandoned in 1154. The Chellah was later reconstructed by the Arabs in the 14th century: towers and defensive walls were constructed around the roman site. What results is a wonderful mix of cross-cultured ruins: old stones with Greek letters etched into it sit next to a dilapidated mosque, partially decorated with fragments of colored tiles. The Chellah was completely devoid of tourists. It was a little garden oasis at the edge of Rabat, just out of earshot from the bustling traffic outside. We wandered the Chellah until it was time to pick the girls up from school. Then, it was surf time.
We drove South of the city about a half hour until we made it to this beautiful stretch of sandy beach. There we met up with Bob, who owns a surf school that the girls have been taking lessons at casually for the past month or two. On the day we went, it was overcast, and being the end of the summer season, we were the only ones on the beach!
Now, my experience with surfing is limited solely to my failed attempts in Southern India. Myles and I rented terrible surf boards, and threw ourselves into 6ft waves on the beaches of Kovalam. We lasted 20 minutes, then sat on the beach to eat a chocolate bar… I was hoping this time was going to be better than the last!
The second we arrived, it was already easier. We had great surfboards, wetsuits, and an instructor: already a winning start. Even though I put my wetsuit on backwards, and didn’t understand a word our French instructor was saying, I was still having fun.
We were out in the waves for an hour. Paris and Danika were amazing: I spent most of my time being dragged across the ocean by our guide. My upper body strength is weak at the best of times, throw a current into the mix and I’m right out! I like to think of my day more as “I was AMAZING at body boarding on a really long board” rather than “I am a terrible surfer”. Regardless, the water was warm, the waves were good, and we all seemed to have fun!
When we had recovered from the waves and made ourselves presentable, we all went out to a wonderful dinner down at the river. Just outside the medina there is a big sailing ship that has been transformed into one of the coolest restaurants I’ve come across. The bow has comfy cushions and low tables, perfect for drinks, the stern is a fancy dining room and downstairs there’s a cozy lounge bar that smells like old cigar smoke. The whole thing is beautiful, and the food is delicious! It’s such a rare event to visit fancy restaurants like this one when you’re a backpacker on a budget, so I really appreciated getting spoiled! We had fresh, warm bread rolls, a wonderful salmon, and Moroccan wine. I didn’t even know Moroccans MADE wine! But it was surprisingly tasty!
Overall I had an amazing time in Rabat. I only wish I’d had more time to get to know the city!