Back To Reality...almost

With only 3 weeks left in our journey, thoughts of going back to reality slowly creep in.  We've been living in some sort of suspended reality for the past 2 months, I'm afraid that our suburban Sydney life will hit us like a slap in the face.

The thought of taking on the role of taxi driver to the kids' sporting activities, the bills that need to be paid, easing Cat and Bee back into their schools, running the business with Mig at home with me. In a way I'm looking forward to going back with renewed energy and perspective on things -  like the fact that our family really doesn't need so much crap to be happy nor do we necessarily need a 4-bedroom house. I guess I've known this for a while but the past 3 months travelling and living out of 2 suitcases proves it. On the other hand, I ask myself how I can go back to the same, crazy, frenetic way of life we were living before the trip after seeing what we've seen, being where we've been.

I'm more grateful now for the fact that I can call Australia home. For all the whinging and whining that goes on, I now realise how polite and disciplined Australian society is as a whole. Grateful for the efficiency of the system, the work-ethic, the laws, the general respect for and enforcement of those laws. Not to mention a great way of life that respects an employee's work-life balance allowing them to take 4 months off from work to actually enjoy life. Some may see it as lazy, I think it's smart. Early in my advertising career, a former boss once told me that the team's work ethic was 'Work hard, play hard'. This has stayed with me and I like to think that Australian society lives by that same motto.

It's easy to take all this for granted when it's the way of life you've grown accustomed to and you think the rest of the developed world operates in much the same way. Now I find it's not necessarily so. 

Then there are other things that need reconciliation. I find peace in the countryside, yet we live in and are dependent on a big city. I'd like to simplify our lives, yet we are living in one of the most expensive cities. Sydney is no doubt one of the world's prettiest cities, and we are now paying the price for it. Travelling through Europe makes me realise just how expensive Sydney has become. People said Austria was expensive, yet my jaw didn't drop with the prices. It's on par with Sydney...sometimes cheaper.

These are the things I need to reconcile in my head and heart when returning back to our reality. 

The hills are alive...Salzkammergut Region, Austria

I snuck out for an early morning walk while everyone was still asleep. I should be looking for a grocery but decided to look for the lake instead. We arrived at our lakeside village of Strobl late last night so we couldn't see it. Now that I've found the lake, the grocery can wait.

The stillness of the crystal clear water and the tall trees, the gentle chirping of birds in the distance, the hum from the cars passing by on the highway, the smell of log fires drifting from the village, the cool (but not freezing) crisp mountain air. As I sit on the shores of Lake Wolfgangsee in Austria, my senses are in overdrive, but in a good way. Not in the chaotic Marrakech kind of way, but in a calm, serene, peaceful kind of way. Not a soul in sight. I can hear myself think. It's pure bliss. Not to mention the playground on the foreshore and the clear water to splash about in (if it's warm enough) which I'm sure the kids will love and never want to leave. I wonder if this place has a good postal system?

We thought using this place as a base for visiting Salzburg would allow us to see both the city and Austrian countryside. Now I sit here and think we may never make it to Salzburg...or to our next planned stops in Germany! On our way here, we had a glimpse of what this region has to offer at Lake Traunsee. We've been lucky enough to see so many beautiful places on this trip but the view of Lake Traunsee coming down the A1 from Vienna took our breath away. We had to stop.

Lush green foreshore, clear glassy water with a huge snow-capped mountain backdrop all seen through a filter of haze. It was as if I was looking at one of those huge wallpaper backdrops of stunning scenery. Even the photos I took looked slightly surreal. It's the kind of scenery you only see in movies - mainly because some location scout has trekked half way around the globe to find it and some cinematographer has made sure it appears picture-perfect on screen. Well, ok, we have trekked half way around the globe to get here too, but you know what I mean. It was right there, in all its raw natural beauty. No camera tricks.

Unfortunately the gates to the lake front were closed so we couldn't get to the water's edge. Maybe because it was late in the afternoon? Funnily enough the locals seemed oblivious to its beauty. At one point I was taking a photo of the lake through a closed gate. As soon as I left a lady went up to the same spot to take a look at what I was taking a picture of. Hello??!!

Further along the highway at Lake Traunsee Hubby spotted a roadside eatery with several people outside. What's happening there, we wondered. Pleased with the Lake Traunsee discovery we were feeling adventurous so we made a u-turn to find out. It was the most picturesque 'carinderia' (eatery) I've ever seen set between the highway on one side and the picturesque lake and mountain backdrop on the other. We ordered what others were having - fish and chips. But this wasn't your normal battered fish and chips. This was the whole fish served like they normally do in the Philippines. Yum! No guide book ever tells you about this kind of stuff, I thought. Hubby, Kat and I dug in. Bee and Mig just stared at the dead fish on the table. They couldn't get over seeing the fish like that and refused to eat it, despite repeated assurance from all of us that it was delicious. Note to self: kids clearly need more exposure to other kinds of fish dishes - not just filleted battered fish and fish fingers!

While the shore in front of me at Strobl isn't quite as picturesque as Lake Traunsee, I can't wait to explore the rest of this area, maybe even return to Lake Traunsee.  Village church bells ring in the distance reminding me of the time. I'd better find that grocery before everyone wakes up hungry.

Venice, Italy - The World's Prettiest...Shopping Mall?

After reading some advise on online travel forums, we decided to stay in Verona and do a day trip to Venice.

We didn't have any set itinerary for Venice. The only thing that was a 'must do' on our Venice list was a gondola ride. I just wanted to bask in the 'prettiness' of all the canals and little bridges. To be totally honest, I didn't get to do any research on Venice before we got on our train and were on our way so we arrived at the Sta. Lucia train station in Venice pretty...well, clueless. We're getting pretty good at finding our way from 'clueless' and I find it more fun to discover places as we go so this didn't faze me.

As soon as we stepped out of the station we found ourselves facing the Grand Canal overwhelmed with a myriad of options for 'water rides'. It's a bit like standing in Circular Quay in Sydney trying to find the best option for a ride to Manly. There were water taxis, tour operators offering canal tours, public water buses, and then there were the gondolas.

While it wasn't the cheapest way to get around Venice (€80 for 40 minutes) we decided that if we were going to get in the water in this city it had to be on a gondola. After all, we didn't come all this way to get on something that looked like a Manly ferry! (I also secretly wanted to get on one of those slick wooden taxis ala Angelina Jolie in The Tourist but I wasn't dressed for the part).

We explored the lanes and alley ways of the city before getting on our gondola and after a while corner after corner just started to look the same. Shop after shop it started to get pretty boring. They weren't little shops or artist galleries with artisans selling their wares either. I like those as they add to the charm and character of a place. These were chain stores, designer brands, and sidewalk stalls filled with every possible souvenir item made in China.

We didn't really have a clear idea of what we wanted to do in Venice but we certainly didn't go there for the shopping. Apart from a gondola ride though, it seems that's really all there is to do there. Were we missing something? We decided to continue walking and at least get to the Piazza on the map. After all, the piazza is always the heart of any town, city or village. At least we should see that, I thought.

Piazza San Marco was worth the walk. It is a beautiful open space surrounded by historic buildings. The kids loved running amongst the pigeons and classical music filled the air. Perfect place to sit for a cup of coffee while the kids played. I picked a table at one of the outdoor areas that had a quartet playing and sat down. Shortly after a spiffy looking waiter dressed in a tuxedo came over and handed me the menu together with a little 'flyer' announcing the table charge of €6 per adult for the music. OK, fair enough. At least they were upfront about the cost of the ambience. I opened the menu and that's when I almost choked. My 'little cup of coffee' was €9, a glass of wine was €18, and a cocktail was €26. Oh, and don't forget the extra €6 per adult for the music on top of that! In comparison, a cocktail at the restaurant in front of the Arena in Verona was €7.50. I couldn't get myself to pay €9 for a cappuccino and decided to get hot chips for the kids instead. They were still pricey at €8 (€14 including the music charge). Most expensive patatas fritas we've ever had.

I already had an opinion of modern day Venice before getting to Piazza San Marco. It's a beautiful place, certainly very photogenic and they know it. It's very touristy and annoyingly so in Piazza San Marco where fleecing their visitors with ridiculous prices seems quite natural. And if you would prefer to sit on the ground in the middle of the Piazza to take in the surrounds, local police will make you stand up (as witnessed). In fairness though, prices around the rest of Venice for food, drinks and gelato were pretty reasonable.

Part of me thinks I should just be able to overlook these things and enjoy the place for what it is but for some reason in Venice I couldn't. Even the gondolas, which I naively thought were owned by the individual gondoliers and their families as a tradition, are now owned by a few big companies and your gondolier is likely to be an employee.

Maybe we missed something vital? Maybe we didn't give it enough time? Not quite what I expected from such a beautiful place.

The 'Merchant of Venice' just took on a whole new meaning for me in this overly commercialised little city that seems nothing more than a beautiful shopping mall.

I think I just died and went to Tuscany

We couldn't get out fast and far enough from Rome if we tried. Hubby and I were dying to get out of Rome and the Chianti region in Tuscany couldn't have been a better next stop.

I'm sitting here soaking in some Tuscan sun on the balcony of our rented apartment in a little village called 'Lano' - about 25km north of Siena. The owners are a husband and wife couple probably in their 60s or 70s and live on site. They speak Italian, German and French. Very little English in there too...but better than our Italian. It's a working property with olive trees planted all around so they make their own olive oil. I think they make their own wine too but I haven't seen any vineyards. We sampled a bottle of unlabelled (homemade?) Chianti red wine they gave us on arrival and it was pretty good (I'm not usually a fan of red wine).

We arrived late in the afternoon yesterday so apart from a quick drive into the town of Casole d'Elsa for some groceries, we haven't really explored the surrounds. The views of the rolling hills from that little medieval town were breath-taking...as I'm sure all views around this place are. For now I'm just happy to sit here while the kids sleep.

Having visited several cities, towns, and villages over the past 9 weeks 'on the road' through Europe it's easy to get a feel for what makes your spirit soar and what makes it scream. There are places, then there are places that you simply feel you belong. It's not so easy to get a sense of that caught up in the daily hum-drum of life but on this trip it's become clear to me that my favourite places aren't the big cosmopolitan cities. I find more peace in the little villages and country towns that we've visited. The little white village of Gaucin in Spain, the Cotswold town of Chalford in England, the medieval village of Roussillon in Southern France...and now our Tuscan stop in Italy.

All these places are so far removed from our daily suburban life raising a family back in Sydney, Australia that it's hard to imagine reconciling where I find peace with where we actually are. Many families have done it with a sea-change or tree-change, but with Hubby's profession very 'big city-centric' (fortunately my business just needs a good postal system) I'm not sure whether our family is brave enough to follow in their path.

So for now, I'm happy to just let my spirit roam free in Tuscany.

WW2 - Normandy, France

We made our way down from England to France via the English Channel.With a slight 'obsession' with WW2 history we felt taking the ferry across the Channel would give us a sense of what it would have been like for the allied troops to make their way across to France (under German occupation at the time) for the Battle of Normandy. I had heard so much about this Battle of Normandy and D-Day that I was curious. What was Normandy and why was it such a significant part of WW2? What was D-Day and why is it constantly referred to when talking about WW2?

Of course I could have just Googled it (it would have been quicker and cheaper) - but where's the fun in that?!

Leaving the shores of England en route to Normandy, France

Aboard the Normandie crossing the English Channel

Cat and Bee enjoying the novelty of our cabin and their bunks

Our entry point into France was the port of Caen, a town that had been completely wiped out during the Battle. We decided to stay overnight in the neighbouring town of Bayeaux for a brief WW2 history lesson on the Battle of Normandy before making our way down to Paris - a 2-hour train ride away. Bayeux was the first French town liberated by allied troops and suffered no damage - unlike its neighbouring town Caen.

We booked a 1/2 day private tour with Overlord Tours which is highly recommended. We don't normally book tours and prefer to find things ourselves but given the time restriction and the scattered nature of the different landing sites, we felt a private tour was the way to go.

Our tour wasn't scheduled until the next morning so we had a whole day to explore Bayeux on our own. After finding our way from Caen to our motel in Bayeux to drop our bags we 'hit the town'.

First stop was the Memorial Museum of the Battle of Normandy. It was a good introduction to the Battle ahead of our private tour.

Not far from the Museum was the Bayeaux War Cemetery where fallen allied British, American, and Australian soldiers lay. Just seeing those rows of tomb stones and names... each one being someone's son, brother, or father and I couldn't help but reflect on the senseless loss of life - many of them being kids in their late teens and early twenties. While the Battle of Normandy was the beginning of the end for Hitler and his crew, there really was no winner in that war...any war.

We woke up bright and early ready for our tour to the landing sites. Admittedly our motel bed was much better than the cabin on board the ferry but we really had no right to complain considering circumstances crossing the Channel in 1944 would have been very different.

We only had half a day so we chose to focus on Omaha Beach as it was one of the toughest battles fought with the heaviest casualties. You could easily spend a few days around Normandy to see all the landing sites and museums, listening to stories. Our tour guide's grandmother had allied paratroopers show up at her front doorstep in the dead of night as they had missed the mark to their drop zone and were lost behind enemy lines. She gave them directions, some eggs (I hope they were hard boiled!) and hurriedly sent them on their way afraid the German troops would find out she helped them.

View from inside one of the concrete bunkers. Protective plate on the right shows bullet holes from allied fire. Felt a bit surreal actually standing there behind that gun.

What the concrete bunker looks like on the outside. There were 5 of these (I think) along the Omaha coastline.

Walking the fields to the concrete bunker.

The fields behind the concrete bunkers. It was hard not to imagine this place in its bloodied chaotic state during D-Day.

One of the many access points to the underground tunnels used to channel more ammunition where it was needed.
Concrete bunkers in the background.

Underground tunnels leading to these concrete 'holes' where more guns were stationed. Presumably 2nd line defence if allied troops got through the big guns in the front line.

View from inside one of the concrete 'watch stations'. Concrete walls were so thick I actually felt creepy safe in it. Actually, I think I just felt creepy knowing the Germans were standing in that very same spot.

Concrete 'watch station' from the outside.

Same concrete 'watch station' from another angle.

Row of concrete bunkers and guns overlooking the coastline.

One of the beaches (Omaha) where allied troops landed. Mig playing with the pebbles that caused so much grief making it difficult for tanks to get further inland. Something the allied troops hadn't anticipated. Back then the whole beach was covered in them with hardly any visible sand. They eventually used a lot of the pebbles to build the roads as they made their way inland.

I went out towards the sea and took this photo to get a sense of what allied troops would have seen when they landed.
Germans heavily entrenched in the hills overlooking the beach, allied troops making their way inland from the sea under heavy fire from those hills not knowing where the enemy was...chaos. 

This is the only cover allied troops would have had from German fire... if they made it this far up the shore. There are those pebbles again...

The scars of the war felt like they ran deep in this little French region. Who could blame them? Almost everyone here had some story to tell about the day their home became a battlefield. Not just any battlefield... but the battlefield that was going to turn the tables on this long raging war.

The Jemaa El-Fna square and lost in the souks of Marrakech

I couldn't wait to hit the souks of Marrakech. I had waited all day. Our guide took us to all the important sights around the old city of Marrakech - the Bahii Palace, the tombs, the Gardens. The last stop was the infamous Jemaa El Fna square. He dropped us off and we were to find our way back to our riad through the souks.

 I had the riad manager's hand drawn map in my pocket so I felt confident to dive into the craziness of the Jemaa el-Fna square and surrounding souks. It was around 5pm so the square was just starting to come alive. We walked through the snake charmers, henna artists, and food stalls the square is so famous for. As much as we wanted to take photos and capture everything we were seeing, we had been cautioned by our guide not to - or face the risk of being charged a lot of money if we did. Hubby was often approached by people enticing him to take their photo but he politely declined - sure in the knowledge that he would later be stalked for some money.

They had many beautiful things in the souk. I could have easily given our home a Moroccan makeover. I love Moroccan design. From intricate silverware, to colourful fabrics, and beautiful filigree lamps, tagines and ceramics of every imaginable colour. I bought a few glass containers with silver detail and wanted to buy more, but to be honest, I find the whole process of haggling quite exhausting. I don't like shopping that way and it takes so much time, but unfortunately, that's the way it is in the souks.

It was getting late and we still needed to find our way to the riad. We would just have to come back when we returned toMarrakech for our flight back to Madrid. We remembered our way back to Jemaa el-Fna square and decided we would use that as our starting point.

By the time we had reached the square it was already dark and it had completely transformed into street theatre. There were performers and vendors everywhere. The food stalls were filled with people and there was such a vibe and hustle and bustle about the place. On several occasions vendors would hold out toys, balloons, or whatever they were selling in front of Mig who would naturally take it, then they would hassle us for payment. We were quick to return the goods to them as quickly as they had given it to Mig, each time creating an outburst with Mig who wanted to keep it. By the fifth time I had gotten sick of it and gave Mig 1 Dirham, telling him that the next time someone gives him a toy he can give them the money. Sure enough, less an 2 minutes later someone gave him a toy and he held out the 1 Dirham coin to them - but the guy wanted 5 Dirham. We told him Mig only had 1 Dirham. He didn't agree, he wanted 5. Sorry, we shrugged our shoulders, indicating that's all Mig had so he took his toy back and returned the money to Mig. Problem solved.

Further along we spotted a monkey. We discretely watched from a distance and kept walking. The kids were fascinated but we kept walking. Then the guy spotted us and headed straight for Bee offering for her to touch it. She didn't want to so he put the monkeys hand on her shoulder and kept telling Hubby to take a picture. We politely declined and kept walking. Then Bee squeals and the next thing I see is that she has the monkey riding on her head. She was half freaking out and half giggling. I found it quite amusing but tried to contain my laughter just motioning to the guy to take him off. We kept walking, the monkey was still on Bee's head as he walked with us. It was a funny sight and I really wish we had a photo. It could have been a very expensive one if we did though.

As we made our way through the souks following our hand drawn map, we took a wrong turn. The instructions seemed a bit unclear and we suddenly found ourselves confused. That's all the so-called 'guides' needed to come in and offer a 'helping hand' so we could find our way. We were approached by several, each calling out different directions, each asking what language we spoke. We ignored them knowing they were the people to avoid, motioned to them that we didn't need their help with the words 'La shukran' ('No thank you' in Arabic) and kept walking.

We decided to ask for help from a couple of lady shopkeepers who only spoke French and Arabic. We showed them the map, they responded in French showing us their business card with a map on it so we knew where we were. We still didn't understand. One of them then motioned for us to wait while she went somewhere. She came back with an English version of Fodor's Guide to Marrakech and opened it to the back page showing us the map. We were impressed but still couldn't make out which way we needed to go as the map wasn't detailed enough. Then a gentleman came in and there was 3-way conversation in Arabic. Oh great, I thought. This is getting bigger than Ben Hur and I wasn't sure if I could trust the male. Was he one of those so-called guides who had tried to help us earlier? Was this part of their scheme to scam helpless, lost tourists through the souks? Had they established that we were truly lost and it was time to scam us? We showed them the address of the riad we were staying at written in Arabic, which incidentally had the mobile phone number of the riad manager. Then a fourth male came in. Suddenly the 2 ladies were on their mobile phones trying to ring the riad manager. Oh dear! We weren't THAT lost, I thought. Really. We'll be OK. We can find our way. No need to involve so many people. Then excited conversations in Arabic over the phone and to each other. One lady gets off the phone and tells Hubby that our riad manager was 5 minutes away and would come and get us. We should wait for him. They made us sit and wait. Suddenly I was suspicious. That's not right, I thought. The riad manager was off duty and would have been at home preparing the watch the football match between Real Madrid and Barcelona - which was due to start in 5 minutes. There was no way he would have been 5 minutes away. Even the riad was more than a 5-minute walk away. Who had they called? Why didn't the riad manager ask to speak to us so we knew it was him? Here we were, sitting ducks, possibly waiting for someone to come and pretend they were there to help us - only to get us even more lost. It's the stuff you read about. People passing you on to a 'cousin' or 'friend' that will supposedly help you - only to scam you for money. Let's get out of here, I told Hubby. This is classic textbook scamming the Marrakech way. We're getting taken for a ride. Each time we motioned that we were going to get up and leave, they would frantically motion for us to stay. Hubby wanted to wait. I wanted to leave. It was our 2nd night in Marrakech and suddenly everything I had read about was happening to us, I thought.

Just as the 5 minutes were up and I was ready to walk a scooter zips by and off jumps our riad manager from the back of it. Oops. Hubby turns to me, "I guess some times you just have to have faith", he says. I felt 2 inches tall. In the meantime, the lady from the shop appeared to be giving our riad manager a mouthful in Arabic as they discussed his hand-drawn map turning it upside down trying to work out how to read it. Our riad manager was motioning for her to calm down as he turned the map around and started explaining the landmarks drawn on the map. It was quite a comical sight actually and I felt so embarrassed for doubting these genuinely helpful people who had taken the time out to help us and even used their own phones to make the phone call. We thanked them profusely for their help, handed them a tip and made our way out of the souks and back to the riad with the riad manager and his friend who was now walking with his scooter (and who was, by this stage, probably missing the first half of their football match!)

This whole episode was an eye-opener for me and I'm glad it happened. While there are people who will scam you, there are also genuinely good Moroccans who will help you. And like anywhere, it's the minority of negative stories and experiences that give the place a bad name and overshadow all the good that the place has to offer.

First 5 hours in Marrakech, Morocco

We just arrived 5 hours ago and there's already so much to write about the place.

From the air the landscape of Morocco seemed to be a stark contrast to the colourful pottery, lamps, and fabrics it is so well-known for. The land was brownish orange with scattered greens and rivers snaking through. Even the buildings were all tinged with the same orange colour and grey. It looked hot and arid but, in the distance, the snow capped mountains told a different story.

Marrakech airport is quite simple in it's beauty and the little elements that I love about Moroccan design were quite evident throughout - from the geometric patterned mosaic pillars, to the repetitive floral print on the glass partition at Passport Control, through to the geometric structure of the ceiling and walls of the main terminal. I like this place already, I thought.

We decided to enlist the help of a travel company - Desert Majesty - for our Moroccan itinerary. Our plans were a bit ambitious and we had no idea where to start, not to mention all the safety and cultural concerns we had been told about. It's not exactly the same reaction you get as when you tell people you're going to Italy or France. So Felicity, from Desert Majesty, was our Moroccan contact in the months leading up to this trip. At the airport, we were greeted by our driver (will not mention his name for privacy reasons) for the entire 10-day stay. After exchanging pleasantries we made our way out of the airport. As soon as we walked out the glass doors, two things struck me: the warm sunny weather that I welcomed after over 3 weeks freezing in Spain, and the view of the snow-capped High Atlas Mountains that I saw from the air. Wow!

We were then escorted to our vehicle for the next 10-days - a Toyota Prado. Yes!, I thought. We're in safe hands. Knowing our itinerary, we were definitely going to need it. I knew all this in prior discussions with Felicity, but for some reason actually seeing our ride just brought me relief. I was secretly glad we wouldn't have to haggle our way through taxi fares or bus routes. I know this contradicts the whole 'live like a local' philosophy we have tried to adopt but at this stage, and given the country we were in, I really didn't care.

We made our way through the streets of Marrakech to our riad gasping at things that our guide seemed oblivious to - like random camels on street corners. What the?! I expected to see those just as one would expect to see elephants on the streets of Bangkok or kangaroos hopping down Sydney's George Street. Further along the way our guide pointed out the 12th century tower of the mosque - which was the 'sister' tower to the La Giralda we visited in Sevilla, Spain. In fact in the tour for La Giralda, it was mentioned that there were only 3 of these towers remaining in the world - La Giralda in Sevilla, this tower in Marrakech, and another one in Rabat. We had now seen 2 out of the 3 and I'm hoping we'll be able to see the 3rd in Rabat.

Then our guide stopped the car and turned off the engine motioning that we had arrived at what looked like the middle of nowhere. "Here?" Hubby asked slightly surprised, echoing my thoughts. "Yes", he replied. "Your riad is in an old part of town and we can't take the car there", he explained. So we all got out in the middle of a marketplace and started walking, and turning, and turning again. Suddenly the little lanes turned into dark tunnels. As if I wasn't already lost enough. 'Where the hell are we going?' I thought to myself, clutching onto Mig just a little bit tighter. I called out to our guide half jokingly - "Where are you taking us?! I'm lost already!" He just laughed and said the manager at the riad would have a map for us. At the end of a tunnel we finally arrived at the entrance to our riad. The dodgiest looking doorway at the end of the dodgiest looking tunnel. Oh dear! THIS is our riad?! Hubby and I exchanged an 'Oh shit!' look. How could we have gotten it so wrong? There's no way Felicity would have sent us somewhere dodgy. 'She's English, I can trust her', I thought to myself. All these thoughts running through my head as we wait for the gate to open. Once it did, we were let in to an amazingly authentic Moroccan riad complete with a central courtyard. Our rooms were on the ground floor opening onto the central courtyard and were beautifully decorated in true Moroccan style. See? I knew we could trust Felicity - even if we still hadn't met her.

By the time our guide had left, it was 5:30pm and we were all starving. Our riad manager told us of a place where we could have dinner so we decided to go there. He would take us so we didn't get lost. Good idea!, I thought. In the meantime, the conversation somehow turned to football. As it turns out, he is an avid FC Barcelona fan while Hubby is a Real Madrid supporter - so the exchange of notes and commentaries on football players began. Then through some bizarre twist in the conversation, Hubby manages to invite himself to the riad manager's house the following night to watch the game - FC Barcelona vs Real Madrid! We had been in Morocco less than 3 hours and he's already invited himself into someone's home to watch a football game. OK, so maybe this the the 'live like a local' part?!

An hour later we finally left the riad to get some dinner. The restaurant was still closed so we agreed to walk the around for a little while and return in half an hour. We bid our farewells to our riad manager. For the first time since we landed we were completely on our own - no guide, no riad manager- just the 5 of us plonked into the middle of a street in Marrakech. Hubby was slightly freaked out. I, on the other hand, was excited to wander the streets. C'mon, let's go! I told him.

So off we went turning down a street corner, then scooters started zooming past from all directions. We needed to cross the road and I had no idea where to look. Which side of the road are they coming from? It was total traffic chaos between pedestrians, bicycles, motorbikes, tractors, mules and donkeys. Although the chaos seemed to be all in my head as no one was getting run over (yet!) and there were no collisions. Everyone seemed to be following their own path yet managing to stay out of everyone else's - except us. Then I remembered what someone once told me about walking around in Vietnam - just hold your course and they will move around you. If you try to move out of their way, they're likely to hit you. It was exactly like that so I passed that tip on to Cat and Bee and that's how we walked - nervously - in a straight line with bicycles and motorbikes zooming past. In the meantime I remembered to check on little Mig, who was holding my hand but was unusually quiet. I felt like he had been stunned into silence with all the buzzing activity around him. He was fine, he assured me, but somehow I could tell that his little mind was busy trying to take it all in. I was in sensory over drive, I would imagine it would have to be worse through the eyes of a 3-year old at hip level. Then we came to a five-way intersection. It was so bad that I figured the only 'safe-side' to put Mig on to cross the road was in my arms, so I picked him up and worked my way across.

All the while I kept a calm exterior to try and blend in and not look like tourists with a bull's eye target on our forehead for scammers. Deep down I was silently screaming. I felt like I had 5 espressos with my jumpy nerves, but I just kept walking. Then Hubby calls out wanting to go back to the restaurant. He was just as nervous about taking photos. He had been given tips of 'does and don'ts' by our guide but it was still all a bit touch and go as we acclimatise to this new culture. "But it's only been 15 minutes", I argue still eager to explore despite the nerves, "They aren't open yet." Reluctantly I agree to go back.

Our restaurant, L Limoni, served French cuisine which was a bit disappointing since I would have liked some Moroccan food but it was good nevertheless. We had the option of tagging along to the Jemaa El-Fna square with another riad guest who we had bumped into but decided to heed the riad manager's advise and go there in the morning with our guide. After all, he probably didn't want to deal with missing guests if we managed to get lost, which is apparently quite likely. L Limoni was beautiful and reasonably priced (by Sydney standards) for the ambiance and food. It was an oasis of calm and serenity away from the chaos happening outside it's walls.

After dinner, we decided that Hubby would get some street food. They were barbecuing on the street and it smelled so good. We both wanted to try it but agreed maybe it's best only one of us did in case we got sick. Our guide had cautioned us about eating street food at the Jemaa El-Fna markets and I had read about the Hep A and gastro risks around street food hygiene - but this wasn't Jemaa El-Fna we justified to ourselves - and it smells so good. So for 15 Dirhams he asked for one serve not really knowing what he was going to get. Was it 1 stick? 5 sticks? Is it chicken, beef or lamb - or something else? Turns out it was a beef kofta burger and it was delicious. We all had a bite (so much for the plan) and Bee even had her own.

It was getting late and we were tired so we decided to head back to the riad for the night (if we could find it).

PS. No one got sick!