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.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Monday, February 25, 2013
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!
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!
Friday, February 15, 2013
Our little Andalusian white village home - Gaucin, Spain
As the song goes, the road to Gaucin was long and winding. We reached the general area at sunset so the mountain views and scenery along the way were at their best. However, the sun set and we still hadn't made it to our new home. We were getting deeper into the mountains, roads were getting narrower and more twisted, and we were climbing. As the realisation of our isolation started setting in there were a few concerns: where do we get food and supplies? We had some groceries from Sevilla but only enough for a day. We were staying here for 5 nights! The little pockets of civilisation that we passed reminded me of the provincial towns in the Philippines. Suddenly doubts started to fill my mind. I knew this place was rural and that's exactly what I wanted, but did I go too rural?
This place was my pick in the itinerary. It was to be my highlight of Spain, an oasis in our crazy busy itinerary. A place to just relax, recharge and experience the true meaning of Spanish living without feeling the need to rush out to see a church, castle, museum or eat tapas. This was going to be a place for us to just BE in Spain. I wanted to wander the narrow streets with cobblestone lanes and whitewashed walls (little did I know at the time that all the Spanish cities we visited had narrow streets, coblestone lanes and whitewashed walls!). So I guarded the 5 nights in our itinerary with defiance. Hubby wanted to cut it short to spend more time in Sevilla. Nope. More time in Valencia? Nope. Granada? Nope. So 5 nights in an Andalusian white village is how it stayed in the itinerary.
As we made our way through the mountains to this Andalusian white village we all joked - what on earth are we going to do here for 5 nights??!! We are in the middle of nowhere! - seemed to be the sentiment in the car, myself included. "Is there TV? Is there Wi-Fi?", came the concerned questions from the back seat. "Who booked this place?!", came the more accusing question. "Your mother!", came the equally accusing reply from Hubby. Oh dear! Oh well... we live and learn, I thought. If this was going to be an itinerary fail, then so be it. If anything, at least we'll have the time to plan the rest of our travel through France and Italy! I'll have the time to update my writing and little Mig can rest his weary legs.
We finally found the place in the dark. We followed the instructions we were given, let ourselves into our new home and turned on the lights. The squeals of delight and excited kids racing around the house exploring each corner with exclamations of "This is the best place ever!" and "Wow! I want to live here!" told me I had been vindicated - and they hadn't even seen the view from the roof top terrace yet!
This place was my pick in the itinerary. It was to be my highlight of Spain, an oasis in our crazy busy itinerary. A place to just relax, recharge and experience the true meaning of Spanish living without feeling the need to rush out to see a church, castle, museum or eat tapas. This was going to be a place for us to just BE in Spain. I wanted to wander the narrow streets with cobblestone lanes and whitewashed walls (little did I know at the time that all the Spanish cities we visited had narrow streets, coblestone lanes and whitewashed walls!). So I guarded the 5 nights in our itinerary with defiance. Hubby wanted to cut it short to spend more time in Sevilla. Nope. More time in Valencia? Nope. Granada? Nope. So 5 nights in an Andalusian white village is how it stayed in the itinerary.
As we made our way through the mountains to this Andalusian white village we all joked - what on earth are we going to do here for 5 nights??!! We are in the middle of nowhere! - seemed to be the sentiment in the car, myself included. "Is there TV? Is there Wi-Fi?", came the concerned questions from the back seat. "Who booked this place?!", came the more accusing question. "Your mother!", came the equally accusing reply from Hubby. Oh dear! Oh well... we live and learn, I thought. If this was going to be an itinerary fail, then so be it. If anything, at least we'll have the time to plan the rest of our travel through France and Italy! I'll have the time to update my writing and little Mig can rest his weary legs.
We finally found the place in the dark. We followed the instructions we were given, let ourselves into our new home and turned on the lights. The squeals of delight and excited kids racing around the house exploring each corner with exclamations of "This is the best place ever!" and "Wow! I want to live here!" told me I had been vindicated - and they hadn't even seen the view from the roof top terrace yet!
Sunday, February 10, 2013
A pleasant surprise in Cordoba, Spain
By the time we arrived in Cordoba it was 11pm. We loved Toledo so much and were contemplating giving Cordoba a miss altogether so we could stay an extra night in Toledo. It would have meant losing money on our Cordoba accommodation but we felt it was worth it. After some deliberation we decided to just leave late in the day, sticking to the original plan of spending the night in Cordoba.
I didn't really know what to expect from Cordoba. Admittedly, it was a bit of a 'nothing' stop for me, a stopover just to break the trip between Toledo and Seville. I heard of the Mezquita from Hubby's cousin in Madrid but I had no idea what it was and didn't even look it up. I was just happy to BE there and wander the streets...so that's how the day started. Hubby, on the other hand, seemed to know a bit more and wanted to check it out so we just wandered along in the general direction of this 'thing' that we were looking for.
In the meantime, I noticed a little corner pastry shop called Horno de la Cruz that locals seemed to be lining up for. That's all I needed as an invitation to check it out. Without any clear idea on what we were doing in Cordoba, I was easily distracted. So in my best Spanish (which had improved slightly by now), I ordered a few pastries which Hubby and the kids 'inhaled' in 2 seconds. So I lined up for a second round of orders, then a third. The pastries, which were a mix of savoury and sweet rolls with chorizo, cheese and chocolate, were delicious. What more could anyone want? Although I would rather not think about how much butter, sugar and fat there was in those rolls.
After a 15 minute walk through the pretty streets of Cordoba, we knew we had found the Mezquita when Hubby was asked if he was Muslim. Then gypsy women with what looked like fake babies in their arms made a bee line for him asking for alms. I kept a safe distance behind making sure the kids stayed close to me. I found their persistence quite annoying but had to remind myself that this was just a practice run for the 'harassment' I expect when we get to Morocco.
Once inside the Mezquita it was a different world. It is absolutely beautiful! There are no words to describe it and even the multitude of photos I took to try and capture its beauty don't seem to do it justice. I had never been inside a mosque before so the simple sight of rows of red and white arches and columns that greeted us took my breath away. As we continued to walk through it, more beauty seemed to unfold at every turn.
We didn't get an audio guide, but even without one, the history was evident. The structure was clearly built like a mosque with heavy moorish design elements. At the entrance and throughout most parts, it is dimly lit with hanging lanterns and rows upon rows of pillars with red and white-striped horse shoe arches. Clearly not the usual layout of a Catholic Church. Further along, signs of Christianity start to appear. There are crucifixes and other symbols of Christianity around the edges and scattered throughout. In the centre lies the Cathedral in a mix between gothic and renaissance styles - more typical of the Catholic Cathedrals I had become familiar with. The vaulted ceiling, the well lit, ornate gold altar, the numerous statues and images of angels, saints and Christ, the elaborate choir area with its oversized organ were all a stark contrast to the simplicity of the intricately carved archways and the dimly lit stone pillars throughout the rest of the mosque. In this single structure, just visually and without any audio guide, there was a clear sense that Christianity had taken over (or taken back to be more accurate) what was once the domain of Islam.
Apart from all this, there is one striking feature of the Mezquita that I will never forget. It's the quibla wall - more particularly the ceiling of the Mihrab. Like I said, I had never been into a mosque, had no audio guide, and know very little about Muslims and Islam, going into the Mezquita quite ignorant about the whole thing. However, I noticed a wall towards the back of the mosque that seemed 'prettier' than the others. It looked special so I went to check it out. As I got closer I could see the detail, it was absolutely beautiful. Intricate and elegant mosaics on the wall with what looked like Arabic inscriptions of some sort in gold. The dome-shaped ceiling had the most beautiful mosaic work I have ever seen - and I thought painting ceilings was hard. This was so much prettier than any fresco I thought! The use of gold in this part of the mosque was also markedly different from the Christian parts where entire altars and statues were made from gold. Here the use of gold appeared more as a subtle complement, rather than an outright statement.
After taking as many photos as I could trying to capture the beauty of it all (and deciding I just couldn't), I stood there looking up at the ceiling for several seconds trying to take it all in. I could have stayed there forever.
I didn't really know what to expect from Cordoba. Admittedly, it was a bit of a 'nothing' stop for me, a stopover just to break the trip between Toledo and Seville. I heard of the Mezquita from Hubby's cousin in Madrid but I had no idea what it was and didn't even look it up. I was just happy to BE there and wander the streets...so that's how the day started. Hubby, on the other hand, seemed to know a bit more and wanted to check it out so we just wandered along in the general direction of this 'thing' that we were looking for.
In the meantime, I noticed a little corner pastry shop called Horno de la Cruz that locals seemed to be lining up for. That's all I needed as an invitation to check it out. Without any clear idea on what we were doing in Cordoba, I was easily distracted. So in my best Spanish (which had improved slightly by now), I ordered a few pastries which Hubby and the kids 'inhaled' in 2 seconds. So I lined up for a second round of orders, then a third. The pastries, which were a mix of savoury and sweet rolls with chorizo, cheese and chocolate, were delicious. What more could anyone want? Although I would rather not think about how much butter, sugar and fat there was in those rolls.
After a 15 minute walk through the pretty streets of Cordoba, we knew we had found the Mezquita when Hubby was asked if he was Muslim. Then gypsy women with what looked like fake babies in their arms made a bee line for him asking for alms. I kept a safe distance behind making sure the kids stayed close to me. I found their persistence quite annoying but had to remind myself that this was just a practice run for the 'harassment' I expect when we get to Morocco.
Once inside the Mezquita it was a different world. It is absolutely beautiful! There are no words to describe it and even the multitude of photos I took to try and capture its beauty don't seem to do it justice. I had never been inside a mosque before so the simple sight of rows of red and white arches and columns that greeted us took my breath away. As we continued to walk through it, more beauty seemed to unfold at every turn.
We didn't get an audio guide, but even without one, the history was evident. The structure was clearly built like a mosque with heavy moorish design elements. At the entrance and throughout most parts, it is dimly lit with hanging lanterns and rows upon rows of pillars with red and white-striped horse shoe arches. Clearly not the usual layout of a Catholic Church. Further along, signs of Christianity start to appear. There are crucifixes and other symbols of Christianity around the edges and scattered throughout. In the centre lies the Cathedral in a mix between gothic and renaissance styles - more typical of the Catholic Cathedrals I had become familiar with. The vaulted ceiling, the well lit, ornate gold altar, the numerous statues and images of angels, saints and Christ, the elaborate choir area with its oversized organ were all a stark contrast to the simplicity of the intricately carved archways and the dimly lit stone pillars throughout the rest of the mosque. In this single structure, just visually and without any audio guide, there was a clear sense that Christianity had taken over (or taken back to be more accurate) what was once the domain of Islam.
Apart from all this, there is one striking feature of the Mezquita that I will never forget. It's the quibla wall - more particularly the ceiling of the Mihrab. Like I said, I had never been into a mosque, had no audio guide, and know very little about Muslims and Islam, going into the Mezquita quite ignorant about the whole thing. However, I noticed a wall towards the back of the mosque that seemed 'prettier' than the others. It looked special so I went to check it out. As I got closer I could see the detail, it was absolutely beautiful. Intricate and elegant mosaics on the wall with what looked like Arabic inscriptions of some sort in gold. The dome-shaped ceiling had the most beautiful mosaic work I have ever seen - and I thought painting ceilings was hard. This was so much prettier than any fresco I thought! The use of gold in this part of the mosque was also markedly different from the Christian parts where entire altars and statues were made from gold. Here the use of gold appeared more as a subtle complement, rather than an outright statement.
After taking as many photos as I could trying to capture the beauty of it all (and deciding I just couldn't), I stood there looking up at the ceiling for several seconds trying to take it all in. I could have stayed there forever.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
Madrid, Spain...first impressions
We finally found our way to our home away from home for the next 7 days. Hubby got us an apartment in an area called La Latina, along Calle Toledo. So after some help from the English-speaking lady at the airport information desk, we caught the Renfe train and Metro to our new 'home'. We considered taking a taxi but this would have been double the price at around €40. We had just arrived with a full three and a half months ahead of us. Now was not the time to start blowing the budget. Besides, if we were to do as the locals, we may as well start by learning the local train and Metro system.
La Latina looked beautiful, I thought. Rows and rows of older buildings with Juliette balconies. It somehow reminded me of walking in downtown Manila (Philippines). I used to work in Malate some years ago and this is what the place reminded me of - only prettier and colder. A lot colder! It was around 9 degrees centigrade but the icy chill in the air made it feel colder. I didn't have a scarf or gloves with me, none of us did, and I was already starting to feel it in my throat. Scarves, gloves and beanies were going to be on top of our shopping list.
There were little stores everywhere and quite a few alfargatas (espadrilles) stores along the way. They were everywhere and they had them in so many different colours and styles starting from just €5.50 for the basic ones.'Wow, this place is cheap!', I thought. We continued to wander through the cobblestoned lanes in our new neighbourhood with no map and no particular destination, guided by our innate sense of direction. Everyone around us was speaking Spanish. Not a tourist in sight. It was around 5pm at this stage and the tapas bars we passed were starting to fill. One in particular, Cafe de San Millan, seemed busier than the others so we decided to go in.
"Ola!", we greeted the man behind the bar. "Ola!", he replied...followed by a whole lot of other Spanish that left me staring at him. I just smiled and gave him a look that said "what?!". I don't know why, but I couldn't really bring myself to utter the words "No abla Espanol" just yet. It was too early, we just got here and I felt like those words were like throwing the white towel into the ring. Nor did I really want to look like the ignorant tourists that we clearly were. So in the worst combination of broken Spanish and sign language, we managed to order a few tapas from the overhead menu. There was croquetas, tortilla de patata, empanada....all familiar words so that's what we asked for at €4.99 a plate. Not bad, we thought. There was also something under each of the menu items that we didn't understand so we ignored it - Regalamos 2 canas. It felt like such a struggle that in the end I didn't really know what we were going to get. All the while the man behind the bar continued to speak to us in Spanish as if we understood him perfectly. At one point in the process, Hubby and I looked at each other - "We're so f***ed!", he laughed. I had the same thought. This is Spain! We sorta, kinda thought we could understand and speak a bit of Spanish. How are we going to survive in all the other countries?!
As we process all this the gentleman motions to Hubby offering him beer from the tap. "Si", Hubby replies. "Una cerveza". Then I order myself "Una Sangria, por favor". As our food comes out, we start eating it faster than they can bring it out. We were famished. Meanwhile, Hubby is onto his second beer, then a third, when he motions to the man behind the bar "no mas" when he offers him another one. The gentleman starts saying something, then starts counting. Something about the number seven. We had no idea. Meanwhile, we were surrounded by locals at the bar, all of them ordering their beer and tapas when Hubby exclaims "I get it!" - for every tapas ordered you get 2 beers. That's it! That's what '2 canas' means. So Hubby could have 7 beers. A bit much for a non- beer drinker who was starting to feel the effects after 2 beers! Whatever happened to the word "cerveza"? What the hell is "cana"?, I thought. (Postscript: apparently 'cana' is used to specifically refer to beer on tap, while 'cerveza' is the general term for beer whether bottle, can or tap).
With our bellies full and our bodies tired from the long journey we headed back to the apartment for an early night. Maybe tomorrow our Spanish will be better.
La Latina looked beautiful, I thought. Rows and rows of older buildings with Juliette balconies. It somehow reminded me of walking in downtown Manila (Philippines). I used to work in Malate some years ago and this is what the place reminded me of - only prettier and colder. A lot colder! It was around 9 degrees centigrade but the icy chill in the air made it feel colder. I didn't have a scarf or gloves with me, none of us did, and I was already starting to feel it in my throat. Scarves, gloves and beanies were going to be on top of our shopping list.
There were little stores everywhere and quite a few alfargatas (espadrilles) stores along the way. They were everywhere and they had them in so many different colours and styles starting from just €5.50 for the basic ones.'Wow, this place is cheap!', I thought. We continued to wander through the cobblestoned lanes in our new neighbourhood with no map and no particular destination, guided by our innate sense of direction. Everyone around us was speaking Spanish. Not a tourist in sight. It was around 5pm at this stage and the tapas bars we passed were starting to fill. One in particular, Cafe de San Millan, seemed busier than the others so we decided to go in.
"Ola!", we greeted the man behind the bar. "Ola!", he replied...followed by a whole lot of other Spanish that left me staring at him. I just smiled and gave him a look that said "what?!". I don't know why, but I couldn't really bring myself to utter the words "No abla Espanol" just yet. It was too early, we just got here and I felt like those words were like throwing the white towel into the ring. Nor did I really want to look like the ignorant tourists that we clearly were. So in the worst combination of broken Spanish and sign language, we managed to order a few tapas from the overhead menu. There was croquetas, tortilla de patata, empanada....all familiar words so that's what we asked for at €4.99 a plate. Not bad, we thought. There was also something under each of the menu items that we didn't understand so we ignored it - Regalamos 2 canas. It felt like such a struggle that in the end I didn't really know what we were going to get. All the while the man behind the bar continued to speak to us in Spanish as if we understood him perfectly. At one point in the process, Hubby and I looked at each other - "We're so f***ed!", he laughed. I had the same thought. This is Spain! We sorta, kinda thought we could understand and speak a bit of Spanish. How are we going to survive in all the other countries?!
As we process all this the gentleman motions to Hubby offering him beer from the tap. "Si", Hubby replies. "Una cerveza". Then I order myself "Una Sangria, por favor". As our food comes out, we start eating it faster than they can bring it out. We were famished. Meanwhile, Hubby is onto his second beer, then a third, when he motions to the man behind the bar "no mas" when he offers him another one. The gentleman starts saying something, then starts counting. Something about the number seven. We had no idea. Meanwhile, we were surrounded by locals at the bar, all of them ordering their beer and tapas when Hubby exclaims "I get it!" - for every tapas ordered you get 2 beers. That's it! That's what '2 canas' means. So Hubby could have 7 beers. A bit much for a non- beer drinker who was starting to feel the effects after 2 beers! Whatever happened to the word "cerveza"? What the hell is "cana"?, I thought. (Postscript: apparently 'cana' is used to specifically refer to beer on tap, while 'cerveza' is the general term for beer whether bottle, can or tap).
With our bellies full and our bodies tired from the long journey we headed back to the apartment for an early night. Maybe tomorrow our Spanish will be better.
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Stopover in Dubai
The journey from Sydney to Madrid was pretty uneventful - which, for us, is really a good thing. All I can say is that the journey was long. Very long - 14 hours Sydney to Dubai, then 8 hours Dubai to Madrid. We only opted for a 2 hour stop over in Dubai thinking that we just wanted to get to Madrid as quickly as possible. In hindsight, not a good move. I think a longer break, even an overnight stay just at the airport would have been better.
It was our first time in Dubai airport and it's huge! The 2 hours was just enough time for a decent toilet break, a quick look in duty-free to check the price of my favourite perfume - which was, not surprisingly, cheaper than Sydney duty-free. Given that we didn't even know where the Gate was and how long it would take to get there (we learned from our 'missed flight' experience in Orlando, Florida) I opted to buy it on the way back.
So off we went following signs to Gate B1. We passed countless shops which we were all dying to check-out but remained focused on our goal - Gate B1. It was now 45 minutes before our departure time, had no idea where it was, and the sign said 'Boarding'. Yikes. Signs led us to a train, so we caught the train. Then arrows pointed this way and that way, so we followed them too. It seemed like the ever elusive B1. When we finally got to Gate B1 the line was thinning out - so clearly we had missed the 'priority kids boarding' but I was just glad we made it in time. So we got through all the necessary checks, followed the hallway, down the escalators, down more escalators, then onto the tarmac where we had to board a bus. Great! After all that we weren't even at the plane yet.
So here we are crammed standing in this bus for what I thought was a short 2-minute bus ride to the plane. It turned out to be a 15-minute bus ride!
The bus ride was pretty interesting and probably the first time I really felt that we had 'left home'. Suddenly we were surrounded by Spanish-speaking and Spanish-looking people. The English language was already starting to disappear. The chatter on the bus, though foreign, seemed all too familiar. I suddenly felt like I was sitting at a family gathering as a child, partially making sense of the conversations taking place between the aunts and uncles around me. I could barely understand anything. The extent of my Spanish comprehension now seems to be as sophisticated as Dora the Explorer.
We finally arrived at our stop. As we climbed the stairs to the plane I took a sweeping look around at our surroundings. We were in the middle of what seemed liked the biggest airplane parking lot I had ever seen. Rows of Emirates planes just lined up next to each other.
"Wow!", I thought. This is Dubai!
It was our first time in Dubai airport and it's huge! The 2 hours was just enough time for a decent toilet break, a quick look in duty-free to check the price of my favourite perfume - which was, not surprisingly, cheaper than Sydney duty-free. Given that we didn't even know where the Gate was and how long it would take to get there (we learned from our 'missed flight' experience in Orlando, Florida) I opted to buy it on the way back.
So off we went following signs to Gate B1. We passed countless shops which we were all dying to check-out but remained focused on our goal - Gate B1. It was now 45 minutes before our departure time, had no idea where it was, and the sign said 'Boarding'. Yikes. Signs led us to a train, so we caught the train. Then arrows pointed this way and that way, so we followed them too. It seemed like the ever elusive B1. When we finally got to Gate B1 the line was thinning out - so clearly we had missed the 'priority kids boarding' but I was just glad we made it in time. So we got through all the necessary checks, followed the hallway, down the escalators, down more escalators, then onto the tarmac where we had to board a bus. Great! After all that we weren't even at the plane yet.
So here we are crammed standing in this bus for what I thought was a short 2-minute bus ride to the plane. It turned out to be a 15-minute bus ride!
The bus ride was pretty interesting and probably the first time I really felt that we had 'left home'. Suddenly we were surrounded by Spanish-speaking and Spanish-looking people. The English language was already starting to disappear. The chatter on the bus, though foreign, seemed all too familiar. I suddenly felt like I was sitting at a family gathering as a child, partially making sense of the conversations taking place between the aunts and uncles around me. I could barely understand anything. The extent of my Spanish comprehension now seems to be as sophisticated as Dora the Explorer.
We finally arrived at our stop. As we climbed the stairs to the plane I took a sweeping look around at our surroundings. We were in the middle of what seemed liked the biggest airplane parking lot I had ever seen. Rows of Emirates planes just lined up next to each other.
"Wow!", I thought. This is Dubai!
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