I'm pretty sure not even my faithful friend and roommate The Courtenator is periodically checking my blog anymore! After over a month of procrastinating, I've forced myself to sit down and pound out the last bit of my journey. And maybe that's because the last part of my journey was quite the emotional debriefing and I've been avoiding recounting those memories....sigh, but I'll try...
Mom and I had plans to leave Malaga a day or so after arriving, in hopes of heading first towards Granada and then up the Mediterranean coast to the island of Mallorca, and finally finishing off the trip in Barcelona. We were going to attempt to do this in one week. I was nuts for thinking this itinerary was feasable!!! This wasn't like Morocco where you could pay a taxi driver in dirhams to take you cross-country! But we made a hearty attempt!
After saying some rather sad 'goodbyes' to everyone in Malaga, mom and I caught a bus to Granada where our main purpose (like the 6000 others who flock to this student centre for the same reason) was to visit the world famous Alhambra--last bastion of Moorish reign in Andalucia and one of the finest examples of Islamic architecture in the world.
We arrived late in the evening, and were relieved to have made reservations at one of the many hostals near to the palace. The city was stuffed with tourists packing it in for the night, with hopes of rising early to visit one of Europe's top destinations, and there were literally no room in the inns! Only then did I begin to realise how major this attraction was! Our kitschy, avante garde-style room was small and old, but we were glad to have one. Our hostess down below, however, was a different matter. Crochety and rude, she got frustrated with even our most polite inquiries and was really of no help at all when it came to providing info regarding visits to the Alhambra. Mom and I both griped about the lack of customer service, but chalked up her scowls and sourpuss attitude to years of being in a business she didn't enjoy.
We awoke before light even had a chance to hit the still snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains in the distance, and found we were not alone on the streets of Granada. Half-sleeping tourists were also making their way down to the early shuttle buses that would courier thousands more to the top of the hill and back throughout the day. Rather than wait with the growing crowds, a few of us decided to snag one of the first taxis of the morning. Mom and I hopped in with a couple from England with whom we spent the next three hours in line!
Three hours in line for what you wonder!? I myself could not believe that we weren't even the first when we arrived at the Alhambra's gates before the sun had risen! Over 200 others had either camped out or husseled it there at the butt crack of dawn! To see a palace!!! As my eyes finally rid themselves of sleep and my stomach awoke with a growl, I began hoping that A) We'd be able to get tickets as only a certain amount were actually sold at the gates, due to the fact that thousands had already been presold and that B)...well guess what, it's been about another month since I first started this draft and I completely forget what B) was! Oh well....the shorter the sweeter I guess. Hmm...I think I passed that point long ago!
But never mind, we did make it in to the Alhambra and after months spent drooling over the complexities of Moroccan architecture, it was a pretty spectacular finale. The Lion Courtyard in the famed Palacio Nazaries and the Pool Partal outside (tried to post a pic here, but it wouldn't work!) pretty much took my breath away...I had hoped the renowned vistas from the ramparts would do it for me, but the haze and blazing sunlight ruined the views. Seeing this specific pool, however, really was a huge moment for me though. I've been an architecture nut since I was a little kid...drawing out my dream homes, pouring over architecture magazines, thinking long and hard over lego structural designs. I've been completely obsessed with Mediterranean architecture for just about as long, but in high school my art teacher sent me to the library to research the Alhambra. She wrote down the name for me and I scurried on down to the library to find out what this 'Alhambra' was. What I found after rifling through the architecture books was a photograph of this Pool Partal and it's stuck with me ever since. "Jaime," Ms. Delangen exhorted, "you need to visit the Alhambra. That was over eight years before. I really should have sent her a postcard from there, but I know she'll be just as pleased to see the photos in person. While in this specific part of the palace, I bumped into a small group of Canadian girls and one American guy who were doing some traveling in Spain. It's always nice to find fellow Hosers abroad...makes you feel like at least someone can relate to your experiences! Anyway, later on I heard someone yell "Hey Vancouver!" I whipped around and found one of the girls shouting at me and coming my way. I think it was the only time I ever liked hearing the sound of someone acknowledging me as a Vancouverite...which I'm not...only temporarily. Turns out this girl (sick, I forget her name...it's written down somewhere though) was hoping I'd send her a few photos from the Alhambra after they'd finished their trip. Happy to oblige another Canadian, she took down my contact info and then handed me one of the Edmonton pins she'd been passing around. And that was that.
Mom and I ripped down to the hostal only to find that our hostess was right ticked off that we were a bit late in returning to pick up our bags, so we got out of there as fast as we could. Next stop was the taxi stand and a trip to the bus station where we were hoping to barely make the next bus to somewhere up the coast. We weren't totally sure of our next destination, but thought if we could get to Alicante, maybe we could stay overnight at the Capernwray there.
As we stood waiting at the taxi stand it seemed we couldn't have flagged down an empty cab if were waving wads of Euros in the air. We didn't have wads anyway so that wouldn't have worked...our cash was rapidly depleting and we'd already called on dad to give us a boost before! Finally a girl tried to help us when a taxi pulled over and another Spanish couple started climbing in. She ran over and tried to score it for us but to no avail. Next thing we know, phew, another taxi is pulling up. I pick up my bags and at the same time just about drop a load of bricks--the girl who tried to help us was getting into the cab! I started to raise my voice but she must have responded with the Spanish version of "You snooze, you lose". Thanks lady, but with 100 lbs. on my back I was hardly snoozing...I just couldn't run that fast! At that point, I'd had it up to HERE with the Spaniards who just continued to rub me the wrong way more and more. I found a great many of them to be rude, inconsiderate, unaccomodating, and obnoxious. That is most definitely a general statement, as I also happen to know a number of really great Spaniards who went more than out of their way for me...the two ladies at Mascom, my local three aisle grocery store who helped me buy bacon and ham every week spring to mind immediately! But as far as those I didn't have relationships with, I was appalled by the lack of friendliness and want to make a point of being even MORE helpful to foreigners traveling in my country or community.
We eventually claimed a cab for ourselves and got to the bus station. There we proceeded to adopt a new dilemna--which bus to catch and how to do that when the bus we decided on didn't have a ticket counter open until 10 minutes before the bus was scheduled to depart. We decided to try and go to Alicante so I stayed with the luggage while Mom tried to snag us two tickets at the crowded ticket counter. Mom called over when she realised that she'd accidentally purchased two tickets that were for a bus that wouldn't get us to Alicante until after midnight. Not good. No way were we gonna wander around some Spanish city at night with all our luggage and no place to stay. I was about to panic, but cried out to God, and then "what before my eyes should appear, but the Canadian group with all of their gear!" "Edmonton!!!!" I shouted, and the Pin Girl whirled around. We both laughed as I rushed over to her. I asked where they were going but it was nowhere near where we wanted to head and then I quickly explained our predicament. It turned out the American dude traveling with them spoke excellent Spanish so he went to help my mom out. We decided that our best course of action was to abort the entire coastal trip, head BACK to Malaga, regroup, and fly out from there. Spanish-speaker helped my mom to exchange our tickets for a bus that would take us to Malaga in 5 minutes. All four of them helped us carry our luggage to the bus and quickly load. Other than the jumping onto an almost moving train in Rabat, this was as close a call as I'd had in a while. There were three seats left. Two between two strange guys at the back of the bus (there are always strange men sitting at the rear of the bus in any country...I rode the red-eye greyhound overnight to Vernon from Vancouver one Thanksgiving and slept near the back thinking it'd be quieter....hooooo boy...I was SCARED to sleep!)...and one on the other side of the one guy. Why that one dude couldn't move over and sit next to the window I had no idea, but I had no words or breath with which to express my displeasure. So mom and I sat crammed between the two, sweating and panting as though we'd just made the biggest heist getaway in our careers.
Malaga was a sweet sight after two and a half days of chaos. I called the MMC apartment and asked Kirsten if I could crash with her and Rosie. 8A never looked so inviting as it did that night! The next day I said hello's again to some very confused staff, and then made some plans to stay in a nice AMERICAN-run Spanish inn, just a short ways up the coast. Mom and I then headed up to La Herradura (literally, the Horseshoe) which is a small resort town with not much to offer (which includes a rather stony beach and less than impressive seafood restaurants). So why did we go...honestly, the hotel, La Tartana was a dream.
The owners (two Americans and a German I believe) went out of their way to make sure that we were MORE than well taken care of. The food was unbelievable, the service outstanding, the garden terrace with sea views beautiful, and the furnishings cozy if simple. If you're looking for a place to stay outside of Malaga that is well priced and where the staff go beyond your expectations, check out La Tartana's website at: http://www.hotellatartana.com/ Quiet and relaxed was just what we both needed and I slowly began to return to health (my cold had now been plaguing me for about a month due to the constant stress and lack of sleep). The day before we left we went shopping in Almunecar where we were delighted by the winding streets and unique shops...definitely a place I'd like to snoop around again if I had the chance.
Back in Malaga, mom and I had the chance to repack and prep for heading to England. One more night out and mom treated Kirsten, Beth, and I to dinner at Posada Antonio's (Antonio Banderras' restaurant). We had a blast and I was really disappointed to be leaving the girls. I'm sure my presence was filled quickly, however, when another Canadian Jamie took over my desk and position as Beth's chattering neighbour, the day after I left! I am now very jealous that the three of them are having tons of fun without me and wish I could return just to hang out! Kirsten had arrive just before I left too, and Beth and I had only really begun our friendship.
And speaking of friends, it was my last goodbye to Rosie, whom I dearly loved and miss a lot...which means I really need to email her. Rosie was one of the best roommates I ever had and I SO enjoyed her company!!! So it was off to the airport after final goodbyes and more luggage than I ever dreamed of taking home. One last glance towards the Media Centre and that was it. My internship and time in Spain was officially done. I hate goodbyes, but there are more of those to come so we'll leave those for next time. I hope that won't be once school is starting and I'm wrapping up my blog for the LAST TIME!
And I'm off...off houseboating that is. I don't know when I'll catch up on my week in Devon, England, but it was a blast and I can't wait to share my adventures there. For now, I'll have to be content creating new ones...my entire extended family from Manitoba are all arriving tomorrow to go houseboating on the Shushwap for 4 days. 24 Dycks on a boat. I'm positive there will be noise complaints all the way across the lake!!! FUN STUFF!!! It'll be like My Big Fat Greek Wedding on a boat, but without the wedding and just as much food!
Jaimes
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Who's On First
ah, so here I am once again, STILL trying to wrap up the last couple weeks of my travels! My desire to continue recall details from over a month ago is kind of waning, so forgive me (or maybe you're counting your blessings!) for not getting down to the nitty gritty details!
After mom and I unloaded all the sand from our clothes, we headed up to Fes...to visit and to show mom the city that blew my mind. Actually we did stop for a day in Marrakech and mom loved it...shopping, stall food, and snake charmers...who wouldn't!!! But Fes...oh man, I'll never forget that place...being back in Fes again was awesome...I love the rooftop views, the narrow alleys careening through the hilly metropolis, the buzz of the people, the food...sigh...if there's one place I truly felt at home in Morocco, it was Fes.
The last ferry ride from Tangier to Tarifa, Spain was a bit sad for me...watching Africa fade in the distance and Europe ease into view was bittersweet...the beginning of remembering I guess...the end of so much emotion and effort. I was sick when I landed in Spain though, (I was on the verge of a cold when I first came to Morocco with mom and it turned into a terrible thorn in my side throughout the entire trip) so a hot shower and decent sleep made up for any lingering sadness once I reached the Spainsh shore.
And speaking of arriving in Spain, can I just briefly describe what it took to get from Fes to Malaga? One note: in traveling from Morocco to Spain, most people have to take the same modes of transportation and are all trying to beat you out for spaces on each ferry, taxi, bus, and train. If you're aren't the first or fastest, you might lose out on getting to your destination. Every move is strategic; every leg something like playing the Amazing Race. So here's how it works:
Try to catch the first taxi, but only if you're the first one in line at the taxi stand. Get to the train station and try to pick the fastest line up and get the best tickets. First on the train, first in the compartment, first out of the compartment, first off the train. Try to beat everyone to the first taxi to get to the port. First. Run to the ferry agency. Get to the front of the line first, buy your ticket first, run to the ferry terminal and get into the customs lineup first. Bags through the security check first, best seats near the ferry boarding area, first in line for the ferry, first on the ferry. Best seats on the ferry next to the door. First ones to disembark, first ones in the customs lineup, first bags through the security check. Race to the first bus and pick the best seats. Near the exit. Grab your bags first, run to the next terminal and try to get first in line for the first bus. First on the bus. Wrong bus. Everyone off the bus. First bus is the next bus. First on the next first bus. First off the bus, first to get bags off the bus. Run to the taxi stand. First in line for the first taxi. But just WHO is ON FIRST???
Anyway, that ends the journey to Spain...give me a few more days and I should be able to catch you up with Spain and England as well!
Jaimes
After mom and I unloaded all the sand from our clothes, we headed up to Fes...to visit and to show mom the city that blew my mind. Actually we did stop for a day in Marrakech and mom loved it...shopping, stall food, and snake charmers...who wouldn't!!! But Fes...oh man, I'll never forget that place...being back in Fes again was awesome...I love the rooftop views, the narrow alleys careening through the hilly metropolis, the buzz of the people, the food...sigh...if there's one place I truly felt at home in Morocco, it was Fes.
The last ferry ride from Tangier to Tarifa, Spain was a bit sad for me...watching Africa fade in the distance and Europe ease into view was bittersweet...the beginning of remembering I guess...the end of so much emotion and effort. I was sick when I landed in Spain though, (I was on the verge of a cold when I first came to Morocco with mom and it turned into a terrible thorn in my side throughout the entire trip) so a hot shower and decent sleep made up for any lingering sadness once I reached the Spainsh shore.
And speaking of arriving in Spain, can I just briefly describe what it took to get from Fes to Malaga? One note: in traveling from Morocco to Spain, most people have to take the same modes of transportation and are all trying to beat you out for spaces on each ferry, taxi, bus, and train. If you're aren't the first or fastest, you might lose out on getting to your destination. Every move is strategic; every leg something like playing the Amazing Race. So here's how it works:
Try to catch the first taxi, but only if you're the first one in line at the taxi stand. Get to the train station and try to pick the fastest line up and get the best tickets. First on the train, first in the compartment, first out of the compartment, first off the train. Try to beat everyone to the first taxi to get to the port. First. Run to the ferry agency. Get to the front of the line first, buy your ticket first, run to the ferry terminal and get into the customs lineup first. Bags through the security check first, best seats near the ferry boarding area, first in line for the ferry, first on the ferry. Best seats on the ferry next to the door. First ones to disembark, first ones in the customs lineup, first bags through the security check. Race to the first bus and pick the best seats. Near the exit. Grab your bags first, run to the next terminal and try to get first in line for the first bus. First on the bus. Wrong bus. Everyone off the bus. First bus is the next bus. First on the next first bus. First off the bus, first to get bags off the bus. Run to the taxi stand. First in line for the first taxi. But just WHO is ON FIRST???
Anyway, that ends the journey to Spain...give me a few more days and I should be able to catch you up with Spain and England as well!
Jaimes
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
shootin' the breeze
All right, so I promised to get back to you after the cream tea, (which was DIVINE!) and I'm doing just that, but from Vancouver rather than the English countryside. That's right...I'm back in the 'Couve! When my 9 hour flight from London ended yesterday with a solid thud as the jet's wheels smacked the runway, I let out a yelp of excitement and clasped my hands together...oh the joy of landed firmly on Canadian soil! I was probably thisclose to leaning over the customs counter and planting a big fat kiss on the customs officer's cheek when he stamped my passport and freed me up to go claim my bags!!! And I positively squealed with delight when I walked through the arrival gates and saw Laura ducking under the roped barricade to come greet me. It was really cool because she and Jaclyn (another Menno housemate and good friend)were both there to drop me off in January and now were both picking me up! How time flies!!! But ANYWAY, I STILL haven't finished updating my travels, so bear with me as I backtrack yet again, but this time to the Sahara Desert.
It's been a lifelong dream of mine to visit the Sahara, especially by camel. And probably the best place to do that in Morocco is near the Algerian border in conjunction with one of the nearby desert auberges (hotels) in either the village of Merzouga or the neighbouring city of Rissani. Mom and I chose to do a two night camel trek and as my camel rose up in front of the base of Erg Chebbi (the main dunes in the area) a elation spread across my face...it was hidden under my turban, but it was there nonetheless! And just as fast as I'd become excited, my heart dropped with disappointment...there we were, mom and i with our camels linked together being lead by our guide...ON FOOT. I thought at first that he was just going to get his camel from somewhere nearby, but no, there we were like kids on ponies at a petting zoo being lead by some barefoot Berber through the sand. Actually I was right peeved for a while and tried hard not to sulk lest I ruin what was left of a potentially great experience. Thankfully, mom and I found out later that all camels have to be lead by someone on foot when traveling through the dunes, even during the authentic camel caravans that traders still travel by. This made us feel a heck of a lot better, and actually once we started crossing the steep ridges I realised that there was no way a camel would just follow up these crests on their own. There were some ridges we trekked along that towered at least 200 meters above the dune floor! There was one moment while crossing one of these dunes when I seriously thought we might die...the camels were struggling just to put one foot in front of the other as they kept sinking into the crest...sand cascaded down the mountainside creating mini avalanches and I watched the edge of the dune give way before my eyes...I clung to my saddle blanket with one hand and my camera with another (which I was stupidly using at the very same moment) while trying to balance myself atop the wobbly desert behemoth. The adrenaline rush was FANTASTIC....seriously...I was thrilled to have crossed that mammoth ridge ALIVE, however, when I warily eyed an even higher dune that I thought our guide was bound for, I made sure to speak up and tell him that I was hardly THAT eager to repeat the ordeal.
One perplexing issue that I hadn't prepared for was that of having to relieve myself in the desert. Where do you go? This is not like the Canadian wild, plush with thick forest and handy moss, this is a child's dream sandbox and save for a few scrubby bushes, quite void of convenient pit stops. When I asked our guide where to 'go', he grandly swept his burnished hand across the lumpy horizon and said, "As you like". No less confused, I shrugged my shoulders and trudged up the nearest dune and over its edge. Squatting in an empty bowl of orange sand, one feels extremely vulnerable to both man and nature. I hoped to high heaven that another camel caravan wouldn't, at the most akward of moments, appear at the top of the basin's edge. Nature, was another threat to comfort, I realised as the wind factor played into effect...let's just say that peeing in the desert is like spitting into the wind...however there is always a great dusting of sand that follows each gust, eager to find a resting place on the sticky skin bared to the breeze. And that's just during daylight. It's a strangely surreal thing to crawl out of a mudbrick hut in the middle of the night and stumble over the Sahara's flat stony desert in vain search of a private spot behind some elusive shrub. If the blackness of night were an option, than a long-distance trek into the wild wouldn't be necessary, but as the full Saharan moon illuminated everything in sight, I had no option but to walk as far as possible from camp and reveal to the night another moon of sorts.
But overall, what a fantastic experience...we spent the first night in mudbrick housing owned by a family living in the middle of the Saharan nowhere, and the second under Berber tents made from camel hair, with other camel trekkers gathered at a desert oasis. The entire experience was of course, a bit touristic, but hey, the camels and the Sahara were all authentic right! I'd definitely recommend the adventure!
And that's where I'm ending it for tonight...I'm actually now in VERNON (whoohoo!) and have been having trouble getting myself to the computer to wrap up my trip! Sorry 'bout that! But there's sure a lot more to come, what with leaving Morocco, relaxing in Spain, and visiting Mandee in England all to expand on!
Thanks for checking up on me! And if you're around Vernon feel free to get in touch!
Jaimes
It's been a lifelong dream of mine to visit the Sahara, especially by camel. And probably the best place to do that in Morocco is near the Algerian border in conjunction with one of the nearby desert auberges (hotels) in either the village of Merzouga or the neighbouring city of Rissani. Mom and I chose to do a two night camel trek and as my camel rose up in front of the base of Erg Chebbi (the main dunes in the area) a elation spread across my face...it was hidden under my turban, but it was there nonetheless! And just as fast as I'd become excited, my heart dropped with disappointment...there we were, mom and i with our camels linked together being lead by our guide...ON FOOT. I thought at first that he was just going to get his camel from somewhere nearby, but no, there we were like kids on ponies at a petting zoo being lead by some barefoot Berber through the sand. Actually I was right peeved for a while and tried hard not to sulk lest I ruin what was left of a potentially great experience. Thankfully, mom and I found out later that all camels have to be lead by someone on foot when traveling through the dunes, even during the authentic camel caravans that traders still travel by. This made us feel a heck of a lot better, and actually once we started crossing the steep ridges I realised that there was no way a camel would just follow up these crests on their own. There were some ridges we trekked along that towered at least 200 meters above the dune floor! There was one moment while crossing one of these dunes when I seriously thought we might die...the camels were struggling just to put one foot in front of the other as they kept sinking into the crest...sand cascaded down the mountainside creating mini avalanches and I watched the edge of the dune give way before my eyes...I clung to my saddle blanket with one hand and my camera with another (which I was stupidly using at the very same moment) while trying to balance myself atop the wobbly desert behemoth. The adrenaline rush was FANTASTIC....seriously...I was thrilled to have crossed that mammoth ridge ALIVE, however, when I warily eyed an even higher dune that I thought our guide was bound for, I made sure to speak up and tell him that I was hardly THAT eager to repeat the ordeal.
One perplexing issue that I hadn't prepared for was that of having to relieve myself in the desert. Where do you go? This is not like the Canadian wild, plush with thick forest and handy moss, this is a child's dream sandbox and save for a few scrubby bushes, quite void of convenient pit stops. When I asked our guide where to 'go', he grandly swept his burnished hand across the lumpy horizon and said, "As you like". No less confused, I shrugged my shoulders and trudged up the nearest dune and over its edge. Squatting in an empty bowl of orange sand, one feels extremely vulnerable to both man and nature. I hoped to high heaven that another camel caravan wouldn't, at the most akward of moments, appear at the top of the basin's edge. Nature, was another threat to comfort, I realised as the wind factor played into effect...let's just say that peeing in the desert is like spitting into the wind...however there is always a great dusting of sand that follows each gust, eager to find a resting place on the sticky skin bared to the breeze. And that's just during daylight. It's a strangely surreal thing to crawl out of a mudbrick hut in the middle of the night and stumble over the Sahara's flat stony desert in vain search of a private spot behind some elusive shrub. If the blackness of night were an option, than a long-distance trek into the wild wouldn't be necessary, but as the full Saharan moon illuminated everything in sight, I had no option but to walk as far as possible from camp and reveal to the night another moon of sorts.
But overall, what a fantastic experience...we spent the first night in mudbrick housing owned by a family living in the middle of the Saharan nowhere, and the second under Berber tents made from camel hair, with other camel trekkers gathered at a desert oasis. The entire experience was of course, a bit touristic, but hey, the camels and the Sahara were all authentic right! I'd definitely recommend the adventure!
And that's where I'm ending it for tonight...I'm actually now in VERNON (whoohoo!) and have been having trouble getting myself to the computer to wrap up my trip! Sorry 'bout that! But there's sure a lot more to come, what with leaving Morocco, relaxing in Spain, and visiting Mandee in England all to expand on!
Thanks for checking up on me! And if you're around Vernon feel free to get in touch!
Jaimes
Thursday, April 27, 2006
dance rules and good deals...mennonite vs moroccan
Ok...so, I'm back in the western English-speaking world and L-O-V-E it! Really, I've absolutely LOVED my time in Spain and especially Morocco, but as the time for me to leave drew nearer I just knew that I was ready to transition back into the western world again. Actually when I read an email from my sister a couple weeks ago about her return to Vernon and Dad's steak and guacamole, I was like, "That's it! I'm ready to go home. If she's out of Guatamala and at home eating that stuff, I want in!!!" And now here I am in England and just chomping at the bit to linger over a clotted cream tea with scones and hit up a local pub for some good old fish n' chips. But I'll save my gastronomic exploits for later and instead back up a couple weeks and finish where I left off...with my mom's arrival in Spain I think...
After finishing up the last days of my internship at MMC, mom and I set of for a whirlwind tour of Morocco. We started off with an overnight stay in Rabat with the girls I'd lived with during my first trip into Morocco and their family graciously served up an amazing Moroccan meal. We then headed by train down to central Morocco to the city of Benguerir where we were meeting up with other friends of mine who'd invited us to a Moroccan wedding. I'd been praying the whole time that I'd get to attend a traditional Moroccan wedding, but had been told by many that the wedding season hadn't really begun yet and that my chances of attending one were highly unlikely. God, however, answered my prayers and upon arriving in Benguerir, we were driven out to a rural mud-brick village where the wedding was to take place. I really feel like there is no adequate way to describe what we experienced in words, but mom describes the experience as something akin to stepping into the pages of a National Geographic magazine. I couldn't agree with her more. For the better part of the day, men and women stayed separate for their own ceremonies and celebrations. I'm not quite sure what the men all did or even where they were, but the women spent most of the time dancing, singing, and eating under a large tent that had been erected in the corner of the mudbrick courtyard. Mint tea flowed and drums beat unceasingly while women, bejewelled and adorning embellished caftans, danced for hours. The bride, pale and exhausted from the festivites sat stoic and alone throughout the entire occasion. Tajines were slowly cooked over fires throughout the day, but rapidly consumed just as soon as they were set down in front of the shifts of women who left the tent to break for food; dozens of hennaed hands plundered the vast ceramic dishes, searching for the choicest morsels of unknown animal parts. Mom handled these very foreign eating practices well especially for being thrown right into the thick of things! While I'd been fairly used to the eating aspect of Moroccan culture, I was forced to show off my *ahem* Moroccan-dancing skills...not something I was terribly comfortable with seeing as how I'm white and Mennonite to boot...ie my blood lacks natural rhythm and my body the coordination it takes to swivel my hips without throwing my entire pelvis out of joint. Let's just say me decked out in a lavendar caftan trying to shake what I DON'T GOT in front of a hundred Moroccan women is not a pretty picture...unfortunately there are many of me doing just that. Even worse, there is video footage... The evening ended (or maybe it had just begun, I don't know, because mom and I went to bed at 2 am and the party was still going strong) with the menfolk joining the celebrations, however, staying fairly separate from the female contingency, except for some group dancing in which a line of women and a line of men never got more than 2 feet close to each other. More singing, more dancing, more drums, more food. All the while the bride sat hidden by a cluster of women, unseen by most of the guests. Apparently the next day she would be brought to the home of the groom (we still don't even know who he was) where another party would be held. With more singing, dancing, drums, and food. But there's a limit to how much a westerner can take, and mom and I left early to get a bit of sleep. Amazingly, our sleep upon berber carpets and sheepskin rugs on the floor of a mudbrick hut, was the best sleep we had during our entire stay in Morocco!!! The next day, we continued our journey with the first of dozens of taxi rides around the desert.
In Canada, I would never DREAM of traveling long distance by taxi, but in Morocco, grand taxis are probably one of the most reliable ways to travel if personal space and your own schedule are high priorities, which they were for us. Both mom and I wanted the opportunity to stop whenever we wanted in order to take photos, so we consistently hired taxi drivers to shuttle us throughout the desert and along steep mountain passes. Berber villages, lush palmaeries, ancient kasbahs, and mountain farmers all caught our attention along the way. But travel by taxi was not without its hassles, and it seemed that each of the drivers was intent on both providing assistance and scamming us at the same time. My French had improved to the point where I could express my frustration with their sly deals and more than once I had to bite my tongue out of fear that we'd be left stranded by the side of some desert piste (off-road)...never mind the fact that I should have been motivated to exhibit a more patient, Christ-like behaviour...sigh...it's not an excuse for a bad attitude, but by the end of the journey I really was tired of having to fight for a fair deal and couldn't give a rip about the fact that I'd become a bit bitter towards Moroccan taxi drivers!
Okay...sorry to stop this here...but it's past midnight, I'm exhausted and still trying to get over a nasty cold, and I gotta get some sleep. More to come before leaving the enchanting countryside of Devon.
Sweet dreams...I know I'LL be dreaming of cream tea!
After finishing up the last days of my internship at MMC, mom and I set of for a whirlwind tour of Morocco. We started off with an overnight stay in Rabat with the girls I'd lived with during my first trip into Morocco and their family graciously served up an amazing Moroccan meal. We then headed by train down to central Morocco to the city of Benguerir where we were meeting up with other friends of mine who'd invited us to a Moroccan wedding. I'd been praying the whole time that I'd get to attend a traditional Moroccan wedding, but had been told by many that the wedding season hadn't really begun yet and that my chances of attending one were highly unlikely. God, however, answered my prayers and upon arriving in Benguerir, we were driven out to a rural mud-brick village where the wedding was to take place. I really feel like there is no adequate way to describe what we experienced in words, but mom describes the experience as something akin to stepping into the pages of a National Geographic magazine. I couldn't agree with her more. For the better part of the day, men and women stayed separate for their own ceremonies and celebrations. I'm not quite sure what the men all did or even where they were, but the women spent most of the time dancing, singing, and eating under a large tent that had been erected in the corner of the mudbrick courtyard. Mint tea flowed and drums beat unceasingly while women, bejewelled and adorning embellished caftans, danced for hours. The bride, pale and exhausted from the festivites sat stoic and alone throughout the entire occasion. Tajines were slowly cooked over fires throughout the day, but rapidly consumed just as soon as they were set down in front of the shifts of women who left the tent to break for food; dozens of hennaed hands plundered the vast ceramic dishes, searching for the choicest morsels of unknown animal parts. Mom handled these very foreign eating practices well especially for being thrown right into the thick of things! While I'd been fairly used to the eating aspect of Moroccan culture, I was forced to show off my *ahem* Moroccan-dancing skills...not something I was terribly comfortable with seeing as how I'm white and Mennonite to boot...ie my blood lacks natural rhythm and my body the coordination it takes to swivel my hips without throwing my entire pelvis out of joint. Let's just say me decked out in a lavendar caftan trying to shake what I DON'T GOT in front of a hundred Moroccan women is not a pretty picture...unfortunately there are many of me doing just that. Even worse, there is video footage... The evening ended (or maybe it had just begun, I don't know, because mom and I went to bed at 2 am and the party was still going strong) with the menfolk joining the celebrations, however, staying fairly separate from the female contingency, except for some group dancing in which a line of women and a line of men never got more than 2 feet close to each other. More singing, more dancing, more drums, more food. All the while the bride sat hidden by a cluster of women, unseen by most of the guests. Apparently the next day she would be brought to the home of the groom (we still don't even know who he was) where another party would be held. With more singing, dancing, drums, and food. But there's a limit to how much a westerner can take, and mom and I left early to get a bit of sleep. Amazingly, our sleep upon berber carpets and sheepskin rugs on the floor of a mudbrick hut, was the best sleep we had during our entire stay in Morocco!!! The next day, we continued our journey with the first of dozens of taxi rides around the desert.
In Canada, I would never DREAM of traveling long distance by taxi, but in Morocco, grand taxis are probably one of the most reliable ways to travel if personal space and your own schedule are high priorities, which they were for us. Both mom and I wanted the opportunity to stop whenever we wanted in order to take photos, so we consistently hired taxi drivers to shuttle us throughout the desert and along steep mountain passes. Berber villages, lush palmaeries, ancient kasbahs, and mountain farmers all caught our attention along the way. But travel by taxi was not without its hassles, and it seemed that each of the drivers was intent on both providing assistance and scamming us at the same time. My French had improved to the point where I could express my frustration with their sly deals and more than once I had to bite my tongue out of fear that we'd be left stranded by the side of some desert piste (off-road)...never mind the fact that I should have been motivated to exhibit a more patient, Christ-like behaviour...sigh...it's not an excuse for a bad attitude, but by the end of the journey I really was tired of having to fight for a fair deal and couldn't give a rip about the fact that I'd become a bit bitter towards Moroccan taxi drivers!
Okay...sorry to stop this here...but it's past midnight, I'm exhausted and still trying to get over a nasty cold, and I gotta get some sleep. More to come before leaving the enchanting countryside of Devon.
Sweet dreams...I know I'LL be dreaming of cream tea!
Thursday, April 06, 2006
"Death in the Afternoon" and Mom on the 9:30 flight from Gatwick
Basically…I’m addicted. To bullfights. Yes, some of you are cringing in your seats, horrified that I could relish such a blood-thirsty sporting event, but then again others of you are smirking at the screen thinking, “Classic…typical Jaime”. To the first group, let me just take a moment to justify myself!!! The way we kill cattle in the west is not exactly pretty either, and they do eat these bulls after they are killed. Yes, a bullfight IS entertainment, but these beasts live like kings for their entire lives, and then experience 15 minutes of pain. Beef cattle don’t live NEARLY as well and still get eaten. So…excuse the pun, but…what’s your beef? Hee hee…sorry…don’t mean to be a smart alec! Anyway, to the second group…oh man…WHAT A RUSH! To see such a massive animal charge a man on foot…it’s not often that you get to witness something so primal yet artful at the same time. Anyway, I loved the entire experience. From the musical fanfare that accompanies the (mostly graceful) movements of the matador, to the daring bravado of the matadors and their banderielleros, to the various techniques and traditions used during the fight, to the crowd’s wild responses and the president’s presentation of ears and tail as trophies—definitely one of the highlights of the last three months!
One of the other highlights was a trip I took to the small white village (pueblo blanco) of Ronda, a beautiful city about the size of Vernon situated on a plateau and overlooks the surrounding mountain and hilly countryside. It’s reknowned for the incredible stone bridge that spans ‘El Tajo’, the plunging gorge below, and connects the 18th and medival sections of the city. I went with Beth, a friend and coworker of mine here in Spain, and we hiked down into the gorge one morning, visited the oldest bullring in Spain (made famous by Hemingway’s “Death in the Afternoon”) ate some amazing food, AND took in a flamenco show!!! Oh my goodness, it was so AWESOME!!!! The show actually took place in the basement of—get this—a museum featuring a visual history of the Spanish Inquisition…complete with a varied and explicit display of torture devices. On my way out of the washroom I got to find out exactly how instruments like the Maiden of Nuremberg and the Heretic’s Fork worked…magical. Thankfully, this ambient décor wasn’t visible from where we were seated and the outstanding show made up for the initial lack of appeal! Let me just say, however, that watching something like flamenco definitely reminds me how rhythmically challenged I really am! I have never seen dancers, musicians, and singers keep time like that! The experience was electrifying and it was truly evident that these artists were passionate about their craft and personally attached to flamenco as a means of expressing their love for their culture and heritage. The only other musicians I’ve ever witnessed pouring out such soul-baring vocal expression have been blues artists. While places like Starkville, MS and Fes totally blow my mind, places like Ronda put me at peace. I’ve never been so enchanted by location as I was by Ronda. It felt like a home away from home and I really didn’t want to leave!
And speaking of home…mom arrived in Malaga late on Tuesday night! I wasn’t exactly sure if I’d cry or just grin ear to ear or what, but I surprised myself and probably the other bystanders with a yelp or excitement when I saw her coming through the gates! It’s been great having her here and we’re both really looking forward to traveling throughout Morocco and Spain. She’s been really great about entertaining herself while I finish off my work here at the media centre…tomorrow’s my last day! I’m gonna miss it here, especially Rosie my roommate and Beth who shares my office space and a lot of laughs. I can’t believe it’s over!!! But don’t quit visiting the blog, because now that work is over, it’s just fun and games for the next month!!! Obviously I’ll still be shooting (film now rather than digital) and working mentally to round out my collection of images, but it’s now possible for me to come and go as I please!!
So anyway, the next time you hear from me I’ll most likely be down past the famous Ait Benhaddou, (watch Gladiator and Alexander for scenes shot here at this king of Kasbahs) into the desert and beyond…well…after the beyond…there will be no internet cafes found in the Sahara!!!
Outta here like a herd of turtles….
Jaimes
One of the other highlights was a trip I took to the small white village (pueblo blanco) of Ronda, a beautiful city about the size of Vernon situated on a plateau and overlooks the surrounding mountain and hilly countryside. It’s reknowned for the incredible stone bridge that spans ‘El Tajo’, the plunging gorge below, and connects the 18th and medival sections of the city. I went with Beth, a friend and coworker of mine here in Spain, and we hiked down into the gorge one morning, visited the oldest bullring in Spain (made famous by Hemingway’s “Death in the Afternoon”) ate some amazing food, AND took in a flamenco show!!! Oh my goodness, it was so AWESOME!!!! The show actually took place in the basement of—get this—a museum featuring a visual history of the Spanish Inquisition…complete with a varied and explicit display of torture devices. On my way out of the washroom I got to find out exactly how instruments like the Maiden of Nuremberg and the Heretic’s Fork worked…magical. Thankfully, this ambient décor wasn’t visible from where we were seated and the outstanding show made up for the initial lack of appeal! Let me just say, however, that watching something like flamenco definitely reminds me how rhythmically challenged I really am! I have never seen dancers, musicians, and singers keep time like that! The experience was electrifying and it was truly evident that these artists were passionate about their craft and personally attached to flamenco as a means of expressing their love for their culture and heritage. The only other musicians I’ve ever witnessed pouring out such soul-baring vocal expression have been blues artists. While places like Starkville, MS and Fes totally blow my mind, places like Ronda put me at peace. I’ve never been so enchanted by location as I was by Ronda. It felt like a home away from home and I really didn’t want to leave!
And speaking of home…mom arrived in Malaga late on Tuesday night! I wasn’t exactly sure if I’d cry or just grin ear to ear or what, but I surprised myself and probably the other bystanders with a yelp or excitement when I saw her coming through the gates! It’s been great having her here and we’re both really looking forward to traveling throughout Morocco and Spain. She’s been really great about entertaining herself while I finish off my work here at the media centre…tomorrow’s my last day! I’m gonna miss it here, especially Rosie my roommate and Beth who shares my office space and a lot of laughs. I can’t believe it’s over!!! But don’t quit visiting the blog, because now that work is over, it’s just fun and games for the next month!!! Obviously I’ll still be shooting (film now rather than digital) and working mentally to round out my collection of images, but it’s now possible for me to come and go as I please!!
So anyway, the next time you hear from me I’ll most likely be down past the famous Ait Benhaddou, (watch Gladiator and Alexander for scenes shot here at this king of Kasbahs) into the desert and beyond…well…after the beyond…there will be no internet cafes found in the Sahara!!!
Outta here like a herd of turtles….
Jaimes
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