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
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
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
Friday, March 31, 2006
I have arms!
oh man...is it ever good to be back in the west again! After a month of traveling in Morocco, and doing most of my exploring solo, I was incredibly relieved to land in Spain and realize that I could in fact, walk outdoors with my hair still damp after a shower, eat anything I wanted with my left hand, and wear a t-shirt! I stared at my arms for a while and thought, 'gee I haven't seen you two for a while!'. Someone at the centre commented on my lack of tan and I told her my tan was Muslim-style...head & hands. Anyway, the gorgeous temperature in Spain has been helping me to remedy that business and I've been quite content to shed my long sleeves and hiking boots in exchange for tank tops and flip-flops. Western food has been a source of comfort to my fairly diversified palette, and I've been indulging in tapas and pork products, which makes me very, very happy!
Anyway, I guess I should backtrack a bit and recount some of what's taken place over the last 2 weeks. I did try and post something one day from an internet cafe in Marrakech, but was in such poor spirits that words weren't flowing at all and everything I wrote sounded incredibly negative no matter how much I tried to see the brighter side of things! I figured I'd wait to write until I came through the lows which would hopefully result in a much more balanced account of what I'd experienced!
I really hit a low point one day while shooting despite some great experiences...probably the absolute bottom hit me when my contacts picked me up one evening after a heavy day of shooting in the main square (Djemaa El Fna). They'd arrived with some other guests who they wanted to show around the city. Five of us squeezed tightly into a little hatchback and I stared pitifully out the window as the two guests were toured around the city. When I saw a McDonalds and a Pizza Hut whiz by I literally almost broke into tears. I LOVE Moroccan food, but the people I'd been staying with included this one ingredient called smen in EVERYTHING, and it's one of the very few things that have ever called my gag reflex into action. Smen is this preserved butter that has a wild, pungent taste that vaguely reminds me of the smell of sagebrush. There are varying degrees of strength: younger more modern cooks prefer the more mild versions, but the older cooks traditionally prize the most acrid of all. I don’t mind the mild version in things like hrira (one of the most flavorful and comforting soups I’ve ever tried) but this stuff permeated every dish. After 3 weeks without western food I’d come to crave various Moroccan specialties, but after only 3 days of smen, I was on the brink of absolute despair. But back to the fast food sightings…at the beginning of my time in Morocco I’d been utterly disappointed by the presence of McD’s in the country…by this time the Golden Arches looked oh so heavenly. As I sunk lower in my seat I really tried hard to suck it up and prep myself for the massive meal I knew would be waiting for me at home. Suddenly, the two visitors asked if we could all go out to a nice restaurant for dinner. I straightened up. Then the one mentioned something about wanting a steak! Now I leaned forward. (I had to or else the saliva practically drooling down my chin would soak my jeans). A few turns later and the car parked abruptly beside a swanky Moroccan-meets-West Coast-meets-The Bombay Company style restaurant. As we approached I pretty much fainted. Jazz was oozing through the open-air patio and the familiar sound of a favorite song played over the candlelit scene. Walking inside the music filled up my ears and I had to refrain from jumping up and down…DIANA KRALL’s ‘Live in Paris’ cd was the familiar music I’d heard. Never mind that, she was a west coast Canadian and I was desperately in need of being around someone who related to life back home…even if she was stuck in the stereo. That night I died and went to heaven. Jazz, a great restaurant…and one of the finest STEAKS I’ve ever had (doesn’t beat home…but it was fantastic!). A rare, juicy, tender steak…slightly blue at the centre…that plus jazz…seriously, what more could a girl want!!!! Okay, okay…what more could a girl like ME want! Truly, truly satisfied…that’s all I can say about that! And how amazing is it that God really looks after all those little details! That steak brought me through the last leg of the trip!
Leaving Morocco and making it ‘home’ to Malaga is always a full two-day affair, full of interesting people and weird experiences. The milk run is basically this: train from Marrakech to Rabat, train from Rabat/Sale to Sidi Kacem, train from Sidi Kacem to Tangier, ferry from Tangier to Tarifa, Spain, bus from Tarifia to Algeciras, bus from Algeciras to Malaga, taxi from Malaga bus station to my apartment. This with a fully loaded 70 liter pack, computer case with laptop, two external hard drives, and external DVD burner, camera bag, and ginormous shopping bag with, among other things, a tajine dish! It’s been four days since I got home and my body is still aching! Anyhow, funny things seem to happen to me in the port at Tangier, and this time I wound up taking in a couple of stranded girls from the Czech Republic. Rosie, the girls and I went for tapas that night and then they left the next morning. It was really awesome for me to be able to bless them with a place to stay after those British women took me in. I love the fact that traveling brings me into contact with so many unique and amazing people. And I’m so amazed by the way that God has paved the path ahead of me.
It was 7 years ago in Volgograd, Russia that He called me to a life of photography and travel. I can recall a specific moment, standing next to a tributary of the Volga River, when I thought, “I have to be able to do this [travel and meet people] for the rest of my life”, and immediately after God laid photography on my heart. “Of course!” I thought. I couldn’t have known then how perfectly it would suit my character and preferences, or how ideally it would shape my lifestyle. Only now am I beginning to glimpse some of the results of faithfully following through with His plans, and of His faithful leading when I have been frustrated or unmotivated. I have no idea where He’ll lead me next, but honestly, I told Him I’d go anywhere. My passion for visiting other Arab countries has increased a lot since I’ve come here, a passion I’ve had since I was young, but there are so many other places I can’t wait to visit! Cuba before Castro dies, the village where my cousins live in the Philippines, Tuscany, Rome & Naples, a road trip through the United States, the Trans-Siberian Railroad, Kenya, (the first country that got me hooked on the idea of travel) a full circuit around the entire Mediterranean, and at least one war zone. Who knows where God will send me next!
But as for right now, I’m off to the Pueblo Blanca (white village) of Ronda up in the mountains tomorrow with Beth, a friend of mine and a staff member here at the centre. We’ve got plans to explore the town and possibly do some horseback riding, and see some Flamenco. We’ll stay there in a hostel, and then the next afternoon when she goes back to Malaga, I’m heading to Marbella to take in a bullfight!!!! I am SO SO SO excited…I’ve wanted to see one of these since I was a kid!!!
Next week will be my last week here at the centre…hard to believe time’s flown by so fast! I’ve still got a lot of work to do before finishing up, so hopefully it’s all done by Friday cuz on Saturday mom (!) and I are going to Morocco again! Mom is flying in on Tuesday night and spending a few days here in Malaga before we head off to Morocco for a trip through some of the places I’ve been, as well as a trek out into the Sahara! A camel trek in the Sahara (cheesy as it may sound) has been a lifelong dream of mine and I can’t believe it’s actually going to happen! We’ve also been invited to a Moroccan wedding on the way down which should be amazing! After 10 days down there we’ll head back to Spain for a trip up the Mediterranean coast including 3 days on Menorca, one of the Balearic Islands that I’ve also been wanting to visit for years. We’ll finish up in Barcelona, fly to London and then mom will leave for home and I’ll go visit Mandee for a few days!!! Then it’s back to Vancouver on May 1 and home a few days later! This month is going to be amazing!!!
Anyway, I gotta run. Love you all lots and have enjoyed chatting with some of you online and on the phone since I’ve been back in Spain! I feel much closer to home when I’m in the west!
Take care and have a fantastic weekend!
Jaimes
Anyway, I guess I should backtrack a bit and recount some of what's taken place over the last 2 weeks. I did try and post something one day from an internet cafe in Marrakech, but was in such poor spirits that words weren't flowing at all and everything I wrote sounded incredibly negative no matter how much I tried to see the brighter side of things! I figured I'd wait to write until I came through the lows which would hopefully result in a much more balanced account of what I'd experienced!
I really hit a low point one day while shooting despite some great experiences...probably the absolute bottom hit me when my contacts picked me up one evening after a heavy day of shooting in the main square (Djemaa El Fna). They'd arrived with some other guests who they wanted to show around the city. Five of us squeezed tightly into a little hatchback and I stared pitifully out the window as the two guests were toured around the city. When I saw a McDonalds and a Pizza Hut whiz by I literally almost broke into tears. I LOVE Moroccan food, but the people I'd been staying with included this one ingredient called smen in EVERYTHING, and it's one of the very few things that have ever called my gag reflex into action. Smen is this preserved butter that has a wild, pungent taste that vaguely reminds me of the smell of sagebrush. There are varying degrees of strength: younger more modern cooks prefer the more mild versions, but the older cooks traditionally prize the most acrid of all. I don’t mind the mild version in things like hrira (one of the most flavorful and comforting soups I’ve ever tried) but this stuff permeated every dish. After 3 weeks without western food I’d come to crave various Moroccan specialties, but after only 3 days of smen, I was on the brink of absolute despair. But back to the fast food sightings…at the beginning of my time in Morocco I’d been utterly disappointed by the presence of McD’s in the country…by this time the Golden Arches looked oh so heavenly. As I sunk lower in my seat I really tried hard to suck it up and prep myself for the massive meal I knew would be waiting for me at home. Suddenly, the two visitors asked if we could all go out to a nice restaurant for dinner. I straightened up. Then the one mentioned something about wanting a steak! Now I leaned forward. (I had to or else the saliva practically drooling down my chin would soak my jeans). A few turns later and the car parked abruptly beside a swanky Moroccan-meets-West Coast-meets-The Bombay Company style restaurant. As we approached I pretty much fainted. Jazz was oozing through the open-air patio and the familiar sound of a favorite song played over the candlelit scene. Walking inside the music filled up my ears and I had to refrain from jumping up and down…DIANA KRALL’s ‘Live in Paris’ cd was the familiar music I’d heard. Never mind that, she was a west coast Canadian and I was desperately in need of being around someone who related to life back home…even if she was stuck in the stereo. That night I died and went to heaven. Jazz, a great restaurant…and one of the finest STEAKS I’ve ever had (doesn’t beat home…but it was fantastic!). A rare, juicy, tender steak…slightly blue at the centre…that plus jazz…seriously, what more could a girl want!!!! Okay, okay…what more could a girl like ME want! Truly, truly satisfied…that’s all I can say about that! And how amazing is it that God really looks after all those little details! That steak brought me through the last leg of the trip!
Leaving Morocco and making it ‘home’ to Malaga is always a full two-day affair, full of interesting people and weird experiences. The milk run is basically this: train from Marrakech to Rabat, train from Rabat/Sale to Sidi Kacem, train from Sidi Kacem to Tangier, ferry from Tangier to Tarifa, Spain, bus from Tarifia to Algeciras, bus from Algeciras to Malaga, taxi from Malaga bus station to my apartment. This with a fully loaded 70 liter pack, computer case with laptop, two external hard drives, and external DVD burner, camera bag, and ginormous shopping bag with, among other things, a tajine dish! It’s been four days since I got home and my body is still aching! Anyhow, funny things seem to happen to me in the port at Tangier, and this time I wound up taking in a couple of stranded girls from the Czech Republic. Rosie, the girls and I went for tapas that night and then they left the next morning. It was really awesome for me to be able to bless them with a place to stay after those British women took me in. I love the fact that traveling brings me into contact with so many unique and amazing people. And I’m so amazed by the way that God has paved the path ahead of me.
It was 7 years ago in Volgograd, Russia that He called me to a life of photography and travel. I can recall a specific moment, standing next to a tributary of the Volga River, when I thought, “I have to be able to do this [travel and meet people] for the rest of my life”, and immediately after God laid photography on my heart. “Of course!” I thought. I couldn’t have known then how perfectly it would suit my character and preferences, or how ideally it would shape my lifestyle. Only now am I beginning to glimpse some of the results of faithfully following through with His plans, and of His faithful leading when I have been frustrated or unmotivated. I have no idea where He’ll lead me next, but honestly, I told Him I’d go anywhere. My passion for visiting other Arab countries has increased a lot since I’ve come here, a passion I’ve had since I was young, but there are so many other places I can’t wait to visit! Cuba before Castro dies, the village where my cousins live in the Philippines, Tuscany, Rome & Naples, a road trip through the United States, the Trans-Siberian Railroad, Kenya, (the first country that got me hooked on the idea of travel) a full circuit around the entire Mediterranean, and at least one war zone. Who knows where God will send me next!
But as for right now, I’m off to the Pueblo Blanca (white village) of Ronda up in the mountains tomorrow with Beth, a friend of mine and a staff member here at the centre. We’ve got plans to explore the town and possibly do some horseback riding, and see some Flamenco. We’ll stay there in a hostel, and then the next afternoon when she goes back to Malaga, I’m heading to Marbella to take in a bullfight!!!! I am SO SO SO excited…I’ve wanted to see one of these since I was a kid!!!
Next week will be my last week here at the centre…hard to believe time’s flown by so fast! I’ve still got a lot of work to do before finishing up, so hopefully it’s all done by Friday cuz on Saturday mom (!) and I are going to Morocco again! Mom is flying in on Tuesday night and spending a few days here in Malaga before we head off to Morocco for a trip through some of the places I’ve been, as well as a trek out into the Sahara! A camel trek in the Sahara (cheesy as it may sound) has been a lifelong dream of mine and I can’t believe it’s actually going to happen! We’ve also been invited to a Moroccan wedding on the way down which should be amazing! After 10 days down there we’ll head back to Spain for a trip up the Mediterranean coast including 3 days on Menorca, one of the Balearic Islands that I’ve also been wanting to visit for years. We’ll finish up in Barcelona, fly to London and then mom will leave for home and I’ll go visit Mandee for a few days!!! Then it’s back to Vancouver on May 1 and home a few days later! This month is going to be amazing!!!
Anyway, I gotta run. Love you all lots and have enjoyed chatting with some of you online and on the phone since I’ve been back in Spain! I feel much closer to home when I’m in the west!
Take care and have a fantastic weekend!
Jaimes
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