DANI: After happily being shown to our room (which hopefully had seen better days) we headed for the tourist information and found a friendly and chatty fellow working there. He asked us lots of questions and was helpful although he only had one map of the city...so we just looked at it and tried to make mental notes. We wandered happily enough in the vague direction of getting some dinner. We walked and eventually found the destination I had hoped for: Rick's Café. While I try to do my best to ignore the tourist traps this one I couldn't miss. We went inside and surprisingly this was a fancy place; white table clothes, decked out waiters with hats like those in the movie, elegant! We made our way to a lounge where we sat and the waiter went to the large screen TV and restarted the movie just for us. So, in joyful bliss after what I can only describe as lunacy, we shared a wonderful dinner while watching Casablanca in Casablanca! After our brains fully recovered we ventured back into the maze of streets and headed home. Thankfully Mark has a decent internal compass and he got us home through the maze of the old city streets.
5/30, Casablanca cont.
DANI:
We woke up early (actually at 3am due to the buzzing of scooters and honking of horns) and got going around 7. After a nice breakfast, we ventured with our "hotel provided at an extra charge" driver to the Hassan II Mosque, one of the few (only?) that non-Muslims are permitted to enter. We paid the admission and were given a guided tour in English. Please go search this place out on the internet...I will not do justice to its enormity. We removed our shoes as we entered and headed into the main prayer room (for men). I was amazed by it's massiveness (we were told that 20,000 believers could pray here and another 5,000 women in the upstairs women's prayer areas). The opulence was astonishing. I was overwhelmed with emotion most of the time we were there...tears welled in my eyes more than once. I couldn't imagine the expense of building this place and yet the poverty in the streets. We were ushered around and given many facts. We never stepped foot into any of the designated women's areas, except for the public toilets of which I found the women's to be a hole to squat above..no lie. Mark reluctantly told me that the men's were quite nice although lacking paper. We went into the room where the men wash before going upstairs for prayers, this too was a beautiful area but again I was emotionally torn as I liked the idea of washing clean before presenting yourself to God while at the same time prickling when our guide said that if you do not do the ritual washing, God will not hear your prayers. This is my first time in a Muslim country and Morocco is very open to the west. But I was saddened that in this beautiful place grace didn't seem to be allowed.
Our driver took us all over the city, "sightseeing" I guess, and we ended at the train station to catch our train to Marrakech. Rather uneventful (other than the lively conversation happening between our fellow passengers...in Arabic). After the th ree hour ride, we arrived and headed to find a taxi and our reserved accommodation. The ride was a good one with a nice driver who spoke enough English to keep us from feeling uncomfortable. We got to the medina (old city) and a man told our driver he couldn't go any further and that he (and his son) would carry our bags and get us to our riad (think bed and breakfast in a traditional home). They hustled us through the winding, narrow streets (I think trying to keep us from getting any baring) and proceeded to then hound us for more money. It was a gut wrenching experience. While we know that we are unemployed and homeless, they do not. And, even given our situation, we are quite wealthy in comparison. We gave them some money and were ushered into our place by a nice guy roughly our age. He poured us some Moroccan tea and let us relax. The place was stunning. We were in an internal courtyard which is open to the sky. There are three floors with rooms that circle the courtyard. The room and patios are comfortable and beautiful. We filled out our forms and ordered some dinner (Mark will tell you more on that). It was an amazing transition to a peaceful place...so much so that neither of us wanted to check out the environs that evening (and didn't).
DINNER by MARK (I'm telling about it, not making it):
We had perused the dinner menu after arriving earlier in the day, as they didn't keep much on hand. Whatever you wanted they would go out and get via the local market. So, Dani had chosen a cous cous-chicken dish while I went with a lamb something ma-bob cooked in a TANGER (a traditional small clay oven with a removable tee-pee like top). We could smell the aromas coming from the kitchen a little before 7:30, our scheduled dinner time. We sat with anticipation. Our host showed us to our seats where they had set a stark white table cloth, sprinkled dried red flowers and had two small candles lit. I felt as if we had entered a true oasis, or I was supposed to be proposing. Uh oh, I had forgot the ring.
The evening was cool as the sun had already started to set and soon our food arrived to tingling stomachs. Dani's couscous was in a deep dish about eight inches in diameter, topped with squash, carrots, and asparagus arranged to form an asterisk with chicken at the top. It looked amazing, and it was enough for three or four people. The tee-pee top was lifted off my dish and there was a dark sauce covering the bottom with a healthy serving of lamb circled by large dates with almonds balanced on top. The smell was enticing, but the taste was so much better. A perfectly balanced spicy sweet ran through the fall-apart tender lamb. Definitely one of the best meals I've ever had. I bragged a little and then gave Dani a taste.. and she agreed that it was wonderful. I generously offered to share and also enjoyed the couscous and vegetables. The dates were an added welcome, as I figured they'd help keep things going. Everything was fabulous.
We had only ordered two dishes and one dessert, which came by the name of Moroccan delights. When the tray of candies arrived we both knew there wasn't room, so we sampled a few and then wandered peacefully back to our room.
5/29/2008
Casablanca...
FROM MARK:
Well, our too-good-to-be-true EasyJet flight deal from Madrid to Casablanca came to be.... true! Yes, without hitch or problem we placed the wheels of our plane on the Moroccan tarmac at precisely 13:50 on May 29, only 10 minutes late. We slid through customs and picked up our bags with ease. With nothing to declare we walked through a line of people all waiting for their loved ones. We were apparently not in the looks for a Moroccan loved one, as eyes quickly glanced over us after some initial looks of disbelief. Dani had e-mailed our hotel just before we left indicating that we'd take a room and we'd also like their pickup shuttle service from the airport, so we scanned the signs only to find names of which we did not recognize. We had no idea if they could actually pick us up, but we had high hopes. We set a plan in action, which included getting local currency and then calling the hotel to check the status of the ride (we've heard things can be customarily late). We once again scanned the taxi driver signs for good measure and then proceeded to make the call. Luckily the gentleman spoke English, as my Arabic is lacking. I asked about the ride and he requested that I call back in 10 minutes... I think, or someone would be there in 10 minutes? Both his English and my clarification skills obviously needed some improvement. I realized this when I had to convey the not-so-clear message to Dani. So, we sat down and rested for a while and then I decided to give the hotel another call. This time he had solid news. He said that his driver could pick us up in one hour. I kindly declined the offer and we decided to catch the economical train into the city (much less than a taxi) only to find that the 15:00 train actually left at 15:00 on the dot. We watched it's taillights disappear. The next train was at 16:00, and we were now tired, hot, and mentally fatigued after less than an hour in Morocco. Dani was feeling a little dizzy from the flight too, so the last resort was a taxi. Keep in mind that up to this point we've gone everywhere and done everything via public transportation, so relying on a taxi was just a shift for us. Don't get me wrong, taxi's are great and serve a niche, but we enjoy traveling as economically as possible--it just makes things more fun. We accepted our mini-defeat and tried to think of the efficiencies as we entered the airport taxi area where a guy walked up asking if we needed a ride. I wasn't sure if he was just some guy off the street or not, as he held an "official as can be" looking piece of brown paper which looked to be torn from the bottom of a brown grocery sack. So, we chose honesty and said yes and I guess the paper was official. He guided us to a line of old, white, Mercedes with a small group a men sitting in a circle beside them. Several immediately rose, we showed them the name and address we had written down of our hotel, they exchanged some words and we were off in an official taxi. Our driver slowed by another taxi and said something in Arabic and then kept going. The national language in Morocco is Arabic, which I can not read, speak, or comprehend verbally a single word. I'm still working on thank you, which I believe is pronounced "Show-krahn". I enjoy languages, but wow, this one is a doozy. Oh, the second language of choice is French, followed by Spanish. Our fourth place English is a bonus if we get past hello. We were toodling along fine when the driver once again slows by a gas station and honks. Maybe he's just a really nice guy and likes to wave at everyone? Another white, old, Mercedes pulls up from the pump and before I could decipher the situation and come to my senses, we were shuttled into another vehicle of similar character, however, without taxi markings that I could see. As we picked up speed you'd think that at this point you would jump out of the car and just take the roll versus waiting for the endless possibilities. Once again, we chose to sit it out and be mindful of open fields and dark alleys.
After we showed the new driver our hotel information he indicated with complete assuredness that it was no longer operational. That's strange, as we had just spoke to someone at the hotel about a ride. The second lump in my throat began to form. The seats were springy and the black vinyl was warm in the naturally air cooled car. I started taking note of the general direction we were headed and making mental notes of the car's description. We had about a 1/4 tank of gas; good, he couldn't drive us too far if he had ill intentions. Wait a second, didn't he just pull out of a gas station? Maybe he didn't intend to take us very far. His inky black hair had specks of gray and his mustache was bushy and tapered down to the edge of his lips.
Then, silence. Silence has to be the worst form of torture when your nervous or on edge. Think of the sound of your front door opening at 2am in the morning. Then, think of hearing nothing more as you listen with everything you've got. Wouldn't it be more comforting to hear someone say, "Hello there, I'm sure you just heard the front door open, please don't get up as I'm going to rob you." You could respond with, "Thanks, I'll stay right here and you take what you want." At least everyone is on terms. When you hear the front door "just" open followed by a pure silence, you start coming up with scenarios. My mind was racing at this point, and the "silence" endured.
Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed. The Arabic music played in the background. I tried to tell if the car was a legit taxi. He had a box of tissues in the rear window. The seats seemed moderately worn. We knew the airport was well outside the city, but we didn't know exactly how far. I watched for road signs and indications that we were headed towards a major metropolitan area. We passed houses with blankets for walls and saw kids playing make-shift soccer in dirt fields. One gentleman in a suit rode an older ten-speed style road bike; he was in his 60's and carried a cane.
Buildings soon grew larger and we were definitely entering a city. At this point my nerves finally eased and I figured heck, if the worst is coming, then I mise well enjoy my last few minutes in the back of a taxi. Dani smiled at me and I gave a true, honest smile back. I was happy to be next to her and glad to be in Morocco. Well, kind of glad to be in Morocco. We finally pulled up to the hotel and I was so glad to see it that I paid and gave the driver a tip (mostly because we were alive), and we proceeded to our room. *Dear taxi driver: sorry for not trusting you (if you happen to be reading this), I think you're nice and all, but I was just a little worried for a while; maybe you'll understand now. Maybe next time we can talk a little more.
Well, our too-good-to-be-true EasyJet flight deal from Madrid to Casablanca came to be.... true! Yes, without hitch or problem we placed the wheels of our plane on the Moroccan tarmac at precisely 13:50 on May 29, only 10 minutes late. We slid through customs and picked up our bags with ease. With nothing to declare we walked through a line of people all waiting for their loved ones. We were apparently not in the looks for a Moroccan loved one, as eyes quickly glanced over us after some initial looks of disbelief. Dani had e-mailed our hotel just before we left indicating that we'd take a room and we'd also like their pickup shuttle service from the airport, so we scanned the signs only to find names of which we did not recognize. We had no idea if they could actually pick us up, but we had high hopes. We set a plan in action, which included getting local currency and then calling the hotel to check the status of the ride (we've heard things can be customarily late). We once again scanned the taxi driver signs for good measure and then proceeded to make the call. Luckily the gentleman spoke English, as my Arabic is lacking. I asked about the ride and he requested that I call back in 10 minutes... I think, or someone would be there in 10 minutes? Both his English and my clarification skills obviously needed some improvement. I realized this when I had to convey the not-so-clear message to Dani. So, we sat down and rested for a while and then I decided to give the hotel another call. This time he had solid news. He said that his driver could pick us up in one hour. I kindly declined the offer and we decided to catch the economical train into the city (much less than a taxi) only to find that the 15:00 train actually left at 15:00 on the dot. We watched it's taillights disappear. The next train was at 16:00, and we were now tired, hot, and mentally fatigued after less than an hour in Morocco. Dani was feeling a little dizzy from the flight too, so the last resort was a taxi. Keep in mind that up to this point we've gone everywhere and done everything via public transportation, so relying on a taxi was just a shift for us. Don't get me wrong, taxi's are great and serve a niche, but we enjoy traveling as economically as possible--it just makes things more fun. We accepted our mini-defeat and tried to think of the efficiencies as we entered the airport taxi area where a guy walked up asking if we needed a ride. I wasn't sure if he was just some guy off the street or not, as he held an "official as can be" looking piece of brown paper which looked to be torn from the bottom of a brown grocery sack. So, we chose honesty and said yes and I guess the paper was official. He guided us to a line of old, white, Mercedes with a small group a men sitting in a circle beside them. Several immediately rose, we showed them the name and address we had written down of our hotel, they exchanged some words and we were off in an official taxi. Our driver slowed by another taxi and said something in Arabic and then kept going. The national language in Morocco is Arabic, which I can not read, speak, or comprehend verbally a single word. I'm still working on thank you, which I believe is pronounced "Show-krahn". I enjoy languages, but wow, this one is a doozy. Oh, the second language of choice is French, followed by Spanish. Our fourth place English is a bonus if we get past hello. We were toodling along fine when the driver once again slows by a gas station and honks. Maybe he's just a really nice guy and likes to wave at everyone? Another white, old, Mercedes pulls up from the pump and before I could decipher the situation and come to my senses, we were shuttled into another vehicle of similar character, however, without taxi markings that I could see. As we picked up speed you'd think that at this point you would jump out of the car and just take the roll versus waiting for the endless possibilities. Once again, we chose to sit it out and be mindful of open fields and dark alleys.
After we showed the new driver our hotel information he indicated with complete assuredness that it was no longer operational. That's strange, as we had just spoke to someone at the hotel about a ride. The second lump in my throat began to form. The seats were springy and the black vinyl was warm in the naturally air cooled car. I started taking note of the general direction we were headed and making mental notes of the car's description. We had about a 1/4 tank of gas; good, he couldn't drive us too far if he had ill intentions. Wait a second, didn't he just pull out of a gas station? Maybe he didn't intend to take us very far. His inky black hair had specks of gray and his mustache was bushy and tapered down to the edge of his lips.
Then, silence. Silence has to be the worst form of torture when your nervous or on edge. Think of the sound of your front door opening at 2am in the morning. Then, think of hearing nothing more as you listen with everything you've got. Wouldn't it be more comforting to hear someone say, "Hello there, I'm sure you just heard the front door open, please don't get up as I'm going to rob you." You could respond with, "Thanks, I'll stay right here and you take what you want." At least everyone is on terms. When you hear the front door "just" open followed by a pure silence, you start coming up with scenarios. My mind was racing at this point, and the "silence" endured.
Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed. The Arabic music played in the background. I tried to tell if the car was a legit taxi. He had a box of tissues in the rear window. The seats seemed moderately worn. We knew the airport was well outside the city, but we didn't know exactly how far. I watched for road signs and indications that we were headed towards a major metropolitan area. We passed houses with blankets for walls and saw kids playing make-shift soccer in dirt fields. One gentleman in a suit rode an older ten-speed style road bike; he was in his 60's and carried a cane.
Buildings soon grew larger and we were definitely entering a city. At this point my nerves finally eased and I figured heck, if the worst is coming, then I mise well enjoy my last few minutes in the back of a taxi. Dani smiled at me and I gave a true, honest smile back. I was happy to be next to her and glad to be in Morocco. Well, kind of glad to be in Morocco. We finally pulled up to the hotel and I was so glad to see it that I paid and gave the driver a tip (mostly because we were alive), and we proceeded to our room. *Dear taxi driver: sorry for not trusting you (if you happen to be reading this), I think you're nice and all, but I was just a little worried for a while; maybe you'll understand now. Maybe next time we can talk a little more.
Casablanca...
FROM MARK:
Well, our too-good-to-be-true EasyJet flight deal from Madrid to Casablanca came to be.... true! Yes, without hitch or problem we placed the wheels of our plane on the Moroccan tarmac at precisely 13:50 on May 29, only 10 minutes late. We slid through customs and picked up our bags with ease. With nothing to declare we walked through a line of people all waiting for their loved ones. We were apparently not in the looks for a Moroccan loved one, as eyes quickly glanced over us after some initial looks of disbelief. Dani had e-mailed our hotel just before we left indicating that we'd take a room and we'd also like their pickup shuttle service from the airport, so we scanned the signs only to find names of which we did not recognize. We had no idea if they could actually pick us up, but we had high hopes. We set a plan in action, which included getting local currency and then calling the hotel to check the status of the ride (we've heard things can be customarily late). We once again scanned the taxi driver signs for good measure and then proceeded to make the call. Luckily the gentleman spoke English, as my Arabic is lacking. I asked about the ride and he requested that I call back in 10 minutes... I think, or someone would be there in 10 minutes? Both his English and my clarification skills obviously needed some improvement. I realized this when I had to convey the not-so-clear message to Dani. So, we sat down and rested for a while and then I decided to give the hotel another call. This time he had solid news. He said that his driver could pick us up in one hour. I kindly declined the offer and we decided to catch the economical train into the city (much less than a taxi) only to find that the 15:00 train actually left at 15:00 on the dot. We watched it's taillights disappear. The next train was at 16:00, and we were now tired, hot, and mentally fatigued after less than an hour in Morocco. Dani was feeling a little dizzy from the flight too, so the last resort was a taxi. Keep in mind that up to this point we've gone everywhere and done everything via public transportation, so relying on a taxi was just a shift for us. Don't get me wrong, taxi's are great and serve a niche, but we enjoy traveling as economically as possible--it just makes things more fun. We accepted our mini-defeat and tried to think of the efficiencies as we entered the airport taxi area where a guy walked up asking if we needed a ride. I wasn't sure if he was just some guy off the street or not, as he held an "official as can be" looking piece of brown paper which looked to be torn from the bottom of a brown grocery sack. So, we chose honesty and said yes and I guess the paper was official. He guided us to a line of old, white, Mercedes with a small group a men sitting in a circle beside them. Several immediately rose, we showed them the name and address we had written down of our hotel, they exchanged some words and we were off in an official taxi. Our driver slowed by another taxi and said something in Arabic and then kept going. The national language in Morocco is Arabic, which I can not read, speak, or comprehend verbally a single word. I'm still working on thank you, which I believe is pronounced "Show-krahn". I enjoy languages, but wow, this one is a doozy. Oh, the second language of choice is French, followed by Spanish. Our fourth place English is a bonus if we get past hello. We were toodling along fine when the driver once again slows by a gas station and honks. Maybe he's just a really nice guy and likes to wave at everyone? Another white, old, Mercedes pulls up from the pump and before I could decipher the situation and come to my senses, we were shuttled into another vehicle of similar character, however, without taxi markings that I could see. As we picked up speed you'd think that at this point you would jump out of the car and just take the roll versus waiting for the endless possibilities. Once again, we chose to sit it out and be mindful of open fields and dark alleys.
After we showed the new driver our hotel information he indicated with complete assuredness that it was no longer operational. That's strange, as we had just spoke to someone at the hotel about a ride. The second lump in my throat began to form. The seats were springy and the black vinyl was warm in the naturally air cooled car. I started taking note of the general direction we were headed and making mental notes of the car's description. We had about a 1/4 tank of gas; good, he couldn't drive us too far if he had ill intentions. Wait a second, didn't he just pull out of a gas station? Maybe he didn't intend to take us very far. His inky black hair had specks of gray and his mustache was bushy and tapered down to the edge of his lips.
Then, silence. Silence has to be the worst form of torture when your nervous or on edge. Think of the sound of your front door opening at 2am in the morning. Then, think of hearing nothing more as you listen with everything you've got. Wouldn't it be more comforting to hear someone say, "Hello there, I'm sure you just heard the front door open, please don't get up as I'm going to rob you." You could respond with, "Thanks, I'll stay right here and you take what you want." At least everyone is on terms. When you hear the front door "just" open followed by a pure silence, you start coming up with scenarios. My mind was racing at this point, and the "silence" endured.
Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed. The Arabic music played in the background. I tried to tell if the car was a legit taxi. He had a box of tissues in the rear window. The seats seemed moderately worn. We knew the airport was well outside the city, but we didn't know exactly how far. I watched for road signs and indications that we were headed towards a major metropolitan area. We passed houses with blankets for walls and saw kids playing make-shift soccer in dirt fields. One gentleman in a suit rode an older ten-speed style road bike; he was in his 60's and carried a cane.
Buildings soon grew larger and we were definitely entering a city. At this point my nerves finally eased and I figured heck, if the worst is coming, then I mise well enjoy my last few minutes in the back of a taxi. Dani smiled at me and I gave a true, honest smile back. I was happy to be next to her and glad to be in Morocco. Well, kind of glad to be in Morocco. We finally pulled up to the hotel and I was so glad to see it that I paid and gave the driver a tip (mostly because we were alive), and we proceeded to our room. *Dear taxi driver: sorry for not trusting you (if you happen to be reading this), I think you're nice and all, but I was just a little worried for a while; maybe you'll understand now. Maybe next time we can talk a little more.
Well, our too-good-to-be-true EasyJet flight deal from Madrid to Casablanca came to be.... true! Yes, without hitch or problem we placed the wheels of our plane on the Moroccan tarmac at precisely 13:50 on May 29, only 10 minutes late. We slid through customs and picked up our bags with ease. With nothing to declare we walked through a line of people all waiting for their loved ones. We were apparently not in the looks for a Moroccan loved one, as eyes quickly glanced over us after some initial looks of disbelief. Dani had e-mailed our hotel just before we left indicating that we'd take a room and we'd also like their pickup shuttle service from the airport, so we scanned the signs only to find names of which we did not recognize. We had no idea if they could actually pick us up, but we had high hopes. We set a plan in action, which included getting local currency and then calling the hotel to check the status of the ride (we've heard things can be customarily late). We once again scanned the taxi driver signs for good measure and then proceeded to make the call. Luckily the gentleman spoke English, as my Arabic is lacking. I asked about the ride and he requested that I call back in 10 minutes... I think, or someone would be there in 10 minutes? Both his English and my clarification skills obviously needed some improvement. I realized this when I had to convey the not-so-clear message to Dani. So, we sat down and rested for a while and then I decided to give the hotel another call. This time he had solid news. He said that his driver could pick us up in one hour. I kindly declined the offer and we decided to catch the economical train into the city (much less than a taxi) only to find that the 15:00 train actually left at 15:00 on the dot. We watched it's taillights disappear. The next train was at 16:00, and we were now tired, hot, and mentally fatigued after less than an hour in Morocco. Dani was feeling a little dizzy from the flight too, so the last resort was a taxi. Keep in mind that up to this point we've gone everywhere and done everything via public transportation, so relying on a taxi was just a shift for us. Don't get me wrong, taxi's are great and serve a niche, but we enjoy traveling as economically as possible--it just makes things more fun. We accepted our mini-defeat and tried to think of the efficiencies as we entered the airport taxi area where a guy walked up asking if we needed a ride. I wasn't sure if he was just some guy off the street or not, as he held an "official as can be" looking piece of brown paper which looked to be torn from the bottom of a brown grocery sack. So, we chose honesty and said yes and I guess the paper was official. He guided us to a line of old, white, Mercedes with a small group a men sitting in a circle beside them. Several immediately rose, we showed them the name and address we had written down of our hotel, they exchanged some words and we were off in an official taxi. Our driver slowed by another taxi and said something in Arabic and then kept going. The national language in Morocco is Arabic, which I can not read, speak, or comprehend verbally a single word. I'm still working on thank you, which I believe is pronounced "Show-krahn". I enjoy languages, but wow, this one is a doozy. Oh, the second language of choice is French, followed by Spanish. Our fourth place English is a bonus if we get past hello. We were toodling along fine when the driver once again slows by a gas station and honks. Maybe he's just a really nice guy and likes to wave at everyone? Another white, old, Mercedes pulls up from the pump and before I could decipher the situation and come to my senses, we were shuttled into another vehicle of similar character, however, without taxi markings that I could see. As we picked up speed you'd think that at this point you would jump out of the car and just take the roll versus waiting for the endless possibilities. Once again, we chose to sit it out and be mindful of open fields and dark alleys.
After we showed the new driver our hotel information he indicated with complete assuredness that it was no longer operational. That's strange, as we had just spoke to someone at the hotel about a ride. The second lump in my throat began to form. The seats were springy and the black vinyl was warm in the naturally air cooled car. I started taking note of the general direction we were headed and making mental notes of the car's description. We had about a 1/4 tank of gas; good, he couldn't drive us too far if he had ill intentions. Wait a second, didn't he just pull out of a gas station? Maybe he didn't intend to take us very far. His inky black hair had specks of gray and his mustache was bushy and tapered down to the edge of his lips.
Then, silence. Silence has to be the worst form of torture when your nervous or on edge. Think of the sound of your front door opening at 2am in the morning. Then, think of hearing nothing more as you listen with everything you've got. Wouldn't it be more comforting to hear someone say, "Hello there, I'm sure you just heard the front door open, please don't get up as I'm going to rob you." You could respond with, "Thanks, I'll stay right here and you take what you want." At least everyone is on terms. When you hear the front door "just" open followed by a pure silence, you start coming up with scenarios. My mind was racing at this point, and the "silence" endured.
Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed. The Arabic music played in the background. I tried to tell if the car was a legit taxi. He had a box of tissues in the rear window. The seats seemed moderately worn. We knew the airport was well outside the city, but we didn't know exactly how far. I watched for road signs and indications that we were headed towards a major metropolitan area. We passed houses with blankets for walls and saw kids playing make-shift soccer in dirt fields. One gentleman in a suit rode an older ten-speed style road bike; he was in his 60's and carried a cane.
Buildings soon grew larger and we were definitely entering a city. At this point my nerves finally eased and I figured heck, if the worst is coming, then I mise well enjoy my last few minutes in the back of a taxi. Dani smiled at me and I gave a true, honest smile back. I was happy to be next to her and glad to be in Morocco. Well, kind of glad to be in Morocco. We finally pulled up to the hotel and I was so glad to see it that I paid and gave the driver a tip (mostly because we were alive), and we proceeded to our room. *Dear taxi driver: sorry for not trusting you (if you happen to be reading this), I think you're nice and all, but I was just a little worried for a while; maybe you'll understand now. Maybe next time we can talk a little more.
Madrid and Segovia
FROM DANI:
5/26: We began the day by getting ready to catch a bus from San Sebastian to Madrid. We raced across the small town and found the "station", bought our tickets and a little something for breakfast. Off we went on the bus. We drove through rolling green countryside, sometimes in sunshine others in downpour. We caught up on some sleep and got into our books (Mark is reading Odd Thomas and I´m reading Thunderstruck...we plan to swap when we´re finished). We arrived in Madrid and made our way to find a place to spend the night. We found a room (big and decent) and went to find dinner...we were both growing hungry and had the idea that it would be funny to eat at a ribs joint bearing the name Texas. Big mistake. Not funny at all...just expensive! The food was so-so and on our walk home we went past a nice little fast-food Turkish place that serves Doner Kebab (I learned to LOVE these while living in Germany). Bummed but making a note of it´s location we headed to an internet place. We were wanting to escape the rain...so we found a deal on plane tickets to Casablanca, Morocco on 5/29. Yes, that Casablanca! Here´s lookin at you, kid! Emboldened by our great find we splurged on dessert at McDonald´s and went to bed.
5-27: We had decided to make a day trip to Segovia (about an hour and a half bus ride away). On our arrival we located a great place to stay cheap and unloaded our belongings. We walked through the city which boasts a Roman aqueduct (it was once a Roman military base and needed water). It was chilly and growing darker...rain coming! We grabbed lunch and sat out the rain. We walked around the city that is over 2000 years old. It was nice and relaxing and quiet.
5-28: Back to Madrid. We hit up El Prado, considered to be the best painting museum in the world. It was beautiful and overwhelming. We saw many students with their easels doing their best to replicate famous works. We saw works by El Greco, de Goya, Velazquez - including Las Meninas, a painting which many artists consider the best in the world. Very, very cool. We stood with a crowd for a long time just looking at it and wondering at the talent! Then onto a stroll in Retiro Park where we ran into Mickey Mouse (trying to make money off of tourists wanting a picture). We hit up a couple of great Plazas, had some sweets, read some history, and headed for Doner Kabab for dinner. We spent the evening in planning mode...getting ready for Morocco, more Spain, France, and Ireland. Any suggestions? Please send them! :) Oh, did I mention we lunched at a restaurant named Iowa??
Stay tuned for more from Africa!!!!!
5/26: We began the day by getting ready to catch a bus from San Sebastian to Madrid. We raced across the small town and found the "station", bought our tickets and a little something for breakfast. Off we went on the bus. We drove through rolling green countryside, sometimes in sunshine others in downpour. We caught up on some sleep and got into our books (Mark is reading Odd Thomas and I´m reading Thunderstruck...we plan to swap when we´re finished). We arrived in Madrid and made our way to find a place to spend the night. We found a room (big and decent) and went to find dinner...we were both growing hungry and had the idea that it would be funny to eat at a ribs joint bearing the name Texas. Big mistake. Not funny at all...just expensive! The food was so-so and on our walk home we went past a nice little fast-food Turkish place that serves Doner Kebab (I learned to LOVE these while living in Germany). Bummed but making a note of it´s location we headed to an internet place. We were wanting to escape the rain...so we found a deal on plane tickets to Casablanca, Morocco on 5/29. Yes, that Casablanca! Here´s lookin at you, kid! Emboldened by our great find we splurged on dessert at McDonald´s and went to bed.
5-27: We had decided to make a day trip to Segovia (about an hour and a half bus ride away). On our arrival we located a great place to stay cheap and unloaded our belongings. We walked through the city which boasts a Roman aqueduct (it was once a Roman military base and needed water). It was chilly and growing darker...rain coming! We grabbed lunch and sat out the rain. We walked around the city that is over 2000 years old. It was nice and relaxing and quiet.
5-28: Back to Madrid. We hit up El Prado, considered to be the best painting museum in the world. It was beautiful and overwhelming. We saw many students with their easels doing their best to replicate famous works. We saw works by El Greco, de Goya, Velazquez - including Las Meninas, a painting which many artists consider the best in the world. Very, very cool. We stood with a crowd for a long time just looking at it and wondering at the talent! Then onto a stroll in Retiro Park where we ran into Mickey Mouse (trying to make money off of tourists wanting a picture). We hit up a couple of great Plazas, had some sweets, read some history, and headed for Doner Kabab for dinner. We spent the evening in planning mode...getting ready for Morocco, more Spain, France, and Ireland. Any suggestions? Please send them! :) Oh, did I mention we lunched at a restaurant named Iowa??
Stay tuned for more from Africa!!!!!
5/25/2008
San Sebastian
The "night train" has a variety of options for sleeping, including standard seats (not the best for your back), and small rooms with 2-6 bunks. We opted for the most economical 6 bunk couchette and ended up with the two bottom beds (one on each side).
FROM MARK:
I awoke once on the night train and proceeded to the small toilet at the end of the car only to find toilet paper strewn about. Due to my incoherence I thought it was a dream and am still not so sure. While on the topic, if you're ever needing to get water going in the sink of a train via the foot pump, make sure you bring some down-home folk music to stomp your leg to, as it takes almost a minute to get it going. Don't ask how I figured that one out.
Our eyes opened for good around 7am for the 730 arrival into San Sebastian, a coastal resort town located in the armpit of Spain near France.
We sat down in the train station to figure out a plan for the day. We needed breakfast and a place to stay. Our previous attempts to secure lodging via e-mail and phone calls were unsuccessful, so we weren't sure what to expect, as weekends can be quite busy. A dark blue sign with yellow font indicated a "Pension" (a small room to rent) located on a street about the width of me and Dani stretched end to end. I pressed the call button and inquired about a room for the night and the next thing I knew we were being buzzed in. He had a room, and it was one of the nicest we'd seen. Since the bathroom was shared between several rooms, it was unusually large, and we were excited to have a hot shower available so early in the day. After cleaning up, we walked... And walked... And walked to find a place that issued a paper credential which allows one to stay in hotels along the camino de Santiago trail. We took care of a few errands and did some planning before a hearty pasta dinner and a night of rest just above the cervezaria.
Sunday is May 25... our 5th anniversary! How does one celebrate such an occasion when you're already in a small town of Spain? We slept in, had brunch, and took a walk along the water's edge. To top the day off, we did laundry! Ahh--clean clothes! The plan was to have pizza for dinner, however, promptly when we walked out of our place a downpour ensued. We low- tailed it into the nearest taparia, which turned out to be a winner. We splurged with some gelato and coffee and mall-walked in the drizzle back to our home, which by the way, has free wi-fi. We plan to catch a bus tomorrow to Madrid and then on to Seville with the idea that more southern parts of the country will offer better weather. Cheers from San Sebastian, -Mark & Dani.
FROM MARK:
I awoke once on the night train and proceeded to the small toilet at the end of the car only to find toilet paper strewn about. Due to my incoherence I thought it was a dream and am still not so sure. While on the topic, if you're ever needing to get water going in the sink of a train via the foot pump, make sure you bring some down-home folk music to stomp your leg to, as it takes almost a minute to get it going. Don't ask how I figured that one out.
Our eyes opened for good around 7am for the 730 arrival into San Sebastian, a coastal resort town located in the armpit of Spain near France.
We sat down in the train station to figure out a plan for the day. We needed breakfast and a place to stay. Our previous attempts to secure lodging via e-mail and phone calls were unsuccessful, so we weren't sure what to expect, as weekends can be quite busy. A dark blue sign with yellow font indicated a "Pension" (a small room to rent) located on a street about the width of me and Dani stretched end to end. I pressed the call button and inquired about a room for the night and the next thing I knew we were being buzzed in. He had a room, and it was one of the nicest we'd seen. Since the bathroom was shared between several rooms, it was unusually large, and we were excited to have a hot shower available so early in the day. After cleaning up, we walked... And walked... And walked to find a place that issued a paper credential which allows one to stay in hotels along the camino de Santiago trail. We took care of a few errands and did some planning before a hearty pasta dinner and a night of rest just above the cervezaria.
Sunday is May 25... our 5th anniversary! How does one celebrate such an occasion when you're already in a small town of Spain? We slept in, had brunch, and took a walk along the water's edge. To top the day off, we did laundry! Ahh--clean clothes! The plan was to have pizza for dinner, however, promptly when we walked out of our place a downpour ensued. We low- tailed it into the nearest taparia, which turned out to be a winner. We splurged with some gelato and coffee and mall-walked in the drizzle back to our home, which by the way, has free wi-fi. We plan to catch a bus tomorrow to Madrid and then on to Seville with the idea that more southern parts of the country will offer better weather. Cheers from San Sebastian, -Mark & Dani.
Barcelona or Bust
FROM MARK: The flight across the pond was seamless and the food was actually wonderful (to the delight of my stomach) on our Delta flight from Cincinnati (we connected there from Chicago). We only had one major connection in London on Europe's "Southwest Airlines" equivalent, EasyJet. We allowed for plenty of time to deboard, go through customs, etc. in order to catch our London-Barcelona flight.
However, things went so smoothly we were ready to fly by 10am... The only problem was our flight was scheduled for approximately 2:30pm. Luckily there was a flight at 11am that would work perfectly. We found the EasyJet information counter and inquired about making the change. They told us there would be a change fee in addition to the price of the ticket. We kindly declined and walked away thinking if we really wanted, why wouldn't we just buy new tickets and avoid the "change" fee all together. Oh well... we were happy to be safely in Europe even though our heads maintained that warm fuzzy feeling from jet-lag.
We touched down in Barcelona right on time Tuesday evening. Our bags arrived and all was well. Our first task was to get money in order to pay for transit, rooms, and most food, as the best deals usually don't take credit. A variety of ATM's awaited us at the airport, however, the first one responded with "su banco no responda". Uh-oh. We tried a second with a similar resopnse, and a third, fourth, fifth, etc. It seemed our luck had ran out, and rather quickly on this trip. We had no money... A dismal feeling at best. At last, I found an entire Euro in one of the phones, the amount requested to complete the 800 bank number to the states (which I luckily had stored in my contacts list) to see if they knew of any problems. I popped in the money and what I heard next was in my mind, a one inch person speaking through a tube from several miles away. I just barely recognized the familiar recorded prompts of our bank, and knew that option 4 would get me to someone, but I had no idea if I could ever come close to comprehending a word of what someone would say. Apparently that's about all the time one Euro will buy anyway, as the call was cut and I was slightly relieved I didn't have to try and talk with a person of such small size. Well, in less than an hour we decided to reach into our US 'emergency' cash and convert some to Euros. We got enough for transport and one nights lodging and would figure out the rest as we went. We headed straight to the best deal in town, a little hotel ran by Juan who didn't speak a lick of english and was proud of it. I understood he only had one room left, and we gladly accepted and paid for the night.
Our plan was to grab an internet computer and search for a direct number to the bank so we could make a credit card call. Luck prevailed again as I found a two Euro coin in the pay stall for the computer, which bought us forty mintues. Then, we noticed the computers had Skype (an internet phone service) installed, so we thought we'd give that a try. Well, the microphones didn't seem to be picking up and my yelling in the internet cafe wasn't making us any new friends. We couldn't find a direct number, so we ditched the idea and went to buy a calling card from a shady nick-nack shop (apparently the only place they're sold). Before I knew it, I was speaking to a bank representative who was helpful allbeit my yelling all of our private banking information through an outdoor pay phone and asking them to speak loud and clearly, as this time they seemed to be about seven inches tall on my listening scale. After a few minutes we were told our cards would be good to go within ten mintues, and we celebrated by having some tapas! We tried the card in about an hour and were rejoicing (in our minds) like we won the lottery at the ATM... Of course quickly stashing the money while on a dark street. We high-tailed it back to our room for our first nights rest in Barcelona.
FROM DANI:
Wed: We crashed hard and awoke more or less refreshed. Thr first itemon the adenda: breakfast. We wandered around and finally found a cafe to have a little cafe con leche (very strong coffee w/milk and a lot of sugar added) and a croisant. Next we headed to the market for
fruit...yummy! We did a nice walk down Las Ramblas (the main blvd through the city) where we saw many performance artists, flower vendors, and even guys ready to sell you a new pet (turtles, fish, ferrets, and a variety of birds). We spent the afternoon wandering through Antoni Gaudi's architecture. We visited the Sagrada Familia (Holy Family), a church in which construction began in 1883 and continues to the present! The amount of detail and meaning carved into the walls is as amazing as it is overwhleming. We walked by Casa Battlo, which has balconies that look like skulls, and Casa Mila, which seems wavy and like ice cream at the same time! Last we headed to Parc Guell, a beautiful idea for a gated community 100 years ahead of its time. Based on the look of the two gatehouses that stand at the entrance, I believe Gaudi either inspired Dr. Seuss or was a good friend (I'll have to check on that). Anyway, the park is gorgeous and has amazing views...not only that it has a wavy built in seating area that is mosaic and was designed ergonomically!! What a GENIUS! We ventured back into the heart of the city and stumbled upon a great little shwarma place...where I accidentally ate most of Mark's dinner
(we would return for lunch another day to make up for it). We enjoyed watching others enjoy a futbol match on tv (much ohhing and uhhing).
However, things went so smoothly we were ready to fly by 10am... The only problem was our flight was scheduled for approximately 2:30pm. Luckily there was a flight at 11am that would work perfectly. We found the EasyJet information counter and inquired about making the change. They told us there would be a change fee in addition to the price of the ticket. We kindly declined and walked away thinking if we really wanted, why wouldn't we just buy new tickets and avoid the "change" fee all together. Oh well... we were happy to be safely in Europe even though our heads maintained that warm fuzzy feeling from jet-lag.
We touched down in Barcelona right on time Tuesday evening. Our bags arrived and all was well. Our first task was to get money in order to pay for transit, rooms, and most food, as the best deals usually don't take credit. A variety of ATM's awaited us at the airport, however, the first one responded with "su banco no responda". Uh-oh. We tried a second with a similar resopnse, and a third, fourth, fifth, etc. It seemed our luck had ran out, and rather quickly on this trip. We had no money... A dismal feeling at best. At last, I found an entire Euro in one of the phones, the amount requested to complete the 800 bank number to the states (which I luckily had stored in my contacts list) to see if they knew of any problems. I popped in the money and what I heard next was in my mind, a one inch person speaking through a tube from several miles away. I just barely recognized the familiar recorded prompts of our bank, and knew that option 4 would get me to someone, but I had no idea if I could ever come close to comprehending a word of what someone would say. Apparently that's about all the time one Euro will buy anyway, as the call was cut and I was slightly relieved I didn't have to try and talk with a person of such small size. Well, in less than an hour we decided to reach into our US 'emergency' cash and convert some to Euros. We got enough for transport and one nights lodging and would figure out the rest as we went. We headed straight to the best deal in town, a little hotel ran by Juan who didn't speak a lick of english and was proud of it. I understood he only had one room left, and we gladly accepted and paid for the night.
Our plan was to grab an internet computer and search for a direct number to the bank so we could make a credit card call. Luck prevailed again as I found a two Euro coin in the pay stall for the computer, which bought us forty mintues. Then, we noticed the computers had Skype (an internet phone service) installed, so we thought we'd give that a try. Well, the microphones didn't seem to be picking up and my yelling in the internet cafe wasn't making us any new friends. We couldn't find a direct number, so we ditched the idea and went to buy a calling card from a shady nick-nack shop (apparently the only place they're sold). Before I knew it, I was speaking to a bank representative who was helpful allbeit my yelling all of our private banking information through an outdoor pay phone and asking them to speak loud and clearly, as this time they seemed to be about seven inches tall on my listening scale. After a few minutes we were told our cards would be good to go within ten mintues, and we celebrated by having some tapas! We tried the card in about an hour and were rejoicing (in our minds) like we won the lottery at the ATM... Of course quickly stashing the money while on a dark street. We high-tailed it back to our room for our first nights rest in Barcelona.
FROM DANI:
Wed: We crashed hard and awoke more or less refreshed. Thr first itemon the adenda: breakfast. We wandered around and finally found a cafe to have a little cafe con leche (very strong coffee w/milk and a lot of sugar added) and a croisant. Next we headed to the market for
fruit...yummy! We did a nice walk down Las Ramblas (the main blvd through the city) where we saw many performance artists, flower vendors, and even guys ready to sell you a new pet (turtles, fish, ferrets, and a variety of birds). We spent the afternoon wandering through Antoni Gaudi's architecture. We visited the Sagrada Familia (Holy Family), a church in which construction began in 1883 and continues to the present! The amount of detail and meaning carved into the walls is as amazing as it is overwhleming. We walked by Casa Battlo, which has balconies that look like skulls, and Casa Mila, which seems wavy and like ice cream at the same time! Last we headed to Parc Guell, a beautiful idea for a gated community 100 years ahead of its time. Based on the look of the two gatehouses that stand at the entrance, I believe Gaudi either inspired Dr. Seuss or was a good friend (I'll have to check on that). Anyway, the park is gorgeous and has amazing views...not only that it has a wavy built in seating area that is mosaic and was designed ergonomically!! What a GENIUS! We ventured back into the heart of the city and stumbled upon a great little shwarma place...where I accidentally ate most of Mark's dinner
(we would return for lunch another day to make up for it). We enjoyed watching others enjoy a futbol match on tv (much ohhing and uhhing).
Thursday: A little rainy but after a great breakfast at the market, we headed out for another walk...we saw the beautiful Cathedral of Barcelona but there was no TP in the WC and so the trip there was cut a little short by full bladders. Of interesting note, the Cathedral is filled with tiny chapels dedicated to different saints in which people come, pray, light candles, etc. The chapel with the most candles? Santa Rita. Her specialty? Lost causes. :) We also visited the Deacon's House next door and were reminded a little of Mark's parents house...very similar entry way but with a much larger fountain! After lunch we headed to the Picasso museum. Picasso has always been a little wierd for me but this was mostly more early work so it was slightly more normal (most of the people's eyes were in the right places, for example). Anyway, there was one super cool painting we spend a lot of time walking back and forth in front of called Ciencia y Caridad (Science and Charity). Picasso painted this wonderful optical illusion that when you back and forth and look at it, the bed appears to lengthen or shorten...very, very cool!
Friday: Another market breakfast, some relaxing, and then to the train station to stash our luggage for the day. We didn't have much planned other than to stroll. And stroll we did. We ended up doing a little window shopping and then saw a movie theater. OOOhhh...Indiana Jones!! Only in Spanish. We debated the "wouldn't it be funny" factor verses the "but I really want to see it and not miss the funny parts" factor. Ahh, maybe there's an english theater! Mark asked and the woman working at the theater replied that yes, there was a theater about 20 minutes walk away. She circled an area on our map and we set off walking. And walking and walking and walking. I finally gave up but Mark wanted more to find the darn place than to actually see the movie so he kept looking and I sat in a park and read. About 30 minutes later he ran up and said "we've got 15 minutes until it starts." So there you have it, we saw Indiana Jones in Barcelona and really liked it! Oh, and the theater had warm carmel popcorn (that, according to Mark, was OUTSTANDING!). After the movie we were off to the train station for an overnight train to San Sebastian in northern Spain.
5/16/2008
A Week in Iowa
What do you do for a week in Iowa? Well, we've rented storage and filled it with our stuff, taken Murphy to the farm (and the vet), played cards, eaten out at some local favorites, spent time with family, prepared to leave the country (changing addresses, closing accounts, paying bills), and wondered (for a fleeting few seconds) what the heck we are doing! But, thankfully, that passes and I recognize what an awesome adventure we are embarking on. Both Mark and I see this as an end and a beginning...and our trip is a lucky break from both.
5/14/2008
5/09/2008
Iowa
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone with SprintSpeed
5/07/2008
Billings to Bismarck
“I really like Montana” has been a frequent refrain from both Mark and me. It’s a beautiful state and we’ve been driving through views of snow capped peaks to rolling hills and farmland. The people in the small towns we’ve stopped in (Hysham & Terry) have been friendly. In fact, when we stopped to fuel up I encountered a group of men playing pinochle and a couple ventured out to check the price of our diesel and chat with Mark. Ahh, small towns. We’ve missed this general sense of hospitality and interest. We also noticed a grade school class out for recess…10 students. Maybe a little too small for me!
How do you keep from going crazy on such a long drive, you ask? We've been alternating between 2 books on mp3: Water for Elephants and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Both have been interesting and fun to listen to and chat about. The first is fiction, the second non. Animal, Vege, etc. has definately made us talk about the kind of place we want to "end up" and how we want to live our lives. Very cool!
Oh, and Murphy has been a great dog for the whole trip, sitting between us and enjoying time out of the truck chasing his ball!
We will spend tonight in Bismarck, ND and head to Minneapolis to visit friends tomorrow!
How do you keep from going crazy on such a long drive, you ask? We've been alternating between 2 books on mp3: Water for Elephants and Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. Both have been interesting and fun to listen to and chat about. The first is fiction, the second non. Animal, Vege, etc. has definately made us talk about the kind of place we want to "end up" and how we want to live our lives. Very cool!
Oh, and Murphy has been a great dog for the whole trip, sitting between us and enjoying time out of the truck chasing his ball!
We will spend tonight in Bismarck, ND and head to Minneapolis to visit friends tomorrow!
The rolling hills of East Montana
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone with SprintSpeed
5/06/2008
On the road again...
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone with SprintSpeed
5/01/2008
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