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!!!!!
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