We aren't ones for shopping, and rarely indulge in souvenirs, but for Morocco we have made an exception. This probably relates to the fact that a lot of what you come to Morocco for is the medinas and the souks. It also relates to the fact that the shops are not really there for the tourists. The souks existed before tourism selling what the locals need and they still do exactly that. Some areas are focused more on tourists, but next door is a shop selling 'squat' toilet seats.
Food shopping is also rather a different experience. Fruits and vegetables are as you might expect and although there is a guy sitting with a bag of live snails that's not so exceptional. But meat buying is the exact opposite of in Australia. The animals are raised by a shepherd and killed alone under specific conditions within hours of coming to market. The butcher hangs the lamb or cow often with head attached and you can choose which parts you would like. Live chickens stand on top of cages and once you've chosen your chicken it will be killed for your consumption. It is not possible to forget where your food comes from, but it seems that the animals have happier lives because of it.
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
The after effects of chocolate
We threw ourselves into Chefchaouen with abandon. In both Fez and Marrakech I had always kept an awareness of where we were and where we wanted to go, meandering but never truly getting lost. It may have been to do with warnings of how easy getting lost in the maze of their medinas, or it may just have been first impressions.
My first impression of Chefchaouen involved the owner of the Dar we wanted to stay at, but was full, giving me chocolate and organising another hotel for us. What can I say, I was given chocolate and content. So whilst we were being led by his son to our new hotel, winding our way up and down through the blue alleyways of the medina, I didn't really pay much attention. On leaving our new abode we didn't bother working out where on the map we were located, not that that would have helped as we left the guidebook back in the hotel. The end result was that we got completely and utterly lost. It was great! Of course we did get a little worried trying to find our hotel after dinner when it was dark and we arrived back at our starting location for the third time.
The medina is much more friendly than the ones in the major cities, smaller, stunningly beautiful and blue. Perhaps as a lingering effect of the initial chocolate we continued to feel relaxed and comfortable. We made friends with a shop keeper, bonding over the rock climbing book. The guide to rock climbing in the Todra Gorge is A4 sheets of paper covered with hand drawn squiggles, that supposedly represent the various rock faces and climbs. Hassan (the guy who draws the books) photocopies the pages, adds colour where needed, for example adding green trees or noting with yellow the time when the sun will hit. The book is quite spectacular and for us it would also have been incomprehensible. This particular shop keeper was from that area and a keen rock climber himself so an instant bond was formed. He then went on to show us in great detail the different designs on the carpets his mother makes and what they mean. There was no pressure to buy as we had told him we weren't buying, but he seemed genuinely proud of the rugs.
The town itself is a charming mix of tourism and just a town going about its business. It being the first day of school after the holidays the streets were often filled with the sounds of children singing in their classrooms. The markets were bustling with women buying their vegetables and the square with old men sitting watching the world go by. Just our kind of town.
My first impression of Chefchaouen involved the owner of the Dar we wanted to stay at, but was full, giving me chocolate and organising another hotel for us. What can I say, I was given chocolate and content. So whilst we were being led by his son to our new hotel, winding our way up and down through the blue alleyways of the medina, I didn't really pay much attention. On leaving our new abode we didn't bother working out where on the map we were located, not that that would have helped as we left the guidebook back in the hotel. The end result was that we got completely and utterly lost. It was great! Of course we did get a little worried trying to find our hotel after dinner when it was dark and we arrived back at our starting location for the third time.
The medina is much more friendly than the ones in the major cities, smaller, stunningly beautiful and blue. Perhaps as a lingering effect of the initial chocolate we continued to feel relaxed and comfortable. We made friends with a shop keeper, bonding over the rock climbing book. The guide to rock climbing in the Todra Gorge is A4 sheets of paper covered with hand drawn squiggles, that supposedly represent the various rock faces and climbs. Hassan (the guy who draws the books) photocopies the pages, adds colour where needed, for example adding green trees or noting with yellow the time when the sun will hit. The book is quite spectacular and for us it would also have been incomprehensible. This particular shop keeper was from that area and a keen rock climber himself so an instant bond was formed. He then went on to show us in great detail the different designs on the carpets his mother makes and what they mean. There was no pressure to buy as we had told him we weren't buying, but he seemed genuinely proud of the rugs.
The town itself is a charming mix of tourism and just a town going about its business. It being the first day of school after the holidays the streets were often filled with the sounds of children singing in their classrooms. The markets were bustling with women buying their vegetables and the square with old men sitting watching the world go by. Just our kind of town.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Don't you like my poufs?
Fez wasn't our favourite city. It didn't help that we arrived on a Friday when everything is shut. Walking through almost deserted narrow alleyways felt eerie and the feeling of 'life' that we had loved in Marrakech was missing. We did partake in a cooking course, making a traditional tajine in a pressure cooker. Our chef assured us that hardly anyone actually cooks in a tajine as it would take 4-5 hours. This fitted with what we had seen of Moroccon picnics, which all seemed to include pressure cookers on portable gas stoves.
There were a few nice moments in Fes. On our first foray into the deserted streets the door to the mosque near our Dar was open and it was spectacular. Aware that non-Muslims aren't allowed within the mosque, I wasn't sure what the photo etiquette would be. So using gestures I tried to ask if it was ok for me to take a photo through the door. My question was slightly misunderstood and instead he took my camera inside and took photos of the areas I couldn't see! Unfortunately a good camera doesn't make good photos in the wrong hands, so I only have very dark, blurry photos, but it was definitely the thought that counted.
And of course I can't help but giggle every time someone calls out plaintively "What? Don't you like my poufs?" I'm childish, I know.
There were a few nice moments in Fes. On our first foray into the deserted streets the door to the mosque near our Dar was open and it was spectacular. Aware that non-Muslims aren't allowed within the mosque, I wasn't sure what the photo etiquette would be. So using gestures I tried to ask if it was ok for me to take a photo through the door. My question was slightly misunderstood and instead he took my camera inside and took photos of the areas I couldn't see! Unfortunately a good camera doesn't make good photos in the wrong hands, so I only have very dark, blurry photos, but it was definitely the thought that counted.
And of course I can't help but giggle every time someone calls out plaintively "What? Don't you like my poufs?" I'm childish, I know.
Insha'Allah
After my failed attempts to take Jason hot air ballooning for his birthday I was struggling to come up with another brilliant idea. Then inspiration struck - what better present than two days rock climbing in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco?! Luckily for me there is a company who runs such trips, even renting out all the necessary gear, so from Marrakech we headed up into the mountains.
There are two major bus companies, Supratours and CTM, that have decent reputations and a host of local companies which are considered more variable. We choose to go with Supratours for the added comfort and reliability, given it was supposed to be a 7.5 hour bus trip. The bus was indeed comfortable with functioning air conditioning and seemed fine until 3.5 hours out of Marrakech, when we stopped. There appeared to be some problem getting the bus into gear, and the attempt at maintenance involved a rock picked up from the side of the road. Unsurprisingly bashing the engine didn't fix it and we were told (or the Arabic speakers were told) that another bus would come from Marrakech. There was a mass exodus and people started stopping every passing vehicle and getting in. One of the only English speaking passengers said that this was for the people who were only going to the next town , those of us going further had to wait. However, when another bus passed by heading to Tinehir we waved it down and went the rest of the way in a much less comfortable local bus. This turned out to be a good move as we made it to Tinehir by 6pm, the second Supratours bus didn't get there until 9pm!
Our slight concern was how we were now going to meet Jay, our rock climbing guide. We were two hours late, not on the bus he expected and without a phone. We needn't have worried. Before we had managed to put our bags down Jay appeared and we were off to the Todra Gorge.
I feel like there is so much to say about our time there, all of it good. The climbing, the people, the food. Oh, the tajines!! Jay was originally from America and had set up the climbing business with a friend. Together with his wife and kids, he had moved to Morocco three years ago and thrown himself whole heartedly into the culture. He seemed just as passionate about Morocco as he is about rock climbing, so we got to learn about both.
One of the interesting things we learnt about was the phrase Insha'Allah, which roughly translates to "if god wills it.". This is apparently used in every conceivable situation and means neither yes nor no.
Would you like to come over for dinner? "Insha'Allah."
So you'll be here at 10am to fix the plumbing? "Insha'Allah."
Can we have breakfast at 8am tomorrow? "Insha'Allah."
Since learning this phrase we hear it everywhere, both appended to English phrases said to us (see you later, Insha'Allah) or in overheard conversations in Arabic.
We also got to meet his family who were staying at the Auberge. Jason being handcuffed by 5 year old "officer Lydia" whilst she kept up her patrol in fits of giggles just added to the whole experience!
As for outdoor rock climbing, I am hooked! First order of business when we get back is to get a guide to outdoor climbing near Sydney. Laundry can happen after that. Jay also gave us an introduction to lead climbing, or "climbing on the sharp edge", and doing a full course is now on the agenda.
The only problem with going rock climbing, when we hadn't planned to go, was that we didn't have our own rock climbing shoes. For anyone who has been climbing you will know that the shoes are uncomfortable, and if ill-fitting down right painful. Despite having a range of sizes to choose from by the end of the first day my feet were in agony and I could no longer put any weight on my toes. On day two I tried again, but the pain was unbearable. So I decided to climb in my sandals instead. Whilst not ideal it seemed a reasonable idea until Jay said "Did one of you loose an inner sole?"
Two steps back was the actual sole of my shoe, the glue having apparently melted in the heat and separated the layers. I wasn't going to give up on climbing that easily, so with one and a half sandals I started climbing. Rockclimbing shoes, who needs those? I certainly had to work a bit harder on foot placement, but I was back to having fun!
All too soon it was time for us to leave and go to Fes. That was supposed to be a 9 hour journey, but guess what, the bus broke down! Marrakech felt like Morocco. Bus travel feels like Africa. We have taken two bus journeys so far. We have had two buses break down so far. We have another long bus journey to take us to Casablanca for our flight to London. We should make it, Insha'Allah.
There are two major bus companies, Supratours and CTM, that have decent reputations and a host of local companies which are considered more variable. We choose to go with Supratours for the added comfort and reliability, given it was supposed to be a 7.5 hour bus trip. The bus was indeed comfortable with functioning air conditioning and seemed fine until 3.5 hours out of Marrakech, when we stopped. There appeared to be some problem getting the bus into gear, and the attempt at maintenance involved a rock picked up from the side of the road. Unsurprisingly bashing the engine didn't fix it and we were told (or the Arabic speakers were told) that another bus would come from Marrakech. There was a mass exodus and people started stopping every passing vehicle and getting in. One of the only English speaking passengers said that this was for the people who were only going to the next town , those of us going further had to wait. However, when another bus passed by heading to Tinehir we waved it down and went the rest of the way in a much less comfortable local bus. This turned out to be a good move as we made it to Tinehir by 6pm, the second Supratours bus didn't get there until 9pm!
Our slight concern was how we were now going to meet Jay, our rock climbing guide. We were two hours late, not on the bus he expected and without a phone. We needn't have worried. Before we had managed to put our bags down Jay appeared and we were off to the Todra Gorge.
I feel like there is so much to say about our time there, all of it good. The climbing, the people, the food. Oh, the tajines!! Jay was originally from America and had set up the climbing business with a friend. Together with his wife and kids, he had moved to Morocco three years ago and thrown himself whole heartedly into the culture. He seemed just as passionate about Morocco as he is about rock climbing, so we got to learn about both.
One of the interesting things we learnt about was the phrase Insha'Allah, which roughly translates to "if god wills it.". This is apparently used in every conceivable situation and means neither yes nor no.
Would you like to come over for dinner? "Insha'Allah."
So you'll be here at 10am to fix the plumbing? "Insha'Allah."
Can we have breakfast at 8am tomorrow? "Insha'Allah."
Since learning this phrase we hear it everywhere, both appended to English phrases said to us (see you later, Insha'Allah) or in overheard conversations in Arabic.
We also got to meet his family who were staying at the Auberge. Jason being handcuffed by 5 year old "officer Lydia" whilst she kept up her patrol in fits of giggles just added to the whole experience!
As for outdoor rock climbing, I am hooked! First order of business when we get back is to get a guide to outdoor climbing near Sydney. Laundry can happen after that. Jay also gave us an introduction to lead climbing, or "climbing on the sharp edge", and doing a full course is now on the agenda.
The only problem with going rock climbing, when we hadn't planned to go, was that we didn't have our own rock climbing shoes. For anyone who has been climbing you will know that the shoes are uncomfortable, and if ill-fitting down right painful. Despite having a range of sizes to choose from by the end of the first day my feet were in agony and I could no longer put any weight on my toes. On day two I tried again, but the pain was unbearable. So I decided to climb in my sandals instead. Whilst not ideal it seemed a reasonable idea until Jay said "Did one of you loose an inner sole?"
Two steps back was the actual sole of my shoe, the glue having apparently melted in the heat and separated the layers. I wasn't going to give up on climbing that easily, so with one and a half sandals I started climbing. Rockclimbing shoes, who needs those? I certainly had to work a bit harder on foot placement, but I was back to having fun!
All too soon it was time for us to leave and go to Fes. That was supposed to be a 9 hour journey, but guess what, the bus broke down! Marrakech felt like Morocco. Bus travel feels like Africa. We have taken two bus journeys so far. We have had two buses break down so far. We have another long bus journey to take us to Casablanca for our flight to London. We should make it, Insha'Allah.
Marrakech
Our impromptu trip to Morocco started in Marrakech, and Marrakech is everything you imagine Morocco to be. It is noisy, colourful and chaotic. The aroma of spices fills the air and you are jostled by people, motorbikes and donkeys as you wind your way through the medina. The main square in town is a swarming mass of people. It is only as you immerse yourself into the swarm that you realise there are groups surrounding storytellers, snake charmers and performers of all types. We returned to the square a number of times, enthralled by the sight of Muslim belly dancers covered head to toe in black, with the traditional brightly coloured, jangly belly dancing costume over the top. The acrobats were also phenomenal to see and I'm sure if we spoke Arabic we would have happily listened to the stories being told. We were not quite so enamoured of the monkeys kept on chains, or the snakes which we assume must have been defanged.
From the chaotic streets we would enter a door and be transported to another place entirely. Many of the buildings are built around a central courtyard or garden, allowing you to be outside in completely peaceful surrounds. We visited a number of buildings, palaces from another era or schools no longer in use, and marvelled at the intricate plasterwork and mosaics. Interestingly the most beautiful parts of the buildings were often the ceilings and we now have permanent cricks in our necks.
From the chaotic streets we would enter a door and be transported to another place entirely. Many of the buildings are built around a central courtyard or garden, allowing you to be outside in completely peaceful surrounds. We visited a number of buildings, palaces from another era or schools no longer in use, and marvelled at the intricate plasterwork and mosaics. Interestingly the most beautiful parts of the buildings were often the ceilings and we now have permanent cricks in our necks.
Sunday, April 14, 2013
Ciao
Our time in Italy was wonderful. Verona is a beautiful city, and we were both amused that the tourism industry is based around fictional characters. I'm sure rubbing Juliet's right breasts will bring singletons luck in finding a partner, however we decided against adding a padlock to the gate of Juliet's house. It seems to me pining after a relationship which ends with both partners killing themselves is rather odd. From Verona we made our way to Cinque Terra, a stunning part of the Italian coast with charming villages cascading into the sea. All the while we enjoyed the food, from fancy meals with my parents to local produce in the Cinque Terra, and our waistlines have expanded to prove it!
The highlight of Italy, however, was the people. I don't mean the strangers who lift your day, but I do mean the strangers who become your family. This story is vastly simplified, as those who are part of it will know, and of course this only represents my understanding of what occurred.
Many years ago, when my mother was still learning how to talk, her parents got divorced. For reasons that remain mostly unknown her father did not retain contact with her, and although she knew he remarried and had three more children, she never met her half-siblings. Fast forward 50 years...
In 2007 I had a fleeting, yet passionate, interest in my family tree and during this time I found a forum for people interested in genealogy. In my one and only post I gave the details I had of my grandfather, asking how I should go about finding more information. Being rather skeptical of unknown websites I gave a dodgy email address that I never check and just use as a depository for junk mail. My interest waned and I quickly forgot about that post. Fast forward 5 years...
It's now 2012 and in Italy Nicci decides to google her father's name, to see if there is anything about his accomplishments. She comes across a post about 'Walter Henry Nightingale' and the details make it clear this is her father. She calls her sister, Sue, who lives in London and Sue replies to the post. "Walter Henry Nightingale was my father." The reply goes to an email address that is never checked. Fast forward 4 months...
My mother puts her father's name into google, an activity she does every 6-12 months hoping for something, but not sure what. This time, something was found. Within days the sisters Olivia, Nicci and Sue had made contact and all our families made larger and no doubt more interesting! I have four aunts, not two and twelve cousins, not four. The final coincidence was that a trip to Europe had already been booked, not just for us, but for my parents too.
We joined my parents in Rome, where I met "Auntie Nicci", Enrico, Giulia and Ellen. So the highlight of Italy was meeting new family and seeing my mother delight in being a big sister.
The highlight of Italy, however, was the people. I don't mean the strangers who lift your day, but I do mean the strangers who become your family. This story is vastly simplified, as those who are part of it will know, and of course this only represents my understanding of what occurred.
Many years ago, when my mother was still learning how to talk, her parents got divorced. For reasons that remain mostly unknown her father did not retain contact with her, and although she knew he remarried and had three more children, she never met her half-siblings. Fast forward 50 years...
In 2007 I had a fleeting, yet passionate, interest in my family tree and during this time I found a forum for people interested in genealogy. In my one and only post I gave the details I had of my grandfather, asking how I should go about finding more information. Being rather skeptical of unknown websites I gave a dodgy email address that I never check and just use as a depository for junk mail. My interest waned and I quickly forgot about that post. Fast forward 5 years...
It's now 2012 and in Italy Nicci decides to google her father's name, to see if there is anything about his accomplishments. She comes across a post about 'Walter Henry Nightingale' and the details make it clear this is her father. She calls her sister, Sue, who lives in London and Sue replies to the post. "Walter Henry Nightingale was my father." The reply goes to an email address that is never checked. Fast forward 4 months...
My mother puts her father's name into google, an activity she does every 6-12 months hoping for something, but not sure what. This time, something was found. Within days the sisters Olivia, Nicci and Sue had made contact and all our families made larger and no doubt more interesting! I have four aunts, not two and twelve cousins, not four. The final coincidence was that a trip to Europe had already been booked, not just for us, but for my parents too.
We joined my parents in Rome, where I met "Auntie Nicci", Enrico, Giulia and Ellen. So the highlight of Italy was meeting new family and seeing my mother delight in being a big sister.
Friday, April 12, 2013
Looking like a local
In Jordan I naturally stood out as a tourist and in Sweden I was generally greeted in English, not matching the blond haired, blue eyed Scandinavian look. In Italy I apparently look like I belong. Within 24 hours I had a car pull over to ask me directions, 2 Italians ask me which train they should catch and whilst waiting to use the train toilet another Italian asked me how long until the train got to his destination. These questions were all asked in Italian, so I did my best to answer in gestures so as to avoid ruining my appearance as a local. I was also assumed to be a local by an American tourist who asked if I knew the owner of the property he was supposed to stay at in Riomaggiore, as he couldn't find the place. Possibly this is a sign that I should move to Italy!
Monday, April 8, 2013
Fair Italia
It's been over 11 years since we were last in Italy and although we remembered loving the country, we couldn't quite remember why. I think it may have been the people.
With a continual shortage of Internet access we had hurriedly made a booking for a hotel in Verona whilst in Kronach. We were shocked by the prices and confused as to why out of 176 hotels listed on the website only 12 were available. If we had more time we might have discovered that Verona is hosting Europe's largest and reportedly best, wine festival. As our landlord told us, the worst time to be a tourist and best time to run a hotel as prices soar.
After 9 long hours on the train we followed what seemed incomprehensible directions which led us to an apartment block. With some confusion we inspected the names on the buzzers, found our b&b listed, but received no response when we pressed the button. Luckily one of the other residents, a charming old man, was entering and took an interest in us. As my non-existent Italian was better than his English our conversation was in single words more or less.
"No response?" "No response" "you must telephone" "no telephone" etc.
The lack of response was not entirely unexpected as the notes when we booked had said we needed to be specific with arrival times so that they would be there and we were half an hour early. Our unexpected companion took us in to the building, told us that the b&b was on the top floor and if they weren't there to come down and knock on his door and he would call for us. All using one or two word phrases, with gestures as needed. Generosity of strangers, part 1.
When our landlord, Maurizio, arrived he was exuberant, friendly and devastated we weren't spending more time in his beloved city. After spending a pleasant half hour chatting he had us convinced we needed at least a week in Verona, although he suggested we should come back later in our trip once prices became reasonable again. Only a few minutes after saying "Ciao" he was back agin to retrieve the Nutella from his pockets for our breakfast. Nutella is always going to endear someone to me.
As it was already 8:30pm by this stage we decided to head straight to the train station to work out when we would need to leave the next day. On the way to the station I heard "Ellen!" as Maurizio stopped his bicycle in front of us and proudly announced he was quicker than us. Feeling momentarily confused we found out he had already been to the station, enquired about what train we should take, and had the print out from the information desk in hand. Generosity of strangers, part 2.
With no further need of the train station we did an about face to find the restaurant Maurizio had recommended. After polishing off 2 delicious pizzas, our bill arrived and the waiter with a large smile gave us 2 glasses of limoncello. Mmmm limoncello! No other table seemed to be receiving limoncello and the pizza cost less than a glass of it would at home. Feeling nicely warm and fuzzy we assigned it to the generosity of strangers (or restaurants) part 3.
Yep, think it may have been the people that made us love Italy.
With a continual shortage of Internet access we had hurriedly made a booking for a hotel in Verona whilst in Kronach. We were shocked by the prices and confused as to why out of 176 hotels listed on the website only 12 were available. If we had more time we might have discovered that Verona is hosting Europe's largest and reportedly best, wine festival. As our landlord told us, the worst time to be a tourist and best time to run a hotel as prices soar.
After 9 long hours on the train we followed what seemed incomprehensible directions which led us to an apartment block. With some confusion we inspected the names on the buzzers, found our b&b listed, but received no response when we pressed the button. Luckily one of the other residents, a charming old man, was entering and took an interest in us. As my non-existent Italian was better than his English our conversation was in single words more or less.
"No response?" "No response" "you must telephone" "no telephone" etc.
The lack of response was not entirely unexpected as the notes when we booked had said we needed to be specific with arrival times so that they would be there and we were half an hour early. Our unexpected companion took us in to the building, told us that the b&b was on the top floor and if they weren't there to come down and knock on his door and he would call for us. All using one or two word phrases, with gestures as needed. Generosity of strangers, part 1.
When our landlord, Maurizio, arrived he was exuberant, friendly and devastated we weren't spending more time in his beloved city. After spending a pleasant half hour chatting he had us convinced we needed at least a week in Verona, although he suggested we should come back later in our trip once prices became reasonable again. Only a few minutes after saying "Ciao" he was back agin to retrieve the Nutella from his pockets for our breakfast. Nutella is always going to endear someone to me.
As it was already 8:30pm by this stage we decided to head straight to the train station to work out when we would need to leave the next day. On the way to the station I heard "Ellen!" as Maurizio stopped his bicycle in front of us and proudly announced he was quicker than us. Feeling momentarily confused we found out he had already been to the station, enquired about what train we should take, and had the print out from the information desk in hand. Generosity of strangers, part 2.
With no further need of the train station we did an about face to find the restaurant Maurizio had recommended. After polishing off 2 delicious pizzas, our bill arrived and the waiter with a large smile gave us 2 glasses of limoncello. Mmmm limoncello! No other table seemed to be receiving limoncello and the pizza cost less than a glass of it would at home. Feeling nicely warm and fuzzy we assigned it to the generosity of strangers (or restaurants) part 3.
Yep, think it may have been the people that made us love Italy.
Germany
I always hate writing posts about people who read the blog (Clare, Stephen), which leads to me writing very little of importance. After all rambling on about the pleasures involved in seeing old friends may come across as sappy and sentimental, a large deviation from the cavalier adventurous tone I usually aim for.
In planning for this trip we struggled to maintain our pack light philosophy whilst taking sufficient clothing to survive in -30 degrees. Our cunning strategy involved taking an extra bag than normal that we could fill with cold weather clothing and leave at Stockholm airport whilst in Jordan, and then with Clare and Guntram whilst we travelled in Europe. This plan worked perfectly until we got to Berlin on April 1st, when the newspaper proclaimed that it had been the coldest March in 130 years. I know Germany in spring isn't as hot as Australia in spring, but -4 is a little ridiculous. So with winter jackets in tow again we headed south for a week in Kronach, a charming old town in the middle of Germany. If everyone could just ask the weather gods to warm Berlin up in time for Clare's spring wedding in 3 weeks, that would be appreciated.
There should be something in here about being pampered with train trips and accommodation organised by someone else. Long walks, conversation and home cooked meals. But that might sound sappy, so I'll skip it. Possibly I should also mention tears and bad news for memories sake, but again that detracts from the overall tone so it too shall be skipped over.
In planning for this trip we struggled to maintain our pack light philosophy whilst taking sufficient clothing to survive in -30 degrees. Our cunning strategy involved taking an extra bag than normal that we could fill with cold weather clothing and leave at Stockholm airport whilst in Jordan, and then with Clare and Guntram whilst we travelled in Europe. This plan worked perfectly until we got to Berlin on April 1st, when the newspaper proclaimed that it had been the coldest March in 130 years. I know Germany in spring isn't as hot as Australia in spring, but -4 is a little ridiculous. So with winter jackets in tow again we headed south for a week in Kronach, a charming old town in the middle of Germany. If everyone could just ask the weather gods to warm Berlin up in time for Clare's spring wedding in 3 weeks, that would be appreciated.
There should be something in here about being pampered with train trips and accommodation organised by someone else. Long walks, conversation and home cooked meals. But that might sound sappy, so I'll skip it. Possibly I should also mention tears and bad news for memories sake, but again that detracts from the overall tone so it too shall be skipped over.
Spontaneity
The second half of this trip was never quite as planned as the first half. We knew we were going to see Clare, then meet new relatives in Rome and spend two weeks in Italy before making our way to England. Sitting on the plane out from Jordan we decided to analyse the map of Europe for inspiration on where to go in Italy. As we drew theoretical lines and proposed locations based on name alone I noted that Morocco was really not that far from Italy. It's not that we had ever proposed Morocco as part of this trip, or even that it was on the list for the next 5 trips we have planned. It's just that it was there. With no actual thoughts on where we would go or what we would do the idea of going to Morocco gathered momentum and our excitement levels rose.
Twelve hours later, having obtained Internet access, we spent an hour picking place names that sound exotic and in fits of giggles purchased a flight to Marrakech! Now we need to locate a guidebook. This may be challenging as we are heading to a small German town where English guidebooks to Morocco are probably in short supply.
Twelve hours later, having obtained Internet access, we spent an hour picking place names that sound exotic and in fits of giggles purchased a flight to Marrakech! Now we need to locate a guidebook. This may be challenging as we are heading to a small German town where English guidebooks to Morocco are probably in short supply.
The Red and Dead Seas
Our last few days in Jordan were a chance to relax and enjoy some warmth before returning to unseasonably cold weather in Germany. After being dropped at the rather expensive hotel our Danish friends were staying at we hoisted our bags and headed off to find somewhere to stay. We ended up in the highly recommended My Hotel with 30% off the rack rate making it excellent value. It became even better value when we checked out and they gave us 13JD. The person giving us the money was not able to tell us why, just that it was for us. We have nice smiles maybe?
As we were eyeing off the brochure on snorkelling day trips the helpful hotelier told us there was a boat trip tomorrow going to Pharaoh Island in Egypt with snorkelling. It sounded good to us so we handed over some money and our passports with very little idea of what to expect. Having done a few boat trips in 3rd world countries we were anticipating a slightly dilapidated tinny as our home for the day. So as we were heading down the pier towards a rather magnificent yacht with the four other people going on our trip we made jokes about that actually being our boat, whilst fully expecting to see our small dodgy tin boat just behind it. We were, however, ushered aboard the yacht with a welcoming drink and quickly reassessed our expectations for the day.
It seemed rather unlikely that the 6 passengers would be enough to pay for the boat with the large number of crew on board, and sure enough a bus load of tourists arrived. Our fellow passengers hailed from a cruise ship, The Minerva, which travelled the world in 2 week bursts. As this was the changeover day, with most passengers leaving and a new group arriving, the group who were staying on for the next leg were sent on this day trip to vacate the cruise ship. We were reminded that we are not cruise or tour types as we explored the castle and the guide called "Minerva, Minerva, to me" every time someone dared break from the group formation. We didn't punch him in the head, it took great restraint.
From snorkelling in the Red Sea we went to bobbing in the Dead Sea. As we slipped off the end of the floating pier we bobbed back up, as if wearing a particularly buoyant lifevest. We engaged in the usual tourist activities of reading books whilst floating, and smothering ourselves in the Dead Sea mud.
It feels much too soon to leave Jordan. We wanted to come, but we've enjoyed our time here much more than expected.
As we were eyeing off the brochure on snorkelling day trips the helpful hotelier told us there was a boat trip tomorrow going to Pharaoh Island in Egypt with snorkelling. It sounded good to us so we handed over some money and our passports with very little idea of what to expect. Having done a few boat trips in 3rd world countries we were anticipating a slightly dilapidated tinny as our home for the day. So as we were heading down the pier towards a rather magnificent yacht with the four other people going on our trip we made jokes about that actually being our boat, whilst fully expecting to see our small dodgy tin boat just behind it. We were, however, ushered aboard the yacht with a welcoming drink and quickly reassessed our expectations for the day.
It seemed rather unlikely that the 6 passengers would be enough to pay for the boat with the large number of crew on board, and sure enough a bus load of tourists arrived. Our fellow passengers hailed from a cruise ship, The Minerva, which travelled the world in 2 week bursts. As this was the changeover day, with most passengers leaving and a new group arriving, the group who were staying on for the next leg were sent on this day trip to vacate the cruise ship. We were reminded that we are not cruise or tour types as we explored the castle and the guide called "Minerva, Minerva, to me" every time someone dared break from the group formation. We didn't punch him in the head, it took great restraint.
From snorkelling in the Red Sea we went to bobbing in the Dead Sea. As we slipped off the end of the floating pier we bobbed back up, as if wearing a particularly buoyant lifevest. We engaged in the usual tourist activities of reading books whilst floating, and smothering ourselves in the Dead Sea mud.
It feels much too soon to leave Jordan. We wanted to come, but we've enjoyed our time here much more than expected.
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