Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Where is M.I.T. anyway?
This kind of question is apparently what a canadian education gets you. Not much. The Canadians on our desert trip actually asked that.
We ventured into the sahara desert camelback, but first busbound, our comrades some terrible canadians, who, like all of their countrymen, kept 'casually' mentioning their nationality. And some absurd girls from MIT. The desert however, was quite amazing, even if camels are not terribly comfortable. Camels in, which were not terribly comfortable, can really feel the hump even through ten inches of blanket. Ran up the dunes to watch the sun set. On top of a giant dune, exhausted, hours into the Sahara desert by camel, sitting and looking at the view, a speck appears and slowly grows closer, becoming an apparent child who reaches the top of the dune. Speaknig no English nor French or even Arabic, she attempts to sell us some home stitched dolls... just when you think you're safe from the hassle... But what a night sleeping under the stars, the sand cool to the touch but still hot underneath... a good sleep and watching the sunrise over. Back via bus to near death in a sudden foggy whiteout through the mountains, perilous blind passes in our minibus around 1000 foot cliffs.
Essaura beautiful, the trip there dramatic with our bus windshield exploding. But the low key feel of the place almost prompted us to stay longer, but moroccan phones were our undoing with their unnecessary complexity. Did the carpet buying thing, quite an ordeal, and have no idea whether we were utterly ripped off or got an amazing deal. Casablanca a bit of a dump, then back through (never again!) port authority bus terminal aka charles degaul airport, and a shitty delta flight (albeit showing national treasure*), and (never again) JFK.
*theres a treasure map on the back of the declaration of independence! Ya heard!
Saturday, May 28, 2005
Marrakesh it hot. Very very hot. A long claustrophobic trainride from Fes as well.
Generally of the opinion that Fes was generally much more charming than here- a prettier medina, less urban feeling, more exotic and mysterious. Apparently Paul Bowles said that if it werent for the djemaa al fna (the big square) Marrakesh would be just like any other big Moroccan city, and I do have to agree. Its got that big crappy 3rd world city vibe to it. People a little more western, women who work, men wearing plenty of fake diesel and other designer knockoffs, and women on motorbikes. Hell, EVERYONE on motorbikes which is really fucking annoying and I feel like I have but a few more days to enjoy having toes which are nearly run over constantly.
The square (Djemaa Al'Fna) is pretty cool, snake charmers, eye-knifers, storytellers, acrobats, magicians, and in the evening tons and tons of rows of food vendors and chefs, a cloud of delicious grill and meat smoke hanging over everything. A great view from the roof terraces. But the people... saw a fight between snake handlers who carry their snakes in big burlap sacks, a bunch went at each other, one picking up the others sack o' serpents and hurling it on the ground with a sickening thump, we hurried off, browsed t shirts only to be told "fuck you" and hustled out of the shop when we expressed uncertainty about being offered a completely different t shirt. Also had the experience of going to a restaurant for ice cream, only to be told we were sitting in the wrong section for ice cream. We moved to the sectino they pointed to, only to be told that we could only order ice cream sundaes there, and had to go to yet another ection for bowls of ice cream. Frustration got the best of us and we just went home, though picked up some phenomenal pastries at the patisserie de prince french bakery. But other folks have been fun, smiling, bought too much stuff already, belts, bags, almost shoes and practicing our haggling skills for a carpet purchase at some point.
Sunday, May 22, 2005
Arabic keyboards absolutely suck. About 5 or 6 of the keys are in different places, the rest in the same places making it just generally infuriating to get used to.
Cordoba, Spain to Morocco yesterday- a long long day of traveling. Algeciras, the port town was quit un-charming, the New London of Spain if you will, the boat you couldnt go outside, but intercontinental boat travel was still pretty damn cool in theory and in practice. Border crossing under construction between Ceuta (Spanish Morocco) and Morocco proper, making it look rather wartorn, and refugee camp reminiscent. Few hitches besides making the acommuncations adjustment from broken spanish to broken french, and haggling for a grande taxi to the first town, Tetauean, from which to catch the bus to Chefchauen. Tetauen not the nicest, typically 3rd world bus station full of smoke and stares, neither providing the most welcoming feeling. Found our bus with some "help," in the sea of arabs, berbers, and were the only white folks we saw since the boat. La Ideal voyages motorcoach got us ALMOST to Chefchauen before the bus broke down JUST outside of this mountain town of chouen, the evenings final resting place. A beautiful and dramatic busride with the sunset light on the northern rif atlases mountains. Valleys beautiful and rolling, farms make up patchwork of yellow and green crops, white minarets of the little villages like an oriental version of the classic white steepled vermont valley town. Some helpful and genuinely friendly university students walkeed us the rest of the way into town, through the medina and right to the central Kasbah. Smells are amazing- fresh mint, spices and lamb and of course the omnipresent 3rd world odor of industrial cleaning solvents and diesel fumes. Town medina is all painted blue, comletely feels like a maze- so exotic and the kasbah fortress walls in the center; feels like were in disney world or a movie set, cant believe its real. The blue medina has the romantic effect of feeling like one is walking in the clouds, or perhaps the more earthly sensation of walking around a giant swimming pool, depending on one's mood. Hassle factor not too bad, save an invitation to couscous at the local house /carpet "factory" of some berbers. Interesting historical note that no chrisdtians were allowed here on pain of death until the 20s when spain occupied. Becquse a former spanish colony, all seem speak spanish, and many french which is enough to get by on. Surprised to find that I can understand french amazingly well, though certainly cant speak it a bit.
Something of a relief to be out of spain which was bleeding our wallets dry- we ll probably spend less here in eleven days than we did there in two. Seriously.
