Day Twenty-seven - Luxor

Monday 28th June 2010

The alarm went off at 5am butwe managed to ignore it until 5.30 when we rolled our of bed and out the door to get to the mighty Karnak Temple before the tourist hordes descended upin it. Fortified, or not, by some chocolate filled biscuits we made it to Karnak around 6.30 to find that we almost had the place to ourselves.

From 2 Luxor

The morning air was so fresh, well fresh in comparison to the afternoon and evening air. We missed sunrise but it was still low in the sky when we arrived at the temple and the warm light was soft on the huge stone structures. It is the biggest religious monument ever built and covers enough ground to fit in ten cathedrals, it is impressive as it sounds. Unless you are ancient Egyptian histopry buff and get kicks from which Pharoh did what, it's unlikely that you'll know what this place is; an enormous temple to Amun (sun god) built and added to by generations of Pharohs, it is enormous. My favourite place was the Great Hypostyle Mall, which has 134 massive columns representing papyrus flowers all etched with pictures. It impossible to describe the feeling being amoung them, they were so grand and serene, warm peach in the soft light, it was amazing - better than the Pyrmaids at Giza and withot the crowds as well! We walked around for a good hour and a half the air getting slowly warmer with the rising sun. By 8.30 it was really hot in the sun but bearable in the shade, we had seen most of what around, able to touch things (which we didn't trying to be responsible tourists) and go inside little chambers with the paint still intact on the engravings. It was a great start to the day.

From 2 Luxor

We headed back to the hotel, walking along the Nile. I still couldn't believe that we were actually seeing the Nile, the second longest river in the world with links to such amazing history, thinking about it is just mindblowing. The walk back even though early in the morning, had me working up a sweat – I just couldn't believe how hot is was before 9am! We used the internet, Djalma dispatching me to attend to our growing washing pile – which I did but quite resentfully! Using the washing machine was almost as energy sapping as washing clothes by hand. The 'washing machine' was a stout open topped cylinder with a small fan to propel the clothes round in circles. It had to be filled by hand from pans of lukewarm water from an intermittently working tap and drained from a small piece of hose which had to be held up to keep the water in. How it worked was not apparent at first so I left the rooftop in the baking sun to go to recpetion to ask for help (five floors down) which came, much later. Once the clothes got going sprinkled with washing powder it was simply a game of waiting, wilting in the heat, before picking out the clothes, wringing them, rinsing them under fresh water, wringing again and then hanging them on the line. A fairly drawn out process, during which Djalma was collected to go and pay for some of the cruise he tried to book and pay for the other day. Finished I put my feet up and slept till he got back and then we both slept.

We left much later after getting some falafel from the place we had originally sent someone else to get our food, this time Djalma went in and got the locals price. We went together before and Djalma had asked for the normal price then as well, there was a lot of laughter when they realised that he knew he was being charged 2-3 times more than the normal price and a local ended up taking our money and buying our falafel pockets for us (the cashier would ask too many questions). D is now welcomed there and providing the owner isn't around, gets the local price, what a guy!

From 2 Luxor

We sat and a game, I can't remember which one before heading down to a small restaurant on the Nile and getting some big beers while watching the sun set and Brazil absolutely thrash Chile (3-0!) before walking back feling decidely tipsy from the amount of beer. We flopped on the bed ready to sleep like babies only for the electricity to cut out and the air-conditioning and the ceiling fan to die.

Day Twenty-five - Cairo to Luxor

Saturday 26th June 2010

If I lift my arms I'm sure I will pass out from the smell, let alone my fellow passengers. Djalma and I are sitting in a first class compartment, which smells of stale smoke, waiting for our train to depart for Luxor, which is even hotter than Cairo at present, ouch.

It was a busy day after a slow start, we had breakfast at Felfella again, this time trying different things on the menu and as usual we ordered more than we needed. We stopped at the same internet café we used all the time we were in Cairo, checking couch-surfing (very time consuming but worth it) and booking a cruise – very difficult to find prices which weren't outrageous but I think we did it. We didn't get out of there soon enough as far as I was concerned – it felt like we spent so much time there, but we slowly made our way to the Egyptian Museum where we used our student cards.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

The Museum was amazing, rows upon rows of sarcophagi, jewellery, pots and statues engraved with hieroglyphics, it was stunning but that didn't prevent us from doing the museum shuffle – I noticed quite a few other tourists doing it as well, the half arsed dragging of feet slowly propelling tired sagging bodies in crooked lines.
The museum, old and without air conditioning, was so stuffy that I had to re-wet my scarf, which was now not smelling too fresh after two days of being constantly drenched. I was expecting something much more disorganised from what the guidebook had said but despite intermittent labelling in English, some times no labels at all and unlit displays shoved wonkily in cabinets, it was pretty damn good. It was amazing to think that I could reach out and touch artefacts, pieces of art, that were thousands of years old – only a small portion of the displays were behind glass. We visited Tut Ankh Amun's room which was very well taken care of by the frigid air conditioning, it was cold enough to preserve a person should he be in there long enough (but I think that was only my opinion wearing a T-Shirt damp from the wet scarf round my neck). The caskets were mind blowing in terms of detail, workmanship and the materials used. The inner sarcophagus was a bright gold and covered with perfectly engraved hieroglyphics and minutely detailed pictures. There were three in total and got bigger, each one fitting into the other like Matryoshka, all covered with writing, studded with stones and beautiful engravings. I had to see a bit of gore and went, by myself, top the royal Mummy Rooms where the air conditioning blasted out over the partially wrapped shrunken bodies of Phaeronic royalty. It felt very much like an invasion of privacy, viewing a dead person's face, some of them so well preserved and with fake eyes (made from stone and put in at the time of embalming) that it felt quite plausible (in a horror film setting) that they might turn and open their eyes while you were getting a good look at their blackened shrunken desiccated faces and skinny little black toes (some of which were missing the tips, others with all nails still attached).

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

After two hours of shuffling round the Museum we were Egypted out and decided to catch a taxi to Khal el-Khalil where there is a massive market sprawled in the narrow lanes which meander and connect to endless other lanes so that it was quite easy to get lost. In getting lost we found a small vendor and got some tasty falafel sandwiches packed with tomatoes, cheese, potato and other tasty things, all for two egyptian bounds. We ignored all the sellers in the market, even the man with the kinky jewellery shop

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

and ended up wandering round a huge mosque (they're not out of bounds to non-Muslims here) where an old man who held the key to the minaret offered to take us up there, for the whopping sum of thirty bounds each (the equivalent of 12USD for turning a key), he shuffled off quite quickly when we offered him a comparatively paltry ten bounds for both of us.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

We then wandered back in the general direction of our hostel, stopping off at the café we had our first sheesha in and tried the cantaloupe flavour quickly followed by apple because it wasn't that nice. We sat there for a while, relaxing, feeling dizzy from trying to outdo each other blowing smoke rings and drinking delicious mango juice, the juiciest, tangiest, freshest and tastiest mango juice I have ever tasted (since the other one we had there).

Feeling refreshed and relaxed we decided to head over to the Island in the Nile and take a look round there. There were beautiful green parks manned by lazy ticket men who shouted after us, mister, hey, you, MISTER! They were trying to get us to buy tickets for the park but because we hadn't seen them charge any of the people who walked in before us we kicked up a big stink and in the end walked out, but not until they started charging everyone else. We strolled round the island eventually returning to the same park, buying our tickets (they were now systematically charging everyone who came through the gate) and walking among the young couples and families with small children to get to the bridge and back over into Down town Cairo. Crossing the roads at the end of the bridge an adventure in itself.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

We got some dinner from the usual place, followed by some ice-ream at the outdoor stand we visited last night, this time cantaloupe melon and mango, it was either the creamiest, thickest sorbet I've ever had or the smoothest, fruitiest ice-cream, either way it was damn good.
Getting our bags from the hostel we spoke to the guy in reception who, upon seeing Djalma attach the trainers to our backpacks, tutted and insisted that it was womans work, I couldn't stop myself from replying that it was the biggest load of crap I'd heard (feeling really quite angry) and was very pleased when I heard Djalma disagree with him when he asked if D agreed with him or not. What an outrageous turd, I was glad to leave without saying goodbye and I was thankful that I'd married such a wonderful man while his poor wife was stuck with such a pig.

We got a taxi to the train station but not until we'd been over quoted by at least three other taxis wanting three times more than the price it should have been. Greedy bastards. We are now on the train to Luxor and my back is hurting something awful, a man is singing from the Koran and D is talking to two Spanish ladies, almost time for bed.

Day Twenty-four - Giza, Cairo

Friday 25th June 2010

A hot, dry, dusty, tourist swamped set of pyramids awaited us at Giza today. Our day started pretty badly with Djalma's mood getting ever fouler the further from our hotel we walked. Unfortunately for both of us, on the rare occasion he is bad tempered I do nothing but make it worse, while when I am in a strop he gets me out of it in a snap. So I made it worse and we walked from our hostel to the bus stop via an ATM in near silence, which suited me just fine because by then I had started feeling pretty damn grumpy too.

We arrived at the bus stop, with our money belts freshly lined with Egyptian bounds (it is pounds but no-one here pronounces 'p' correctly) where Djalma was promptly befriended by a local who I'm sure was at least tuppence short of a pound but seemed friendly enough. He and Djalma chatted while I sulked in the minuscule shade of a traffic sign, we waited for what seemed like all eternity in the heat, but eventually got a bus, the first of three, to take us to the Pyramids. En route our recent marriage cropped up in their conversation and D's new friend said that he hoped to see us with babies the next time we come to Cairo and that should it be a boy we could stay in his house for three days and if it were a girl, one. What a bloody cheek, I could not find it in myself to laugh, the best I could do was nod while thinking what's so bloody great about boys anyway, a load of pain in the bum, annoying, grumpy asses. Our third and final minibus pulled up and we got out, to be taken over to a man, with a shop, who tried to sell us a tour round the pyramids despite D's new friend having told us that everything was free, for everybody because it was Friday (a big fat porky pie, entrance was only free for Egyptians and camel rides etc. were, of course, still extortionately priced). I was getting crosser by the minute, the longer we hung around talking to people who were trying to fleece us the worse I got, I didn't want to waste any more time asking people questions who wouldn't tell us the truth anyway. So we left the shop and tried to find the entrance dodging pellets of camel poo and lakes of squelchy horse shit all warming up nicely in the hot morning sun.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

We got out tickets, some of the price offset by our shiny new student cards, and followed the stream of other tourists into the complex. Apparently it wasn't as crowded as it usually is but the place was crawling with people, it was quite funny to see the mix of tourists from all over the world; the American backpackers, looking very authentic till they opened their mouths 'just scooch over there a bit, yeeeeaaahhhhh that's real good', the Japanese, ladies under sun umbrellas and the young men freshly dressed in what the Arabian locals wore 2000 years ago and the coachloads of tourists of all nationalities who basically look the same. All of us sharing the same space as countless camel and horse ride/tour touts, postcard boys '10 postcards for one dollar', the fizzy pop and water men and plenty of others hawking round T-shirts, Saudi head dresses and crap souvenirs, under the midday sun. It was possibly the thing we wanted to do least, tourism on a hot day, which was quite a shame really the Pyramids are the last surviving marvel of the Ancient wonders of the World and all we wanted to do was take enough pictures for the entrance fee to be worth it and get the hell out. Don't get me wrong – the pyramids were impressive because of their size, age and the precision they had been made with but essentially all they are is big 3D triangles plonked in a bit of sand right next to the big dirty satellite city of Giza.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

After being hassled by the umpteenth time by calls from various different people, all selling something, one man had to take the brunt of our frustration; he called out 'Hello! Hello mister! Italy? Spain? Argentina?' and so on until 'Hey mister! Where are you from?' I whispered Uranus (an awful joke I know, but the hassle just wasn't funny any more) not expecting Djalma to repeat it out loud which is what he did and that was it, we laughed uncontrollably for a good long time, poor guy!

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

Anyway, with the very big box of the Pyramids finally ticked and our energy waning we headed out of the tourist enclosure to get the bus back to Down town. After a very long time waiting for just one of the many buses which are supposed to pass by, we got one to Giza Square and from there the metro back to town. On the bus there were two guys working together, the driver and a man who shouted out the final destination to anyone we passed who looked like they might be waiting to go somewhere. The guys were raucous but fun, trying to keep the noise down when I fell asleep.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

We had lunch back at the Felfella place before heading back to hostel for some sleep. I tried to work on photos but couldn't be arsed it was just too hot. So I lay on the bed covered with a wet scarf and slept. Djalma left and went to book train tickets to Luxor, I slept some more. He came back after the football game and slept while I lay on the bed listening to music, still covered with a wet scarf and enjoying the sensation of feeling cool. We eventually left the hostel at 9pm for a relatively expensive mediocre dinner in a too loud café. We walked around town, got an amazing mango sorbet and smoked a sheesha, relaxing at a table in the street watching the world go by, listening to the sounds of the city before heading back well after midnight for yet more sleep.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

Day Twenty-three - Cairo

Thursday 24th June 2010

Up early, falafel for breakfast from Felfella and then spent most of the day getting student cards with fake IDs from a Brazilian university, which we downloaded and edited on the computer, it took flipping ages – over two hours in the internet café and then walking to the centre were they issued them (without really looking at our carefully crafted IDs at all) but at least the ISIC cards are real! Let the discounts roll in.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

After we finished with the IDs we walked a flipping long way in the energy sapping heat to the Northern Cemetery thinking it was Friday, which is when lots of relatives of the buried go to visit them and have picnics with their families (the living and the dead). It was a beautiful area full of flaking buildings, mosques and spires, the light from the slowly setting sun washing everything in a soft warm apricot.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

We hurried over to Al Azhar Park which overlooks the city and sits on the edge of Islamic Cairo. We made it just in time to watch the sunset behind the city skyline from a gorgeous green hill in the park. After being shooed off the grass by one of the guards we carried on wandering around the park, which was huge, beautifully planned and very well kept. Feeling really hungry and a fair way from anywhere cheap we decided to have dinner in the expensive citadel restaurant. Having a fat day we pushed the boat out and ordered a traditional Egyptian dish; stuffed pigeon (pronounced biggeeon) with rice and a big combo starter with the most amazing garlic mayonnaise all of which was accompanied by baskets of puffy pitta bread type things with home-made hummus and washed down with our warm bottled water (we had to draw the line somewhere). I was scratched by an ungrateful cat while trying to point to the piddling little pigeon carcass we tossed it because it didn't stop meowing for food the whole time there was food on the table. The cat aside, the meal was absolutely gorgeous, and a welcome break from all the falafel, we sat near the edge of the balcony outside with a great view of the park all lit up in the dark.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

After a lot of hassle and a fruitless attempt to find a bus we ended up getting a small taxi, which was called a mini bus, back into town with a family, the eldest son drove the car his teenage brother and sister together in the front and us in the back with their adorable, lovely mum, she was big and squishy and very very sweet. There was a beautiful atmosphere in the car, a bit hard to put down on paper because we didn't say much despite a small conversation with the mama, but we left with big smiles on our faces. We got lost on the way home all the streets looking the same but eventually made it back to rest our weary bodies and go to sleep.

Day Twenty-two - Casablanca, Morocco to Cairo, Egypt

Tuesday 23rd June 2010

Cairo, Egypt: whenever I hear these words I instantly think of sun, sand and wind burnt explorers, The Mummy and The Mummy Returns – how I wish I looked like Rachel Weisz.

We arrived in Cairo early in the morning, the flight felt like a dream probably because we spent so much of it asleep. We got a sweat box of a bus into town. Mission on to find internet access so we could find the place Djalma booked months ago. We found the address but decided it was too far to go in the heat and so we started looking for a cheap hostel in the down town area where we were based. What a mission, Cairo is a massive dirty hectic sweat-box (everything is a sweat box) but I really like it here. After finding a place to sleep, despite being the cheapest place we found, it was still two to three times what we paid in Morocco, we dropped our bags and fell asleep sprawled dirty, sticky and dusty on top of the beds.
We woke up about four hours later feeling groggy but not exhausted and so decided to go out for a wander and some much needed food.

To date we have avoided nearly all the places mentioned in the guidebook, 90% of the time they are well out of our budget but we decided to stop by one of the cheap eats mentioned in the book. We got a couple of falafel pockets and some garlic and chilli marinated baby aubergine, really really good. We shared a small table with a young Aussie who was waiting for his pizza, Andrew, and we got to chatting. We finally got rid of the seven Euros I'd been carrying around in my damn money belt and also found a cheaper place to sleep the following night in the dorm just around the corner where he was staying. We toddled off feeling a lot better having had a conversation with someone other than each other.

We wandered leisurely in the general direction of THE NILE! Which when we first arrived it matched the colour of the sky – beige, but it looked much cleaner under the cover of night. We had hoped to catch the sun setting over the water but were too late, instead we stood and watched the madly lit Arabic disco boats (or river taxis as they're known here) go by. I'm not sure words can describe quite the atmosphere, hot with a warm breeze, full of people not many of them tourists, the near constant calls for felucca rides from semi hopeful touts competing with the music from four or five different boats blaring out Egyptian Pop.
We walked along the THE NILE! For a while and although it was now dark, the sun long gone, I still felt like I was baking in my skin.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

I was determined to find a café and sit and have a sheesha so we could sit and relax properly. Luckily for us it was not very difficult to find a place, if the avenue we were walking down didn't have one, several of the side streets would have them. So we plonked ourselves down, after umming and ahhing over which café patronise, and ordered and ordered an abble nargileh and got to puffing our troubles away. We were there for what felt like yonks, time seemed to have slowed down and melt away, it also helped that there was a fan blowing a steady breeze our way. We watched men with beautiful pipes puff apple scented tobacco while they played serious faced games of what looked like backgammon.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

After two little bricks of our own apple flavour hubbly bubbly, I was more than ready to move on again, my feet rising like loaves of bread in the heat and we did despite Djalma wanting to stay, smoke some more and watch the second half (Germany v Ghana 1-0 or Australia v Serbia 2-1). So on we moved slowly, in the direction of our hotel, stopping to get water and a small bag of washing powder on the way back.

From Cairo, Mother of all Cities, Egypt

We went to bed at 1ish in the morning feeling fresh and clean after a glorious and much needed shower, our clean clothes hanging over every available surface in the room (Djalma had fun stamping them clean in the bathtub). Our clothes dried in the heat of the night while we slept sprawled butt naked on top of the bed trying to make the most of the too gentle breeze coming from the gently revolving ceiling fan.

One Gingers Impressions of Morocco

When I think of Morocco, I think of; raw energy, magnificence, reserved people, natural, loud noisy music, spicy cumin, the heat, dust, unexpected patches of green, sand, decorations, huge bunches of mint, toothless old men and women, relaxed stunningly rugged coastlines, huge, splendid Atlas and Rif Mountain Ranges, the desert, camels, long bus rides, fresh baked bread and honey for breakfast, incredible beauty, Kif in the Rif, sad donkeys, beggars, dirt, the sun, women in head-scarves, men in djellabas, old bicycles, haggling, and all of it very last minute.

Morocco is nothing like how I expected it to be and I've been wanting to come for a very long time, ever since seeing it on 'Wish you were here' an old holiday programme providing precious escapism from the humdrum of school/home life.

Everyone is in your face from the moment you leave the house/airport/bus/shop. They work so hard on getting you in their shops or on making a sale it's a strange feeling that as soon as you've capitulated and take a look, they lose all interest in you and don't care about charming you (if they ever did) just as long as you buy something (for at least three times the price it's worth), apparently it's all in the chase. In Marrakesh I watched a woman selling handmade raffia bags to a tourist she had hassled to make a sale. As soon as she had the money in her hot little hands she was away like a shot and the man had to chase after her to get his change back, which she was reluctant to give and practically threw at him while still shuffling off at high speed to find someone else to sell to.

We've made very few real friends from the locals despite them being so friendly. Mind you nine times out of ten the friendliness is just a prelude to an invitation to part with our hard earned money, whether it is after (minimal) services rendered as an unwanted guide, or to a shop if someone shows you the way somewhere 'for free, as a friend' and invites you back to their home! While we were in Fez a young student took us to a small terrace which was public but you'd never have found the way there, he and Djalma talked about different things while I stood further away feeling uneasy about this free service, after all we don't know the guy and it's is truly rare that one will want to help another (especially that other who perceived to have more) without harbouring any ulterior motive. So I was quite relieved that when he invited us back to his family home for some real Berber tea and it was actually a family run factory where his half sister gave us a very soft sell. She showed us photos of their family, all doing camel tours (which surprise! They also offered as well as carpets and cushion covers) and spoke to us about what they all did.
The real down side is that when, on the rare occasion, we do meet someone who is genuine, honest and helpful, I am so sceptical that they are as they seem that I end up missing out on opportunities and feel rude and mean spirited when their lack of agenda becomes apparent.
Norwegian Nils and his Dad commented on the Moroccan view of hospitality concerning western guests – Nils' Dad said that 'They take you in and give you everything when they have nothing, so they must expect you to give everything in return, especially when we have so much in comparison'. This I can understand, we are thought to have so much that we are (I think wrongly) expected to pay more for the same products and services that everyone else has. Understanding it doesn't mean that I like it, it is horrid to be on the receiving end of this assumption. Being a tourist we are treated differently, that's fine – fair enough and often we are charged differently; this I absolutely cannot stand. In Marrakesh when lots of people (nearly all of them Moroccan) were gathered round some musicians and a couple of awful male belly dancers, only we were approached (and hassled) for money and we'd only just arrived and had seen nothing!
Everything has to be haggled down to a vaguely reasonable price whether it's sandwiches, hotel rooms, things from a food market or taxis, in any situation where money changes hands they always try for more, push for more. I can't blame them, it's how they make a living I just don't want to feel like an easy ticket paying over the odds for every little thing I have to buy. I just to want to pay a fair price, not least because we've worked so damn hard to make and save our money.

Everyone is out for something, but that said it would be naïve to expect anything else, we're in Africa in a developing country and in comparison to, in all likelihood, all of the locals – rich as fuck.

With regards to PDAs (Public Displays of Affection) I'm in two minds. I want to be affectionate with my husband and occasionally those moments might happen to be when we are in public. Now I'm not talking tonsil tickling tongue action here, just a standard hug or perhaps a small kiss on the lips – things you wouldn't be ashamed of to do in front of your Nan. Here though, any form of intimacy or affection in public, between a man and a woman, is frowned upon and on occasion handled by the police. What is funny to note is that about 60% of the female population between 20-60 years old is pregnant – no prizes for guessing what happens as soon as the doors are closed!
On the other hand, we are travelling through lots of different places with different cultures and religious beliefs and conforming to the local behaviour is necessary to show respect for the place and the people. As tourists or travellers we can't expect to show up and be able to continue behaving as we would at home if the things that we do are not allowed or encouraged. It is very frustrating though!

This was my first time in an African country albeit a white African country and it was a big shock to the system. More than anything the haggling culture is the most difficult to become accustomed to especially when you first arrive in a place and don't know the going rates for things. The separate pricing systems and being viewed as a walking ATM also sucks as does the long winded 'friendly' invitation to someone's shop – I'd have no problem with it where the friendly conversation genuine but in every case it has just been a warm up for a sly sales pitch, if not for their shop, a friend or a friend of a friend, it always leads to a shop.

It was a beautiful place to visit but next time I would skip more of the tourist spots and chill out for longer in fewer places, maybe Chefchaouen where once you get past the weed sellers it's all plain sailing (and in a much milder climate) or Essaouira where, despite the mass of tourists, its chilled out, by the coast and full of small town friendly people.

Day Twenty-one - Rabat to Casablanca

Tuesday 22nd June 2010

To beat the fellow tourists staying in our hotel, to the only shower, we were up super early – a groggy 6.30. Djalma was as fresh as a daisy because he fell asleep so early but I was really grumpy. We made it out the hotel and back to the train station after stopping off at a posh bakery for some amazing fried pancakes with meat in, delicious!

The train into Casablanca took about an hour and we slept most of the way. Arriving on the edge of town and feeling sleepy, we made our way into the Medina and wandered round looking for a place to sit and vegetate. After a coffee and a tasteless sandwich we mooched through town slowly, stopping in gardens and relaxing – heaving round backpacks is serious business and not that pleasant in the heat.

From Casablanca, Morocco

As there isn't that much tourism to do in Casablanca we headed for its one (and I'm sure, only) claim to fame – the third largest Mosque in the world and one of only two working mosques which admits non-muslims in Morocco. If there is one thing I don't like about Mosques, and there is only one – most of them seem nice enough and definitely beautiful, it's that they exclude people who don't conform to their religious ideals. In England and most other countries, it doesn't matter who you are or what you believe in, you can enter any place of worship as long as you are respectful and decently clothed. I think it is so wrong to have this exclusion of non or different believers from a church, especially when most of the ideas and concept mirrors Christianity – in terms of being good, nice to each other and usually forgiving. How can a church or mosque refuse entry and still be accepting of others?!

From Casablanca, Morocco

Anyway, once we got to the mosque we decided to put the extortionate ticket money to much better use than the 45 minute guided tour two 120dirham tickets would have bought us, and put it aside to invest in some expensive little beers instead.
Prior to today we've only had three beers each, when we have managed to find an outlet for booze the sin tax is so heavy that we can't afford more than one each, if any. The unavailability of beer or any kind of alcohol (Berber whisky doesn't count because it's only tea) has made me want it even more – we've been dying for a drink for a while now and I am happy, no, ecstatic, to report that I am writing this while on my SECOND beer. Heaven... I'm in heaven! We haven't missed it that much day to day, I've only really noticed how much I've wanted one when I haven't been able to have it and the knowledge in the back of my mind that we can't have it any time or anywhere, like in Russia! has made me want it all the more. But oh, when that honey coloured liquid slides down my throat, the pleasure. What a feeling!

Casablanca feels much more connected to modern reality, as did Rabat. Both cities are big and spacious but Casablanca is like a smaller dirtier London and is all the more reassuring for it. Travelling in many of the cities that we have done, places like Fez, Meknès, Marrakesh, Essaouira and to some extent the Desert, feels like we've not only landed in a completely alien culture and environment but also time travelled back a hundred years or so.

After finishing those delicious beers we headed to the train station to go to the airport. I hope my lasting memory of Morocco will be of the little girl (about three years old) who gave me a tiny little kiss on the cheek after her mum saw me smiling and sent her over. It put the biggest smile on my face and made me go all gooey – Djalma give me some babies of my own!

Day Twenty - Rabat

Monday 21st June 2010

We woke up late in our bright pink room and headed out to explore the city. We picked up some super thick floury pancakes for breakfast and wandered through the Medina to the old Kasbah. The Kasbah is the oldest part of the city and unlike most other places it's not a museum and people live in it. We had an orange juice before heading to a kind of outside public terrace which overlooked the beach and the nearby town Salé. The sky was blue, the sea was blue, surfers were out catching what looked like little waves but further down looked much bigger and dangerous.

From 11 Rabat

We walked along the beach front trying to find a café to sit and use the laptop and later on watch the football. The only place we found was an enormously expensive restaurant who didn't do only drinks, which we probably couldn't have afforded anyway, so we headed back up and found a café recommended in the guidebook. There was no working power point there either, but I did have a very small, very expensive coffee which came with a lovely layer of scum on the top and was served by the grumpiest, rudest possibly most unloved man in Morocco, not the most pleasant of café stops. We decided to move on and headed straight into the formal Andalusian Gardens which were beautiful. I took loads of pictures while Djalma patiently waited getting less and less patient the longer I took snapping pictures of all the flowers so I could send them to my wife.

From 11 Rabat

We moved on after D decided he couldn't take any more and strolled out of the Kasbah and to Tour Hassan which apparently is the most recognised building in Rabat. Tour Hassan is a 44m high minaret standing in front of a lot of smaller pillars, all that remains after an earthquake. It was designed to be one of the grandest Mosques of it's time and to date is the only one we've been able to set foot in.

From 11 Rabat

The match between Portugal and N. Korea (7-0) called and we found a café to sit and watch the first half, moving to a second café to watch the second half – neither place had working power points which made the match quite boring as there were no pictures or diary updates to distract me. When the game eventually ended we found an internet café and killed an hour before heading out to watch the sun set. We gave up after rushing around trying to find the way to the ramparts, sat down and had a sausage sandwich instead.

After dinner we returned to the second café and Djalma watched (yet) another football game (Spain v Honduras 2-0) while I worked on pictures from our twitching outing – woohoo for battery juice! On the way back to our pink hotel we picked up some postcards, fruit and water. We continued watching The English Patient, this time until the end although Djalma didn't make it the whole way through without falling asleep – he was woken up by my sobbing (when he carries her body out of the cave crying and when the nurse gives him all that morphine). What a beautiful film, sniff sniff.

Day Eighteen - Chefchaouen

Saturday 19th June 2010

We woke up late, I think Djalma felt much better after a good nights sleep. We had planned to climb the local mountain Jebel El-Kelaâ but because Curls felt so poorly we're hanging around town, taking it easy and washing our small mountain of clothes – I was fresh out of clean pants.
After splashing our clothes with cold water and rubbing the sweaty smelly bits with soap, we left our clothes on the terrace to dry while we were out.

We got some salad sandwiches and some pastry from a bakery which was wafting out smells so delicious we had to go in and buy something. We headed up the opposite side of town to a fancy hotel perched on the top of one of the small hills surrounding the town. The breeze was strong and the view was good but I was knackered and whining like a child so we stayed long enough to take some photos before heading back to the same café to relax and use the wifi.

We stayed for most of the afternoon, Djalma hooked up with his boys, the old man who had looked like a local saint the first time we met was now looking very normal and not quite so saint like dressed in an ironed blue shirt and 90s style jeans (roomy round the hips tapering to the ankle), but still with the same serene smile and twinkling eyes. I posted things to the blog and edited pictures, all the time in front of the computer giving me a headache so after a while we left. Instead of heading to the local hammam (today was going to be the big day) we headed the long way home having a snack dinner, nibbling things from small street stands along the way – the best kind of dinner.

Back at the hotel I had a long hot/cold shower, in lieu of of a scrub down, and used some of the pressed olive soap that we had picked up on the way home. We'd seen buckets of the stuff all over Morocco, usually being sold in food shops/stalls but we didn't know what it was – I read about hammam etiquette in our guidebook and seeing the next bucket of dense brown goo, I made the connection. Man, did it make me feel clean, clean like a 4 year child having been given a good scrubbing by my Granny and it was good!

We curled up on the bed and started watching 'The English Patient' Djalma fell asleep in under an hour and I went to sleep thirty minutes before the end. Peace out.

Day Nineteen - Chefchaouen to Moulay Besselham to Rabat - SPONSORED BY CAMILINHA AND CAROL OBA!

20.06.10

Day Nineteen – Sunday 20th June 2010

Our left at 7am so we were up and out super early to catch, the walk to the station was pleasant enough it being mostly downhill. The bus ride took about an hour and a half and dropped us at a small town where we caught another bus, packed with people, to another town where we got a grand taxi, also packed to Moulay Besselham, which is a small fishing town on the Atlantic Coast.

We had a lemonade which magically changed price when the time came to pay our bill and headed down to the beach to relax for a bit by the fresh sea air – anywhere but by the water was hot and muggy. We didn't stay long because there was some confusion as to the day/time of the football match between Brazil and Cote D'Ivore, so we headed back up, found a cafe, sat down only to find that the match was later on in the day. We decided to bring the time forward of our bird tour so we could head on to Rabat to catch the match there instead.

Hassan, our guide, rocked up, ate some of our peanuts not saying much and then lead the way to the shore where his boat was waiting. We jumped in the little motorboat and headed out into the shallow lagoon where Hassan started to point out birds and chat a bit about himself. The lagoon was beautiful, the day was beautiful, the sun was bright and twinkled on the little waves that rippled between the shores. We saw lots of different kinds of gulls, egrets, terns, crab catchers, flying fish and most importantly FLAMINGOS!!! We didn't get to close which was a shame, although it was right not to disturb them, but we were able to watch them through binoculars and take some pictures. Along the way we crossed paths with a small fishing boat and our guide bought some of the flying fish for us to grill and eat once we got back to the beach, but time was short and Djalma was keen to get going so that we didn't miss the football.

From Moulay Besselham, The Atlantic Coast, Morocco

Hassan dropped us back on a different shore where a small indoor fish market was based, we didn't go inside – there was plenty of action outside on the beach covered with fish guts, yum. We collected our backpacks and walked to the bus station where we got our tickets for Rabat and then baked inside the oven fronting as a bus while there was a huge hoo-hah about tickets. A fellow English teacher was talking to Djalma, dressed in a suit and keen to talk to foreigners he didn't seem particularly in love with his fellow countrymen, but he did explain that the tickets we bought weren't for Rabat but a town outside and from there we would need to take a train or bus to the city. Stress! As the buses only go when full we decided to get a train, the first double-decker train I've ever been on, clean, air conditioned and rather wonderful.

We made it to Rabat just in time and found a pizzeria restaurant which was showing the game. Even I was tense, what a match – and didn't Cote D'Ivore play dirty, lots of nasty kicks, naughty naughty. The first half was pretty disappointing, I think Djalma was losing hope but the second half was much better and the score quite satisfactory (3-1) so we left happy (and full of cheeseburgers, chips and salad).

We walked down the main avenue lined with palm trees to the Medina to find a cheap hotel. First impressions of Rabat are good – the proportions are big and airy and reminded me of Khabarosvk in the far east of Russia, a city which I loved. There was much less hassle from people has well, which makes a big difference.

The three hotels we checked had fixed prices for much the same thing, we managed to get hot showers for free but that was the only discount the manager was willing to give, but it was still decently priced and the bed was super firm, sweet relief after the flabby mattresses and knackered springs we'd been sleeping on the previous nights. Bliss.

Day Seventeen - Chefchaouen

Friday 18th June 2010

After sleep interrupted by nightmares, probably induced by that awful little drug dealer, we left the hotel mid morning to find breakfast and a place to sit while I wrote up the events of the last two days. We sat outside a café overlooking a beautiful patch of garden with mountains stretching up behind, absolutely gorgeous.

From Chefchaouen, The Rif Mountains, Morocco

It took me ages to put everything down and Djalma made full use of the time chatting to some old boys who were also watching the match; Sayid and Moahcin, two lovely blokes who I also met when I was called over from photo editing to join their conversation. Moahcin, who spoke Spanish and good English, called over another and much older boy who was sitting at the next table, and asked him to share his pipe, which he did gladly. This old man was 74 or 75 years old and he looked like a local saint, dressed in a white jebella, wizened wrinkly brown skin and alert, bright grey eyes, he had been smoking every day for the last 50 odd years but Djalma took one puff from the old man's slim line pipe and had to take some time out, what a joker!

From Chefchaouen, The Rif Mountains, Morocco

Pretty soon after that we left to get some lunch and had chicken and vegetable couscous, salad and bread followed by chunks of fresh watermelon. It was only our second serving of couscous since arriving in Morocco – I expected to be eating it every day of our stay here (but it's too expensive for our budget).

After our touristy lunch we slowly headed round the Medina of the city and up to a small Mosque sitting atop a small hill, not more than a 20 minute walk from the edge of the town. It was a lovely walk up although I did manage to overstep the boundaries with a local mama goat when it came to feeding time, I got a little bit too close taking a picture and she started after me. I was really worried and walked away quickly, trying not to run, heading up the slope trying to avoid a head butt from her, she gave me a killer goat look and moved on with her kids, phew – drama over!

From Chefchaouen, The Rif Mountains, Morocco

We admired the view of the town and the mountains sitting on top of the low wall surrounding the out of use Mosque and took lots of pictures. The view was stunning and it warm and sunny with a cool breeze, heaven. Heading back down after a good long rest, we got an orange juice and went back to the same café we'd spent most of the afternoon in. Djalma watched the match while I worked on photos, we left at about 10 o'clock feeling really cold but good having spoken to my Mum.

Back at the hotel in the warm Djalma felt much better – he's been fighting a cold for a while now and being outside without a coat didn't do him any favours. Not only battling infection the poor boy has been poked, sucked and bitten by some bugs, no idea what and I spent a air while dotting his, now red bumpy, back with bite cream, not long now before bed time.

Day Sixteen - Al Hoceima to Chefchaouen

Thursday 17th June 2010

A very slow start to a relaxed day. We got up late, my whole body ached, I couldn't bring myself to stretch before going to sleep, I just didn't have the energy to hold my body in any other position than as a puddle of exhaustion on the mattress. Djalma, being much fitter and exertion resistant than myself, had no problems moving about and while I creaked down the stairs he bounded down like a little kid only held back because of my painfully and painful slow pace, life is so unfair.

We spent the morning relaxing in the nice café in the square outside our hotel, drinking coffee and orange juice, eating a pancake from a stall near the small fruit and veg market. Eventually it was time to move and we gathered up our bags and moved in the general direction of the bus station. We took so long to get ready that we hadn't left ourselves enough time to walk, so we flagged down a petit taxi (only allowed to operate within the town compared to a grand taxi which can go between towns and cities usually for a fixed price). The driver was thicker than two short planks and had no idea what 'estación de bus' was or where it was, despite speaking Spanish with plenty of explanations. In the end and increasingly short of time we directed him to the bus station which he called 'agencia' what a plonker. As it turned out we had plenty of time because our bus, coming from another city, was late.

On the CTM (good bus company) bus which was air-conditioned, we had plenty of leg room and seats which moved back so we could relax. The pleasure of the luxurious ride was tempered by the foetid aroma drifting from the armpits of a fat man in the seat in front of ours. For the better part of the trip he rested his arm along the top of the seat next to him, allowing his scent to waft back and forth so much so that we almost asked him to put his arm down and keep it down, what a stinker.
Other than fatso's smelly pits the journey from Al Hoceima, on the Mediterranean Coast, to Chefchouen, in the Rif Mountains, was stunning. The Rif Mountains differ from the Atlas Mountains in many ways but are just as beautiful, majestic and awe inspiring. Where as the Atlas is raw and mostly untamed save for plantations of crops in and along the river bed, the slopes of the Rif are covered in fig and olive trees with large patches of ripening wheat. Because of this there isn't much exposed rock and so the variation of colours which were visible in the Atlas are not as present in the Rif, nevertheless there were steep areas of the mountain which were only rock and the most striking shades of deep orangey yellow to charcoal grey.
The road also followed the sides of the mountain and in one place we passed an accident, a small van had hit the face of the mountain, crumpling the bonnet like paper, in an attempt to avoid a collision with a small lorry which had gone over the side rolling to a stop about 10metres down the slope. All along the road people and cars had stopped to see the accident, and hopefully help, which slowed the passing traffic down – nearly everyone went to the left side of the bus to see what was going on, but we didn't stop. The emergency services were trying to come through and there wasn't enough room as it was.

From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco

I'm surprised that we haven't seen more accidents of this kind, the roads are only just wide enough for two vehicles to pass, in most places there isn't any kind of barrier to stop a car from disappearing over the edge, and drivers, while not going at breakneck speeds do not slow down enough when taking corners which they do while straddling both “lanes”, madness.

From Chefchaouen, The Rif Mountains, Morocco

Needless to say we made it in one piece and were dropped off at the bottom of Chefchouen, which translates as 'look at the peaks', it is between two mountains and is the most beautiful little town I've seen. It is also one of the steepest to climb, the roads winding up and down making the slog up to find a hotel long and sweaty. We were approached by a man selling weed who offered to take us to a cheap hotel for free, probably on the assumption that we would buy some 'kif' from him. We ended up in quite a nice hotel, agreed on the rate and dumped our bags, the hard sell for weed began. Now I'm not saying that we were closed to it; D was up for a little something and I wasn't against it – the area is famous for its marijuana and plenty of ex-pats have settled here not just because of the outstandingly beautiful location I'm sure. The lengthy hard sell got quite unpleasant and when we decided against buying anything from him, in most part due to mistrust, he put his hand out and demanded money for showing us the hotel. I was getting increasingly angry throughout the bargaining process and nearly blew up when he said we were wasting his time (what about ours?!) and that we should pay him for his services, which he had said were for free. He said that other people who hadn't bought anything from him had given him 150 dirham for his services outrageously implying that we should do the same.

From Chefchaouen, The Rif Mountains, Morocco

I have struggled a lot with constant unwanted guides, unwanted help and unwanted attention, all of which is unwanted because it has brought us so much trouble. If everyone was upfront about the price their services entailed we would have avoided all the trouble and all the misunderstandings that arose from these 'friendly' offers. Instead people approach you, calling you 'my friend' and offering to help, lead the way or show you a cheap restaurant or hotel and only once the service has been rendered the friendly attitude is dropped and money is expected.
I'm not stupid, people struggle to make a living here, it's a developing nation and tourists are perceived to have much, but doing business in this way creates such bad feeling for both parties for us because these offers of help seem to stem from goodwill which isn't goodwill at all and for them because we are 'so rich' that we should spread a little or a lot their way. It makes me want to avoid anyone who approaches us in the street because so far the only it leads to are damn shops and hassle, not a good outlook when you want to interact with people.

The argument about payment got so heated that we paid him 20d just to go away and even then he couldn't resist a parting 'fuck you' before getting out of the hotel with his little friend after Djalma asked him to repeat what he said (and he couldn't).
The guy behind reception was little and lovely and told us that they were all talk 'blah blah blah' which made me laugh and that they wouldn't do anything. It was getting dark and I was feeling a bit nervous about going outside but he put our minds at ease and we left to go and get lost in the winding streets.

From Chefchaouen, The Rif Mountains, Morocco

We found one of the few places which served beer and relaxed on the terrace next to the mountains, which were near invisible in the dark, looking out over some of the streets lit by street lamps. It was so peaceful and so relaxing and the beer, despite being very small (and very expensive) really hit the spot. It was cold out and so eventually we started back but not before being given some postcards and a small Moroccan salad by the kind waiter (before accepting these things we felt the need to confirm that these were gifts, which felt really rude but we didn't know if we would be charged for them later having accepted them).

We got lost on the way back and took the very long way back to our hotel, which we couldn't ask directions to because we couldn't remember the name, oops! Our bed was big but knackered and it was a job not to roll into the middle in a big heap but it didn't stop us from sleeping like babies. What a day.

Day Fifteen - The Trek from Cala Iris to Torres near Al Hoceima

Wednesday 16th June 2010

Our big plans for a trip or tour around Al Hoceima's National Park were subverted by our total lack of preparation and organisation. In lieu of a guided tour round the park or even a self guided visit there (no-one seemed to have even heard of it) we decided to go further along the coast to a place called Cala Iris where there is a small port and plenty of sardine fishing and walk to the next town, Torres.
After an hour long grand taxi ride, the car struggling to make it up the hills and round the corners without falling apart or stopping, we reached the little port, had a look round and spoke to a guy about football.

From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco

As soon as people find out Djalma is Brazilian, that's it, respect and football – that's pretty much all he gets wherever we go and a bit of hero worship. I've even begun to say I'm from New Zealand because saying you're from the U.K doesn't get much of a reaction, N.Z isn't getting much more but the name Sarah is going down a treat – I'm not thinking of changing that any time soon. After being told to look after him, which cheesed me off no end – if anyone needs looking after it is Princess Moi, we began our long walk/trek to Torres.

From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco

The guy at the port told us it wasn't possible to follow the coastline to Torres so we followed the road up and stopped to admire the view of the little Islands which used to belong to Spain (along with most of the North of Morocco) before deciding that actually, it was possible and so we began the slow climb down the side of the slope which was rocky, crumbling and dotted with wild thyme, heather and nasty spiky bushes. We congratulated ourselves on reaching the bottom and followed the rocky shoreline round for about an hour before coming to an impasse. It was either go up or turn back. Here begins the drama...

To get to this point we had already had to climb round and over a very large boulder which offered almost no hand or footholds, at least none big or comfortable enough for the inexpert climber with weak fingers and toes – me. At one point before I had safely reached the other side but hadn't found a place to put my feet, I shouted fuck several times, very very loudly, which made me feel much better and miraculously I found a place to step onto and got off the sodding boulder. We scrambled over more loose rocks and pebbles on the beach before coming to a small crumbling cliff which we couldn't climb around but had to go over. Despite my better instincts we started to ascend the rock face not knowing what lay up ahead or if we would be able to pass or climb that as well.

The sun was beating down and in spite of the sea breeze we were sweating like pigs, our flip-flops were slippery and frankly I was crapping myself before we'd even made it up a few feet. The cliff face was incredibly crumbly and pieces of sandy rock came away under the pressure from our hands and feet, small or big chunks, not much of it seemed to be firmly attached. We decided to keep on going and made very slow progress up, Djalma was trying to teach me some of the essentials of rock climbing like; lean into the face of the rock at all times, don't pull the rocks with your hands, use them to balance your body and so on, unfortunately he missed out; plenty of practice in a safe environment with first aiders on hand should you hurt yourself/someone else and plenty of ropes to stop you from falling to a nasty painful death.

After a very touch and go moment edging round a corner, where we clung to the side using the little hand holds and balancing on different parts of our feet, we stopped on a very small ledge and tried to relax. My body was tense from the climb and I needed to stop, physically Djalma was okay, I was done in and mentally we were both scared. The climb to that point couldn't have taken longer than 15 to 20 minutes but it felt like aeons of time had passed. We were hot, sweaty, scared, baking under the sun and I was trembling from the physical exertion. After a few minutes wedged in/balanced on the ledge Djalma said we should try to continue up. Just looking filed me with such horror that my stomach flipped and churned and I thought I was going to throw up, I point blank refused to go any further until someone knew where we were. I was absolutely convinced that the only way were were going was down – slipping, falling tumbling to be caught on the rocks below. There was nothing to break a fall except the stones and rocks uncovered by the low tide and nothing to hold onto that wouldn't break away under force and our weight. I don't think I have been more scared and more convinced that the situation would end no other way except nastily and painfully. Looking down or up I came to the same conclusion – to move would be suicide and incredibly stupid.
It was at this point that I thought about calling the emergency services, but we didn't have the number, so we called and left messages with my Mum, Gabby and also with Daniel from Meknès but not without some serious consideration about unduly worrying people at home who physically weren't able to do anything to help us – except get the emergency services number and worry like hell.
Having sent the messages and made the calls Djalma insisted that we move, we needed to get out of the sun whether we went up or back down (at the time I thought that the risk of sun stroke was preferable to moving, an opinion which was not formed without serious contemplation of the alternatives, let me assure you).
A little further up there was a small bush which offered some shade but to get to it we had to climb up more crumbling rock which looked even less stable than that we had already passed, which looked like the stupidest thing a living person could do. I couldn't do it, physically I was worn out, even stopping and resting was using up precious energy – I couldn't properly rest my weight and relax on the stones, I had to support my body weight with my feet and legs, keeping my upper body up with my hands. While we were climbing up Djalma went ahead of me, to check that the route was doable, and then tried to climb back down to help me. When we were talking about how to continue he said that climbing back down was really difficult and had scared him (which was one of the reasons he thought continuing up was a better idea) but when I insisted that we didn't go up any further, we slapped on more sunscreen and then he went down slowly, clearing the way of most of the rubble and small obstacles, while I tried to calm down and get myself under control. I am ashamed to say that I cried a bit – I would very much to be able to look back on that experience and say with pride that I didn't crumble like a big ninny, but I did. Not to put to fine a point on it, climbing up like we had done was a stupid thing to do and it would have been even worse to continue especially if it was impossible to continue and we had even further to backtrack. Being badly hurt on the rocks below was a very real possibility and I was very aware of our mortality, the fragility of the human body and the remoteness of our location.

From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco

It was around this point that I nearly shit myself, no joke, climbing up scared my bowels into action at the most laughably inconvenient moment, had I been able to safely balance on the ledge and drop one over the side I would have done. In the end it was the strong urge to relax my sphincter that got me back down the slope (not the encouragement or support of my husband! - although that did help) – I promised myself that I would have a big poo as soon as I got down to the bottom. It was the first happy thought I'd had in what felt like hours, days even. It was also the first time I consciously thought that we could make it back down, unharmed and without assistance. So urged on by my urges, we slowly and carefully inched our way back down, Djalma apologising so much that I felt like pushing him over the edge when just moments before I was worried that I would slip and take him with me.
I have never been so shakily relieved at any of my life's events as then and I have to say, although you definitely don't want to know, that I kept the promise I made to myself back on the ledge and I carried on our trek back to civilisation much lighter (and happier).

From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco

Our adventure didn't finish there, we had to move back along the coastline, with the tide coming in, and find a way up the mountain that didn't look like it would cost us our lives, especially so early on in our trip! We found a place and started climbing on all fours balancing our way up the mountain being very careful not dislodge rocks or stones onto the other below. We stopped several times to take mouthfuls of water and decide the next part of the route, although it probably wasn't the best idea, I felt much safer going up in areas where there were less rocks than more plants and dirt, even though there was less to grab onto it felt much sturdier and less likely to move under our weight.

From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco

We made it up to the top of the peak for a stunning view of the ocean. The days events have rather clouded my memory of what was the most spectacular scenery, the sea was deep sapphire blue and sparked like diamonds where it rippled close to the shore, the stony cliffs were covered with small bushes of lavender, that nasty spiky plant as well as rocks and earth, and the stones, rocks and pebbles that constituted the shore line were all so different and so colourful that in places it looked like a big broken twinkly rainbow.

At the summit of the first slope we found another slope leading even higher, we carried on climbing, stopping once for some cornbread and chocolate spread with a few more mouthfuls of water (thank god we bought a second bottle of water before going out), we made it to the top of that slope to find yet another slope to climb, which we did. From the top of that third slope we could see the road (in the distance), hooray!!! Now that we were pretty much out of harms way, I felt like I would be able to go on for much longer than my body would have let me. My muscles, especially my thighs were aching so much, the soles of my feet, where we had climbed barefoot in some places, were sore and I had small cuts on my feet, one of which opened and split more with each step I took.
Unfortunately for us, the road was at the end of another long climb, this time down a valley. Our flip-flops (which we had climbed in) were knackered and we were surprised when at the end of the trip down, they were still intact.

The trip up the three sides and down the one took us around two hours although it felt much longer than that – the short time was mostly due to the fact that we moved quite quickly and didn't take many breaks. I felt like when we stopped I wouldn't be able to move again so it was best to keep our momentum and keep moving. When we made it to the road, relieved, sweaty and unbelievably smelly we tried to flag down a passing car to take us to the nearest town where we would be able to catch a taxi. Despite hobbling (trying not to open up that cut on my foot any more) and looking pitiful by the side of the road, plenty of cars passed us by without stopping (we were in the middle of no-where! The meanies). We decided to head in the direction of the town we were originally aiming for, Torres, and eventually a van picked us up and dropped us off in Cala Iris, where, after debating the cost, we paid 200 dirham for the taxi to take us back to our hotel in Al Hoceima.

From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco

What a day, I fell asleep, sprawled in the back seat of the taxi while Djalma, still full of beans, took pictures of the sunset, which was stonkingly beautiful. We had showers and then flopped in the restaurant right next to our hotel and ordered more food than we needed or could eat before hobbling up to bed and sleeping in a small room on the terrace. During the day a mist had settled over the town and when the sun had gone to bed and there wasn't anything to burn off the moisture and it soaked our mattresses and blankets making it impossible to sleep on them. The owner of the hotel took pity on us and let us have the room for free, what a legend. I have never slept so well or so comfortably on such a thin mattress, nor have been so relieved and grateful to God to be on solid ground. It was enough to make a person religious!

Djalma did promise not 'to do anything stupid again' or put us both in danger, a promise that'll I'll be holding him to. That said I felt like I had missed a good opportunity to be Lara Croft to his Bear Grylls, instead I'll settle for being my Sarah to his Djalma and before writing off the climb up that dangerous cliff I tried to think what my adventurous little sister, Katie, would do – I came to the conclusion that even she would have decided it was a bad idea and that made me feel much better.

Day Fourteen - Al Hoceima

Tuesday 15th June 2010

Rudely awakened by a steady stream of hotel guests using the toilet and shower outside our room we resisted the sounds of the morning (and the toilet) until 8o'clock. Feeling groggy we got out of bed and I set about cleaning the clothes that didn't make it into the boys washing machine back in Meknes while D went to find a better and cheaper place to sleep for the evening.

We decided to take it easy (again) and spent some time in the internet cafe where we downloaded 'The Travels of Marco Polo', which I have seen mentioned so many times that I thought I should read it. We meandered down to the local beach which was busy, specially for a weekday and full of boys and young men. Djalma jumped in the sea while I lay in the shade feeling a bit dodgy after so many coffees, it was a nice lazy afternoon, even if the beach was a little too full of testosterone.

From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco

We are back in one of the cafes from the morning where I chugged down strong coffee to get my body going again. The T.V is on full blast and D is positively fizzing with excitement about Brazil's first game, did you know that Brazil is the only country in the WORLD that has been to every world cup? No, neither did I and frankly I couldn't give a whisper of a fart, but resistance is futile and I may as well get used to it because Brazil is hosting the next world cup and the chances are that we'll be there. Woo. Hoo.

Post match my opinion has changed a little – I COULD give a very big, loud smelly fart about football, at some point I stopped taking pictures of Djalma and started watching the game, seeing the guy who scored North Korea's only goal was like watching a kid being given the biggest lollipop ever. This doesn't mean that I'm suddenly in love with football, just that I can stomach the odd game without my socks being bored off.

From Al Hoceima, Mediterranean Coast, Morocco

Day Thirteen - Fez to Al Hoceima on the Mediterranean Coast

Monday 14th June 2010

Not such a lazy morning, we wanted to be up and out early to get on the internet before getting our bus at 10.30am. The internet place wasn't open and so we decided to go and wait at the bus station. It was hectic! While the rest of the city was only just waking up and putting out stalls, getting coffee and breakfast the station was buzzing; people shouting out different destinations, rushing to get to the right stand, selling cigarettes and of course people relaxing and doing nothing but smoking and drinking coffee.
I got a coffee, praying it would wake up my bowels and make them function (no such joy), and wrote in my diary putting my first impressions of Morocco down on paper. I am hoping that with time and practice I will be able to quickly and succinctly write down the days events, catching what is important and leaving out the mundane, I think it will take a lot more time and practice for it to be better!

Eventually we were hustled onto an old bus and after a little wait we left the station and started on the four hour trip which turned out to be a journey of more than six hours. It was a beautiful route; after departing Fez and all its cultivated fields (it's the bread basket of Morocco) we traveled through the Rif mountains, the area of the biggest production of marijuana in the world (now there's a claim to fame). As in the Atlas mountains, the road followed the edge of the mountains, twisting and turning offering up the most stunning vistas and stomach churning views of the steep drops down. About half an hour before reaching our destination, Al Hoceima, the road turned to reveal the Mediterranean sea. We were still high up in the mountains surrounded by green peaks and valleys with the deep blue sea stretching out far in the distance, the sky, overcast and gloomy in Fez, was now the brightest of blues reflecting the sea, beautiful.

Arriving in town we headed in the direction of the cheap hotels which are generally grouped together. This time there were no people waiting for tourists to unload from the bus, in fact I haven't seen any other foreigners round here (which makes quite a change), to take them to cheap rooms or hotels. The search for a cheap place to stay took quite a while and we visited quite a few cheap options, thinking that we had a place to stay on the terrace of one before the mad old kitten loving owner told us that unless we paid double what we had been told we should go (the poor old sod was definitely missing a few marbles and wouldn't listen at all to our bargaining). So we left the hotel ready pay more to someone who was nice rather than less to someone who wasn't and in doing so ended up back at one of the hotels we visited earlier. After a bit of hard bargaining in Spanish we ended up in a small room next to the outside toilet with a squeaky bed on springs so knackered that unless you perched on the edge it was impossible to avoid rolling into the middle.

Dinner was in a cheap local restaurant and meat free. After several days of meat sandwiches my bowel movements have pretty much stopped completely (I am writing this entry on the 15th while on my third coffee hoping and waiting for something to happen so that I can lose some of this weight). We had chickpeas, some kind of creamed bean or chickpea soup/sauce, salad and rice, then went back to our noisy little room to watch 'The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnasus' before falling asleep down in the middle of the bed.

Day Twelve - Fez

13th June 2010

Lazy morning this morning, we didn't make it out of our bed until midday. It was a very welcome lay in. When we did eventually make it out of bed, we wandered round the Medina for the whole day, getting very lost. The Medina was amazing, so big and varied. When we spent the day wandering the Medina in Marrakesh it didn't feel like we'd seen anything much but in Fez it felt like a day very well spent.

From Fez, Morocco

We spent most of the afternoon in a small cafe, waiting for the next football game (Germany vs Oz 4-0), watching the game and drinking orange juice and coffee (very smoky taste).

We dropped the little backpack back out the hotel and went to see the last night of the Sufi Sacred Music Festival. It was really cool with lots of boys and young men dancing together – all the women sat at the back leaving it to the men to get their grooves on, D said it was the biggest sausage fest he's ever been to (and he's been to plenty of football games). We headed back to our hotel for some sleep around midnight as Curlywigs was feeling rather sleepy.

From Fez, Morocco

Day Eleven - Meknès, Moulay Idriss and Volubilis to Fez

Saturday 12th June 2010

We got up fairly early, said goodbye to Chris and Daniel and went out to get a taxi to Moulay Idriss which was a short drive away. Moulay Idriss I, of the bloodline of the Prophet Mohammed, is buried there and apparently 5 visits to his mausoleum is equal to a visit to Mecca. All very nice except we we couldn't get anywhere near his tomb because we're not Moslem, rubbish. We did get a look from behind the barrier that keeps all us non-muslims out and it looked beautiful.
Instead to amuse ourselves we climbed up the hill and found the petit terrace which looks back down over the town and out over the surrounding hills and fields, really really beautiful. We carried on and were led up by the mausoleum guard to the grand terrace which was a piece of cobbled pavement outside someone's house with an even better view (you can imagine the scale of the small terrace). W stayed there for a while feeling tired from the long walk up and relaxed in the shade looking out over the town.

From Meknes and Volubilis, Morocco

We saw so many sad donkeys, some of them had wire mesh over their muzzles, patches with no fur, overloaded with all kinds of things, including toothless old men prodding them with sticks and they all looked so miserable. Some of them were in better a condition and were more taken care of but every donkey we saw looked unspeakably sad, I'm no animal rights activist, I think that human welfare should be dealt with first, but it tore at the heart to see these animals being mistreated and/or overworked.

From Meknes and Volubilis, Morocco

We jumped in another collective taxi to Volubilis, an old Roman settlement 5km away from Moulay Idriss, the best kept ruins in Morocco. We wandered round half heartedly, the site was beautiful with some sexy 2000 year old mosaics of fat bottomed girls and plenty of arches and ruins but we were feeling the heat and the relatively upbeat pace of our travelling so we left after an hour and hitched a lift back into town.

From Meknes and Volubilis, Morocco

On the bus to Fes was the loudest and most annoying female I've come across recently. The 45 minute bus trip from Meknes to Fez was the loudest, most annoying and most entertaining that we've been on. It was another old bus without air con but this time we were close to the front and most of the action. Unfortunately all the action was in Arabic so we had no idea what all the fuss was about, there was a young guy in a vest top and sunglasses who brought speakers with him and played loud music for a fair art of the journey, the annoying woman shouted and laughed a lot – she had a voice like a parched donkey – and we also managed to hit something whilst overtaking a car which sent the young boom box man into a rage and he launched into a verbal assault on the driver and had to put back into his seat by the conductor and other passengers.
All was good and well in the end and we arrived in Fes in one piece, just in time to get a hostel room which isn't very pleasant but is quite cheap, and get lost in the Medina.

The Medina in Fez is something worth writing home about and so far we've only seen a small portion of it – on the walk to find a suitably cheap hotel we saw, sheep brains, a camel head (with meat still inside) and live chickens as well as all the other stalls and stands you can expect to find in a market. Things like, leather slippers, shoes, rugs, carpets, dresses, 'sexy' nighties, food stalls, dried fruit and nut sellers and all types of other household necessities which we hadn't seen in the Medina in Marrakesh, it was all amazing and looking at the map, spread far and wide in streets that have been laid out pretty much the same way for the last millennia. After much searching we found a sandwich place and got some spicy meat sandwiches to take away to a cafe where D could watch the match (UK vs US 1-1).
Back to our smelly hotel room with mattresses on the floor to sleep.