Our final stop in Morocco would be Essaouira, a gorgeous and relaxing spot on the Moroccan coast. I never thought I could get so excited by a place which was so windy during the day, and in which you had to cover up at night due to it becoming so cool. Quite a refreshing (ha, ha!) change to the blistering heat we had experienced in the last few weeks. Here we stayed in two great places, each with their own particular charm. The first was “Dar Al Bahar“, which means house by the sea. As its name suggests, it is right on the sea! It is owned by the extremely congenial Lise and Jean-Claude, a spirited Dutch/ French couple, who have travelled the world, and have decided to stop a while in Morocco. For how long? They do not know! That’s the spirit! Breakfast is served on the upstairs open patio, overlooking the sea. What can I say!

The other place we stayed in was “Lalla Mira“, owned and run by another amiable German lady called Fely who fell in love with the town from the first time she visited it. Now, this was a place with a difference. Built from scratch, it was designed from the outset with environmentally-friendly building and living in mind. A buffet breakfast of home made goodies was included, as well as free usage of the hammam (communal washing baths) next door. We also had dinner there, and might I add that it was possibly the best food we had in Morocco. The fact that it had Apart from being such a lovely and luxurious break for Alex and I, it was a pleasure to support a place that really does subscribe to responsible tourism. Please take a look at Lalla’s web site, by clicking on the link above.

We really just took it easy in Essaouira, walked along the beach, caught up on our blogs, wandered through the markets and streets (which was actually possible here, as it predominantly came without the hassle of most of the other places), tried different foods, went to the hammam, did a bit of shopping…….

Speaking about food in this country, I have not really talked much about it, have I? Being on the Mediterranean, fruit, dried fruits & nuts, and olives are in abundance. Prickly pears are absolutely all over the place, as are baguettes and other French pastries (due to the French influence), not to mention roti bread, which is often made fresh, before your very eyes. Whilst cous–cous ( a carbohydrate dish made from tiny balls of semolina) and tagines ( a bit like the Moroccan version of the Aussie crock pot and stew) are both staples as well as high up on the menu list. Finding them without meat can be a challenge though. So, for a non-meat eater, the cuisine can become tiring. I must say, that some of the best Moroccan food we have tried actually comes from Melbourne, Australia. Hana’s Moroccan Soup Bar, is in Fitzroy. If you haven’t been there, you are definitely missing out! Go there and tell Hana we sent you!

Finally, it was time to leave. Although we were flying out of Casablanca, we decided that, on this trip, we would not actually visit it. We also made a few other changes. The original plan was to fly to Paris, via Madrid, spending a few days in the former as well as a few in the later, before continuing on to Japan via Hong Kong, but, all in the space of a few days, we made lots of changes.

This is what we ended up deciding on (remember D-Day……August 18th): We would fly from Casablanca to Paris on the 1st of August, where we would spend a couple of days with our friend Eva. Then we would visit my friend Michaela in Germany, which would require a Paris-Stuttgart return flight (which we did by organising an extra but promotional fare with German Wings). Back to Paris for a day, and then on to Japan via Hong Kong, leaving on the 9th of August and arriving on the 10th. Finally, we would take a flight back to Hong Kong on the 16th. In theory, we were then supposed to get a connecting flight to Vietnam on that same day, make our way overland to Bangkok, and then fly back to Melbourne on the 18th. Think it sounds impossible? It’s all about strategic manoeuvres, and so needless to say, the buck (well, the one year around-the-world buck anyway!) “stopped” in Hong Kong………….

So, let me show you what 24 hours in the travelling life of Ombi and Alex looked like between the nights of July 30th and the 1st of August……(Big Sigh!!!!!!!)…..here goes:

11.00 pm. Leave Essaouira. Bus stops in a few places, so sleep is disturbed.

4.30 am. Arrive in Casablanca. It’s early, but the place looks huge. We hang around the bus terminal trying to get some information on how to get to the airport.

5.40 am. Catch a taxi from the bus terminal to the train station.

6.10 am. Catch train from station to airport, about 30 kilometres away.

7.00am. Arrive at Casablanca airport.

10.50 am. “Supposed” to leave Casablanca – going to Paris (Airport Charles de Gaulle ) via Madrid.

11.50 am. Plane delayed an hour, new departure time 11.50 am.

……. so we arrive in Madrid an hour late. Madrid airport is a monstrosity……we run like psychos to catch the connecting flight to Paris……………and miss it…….huff, puff, huff, puff…….

3.00 pm. We are told that we have been placed on another flight an hour later…..but that we will be going to another airport, Paris-Orly, which is in the south of Paris (the other airport is in the north). What about our luggage? No problems, it will go to Paris Orly. Phew! And what about meeting Eva (who is coming to pick us up!) at Antony station? Another saving grace…….we are much closer to Antony train station coming in at Paris-Orly than the Charles de Gaulle. Phew…again!

6.30 pm. Arrive at Paris-Orly. Would our bags REALLY be waiting for us? I would believe it when I saw it! Waiting, waiting, waiting……

7.00 pm. Bags arrive! Yay!

7.15 pm. Catch the train to Antony, which only takes 7 minutes (can you believe it!!!!!!) from Paris-Orly. It would have taken well over an hour from the other airport.

7.22 pm. Arrive at Antony , and by the time we walk out of the train station it’s 7.30 pm on the dot, much to Eva’s surprise! How did we do it, she asks….she was expecting us a little later!

Sigh, sigh, sigh………………”It’s a long story, I tell her!”, as we all jump into her car. The French countryside looks gorgeous and we feel our bodies relaxing almost immediately!

Dedication: To our amazing travel agent Jessica Shakespeare, who is based at the Flight Centre in Northland (Melbourne, Australia). She has gone above and beyond the call of duty, by helping us out in whatever way humanely possible. Not only was she brilliant in helping us with the mammoth task of “where to go, what to see and how to do it”, before leaving Australia, but she continued to help us out for the duration of our one-year ticket, and often at very short notice. Thanks a million Jess! You are one in a million, and Alex and I want you to know how very much we appreciate everything you have done for us. It has not gone by unnoticed!

Next: Zipping through France (Paris, to be exact!), Germany and Japan.

Note: Eating so many prickly pears brought so many good memories flooding back. As a child, visiting my (now late) Nonna (grandmother) often involved picking them off the tree in her backyard (when they were in season), and eating them to saturation point. It only seems like yesterday! That phrase alone is proof of how many years have indeed passed since then!

Ombi

“Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is to not stop questioning”. – Albert Einstein. (and I would add “learning onto the end of that).

(Photos: 1.- View of Essaouira, as seen from Dar Al Bahar. 2.- Ombi and Alex wearing jilabas (easy to slip on and off when going to the hammam). 3.- A tagine, which describes both the clay dish and the goodies inside it. 4.- Ombi eating prickly pears…..yum! 5.- Shopping, Essaouira style. 6.- Unlimited sympathy for these creatures – in the last year, we have felt and looked like this many a time. 7.- Ombi and Hassan…..another day, another city!).

Here we are in Morocco, smack bang in the middle of summer, and it has been scorching. Desert trips, further south, have been talked about, but not with any real ferocity. We know all too well what hot really means, from our recent experience in Egypt. I can only thus begin to conceptualise the brutality of the heat further south. Yep, we opted to be “wooses” on this one, and took a rain check. We have literally followed summer around the world, and after almost a year, I can truthfully say that I would not mind being in Melbourne in the throes of winter. That’s a pretty big statement coming from a serious sun lover!

Fes, or Fez, as it is also known, is the third largest city in Morocco, and is one of the country’s four imperial cities. It has a huge and exotic medina with an interesting Ville Nouvelle ( or new town in English). It is the term used to describe the newer areas outside of the medinas in Morocco’s larger cities. They are surprisingly modern, and in some cases you feel like you are in Europe. I repeat, Morocco has a cosmopolitan flair which I would never have envisaged.

Having said that, the medina in Fez is a hive of activity, and once in the depths of its interior, another and very different world comes to life, and you barely realise that a modern world exists outside of it. It’s a place that challenged ALL of my senses ALL at once. Old women sell their wares, from fruit and vegetables to other bits and bobs like they just stepped out of the middle ages; chunks of cows and other beasts hang outside in the souks ( a market; or commercial quarter in an Arab city) enticing more flies than humans; men hammer away and create metal objects before your very eyes; and you can SMELL the leather shoes and handbags before you see them! Nestled in amongst the 1000s of stalls, were the shops whose workers’ job it was to take the wool off the sheep hides (my stomach did a quadruple somersault)…as my friend Rita Garcia would say, ” A scratch and smell experience”.

There was one smell however, that was worse, and which made all the others pale in comparison….the famous (or infamous!) tanneries of Fez. This is the area where they dye the sheets of leather before they become our bags, shoes and leather goods. As we rounded yet another windy road, there was another vomit inducing whiff, and before I had enough time to say, give me a bucket, there we were getting whipped into a tiny doorway, and viewing handbags and shoes which smelt like the local abattoir. As I held my hand over my mouth, I was promptly handed some mint leaves, which supposedly curbed the smell. As my eyes scanned the products however, I decided that it would be unfathomable to purchase anything which smelt so vile. For the rest of the duration of our time in Fez, I would do a runner each time I saw leather goods…I SAW shoes, I SMELT flesh rotting!!! What I saw and what I smelt simply did not seem to match up!

Fes is becoming an increasingly popular tourist destination and many non-Moroccans are now restoring traditional houses (riads and dars) as second homes in the Fes medina. We stayed in one of these. As soon as the local lads see someone with a backpack, they follow you, surpass you, tuck into the hotel before you do, make it look like they took you there, and then seek commission. We are not supposed to work this out, but, we obviously have! As we walked into the riad we ended up staying at, Dar Bouanania, I said hello, and “He didn´t bring us here”, all in the same breath, which, I suppose, is not that hard for me to do. We ain´t paying anybody a commission, especially if we found our own way there.

The souks are amazing, if not for the interesting products, for the people, both locals and foreigners you see there. What a juxtaposition…whilst tourists are sometimes being ripped off blindly (depending on their nationality and negotiating skills), the locals continue with business as usual. We not only walked in and around the medina, but also outside of it, which provided some interesting views and landscapes. It never ceased being hot, and we cannot tell you how many 3 dirham (50 cents AUD) glasses of orange juices we had. There were vendors everywhere.

In Fez, Alex and I felt very privileged to be able to enter the home of some local people. It started out with a man called Mohamed asking Alex some questions on how to use his new camera, and ended up with being invited into his mother’s home. Here we shared several hours with not only Mohamed (who lives in Casablanca with his family), but his brother Youssef (who lives in the United Arab Emirates, and was here on holiday) and their gorgeous elderly mother, Neftsaha, who despite her total lack of English was a delightful hostess. She could not offer us enough, including food, cookies and rosemary tea. By the end of our visit, she was hugging and kissing me and telling me that I was beautiful. I told her that she too was gorgeous! It is amazing how much “talking” you can do with your hands! Well I am the daughter of Italians, so that has given me a pretty good head start. We visited her again before leaving Fez, and told her how honoured we felt at not only being invited, but being re-invited to her home. Yet another priceless experience, which will remain in my heart forever! For me, this is the true essence of what travelling is all about!

Time for a quick getaway from all the hustle and bustle, and something a little cooler too. We decided on a little Berber town called Azrou. It means rock in Berber, whose meaning was obvious upon arrival. As it was nestled amongst the mountains, it was rather refreshing at night, which was welcome relief. We really did not do much here, except for sleep, eat, relax and wander around the not too large souk. During the lunch hours, the people seem to disperse, partially due to the heat, and partially to chill out over and then relax after lunch, but at night time, it is like one big party! We found much of Morocco to be like this.

Next was Azilal, which was really only going to be a stop over in order to see the Cascades d´Ouzoud, supposedly the most spectacular in Morocco. Unfortunately, yet again, the “show stealers” were all the trash and cigarette butts, many floating in the water. It detracted substantially from the “show”, and as I saw the multitudes of the people (mainly men, as the woman do not bathe in public unless fully clothed) bathing, my brain was doing a silent cataloguing of all the potential diseases. It seemed like a great place for dial-a disease to me! On a serious note, the falls were rather pretty, and I have no doubt that if cleaner, they could indeed profess to be “spectacular”.

Marrakech here we come………enticed by your exotic image and the likes of real snake charmers in your central square, we figured we could cope with the 43 degree heat! No documentary or travel show could have prepared us for you, however! You were scathingly hot, but with your constant action and commotion you provided us with such an elevated assault on the senses, that we often fell asleep standing up, that is to say exhausted, as we battled with the incessant barrage of information! Marrakech you are like an exotic liqueur, ready to consume those of us who taste you!

We splurged in Marrakech and stayed in a couple of truly beautiful riads. One was called Riad Noga and the other Riad Kaiss. They were both beautiful in their own and very different way. Whilst Riad Noga had an attention to detail that was unrivalled, from the shampoo and body gel in the shower to the sweets and fruit by our table side, Riad Kaiss was so very much in the style of a typical Arabic house, with lots of spectacular tile work and interior gardens. Please click on both of the links above, they were both well earned, as well as hidden luxuries! The former even had a pool, but who had the time! The latter was owned and had been decorated by a French architect called Christian Ferre. Very tragically, he died of a heart attack whilst we were actually staying there. We offer our sincerest condolences to all his family, as well as all his staff at the hotel. May he rest in peace.

I should mention that Marrakech is in the south west of Morocco, at the foothills of the Atlas Mountains. Hot, hot, hot is its middle name! In the days following our stay there, the temperatures rose until they hit 50 degrees celsius. I seriously forewarn all who choose Morocco as a vacation destination – July´s temperatures are the hottest, and the heat is brutal!

Marrakech has the largest traditional market (souk) in Morocco and also has the busiest square in the entire continent of Africa, called Djemaa el Fna . As you would expect, there were people selling everything from shoes to meat. I must say, those chunks of protein hanging up in the “fresh” and open air made me thankful that I was a vegetarian! On a serious note, Marrakech is famous for exactly that……weaving in and out of alley way upon alley way and being both enticed and/or hassled to buy, buy, buy! On a few occasions, I had to tell myself to breathe in and breathe out…very, very deeply! I must say, I seriously lost it on one or two occasions. This is “coffee chat” however, and if you are interested I will tell you all about it when I get home! Needless to say, it did involve me being rather brutal and blunt about the way I, and subsequently, other women are treated. I know I should zip it, but sometimes the part of me that wants equality for all, just rips out of its seams! Let’s say, body in 1st gear and mouth in 5th!

One day we did “Marrakech Tour”, which is a bus which takes you to several points all over Marrakech. The beauty is that you can get on and off as you like. We decided to visit the “famous” Menara Gardens. You know that famous view seen on all the postcards….blue lake, and palm trees with a frosted mountain backdrop…..what can I say, perhaps, thank goodness for photo shop!? It was pretty Joe average, but once we were there we felt that we at least had to walk around the lake…….in searing heat, and despite the fact that we had to buy a bottle of water which cost three many times as elsewhere! We also visited many other interesting sites, like the the Koutoubia, which is the largest mosque in Morocco. Its architecture and richness of decoration make it one of the masterpieces of Hispano-Moorish art. We also visited the El Badi Palace, which dates back to the 16th century, and the Kasbah, which is basically the old fortress.

And then there are all the quirky places, things and people, which seem to pop up in the most unexpected places. We particularly liked the snake charmers in the main square, the “camel” in the internet cafe and the man we saw taking a nap in the unlikeliest of places. A good laugh, a great photo opportunity, or both!

With each new place comes a new experience, or learning curve, but again, it was time to “jump” on to the next place.

Next: Relaxing on Morocco’s coast.

(Photos: 1.- Fez as seen from up high. Of course we walked there to get the view! 2.- Entering the Fez medina through the main gate. 3.- The tanneries of Fez – look interesting, smell revolting! 4.- The heartbeat of the medina, Fez. 5. Local, hand-made, edible delicacies. 6.- At home with Neftsaha, Fez. 7.- Azrou at sunset. 8.- Cascades d´Ouzoud. 9.- Riad Kaiss, Marrakech. 10.- Marrakech’s central square by night, Djemaa el Fna. 11.- Cloth seller, Marrakech medina. 11,12,13.- (L to R): Snake charmer, afternoon nap, using the camel express….ooops, I mean internet. 14.- Time to jump to the next destination.)

No sooner had we set food on terra firma than we noticed that there were cafes everywhere, predominantly patronised by men I might add. No sandwiches or snacks, just lots of good coffee and Moroccan whisky, with an obscene amount of sugar. Sugar in whiskey, I hear you ask? Well, Moroccan whiskey is the term used for the ubiquitous mint tea here. As it is a Muslim country and, in theory at least, alcohol is not served, this is conjunction with the proliferation and abundance of mint, has given this country its famed and of drunk beverage. Not a bad “drop” I might add, although with the shameless amount of sugar that goes into each glass, one soon reaches saturation point…..pun, very intended!

Tangier was not really what I had expected. As soon as we stepped off the boat and into the port, I realised that it was much more modern and cosmopolitan than I had envisaged. I suppose with Egypt still very fresh in my mind, I was expecting something much more conservative. I probably had not accounted for Morocco’s proximity to Europe, both culturally and geographically. Here we saw many local women who were not totally covered up, including their heads, and even the men were generally less covered than in Egypt. I am not going to lie, there was indeed a moment of euphoria, as I realised that I would not be destined to three weeks of searing heat wearing long pants. Yes!!!!!!!! I do like to be a conscientious traveller, and respect local customs, but after what I had briefly seen, I was already dreaming of finding a place to stay, so that I could strip off and put some shorts on!

We ended up in a cheap, small but very clean place, close to the shore called Hotel L’Ile Verte. I highly recommend it. The staff, especially Said, were super friendly. If you happen to go, say hi from Alex and I. Of course, the obligatory thing to do in ANY Moroccan town or city is to get lost in its medina…..they all have one! A medina is literally a “city”, but it is a word now used for the original Arab part of any Moroccan town. It is usually encircled by a high and old wall, and the buildings within are tall and narrow, and the roads between them are more like alleyways, as they snake around in any which way. Usually no cars in a medina, as the cars are wider than the roads. Most medinas are a labyrinth, that only Moroccans seem to be able to navigate. We foreigners have two choices, to stick to the 2 or 3 main alleys and not get lost (90 percent), or just go with the flow, get lost, and end up…………wherever (10 percent)……….destination Ombi and Alex!

One day, we bought some bread, olive, cheese and other bits and pieces, and decided to sit on the beachfront promenade and watch the world go by, as we ate our picnic lunch. We were really feeling good, life has indeed been great to us. We were soon approached by a young girl, who was perhaps 12 years old or so, wanting to sell us a rose. In my mix of both broken French and Arabic, I tried to explain to her that I did not need a rose and that I had nowhere to put it. At this point I should mention that due to the past French colonisation of the country, many Moroccans also speak French. Whilst she realised that I neither wanted nor needed a rose, I too understood that the rose was merely a means to an end. I looked into her soulful eyes, and asked her if she was hungry. She placed her beautiful henna-tattooed hands (here the custom amongst women is to paint designs on their hands and feet; henna is the natural reddish dye which comes from a plant, and therefore is temporary and not permanent) on her lap, and bowed her covered head, whilst nodding slightly. She was hungry! If somebody had have smacked me over the head with a crowbar, it would have had less effect! With my heart in my stomach and a knot in my throat, I quickly prepared her an olive, cheese and tomato sandwich, and handed it over. We watched as she ate it, ever so slowly, relishing each bite as if it was her last. Every time she looked up at us, her eyes expressed what her mouth would never have been able to tell us in a million years, and I had to focus and concentrate so that I would not break down and cry. When she had finished, I asked if she wanted another. The reply was no! She had had enough, and that was that. She thanked us several times, and took my hands into hers. I will never forget those big brown eyes as she said goodbye and walked away. She thought we had given her so much! We had in reality given her so very little! When I could no longer physically see her eyes, I looked out into the huge expanse of water in front and cried brazenly, as I am doing now as I recall and type this. I can only repeat the million dollar question, Why do some people have so much, when others have so little?

Whilst in Tangier, we also met a Spanish couple, who had come across by car, and they invited us to go and watch the sunset with them one night. The areas, both east and west of the city, sit up higher than the city and offer staggering views……yep, just like in the movies. We also visited a cave called the Grotto of Hercules, and the most impressive aspect was the shape of the hole in the rock overlooking the sea……Africa……….tingles ran up and down our spine.

Does the word Rif sound vaguely familiar to any of you? This is what my friend Greg O’Hern (also travelling the world, and having been here recently) said about it in his write up of the place:

“Reefer – that’s got the attention of a few of you I’m sure! The word “reefer” actually comes from Morocco. In the Northern part of the country are the Kif mountains, an area renowned for its marijuana cultivation. In these parts its called “Rif”, and quite often comes in the form of hashish, the compressed and compacted form of Mary-J. Over the years the hippies that have come and gone from the area in search of good dope started referring to it as “reef” and from there to “reefer”. It’s the Rif in the Kif.