I'm heading off overseas very shortly and I've created a new blog to document the trip.
It can be found at http://blog.markandrewbryant.com
Mark :)
Monday, June 18, 2012
Monday, October 27, 2008
Goodbye England
After arriving from Marrakesh, we spent a night in London at a friend's house, before heading back up to Cropredy to stay and, much to the eye-rolling of everyone working back home, recover. Travelling is hard work, haha.
We stayed with more of Sarah's family in Manchester, which was a nice change of scenery. Manchester was cool - literally and metaphorically, and had awesome clothes shops. We also went to Old Trafford, and checked out the cricket ground, as well as Manchester United FC. Later on in the day, prior to picking up a pastry lunch from ASDA, we headed to the site of a few 2002 Commonwealth Games stadiums, and Manchester City FC.
After catching a train back to Banbury, and then heading onto Cropredy, we spent another couple of days here, which included a spectacular Sunday Roast, and an especially chilly (freezing.. to me, at least), walk around the village. The weather here is as cold as it gets in the middle of winter - in Australia, and much to everyones amusement, I have been wrapped up several layers of clothing and/or shivering myself into oblivion.
We've since been back to Tamworth, and got to go inside Villa Park, home of Aston Villa FC - the club that every member of Sarah's family supports. We also went to the training ground, and unfortunately for Sarah, missed a majority of the players leaving. I managed to get an autograph for a friend back home, though.
By the time many people read this, I will be either on a plane, or on the way to the aiport, ready to depart back to Perth. I'm not really looking forward to the flight this time. Although, it will be nice to arrive in a familiar country, and see people I know, rather than arriving into a hazy, early morning London.
And so, comes the end of this blog, for the time being at least. I'm hopeful of travelling a little bit in the coming year, so I'm sure I'll get this back up and running eventually. I might make another post of photos that I didn't upload the first time, but if I don't, I guess this is the end for now, and I'll see you all back home.
Mark
We stayed with more of Sarah's family in Manchester, which was a nice change of scenery. Manchester was cool - literally and metaphorically, and had awesome clothes shops. We also went to Old Trafford, and checked out the cricket ground, as well as Manchester United FC. Later on in the day, prior to picking up a pastry lunch from ASDA, we headed to the site of a few 2002 Commonwealth Games stadiums, and Manchester City FC.
After catching a train back to Banbury, and then heading onto Cropredy, we spent another couple of days here, which included a spectacular Sunday Roast, and an especially chilly (freezing.. to me, at least), walk around the village. The weather here is as cold as it gets in the middle of winter - in Australia, and much to everyones amusement, I have been wrapped up several layers of clothing and/or shivering myself into oblivion.
We've since been back to Tamworth, and got to go inside Villa Park, home of Aston Villa FC - the club that every member of Sarah's family supports. We also went to the training ground, and unfortunately for Sarah, missed a majority of the players leaving. I managed to get an autograph for a friend back home, though.
By the time many people read this, I will be either on a plane, or on the way to the aiport, ready to depart back to Perth. I'm not really looking forward to the flight this time. Although, it will be nice to arrive in a familiar country, and see people I know, rather than arriving into a hazy, early morning London.
And so, comes the end of this blog, for the time being at least. I'm hopeful of travelling a little bit in the coming year, so I'm sure I'll get this back up and running eventually. I might make another post of photos that I didn't upload the first time, but if I don't, I guess this is the end for now, and I'll see you all back home.
Mark
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Quick update.
I've seen a bit of England the last few weeks, namely Manchester. We're staying with Sarah's family again, which is really good, as her Aunty is an awesome cook.
We had planned to be back earlier this week, but couldn't get a flight until next week.
I'll post up some pictures from Manchester and stuff in the next couple of days hopefully.
Cya.
We had planned to be back earlier this week, but couldn't get a flight until next week.
I'll post up some pictures from Manchester and stuff in the next couple of days hopefully.
Cya.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Morocco!
In the true spirit of saving the best to last, Morocco was very, very cool. This trip as a whole has been a bit of eye opener, but after arriving in Morocco my eyes were so widely pried open it may be some sort of record. In less than an hour, I saw part of the world that is so different and so crazy, it was a level of amazement I did not expect when I left Perth in June. It's clear this isn't Europe anymore and, to quote a great film- 'T.I.A. This is Africa.'
After arriving in the airport, which was no different to any other, sans the Arabic signs around the place, we headed outside to catch a taxi. They have two types of taxi's in Marrakesh, 'Grand Taxi's', which are essentially 20 year old Mercedes, and 'Petit' Taxis which are at least 25 years old, and resemble something that would have been a first car... for my parents. The kind of car that you get $50 for in parts, if you're lucky.
Anyway, we opt for the latter of the two taxi's as there is only two of us, and as soon as we glance in the direction of said taxi's the drivers one by one approach, and act like our new best friends. They are all the most incredibly untrustworthy looking men you can imagine. We are told how they will give us a special price of 150 Dirhams ($22 AUD), but, after reading up a bit about Morocco on the internet, we knew that we should not pay more than 60 ($9 AUD). We stick to our price, as we know it is the standard, reasonable price. The taxi drivers walk away, as if they are disgusted by our offer. In reply, we also walk away. It turns into a bit of a game.
The taxi drivers look at us and speak Arabic to each other, as if they are working together to try and milk as much money out of us as they can. Offers of 120 Dirhams and 80 Dirhams are thrown at us, but we hold steady, getting a sense of enjoyment out of the constant battle.
Two taxi drivers look at us, and converse once more in Arabic. I hear 'sixty', and see a shake of the head from one of the men. We are told that because it is night time (7pm), there is an extra tarriff. The taxi driver walks us to a sign, to point this out. It clearly states, there is a 50% night tarriff. He's right.
It also clearly states, however, that the night time tarriff doesn't start until 8pm, which we point out to him. His resolve is weakening. It's halfway through round 2 and the ref is asking for a ten count. Aaaaaannd he's done. He gives in to our price, and we are on our way.
The interior of the car is as shabby as the outside. First of all, there are no seatbelts. The dashboard is pure darkness, and there is an Arabic charm of some sort hanging from the rear vision mirror. He departs from the airport in a seemingly dishevelled manner – probably with somewhat of a bitter taste in his mouth. I get the sense that he will be ribbed by his fellow taxi drivers for not being able to get a higher fare out of us. I watch him, and it almost looks as if he is hiding from the views of other taxi drivers, not wanting to be known as the guy that cheapened himself enough to take the Australian pair, who were unwillinging to budge on the price.
Within 200 metres of the airport exit, we are cut off by a bus. Unphased, the taxi driver brakes calmly, and pulls in behind it. The roads have no real lines, but there are two distinct lanes. The main lane, with buses, and cars, and the smaller lane adjacent, reminiscent of a break-down lane. This lane is full of everything that can fit there, mainly motorbikes that seem to always have no less than two people on them - helmetless, of course. Due to the 'petite' size of our taxi, we are also able fit in this exclusive lane. It speeds up our journey a little.
We head down seemingly countless alleyways, full of motorbikes swerving in out of the 'lanes', passing the odd horse and cart along the way. The whole place is buzzing, and there are people, stalls and music everywhere. The taxi driver comes to a stop. He speaks to some men with carts, one of whom ambles over to the taxi, and goes to take our bags out of the back. A bit of research goes a long way, and I'm well aware that seemingly nice gestures come at a price, an overinflated one for tourists. So, much to the mans surprise it seems, we decline his offer of help and make our way down this road, nay, dirt lane that the taxi driver directs us down. He assures us with a smile that it's the right direction, and speaks some more Arabic as he leaves. We start to think that being so stubborn earlier might now be to our detriment, as we fear he has taken us to the middle of nowhere as some sort of evil revenge.
The trip down the alleyway is crazy. With the knowledge that anyone that offers you help or directions expects payment in return, we battle on alone, walking past beggars, old men pushing carts, older women in traditional outfits, shoeless children kicking soccer balls around on the dirt, and young men peddling their wares. The lane is alive with music and chatter, and well lit yet full of shadows and dark corners. We spot an older couple who look like tourists, and lucky for us, they're English. Unfortunately, they have no idea where our hotel is, but advise us we're in the right direction to the town square, Djemaa el Fna, that our hostel is near. I should mention at this point that the directions to all the hotels in Marrakesh are very limited. All the maps available on the internet are very, very limited, and only cover some of the major roads - not dirt alleyways. Google Maps, the best of the best online map sites failed me completely. Essentially, we had a street, to which the taxi driver assured us he had taken us to, and a Hotel name and the selling point that it was only two minutes from Djemaa el Fna, That taxi driver, though... thinking about his smile made me more uneasy than comfortable.
With the newfound knowledge that we were at least heading in the right direction, we had a newfound confidence and were determined to get to the hotel. I'd read that if you ask for directions, to try and ask older people, or women, as they are the least likely to try and scam you.
Whilst walking, I would continuously scan people up and down, and consider that if, worst case scenario, they would be willing and able to give us directions. No real candidates. Motorbikes continuously zoom past us, and we can hear the noise bellowing from the main square in the near distance.
We eventually find a pharmacy, and this proves to be our savior. I assume someone who trains in pharmacy is one of the more likely people to speak English. Wrong. She speaks French, however, though this is of little help to us. We mention our hostel name, and she points in a direction, and raises her finger in a 'you're out', cricket manner. I guess that means it's only one minute away. Or she's a bit of a sports fan.
So, it turns out the helpful pharmacist is unlikely to know any non sea dwelling variety of Flipper, as I luckily catch a glance of a sign that points to our hostel, only a minute or so down this alley. It points further around a darkened alley, and after the directions from someone entering their home a couple of buildings down, we are told it's the first one around the corner. And it is.
We finally enter, and a friendly, English speaking Moroccan greets us. The hotel, which is more of a town house, is an amazing Moroccan home, and features a rooftop terrace. The centre of the three storey house is somewhat of a courtyard, with no roof, completely open to the skies above. Somewhat of an atrium type design, I guess you could say. The rooms are also really nice, large rooms with an ensuite, and is costing us about the same as a bed in a dormitory in London. Relaxed and comfortable, we headed to bed, with a huge day of exploring ahead of us.
Part of the alleyway we had to walk down, the previous night.
Moroccan Alley
We awoke at a reasonable time, which was helped by the two hour time difference between Spain and Morocco, and were greeted with a breakfast downstairs. A selection of bread, jams and cream, along with freshly squeezed orange juice, and coffee was out our disposal.
It was in daylight that we could finally grasp an understanding of our surroundings, as we looked out from the rooftop, being able to see the state in which many people here live in. The house we're in is amazing. It's nothing to look at from the outside, but the inside is incredibly nice.
Inside the hotel
View from the roof of our hotel
After breakfast we headed out into the sensory overload that is Morocco. Photographing people here comes with great risk. Many entertainers make their living from pestering and badgering people watching them until they hand over money, and they're incredibly forceful and blunt about it, and harrass and follow people who do not pay up. Muslim women also don't like to be photographed. And then, of course, there is the people going about their day to day lives who are probably also sick and tired of people taking photos of them. So, with that in mind, my camera stayed in my pocket more than I would have liked.
As we left the small alleyway in which our hotel is located, we walked into what is best described as the opening scenes of the movie Aladdin. In fact, Morocco in general is very reminiscent of that environment. Men and children zoom past on scooters, and everything that can be hung from the roof is. The locals play this little game in which they try and guess where you're from, and work their way through all the possible greetings. 'Hola' – most likely because of Sarah's dark hair and skin has generally been followed by 'Bonjour' and finally 'Hello! How are you!'... by which point we have walked well past them.
We make our way out onto Djemaa el Fna, the main square, and start to walk through the crowds. A women approaches us, and thrusts a book in our faces, full of pictures of henna tattoos. We decline the offer, and keep walking. We pass a group of men snake charming. One motions me over, inviting me to get closer to his reptilian friends, but I decide not to take him up on the offer. If you take a photo of these men, and choose not to pay up (generally in the vicinity of 10 Dirham - $2 AUD – but they sometimes demand ten times that), they will put a snake around your neck, and threaten to not remove it until you pay.
Snake charmers in the square
We then head through the square, and get on a bus to take us around the city. In the light of day, the chaos that is Morroccan roads is in full view. The only rule seems to be that you give way to anything that is bigger than you. Men with donkeys and carts, mopeds, bicycles, cars, taxis, buses and pedestrians alike all cross in every direction, seemlessly without any sense of organisation, yet meticulously precise and well executed. In the several following hours, we didn't see anything that came close to a crash.
Streets of Marrakesh
We see a fair few mosques and temples, some nice hotels and a park or two. We also go past (and later go back to), a Moroccan McDonalds. We go through a Palm forest, and plenty of camels. We go past the location of the previous night's taxi drop off, amongst many other places throughout the new and old town. We end up back at the square, which has picked up in activity since earlier on in the day.
The side streets of the square are hundreds of tiny alleyways of markets – with an array of smells, colours and sounds. Food – spices, hot food, vegetables, nuts, everything is available. Fabrics, including the most extravagant and elaborate collection of rugs one could ever imagine, are spread out throughout the place.
Souqs (Markets)
A couple of men sit in a corner, playing a game reminiscent of checkers. I watch them for a while, then turn to find a man thrusting a turkey in my face. I decide it's my time to move on, and walk further throughout the maze of alleyways and lanes, occassionally moving aside for the motorbikes who yell and beep, instructing people to get out of their way. Outside are piles and piles of dates, dried apricots and other sorts of fruit and vegetables, all covered in flies, which is of no concern to the people selling them.
Through good luck more than good management, we end up back at the centre of the square, and pick up a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, which is only 3 Dirham ($0.50 AUD), for a huge glass. So refreshing and satisfying. A look at a heap of the nearby shops offerring an assortment of counterfeit clothes, dvds etc, and we go back to the hotel for a bit before heading back out in the evening.
Awesome orange juice.
At dusk, Djemaa el Fna really comes alive, and as we enter this time, noise is bellowing from all corners, and the centre of the square is full of an assortment of stalls cooking traditional Moroccan dishes. The smell of sausages, kebabs, stews and spices covers the whole square. It's like the world's best barbeque.
We head up to the top of a nearby cafe that overlooks the whole square. As expected, you need to pay/buy something to get in. A can of coke on the balcony costs me 20 Dirham ($3.50 AUD). The beverage is good, but the views are better, as we get a nice view of the square at dusk, and plenty of hassle-free photo opportunities. The snake charmers are drawing quite a crowd, as are groups of dancing men, and men with monkeys on their shoulders. The monkeys are kept locked up in cages, and lead around on metal chain leashes. We get the best view of all the unaware tourists caught taking photos of all the performers, as they refuse to pay, get harrassed, and for most of the part, give in.
Djemaa el Fna
After watching over the square and being surrounded by such enticing smells, we head back downstairs, and search for dinner for ourselves. At the first place we come to, we are greeted by a charming young Moroccan man, probably about the same age as us. He strikes up a conversation, and assures us that we should eat their food as their will be no cheaper furtherthroughout the square. On finding out we're Australian he bellows out 'Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi Oi Oi!'. We tell him we want to have a look around, and he makes us promise that we'll come back to them to eat. We assure him we will, and unlike many other times in dealing with similar situations, feel as if we really should.
After doing a lap of the square and all the food places, we end up at the entrance, and our new Moroccan charmer's place of food. He motions us over with a cheeky smiles and 'Come, come, this place... it has air conditoning!'.
Dinner, and our waiter in the square
All of the restaurants, stalls – I'm not sure what to call them, are essentially barbeques on trailers, piled high with meats. The trailers are covered with tent like structures, and benches that resemble those that you find in parks are set up around the trailer. Tablecloths are a sheet of plastic, and placemats, a piece of paper. Not the most elegant dining experience, but it need not be, as we are brought out plates of grilled eggplant, large rolls that are commonplace here, a vegetable rissole of sorts and a salsa like dip. This is 'demolished' rather quickly, as we order Moroccan sausages, and a mix of kebabs for our mains. The main course is as good as the starter, and after a few photos, we make our way back to the hotel satisfied with the days exploits.
We awake the following day a bit later, and not so rested due to the 5am wake up call that we, and the rest of Marrakesh, recieved. Every day, at 5am, and four other times during the day, prayers are read out in Arabic and broadcast throughout the city through a variety of loud speakers. This lasts for ten or so minutes, and is enough to wake a person up, and keep them up until it ceases.
Breakfast is once again enjoyable, and we leave the hotel and back into the madness. We head back to some of the shops and souqs (markets) we eyed out yesterday, only this time with an idea of what we wanted to buy. First on the list, is one of the traditional Moroccan hats called a Fez. We whittle him down from over 100 Dirham a Fez, to two for 50.
As I try on my Fez, a man in a store nearby tells me I look like Ali Babar. I tell him I'm after some curly toed shoes and, of course, he tells me he knows a place where I can find them. Keen on the shoes, I follow, and he directs us into the smallest shop known to man – probably no more than one metre across, and about 3 metres deep. I find a style and colour I like, but alas, there are none in my size. No problem, he tells me, and invites me to follow him to another store with a larger selection. And with this begins another walk through an assortment of laneways – left, right, up stairs, past children playing with stray cats, through small archways and so on, until we get into another shoe store a little bit bigger than the previous one.
I am introduced to the owner of this store, and he sits me down, giving me a run down on all the types of footwear he has on offer. Satisfied with the pair I'm after, he puts the shoe on my foot in some sort of action that is reminiscent of Cinderella and yes, it fits. I ask how much he wants for the shoes, and he tells me that for me, the price is 500 Dirham. I'm a bit taken aback – as this is only 100 Dirham less than I paid for 3 nights accomodation. And, I only have 100 Dirham on me. I advise him that my best offer is 100 Dirham – and he acts insulted. They look angered, and I feel somewhat guilty for the man who walked me all this way, only for me to offer them less than a fifth than what they wanted. They reduce their offer to 200. I tell them the truth, that I really, only do have 100 Dirham on me. We get up and leave, and they reduce it to 120 in a 'pay 100 now, 20 later'. Not going to happen, either. As we get out the door, the man calls us back, and the shoes are mine for 100 Dirham. He asks, 'Are you happy? I like people being happy.' Happy to have got my shoes for one fifth of the starting price, I guess.
Back at our hotel, we set about listening to music on the roof terrace. We talk to the hotel manager about food restaurants nearby, and he tells us about a friends restaurant nearby. Another friend of his, Najim, gives us the low down on the restaurant, and advises us if we want to go there, he can take us. At this point in time, we think it's his restaurant. After getting changed, we decide we'll head to this restaurant, and the hotel manager takes us out onto the street, and calls out to his friend – who jumps up off a small seat outside a shoe store, and comes over to us. He introduces himself again, and we set off down the alleyway, towards this restaurant he assures us is very nice. When we mention we're from Australia he excitedly says, 'Oh Kangaroo!'.
We talk about football (soccer), and he talks about how he follows English and Spanish football as well. Barca are his team in the Spanish league, and we converse about Henry, Messi and Ronaldhino. When you get out of Australia you really get an idea about how big soccer really is. We've gone from country to country, continent to continent, and everywhere, football always appears to be a common ground.
As he ushes us to the sides of laneways, to avoid oncoming motorcycles, he pats on the back and acknowledges many of the people working nearby. We pass through a section of live markets, full of live chickens in cages. We eventually get out onto another darkened alleyway, and to a dimly lit restaurant. From the outside, it is a rather bland, building, no more noticeable or grand than any of the surrounding ones. Inside, however, it is amazing and palace like. Our guide departs us, and we thank him as he leaves.
There are people performing live traditional music as we are ushered to our table. We choose to get a set meal that includes cous cous, Moroccan Salad, Chicken with lemon, as well as Moroccan pastries, fresh fruit, and mint tea. All dishes are amazing, and by the end we are so incredibly full, we get a couple of photos and make our way back to the hotel, but decide we'll head back to the square to have a look around.
Live musicians at the rest. I'm removing crumbs from my teeth haha
Just after we pass the turn off for our hotel, I hear my name called out, and turn to see Najim from before, sitting outside the same store he was before. He tells us that the shoe shop behind him is his, and invites us inside. As we enter, he brings in a couple of stools, and tells us to sit down and drink tea with him, to which we're happy to oblige. He sits down with us, and he asks us about our travels, where we're from, and how long we've been in Morrocco.
Najim, Moroccan shoe salesman.
He works from 9am to 11am, but this doesn't bother him. He has a bit of a positive energy about him, and is incredibly friendly and exudes a warmth. His parents live in the desert, 'far away' in Morocco, and he and his brother, as well as another man, work in the shoe store. The walls are covered in shoes, and slippers, many similar to ones I bought earlier in the day. He talks about how he and his brother share different mothers, as their father has several wives – something which is quite normal over here, he tells me.
His brother enters with a kettle of mint tea, and we are introduced. He pours into it a large shot of whisky. After he is sure that the tea is ready, he pours us all a glass, carefully wiping it to make sure none has spilled over. 'Saha!' he says, as he raises his glass. This is the Arabic form of 'Cheers' he explains. 'Saha!' we all say in unison, with an accompanying clinkage of glasses.
The brother also loves football, so we also have something to talk about. He supports Chelsea, and his favourite player is Drogba. Ballack, he is not so keen on. He tells Sarah that her team, Aston Villa, have a Moroccan player for them. We talk about Hecham El Gouraj, the Morroccan runner, and his gold medal runs in Sydney in 2000. As he refills our drinks, he is also inquisitve about our travels, and Australia having Kangaroos.
He tells Sarah she looks Spanish, and looks 'very nice', with a cheeky smile and laugh. He followed this with a 'how much?'. He laughs. I laugh and tell him she's not for sale, and he rebukes with an offer of 'One thousand camels!'. My counter offer of one million camels is accepted, and with a handshake, the deal is done.
After finsihing a couple more glasses of tea, we thank both men for their kindness and hed back to the hotel via the square.. They tell us that if we're ever back in Morrocco than we can go out, in the desert, to see their family, and ride camels with them. Maybe one day we'll take them up on that offer, who knows.
The next morning we awake, to have a great breakfast once more, and get all our stuff out of the room, before heading out for a last look around and shop before we fly back to London. We see Najim, and he is happy for us to get a photo with him. After sampling a cheap orange juice once more - we are on our way to the aiport. For 50 Dirham.
After arriving in the airport, which was no different to any other, sans the Arabic signs around the place, we headed outside to catch a taxi. They have two types of taxi's in Marrakesh, 'Grand Taxi's', which are essentially 20 year old Mercedes, and 'Petit' Taxis which are at least 25 years old, and resemble something that would have been a first car... for my parents. The kind of car that you get $50 for in parts, if you're lucky.
Anyway, we opt for the latter of the two taxi's as there is only two of us, and as soon as we glance in the direction of said taxi's the drivers one by one approach, and act like our new best friends. They are all the most incredibly untrustworthy looking men you can imagine. We are told how they will give us a special price of 150 Dirhams ($22 AUD), but, after reading up a bit about Morocco on the internet, we knew that we should not pay more than 60 ($9 AUD). We stick to our price, as we know it is the standard, reasonable price. The taxi drivers walk away, as if they are disgusted by our offer. In reply, we also walk away. It turns into a bit of a game.
The taxi drivers look at us and speak Arabic to each other, as if they are working together to try and milk as much money out of us as they can. Offers of 120 Dirhams and 80 Dirhams are thrown at us, but we hold steady, getting a sense of enjoyment out of the constant battle.
Two taxi drivers look at us, and converse once more in Arabic. I hear 'sixty', and see a shake of the head from one of the men. We are told that because it is night time (7pm), there is an extra tarriff. The taxi driver walks us to a sign, to point this out. It clearly states, there is a 50% night tarriff. He's right.
It also clearly states, however, that the night time tarriff doesn't start until 8pm, which we point out to him. His resolve is weakening. It's halfway through round 2 and the ref is asking for a ten count. Aaaaaannd he's done. He gives in to our price, and we are on our way.
The interior of the car is as shabby as the outside. First of all, there are no seatbelts. The dashboard is pure darkness, and there is an Arabic charm of some sort hanging from the rear vision mirror. He departs from the airport in a seemingly dishevelled manner – probably with somewhat of a bitter taste in his mouth. I get the sense that he will be ribbed by his fellow taxi drivers for not being able to get a higher fare out of us. I watch him, and it almost looks as if he is hiding from the views of other taxi drivers, not wanting to be known as the guy that cheapened himself enough to take the Australian pair, who were unwillinging to budge on the price.
Within 200 metres of the airport exit, we are cut off by a bus. Unphased, the taxi driver brakes calmly, and pulls in behind it. The roads have no real lines, but there are two distinct lanes. The main lane, with buses, and cars, and the smaller lane adjacent, reminiscent of a break-down lane. This lane is full of everything that can fit there, mainly motorbikes that seem to always have no less than two people on them - helmetless, of course. Due to the 'petite' size of our taxi, we are also able fit in this exclusive lane. It speeds up our journey a little.
We head down seemingly countless alleyways, full of motorbikes swerving in out of the 'lanes', passing the odd horse and cart along the way. The whole place is buzzing, and there are people, stalls and music everywhere. The taxi driver comes to a stop. He speaks to some men with carts, one of whom ambles over to the taxi, and goes to take our bags out of the back. A bit of research goes a long way, and I'm well aware that seemingly nice gestures come at a price, an overinflated one for tourists. So, much to the mans surprise it seems, we decline his offer of help and make our way down this road, nay, dirt lane that the taxi driver directs us down. He assures us with a smile that it's the right direction, and speaks some more Arabic as he leaves. We start to think that being so stubborn earlier might now be to our detriment, as we fear he has taken us to the middle of nowhere as some sort of evil revenge.
The trip down the alleyway is crazy. With the knowledge that anyone that offers you help or directions expects payment in return, we battle on alone, walking past beggars, old men pushing carts, older women in traditional outfits, shoeless children kicking soccer balls around on the dirt, and young men peddling their wares. The lane is alive with music and chatter, and well lit yet full of shadows and dark corners. We spot an older couple who look like tourists, and lucky for us, they're English. Unfortunately, they have no idea where our hotel is, but advise us we're in the right direction to the town square, Djemaa el Fna, that our hostel is near. I should mention at this point that the directions to all the hotels in Marrakesh are very limited. All the maps available on the internet are very, very limited, and only cover some of the major roads - not dirt alleyways. Google Maps, the best of the best online map sites failed me completely. Essentially, we had a street, to which the taxi driver assured us he had taken us to, and a Hotel name and the selling point that it was only two minutes from Djemaa el Fna, That taxi driver, though... thinking about his smile made me more uneasy than comfortable.
With the newfound knowledge that we were at least heading in the right direction, we had a newfound confidence and were determined to get to the hotel. I'd read that if you ask for directions, to try and ask older people, or women, as they are the least likely to try and scam you.
Whilst walking, I would continuously scan people up and down, and consider that if, worst case scenario, they would be willing and able to give us directions. No real candidates. Motorbikes continuously zoom past us, and we can hear the noise bellowing from the main square in the near distance.
We eventually find a pharmacy, and this proves to be our savior. I assume someone who trains in pharmacy is one of the more likely people to speak English. Wrong. She speaks French, however, though this is of little help to us. We mention our hostel name, and she points in a direction, and raises her finger in a 'you're out', cricket manner. I guess that means it's only one minute away. Or she's a bit of a sports fan.
So, it turns out the helpful pharmacist is unlikely to know any non sea dwelling variety of Flipper, as I luckily catch a glance of a sign that points to our hostel, only a minute or so down this alley. It points further around a darkened alley, and after the directions from someone entering their home a couple of buildings down, we are told it's the first one around the corner. And it is.
We finally enter, and a friendly, English speaking Moroccan greets us. The hotel, which is more of a town house, is an amazing Moroccan home, and features a rooftop terrace. The centre of the three storey house is somewhat of a courtyard, with no roof, completely open to the skies above. Somewhat of an atrium type design, I guess you could say. The rooms are also really nice, large rooms with an ensuite, and is costing us about the same as a bed in a dormitory in London. Relaxed and comfortable, we headed to bed, with a huge day of exploring ahead of us.
Part of the alleyway we had to walk down, the previous night.
Moroccan Alley
We awoke at a reasonable time, which was helped by the two hour time difference between Spain and Morocco, and were greeted with a breakfast downstairs. A selection of bread, jams and cream, along with freshly squeezed orange juice, and coffee was out our disposal.
It was in daylight that we could finally grasp an understanding of our surroundings, as we looked out from the rooftop, being able to see the state in which many people here live in. The house we're in is amazing. It's nothing to look at from the outside, but the inside is incredibly nice.
Inside the hotel
View from the roof of our hotel
After breakfast we headed out into the sensory overload that is Morocco. Photographing people here comes with great risk. Many entertainers make their living from pestering and badgering people watching them until they hand over money, and they're incredibly forceful and blunt about it, and harrass and follow people who do not pay up. Muslim women also don't like to be photographed. And then, of course, there is the people going about their day to day lives who are probably also sick and tired of people taking photos of them. So, with that in mind, my camera stayed in my pocket more than I would have liked.
As we left the small alleyway in which our hotel is located, we walked into what is best described as the opening scenes of the movie Aladdin. In fact, Morocco in general is very reminiscent of that environment. Men and children zoom past on scooters, and everything that can be hung from the roof is. The locals play this little game in which they try and guess where you're from, and work their way through all the possible greetings. 'Hola' – most likely because of Sarah's dark hair and skin has generally been followed by 'Bonjour' and finally 'Hello! How are you!'... by which point we have walked well past them.
We make our way out onto Djemaa el Fna, the main square, and start to walk through the crowds. A women approaches us, and thrusts a book in our faces, full of pictures of henna tattoos. We decline the offer, and keep walking. We pass a group of men snake charming. One motions me over, inviting me to get closer to his reptilian friends, but I decide not to take him up on the offer. If you take a photo of these men, and choose not to pay up (generally in the vicinity of 10 Dirham - $2 AUD – but they sometimes demand ten times that), they will put a snake around your neck, and threaten to not remove it until you pay.
Snake charmers in the square
We then head through the square, and get on a bus to take us around the city. In the light of day, the chaos that is Morroccan roads is in full view. The only rule seems to be that you give way to anything that is bigger than you. Men with donkeys and carts, mopeds, bicycles, cars, taxis, buses and pedestrians alike all cross in every direction, seemlessly without any sense of organisation, yet meticulously precise and well executed. In the several following hours, we didn't see anything that came close to a crash.
Streets of Marrakesh
We see a fair few mosques and temples, some nice hotels and a park or two. We also go past (and later go back to), a Moroccan McDonalds. We go through a Palm forest, and plenty of camels. We go past the location of the previous night's taxi drop off, amongst many other places throughout the new and old town. We end up back at the square, which has picked up in activity since earlier on in the day.
The side streets of the square are hundreds of tiny alleyways of markets – with an array of smells, colours and sounds. Food – spices, hot food, vegetables, nuts, everything is available. Fabrics, including the most extravagant and elaborate collection of rugs one could ever imagine, are spread out throughout the place.
Souqs (Markets)
A couple of men sit in a corner, playing a game reminiscent of checkers. I watch them for a while, then turn to find a man thrusting a turkey in my face. I decide it's my time to move on, and walk further throughout the maze of alleyways and lanes, occassionally moving aside for the motorbikes who yell and beep, instructing people to get out of their way. Outside are piles and piles of dates, dried apricots and other sorts of fruit and vegetables, all covered in flies, which is of no concern to the people selling them.
Through good luck more than good management, we end up back at the centre of the square, and pick up a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, which is only 3 Dirham ($0.50 AUD), for a huge glass. So refreshing and satisfying. A look at a heap of the nearby shops offerring an assortment of counterfeit clothes, dvds etc, and we go back to the hotel for a bit before heading back out in the evening.
Awesome orange juice.
At dusk, Djemaa el Fna really comes alive, and as we enter this time, noise is bellowing from all corners, and the centre of the square is full of an assortment of stalls cooking traditional Moroccan dishes. The smell of sausages, kebabs, stews and spices covers the whole square. It's like the world's best barbeque.
We head up to the top of a nearby cafe that overlooks the whole square. As expected, you need to pay/buy something to get in. A can of coke on the balcony costs me 20 Dirham ($3.50 AUD). The beverage is good, but the views are better, as we get a nice view of the square at dusk, and plenty of hassle-free photo opportunities. The snake charmers are drawing quite a crowd, as are groups of dancing men, and men with monkeys on their shoulders. The monkeys are kept locked up in cages, and lead around on metal chain leashes. We get the best view of all the unaware tourists caught taking photos of all the performers, as they refuse to pay, get harrassed, and for most of the part, give in.
Djemaa el Fna
After watching over the square and being surrounded by such enticing smells, we head back downstairs, and search for dinner for ourselves. At the first place we come to, we are greeted by a charming young Moroccan man, probably about the same age as us. He strikes up a conversation, and assures us that we should eat their food as their will be no cheaper furtherthroughout the square. On finding out we're Australian he bellows out 'Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi Oi Oi!'. We tell him we want to have a look around, and he makes us promise that we'll come back to them to eat. We assure him we will, and unlike many other times in dealing with similar situations, feel as if we really should.
After doing a lap of the square and all the food places, we end up at the entrance, and our new Moroccan charmer's place of food. He motions us over with a cheeky smiles and 'Come, come, this place... it has air conditoning!'.
Dinner, and our waiter in the square
All of the restaurants, stalls – I'm not sure what to call them, are essentially barbeques on trailers, piled high with meats. The trailers are covered with tent like structures, and benches that resemble those that you find in parks are set up around the trailer. Tablecloths are a sheet of plastic, and placemats, a piece of paper. Not the most elegant dining experience, but it need not be, as we are brought out plates of grilled eggplant, large rolls that are commonplace here, a vegetable rissole of sorts and a salsa like dip. This is 'demolished' rather quickly, as we order Moroccan sausages, and a mix of kebabs for our mains. The main course is as good as the starter, and after a few photos, we make our way back to the hotel satisfied with the days exploits.
We awake the following day a bit later, and not so rested due to the 5am wake up call that we, and the rest of Marrakesh, recieved. Every day, at 5am, and four other times during the day, prayers are read out in Arabic and broadcast throughout the city through a variety of loud speakers. This lasts for ten or so minutes, and is enough to wake a person up, and keep them up until it ceases.
Breakfast is once again enjoyable, and we leave the hotel and back into the madness. We head back to some of the shops and souqs (markets) we eyed out yesterday, only this time with an idea of what we wanted to buy. First on the list, is one of the traditional Moroccan hats called a Fez. We whittle him down from over 100 Dirham a Fez, to two for 50.
As I try on my Fez, a man in a store nearby tells me I look like Ali Babar. I tell him I'm after some curly toed shoes and, of course, he tells me he knows a place where I can find them. Keen on the shoes, I follow, and he directs us into the smallest shop known to man – probably no more than one metre across, and about 3 metres deep. I find a style and colour I like, but alas, there are none in my size. No problem, he tells me, and invites me to follow him to another store with a larger selection. And with this begins another walk through an assortment of laneways – left, right, up stairs, past children playing with stray cats, through small archways and so on, until we get into another shoe store a little bit bigger than the previous one.
I am introduced to the owner of this store, and he sits me down, giving me a run down on all the types of footwear he has on offer. Satisfied with the pair I'm after, he puts the shoe on my foot in some sort of action that is reminiscent of Cinderella and yes, it fits. I ask how much he wants for the shoes, and he tells me that for me, the price is 500 Dirham. I'm a bit taken aback – as this is only 100 Dirham less than I paid for 3 nights accomodation. And, I only have 100 Dirham on me. I advise him that my best offer is 100 Dirham – and he acts insulted. They look angered, and I feel somewhat guilty for the man who walked me all this way, only for me to offer them less than a fifth than what they wanted. They reduce their offer to 200. I tell them the truth, that I really, only do have 100 Dirham on me. We get up and leave, and they reduce it to 120 in a 'pay 100 now, 20 later'. Not going to happen, either. As we get out the door, the man calls us back, and the shoes are mine for 100 Dirham. He asks, 'Are you happy? I like people being happy.' Happy to have got my shoes for one fifth of the starting price, I guess.
Back at our hotel, we set about listening to music on the roof terrace. We talk to the hotel manager about food restaurants nearby, and he tells us about a friends restaurant nearby. Another friend of his, Najim, gives us the low down on the restaurant, and advises us if we want to go there, he can take us. At this point in time, we think it's his restaurant. After getting changed, we decide we'll head to this restaurant, and the hotel manager takes us out onto the street, and calls out to his friend – who jumps up off a small seat outside a shoe store, and comes over to us. He introduces himself again, and we set off down the alleyway, towards this restaurant he assures us is very nice. When we mention we're from Australia he excitedly says, 'Oh Kangaroo!'.
We talk about football (soccer), and he talks about how he follows English and Spanish football as well. Barca are his team in the Spanish league, and we converse about Henry, Messi and Ronaldhino. When you get out of Australia you really get an idea about how big soccer really is. We've gone from country to country, continent to continent, and everywhere, football always appears to be a common ground.
As he ushes us to the sides of laneways, to avoid oncoming motorcycles, he pats on the back and acknowledges many of the people working nearby. We pass through a section of live markets, full of live chickens in cages. We eventually get out onto another darkened alleyway, and to a dimly lit restaurant. From the outside, it is a rather bland, building, no more noticeable or grand than any of the surrounding ones. Inside, however, it is amazing and palace like. Our guide departs us, and we thank him as he leaves.
There are people performing live traditional music as we are ushered to our table. We choose to get a set meal that includes cous cous, Moroccan Salad, Chicken with lemon, as well as Moroccan pastries, fresh fruit, and mint tea. All dishes are amazing, and by the end we are so incredibly full, we get a couple of photos and make our way back to the hotel, but decide we'll head back to the square to have a look around.
Live musicians at the rest. I'm removing crumbs from my teeth haha
Just after we pass the turn off for our hotel, I hear my name called out, and turn to see Najim from before, sitting outside the same store he was before. He tells us that the shoe shop behind him is his, and invites us inside. As we enter, he brings in a couple of stools, and tells us to sit down and drink tea with him, to which we're happy to oblige. He sits down with us, and he asks us about our travels, where we're from, and how long we've been in Morrocco.
Najim, Moroccan shoe salesman.
He works from 9am to 11am, but this doesn't bother him. He has a bit of a positive energy about him, and is incredibly friendly and exudes a warmth. His parents live in the desert, 'far away' in Morocco, and he and his brother, as well as another man, work in the shoe store. The walls are covered in shoes, and slippers, many similar to ones I bought earlier in the day. He talks about how he and his brother share different mothers, as their father has several wives – something which is quite normal over here, he tells me.
His brother enters with a kettle of mint tea, and we are introduced. He pours into it a large shot of whisky. After he is sure that the tea is ready, he pours us all a glass, carefully wiping it to make sure none has spilled over. 'Saha!' he says, as he raises his glass. This is the Arabic form of 'Cheers' he explains. 'Saha!' we all say in unison, with an accompanying clinkage of glasses.
The brother also loves football, so we also have something to talk about. He supports Chelsea, and his favourite player is Drogba. Ballack, he is not so keen on. He tells Sarah that her team, Aston Villa, have a Moroccan player for them. We talk about Hecham El Gouraj, the Morroccan runner, and his gold medal runs in Sydney in 2000. As he refills our drinks, he is also inquisitve about our travels, and Australia having Kangaroos.
He tells Sarah she looks Spanish, and looks 'very nice', with a cheeky smile and laugh. He followed this with a 'how much?'. He laughs. I laugh and tell him she's not for sale, and he rebukes with an offer of 'One thousand camels!'. My counter offer of one million camels is accepted, and with a handshake, the deal is done.
After finsihing a couple more glasses of tea, we thank both men for their kindness and hed back to the hotel via the square.. They tell us that if we're ever back in Morrocco than we can go out, in the desert, to see their family, and ride camels with them. Maybe one day we'll take them up on that offer, who knows.
The next morning we awake, to have a great breakfast once more, and get all our stuff out of the room, before heading out for a last look around and shop before we fly back to London. We see Najim, and he is happy for us to get a photo with him. After sampling a cheap orange juice once more - we are on our way to the aiport. For 50 Dirham.
Spain continued... Madrid & Toledo
We awoke early on Monday from our incredibly nice room, and left in the chilly San Sebastian morning towards the train station. It was suprisingly cold – cold enough that it looks like you're smoking when you breathe out. A quick reach into the backpack at the train station for a jumper, and all is fixed.
The five hour train journey to Madrid is a mixture of many things, including annoying fifteen minute sleeps, and never being able to find a comfortable position. I also discovered a new favourite Spanish Food in bocadillo tortillas. It's basically a Spanish Omellette, full of potato and onion, in a crispy baguette. Amazing. Spanish cuisine hasn't been as good as I had hoped, although a vegetable paella we had in Barcelona was nice. Spanish drinks on the other hand have been very good, and have included two of my favourite drinks of the trip – Cocoalat (Choc Milk) and Kas (Orange Soft Drink).
Anyway, back to the trip. After arriving in Madrid, we went via the extremely nice Metro system, towards our hostel. Trains in Europe are on a whole other level, and Spains have been no exception. When they have nearly 15 different lines, stops everywhere, and trains coming at every stop every 2 or so minutes, it really makes Perth's system look so average.
We looked around Madrid for the rest of the afternoon, starting off in the centre of the city, the Puerto De Sol, and then walked past a heap of historic buildings. (read: old churches). We eventully made it to the Royal Palace, and nearby park.
Palacio Real (Royal Palace)
Templo de Debod - Egyptian Monument in the middle of Madrid.
We then headed up Gran Via (Grand Boulevard), and back to the hostel.
As we decided to head to nearby town Toledo the next day, we headed to the train station to buy tickets. When you buy long distance tickets in Spain, the easiest and most certain way of getting them, is to go to the station the day before, and buy them over the counter. When you arrive, you take a number, and wait. In Barcelona, we had to wait 45 minutes or so which at the time, we thought was quite a lengthy wait. Oh no. Our number at Madrid – 323. The number currently being served – 134. Ouch. We sit and wait about 30 minutes. It's up to about 160. I realise it's now 7pm, and we might be here for a while.
As I said before, the stations in Spain are awesome – and Atocha in Madrid is no exception. It's like a shopping centre. So, with that being the case, we walk around for a bit. We come back at least 45 minutes later, and it's in the mid 200's. At this point, I decide to go get food, walk around a bit more. 45 minutes later, and I'm sure my number must be nearly up. It's at about 275. I decide to sit, and wait, not wanting to walk off and miss my number being called. About half an hour later, around 9pm, my number comes up, and our tickets for the following day are purchased.
Atocha train station
Toledo was only a 30 minute train ride away, so we arrived at just before 10 in the morning. The old part of town is remarkable, full of alleys and slops and castle walls and essentially old, old buildings. Very Spanish, and traditional, with a lot of churches and so on. We spend the good part of the morning there, and enjoy a nice drink in some sort of very cool African themed bar.
Toledo
After heading from the bar, to the remains of an old Roman Circus, and local markets, we end up in the newer, modern part of Toledo, that looks much like any other modern city or town. We explore this a bit, grab a late lunch, and decide to head back to Madrid. Once we get to the train station, quite a substantial way out of town, we discover the next train doesn't leave for just over an hour. Thankfully, we find a nice courtyard, and await the next train. Once back in Madrid, we head back to Gran Via to pick up some dinner, and get our stuff ready for our flight to Morocco the following day.
On the morning before our flight, we had a final walk around the streets of Madrid, and headed to the home of Real Madrid – the club FIFA called the greatest football club in the world. With not enough time to do a great deal, we made our way back to the hostel, picked up our bags and headed to the airport, pretty keen to get to Morocco.
The five hour train journey to Madrid is a mixture of many things, including annoying fifteen minute sleeps, and never being able to find a comfortable position. I also discovered a new favourite Spanish Food in bocadillo tortillas. It's basically a Spanish Omellette, full of potato and onion, in a crispy baguette. Amazing. Spanish cuisine hasn't been as good as I had hoped, although a vegetable paella we had in Barcelona was nice. Spanish drinks on the other hand have been very good, and have included two of my favourite drinks of the trip – Cocoalat (Choc Milk) and Kas (Orange Soft Drink).
Anyway, back to the trip. After arriving in Madrid, we went via the extremely nice Metro system, towards our hostel. Trains in Europe are on a whole other level, and Spains have been no exception. When they have nearly 15 different lines, stops everywhere, and trains coming at every stop every 2 or so minutes, it really makes Perth's system look so average.
We looked around Madrid for the rest of the afternoon, starting off in the centre of the city, the Puerto De Sol, and then walked past a heap of historic buildings. (read: old churches). We eventully made it to the Royal Palace, and nearby park.
Palacio Real (Royal Palace)
Templo de Debod - Egyptian Monument in the middle of Madrid.
We then headed up Gran Via (Grand Boulevard), and back to the hostel.
As we decided to head to nearby town Toledo the next day, we headed to the train station to buy tickets. When you buy long distance tickets in Spain, the easiest and most certain way of getting them, is to go to the station the day before, and buy them over the counter. When you arrive, you take a number, and wait. In Barcelona, we had to wait 45 minutes or so which at the time, we thought was quite a lengthy wait. Oh no. Our number at Madrid – 323. The number currently being served – 134. Ouch. We sit and wait about 30 minutes. It's up to about 160. I realise it's now 7pm, and we might be here for a while.
As I said before, the stations in Spain are awesome – and Atocha in Madrid is no exception. It's like a shopping centre. So, with that being the case, we walk around for a bit. We come back at least 45 minutes later, and it's in the mid 200's. At this point, I decide to go get food, walk around a bit more. 45 minutes later, and I'm sure my number must be nearly up. It's at about 275. I decide to sit, and wait, not wanting to walk off and miss my number being called. About half an hour later, around 9pm, my number comes up, and our tickets for the following day are purchased.
Atocha train station
Toledo was only a 30 minute train ride away, so we arrived at just before 10 in the morning. The old part of town is remarkable, full of alleys and slops and castle walls and essentially old, old buildings. Very Spanish, and traditional, with a lot of churches and so on. We spend the good part of the morning there, and enjoy a nice drink in some sort of very cool African themed bar.
Toledo
After heading from the bar, to the remains of an old Roman Circus, and local markets, we end up in the newer, modern part of Toledo, that looks much like any other modern city or town. We explore this a bit, grab a late lunch, and decide to head back to Madrid. Once we get to the train station, quite a substantial way out of town, we discover the next train doesn't leave for just over an hour. Thankfully, we find a nice courtyard, and await the next train. Once back in Madrid, we head back to Gran Via to pick up some dinner, and get our stuff ready for our flight to Morocco the following day.
On the morning before our flight, we had a final walk around the streets of Madrid, and headed to the home of Real Madrid – the club FIFA called the greatest football club in the world. With not enough time to do a great deal, we made our way back to the hostel, picked up our bags and headed to the airport, pretty keen to get to Morocco.
Monday, October 6, 2008
San Sebastian 2.0
The weather was a lot better today (27 degrees or so), so we headed to the beach. I also headed up the 'other' large mountain here. Definite mission. Was good once I was up top though. It´s in the background in some of the pictures from yesterday... there´s a huge statue of Jesus.
After my trek up and down the mountain, the beach was a pretty good way to relax. We go to Madrid tomorrow, and hopefully Toledo the day after.
Some pics from today...
From the ground.
So many steps.
Yewwwwwww.
The view.
After my trek up and down the mountain, the beach was a pretty good way to relax. We go to Madrid tomorrow, and hopefully Toledo the day after.
Some pics from today...
From the ground.
So many steps.
Yewwwwwww.
The view.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
San Sebastian
After a lazy morning yesterday, we headed towards the train station, and headed towards San Sebastian. The train ride was a somewhat gruelling 8 hours, but with the aid of an ipod full of tv shows to watch, I was pretty comfortable. The thing with Spain, is that, comparative to other countries we´ve been through around Europe, they don´t cater very much for people who only speak English. Thus, ordering food yesterday on the train was a bit of pointing at the pictures and using the little Spanish I know. I think I´ve picked up Spanish a lot quicker than any of the other lanuages, purely because I´ve had to. I felt pretty awesome today when I had to order train tickets completely in Spanish, even if all I said was "Hola. Habla ingles?" and, ""Dos. 6th. Madrid. Gracias." which roughly translates to ""Hi. Do you speak English?", "Two. 6th. Madrid. Thankyou.". Haha, horrible.
Anyway, San Sebastian is really pretty, and reminds me a bit of Nice in France. The weather is a bit cooler than we had, somewhat carelessly, hoped for, but we´re going to try and swim at the beach tomorrow, regardless of the weather. The city is a bit smaller, only 100,000 or so, and it´s situated right on the coast, around two bays, and surrounded by a few mountains. It´s pretty cheap here at the moment, probably because it´s the middle of Autumn and it´s a coastal town, but we´re staying in what is called a Pension, which is essentially a budget hotel, but is costing us the same as what a hostel would. After sleeping in dorms for near on 4 months, staying here is pretty good, and all the small things like proper towels and so on is pretty luxurious to us.
We looked around town today, although there isn´t a great deal of sites so to speak, just a few cool viewpoints from up in the mountains, overlooking the city. We have two more nights here, and then head off to Madrid on Monday morning.
Train from Barcelona to San Sebastian
San Sebastian
Anyway, San Sebastian is really pretty, and reminds me a bit of Nice in France. The weather is a bit cooler than we had, somewhat carelessly, hoped for, but we´re going to try and swim at the beach tomorrow, regardless of the weather. The city is a bit smaller, only 100,000 or so, and it´s situated right on the coast, around two bays, and surrounded by a few mountains. It´s pretty cheap here at the moment, probably because it´s the middle of Autumn and it´s a coastal town, but we´re staying in what is called a Pension, which is essentially a budget hotel, but is costing us the same as what a hostel would. After sleeping in dorms for near on 4 months, staying here is pretty good, and all the small things like proper towels and so on is pretty luxurious to us.
We looked around town today, although there isn´t a great deal of sites so to speak, just a few cool viewpoints from up in the mountains, overlooking the city. We have two more nights here, and then head off to Madrid on Monday morning.
Train from Barcelona to San Sebastian
San Sebastian
Friday, October 3, 2008
Barcelona
We left from the hostel pretty early in order to get to Gatwick Airport on Tuesday morning, which meant we ended up waiting around for an hour or two before flying out. The flight was a no frills one with Easyjet, so it was a small and basic plane, but the flight was only just over an hour, so we didn´t need much to entertain ourselves anyway.
After arriving at the Airport, we had pretty good directions on how to get to the hostel, so probably not much more than an hour later, we were checking into our hostel. It´s a small hostel run by an Argentinian family, who actually live on the hostel as well. They´re awesomely nice and helpful, and have provided free dinner meals and internet for everyone that stays here.
We explored a fair bit of Barcelona on the first night we arrived, and walked down the main shopping street, La Rambla. We previously headed up to Parc Guell, which is this huge hill that overlooks the whole city. Hill is probably an understatement, but I´m not quite sure it could be called a mountain.
View from Parc Guell
La Rambla & surrounding streets
We checked out Gaudi´s La Sagrada Familia, which is this huuuuuuge church, and pictures don´t really do it justice. It´s covered in impressive sculpture all over. The beach was the next port of call, so to speak, as we headed to La Barceloneta and Port Vell. It was getting pretty late in the day, so it was pretty deserted. All the touristy places have been pretty quiet thus far, as the high season has finished. This has been pretty good, with a distinct lack of queues everywhere, and not having to push past hundreds of people to see whatever it is you want to see.
La Sagrada Familia
La Barceloneta
The next day we got up pretty early, and headed to Montjuic, which is the mountainous region that overlooks the city, and the location for most of the Olympic sites. The Olympic Stadium was free to get into to look at, which was cool, and the Olympic Museum was only a few euros, so we took advantage of that also.
Estadi Olympic & surroundings
After looking at both of those, we headed back down the mountain, and through Barra Gotic and La Ribera, which is full of older gothic style buildings, as well as a heap of museums and restaurants. Included in this was the impressive plaza, Placa Reial.
Placa Reial
The metro system here is really sweet, and you only have to wait 2 minutes between trains. It´s also really cheap (compared to London, at least). We caught the train to Camp Nou, the home of FC Barcelona, the most heavily supported soccer club in the world. The stadium holds over 100,000 people, and was something I really wanted to get a look at, so I went on a stadium tour, which went through the changerooms for the players, media centre and so on.
Camp Nou/FC Barcelona
Tired after a full day, we headed back to the hostel, and took advantage of one of the free meals on offer, before organising our travels for the coming couple of weeks. To cut a long story short.. it would take more money and time than we were willing to commit to go both Portugal and Morocco after Spain. It basically concerned the length of time to train everywhere, the fact that no frills airlines only fly from limited cities, and so on.... So essentially, we had to choose between Portugal and Morocco, and having heard from so many people how good Morocco is, we decided to pass on going to Portugal.
We´re going to San Sebastian for 3 nights from tomorrow, which is a seven hour train ride away. The guy who runs the hostel said it was his favourite place in all of Europe, and after reading about it, and looking at some photos, it should be a good weekend.
After booking the train tickets today, we headed back into the main shopping & tourist district, before going to Parc e la Cituadella, one of the main parks in Barcelona. We then sussed out Barcelona´s Arc de Triomf, and headed back to the hostel.
Parc e la Cituadella
Hopefully going to go get some Tapas or something now. Adios.
After arriving at the Airport, we had pretty good directions on how to get to the hostel, so probably not much more than an hour later, we were checking into our hostel. It´s a small hostel run by an Argentinian family, who actually live on the hostel as well. They´re awesomely nice and helpful, and have provided free dinner meals and internet for everyone that stays here.
We explored a fair bit of Barcelona on the first night we arrived, and walked down the main shopping street, La Rambla. We previously headed up to Parc Guell, which is this huge hill that overlooks the whole city. Hill is probably an understatement, but I´m not quite sure it could be called a mountain.
View from Parc Guell
La Rambla & surrounding streets
We checked out Gaudi´s La Sagrada Familia, which is this huuuuuuge church, and pictures don´t really do it justice. It´s covered in impressive sculpture all over. The beach was the next port of call, so to speak, as we headed to La Barceloneta and Port Vell. It was getting pretty late in the day, so it was pretty deserted. All the touristy places have been pretty quiet thus far, as the high season has finished. This has been pretty good, with a distinct lack of queues everywhere, and not having to push past hundreds of people to see whatever it is you want to see.
La Sagrada Familia
La Barceloneta
The next day we got up pretty early, and headed to Montjuic, which is the mountainous region that overlooks the city, and the location for most of the Olympic sites. The Olympic Stadium was free to get into to look at, which was cool, and the Olympic Museum was only a few euros, so we took advantage of that also.
Estadi Olympic & surroundings
After looking at both of those, we headed back down the mountain, and through Barra Gotic and La Ribera, which is full of older gothic style buildings, as well as a heap of museums and restaurants. Included in this was the impressive plaza, Placa Reial.
Placa Reial
The metro system here is really sweet, and you only have to wait 2 minutes between trains. It´s also really cheap (compared to London, at least). We caught the train to Camp Nou, the home of FC Barcelona, the most heavily supported soccer club in the world. The stadium holds over 100,000 people, and was something I really wanted to get a look at, so I went on a stadium tour, which went through the changerooms for the players, media centre and so on.
Camp Nou/FC Barcelona
Tired after a full day, we headed back to the hostel, and took advantage of one of the free meals on offer, before organising our travels for the coming couple of weeks. To cut a long story short.. it would take more money and time than we were willing to commit to go both Portugal and Morocco after Spain. It basically concerned the length of time to train everywhere, the fact that no frills airlines only fly from limited cities, and so on.... So essentially, we had to choose between Portugal and Morocco, and having heard from so many people how good Morocco is, we decided to pass on going to Portugal.
We´re going to San Sebastian for 3 nights from tomorrow, which is a seven hour train ride away. The guy who runs the hostel said it was his favourite place in all of Europe, and after reading about it, and looking at some photos, it should be a good weekend.
After booking the train tickets today, we headed back into the main shopping & tourist district, before going to Parc e la Cituadella, one of the main parks in Barcelona. We then sussed out Barcelona´s Arc de Triomf, and headed back to the hostel.
Parc e la Cituadella
Hopefully going to go get some Tapas or something now. Adios.
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