Piz' bday in Luxembourg

Merry Christmas!!

I first met Piz ten years ago when I was employed by Vodafone in Malta. Piz managed the International Roaming team at the time while I was in marketing. We got along really well and together managed to deliver successful projects. After I left, Piz and I remained good old friends. We helped one another especially in key turning points in our lives. When Piz moved to the UK I toured hundreds of cars with him until he found the one. He just loved driving his new belle up and down England in search for beauty spots. I'm grateful for the times Piz took me with him. I remember going to Cheddar Gorge; a lovely tiny escapade in which we gorged in its lovely valleys and hills. A week later he picked me up together with all my stuff. All my personal belongings filled every bit of space within the car. I never thought one trip would be enough but it was. The faithful car drove us all to the centre of Newbury where Piz and I turned into santas and started distributing my stuff to charity shops. A few days after that I left to travel across Asia then onto Australia. In the meantime, Piz decided to take a company offer and move to Luxembourg.

I hadn't seen Piz for almost two years when we met again in London last June. We was pretty excited as he told me all about his big 50th birthday bash. 09/09/09 - was symbolic for Piz and he wanted to share it with fifty people who were were close to his heart. I got an invite, I was one of the special ones.

I flew to Hahn in Germany late Friday night then got the bus to Luxembourg city. It was past one in the morning when I got there and Piz was waiting to pick me up this time in his new BMW. He now lives in a lovely house in a small quiet village. Piz had picked the house mainly cause of the garden in which he wanted to host his birthday BBQ party.


A short night brought us to a brisk and busy morning. As his other guests made their way to the city, Piz drove us to a huge store to pick up drinks for the party. Back at his house and together with his wife Anna, we cleared the way for the caterers to set up the marquise and get ready for the lavish BBQ buffet. After a short break in the afternoon, Piz started making himself pretty by shaving his already bold head! In no time guests started arriving.

It was a great party full of lovely people. Piz is a friendly person with so much character; a charming charismatic comedian. Piz makes everyone laugh with his jokes funny faces and acts. Having gorged ourselves in wine and delicious food we huddled inside to cut the cake. Piz the celeb, didn't let us down and cracked his jokes with gusto. The party was far from over. Piz is a die hard rocker with a huge collection of live shows DVDs. He started playing one after the other then made us pick our favourites so he could play them. It was sing-a-long / karaoke grand finale.


We went to bed pretty late or rather early in the morning. I slept well. Forgot to mention what a great hosts Piz and Anna are. It was just like being at my family. At 8am I heard Piz clearing up glasses in the other room. I couldn't just let him do the job alone so I got myself out of bed, rolled my selves and ... there stood Piz broom in hand wearing a 'Got Crabs?' t-shirt! (Great ad for a restaurant called Crabs - not!).



All done and dusted, Anna prepared us all a lavish breakfast of leftovers. Piz then drove us to the city for a quick tour before I had to catch the bus back to Hahn at 3pm. It was probably the quickest tour around a city I had ever done but as they say short and sweet. My photos can tell.





Before we knew it it was goodbyes. It's always hard to say good bye to good friends even though we always know we'll meet up soon enough, wherever and whenever next. It was a great birthday weekend and am so glad I was part of it.

Well, Piz that was your birthday now looking forward to seeing you again next week in Malta for Christmas.


Merry Christmas and a Great New Year!

cheers Piz ;)

the last stop....Essaouira

Salam ...once again

It was to be a long day on the road but the stops compensated quite well. After a couple of hours we came to a tiny village called Tazenakht, renowned for its Berber carpets. The village was dead. There was no one in sight. Abdul knocked on one of the low blue doors and after a while an old woman welcomed us. As she prepared us tea Abdul let us into the carpet workshop, more of a house turned workshop. We sat on cushions in infront of the large loom and like apprentices waited for the lesson.

She took the teacher's stand and started making small knots in the lines, then pushing them down with a huge comb. After a few minutes, a couple of us gave it a go. Might look simple but it required loads of patience, to say the least. It could take up to anything between 2 to 3 months to finish a carpet of about 2 x 2 metres, she explained. Furthermore, due to the intricate nature of the work and the vibrancy of the colours, no woman was allowed to work more than 4 hours a day.

The wool was all naturally dyed from pure indigo, saffron and kohl amongst others. She even showed us how to turn fluffs of wool into thread, another job for the patient ones. Her son joined us and eagerly took us to the 'shop'. The huge room was decorated with carpets with piles of them all along the parameter. Our eyes gazed as they unfolded one carpet after another. It was so tempting but I had to hold on having already bought one from Turkey years ago. But I did help Tricia and Chris buy one at a good price : )


Happy with our purchases we set off, stopping for lunch on the way. The afternoon brought us to the Saffron capital, Taliouine. I never thought I'd drink saffron as tea. Loved it. I bought about 5 pots of a gram each - the most exotic spice in the world at the cheapest price. Great!









We finally got to our destination for the day, Taroudent. A crammed city one-third the size of Marrakech but like it hustling and bustling with markets and hungry Muslims. We checked into our hotel whose deco must have been untouched from the early 70's. There was even a turn-dial phone in our room, how cool is that - or not!?
Me and some of the girls decided to go for a wonder before the life got sucked out of the streets. It was fast approaching 7pm. Just round the corner from our hotel were a few late-evening vendors. The fresh orange juice was hard to resist, so I invited the girls over for a glass.

That night we chatted about our dreams by the pool and after a nice shower had a lush dinner in the terrace over-looking the narrow but still busy street below.

Next morning we started the day with walk around the heart of the city. On our way I couldn't help buying some fresh fruit from the street vendors. We went up the fortifications of the city or rather the walls of the inner city, i.e. the Medina. There weren't any spectacular views but the walls were worth a few photos. We ended in the city's chaotic covered souq. The sun streamed on us as we emerged. Abdul decorated us with fresh mint stems in preparation of our next stop. Just outside of Taroudent, is the leather co-operative and man, it stinks.

Fresh animal skins hang loosely around the stone-basins in the large courtyard. A local guide made us walk through them patiently explaining each step of the process, as we just stuck the mint right up our noses trying to look as if we were fully interested! We visited the shops around the courtyard still trying to block the stink. The finished leather products were works of art; handbags, jackets, lamps etc... I was almost intrigued into buying a pouffe but resisted hoping to find it at a better deal somewhere else


Further along our long drive we stopped at Agadir, a well-developed town. We only got to visit its huge supermarket for our picnic lunch. The rest of our drive was all along the wild coast. The sea was so inviting after the heat of the desert. We stopped and had our lunches on the sand. I ran into the water so tempted to undress and get in for a dip. Well at least I did manage to get my rolled up trousers wet.
We then kicked the ball and rolled into the sand for a while before we hit the road again.

An extraordinary sight made us stop right in the middle of a long deserted highway. Goats on the trees. Yep! Strange but true. Berber goats are renowned for climbing trees to munch the nuts. Hard to believe until you've seen it!

We were almost there when we decided to stop at the last all-female argan oil co-operative. A team of woman transformed nuts to oil. Two types of oil is produced, one is edible (and really tasty with bread!) and the other found itself in beauty products. (Believe me the moisture cream saved my skin after a bad sunburn on the beach!!)Oh, and they also made tea out of it, of course.


We finally got to Essaouira. Its long stretched beach looked like something out of Australia's east coast. Its authenticity lay in the walls of the Medina; the heart of the city. We carried our backpacks to the Riad, brushing shoulders with the locals in the narrow busy streets. Our eyes gleamed at the colourful and arty stuff on display.

Riad El Mess is one of those hidden gems in the old Medina, originally a traditional ancient nobleman's house. Its main feature is the central courtyard, beautifully designed and decorated in wonderful Moroccan style. My photo just says it all.


We made ourselves comfortable on the long pristine sofa surrounded with colourful carpets and cushions. A lovely mint tea with special Moroccan sweets later we were ushered to our rooms. We felt like the king's special concubines in those rooms!

We hit the roof literally, in time to watch sunset over the wild sea crashing against the rocky islands, known as the Mogador. The air was full of sweet summer. Sea spray mist hung loosely over a tight cluster of flat-roofed houses only to be cut by swooping shrieking seagulls.


Dressed up ready for the night (well most of us were!) we stepped into the narrow streets again, this time lit by lanterns creating a romantic scene. Abdul took us to a popular restaurant where we were entertained by a small band playing drums and the rabab (one-string fiddle). The amydaz (lead of the group) who performs improvised poems, came round our table and tried rhyming our names into some Berber versus.

Later Abdul gave us a night tour of the Medina. We were all too tired to linger out for long, but looked forward to clubbing on our final night in Essouira.

Early the following morning, Abdul dragged us out of bed for a tourist-type tour around the Medina. A bright and larky local guide, Rashida, tried in vain to kick some life into us. We followed her around like a bunch of zombies, which somehow were absorbing in the history and wonderful sites of the amazing city.




We walked in and out of the laid-back artist's town once a Portuguese trading colony and home to British and Jewish populations. Essaouira is a busy fishing port. Its filthy harbour full of colourful boats. Our morning tour took us through the old Medina, Jewish Mellah, Port and Scala.

Apparently, as we obediently followed our leader around, like students on a school outing, a man was closely following us. I did not notice him but some other people in our group did. At some point the man stopped for a pee against the wall, nice but even nicer (not!) when he just ehhhhh.. even popped it there and then! Call it gross, strange, pervert, but it happened!

After our final stop at the silver co-operative I was so ready for my one hour massage. One of the best ones ever, none of us wanted it to end. We literally felt and smelt like roses after that. Hungry, we decided to try the fresh fish stalls for our late lunch. We picked our seafood, bargained hard and enjoyed a scrumptious lunch of grilled prawns, shrimps, calamari, fresh bread and salad. Stomachs full we strolled along the beach.

That evening Abdul took us to a cosy restaurant tucked in one of the dark alleys of the Medina. The restaurant was split into 3 large rooms. The food was good but best of all was the entertainment. Young Berber musicians sang, played guitar and bet their tam tams in unison like no other. We relished the performances and couldn't help joining in the fun especially after some xixa!

It was clubbing time. Abdul took us to the last floor on top of a fancy restaurant overlooking the bastions and the moonlit sea. The Bedouin-styled club was mostly empty but the music was good so having ordered a few drinks I was on the dancefloor. But before long a classic-Arab nerdy-looking group of 80's musicians, robbed the club off its club scene. However, the whining songs and music didn't deter me from the dance floor. I belly-danced galore and bet a few Spanish blokes at that :) Finally, our group got into the groove and it was fun till the wee hours of the morning.

Next morning I woke up early, packed, checked out and checked into my new Riad for my final night in Essouira. Rather then heading to Marrakech with the rest that afternoon, I had decided to spend another day there. I never lived to regret it.
I met Arlene and the others on the beach where we stayed and sunbathed till afternoon. We exchanged goodbyes and while they headed to their coaches I continued to enjoy the lovely ocean, sand and sun. Later, I wondered back to the Medina, enjoyed an ice-cream and got myself into shopping mode.

My first win was a red pair of babouche(slippers)followed by a silver-ornate gazelle-horn bracelet.

The 'blue man' was waiting for his next catch outside his shop when he saw me curiously looking at miniature nomadic tents, wondering what they could be used for. 'Cat's house!' he replied. Oh, interesting. 'Would you like me to show you some bracelets?' he insisted. And why not, I thought. This could be interesting.
I entered Ali Baba's cave and was made to sit on a small stool. The blue man sat opposite me across the small table. From a huge chest he drew a small knotted sack.
He spilt the contents on the table - a whole knotted bunch of bracelets. I picked and put aside the gazelle ones and quickly lost interest in the rest. He packed the bracelets neatly again and pulled out another sack, this time full of necklaces. But I told him I'm not interested and they're not my style and they're too bright and colourful ...bla bla bla...and he yet pulled sack after another.... until he gave up on this tom-boy of a woman!

"Ok, how much?" I asked.

He drew his notebook, licked the top of his pencil and without looking at me asked "How would you like the price in euros...?"

"Gosh!" I exclaimed. "Dirhams, please... how much could this possibly cost?"

"400 dirhams" (GBP30)

"What??!?!? No way"

"That is silver, made by hand....etc etc.."

"My friend bought one exactly like this for 50DM."

"50DM!!!!No no impossible it was fake!"

"Oh no!"

He insisted on the price and slowly started coming down. He got down by the hundreds I only went up by tens. Finally,

"I haven't got that money on me."

"I will send someone with you to your hotel and you can get some money from ATM and give it to him.."

"Oh no, sorry I'm leaving Morocco tomorrow so I'm not getting any more money."

"Well, I guess I better go cause I'm wasting my and your time then..."

And I walked out.

He ran after me, "Wait! Wait!"
"Ok, give me what you've got then..."

And so I bought it for 110DM - not bad a deal from 400DM!

Back at the Riad I spent the evening on the terrace. The sun absorbed my energy as well as the moisture off my skin. A shower later I was ready for bed. I forced myself to walk along the narrow streets of the Medina one last time. I floated along them until I found a small pizzeria in one of the alleys. I relished the proper Italian stone-oven baked pizza and finished off with some Ramadan special sweets from a local vendor.


Next morning after a good breaky, I packed and headed off to the beach. I hired a sunbed and lazed there for the rest of the day. I asked a local woman to do me a henna tattoo on my hand. She did just as I wanted it and in black.

Back at the Riad I picked my backpack and set off to the bus station to get the bus back to Marrakech.

I got there at about 7pm. A short cab drive and I was at my original start point; Hotel de la Menera. I knocked on Chris' and Tricia's door. It felt like days not a day since we last saw each other. We arranged for dinner at 8pm.








The last supper was consumed overlooking the square of the mosque. Thousands of men answered the prayers from the Rabi who's voice was amplified by speakers. They all stood then knelt again and again in unison facing the direction of Mecca. It was quite a site as we munched our lamb and veggie tagines. We hit the big square and market for the last time late that night. Jamaa el Fnawas chockfull of people.
We scouted around the souq for last minute bargains. I got the pouffe I so wanted and at a good price.

Time for goodbyes :(



Besalama Morocco !
Hope to visit you another time
Nicky
X

The Sahara

Salam

Luckily it was a late start to the day. So we lousily indulged in a good breakfast of pancakes, bread and fresh orange juice then hit the road in our mini bus once again.

Not many exciting stops that day. En route to Ouarzazate we stopped at Intrepid sponsored Project Handicapped Horizon. Unfortunately, being Ramadan it was shut; everyone being on holiday. Pity I was in shopping mode ....

We got to Ouarzazate just before noon and bought some stuff for a picnic lunch. The tiny supermarket and patisserie didn't quite offer much so we stopped at a veggie and fruit souq further along the way to get our fresh food supplies. I think that was my highlight for the day, actually. Jacinta just followed me along the narrow streets crowded with more vendors than buyers. I swiftly scouted around taking note of the best looking fruit. A toothless old man sat on the floor with a small mount of purple ripe figs piled infront of him. I quickly went up to him for a demi-kilo but the neighbouring vendors suggested I buy a kilo as it was cheap. The poor old man looked at me bewildered almost as if he had never seen a foreigner or perhaps an 'uncovered' woman. He barely spoke as another man helped him fill up a bag. They were truly cheap disa dirham... (nine dirhams), which was about 80p.

After having purchased some bananas I finally targeted the two vendors with their wheel barrow just at the entrance of the souq. As I negotiated a price for apples in Arabic they tried to stick to their price by sticking in some grapes too. By the time I got back to the bus I had fruit to share with the entire group.

We stopped in a palmarie for lunch in the middle of a deserted road. It consisted of a small cluster of palm trees which provided shade to a well, a stone house, us and eventually a group of soldiers who stopped for a rest.

Onwards we got to the Draa Valley which was a line of trees along the deserted landscape. Our route led us to Zagora which was the last town before the empty vastness of the Sahara. The town was made of hotels surrounded by mountains. We checked in at Hotel La Fibule du Draa, a mini oasis; pool, bar (yes a bar serving alcohol!)and air-conditioned rooms with mini-bar fridge! There was no wasting of precious and luxury time for us girls. We changed into our bikinis and jumped into the pool. After some sun-bathing too, we got dressed and ready for the village tour.

A local dressed as a blue man of the Sahara led the way amongst palm trees and narrow sandusty roads. The village was lively with kids spinning their tops in the streets and mothers busy chatting out loud. We walked through the old abandoned Jewish mellah (quarters). Zig-zagging our way along the narrow passages of houses we got to the silver co-operative. The courtyard was a museum of old Moroccan antiques; teapots, daggers, plates and various pieces and forms of metal and wood craft.

After a quick lesson in how silverware was made we were taken to shop. Our guide was a hard bargainer not even I could beat him. Us girls found it hard to resist all that silver. Unfortunately as the saying goes, 'all that glitters is not (..in this case..) silver' so we fell for the intricate handwork of the tin!

Back to the hotel as the sun was setting and the air filling with prayers we had dinner by the pool followed by a drink at the bar.

Next day was the latest start ever, 10am. As some of us went for a dip, slept or lazed around, Michelle and I decided to go for a wonder. Just out of our road a bunch of camels were being prepared to mount some tourists. Further along we stopped gobsmacked at the beautiful mosaic-laced hotel. We took some pictures of the facade then peeped into the lobby. The receptionist quickly welcomed us to have a look at the huge pool and outdoor dining area. We descended and the shrivelled-looking barman beckoned us to check out the bar, fully-decked with spirits and smoke. The decor was impressive. The barman insisted on taking photos of us. It turned out he had quite a knack for photography and made us pose in every nook and corner of the bar, then in the 'royal' dining room, then plush lounge...he turned us girls into princesses. It was just fun. And he was enjoying it to and couldn't stop taking photos of us. We were running late. We quickly tipped and thanked him then literally ran in the sweltering heat back to our hotel.

Back on the road we made a stop at another local souq where I bought my light blue turban and jingling hip-scarf. I went straight to the stall with the most colourful hanging scarves and the owner quickly welcomed me. Before I knew it I was seated on a tiny stool being decorated with jewellery and scarves. It was fun and funny. I gave the man my camera to to take me a picture. Poor guy, he had never held a camera and twisted and turned it in his hands until he looked through the side of the lens. Laughing I showed him the correct way and in a click made me a diva!

I bargained hard for the two scarves, so hard that he pleaded I'd trade something with him. 'Like what?' I asked 'Your trousers perhaps!' He told me he had a regular visitor from Manchester UK who always brought him T-shirts and the like so he could resell them. (No wonder be know a bit of English too). I quickly said goodbye and hurried back to the bus. But my attractive scarf made Tricia want one so I was back at my habibi's stall. He was pleased I got him another actually three girl customers. Pity they didn't end up buying anything. Despite that we were still friends in the end :)

Another stop brought us to Tamegroute, the village of the famous library and potter ware. Tamegroute is home to an intriguing library filled with ancient scripts of science, literature, the Koran and stories of the prophet Mohammed. We walked along the corridors. Only workers renovating the site were to be seen as students were away on holiday. We entered the tiny library and our guide or rather teacher-from-our-childhood-nightmares was waiting for us. Clad in white, slapping a horsehair whip in hand, he led us from one book to another. Almost expecting us to learn the Arabic text by heart. Pretty scary and he did use his whip at times, ouch!

At the pottery coperative a friendly guide waked us through the stoves and clay rooms. It was quite fascinating looking at the clay modelling on the turntable...just like in the movie 'Ghost' (btw RIP Patrick Swayze!). We bought some vibrant coloured plates and bowls and mini tagines. I got a salt & pepper set and a mosque tower made out of mud sand for dad.

In less than an hour and a half we got to Ouled Driss village where we were made to wait till 5pm for our camel ride. We dumped our stuff in the permanent camp site. We lay in a large heat-sweltering and fly-droning room. It was lined a sofa from wall to wall topped with huge heavy cushions. Stoned by the heat of the day and in between snoozing, reading and gazing into nothingness, the hot wind from the Sahara blew in from the pane less windows in the thick walls. Outside the parapet with tables and chairs and a mini-bar selling soft drinks was a little more appetising. The back yard was the actual campsite with stone rooms and a shower & toilet area.

The hours slowly passed by. A few moments to the hour we started to get ready and helped one another to wear our turbans - all excited. Outside the camels were being mounted with saddles. Up and off we went. Riding a camel, even at a slow pace is quite a jolting experience, almost as if riding a horse on a gallop. We reached the edge of the tiny village and stepped into the great desert. It was quiet except for the whistling wind. Our guides were as dry as the sand. God knows how they did without water all day.

We got to some small dunes, dismounted and took even more photos. It was wonderful and didn't feel like going back already. Back at the camp we were quickly whisked off in 4WDs. They drove at high speed across the flat terrain. In less than an hour we got to the huge sand dunes. We jumped out and ran to top of one of them. From there we drank in the indescribable sunset and the effects it created around us. The sea of dunes was endless.


We ran down almost tumbling into balls of sand then lay on our backs to spot the first stars. We so wished we stayed out there in one of the nomad tents. But we had to head back to our camp in tiny village of Ouled Driss.

Dry, dusty and wide-eyed in rapture of all the excitement, we gulped some mint tea and wafers until dinner was served. We were still on a high and the beating of the drums kept our heartbeats at a peak for hours. The blue man, his fellows together with our driver and Abdul couldn't stop playing. Their rhythm kept us in motion; jumping, belly dancing and we even joined in the drumming at some point or other. It was a great evening and a brighter night awaited us.

The crew had lined a row of beds in the camping site so that night we all slept under the stars. What a scene. I couldn't blink an eye. The shooting stars took my wishes and breath away.

Roosters welcomed us back on planet earth at a very early hour. We struggled out of bed and hit the road still dozed with sleep.

Next...the beach!

sahha
Nicky

Mecca here we come... I mean Kasbah

Salam again .....

We had a long drive ahead which was OK particularly cause I was fasting all day. I had to drink water though I couldn't go all Muslim-fanatic. I even diluted a rehydration sachet or two, into my bottle....(oh, now I feel guilty....) The truth has to be said.

It was a long winding mountain pass but with stunning reddish brown mountain views, various photos opportunities along the way. We came to another village and decided to discover its souq. It was much much smaller than the one in Marrakech but so typical with just one stall selling trinkets, necklaces, scarves aka tourist bait.

Arlene, Michelle and I couldn't help stopping to observe the colourful items. The vendor was very pleased to see us out of the blue that fine sunny morning!
He tried hard to sell me two trinkets which he succeeded in the end by talking me into the history of the 'silver' trinket box which he personally worked with years & years of craftsmanship experience...etc...etc.. could be true, whatever I liked it and the bright orange 'amber' stone one. In the meantime, Arlene and Michelle were being narrated another Arabian Night story of some scarf. The men then twisted colourful scarves on our heads turban style took photos of us modelling with them. Finally we got away without even buying one! Oh well, I'm sure we, at least I, paid twice the actual price for those trinkets, anyways.

Back on the road we stopped at a restaurant. Arlene, Abdul and I sat at a table away from the others to avoid any temptations, not that I was hungry with the heat and still whinging stomach. (Luckily I wasn't desperate for the loo again that day, btw!) We chatted about many things which turned out to be quite an interesting lunch!


A couple of hours later we got to the highest part of the Tizi n'Tichka. We stopped to take photos at the 2260m mark trying to avoid the hawkers and their fake trade.

The further up we drove, the darker and heavier the sky until it just burst on our backpacks which were tied on the roof of the bus.

We almost witnessed a what-could-have-been a fatal car accident. Suddenly, we saw a small crowd of people just running towards a low rubble wall on one side of the road. Our driver stopped and we all jumped out. A pickup van overturned a few metres below on the other side of the wall. Abdul called for the two (psychiatric) nurses in our group, Gaby and Petra. But luckily to our relief the driver, who was the only person in the vehicle, escaped unscathed and was actually pacing up and down checking damages to the car.

Finally Ait Benhaddou....

We checked into our lovely sand-camouflaged hotel and a quick fresh-up and tea later (not for me this time!) we made our way to the world-renowned Kasbah. Before which however, Arlene and I tried to make a very special request to the hotel's management. It was Abdul's birthday. He mentioned it during lunch and even told us how the group he was touring with last year, had ordered him a birthday cake. Then he tried to explain to us the weird assumptions that made his, as well as his (I forgot how many) brothers their birth day. As things happened, even more back in his mother's earlier days when more people were illiterate, the state would only guess when the mother would have had the child by the time they'd register it. So irrespective of the number of days or year, they recorded a date, which date would apply for every subsequent brother or sister. Because the year was also a guess Abdul just figured his to be the 26th! Well, he kind of looked it so it was pretty convincing.
Anyways, with whatever rusty French I could sum up, I tried to pose our request for a Birthday cake for Abdul. But all I got was blank faces and head shakes. It was twice as hard cause Muslims do not celebrate Birthdays on a yearly basis. There's only one big fuss at birth but then everyone forgets even your parents. That, coupled with the term 'cake' was a mission to get the message across. Moroccans have a full range of pastries and sweets but no such thing as a round, 20/30cm wide baked cake used to celebrate anything!
Finally, they promised to look for some gateaux at the next village which was kms away. We even tried to ask if they could bake us some but they insisted on checking whether there was any ready available.


We walked down the road then crossed a wide water-drained river. The Kasbah is truly a living film set. It's amazingly beautiful. Not sure whether its rudimentary architecture with minimal, if any mosaic stonework, is what makes it appealing or the remoteness and solitude that dwells in its stepped alleyways. Only a few families live there nowadays. We treaded to the summit as quietly and discreetly as we could. It was breathtaking - the whole experience and not just the view at the top. The sun was descending in an almost cloudless sky turning the desert land around the Kasbah and Ait Benhaddou into a deep red sea.
We were lost in that heaven until Abdul made Arlene and myself head back downwards to break the fast. Oh, so wanted to stay till it was dark but I had had decided to live the day otherwise.


Back at La Rose du Sable the hotel stuff were waiting for us in the veranda. I enquired about the gateaux and this time I got smiles and nodding heads and lots of 'petite petite gateaux...' reassurances. Whatever, missioned accomplished! They then invited us into a backroom where to our surprise, we found a table full of food and drink waiting to break the fast. We were seated on a wall-to-wall sofa and offered orange juice, coffee, tea, water, harira soup, really sweet sweets, dates, baguette, pancakes, eggs and so much more. We were so astonished by the hospitality or rather the sense of being part of the community for having fasted - no questions asked - that we only got to nibble and sip at some of all that manna.

Later we joined the others for dinner, stomachs almost full. Abdul, true to his early announcement, made us dance to the beat of the drums. Together with other members of the hotel stuff we had a great show to which we rapped, Scottish and country-danced to ...whatever made us move to the beat. It was fun. But the part I enjoyed most was actually playing the drums, bring it on!

Finally, the manager brought along Abdul's 'birthday cake' or rather petite gateaux, that is, an assorted array of local sweets.
We presented Abdul with a signed postcard and sang happy birthday, all to his surprise. It was a great evening and despite having spent most of it at the back of the minibus, we were exhausted.

On our way to bed, we lingered by the pool for a lovely cuppa of sweet mint tea. But the night wasn't over for Abdul. Just as he stooped to flick some water at Kate from the pool, big-Aussie-block Phil gave him 'a lovely pat' on the bum which completely and literally, threw him off board, landing straight in! Before I even realised what had happened I saw Abdul quickly scrabbling out of the water and in desperation emptying his pockets from soaked mobile phones, money, keys and birthday postcard :(
He was not so OK about the whole thing just cause well, both phones were ruined, thankfully not the SIM cards. Oh well, he didn't get the full 26 typical-Aussie-birthday punches but he got one hell of a pat! It definitely was a memorable birthday after all!

Having blow-dried the phones and drank our tea we dragged ourselves to bed, eager for the next day and whatever lay ahead.

Sahha for now unless you want to read my next entry about The Sahara
Nicky
X X X

The Atlas Mountains

Salam ghalikom!


Next morning we started our trip away from Marrakech. In two hours we got to Imlil - a small village at the foot of the mountains. We left our big backpacks in a guesthouse and let the mules carry our overnight packs. We then started marching upwards. The day was hot but luckily trees shaded most of our path. We had stunning views along the way in particular the village and the building which served as fil set for Tibetan Dalai Lama's movie 'Kundun'.

We got to the Aremd a tiny village at 1960m altitude and were welcomed to our mountain gite for the night. Gite Omar Id Mansour was not quite what I expected. It was a lovely, quite lush, hospitable and cosy mountain guesthouse.
It was built of half-a-metre thick mud walls which kept it nice and cool. It's arid rooms were decorated with Moroccan sofas and carpets. The guesthouse was made up of small dorms with comfy beds and had one shower and one Western loo too. Not to mention a Coke vending machine (wonder how they managed to get that up there by mule!) and a long dining area. The roof, turned terrace gave away breathless views of the valley below rising to the mountains.


Having taken in the view we settled for a mint tea before lunching on rice, Moroccan salad and Berber tagine omelette. Stomachs full we started preparing for a 4-hour trek up the valley but to our surprise it started to rain pretty heavily. Not well-equipped we decided for (probably the best) alternative option, the hammam. The hammam are the local public baths; one for men and the other for women. The building, generally situated in the middle of the village, is split into 3 tiled sauna rooms, one warmer than the other. A local woman (for us girls, that is) is endeavoured with the task of scrubbing the 'bathers' with a luffa ....

Me and another four girls of the group ventured for it. We undressed to our bikinis but wasn't before long that we were ordered to strip off. Rather than having a big mama do the job, a meagre 14-year old stripped in seconds and gestured us to fill up the buckets from the taps within the rooms. She didn't know any English and hardly any French. She then made us sit on the floor in a circle and started to splash us with water. She gave us some argan oil soap each to rub ourselves with. It was like being kids again. Before we knew it gone were all the inhibitions. We started to splash one another with water included Aisha. It was fun and funny. We let our bodies steam in the second room as we took it in turns to be scrubbed hard, well whatever strength the Ramadan-starved girl had.

Another splash of water and a quick shoulder and neck massage later we were clean as ever and bonded forever. We secretly tipped Aisha and headed back to the gite in the rain, not that we really minded it after such a thorough body cleanse!

Rain stopped and we set off on a 'walk around the village' with our leader Abdul. We walked down the stepped slope of the village into the valley and crossed over to ascend the other side of the valley. We were then invited over for tea, nuts and dates at Abdul's friend. We sat on wet chairs on the roof but the view kept us on our feet clicking our camera at the lovely now sunset mountain scenery.

We got back to the gite just in time before a strong wind and storm hit hard. Cosy inside another sweet mint tea with fried tasteless bread awaited us.
We chatted until it was dark.
Just before dinner Aisha came around this time as henna artist. Us girls eagerly jumped in, eventually the guys got their palms tattooed too. She quickly drew floral designs with a needless syringe filling it with brown henna paste from a mug. It looked gross but when the thing dried it revealed a masterpiece.


In-between the tattoo making we took in turns to sit on tiny stools in the tiny kitchen watching the women cooking our dinner. The family who prepared our meals lived in a house a flight or two of stairs below the gite. They steamed the couscous in a huge sieve on a huge pot over a tiny one-burner stove. Amazing how they managed to cook for the mass with such facilities.


Dinner served and we eagerly tucked in only to follow with a series of stomach cramps! My stomach literally churned as Abdul traced the long drive that lay ahead of us on the wall map.

That night Arlene and I had decided to fast the next day. So to be part of customs we had to be woken up at 3am for breakfast then fast the rest of the day till sundown. I couldn't bet an eyelid, waiting for that dreaded knock on the door. I really wasn't up for eating anything let alone have breakfast at that hour. Time came and we were summoned in the lounge area. Together with Abdul we nibbled on some dates, dry bread and jam. We drank plain hot water as Abdul made himself a yoghurt milk-powdered drink. Arlene and I chatted for a while and went back to bed. I slept only to wake up to make full use of the lovely Western toilet! By 9am the poor loo was far from its original white pristine state as the rest of the crew joined in my early morning prayers.

Packed up and ready to leave the loo..I mean gite, we headed downwards, back to Imlil were our friendly driver and backpacks waited for us. Despite the sour ending it we all enjoyed a great day up in the mountains.

if you enjoyed reading this, check out Day 3!

sahha
Nicky X X X

Morocco Express

Salam!


I landed in Marrakech at 9 or 10 or 11pm....not sure!?!? It was the eve of Ramadan and all I heard was an hour change from GMT time, forward or backward???!?
I tried to get some cash but the only two ATMs at the airport weren't working. So I had to exchange some of my euros and sterling to Dirhams. Out of the airport I was hailed by a small gang of taxi drivers desperate for my money.

Hotel de la Menera met my expectations unfortunately, not the best hotel in Marrakech. I opened my liner and tried to sleep in the heat-steaming room. (only to discover that there was an air condition hidden behind the curtains the next morning!). I walked through the heavily mosaic decorated lobby, lounge and huge dining area. The place needed a good clean as much as a time machine to bring it back to the future. A middle-aged man with a bark wood face brought me breakfast of coffee, milk, diluted orange juice, a fresh croissant and baguette with accompanying preservatives. I wolfed everything down read for the day. I asked the man for the time. He didn't know any English nor French as much. He got the question after a number of repeats and delved into answering it by showing me his Nokia. It said 19.54. Ok was not sure what that was supposed to imply. Suddenly, he seemed to remember and blurted 'dix heure..' Glad I was in time for breaky and the day ahead then.

I went to the receptionist to ask for an ATM close by and the souq (market). She indicated the ATM but as for the souq it was too early especially being the first day of Ramadan. My eye caught the huge wall clock and read 8.20am. Oh! so long for more sleep. I got the money and went back to bed!

The heat of the day started accelerating. On asking for directions again I met the group leader, Abdul. He quickly highlighted the main sites on a local map and I set off. My aim was to get to the infamous souq Jamaa el Fna. The Hotel was situated just outside the old Medina walls which enclosed narrower streets, a public garden and the Koutobia mosque. Instead of heading to the left of the mosque I headed towards the direction of Mecca. Getting lost in the roads and streets turned out to be quite an adventure.



I found myself in a square surrounded by craft shops then noticed one of the tourist attractions, the Saadian tombs which date back from the time of the sultan Ahmad al-Mansur (1578-1603). The tombs were discovered in 1917. The tombs are beautifully decorated and I don't recall seeing as elaborate for the rest of the trip.

Having discovered the tombs I thought I might as well try to find the Palais de Bahia which was only a few metres away according to the map. Along the way I discovered a locals local market in one of the narrow side streets. Intrigued I got lost amongst the crowds of mainly women shopping their daily cooking needs. The alleys fragranced of mint, fresh herbs and spices. It felt great not being harassed by the vendors. The locals barely noticed me. I finally got back on the road and started to walk towards the palace with the help of some directions. I never actually got to the Palace as I had enough of walking in circles in and out of the great grounds and never-ending walls surrounding it. Lured by the buzz back at the locals market I started to make my way back.


Along the way I came across a small weaving home-based workshop. I couldn't help stopping to observe. The two men work hard and steadily at the looms. Ahmed was friendly and let me take photos as he explained the process in broken English. we communicated in bits of Arabic and somehow managed a conversation about Ramadan before he proudly showed me how thread was made with the (literally) spinning wheel to then weave beautiful satin and coloured cotton scarves amongst other things.


I was so glad with the encounter that I was prepared to tip or even buy something. I grabbed a lovely handbag and he lured me into choosing a scarf too. I couldn't resist finding it hard to decide between three. Ahmend beckoned me to follow him for a mera (mirror). Just across the tiny sun-drenched road was a coiffure. We just marched in and Ahmed asked the big hairdresser who was doing a client's blow dry whether we could use the mirror. As he put the scarves around my neck the hairdresser grumpily shook her head disapprovingly until the last one for which she nodded vigorously. Scarf chosen the price haggling was next. When in the right state of mind I could be a tough chick to deal with. In this case I felt quite lenient having made friends and they were nice to me. Moreover, Ahmed also invited me for a harira (Ramadan soup) with his family that evening. That was quite special but had to refuse as I was meeting the group for the first time that night. Pity but .. Happy with my encounter and purchase I retraced my route to the crammed market again. I was adamant on buying spices were the local women did their shopping.



I queued well technically speaking. I'd say crowded with other fully-cladded women infront of the tiny shop's counter heavily decked with steel barrels full of powdered spices. As I tried to sneak in, a man came by my side trying to chat me up. He looked middle-aged and least attractive especially with a dangling half rotten tooth on the front of an otherwise toothless mouth. He tried to tell me that it is Ramadan today and I acknowledged. He then delved into explaining what Ramadan is about '...no food, no drink and no sex!' 'Are you fasting?' I asked. 'Me no fasting!' 'Oh! I fasting!' I replied quickly in some sort of Arabic. Then he said '..you and me rancontre...' then getting my puzzled face he asked whether I had a husband. I quickly replied yes and showed him my ring (the one I always wear on my 4th finger...you know, just in case!) and further explained that he's at the hotel. He wasn't too pleased. In between all this I was trying to buy the powdered spices asking the vendor what each one was. Somehow I ended up buy 250grams worth of cummin and another of suffron and they cost me less than a GPB1! I quickly scuttered off this time determined to find the big souq.

I got there in the end. The big square wasn't as bustling and crowded as I would have expected. I bought half a litre of freshly squeezed jus d'orange from one of the desperate wagon vendors. I was so thirsty. Carrying it around to avoid drinking in public was one hell of a sacrifice. The main souq was a myriad of alleys which at that hour and heat of the day weren't so appealing. I leisurely walked along its parameters until I decided to call it a day.

On my way back I relished some shade in the mosque's garden drinking the now warm jus d'orange.

Back at the hotel I decided I'd kick off a bit of holiday feeling and enjoyed the pool.

I met the rest of the group at around 6pm and after an intro to the tour from Abdul we headed for the Djemma el Fnaa which is the big souq turned into rows of al fresco restaurants. Before choosing one though our apetites were excentuated by a lamb head stall displaying all sorts sizes including teeth, tonges and brians. Great photo opportunity if anything else! The restaurants displayed fresh food which you could pick, have cooked and enjoy with saffroned couscous, flat bread and olives.
Four of us girls decided to get a mix of everything so we tasted the Moroccan salad, the fried fish, the tender beef with veggies, the famous baked aubergines.... all so yummy. I was starving by then having only lunched on water and jus d'orange.
We finished off with was to be the first in a series of high-poured very sweet mint tea!

Later J, Michelle, Arlene and myself wondered off around the Square peering at the amateur performing groups, playing drums and traditional guitars. I was eager to see a cobra charmer or a tooth picker but there weren't any that night. We couldn't help noticing that all the performers including the heavily-clad belly dancers were men!
Infact there were hardly any women out and about except for a few who were accompanyting their husbands. We walked around peering into the small crowds to get a glimpse of the playing bands. Then a member asked us to sit on the surrounding wooden benches in full view of both the band and their audience. We felt quite aware of our presence. The band played passionately at the light of a lantern in the centre of the circle. The same guy suddenly reached for my hand and invited me to dance to his steps. I was itching to join but wasn't sure given the Ramadan and no-women situation. Whatever, I jumped into it and it was fun. Eventually, we managed to get Arlene to dance with us too and before we knew it the crowd around us doubled to say the least. We spent the next hour or so in-between enjoying the music and being asked to dance again, again and again.
Enjoy some Berber live music yourself!

It was a good night which well prepared us for our great Moroccan Express trip :)

read more in the next episode...
sahha
Nicky
X X x

Up & down the Jurassic Coast

hello!

the Jurassic Coast gets its name from the thousands of fossils embedded in the rock strata and some even found along pebbled beaches. Dorset's coastline is a proof of prehistoric predators that trod the land and swam the oceans at the time (195 million years ago). Dinosaur footprints to fossilised crocodiles and large squid are amongst major findings. I couldn't believe my eyes when I visited a tiny fossils museum in a pub in Wort Matravers. Who'd ever thought the croc was native to Britain too?

Well over the past 3 days I might as well have discovered another aspect of this Jurassic Coast; it jaws. Its steep up and downhills took my breath away in every sense!

Saturday 7.30am saw me snoozing on a train from Reading to Bournemouth. In Bournemouth I took a bus to get to Sandbanks where a ferry transported passengers, cars and double-deck buses over a mere two miles of sea crossing.

Shells beach is the end point of the South West Coast Path. As I turned to start my walk I looked for my first signpost. Spotted and....wow now that's one kind of trek!

I am quite an ambitious person but not till that point. My end destination for this long weekend was Weymouth, a total of 40 miles. I set off leisurely, strolling along the sandy beach trying hard to look ahead and avoid sneaky peaky at the 'naturists' (the term the Brits use to describe the'nudists). But how to avoid a man running along the beach coming in your direction with nothing on but a hat and a backpack?!?!!?

Anyways, the 'path' serpented its way high up onto the cliffs from where I got fantastic views of the chalky Pinnacles. Within minutes I was strolling the old streets of a little village made up of an ancient overgrown pub and manor.
Walking along (so far no major hills) I found myself in tiny but busy Swanage. A typical British seaside village with red & white striped deckchairs, a Punch & Judy puppet show stall, ice-cream vendors and for some occasion local folk dancing in the middle of the street. I relished the atmosphere and breathed in the smell of fish and chips! Far from the maddening crowd I sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking the expanse of the sea and enjoyed a mini lunch.



I walked into a tiny park almost like back gardens of the surrounding manor houses. Then before I knew it I was in Valletta! No way, yes way! I came across the Durlston Castle and it had two lookouts identical to the ones that guard the Grand Harbour back in Malta. Oh well, I suppose lookouts are or were lookouts, but how co-incidental is the style?!

I walked along the lovely cliffs now in the piercing rays of the sun. I took a tea break on the Dancing Ledge watching climbers hanging to dear life against the cliffs while families frolicked on the rocky beach. It was growing late so I hed to find Worth Matravers and my lodging for the night. I walked through what seemed miles of field land when finally I got to the Winspit track, which according to the directions would lead me to a row of 'London' cottages, a duck pond, a Square & Compass pub and a Newfoundland Close in which a Chiltern Lodge occupied the fourth plot of land.

I almost tiptoed my way across the pretty garden. In the porch, I carefully removed my dirty walking boots and was immediately greeted by David then wife Ann. David showed me around and took my to the guest bedroom. Ah such a welcome! Almost felt like home. I showered and dashed back out to enjoy the last rays of the sun. Later David entertained me with his travel and charity work stories when Mr & Mrs Sawkins (the other guests) made their way in. I shared a lovey dinner with them prepared by Ann; salmon finished off with rhubarb crumble (yummy!)

An early night prepared me for the second day which according to David would be 'the most energetic' and so it was. Back from where I had ended the previous day I hiked high up the cliffs I was just in time for the morning rise of the compass flag by the National Coast Guard outside the lookout on St Aldhelm’s Head.

After a couple of steep climbs and runs down the hills (the fun bit!) I thought I lost the Path for a while as I landed in the middle of a field of grazing sheep. Then a little lamb showed me a signpost well hidden in the grassy ground.
Back on track I got to beautiful and quite Chapman's Pool, then up and down the roller coaster again I eventually ended up in crowded Kimmeridge Bay. I had a bite to eat amongst little kids throwing pebbles in water and the bigger ones splashing around or doing the same.

Within half a mile I found myself within the military range so walkers were made to walk within the yellow markers. The view from up there was stunning all along. The sun shone brightly in the clear blue sky. It was a great afternoon to be outside breathing all that pure air and sweating it out!

Just when I thought I had another couple of hours of walking, I got to my destination for the day, Lullworth Cove. Gosh it was crowded! Its small circular bay was packed, so was its one and only street to the centre of the village. Ice-cream parlours, inns, kiosks, tiny shops, boats, cars, everything seemed to be in the way yet it was all that clutter that made it alive.



I had a huge honey, ginger and lemon ice-cream, which was well worth it then David picked me up and I was driven back to Worth Matravers to spend another night there since Lullworth Cove was chock full. It was only thanks to David and his wife's thoughtfulness that I managed to enjoy such a weekend in Dorset.

That evening I had dinner with the Sawkins again and a Norwegian Tom, who actually flew to trek the coast for 10 days. We shared interesting conversation then after another scrumptious dinner we visited the only pub in Worth Matravers. The evening was clear and it never got dark before 10pm, so we enjoyed our drinks with many others al fresco.

Next morning it rained pretty steadily for about an hour but by the time we got back to Lullworth Cove it stopped and never poured again for the rest of the day. I said bye to David and set off for the final part of my journey. I finally got to the one of (if not the) highlights of the my track's coastal scenery. Durdle Door is just a stunning spectacle.

Another roller coaster ride took me to Ringstead Bay where I enjoyed a break on the seashore. The sun was still trying to come out. The track deviated from the coast and brought me further inland so I could only see the sea from a distance. As I hastened my pace I hit the ground almost running after the final ascent. And there I was back into noisy civilisation at Weymouth. The final long stretch of the smooth promenade was bliss and even more so with the sun riping the summery scene.
I really wished I could linger on that beach for hours but I had to call it a day and start my homeward journey, about a three hour train ride.

It truly was a well spent bank holiday weekend :)

..mmmmm..wonder where will I be going next???

bye for now
Nicky

how do I find myself here?

hi all

Funny how out of all the places I've been I find myself back in the UK, it's almost as if I've done a full circle. Everything happened so fast, I'm still catching up with myself! I don't think I have come to terms with the fact that this is where I'll be staying for a while. Well, 'a while' meaning a year or so, perhaps. There are reasons of course, and probably ones I have not even thought about.

Music in my ears took me miles away. Nostalgia came to me in ripples. I couldn't even decide whether to be happy or sad. The train stopped. The door pulled open letting in a chilly breeze and the rustling sound of the trees swaying in twilight. The breeze made me shudder. The door slid shut and the train took off. "Here I am again. Or should I say here I go again!" I thought.

goodnight x
N

New Zealand, sweet as...

Kiaora everyone!!!

I fell in love with lovely New Zealand! These past 2 months have just been amazing. I've got so much to tell you but since I'm still busy travelling I've written a short poem for now which captures one of my many encounters with NZ's nature. I'll update the blog with all the juicy bits over the next weeks...promise!


A walk to the (Huka) falls

water gushing tearing at the walls of the stream
sweat dripping in the cannal of my back

red berries in the midst of green & brown
drop of blood on my sun-burnt skin

river of liquid jade, opal and emerald
adorning my weary body to that of a queen

snow tipped volcano across the lake
lick of a sweet cool ice-cream cone


Happy Days to all!
love
Nicky
X X X

Farewell Australia

The first time I landed you welcomed me with grey sky and rain
Today I leave with a warm salute from the sun shining in a limpid blue sky

I found you a kaleidoscope of colours…..

The stark whiteness of the shells on the harbour
Translucent blue and green waters gracing the coastline
Blood-red pumping heart bleeding into soils around it
Miles of nothing but earthly coloured rock and sand
Showers of green lush rainforests, waterfalls and gorges
Drought cracked acres when quenched give birth to new livestock
A limb which drifted apart now stands like a shimmering diamond ring

Alive, with a bounce, a bite, a song; some form of life in every nook and drop

Your people, they have no colour; history blended them into one, that which is Australian.


Already missing you,
Nicky

The first (calendar) day of the year

The English word calendar is derived from the Latin word kalendae, which was the Latin name of the first day of every month.* A calendar in layman words (or world) is actually quite symbolical rather than a matter of fact. First day of the year; a ‘go’ date to turn grandly-worded resolutions into actions, perhaps.

Today, I find myself in Sydney. Where will I be in a year’s time? Where will I be tomorrow? Life as a traveller and / or a nomad has no dates, days, weekends etc… each day could be the first day of the year. Every day is a new beginning. The opportunity to embrace life and make the most of it. So, effectively today is a another day about to be lived.

The sun is shining, it’s warm and I’m getting ready to go to the beach. On days like today I’m in high spirits. I feel comfortable, enwrapped by a great sense of safety; surrounded by people who care while savouring nature at its best. I wouldn’t have spent the first calendar day of 2009 in any way other than swimming in the nude on the pretty tiny beach of Congwang in New South Wales!

Happy Day everyone and may it be the first of a series!
Nicky
X

* source: wikipedia