Maddening Marrakech

Tonight, we ate in the open air under a full moon in the Jemaa-el-Fna food stalls. Each night this open air restaurant of hundreds of food stalls opens to locals and visitors for cheap and fresh meals served fast. McMorocco. Everyone wants you to sit at their tables. There's lots of shouting and pushing and bright lights and food and smoke and we have got to go home and rent Hideous Kinky.

If the kebab chicken won't kill us, will the scooters? We feel like we're living on the edge every minute of every day that we're here. Our dining partner at the food stalls (he's one of the chefs at the Mamounia Hotel, making our food stall at the market seem all that much safer) told us that roughly four thousand people annually die from scooter related deaths. We're not sure if that's just Marrakech or Morocco or if that relates to being hit or being a driver, but it all seems quite possible ten minutes after you leave the airport. Two, sometimes three people riding together, children clinging for dear life, old ladies driving, guys with propane tanks. Like China, there are no rules of physics that seem to apply when it comes to hauling ass on a scooter.

The alleys and streets are never much more than five or six meters wide and yet scooters, motorbikes, full on motorcycles, regular bikes, donkey carts and even little cars will often race down them at 20 miles per hour or more and it is the pedestrian's responsibility fully to get out of the way. We're like kittens crossing a highway every time we step outside the Riad and we sort of have to psych ourselves up...have a huddle, say a silent prayer, drink Red Bull to increase alertness...whatever. When we return to the Riad door each night, pupils fixed and blown but with all our limbs still attached, Mohammad hands us our keys as we fall to the floor and kiss it, sobbing, shaking, lips moving but no sound coming out...


But the color of everyday life is bolder, richer and more plentiful than anyplace I've ever been. Perhaps it's the stark contrast to the grime and crumbling buildings and complete poverty that is its backdrop. I wonder if a Moroccan traveled to Madison, would he feel lonely, or that the quiet was crushingly solitary and would he be as afraid as I am at times? Or would he be bored? Or does he know that there is any other way to live? I can't quite understand what it is here that would make it feel like home except the madness--the good and the bad of it.

A day in the souks

I've seen Monty Python's Life of Brian. I thought I understood haggling. The souks are a labyrinth of alleys, claustrophobic at times, beautiful and full of color at other times, but certainly the beginning of a bad acid trip in a lot of ways. First, there are the smells of spices, incense, leather and oils. Then, there are the hordes of people, mostly locals, with entreaties in many languages. "Ola" "Bon Jour" "Where you from?" "You want look?" "Say hello to Denzel Washington, and Bruce Willis and Morgan Freeman and Angelina Jolie for me. I like her." "What is your name? Sara? Sara?" Sort of all over the map, sometimes just for their own amusement.

A guy reached out and touched Ally's hair and a monkey jumped on her arm. Tough travel for blondes.

The precious baboushes

So here's the haggle in a nutshell. He brings you a chair. You must sit before you can properly haggle over the baboushes. He starts with a price written on paper. It's too high (although by US dollars, it's only about 100 bucks). You counter with what seems an insulting figure--it's not Western haggling, you don't meet in the middle--AAACK. He smiles. He counters, you counter and so it goes, until finally he gives the last offer. You take it. And you're still the loser. Everyone says thank you, money is exchanged and he shows you to his buddy further down the souk.

Chip watched from my key mistake with the baboushes and makes his second counter offer closer to his first. He ends at a price closer to what he wanted in the end. He also gets the ultimate compliment. "What, are you Berber man?" The Berber settled this region in 1057ish. I am bitter. No Berber compliment for me.






I felt sick to my stomach after a few hours in the souks. Even dizzy. A coke and a bird's eye view of the Jemaa-el-Fna and all the madness temporarily eases the feeling. In addition to the souks, there are the snakecharmers, the watergivers, the henna women, the donkeys, the carts, the scooters, the bikes, the monkeys, the acrobats.... For a person such as myself who learns by watching, it's just too much. I feel a stroke coming on.


What you can't see is the guy in the back of the cart is on a cell phone



Storks flying home at dusk



Back to the Riad for afternoon tea, the sunset and some rest.



Not bad sleeping tonight. I think I'll be fine. That's my room, by the way.

From Misery to Morocco

A beautiful sunrise on the ferry home from Ireland-Chip sleeping off the virus, missed it

We got back from Ireland and it's been misery. No more kitchen at our little Oxford house, the nation is in a deep freeze and all our Wisconsin clothes are in Wisconsin, and then the killer stomach virus that knocked us all off one by one. How Olivia made it to the top of Blarney Castle and kissed the Blarney Stone, I will never understand. A stomach virus will take a blogger out! Ally and I got it simultaneously, and all I can say is Wednesday was a "non-day" for us. We don't recognize it because we didn't have it.


All our kitchen just sitting on the dining room floor


The new kitchen as yet in boxes



I finally recovered this morning and it was off to Gatwick, a little flight on Atlas Blue flying for Royal Air Maroc and here we are, Marrakech. Do your worst, chicken tajine....I survived Finbar's revenge, and you are no match!



Our Riad is amazing. Riads are extravagant houses, often run by foreigners catering to tourists, that have few rooms and many luxuries and antiquities--not a great place for toddlers. We were greeted by Michelle, our host, who gave us a personal map tour of the city while we were served mint tea and dates stuffed with walnuts. Well, allright, now that's what we're talking about...




We walked through the Jemaa-el-Fna at night through winding alleys and streets, and it isn't an exaggeration to say it's frightening to be in a part of the world that does not resemble anything I know. There isn't a Western thing about this whole experience and that just makes it thrilling for me. Allison is completely panicked (our burgeoning worrier--she's yet an amateur but under my tutelage, she'll grow up a fine worrier indeed) about the food, the beggars, the night. As we sat eating dinner, they turned off the music in the restaurant as the last call for worship went out over the loudspeakers (the muezzin, Olivia tells me) in the city.

So much I don't know. Cous cous! I know that, so I ate it.

Kissing the Blarney Stone

Despite a "poorly tum", Olivia bravely set out with us this morning to Blarney Castle. We lay on our backs, threw the upper half of our bodies over the edge with support from the nice man and reached our lips out to where millions of lips have gone before. It was truly exhilarating to be held upside down at that height. I love roller coasters though so maybe it's just me.

As expected, only American and Australian accents were to be found. And nobody looked older than 25. But of course. Students and young people, already accustomed to traveling with no money, unaffected by the world financial crisis.



Blarney Castle is the "castley-ist" castle I've ever visited. Nothing's roped off and there are multiple stairwells and hidden rooms and little alcoves to explore, including the dungeons and the dog kennels. It's really awesome. We were sad that we forgot to bring Chip's sword from Edinburgh Castle, because he truly could have run around this castle with sword drawn for hours. Our favorite castle feature was the Murder Hole, a second floor grate just above the front gates, where hot oil can be directly poured down onto intruders' heads, should they manage to get through.



A fond farewell to Ireland. We're off at 5am tomorrow to Rosslare to catch our ferry back to England. One more big trip, but first a serious date at the laundromat. Our clothes are falling apart after five months, so the culling of the herd begins tomorrow--no sense washing what should go into the bin. My life in England shall ever be defined by my efforts around laundering.

The Ring of Kerry

People first, then money, then things.
Suze Orman - Money - Life - Assets

Your daily life is your temple and your religion. When you enter into it take with you your all.
Khalil Gibran

We left our B and B Saturday morning in Galway to continue south and because the adorable, hardworking Hannah had mentioned she was saving to come to America, we dropped a heavy tip and our address in the states into her hand before we left. Suze and Khalil would approve, right?

As we get older, we certainly see the fruits of Suze Orman's advice about not being tight with one's money (even if you aren't a millionaire like her), as it seems the more we give it away, the more we reap higher returns in other ways. We pulled over at a turn off to take a few photos before approaching the Ring of Kerry and had the great fortune of meeting Brian and Catriona Flaherty, who had also pulled off to stretch their legs. After getting some navigation suggestions about our trip around the Ring of Kerry, we soon found ourselves on a tour of the Ring and then as guests for lunch at their beautiful cottage in Ballinskelligs. "Just follow me." Following a near local through these parts was fantastic fun for two reasons. We never would have been brave enough to take the more rural and scenic route we took and I am quite sure we would not have gone as fast. Zipping along the winding roads, under Brian's deft leadership, was exciting and certainly gave Chip the courage to take command of the roads on the return trip as we started to lose our daylight.

We enjoyed the bounty of the Flaherty Christmas and New Year's family celebration goodies brought with them from their home outside Dublin. They have been coming to this area of Ireland for 28 years, since their oldest child was nine months old. The house has recently been renovated to increase the number of bedrooms to accommodate what they hope to be a a growing family of their children, spouses and grandchildren to come. From their windows, we could see mountains and sea.


I can't say enough about the beauty of the Ring of Kerry and the pictures (wonky Internet connection won't allow them to load, I think because they're just too beautiful the computer is overwhelmed) will have to follow. But the one picture of all of us loaded and I think that's perfect. I can't say enough about the generosity of the Flahertys for inviting a merry band of hungry American misfits to their house to share their food and drink. It was truly the best meal we've had on this vacation and thanks just doesn't seem enough. More pictures to be added later when I can find an Internet cafe with proper WIFI.
JUST ADDED:





Everywhere we looked, it was mountains, water, rocky terrain and rolling green. Wish to buy a house here, but commute will be difficult.

Galway day and night

Where river meets bay

A beautiful city....with excellent shopping. Not much to blog about today unless I went on to list and describe my fantastic haul from the Treasure Chest. Irish linen, Irish porcelain, Irish marble...how did they know that's what I wanted? Chip and the girls came and went for over an hour as I perused and finally purchased all of my tat. Belaboring my fixation on Catholicism, I must report that I fondled communion and christening linen, crucifixes and Beleek nativity figures with envy and longing. I settled on Celtic knots, lavender and shamrocks.



Allison and Olivia couldn't stand it any longer. All of their friends have seen Twilight and it just was not cool that they had not. So we dropped them off at the cinema and took a drive along the coast for a glimpse of the only sunshine to peek out all day. It was bitterly cold, so the car ride was a welcome break from the wind. Our bed and breakfast has WIFI, a shower, parking, good breakfast and excellent flat screen TV. What it lacks at times, like so many places in the UK and Ireland, is heat.



Chip enjoyed Galway Bay oysters tonight. Olivia shared one to be sociable, but her face spoke the truth. I could only watch him eat because it is an absurd culinary pursuit to let those slimy things roll over your tongue and down your throat as if that's a good thing. I can eat one if smothered in hot sauce, lemon and Worcestershire and placed atop a saltine....but I would just as soon have that snack minus the oyster. To each his own. Beddy early tonight for it's a long trip tomorrow to Blarney.

Giants Causeway, Derry and southward ho

I can’t do Giants Causeway justice, as I am not Yeats, so all I can say is it’s worth the trip. The sun was out and the sea very calm which may be unusual. The brochures show photos of rescued tourists, crying and wet, after being swept from the rocks. I guess some people forget it's not a theme park. There was ice though in a very thin coating that couldn’t be seen, so every step felt treacherous. I had noticed a sign for a medical center on the drive—good to know. But we didn’t need it. I will say that The Emerald Isle is not an exaggeration. It is very green and lush even in the cold weather. And the secret ingredient? The manure application in this area created an indescribable odor that permeated even the closed car as we drove to the causeway (it was so thick, one would have thought perhaps they were having a manure festival—a truck full of manure did drive right through the middle of Bushmills as we ate our lunch so maybe I’m not kidding). However, once we descended down to the causeway by the sea, we were shielded by the cliffs and greeted by the smell of an ocean breeze respite.




Crossing from the Republic into Northern Ireland was seamless…which seemed curious. The only signs we really knew we had crossed were that the road signs were no longer bilingual and there was a quite deliberate presence of the Union Jack on flagpoles and light posts. I can only describe the little I understand by thieving a line from a newspaper article. I read about the famous murals of Derry, painted to depict the struggles of the Republicans during the Troubles, described as “starting to feel like two sides of a common tradition.” Not sure the two sides are represented in a giant mural of Bobby Sands or a guy in a gas mask, but the sculpture entitled Reconciliation with the two figures reaching toward one another certainly felt representative. The fog was special ordered for the perfect effect to this ghostly visit. We stood literally where four civilians were killed on Bloody Sunday. The girls were jamming to their iPods in the backseat. Sigh.





New Years Day, through Donegal, Sligo (where my family and Yeats are from) and finally Galway. Seriously, our B and B host is Seamus. It’s perfect.