Last stop part 2: Ourika Valley (and Barcelona)

Because we wanted to get out of Marrakesh, we decided to go on a day trip: since Essaouira didn't pan out, Saturday morning we stopped at one of the many signs on the street advertising day trips and excursions to check out a Berber village we heard was an hour away. Quickly we were ushered inside the tiny office of Syba Cars ("Car Rentals and Tourist Transportation") to talk excursions. Although the pictures of the Moroccan desert in the travel binder looked amazing, going to the desert and back in less than a day was impossible, so we decided to go to the Berber village in Ourika Valley in the Atlas Mountains, an hour away. Because we had missed large tour bus, we arranged for our very own driver--Ahmed--to take us there personally for 300DH (30 euros) each.
On our way to our destination, Ahmed made sure to stop at various spots of interest to take pictures--one conveniently at an outcrop of stalls selling jewelry, art, clothing, scarves, etc. We also stopped at a Berber village that sold argan wares--argan is a nut that's extremely popular and important in Morocco, and is ground into oil used in all sorts of things. It was obviously a touristy thing--they had some women grinding argan for show, and when we got there there was an English-speaking woman on hand to whisk us away for a whole tour of products--but it was...well okay, it was interesting. I feel weird having playing the character of rich white tourist in poverty-stricken land, and I don't want to "ooh" and "ahh" over some sad little village putting on some show for my enjoyment. My friend Charlotte even gave some tiny little boys all her pens, and they went bonkers. I liked being shown all the stuff made with argan, but when it came time to leave we were ushered into the store where this lady stuck to me like glue--whenever I politely mentioned that I thought something was nice, she would throw it into a little basket she clutched and asked me if I wanted another. At this point I only had 100DH, but when I told her I reaaally couldn't buy anything, she point-blank asked me if I didn't want to help out the Berber women. Auuuughhh. So I left with a little tub of argan lip balm for 50DH--I was almost pressured into adding random hair stuff to it, but thankfully I physically didn't have the cash.


Argan women grinding seeds...for show, I'm sure, but...whatever.


Village with the argan wares.


So we left, and finally got to the village--I'm going to take a guess and say it's called Oualmass--on the banks of the Ourika River. After Ahmed made us go to the lame expensive touristy restaurant (obviously a deal in the trip or whatever), Ahmed got us a guide, Majit, to take us into the mountains to see a waterfall. It was really fun: after being in cities for so long, it was nice to get to do some light hiking. The village was basically built over the mountains, and while hiking we passed over rickety little bridges across rivers and scrambled up boulders. Along the way, I chatted a bit with Majit, who must have been at about 18, when he wasn't half-listening to his iPod and leagues ahead of us, totally a pro at ushering tourists through as quickly as possible. He was really nice, at least from what I knew of him: grew up in the village, been a guide for 4 years, liked the mountains.


Berber village

We finally got to the first waterfall, but unfortunately we didn't have the time or equipment to continue much further. The waterfall wasn't necessarily spectacular, but it was pretty, and we rested for a bit with some tea.





Group photo with Majit

Majit told us that many people go camping in the mountains, or at least on longer, all day hikes (my dad would love this), but we didn't have the time. So, we departed: not through the same route we arrived by, which rose steeply among slick rocks and rivers, but around in a wide circle back to our starting place, through more open and rocky plains. It was...undescribable. By this point the clouds had started to gather and rain was on the way: the mountains and ridges, reddish brown and without trees, stood starkly against the gray sky. As we approached our sharp descent along a dusty brown scree slope, you could see the river and the houses of the village built into the facing mountain slope; in the distance, dramatic cliffs and higher, snow-covered peaks.




View of the village


The rain came as we started our descent, so Majit hurried us on quickly. Thankfully, zig-zagging down the scree wasn't too difficult, and we easily made it back to the road and Ahmed, who was waiting with the car. When it was time to pay Majit, (NOT included in the price of the car) we were able to scrounge together a hodge-podge mix of euros and dirham, even though he said it wasn't necessary after he saw the worried looks in our faces and furious scrambling through our wallets; anyway, I really didn't want to not pay someone who personally guided us. Besides, he was nice.
The ride back was spent sleeping, despite the awful Middle Eastern music Ahmed played (I was SO SICK of Middle Eastern music after this trip, because it is the only music Moroccans seem to play); back in Marrakesh we crashed, ate in Djmaa el Fna, and prepared for our flight the next morning to Barcelona. Despite the disappointment of the touristy overpriced restaurant, I thoroughly enjoyed it, and the escape from the madness of Marrakesh. And even though I don't think I can ever completely get over being a Western tourist to a poor nation and feeling exploitative and all that, Morocco--or what little I saw of it--was amazing. My dream is to go back and hike the Atlas Mountains; maybe see Fès, Casablanca, and Essaouira; and travel in the desert.

Anyway, we left at 10:00 Sunday morning for Barcelona, using the last of my money--50DH--for the taxi. Because our bus back to Aix wasn't until 10pm, we made our way over to the Picasso Museum (which was free!) and wandered around there for a couple of hours. I'm sad we were only in Barcelona for a couple hours: one of these days I really need to go there for a weekend. We didn't really see anything except the museum and the Arc de Triomf before we made our way to the bus station; one argument with the bus driver and Eurolines over a ticket mishap and 7 hours later, we were back in Aix-en-Provence at 5:30 on Monday morning, in time for classes.

The end! Hopefully I'll continue with my blog updates--tomorrow we're going to Nice for Carnival, so that should be fun. A bientot!

Marrakesh

Last stop!

We arrived in Marrakesh tired and ready to fall asleep, but we quickly got a cab--it was easy, they were all clamoring outside the airport--and payed 15 euro (a horrible steal, as we later learned) to meet our friend Charlotte, who had arrived earlier, and Djmaa el Fna, the main square.



A quick breakfast of honeyed bread...stuff...and tea and a nap at our hostel on Dar el Bacha later, we were ready to explore the souks.
Marrakesh is...ridiculous. It's not like I haven't only been the west--I stayed in Japan for a month--but Morocco is something completely different. Firstly, I didn't take as many pictures in Marrakesh as I did in Portugal, mainly because I didn't want to draw any more attention to myself, and I couldn't really get completely over being the white exploitative tourist girl: yeah, sure, I supported the economy by buying LOTS and LOTS of cheap amazing stuff, but when every word you hear is "gazelle" or "petite fille" or "you want to buy?" you don't really want to whip out a camera too often. It felt...tacky. But anyway, to continue. Marrakesh is full of sights, sounds, and smells: of spices and cooking and jasmine, but also of pollution, exhaust, beeps from mopeds weaving through the narrow market streets; and men EVERYWHERE--the women just kind of seemed to fade into the background, especially as an unveiled young Western woman tends to attract lots of catcalls. And, of course, when it rained and I didn't have a hood I would loosely drape my scarf around my head: like that, most of the calls would stop, or at least I felt less unwanted attention towards myself. The souks in Marrakesh are filled with everything: untold amounts of jewelry, mounds of spices and nuts, leather slippers, vendors selling anything from shampoo to individual cigarettes to grapefruit. It was sensory overload.




Shopping in the souks was at once tiresome and awesome. For one, you couldn't even sweep your eyes over anything as you walked for fear of having someone yell out "les gazelles! est-ce que vous voulez acheter quelque chose?" ("les gazelles! do you want to buy something?"), let alone stop and calmly peruse. Although, on the other hand, we had a fun time in one stall looking at jewelry for 20 minutes while the owner was helping us pick out stuff, and it was great to be able to haggle over prices: with tourists, Moroccans hike up the prices twice, or maybe three times the original price--it was endlessly empowering being able to look at a bracelet, shrug at the original price, walk away, and have the shopkeep run after me asking what price I was willing to pay. And I got SO MUCH STUFF (a large part of why I have absolutely no money right now): two bracelets, a necklace, shoes, a block of jasmin (and I will tell you why), harem pants...insane. We also learned just how much everything revolves around money here, especially when Western tourists are involved: when lost in the souk, we'd seek a kid to lead us out, which cost money. The first time, a teenager led us to Djmaa el Fna and I gave him 20 dirham because I was tired and my friend wanted him to break a 20 (that...would not have happened); the second, two adorable young kids in keffiyehs, pushing a massive bike, led us to the main square. They'd weave ahead of us through the teeming mass of people, stopping every so often to look back and make sure we were there, even waiting as we stood and pretended to peruse a run-down store selling used electronics as we waited for a man who was hounding us to leave.



Although, on the bad side, you couldn't just ask for directions: one kid, even after telling him we knew the way, thanks, still insisted on walking with us, or ahead of us--when we finally just got a cab to get rid of him, he hung on to the open window for dear life, insisting we give him money. We did not. I'm sorry, kid. Better luck next time.

The second day in Morocco we had planned to go to Essaoira, 3 hours away on the coast; however, since it was already 10am by the time we had coffee and we had been told to go earlier or at least stay overnight, and it was a beautiful day, we opted to stay in Marrakesh and go out on Saturday. It was really nice: instead of just staying in the souks we were able to wander around and see some more sightseeing around Marrakesh. Before heading of to the medrasa we stopped for a bite first: near our hostel in Dar el Bacha we stopped a tiny little restaurant on our way to Djma el Fna: not only were we the only women, we were the only tourists, which definitely meant this place would be delicious. And oh my god, it was the most delicious food ever: lentils, beans, curry, spices, bread, all served with hot and sugary mint tea. Definitely perfect.





After the deliciousness, we headed off to the medrasa near Djmaa el Fna...I'm not entirely sure what it was called Koutoubia mosque. But among the gardens and the orange trees; the men filing in and out to pray; and the sounds of the muezzin from the top of the tower, it was all very calming.



From there, we headed off to see El Badi Palace; sadly, it was closed, but in our wanderings around the massive castle walls and armed guards we met a Berber man who offered to show us the nearby Jewish quarter and synagogue for free. It was really amazing: the synagogue dated back to 1492, when the Jews were expelled from Spain and moved to Morocco.



Then, he gave us a tour of the area, and we stopped off to meet his friend, another Berber who sold a myriad of spices, herbs, powders, and perfumes. After giving us a tour of what was displayed outside, he welcomed us inside his tiny shop where his wife served us tea and he gave us a whole tour of his wares: rose hand oil; jasmin, musk, ginseng perfumes; khol; curry and cumin and saffron; paint powders; everything. He even gave us traditional Berber makeup: a little plate-shaped piece of brown-red clay that when leaves a blood-red ink on a licked finger, which you then rub on your lips and cheeks. I also bought a little block of jasmin perfume, to be used on your body or in your drawers for your clothes--I couldn't leave without buying anything, he was so nice.


Group photo. I had a Berber marking on my chin that our shopkeeper (I totally forgot his name, oops) drew in khol, which, although I wiped off later as it's a religious symbol, was pretty cool.

We then made our way to the Mederasa Ben Youssef and the Museum of Morocco, where I actually met an Ursuline nun--definitely an odd occurrence.



That night, after a nice long nap, we headed out to Djmaa el Fna to eat: at night, it turns into a massive open air restaurant, with waiters hounding you with menus from left and right, trying to get you to eat with them. That night we ate at a fairly touristy place, but it was delicious: sausage, olives, bread, chicken with couscous, vegetables, soup, and, of course, tea. The next night, obviously already locals, we picked a place where I ate this amazing plate of ground beef garnished with various spices and chopped onions, sopped up with ripped pieces of soft pita. We also stopped at a vendor where we bought these delicious honey-and-sesame coated peanuts. So. Good.

Phew! Okay! One more day! This is so freaking long. Please wait for another entry for Ourika Valley, thanks.

Lisboa

All right, part II!

We left for Lisbon on Monday (2/15), and arrived at some desolate-looking bus station made even more desolate by the copious amounts of rain and gray sky. Not fun. So Naomi and I went to the metro to make our way into Lisbon proper and the apartment where we were staying (yay connections and free housing!)--oh, fun story about the Lisbon metro: due to the fact that Lisbon metro cards do not love me at all, traveling in Lisbon consisted of me squeezing up very very close to Naomi as she went through the little opening doors into the station...or just straight-up running through with complete strangers. Fun times. But yes! The first night we were made a popular Portuguese dish by our host, baccalau (salted cod) with little potato slices, eggs, and onions. Really good, but I can't say I'm a fan of baccalau. Anyway, upon being told that the next day was CARNIVAL and because we didn't have anything else to do, Naomi and I made our way to Barrio Alto, the "hip" part of Lisbon and wandered around, enjoying all the crazies in their wild Carnival costumes.
The next day, armed with a hastily-bought umbrella to protect us from the rain, we set off to explore the city. And since it was Carnival, we came across a small parade: during Carnival, people--everyone, not just children--dresses up in crazy costumes, and this modest little parade had drum teams, people dressed up as kings, old Portuguese peasant women, priests, bourgeoisie caricatures, what looked like French Revolutionaries wearing red caps...whatever.

It was pretty ridiculous, and wherever we went that day we'd come across someone dressed up. After the parade dispersed, we made our way by trolley into Afalma, the old neighborhood of Lisbon. There, we saw the Sé Catedral de Lisboa, which dates back to the 12th century and where there are currently excavations of even older Moorish settlements underneath.


Then we continued to head uphill--sadly we did not see the Castle of Sao Jorge, an apparently huge fortress in Lisbon which provides spectacular views of the city, because we were soaked and fairly off-course--but it was fun to walk around the old district and see random statues and tile works, and we were also able to get a really pretty vantage point of the river Tagus:


See how gray and overcast it was?

Wednesday we woke up earlyish since our flight to Madrid (where we'd catch a flight to Marrakech) was later that day. Luckily, it was a beautiful day (it seemed like wherever we went, we'd get gray and rain for 2 days, and 1 day of brilliance), and we caught a bus to Belem where we saw the Monument to the Discoveries, the Jeronimo Monastery, and the Tower of Belem. It was SUCH a gorgeous day: the sky was blue with fluffy white clouds, and it was nice to leisurely see all these monuments situated on the river. Although the Mosterio dos Jeronimos was nice and the Monument to the Discoveries was imposing, I really enjoyed seeing the Tower of Belem: a large fortress/castle/prison right on the waterfront, we spent a couple hours wandering around and climbing up to the top.


Monument to the Discoveries and lighthouse on the river


Mosterio dos Jeronimos


Tower of Belem


View of the water from the Tower


After the tower, we decided it was time to take our leave, and caught a cab to the Lisbon airport...where I quickly discovered my debit card was missing and freaked out (it's been cancelled). Then, we spent years (5 hours) in the Madrid airport, from 1am to 6am, and that was...unpleasant. And then after that we got on a plane and went to Marrakech!

MORE TO COME

Travels: Porto edition

Phew! It's been difficult getting back into the swing of things...kind of. Mostly it's been difficult to go to class, but I can deal. Well, okay, it's also only have 1 euro and 70 cents to my name after losing my debit card and spending all my money in Marrakech, but I will get to that later.

So, my travels! Let me tell you them.

I left on Friday with my friend Naomi, for our plane from Marseille to Porto, where we were going to stay with a friend of a friend of hers, or whatever. I'm not going to go into the details of getting there at 9pm and having to find our way to the bar where her friend works and then waiting around until 2am until he got off work, because that's not important. Anyway, we arrived in Porto on the 12th and stayed until Monday morning. Although it was raining (everywhere, throughout my entire trip), we did get one magnificent day with clear skies and gorgeous weather, which was the day after our arrival. Although we didn't do much when we first got there, on Saturday (the 13th), we took advantage of the lovely weather and wandered around the waterfront. We didn't really see much in the way of sights except for the S. Francisco Church (which was pretty spectacular, but we did get to really experience Porto. After wandering one side of the river, we crossed it via the Luis II bridge to go for some free port tastings--and let me tell you, it was delicious. We were able to go to various wine caves where we were given little glassfuls of different wines, and although I don't think I'd be able to drink port every day, it was a nice experience.
Anyway, I'm terrible at explanations, so here are some pictures:

Me in front of Ponte Dom Luis I
See those boots? I bought those boots freshman year of college off of eBay for $15. Pure leather, vintage, and after getting them re-soled in Montreal they have served me well. Sadly, they weren't able to stave off the massive amounts of rain during my trip, and although I may need to take a trip to the cobblers to get them re-re-soled, I feel this trip may have manhandled them a bit too much. I'm sorry, boots.


The crooked streets of Porto--Portugal is fairly hilly, and Porto is built into various cliffs and hillsides, creating lots of steep and jagged hills. Also, tiles are very popular in Portugal: the hallmark of Portuguese buildings seems to be a facade of brightly painted tiles in various states of maintenance or disarray. I kept on looking for a newly-fallen tile to take with me, but I never saw one.


View from where we stayed--note the lemon trees in the foreground.

Portugal was amazingly cheap, as I said--we ate at a lot of little diners, which served a steady stream of french fries, cheese and ham sandwiches, rice, and vegetable soup--the Portuguese are all about the vegetable soup--and even at a fancy restaurant in Lisbon I never paid more than 11euros for a meal. I'm pretty sure the average was about 5euros, and I never had to pay more than 2 euros for a drink. Even taxis, which are totally taboo for me to take back home in NY, were a viable form of transportation (and much needed during the cold after we would find ourselves on the other side of Porto and soaked feet), never costing more than 5 euros. And, although the language barrier was a little...much (I was so happy to go to Morocco because it meant I could communicate in French/at all), we mostly got by with a combination of gestures, pointing, English, and saying "Obligada!" (thank you!) constantly. Luckily, the Portuguese immediately proved themselves polite, warm, and understanding to us silly Americans, even though they're more conservative than, say, the Spanish--we didn't get any surly looks like I do in France when I stumbled over what I wanted to order at a restaurant (although English/French versions of menus seem to be du jour nowadays).

Alright, I think that's enough writing for right now--I'll post this ish so that I won't get anymore emails/phone calls from my dad telling me I HAAAVE to write another blog entry, WHEEEERE is my blog entry, WHYYYY haven't I written one yet blah blah. Up next: Lisbon! Stay tuned!

Un momento por favor

I JUST got back from my travels at 5:30 this morning after taking the bus from Barcelona, but after sorting out all my things, taking a shower, loading my pictures, and re-reading what sparse journal entries I kept I WILL write a blog entry. Just to let you know.

Very short update

So today I just got back from a trip to the park around Mt. St Victoire with un ami francais...sadly, I did not bring my camera (don't worry, there will be return trips), and although we only walked around for about 2 hours, it was lovely. The views of the mountain, and of the dam, ravines, and surrounding hills and countryside, were absolutely majestic. And even though it's February, the weather was pleasant enough that I didn't need a scarf or to button my jacket, and the light wind was just enough to cool me off as I trekked around in my very unpractical boots. As I said, it will definitely happen again, and I will definitely bring my camera because I can't really do it justice, but here is a painting by Cezanne:



Anyway, my legs are tired, but next time I will wear my (slightly less impractical) sneakers and walk around some more (although not up the mountain). In an hour we're going out for a wine-tasting, which should be incroyable and succulant.

A bientot!