Categories
Photographs Travel

Marrakech: Day 2

It was a pretty mellow day. We went to “the palace” museum. There are 2 palaces, we went to the ruins of the Badi Palace. That is where I got the photos of the storks starting here.

From there, we walked through the old part of the city back to the Djemaa Fna, which is where I took most of the photos starting here.

We then found a comfy place to sit on a restaurant terrace above the main square and people watched.

We watched the food vendors wheel in there stands and food.

We watched the crowds start to arrive.

In general we just kinda hung out.

The next morning we left of Cairo.

Some general observations:

  • Morocco is MUCH cleaner than Cairo. Having wind off the ocean and rain probably has a lot to do with that
  • There are many more headscarves, but fewer niqabs. Almost all non-western women in Morocco had on headscarves.
  • I don’t know what the Per Capita income difference between Egypt and Morocco is, but it seemed like Moroccons were better off. I saw far fewer beggars, there were FAR fewer ratty old cars on the streets. Of course, I think Morocco has far fewer people than Egypt. That probably helps
Categories
Cultural Differences Travel WTF

no kingly hand loving for you!

I am going to try to do this justice, but it was a surreal visual thing, so I am not optmistic. But here goes.

At the end of the first day in Marrakech, we retired to our hotel. There was a TeeVee in the room. As i almost always do in hotel rooms, I turn on the TeeVee to see what is on.

There were about half a dozen channels. Some in French, some in Arabic, one in German and one in English.

On what appeared to be an all-news arabic channel was a scene that I shall not soon forget.

In the center of the scene, in a fairly tight shot, a man was standing in a white, hooded robe, referred to as a gallabeya in these parts. He looked vaguely familiar. Turns out he is the King of Morocco and I had seen his photo everywhere.

Off to the side of him where several gentlemen wearing military uniforms and a few men in standard western suits.

From off camera-left came men. They were mostly middle aged and older. They all wore a white gallabeyas, with a fez and the hood pulled over the fez.

They approached the King. The king held out his hand. The man would take his hand and kiss it.

Or rather, attempt to kiss it.

Here is where it got weird.

The king, however, decided how much kingly hand loving they got. He would, rather abruptly, pull away his hand which often resulted in the kisser smacking himself in the face with his now empty hand! Doh!

The king allowed 4 levels of kingly hand loving. There must have been some ranking and favoritism to this. The 4 levels, in ascending order of lip-to-hand contact time:

  1. No actual lip contact. The king allowed his hand to be clasped and then would YANK it back before it could be kissed. (Heretofore referred to as the King Yank or K.Y.) Smack!
  2. Kissing the back of the hand followed by K.Y. Smack!
  3. Kissing the back of the hand, then turning it over to kiss the palm followed by K.Y. Smack!
  4. Kissing the back of the hand, turning it over to kiss the palm, then turning it back to kiss the back again. K.Y. Smack!

There were 2 outlyers in this group:

  1. A very small handful (heh) of men got the full multi-sided hand loving and got a few words from the King. They must have been very special individuals
  2. One or two did the whole front-back-front kiss and then proceeded up the King’s arm kissing as they went. This seemed to really annoy the King.

This procession went on for about 15 minutes. There must have been over a 200 people in this line. The entire time a very solemn voice proclaimed, what I assume to be, the names of the kissers.

We were there during a national holiday, a day where the King attends the mausoleum where his ancestors are entombed. I assume that these men were ministers of parliment, or otherwise leaders in the country and this was a ritual profession of loyalty to the king.

Kaddee and I laid in bed watching this with slack jaws. It was like a bad train wreck, you didn’t want to watch it, but you could help yourself.

The entire time I watched it I thought: The Daily Show would get a kick out of this.

I have looked for video of it, but I can find none.

Anyway…

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Uncategorized

I am as smart as a horse!

Arabic script is a difficult thing for a westerner to pick up later in life. (Well at least for this westerner).

The alphabet looks like a bunch of squiggles with dots. And the only differentiator between some letters and others is how many dots and/or whether the dots are above or below the letter.

So when I write a word during my Arabic lessons, I am never quite sure how many dots to put and where to put them.

And we have all seen the horse that can do arithmetic. Its trainer will say:

  • how much is 2+2
  • the horse will clop 4 times
  • how much is 2 +3
  • the horse will clop 5 times.

One theory on this is that the trainer is tense while the horse is clopping and relaxes when the horse reaches the correct number of clops and the horse “senses” this and stops.

I am sure you can see where this is going.

So I write a letter and I know it needs some level of dot-ing. I move my hand to the top of the letter and cast a sideways glance at my tutor…

Nope! not above below!

I move my hand below the letter and I put one dot and look at my tutor..

NOPE! 2 dots.

The trainer, err, tutor relaxes.

I am a very clever horse.

Categories
Photographs Travel

Morocco: Marrakesh

Another day, another bus. This time to Marrakesh. About 4 hours in the pouring rain, we slept.

We had a rest stop about half way to Marrakesh for a “quick” bathroom break. They had an bakery there making bread in a stone oven.

The tour agent informed the group that this rest stop sold pottery that can only be found there. “They don’t sell it in Marrakesh, so if you see something you like, you better buy it here.”

Snork. I observed both the bus driver and the tour agent getting a little bahksheesh from the owner/manager of the restaurant/store.

The rains parted about the time we made it to Marrakesh. We consulted the guide book and decide to go to a fixed price shop run by a government sponsored arts and crafts association. We figured it was a good way to get a sense of prices before heading into the market.

Then it started raining again. We had wanted to go to the Place Djemaa El Fna.

We sat in a coffee shop on the corner near our hotel and watched the rain while we debated whether or not to go to the square in the pouring rain. As we were debating, a young man came by selling umbrellas. After some haggling and checking the umbrellas (many were discarded because they broke the first time he opened them) we bought one. We decided it was a sign from Allah that we were meant to go.

Into a taxi and off we went.

The rain kept most of the locals home and many of the tourists away. We ate snails and fried fish. in the square under tarps put up by the food vendors. We decided to stay away from sheep’s heads and brains. We had a grand time.

We also did some shopping. The rain made for some good opportunities to haggle, since there weren’t many buyers out. We bought some scarves and slippers.

We got lost and actually paid 10 dirham to a kid to get us back to the main square. Heh!

With our stomachs full, our shopping needs sated and our wallets slightly less full, we decided to head to the hotel.
That was when we witnessed the Kingly Hand Loving on the TeeVee. More on that later.

Categories
Uncategorized

We’re back

Of course, all I have to do now is find time to write some content…

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Uncategorized

Server machine move

We are gonna be upgrading servers. This means that cairochronicles.com and jacktavares.com may be MIA for a few days.

We’ll be back as soon as possible.

Cheers

Categories
Photographs Travel

Morocco: Rabat

We awoke the next morning and went downstairs for the breakfast in the hotel dining room.

The food was interesting. Not a lot of protein. They had hard boiled eggs and 2 different kinds of crepes/pancakes. Lots of croissants, butter and jams, tolerable coffee and reconstitued juices.

We chatted with some folks that went for the “Moroccan dinner”. They were taken to an Italian restaurant. . They had some traditional Moroccan items on the menu, or you could order pizza or pasta. $20US. People were starting to grumble.

Today’s adventure was supposed to be a bus trip to Rabat and then Tangiers. A total of about 7 hours on the bus and about 7 hours in the 2 cities. We had decided we were going to take the “free” bus ride to Rabat and bail out there while the rest got back on the bus and drove 3 hours to get to Tangiers to spend 2 hours and turn around and come back. We would take the train back.
Somebody talked sense into someone, and the plan was changed to go to Rabat and spend the day there.

Oh, and the “free” bus ride was going to cost US$10. Again in dollars. hmmm.

We took the bus to Rabat. The bus stopped in the outskirts of Rabat to pick up the tour guide. We got a GREAT (ahem) tour of the new part of Rabat with all the new houses and gated communities and shopping centers while we drove from where the guide lived to where we wanted to go.

Where we wanted to go was the Hassan Tower and the Mausoleum. We spend about an hour there. We were unable to enter the Mausoleum because the king was visiting and pay his respects to his Father. Apparently, the day we went is the traditional day for this to occur.

From there we went to the Casbah, which is the old fort/barracks overlooking the river. It is a walled portion of the city with lots of twisty passages and alleys. Most of them are brightly painted. My pictures of the Casbah start here.

We walked through the Casbah with the guide. He brought us to a tea/coffee shop overlooking the river. Where, mysteriously, people popped out of nowhere to hawk crap. What a coincidence.

Then we strolled to the “gallery of traditional arts and crafts”. Apparently “traditional” arts and crafts are postcards and mass produced posters. Those Rabat-ians are so clever and advanced!

Then it was back to the bus for a trip somewhere to look at something and another “traditional” moroccan meal. At this point, we said khallas! (“Enough” usually said with great force and implying frustration). We told the tour guide and our organizers that we were bailing on the tour bus.

The suddenly became very concerned for my safety and told me to not walk through the medina without a guide because it wasn’t safe and I would never find the train station so I would have to take a taxi etc etc. I informed him that:

  • We were not getting on the bus
  • I have read the train schedule.
  • I can sit in a comfortable train, with a bathroom, for a faster trip back to Casablanca for less money than he was charging me for a cramped bus, with no bathroom.
  • I didn’t want a “traditional” moroccan dinner, paid for in US$ at an Italian restaurant.

He shrugged and said “ok”

It felt like a great weight had been lift. It felt like one of Jack And Kaddee’s grand adventures again, instead of a chore.

We strolled down to the medina, which is the center of the city. We wandered through the alleys. Most of the shops were closed due to the holiday, but we got to wander through unmolested.

Well except for one tweaker who was offering to “guide” us through “all the crowds”. There were maybe a dozen people visible at any one time. I laughed.

He continued to walk in front of us making weird motions with his hands as is to ward off “the crowds”. I stopped walking and just let him walk on with out us. About 2 blocks further down he realized we weren’t behind him any more and stopped looking very confused.

We came upon him later and he was, with great care and concern, sorting little plastic baggies from his pockets. Mmm. Might explain the tweaker-ness.

Onward. We wondered around, took some photos and enjoyed the breathing room of not being with 30 other people. (4 photos starting here are from the medina).

We then found a little coffee shop that was open just outside the medina walls. The coffee shops sell coffee, tea, water and maybe juice. No food. We needed food. I walked across the street, through one of the gates of the medina where there was a food vendor. He was grilling little sausages. I suspect they were a mixture of beef and mutton, which some paprika and other spices. Served in a “pita” bread with a little sauce. Lunch for 2 for about the equivalent of $2. Brought em back to the coffee shop and we ate and people watched.

People were out in the holiday best. Today is the equivalent of New Years Day: Everybody was out in their finest clothing. Shiney,pointy yellow babouches, their finest gallabayas.

Suitably refreshed, we dove back into the medina that was now starting to wake up. We witnessed the aftermath of what appeared to be a collision of 2 food vendor carts. Most likely a turf war. There were lots of people standing around yelling and the cops were already there. It was an ugly scene. The ground was littered with sausages and bread. Someone lost quite a bit of inventory that day. It was going to hurt.

We finished our tour with a leisurely stroll through the city to the train station. You know, that part of town that wasn’t safe to walk through, according to our guide? We boarded the train and were in Casablanca within an hour. We walked the 5 minutes to our hotel. Dumped off the camera and took a small rest.

It was a good day.

Categories
Photographs Travel

Morocco: Casablanca

So, we arrive at our hotel. We are given a few hours to rest, change money and prepare for our afternoon touristing.

Changing money:

All the students and most of the other adults brought dollars or euros that needed to be exchanged. We found that odd. We just went to an ATM and withdrew money from our American bank accounts in local currency. Our bank, Group Health Credit Union, doesn’t even charge us any fees. I guess most of the students don’t have american bank accounts? And we were the only “adult” Americans, the rest were Egyptian.

Additionally there was a hassle because the hotel ran out of cash.

Kaddee and I decided to get something to eat. This being Eid, the only thing open nearby was a western hotel with a rather expensive restaurant. We ate there anyway. The food was very tasty.

Back to the hotel and on the bus.

We went to the Mosque of Hassan II. It is a truly impressive structure. And there was at least one universal truth that came to mind while visiting: Old men hang out on park/church/mosque benches where ever you go. It was an extremely blustery day, pooh. The clouds rolled through and we had sun and shade and sun and shade.

I brought my small camera with me and got a few pictures.

Bummmer: because of my tired state (red eye from Cairo to Madrid and then Casablanca) I thought I had put my 50mm fixed lens in my pocket. I missed the pocket and bounced the lens off the tile floor of the hotel room. It would no longer focus, either manually or automatically. Well, technically it is focused at the infinite end of the range. Sigh. So I decided to leave the big camera in the hotel room cause I was upset by my $350 oopsie.

It was nice to stand right on the ocean and feel ocean breezes and mist again. The air was clean and smelled of the sea. The crowd was practically non-existent. We wandered around for about an hour. I looked at the colors and the construction details and the people in relative quiet.

Then we were back on the bus. Since everybody was hungry (except us, because we took our own destiny in our hands and actually _thought_ how “hmm, we haven’t eaten, nobody mentioned anything about food for the bus trip this afternoon, maybe we should do something about that”) the tour guide decided to takes us down the Corniche where he _hoped_ to find a restaurant open. (Again it was Eid. Everything was closed).

So we drove the Corniche and they pulled into a McDonalds. Yeah, a McDonalds. We took this time to stroll along the waterfront while folks grabbed a meal at McDonalds.

Then it was back to the hotel and some rest before dinner. The guide had arranged for a traditional “Moroccan” Dinner. At this point we were not thrilled with the guide and the choices made so far. We retired to the hotel room to rest and discuss our options.

We met downstairs at the appointed time and were discussing whether or not we would board the bus. The guide was saying that “it is really hard to get traditional moroccan food in Casablanca because it is a ‘modern’ city”. The dinner they had planned was going to cost $20US. I wondered why it was in US$. They wanted US money only. We bailed out and consulted our trusty Lonely Planet guide. The bus departed.

We wandered around. We were unable to find much open because of the holiday.

Note: Difference between Cairo and Casablanca: Cairo is a late night town. We usually eat out around 8pm. We are part of the “early bird” diners at that time..

What we did find open was starting to close around 9:30. We finally found a traditional Moroccan restaurant about 2 blocks from the hotel. Low seats and tables, lots of tile and tin ceilings. We had tagine and couscous, of course. It was great food and a lovely setting. Our meal, total, for both of us, was less than the equivalent of $20US.

We returned to the hotel with happy stomachs. We drank a couple of nips of scotch we had brought along and slept the sleep of exhausted travelers.

Categories
NSTIW

See Jack. See Jack drive. See Jack have nervous breakdown…

I know I have posted about cars and the traffic here and how it is rather chaotic.

Well events have conspired against me and I had to drive today.

I needed to get from Cairo to 6 October City. It is an “industrial zone” with some housing and business and what not. It is about 30km from Cairo.

The university has cars (and drivers) available for faculty for a fee. They had no cars available at the time I needed to go.

No problem. I have the name of a couple of taxi drivers that I trust. I’ll call them. No joy. They are not available.

One of Kaddee’s co-workers offered to lend me her car. I was terrified. But I had no choice.

So, I picked up the car and headed out.

Getting out of Cairo proper is the scary part, but that went very well. Lots of honking and I was actually kind of enjoying the weaving in and out of traffic.

I saw the remains of at least 4 or 5 car accidents on the side of the road. Some of them involving 6 or so vehicles. Some of them minor, a few very serious looking. The biggest danger here is the vast difference in speeds. The limit on this piece of road is 100kmh. I approached people that were barely managing half that speed. And lots of cars do not have functional brake lights. So you really have to pay attention.

So I am driving to 6 October City. I have been there once. And I kinda know where I need to go, but I blow right past where I wanted to be, without realizing it.

So I drive for a few minutes and realize

“None of this looks familiar”

But it is hard to know, because one brown desert hill looks much like every other.

Finally I am sure that I must have missed it. I see one of those ubiquitous informal bus stops on the side of the road near the pullout for “Happy Land”, which is apparently an amusement park. In the middle of nowhere. It is either not finished being built or it is abandoned

These informal bus stops are not marked, but “everyone” knows where they are. There is also a felafel stand and a guy with a tea setup there. There are 2 or 3 buses in there and a few 18-wheelers.

As I pull into the dirt lot I noticed that the pickup truck in front of me is on fire. More accurately, what is in the back of the pickup truck is on fire.

I pull in and stop shorter than I planned to, to stay out of the danger zone and momentarily forget about asking for directions. I grab my little point n shoot camera and hop out of the car.

Allow me to backtrack a little. When I picked up the car this morning, the owner gave me the key and the remote for the alarm and told me how to use it. Pretty standard stuff.

So, when I get to the car, I put the key in the lock and open the car. The alarm immediately goes off. Crap! I frantically push buttons on the remote until the alarm stops.

I sigh, get in the car and drive.

Now, back to the dirt lot with the felafel stand, the tea stand, the buses and the pickup truck on fire.

I hop out of the car with my camera and I hear a noise behind me. It is a noise that one hears thousands upon thousands of times in ones life. An everyday, no one would think twice about, kinda noise.

The noise of a car door closing.

I heard it and my skin crawled. I turned around. The car was still running. The doors and windows were all closed.

And locked.

I speculate that in my frantic button pushing to turn off the damn alarm, i had relocked the car. And, apparently, one can open the car door while it is locked and have it still be locked. If the engine is running. I guess.

So, NSTIW. In BFE with a borrowed car that is now running and locked on the side of the road bordering the desert.

I figured I would just whip out my cell phone and start calling people until I found someone who would know the local equivalent (if there is such) of AAA.

You guessed it. My cell phone is in the car.

All right. Plan B.

I start asking for a cell phone at the bus stop. Problem is, I have no idea what anybody’s phone number actually is, because they are all programmed in my phone. And it’s not like you can call 411 here.

All right. Plan C.

I start asking if anybody can help me unlock the car.

People try all their keys and a screwdriver comes out.

We forage on the side of the road for a flexible piece of metal. No joy. Found a bunch of sticks. The windows have a full metal frame, so you can’t pull the window out to try to get at the locks.

We try to pry back the seal where the window meets the door and fish around with various pieces of wood and a piece of a broken car antenna.

The car antenna breaks, leaving a small piece in the door panel.

Sigh.

After about an hour, we are getting no where.

The nice men have to leave. The bus has been waiting all this time.

I continue on my own. No joy.

All right. Plan D.

I look at the windows. It is a Hyundai small SUV. In the far rear is a little quarter window. It doesn’t open, but it is the smallest piece of glass. I figure it has got to be the cheapest piece to replace.

But I wasn’t sure, that if I broke it, if I could reach a door handle. It was too small for me to crawl through. But I look around and there are plenty of scrawny Egyptians around, so I figured I could get them to do it.

I identify a likely hunk of discarded concrete, but I just can’t bring myself to do it yet. If it had been my car, I would have broken the damn window an hour ago and been on my way.
Another couple of trucks pull in and I decide to try my luck again.

We found more sticks and more screwdrivers.

One guy jammed the screwdriver into the door frame and we were able to pull back the door frame enough to wedge in a piece of wood. After a break we pulled back on it again and wedged the piece of wood in further. Another break. More wood wedging.

We were able to spread the door frame enough that we were able to, after many tries, get a stick in there to push the window button and open a window. (Luckily the car was running, otherwise the window buttons would not have worked)

I gave the nice man LE100 (about US$18). He was very happy. I was very happy.

2 hours later, I am on my way again.

Oh yeah, now I gotta ask for directions…

The funniest part of all this, to me, is that I was going out there to take a cardio stress test. (before you ask, everything is fine).

I finally get to the hospital and the doctor takes my blood pressue and says

“Hmm. it seems a little higher than usual today”

No kidding?

Categories
Cultural Differences

The weekends are backwards

Friday is Sunday here. The day that most people go to services.

Not everything is open, and what is open usually doesn’t open till after the noon prayers.

That means that Saturday is the day to “get stuff done”

That also means most of our tourist-ing is done on Saturday, which results in us being rather tired on Saturday night and a little weary come Sunday morning, when the work week starts….