London's been amazing. I certainly had some preconceptions coming into the program, some of which were met and others of which were not. How's that for a generic statement? English culture's a weird thing, and though I like the inherent expected dignity, the coldness, the almost impolite reservedness, bothers me. I'm less likely to live here, I think, but nonetheless, I've loved my stay.
I didn't blog as much as I'd have like to. The assignment was 2 400-word posts a week, and I think instead I did 1 800+ word post every week. I'm not sure if that's good or not. Oh well. I'm incredibly glad I did the program: if for no other reason than I feel as if I've made some really good friends. People seem to comment a lot on the negative aspects of the group, but I'd have to take it from another perspective: I've made a boatload of great friends with whom I'll probably keep in contact in the years to come.
My classes were mostly a good balance of academia and exploration that allowed me to see the city while actually learning something. Also, living in an urban environment was a novelty for me, since I've only ever lived in the suburbs and rural areas (Harrisonburg). I like how fast-paced it is, and the many parks helped me get my occasional nature-fix. The flat was amazingly well-located, too. Rob and I were talking about that earlier, actually. We thought about various places in London and couldn't come up with a better place to live, except maybe Buckingham Palace. Maybe next time.
Anyways, London's been fun. I head over to Barcelona on Saturday to meet up with my family and tour around. A change of scenery will be nice, but I'll really miss this place, these people. This Jackson, over and out.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Dublin up on Fun
Last thursday evening, I, along with a bunch of folks from my program, headed out to Gatwick Airport and flew out to Dublin. That was a good start to the weekend, but it got better. We got in late that evening, and though some people went out to pubs, I decided to relax with a few folks and rest up.
The next day we got up, had the free breakfast at the hostel (cold cereal and toast, bleh), and headed out for a free walking tour of the city. The tour was far more extensive that I'd expected it might be, clocking in at three hours, and by the end I was sort of footsore and grumpy, to be honest. I was struck, mostly, by how unremarkable Dublin was as a city. The architecture was lackluster, the monuments generic and uninteresting, and the history desecrated--the built the government building on top of an ancient Viking village without excavating it. Lame. The coolest part of the tour, for me, was learning about the local languages. Apparently, "Gaelic" is a generic term which encompasses Irish and Scottish, and therefore our tour guide--a lovely Irish girl--kept referring to the local language as "Irish," not Gaelic. Cool.
After that we headed to the Guinness Factory, where we toured the museum section. Midway through, the power went out, which was weird, but after a stint waiting outside, we got back in and toured around some more. On the right, you can see us outside waiting for the power to come on. The museum was so-so, but they had a cool section where you could learn to properly pour (from a tap) a pint of Guinness. It was neat...if you slow down towards the end you can draw a shamrock in the head with the last few ounces. We also met up with a couple guys from the Northeast US who recommended that we head to the Cliffs of Moher the next day. We thanked them and headed on.
After that we wandered for a bit and went to a touristy (but AMAZING) bar/restaurant that had tables with Guinness taps on them (so you could pour your own), and a stage. There were two groups of performers, who came on around dessert: a 3-person band (fiddle, accordion, guitar), and a few ex-riverdancers. The band was great--the guys were incredibly charismatic and played traditional Irish songs, while the dancers were amazing. They had less of a stage presence, but nonetheless, their movements were entrancing. As unimpressed as I had been with the city itself earlier in the day, I was equally or more impressed with the culture--or their representation thereof) that evening. It was a great show. After that we headed back to the hostel and passed out. Sleep was tough with 10 people coming back in waves, but I managed alright.
The next morning we woke up early and waited downstairs for Bennett and Rob. The plan was to catch a bus tour to the Cliffs of Moher, like those guys had suggested the day before. We waited for a long time, until it became obvious that they'd overslept, and Mary went up and dragged them down. Apparently neither of them heard their alarms. Oh well.
We made the bus (barely) and hunkered in to fall asleep. We were with a ton of obnoxious Spanish tourists who didn't speak English or know to shut up at 6 am, though, so it was tough. We drove east to west across the whole island before reaching Galway, where the drivers switched off and, our guide for the day took the wheel. I forget his name, but the guy was amazing: funny, nerdy, goofy, knowledgeable, and utterly eccentric. He was just the sort of guy you'd want to be your tour guide. His wit and oddity made the tour great too. We drove from Galway to the Cliffs, stopping at various attractions along the way.
The first place we stopped was an old Norman fortress (from over 1000BCE!), which was essentially a dug-out hole in the ground with trees planted around the ring to hold steady the dirt walls. According to our guide, the place is now a home to faeries, and he urged no one to walk through the center so we didn't get cursed by the faeries. I stuck to the edges. You can see the faeries in the picture on the left.
Next we stopped off at an old tomb (several hundred BC), which was just a slab of rock laid over two others, like a little shanty. What amazed me is how casual the Irish are about their history...there was an old castle (from 300-400 AD) just on the side of the road. No marker, no plaque, nothing. That blows my mind. The area we drove through was incredibly rocky, too. The rock and the grass together looked quite beautiful, and I'd like to get back there sometime.
After that, we stopped briefly for lunch--I had potato and leek soup with Irish brown bread, yum--before pressing on to the Cliffs. We got there and wandered up and down the path along the Cliffs. The Cliffs were gorgeous. If you glance to the right, you'll probably agree. We wandered around, climbed a castle, and got to the end of a path, where a sign read: "Do not go past this point." Next to the sign was a memorial and some flowers for someone who'd fallen off to their death. There was also a trail, and a steady stream of people going past the sign. So did we. It was a little unsafe, but not to bad if you kept your sense about you, so no worries, parents. The view, too, was amazing.
After that, we headed back to the bus and wearily got in. I slept most of the way, when I was able to drown out the loud Spanish folks. We got back, thanked the guide, and headed out. We relaxed for a while and went out to a really nice Irish pub, where the had a live band and cheap drinks. It was a nice way to cap off the evening, and the trip in general.
I ended up really liking Ireland. The city wasn't much to look at, but the culture and the countryside were as vibrant as anywhere I've ever been. More, even. I'm glad to have gone, and I'd like to go back sometime.
After that we wandered for a bit and went to a touristy (but AMAZING) bar/restaurant that had tables with Guinness taps on them (so you could pour your own), and a stage. There were two groups of performers, who came on around dessert: a 3-person band (fiddle, accordion, guitar), and a few ex-riverdancers. The band was great--the guys were incredibly charismatic and played traditional Irish songs, while the dancers were amazing. They had less of a stage presence, but nonetheless, their movements were entrancing. As unimpressed as I had been with the city itself earlier in the day, I was equally or more impressed with the culture--or their representation thereof) that evening. It was a great show. After that we headed back to the hostel and passed out. Sleep was tough with 10 people coming back in waves, but I managed alright.
The next morning we woke up early and waited downstairs for Bennett and Rob. The plan was to catch a bus tour to the Cliffs of Moher, like those guys had suggested the day before. We waited for a long time, until it became obvious that they'd overslept, and Mary went up and dragged them down. Apparently neither of them heard their alarms. Oh well.
We made the bus (barely) and hunkered in to fall asleep. We were with a ton of obnoxious Spanish tourists who didn't speak English or know to shut up at 6 am, though, so it was tough. We drove east to west across the whole island before reaching Galway, where the drivers switched off and, our guide for the day took the wheel. I forget his name, but the guy was amazing: funny, nerdy, goofy, knowledgeable, and utterly eccentric. He was just the sort of guy you'd want to be your tour guide. His wit and oddity made the tour great too. We drove from Galway to the Cliffs, stopping at various attractions along the way.
The first place we stopped was an old Norman fortress (from over 1000BCE!), which was essentially a dug-out hole in the ground with trees planted around the ring to hold steady the dirt walls. According to our guide, the place is now a home to faeries, and he urged no one to walk through the center so we didn't get cursed by the faeries. I stuck to the edges. You can see the faeries in the picture on the left.
After that, we stopped briefly for lunch--I had potato and leek soup with Irish brown bread, yum--before pressing on to the Cliffs. We got there and wandered up and down the path along the Cliffs. The Cliffs were gorgeous. If you glance to the right, you'll probably agree. We wandered around, climbed a castle, and got to the end of a path, where a sign read: "Do not go past this point." Next to the sign was a memorial and some flowers for someone who'd fallen off to their death. There was also a trail, and a steady stream of people going past the sign. So did we. It was a little unsafe, but not to bad if you kept your sense about you, so no worries, parents. The view, too, was amazing.
I ended up really liking Ireland. The city wasn't much to look at, but the culture and the countryside were as vibrant as anywhere I've ever been. More, even. I'm glad to have gone, and I'd like to go back sometime.
Whine, Jeez, and Bag-Its. Mercy Buck-Ups.
Right...Paris. I loved Paris. It was a much better trip than I had anticipated, even though my expectations were quite high. I think the biggest surprise was the language: I've only taken 1 year of French, but nonetheless I had surprisingly little trouble moving about and (sort of) conversing with folks. With this non-informational preamble, let me jump into a recounting of the events.
We took the train from St. Pancreas Station in London through the tunnel under the English Channel. The train ride was uneventful, and I managed to read a lot of Atlas Shrugged, which was nice.
When we got in, they (the JMU folks leading the trip) gave us a couple hours to get checked in and head to the Musée d'Orsay. When we got to the hotel, it was to our supreme displeasure to discover that the lady with whom we needed to communicate to check in didn't speak English. Alas. I, the only (vaguely) French-speaking member of the group halfheartedly swaggered up, and mumbled a few irrelevant words, which probably amounted to: "Hello it is cloudy I would like a pepsi where is the library." Somehow, we got checked in, dropped off our bags, and headed out. The view from the window's on the left. I picked up a sandwich along the way, utilizing my French properly for the first time. I asked for a sandwich avec jambon et fromage, which they took perhaps more literally than I had intended. I got a baguette with a slice of ham and a slice of cheese. The bread was good, though, so it was ok.
Hereafter began a forced march of awesome pain. Awesome because we were in Paris(!) but painful because we walked for nearly the entire day. Phew. The Musée d'Orsay was awesome. Though I'd been there before, I really hadn't appreciated impressionistic works as much as I should until that visit. The most notable painting was the Van Gogh self portrait. There's a picture of me standing in front of a poster of it on the right. Cool, eh? It was far more powerful, I thought, seeing it in the context of the impressionist artists, and seeing how far he deviated from the culture of the time.
After that, we headed over to the Louvre, which was cool, but which I probably didn't appreciate as much as I should have, footsore as I was. That's happened both times I've been to the Louvre, come to think of it. One day I'll go back and take it slower so I can really enjoy it. But yeah, we saw the Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa. The statue Nike of Samothrace (right) was really powerful too (I like angels), and interestingly she's also the inspiration for the company name too. Cool stuff. 
Next we trudged over to Notre Dame, which was predictably amazing. I'm a sucker for cathedrals, and there're fewer more impressive than our lady. I was obviously fairly overcome, since the building is transcendentally beautiful. I was struck while I was there, though, by the contrast it had with St. Paul's in London. St. Paul's was very formal, and you really felt as if you were in a severe religious building, despite the touristy undertones. Photos were prohibited, and you had to keep your voice down. By comparison, Notre Dame was a madhouse. Tourists darted here and there taking flash photos in the dark, and shouted back and forth to each other through the mob. Bleh. It's admittedly sort of hypocritical of me to condemn these people, since I definitely took photos, but at least I tried to be respectful about it. Oh well. 
After that, we got dinner at a great place on the street (I had Boeuf Bourguignon, which was succulent, melt-in-your-mouth, and AMAZING, with a glass of red wine. Nom.) and headed over to the Eiffel Tower, since we had group tickets to the top. To be frank, it was sort of a waste of time. It took almost 3 hours to get up, and I feel like we could have spent the time more productively. That said, it's a nice thing to be able to say I've done, so I can't really complain. On the right is a blurry view from the top. Sorry my photography wasn't great; it was windy and crowded. After that we all headed back to the hotel room and passed out.
The next morning we got up and had breakfast--a delicious ham and cheese crepe--before going on an outing led by a few of the professors. The professors are cool people, but I don't think I really took much from the outing. Hm. I'm being really negative in my writing. Let me make a disclaimer and say that I loved the trip, but when I travel I like to just wander and see the culture rather than just hit check-marks on the list. As such, guided tours seem like a means to an end rather than a pleasure. Oh well. (pictured left: the funniest thing ever.) After the tour we split up and wandered around. I saw the Arc de Triomphe, which was nice.
That night we skipped dinner and ate tons of cheese and baguettes--with a hefty wine supplement--right below the Eiffel Tower, which was amazing. As the sun sets you really start to appreciate that the Eiffel Tower is actually quite beautiful, in a weird way. There're also tons of small lights on the exterior that flash for a few minutes every hour after sun-down. We all hung out there for a while, chatting and sipping wine, until it grew colder, and we headed back for the night.
The next day I wanted to spend wandering around, which is my favorite way to explore places. Most of the people on the program headed to Versailles, but since I'd already seen it and I only had one more day, I figured it'd be better for me to wander. Rob tagged along, and it was nice to have the company. We really just wandered, so there aren't many intense highlights I can impart...it's interesting how accurate my French class culture section was, though. Bureau de Tobacs were weird establishment, somewhere between pubs and gas station convenience stores. We got some amazing éclairs at a local bakery, served up by a lovely old French lady who didn't speak English. I was in heaven. Nom nom.
After that--and an AMAZING meal where I got a croque monsieur--Rob and I headed to the Ile Saint-Louis, a posh area of Paris I remembered from our family trip. We wandered the strip and ate at a real creperie, which is an experience unlike any other. I had a ham and cheese crepe with a kir, which were both unbelievable.
As a side-note, I managed to order nearly every single meal entirely in French, which amazed me, since I didn't think my French was that good. It was a real confidence booster, and I'm psyched to go back into class next year. It really justifies all the work I put into learning language when I can see its use so practically. But yeah, I digress, the Ile Saint-Louis was incredibly lovely. If you're familiar with DC, it was like a Parisian Georgetown--wealthy, chic, stylish, and very expensive. The food, too, was unbelievable and splendid. It was also incredibly beautiful, which is why I've put so many pictures in this section.
After that we met up with some of the girls and headed to the Sacre Coeur, which is a gorgeous church set on top of a massive hill overlooking the city. It was a bit of a climb getting there--check out the stairs on the right! That was half of them!--but it was well worth the climb. We never got inside because it was unbelievably crowded and we were limited on time, but the outside, white stone set against the clear blue sky, was enough to take your breath away. After checking out the exterior, we explored the open-air market that was right behind the church--incidentally, where Amélie was filmed!--and I picked up a little something for my sister. There, too, we saw an amazing Spanish guitarist, Estas Tonne, who lived as a gypsy for several years before claiming to "channel the universe" through his guitar, and now plays as a street performer. I dunno about the universe, but his modern-classical guitar is amazing. I bought his CD, and Rob and I went off to eat dinner.
We stopped off at a small place near our hotel and grabbed some entrecôte with scalloped potatoes, split a bottle of wine, and enjoyed our last meal in Paris. We then ran back to the hotel, grabbed our bags out of the cloakroom, and headed off to the train station.
I loved Pairs. It was amazing to see how quickly my French improved, and I would argue that if you learn the basic grammatical rules of a language, you can pick up the rest just by spending time in the culture. It certainly seemed to be happening to me. Great food, great language, and beautiful scenery all made for a lovely trip. It was unforgettable.
After that--and an AMAZING meal where I got a croque monsieur--Rob and I headed to the Ile Saint-Louis, a posh area of Paris I remembered from our family trip. We wandered the strip and ate at a real creperie, which is an experience unlike any other. I had a ham and cheese crepe with a kir, which were both unbelievable.
As a side-note, I managed to order nearly every single meal entirely in French, which amazed me, since I didn't think my French was that good. It was a real confidence booster, and I'm psyched to go back into class next year. It really justifies all the work I put into learning language when I can see its use so practically. But yeah, I digress, the Ile Saint-Louis was incredibly lovely. If you're familiar with DC, it was like a Parisian Georgetown--wealthy, chic, stylish, and very expensive. The food, too, was unbelievable and splendid. It was also incredibly beautiful, which is why I've put so many pictures in this section.
After that we met up with some of the girls and headed to the Sacre Coeur, which is a gorgeous church set on top of a massive hill overlooking the city. It was a bit of a climb getting there--check out the stairs on the right! That was half of them!--but it was well worth the climb. We never got inside because it was unbelievably crowded and we were limited on time, but the outside, white stone set against the clear blue sky, was enough to take your breath away. After checking out the exterior, we explored the open-air market that was right behind the church--incidentally, where Amélie was filmed!--and I picked up a little something for my sister. There, too, we saw an amazing Spanish guitarist, Estas Tonne, who lived as a gypsy for several years before claiming to "channel the universe" through his guitar, and now plays as a street performer. I dunno about the universe, but his modern-classical guitar is amazing. I bought his CD, and Rob and I went off to eat dinner.
I loved Pairs. It was amazing to see how quickly my French improved, and I would argue that if you learn the basic grammatical rules of a language, you can pick up the rest just by spending time in the culture. It certainly seemed to be happening to me. Great food, great language, and beautiful scenery all made for a lovely trip. It was unforgettable.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Odds and Ends
We have a lot to catch up on, you and I, so I figured I'd sit down tonight, take a breather, and get it typed out. Where to start though? Maybe at a bar, to get the words flowing. In London, there's a place down Heddon street called the Absolute Ice Bar. It is, as the name implies, absolutely made of ice. And they serve vodka drinks. Your admission in gets you 40 minutes in the bar with a sweet parka, a pair of gloves, and one free drink, served in a hollowed-out cube of ice. Mine was a house-drink (the Absolute London) but it was incredible, managing to simultaneously contain alcohol and taste like a cookie. Props to you, ice bar. The experience was pretty novel, and I'm glad I did it, but now that it's checked off the bucket list, I feel no compulsion to return.
That's about all. I went to Paris this past weekend, but that definitely deserves a full post, so keep your eyes peeled for that one. Over and out.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
The Disingenuous Centaur: A Pub by Jackson and Emms
This past weekend, I went over to Risca, near Cardiff (the capital of Wales) to visit one of my best friends, Andrew Emms. Since I'd stayed with him and his family one and a half years ago, I didn't really feel the need to do any more touristy kinds of things around Cardiff. Essentially, therefore, I ended up relaxing with Mr. Emms around town for much of the visit.
We started in London, where we visited Portobello Market, which was underwhelming, and it was also hot outside. Oh well. After that was the un-air-conditioned train ride to Cardiff. It was exceedingly hot and uncomfortable. We hopped out of the train (happily) and set out around the city.
It should be noted that in Cardiff there exists the greatest tea house in the entire world. It's called The Plan, and I went there during my first trip to the Emms household. In fact, you can see me in 2008 on the left, and 2010 on the right. Unfortunately, I couldn't get the same table, but I was just one away, so I'm satisfied. I was worried that The Plan wouldn't live up to my astronomical expectations, but upon delivery of the tea and scones, my fears dissolved entirely. The place is really amazing...beyond just serving great tea and scones, it has this ambience that's unbelievable: the whole place just has this incredible sense of age. 
By the way, while Emms and I were talking, we realized that in order to generate a good pub name, you just use the formula: Pub Name = Adjective + Mythical Creature. Think about it. The Shifty Griffin. The Downtrodden Dragon. The Chuckling Kraken. The best one in my opinion, though, was The Disingenuous Centaur. What a cool name. Also, we concluded that the term "half-pint" was emasculating, so we'd forever after call them "Traveler's Pints," which sounds a lot cooler.
Monday, July 5, 2010
Marrakech and Me - Part the Second
The second day Judd and I woke up, and almost immediately his friends from the program he's in (I did mention that he's studying in Fez, Morocco, right?) showed up. Since they were all Modern Middle-Easter Studies Majors from Yale, I was a bit outclassed on the knowledge of all things local/ fluency in Arabic. Other than Judd, though, I was the only one who spoke any French, so my pride was a little salvaged.
There was then a bit of a debacle with the renting of cars that I won't go into for the sake of my parents' blood pressure, but which had no lasting repercussions. (No worries, mom and pops). We moved out of the hotel and into a villa, of which you can see a picture to the left, on the outskirts of the city to accommodate the extra people. The thing on the table is a tajine, by the way. The villa was incredible, as you can see. There was even wild rosemary growing along the path to the front door. Unfortunately, I wasn't there long enough to do any cooking, but it was still really cool.
After we threw out stuff down, we headed to a local market outside the city where we could get some lunch. The hodgepodge of tents was incredibly derelict, in a deserty sort of way, and it was one of those times when I felt really out of place. Everyone was wearing a ripped little-league shirt or one of those man-dress things, and they were under feebly propped-up stalls made from various recycled fabrics. We couldn't eat at the first stall we went to, because we didn't have a live chicken for them to butcher, so we moved on. The second stall was good, though. We sat down and they brought us some bread and more of the delicious mint tea. We chatted with the people next to us--three guys studying to be physicians in Marrakech--and chowed down on some really really good lamb skewers, which were cooked over a rudimentary charcoal grill. Nom nom.
After lunch we dodged around the stray sheep/goats at the market and headed back to the car. We drove south of the city, heading to the waterfalls by Setti Fatma, a small town in the Ourika valley. The drive down was unbelievably gorgeous. Passing camels, mules, and motorbikes, we carved through the red-clay mountains covered with low brush. The towns we passed through were made of the same red clay, and adorned with blue paint, and the effect was unbelievably striking. The shops we passed sold rough, beautiful, handmade treasures like wooden benches and tajines. We almost stopped at a place where you could ride a camel, but Judd advised that riding a camel was hell on the nether regions, so we proceeded on. A river flowed to the left of the car, and hand-made rope bridges led to cafés on the other side.
Passing through several more towns, we came finally to Setti Fatma, a small town set in a more wooded part of the mountains. We parked, and climbed a path that began behind the town, through stalls selling fresh squeezed juices, dageers, carved stone figurines and daggers, mint tea, and shisha, which had been set up on the side of the wooded path. We stopped briefly to down some fresh orange juice (amazingly refreshing, see top right for the place we stopped), before continuing up. The path was really treacherous, and at several points I had to go on all fours to ensure I didn't break an ankle...or my neck. On the top left is Judd climbing the path.
After a long climb, over a slippery, wet, rocky trail, we finally reached the top, which held a pretty dinky waterfall with a small--though very beautiful--pool below, as you can see on the left and right. People were hanging out, taking pictures and wading in the pool. There was a place on the right where you could sort of climb up the side of the falls and get to the top. Showing an unusual amount of good sense, I decided it wasn't worth a broken ankle in a foreign country, and decided to stay put. But Judd--the only member of our group who could drive the stick-shift rental car--decided to risk breaking his ankle and climb up. Luckily, he's a pretty athletic fellow, so he was ok up and down, but I was a bit nervous for a while.
After a time, we grew weary of the falls and decided to head down. On the way, though, we stopped at an awesome place to smoke shisha (tobacco in a hookah [water pipe]), drink mint tea, and have fresh juice and chips. Check out the place on the left; it was amazing. We spent a while sitting and smoking, talking about various things, before continuing on. On the way down, some people from the group got souvenirs from the local stalls. I got a turtle carved from malachite, and I bargained it from 80 dirhams (the Moroccan currency) down to 60! Go me. By the way, I don't think I've mentioned this, but watching Judd bargain is really impressive. He switches fluidly from Arabic to French to English, all back and forth while crafting an argument, and consistently gets the best deals in the group. I usually let him buy things for me, but I was feeling pretty saucy. I might have still overpaid, but it came to $6 US, so I'm not too upset. Actually, the day before, Judd was buying a dagger and the merchant turned to me and said that my friend bargained like a Berber (the local nomads, who apparently bargain pretty hard). I guess that was a compliment?
The drive back was pretty uneventful (pictured right: the drive from Marrakech to Setti Fatma, daytime); it grew dark and hard to see, and I think I fell asleep for a while in there. There was a pretty interesting conversation going on in the car about people's personal narratives and how they intertwine with other narratives to form a collective group narrative, which can still exist even though it doesn't have a consciousness governing it, but that was cut short when we got a ticket. We had 6 people in the 5-seater car, and we got pulled over by a traffic cop. Judd argued for a while because every other car passing us had 6 people in it, and Judd was sure we were being targeted as Americans. In the end, he just bribed the cop 200 dirhams and we went on our way, but it put everyone in a surly mood.
When we got into the city, we parked on the street and decided to split up. Judd and I sought out a restaurant, while the others explored the streets. Judd and I wandered around lost for a while, shrugging off would-be tour guides, and eventually found the restaurant, by which time it had closed. We headed back to the main square and ate a significantly cheaper, though somewhat lackluster, meal. I had another chicken tajine. On the left is the main square at night, though you really can't see the scope of how huge it was. There were performers everywhere, doing dances, tricks, and other such tourist-attracting things. After dinner, we all reconvened, Judd had a very bad banana juice (it seriously just tasted like milk), and we headed back to the villa to sleep. Since I had a 10:30am flight (the gate closed at 10:05) I set an alarm for 6:30, and went to bed.
At 9:06am the next morning, I realized that it was kinda light out and I should probably be awake. Exclaiming "Shhhhhhit," I accidentally woke up Judd, to whom I briefly described the predicament. After throwing on clothes and shoes, we both sprinted for the door and Judd drove (really really quickly) in the general direction of the airport, which was a 20-30 minute drive away. This was complicated by the fact that neither of us knew exactly where the airport was, and had to stop every now and then so Judd could ask for directions out the window in Arabic.
Eventually (miraculously), we made it to the airport and I took off running. Unfortunately, Morocco forces you to go through customs on the way out, as well as in, though as it would turn out, that was actually what saved me. I spent 5-10 minutes running around checking in frantically. The customs people in Marrakech had been so slow, though, that no one on my flight had been able to get through, so they delayed the flight a little, allowing me to slip into the line precisely when they started boarding. Phew. I relaxed, read, and headed back to London still sweating from running around. It had been an amazing trip, more than I could say on a blog, and I consider myself beyond fortunate to have gone. Pictured right: I told Judd to put my monkey (extra pair of shorts) on his shoulder so I could take a picture and charge him 20 dirhams. I thought it was pretty funny.
There was then a bit of a debacle with the renting of cars that I won't go into for the sake of my parents' blood pressure, but which had no lasting repercussions. (No worries, mom and pops). We moved out of the hotel and into a villa, of which you can see a picture to the left, on the outskirts of the city to accommodate the extra people. The thing on the table is a tajine, by the way. The villa was incredible, as you can see. There was even wild rosemary growing along the path to the front door. Unfortunately, I wasn't there long enough to do any cooking, but it was still really cool.After we threw out stuff down, we headed to a local market outside the city where we could get some lunch. The hodgepodge of tents was incredibly derelict, in a deserty sort of way, and it was one of those times when I felt really out of place. Everyone was wearing a ripped little-league shirt or one of those man-dress things, and they were under feebly propped-up stalls made from various recycled fabrics. We couldn't eat at the first stall we went to, because we didn't have a live chicken for them to butcher, so we moved on. The second stall was good, though. We sat down and they brought us some bread and more of the delicious mint tea. We chatted with the people next to us--three guys studying to be physicians in Marrakech--and chowed down on some really really good lamb skewers, which were cooked over a rudimentary charcoal grill. Nom nom.
Passing through several more towns, we came finally to Setti Fatma, a small town set in a more wooded part of the mountains. We parked, and climbed a path that began behind the town, through stalls selling fresh squeezed juices, dageers, carved stone figurines and daggers, mint tea, and shisha, which had been set up on the side of the wooded path. We stopped briefly to down some fresh orange juice (amazingly refreshing, see top right for the place we stopped), before continuing up. The path was really treacherous, and at several points I had to go on all fours to ensure I didn't break an ankle...or my neck. On the top left is Judd climbing the path.
After a long climb, over a slippery, wet, rocky trail, we finally reached the top, which held a pretty dinky waterfall with a small--though very beautiful--pool below, as you can see on the left and right. People were hanging out, taking pictures and wading in the pool. There was a place on the right where you could sort of climb up the side of the falls and get to the top. Showing an unusual amount of good sense, I decided it wasn't worth a broken ankle in a foreign country, and decided to stay put. But Judd--the only member of our group who could drive the stick-shift rental car--decided to risk breaking his ankle and climb up. Luckily, he's a pretty athletic fellow, so he was ok up and down, but I was a bit nervous for a while.
At 9:06am the next morning, I realized that it was kinda light out and I should probably be awake. Exclaiming "Shhhhhhit," I accidentally woke up Judd, to whom I briefly described the predicament. After throwing on clothes and shoes, we both sprinted for the door and Judd drove (really really quickly) in the general direction of the airport, which was a 20-30 minute drive away. This was complicated by the fact that neither of us knew exactly where the airport was, and had to stop every now and then so Judd could ask for directions out the window in Arabic.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Marrakech and Me - Part 1
I recognize that what I'm about to try to do is impossible. My trip to Marrakech was the single most indescribable event of my life, so by the very nature of the medium I'm using, I'm set to fail. I'll try though, because I've had at least 15 people ask me how the trip was, and I'm sort of sick of saying the same thing over and over.
Marrakech was amazing. That's a good place to start. It was also more foreign to me than any place I've ever been. One of my professors said that his trip to Marrakech was the first time he really recognized that he was really far from home. I'd agree.
Hopping off a four-hour flight and into the passenger seat of a cab, the driver of which holds a sign bearing your name, is disconcerting. It's far more disconcerting when you don't share a common language. (Ok, I took a year of French, but I can barely ask where the bathroom is, let alone make chit chat.) I was fortunate that Judd--the friend I was meeting in Marrakech--had booked a car to bring me; there was no way I'd be able to ask a cabbie myself. The drive was predictably silent between us, but my driver called out to his many friends in that strange Moroccan mix of French and Arabic, of which I understood none.
Once we reached the hotel (see left), I tipped the driver and checked in, using a halting combination of French and English. They told me the room would be ready at 12 (it was then 10:05am) so I decided to wait right outside until then, or until Judd showed up. After about 5 minutes, a man walked up to me and told me that my room was ready, so I followed him into a different building, and he spent about 15 minutes showing me all the empty rooms in his hotel, trying to get me to buy one. I was tired and in culture shock, so I didn't realize that the hotel he was showing me was in fact a different one than I had just checked in to. When he asked me to book a room, things became more clear and I excused myself. This sort of marketing, I'm told, is very common in Morocco. I did have an interesting conversation with him, though, in which I found out he'd worked previously at the Hilton in McLean, VA, very near where I live. Small world.
I went back outside, and after a few minutes, Judd showed up. He remarked that it was odd to turn down a random street in Morocco and have a close friend standing there. I'd agree. We got him checked in, and went to wander around Marrakech. Cue culture shock. The next few hours were sort of a blur, and it took me at least 3 hours before I was forming coherent statements again. When I first walked out onto the main square (see right), there were tons of people begging and hawking tourist services. Snake charmers and fresh juice venders abounded. A man walked up to me and shoved a monkey onto my shoulder, telling me in halting English to take a picture and pay him. I politely declined, and attempted to extricate the primate from my shoulder, to no avail. This guy was serious about having me take a snapshot and (especially) pay him. Have you ever tried to look annoyed and argue with a monkey on your shoulder? It was kind of novel, I guess, but didn't help my culture shock in the slightest.
We wandered off the square through tiny, windy streets brimming with small shops selling jeweled daggers, robes, arabesque lamps, hookahs, carved wooden boxes and figurines, pastries, fresh squeezed juices, handwoven rugs and scarves, locally-made leather shoes, fresh coconut cookies (very tasty), and all manner of goods you want to buy as a tourist. Motorbikes whizzed by inches from my foot down the narrow, crowded, twisting alleys, and I instantly became disoriented. If Judd hadn't been there, I'd probably still be wandering the streets.
Judd, a Modern Middle-Eastern Studies (MMES) major at Yale, filled me in on some of the background of the city. Most interesting was that much of the city's shops had evolved to conform to people's grand notions of the middle east (he called this the "Orientalist Fantasy"), despite the fact that it was a West African city, not in the Middle East at all. This explained all the snake-charmers and monkey-photographers. Judd also gave me a hat to wear that supposedly would help me blend in with the locals. Though, given that I have blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, I think this tactic was unsuccessful. Check out my hat--and how American I look--on the left.
Everyone in Marrakech tries to be your tour guide, because you'd be obliged to pay them at the end of the tour. This sounds kind of cynical, but it's the reality; often you have to just ignore people who're vying for your attention, lest you spend all your money paying people to show you to places on your map. We did follow one guy, though, who offered us a behind-the-scenes look at a tannery. Trudging nervously about a mile down a derelict, impoverished street in Marrakech, we eventually reached the entrance to the tannery--an open square filled with pools--where our guide handed us fistfuls of fresh mint leaves to sniff, telling us that the odor of the tannery would be unpleasant. He was right. 'The entire experience is fairly grisly,' I thought, stepping over camel entrails. I'm glad I saw it, but the tannery was kind of gross.
We stopped for lunch at a nice place--entirely outdoors, something you can only do in a desert country--where I got my first taste of traditional Moroccan cuisine. I had a pastille, which was like a sopapia or a beignet filled with chicken and veggies. It was pretty good, but the sweetness got cloying after a while. We spent the afternoon visiting museums made from converted Koranic schools or palaces, which were architecturally interesting but otherwise lackluster. An interesting point is that since Moroccans eat pigeons as an appetizer, they're not a heavy presence on the street. Instead, cats seemed to have taken up residence, as you can see from the picture on the right, which was taken inside a converted palace.
It was around this time that I first tried Moroccan mint tea, one of my new favorite things in the world. It's essentially super-sweetened black or green tea, in which has been dumped massive amounts of fresh mint. It's like southern sweet tea, but warm and super minty. It's refreshing, and delicious, and if anyone wants to make me some, I'd not object. Judd and I stopped at a café on the main square for a pre-dinner cuppa, and I fell instantly in love.
Dinner was a nice affair. We took a taxi out to the suburbs of the new city (Marrkech has a new and old district; we were staying in the old) to an upscale Moroccan restaurant. I had Casablanca, a pretty good Moroccan beer that was reminiscent of Modelo Especial, and a chicken tajine. A tajine is a conical cookware piece that you use to steam meats and veggies in an oven or in the fire, and it's the most traditional type of Moroccan cooking. Mine was chicken with steamed pumpkin on top, and it was delicious. We also had a platter of olives which were tremendous. Pictured left: more pictures from the palace converted into a museum, because I don't have any pictures of food.
After dinner, we wandered around the new city, and found a shopping mall, where I had my first experience with ordering gelato in French. Eventually, the vender navigated around my atrocious accent and procured a scoop of strawberry for me. It tasted incredible in the heat. The new city is incredibly westernized; Judd tried to pop into the TGI Fridays for a brownie sundae, but I told him that if he went in I'd kill him. Talk about an exotic buzzkill.
We spent the rest of the evening wandering the main square, perusing the stalls and watching the performers. Marrakech really picks up after sundown, probably because it's so hot during the day. After a bit of wandering, we turned in to the hotel for the night, and prepared for next next day, which I'll describe in the next post.
Marrakech was amazing. That's a good place to start. It was also more foreign to me than any place I've ever been. One of my professors said that his trip to Marrakech was the first time he really recognized that he was really far from home. I'd agree.
Hopping off a four-hour flight and into the passenger seat of a cab, the driver of which holds a sign bearing your name, is disconcerting. It's far more disconcerting when you don't share a common language. (Ok, I took a year of French, but I can barely ask where the bathroom is, let alone make chit chat.) I was fortunate that Judd--the friend I was meeting in Marrakech--had booked a car to bring me; there was no way I'd be able to ask a cabbie myself. The drive was predictably silent between us, but my driver called out to his many friends in that strange Moroccan mix of French and Arabic, of which I understood none.
We wandered off the square through tiny, windy streets brimming with small shops selling jeweled daggers, robes, arabesque lamps, hookahs, carved wooden boxes and figurines, pastries, fresh squeezed juices, handwoven rugs and scarves, locally-made leather shoes, fresh coconut cookies (very tasty), and all manner of goods you want to buy as a tourist. Motorbikes whizzed by inches from my foot down the narrow, crowded, twisting alleys, and I instantly became disoriented. If Judd hadn't been there, I'd probably still be wandering the streets.
Judd, a Modern Middle-Eastern Studies (MMES) major at Yale, filled me in on some of the background of the city. Most interesting was that much of the city's shops had evolved to conform to people's grand notions of the middle east (he called this the "Orientalist Fantasy"), despite the fact that it was a West African city, not in the Middle East at all. This explained all the snake-charmers and monkey-photographers. Judd also gave me a hat to wear that supposedly would help me blend in with the locals. Though, given that I have blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, I think this tactic was unsuccessful. Check out my hat--and how American I look--on the left. Everyone in Marrakech tries to be your tour guide, because you'd be obliged to pay them at the end of the tour. This sounds kind of cynical, but it's the reality; often you have to just ignore people who're vying for your attention, lest you spend all your money paying people to show you to places on your map. We did follow one guy, though, who offered us a behind-the-scenes look at a tannery. Trudging nervously about a mile down a derelict, impoverished street in Marrakech, we eventually reached the entrance to the tannery--an open square filled with pools--where our guide handed us fistfuls of fresh mint leaves to sniff, telling us that the odor of the tannery would be unpleasant. He was right. 'The entire experience is fairly grisly,' I thought, stepping over camel entrails. I'm glad I saw it, but the tannery was kind of gross.
It was around this time that I first tried Moroccan mint tea, one of my new favorite things in the world. It's essentially super-sweetened black or green tea, in which has been dumped massive amounts of fresh mint. It's like southern sweet tea, but warm and super minty. It's refreshing, and delicious, and if anyone wants to make me some, I'd not object. Judd and I stopped at a café on the main square for a pre-dinner cuppa, and I fell instantly in love.
After dinner, we wandered around the new city, and found a shopping mall, where I had my first experience with ordering gelato in French. Eventually, the vender navigated around my atrocious accent and procured a scoop of strawberry for me. It tasted incredible in the heat. The new city is incredibly westernized; Judd tried to pop into the TGI Fridays for a brownie sundae, but I told him that if he went in I'd kill him. Talk about an exotic buzzkill.
We spent the rest of the evening wandering the main square, perusing the stalls and watching the performers. Marrakech really picks up after sundown, probably because it's so hot during the day. After a bit of wandering, we turned in to the hotel for the night, and prepared for next next day, which I'll describe in the next post.
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