Our original itinerary called for us to have left at 4:30 AM, but the flight was changed. While it shortened the layover the I was looking forward to in Casablanca, it meant that was had time to say goodbye to friends that weren't going back to the States, especially Glenn and Adam. It's strange, because I think the potential on tours like this is for people to become fed up with one another, but I know I'm definitely going to miss seeing some people on a daily basis. We had a really strong and friendly group dynamic, and it added miles enjoyment-wise to the whole experience. But now we all have new friends to meet up with and travel with in the future, so it's only so long and not goodbye.
Next, we turned our attention to scheming a possible visit to Rick's Cafe, modeled after the restaurant in the movie "Casablanca". That had been the plan, but with our altered itinerary, we weren't sure if it as possiblele. Since the flight from Marrakech to Casablanca was only 25 minutes, we had plenty, and started booking it for the exit. Unfortunately, we were stopped- we had already gone through customs in Marrakech, and they wouldn't let us out of the airport as such. Neither would they let us do another entry and exit stamp- supposedly you can only get one stamp per day.
We dejectedly spent the next few hours grabbing food, doing a group crossword puzzle, and playing "Heads Up" before getting in line for boarding...a line which did not move for several hours. We didn't start boarding till wayyyyy later than our original departure time. And while, for most of the trip, we have been able to use everyone's language skills, the airport announcements were in rapid French and Arabic, leaving us incapable of comprehending the cause of delay or the prospect for it to end. We then also found out that our same flight had been cancelled the previous afternoon, so we worried that this would be our fate. Luckily, it was not, and we were eventually able to take off.
Another amazing trip abroad. I am feeling incredibly grateful for so many things- a great travel companion in Michael, the ability to have come on this trip in the first place, and so many great people that I am looking forward to keeping in touch with- and that I am missing already! Too bad thinking on the trip positively till doesn't stop me from being incredibly sad that it's over. Until the next time...
Monday, August 12, 2013
Morocco Day 9
Glenn, Adam, Louwena, Ray, Michael, and I woke up to fo ride quad bikes, otherwise known as 4x4s, in the desert. I was nervous about this, but it ended up being one of my favorite things on the trip, besides the Berber camp. Idris' village, and just spending time with new friends. We practiced on a little track for a few laps, then headed out into the countryside. One thing that really helped alleviate my fears was the fact that we were on a path. The path itself was actually much easier to ride than our practice track, so soon we were flying along. I drove first, as we wended our way for an hour through the desert, a tiny village, and to a stop for tea at someone's house. Michael drove us back to the track again after. I could not believe how covered in dust we were!
A quick shower later and we were back on the road, as Idris was escorting a final group trip to the market. We walked over (think the final temp was around 125 or higher, so it was certainly tiring) and set about shopping. Soon enough, Glenn, Michael, and I had either made purchases or realized there was nothing to our liking, so we set off in search of street food. This was a great decision, since it was one of the most tasty things I've had (though I can't promise my reaction wasn't based on hunger and the sheer pleasure of trying something new). The sandwiches, thoughtfully purchased by Glenn- thanks!!- were made from kebabs which were then deposited in a bread pocket and seasoned with onions and spices. Mmm!
Back to the hotel for a shower and nap...to be honest, I couldn't really sleep because I was already dreading the idea of going home, saying goodbye to new friends, and having to leave a fascinating place. So I met some of the group at the bar for drinks instead, and we formulated a dinner plan. Eventually, Michael, Glenn, Adam, Vicky, Grayson, and I set out for a restaurant. We had a specific one in mind, but en route found a Lebanese cafe with a diverse menu, alcohol, and shisha- everyone's needs were met. We spent the next few hours enjoying food, drink, and especially each other's company. My favorite part had to be teaching "Never Have I Ever" to the Brits and hearing their reactions, as well as learning some new and unexpected facts about everyone.
Eventually, the group was whittled down to Michael, Grayson, and myself. We decided to check out the upstairs club at Comptoir, but were denied on the basis of Michael's shorts, so we went to the rooftop deck next door at Cafe Extrablatt. It reminded me of a place we used to go in Cairo, with it's plush couch seating, subtle lighting, and mood music. However, it took us about 0 minutes to get a menu. Worth the wait though, because cocktails were only 80 dirham ($10), which beats Comptoir's price of 110 ($14 ish). They werew delicious as well. The music started putting us to sleep, though, so we headed for home...probably the for the best as it was nearing 3 am.
A quick shower later and we were back on the road, as Idris was escorting a final group trip to the market. We walked over (think the final temp was around 125 or higher, so it was certainly tiring) and set about shopping. Soon enough, Glenn, Michael, and I had either made purchases or realized there was nothing to our liking, so we set off in search of street food. This was a great decision, since it was one of the most tasty things I've had (though I can't promise my reaction wasn't based on hunger and the sheer pleasure of trying something new). The sandwiches, thoughtfully purchased by Glenn- thanks!!- were made from kebabs which were then deposited in a bread pocket and seasoned with onions and spices. Mmm!
Back to the hotel for a shower and nap...to be honest, I couldn't really sleep because I was already dreading the idea of going home, saying goodbye to new friends, and having to leave a fascinating place. So I met some of the group at the bar for drinks instead, and we formulated a dinner plan. Eventually, Michael, Glenn, Adam, Vicky, Grayson, and I set out for a restaurant. We had a specific one in mind, but en route found a Lebanese cafe with a diverse menu, alcohol, and shisha- everyone's needs were met. We spent the next few hours enjoying food, drink, and especially each other's company. My favorite part had to be teaching "Never Have I Ever" to the Brits and hearing their reactions, as well as learning some new and unexpected facts about everyone.
Eventually, the group was whittled down to Michael, Grayson, and myself. We decided to check out the upstairs club at Comptoir, but were denied on the basis of Michael's shorts, so we went to the rooftop deck next door at Cafe Extrablatt. It reminded me of a place we used to go in Cairo, with it's plush couch seating, subtle lighting, and mood music. However, it took us about 0 minutes to get a menu. Worth the wait though, because cocktails were only 80 dirham ($10), which beats Comptoir's price of 110 ($14 ish). They werew delicious as well. The music started putting us to sleep, though, so we headed for home...probably the for the best as it was nearing 3 am.
Morocco Day 8
Leaving the palace, we headed for Tombuktu (not to be confused with Timbuktu in Mali), which was the sight of one of the Moroccan dynasty founders, a pottery collaborative, and a famous library housing ancient manuscripts. Unforunately, the library was closed, but we were still able to tour the town and watch pottery being made in the traditional style.
We headed back towards Marrakech by way of Ouarzazate with the intention of stopping to pick up sandwiches. However, now that Ramadan is over, a series of feast days (today being the most important) are in effect, so nothing was open in town, and we continued along.
I have noticed that here, men are more willing to speak to me than in Cairo. Whereas there, I would be out with male friends and despite my stronger Arabic skills, Egyptian men would defer to the guys and ignore me. In Morocco, including the more remote and potentially more conservative areas, this is not the case, and everyone has been extremely helpful and friendly. Not quite sure what to make of it.
Another interesting moment from the van ride was when an older British woman on the trip called up to Michael and I and asked, "Who did you guys (America) get your independence from?" We looked at each other, taken aback, and Michael responds, "Uhh...you guys?" We followed up with the question (previously asked of Glenn and Adam, with the response, "We're not sure"), "What do you guys call the war between our countries, the Rebellion of 1776?" Her response was, "What happened in 1776?" It turns out that the American Revolution is not touched upon at all during a British student's studies...It was an interesting thought, humbling in fact, to think that America and the Revolution was so insignificant in British history as to not merit a mention.
We spent a looooong car ride fantasizing about new foods in Marrakech. We have been eating a lot of tagine over the past week, and while it is delicious, there is certainly broader variety within Moroccan cuisine. It's time to get at it! Therefore, we were very excited to see some b'stila at dinner. This is composed of a savory meat mixture (in this case, beef and chicken) with in a sweet pastry shell. Amazing! Following dinner, some of us went to the square to see what it looked like on a feast night. It had almost the feel of a carnival, down to children's games, dessert vendors, and small shopkeepers. It was beautiful to see (video coming). Finally, we met up at Comptoir, our de facto hangout, with some of the others from the group who were out celebrating Grayson's birthday again.
We headed back towards Marrakech by way of Ouarzazate with the intention of stopping to pick up sandwiches. However, now that Ramadan is over, a series of feast days (today being the most important) are in effect, so nothing was open in town, and we continued along.
I have noticed that here, men are more willing to speak to me than in Cairo. Whereas there, I would be out with male friends and despite my stronger Arabic skills, Egyptian men would defer to the guys and ignore me. In Morocco, including the more remote and potentially more conservative areas, this is not the case, and everyone has been extremely helpful and friendly. Not quite sure what to make of it.
Another interesting moment from the van ride was when an older British woman on the trip called up to Michael and I and asked, "Who did you guys (America) get your independence from?" We looked at each other, taken aback, and Michael responds, "Uhh...you guys?" We followed up with the question (previously asked of Glenn and Adam, with the response, "We're not sure"), "What do you guys call the war between our countries, the Rebellion of 1776?" Her response was, "What happened in 1776?" It turns out that the American Revolution is not touched upon at all during a British student's studies...It was an interesting thought, humbling in fact, to think that America and the Revolution was so insignificant in British history as to not merit a mention.
We spent a looooong car ride fantasizing about new foods in Marrakech. We have been eating a lot of tagine over the past week, and while it is delicious, there is certainly broader variety within Moroccan cuisine. It's time to get at it! Therefore, we were very excited to see some b'stila at dinner. This is composed of a savory meat mixture (in this case, beef and chicken) with in a sweet pastry shell. Amazing! Following dinner, some of us went to the square to see what it looked like on a feast night. It had almost the feel of a carnival, down to children's games, dessert vendors, and small shopkeepers. It was beautiful to see (video coming). Finally, we met up at Comptoir, our de facto hangout, with some of the others from the group who were out celebrating Grayson's birthday again.
Morocco Day 7
Being unable to move about much ( remember, 4 people on probably a queen sized bed) left us all a bit tired, but it was worth it to be able to lie there and watch the dawn approach. The sky looked like a rainbow, all the colors represnted as they spread from the horizon. Others from camp were coming up and had to make do with chairs or sitting on the stone wall, but we had the most comfortable perch by far. We laid there as the sun slowly brightened, then got up to see it actually begin to peek above the horizon. After it fully emerged, which took about two minutes, we promtply went back to the tents for a pre-breakfast nap.
During this nap, I had a crazy dream. I was still a teacher in the dream, but some guy had come along and was purporting to revamp the entire way that we teach special ed. He was very condescending im the dream to my colleagues and I, but in the end it spurred me on to become a better teacher: Right before I woke up, I was walking out the door, heading for one of my students, with the idea of proving to her that I would be the teacher she deserved. This isn't to say that I did a poor job with my students this year, but there is always room to improve- especially when it is their futures and their educations at stake. The dream was all the more interesting because I've been reading Michael's copy of the alchemist, which talks about universal languages and following our personal legends. I feel that right now teaching is what I am meant to be pursuing...if Coelho is right, maybe the desert was giving me reinforcement in the universal language of dreams lol.
When we got up at 7:30, the heat almost knocked us over. It was mind-boggling that the temperature could rise from being a bit cool to boiling you alive in only an hour. We did eventually figure out that it was around 120 degrees Fahrenheit. After breakfast, we departed from camp via the SUVs again. We stopped along to road to view some fossils, which was a wild experience. Here we werew, hundreds of miles from the current day coastline, and there are sea creature fossils embedded in the stones. Really wild.
Our hotel for the night could have been a palace, and im fact was named such although it had never been a royal residence. Pool lounging, a tagine dinner, and then celebratory cake and drinks for Grayson's birthday rounded out the night.
During this nap, I had a crazy dream. I was still a teacher in the dream, but some guy had come along and was purporting to revamp the entire way that we teach special ed. He was very condescending im the dream to my colleagues and I, but in the end it spurred me on to become a better teacher: Right before I woke up, I was walking out the door, heading for one of my students, with the idea of proving to her that I would be the teacher she deserved. This isn't to say that I did a poor job with my students this year, but there is always room to improve- especially when it is their futures and their educations at stake. The dream was all the more interesting because I've been reading Michael's copy of the alchemist, which talks about universal languages and following our personal legends. I feel that right now teaching is what I am meant to be pursuing...if Coelho is right, maybe the desert was giving me reinforcement in the universal language of dreams lol.
When we got up at 7:30, the heat almost knocked us over. It was mind-boggling that the temperature could rise from being a bit cool to boiling you alive in only an hour. We did eventually figure out that it was around 120 degrees Fahrenheit. After breakfast, we departed from camp via the SUVs again. We stopped along to road to view some fossils, which was a wild experience. Here we werew, hundreds of miles from the current day coastline, and there are sea creature fossils embedded in the stones. Really wild.
Our hotel for the night could have been a palace, and im fact was named such although it had never been a royal residence. Pool lounging, a tagine dinner, and then celebratory cake and drinks for Grayson's birthday rounded out the night.
Morocco Day 6
Our morning started with a visit to the Todra gorge, which reminded me of our trip up The Narrows in Zion. Sheer cliffs overlooked a river running through the canyon bed. Rivers, and hydroelectricity, actually supply 95% of the country's power needs, according to our guide. We weren't able to see any on our trip, but there are apparently a multitude of dams in Morocco- if I remember correctly, around 70. Michael and I took a look at some of the goods being sold at small stands, and ran into some Spaniards who were telling us about driving their car onto the ferry, and that they are touring Morocco from their own car. Incredible!
After watching the sun set into a cloud on the horizon, our group made ourselves comfortable on the rug-covered benches and indulged in some more card games until dinner. There was also traditional music and dancing by some of the guides and camp inhabitants. Later, Michael, Vicky, Adam, Jackie, Kristen, Vinnie, Idris, and I went for a star walk, laying out in the middle of the desert to check out the constellations, talk about aliens, and explore our thoughts on the afterIife. Coming back from that, Michael, Vicky, Adam and I wanted to continue stargazing, so we went to a raised terrace behind the camp. We found that there was even a bed of sorts there to lie upon, so we squeezed in, enjoyed the view, and started talking about our lives and different aspects of our own paths to this point. The next thing we knew, it was past teo AM, and we needed to get up by 5:15 for the sunrise anyway. So we got our blankets and pillows from the tent, continued talking, and eventually fell asleep under the Moroccan sky.
A gas station stop down the road gave me the opportuniy to reflect on several things. First- Language abilities of people even in remote areas. our guides speak multiple languages; Idris knows 4 Berber dialects, 3 Arabic dialects, English, French, and conversational Russian. Now, our guides have been to school (Zuzu has a master's in applied linguistics), but people even in the most remote areas have a smattering of many languages. You can go a very long way, especially when you can mutually work between several different languages. This trip has been particularly enjoyable for that aspect.
Next revelatioin- the cleanliness of bathrooms all over Morocco is astonishing. I remember driving to OCMD with Sara, Katie, and Laura earlier this summer, and had to hold your breath to use the bathroom at a gas station. Here, all you smell is a subtle scent of cleaner, and everything is well-kept. It's singular from any other country, including the US, in this respect.
I was intrigued to do some calculations surrounding gas prices. Believe it or not, gas is more expensive (at least in the south) here than at home. 12.5 dirhams per liter multiplied by 4 liters per gallon (more or less) is 50 dirhams per gallon. Then divide by 8 (dirhams to the dollar) means that gas is around $6 per gallon here. Again, this could just be in the south, since it would be hard and expensive to get resources to this area. We'll have to check prices in Marrakech or Casablanca to verify.
During the afternoon, we stopped at a hotel for lunch and a swim in the pool to break up the monotony of the drive. We rested there for a few hours, then continued on to a Berber camp in the desert. We had to take SUVs to get there, as past of the path included crossing sand and stone. Offroading Moroccan style, if you will. I have to admit, I was a litle scared during the ride. Probably had to do with lack of control; our driver did a perfectly fine job of driving, but not being able to dictate our movements myself had me wondering a host of things: at what point would this tip over on a turn, how close is that other car going to get, etc. Fear I think is part of the universal language, who we are as people. We can face it and try to move forward, or we could become petrified and stagnant. Our reaction is in our control.
A majority of our group opted to participate in a camel ride at sunset, but since Michael and I have both done similar things and found camels not to our liking, we we happy to simply walking across the flat ground and take pictures at the first dune: we'd arrived at the Sahara.
I dont't know if I can fully describ the Berber camp experience, buI will try. There is a compound consisiting of a bar area, a kitchen, a huge dining hall, and an outdoor courtyard and pool. All of the sitting areas whave benches running around the outer walls, which are then covered with Berber carpets (we did visit a carpet cooperative, which was fascinating but too expensive for me to bring back home) and pillows, making for very comfortable seating. Then you head from the main compound through an archway, past the bathrooms, and
then you enter the tent courtyards. It's basically a square, and the outer walls of said square are constructed by the tents themselves. The tents are a gray burlap type material, then with sequined colored rugs for doors. Inside each tent are rugs and mattresses for your comfort. It would have been impressive on its own, but even more to think that this has been part of Berber culture for millenia. Thinking about Berber culture gives me the same feeling as the pyramids; that is, the perseverance with which they have survived and thrived in a climate which most of us, accustomed to today's luxuries, is formidable and awe-inspiring to me.
After watching the sun set into a cloud on the horizon, our group made ourselves comfortable on the rug-covered benches and indulged in some more card games until dinner. There was also traditional music and dancing by some of the guides and camp inhabitants. Later, Michael, Vicky, Adam, Jackie, Kristen, Vinnie, Idris, and I went for a star walk, laying out in the middle of the desert to check out the constellations, talk about aliens, and explore our thoughts on the afterIife. Coming back from that, Michael, Vicky, Adam and I wanted to continue stargazing, so we went to a raised terrace behind the camp. We found that there was even a bed of sorts there to lie upon, so we squeezed in, enjoyed the view, and started talking about our lives and different aspects of our own paths to this point. The next thing we knew, it was past teo AM, and we needed to get up by 5:15 for the sunrise anyway. So we got our blankets and pillows from the tent, continued talking, and eventually fell asleep under the Moroccan sky.
Morocco Day 5
Unfortunately, Michael and I were not feeling great as a result of the previous night's fun, and missed the group's walk to a local kasbah. While it is a shame to miss things, one kasbah tends to be similar to the next, so there's no need to cry over spilled milk. Leaving Ouarzazate, our lunchtime destination was actually the village of Idris, our guide. His family has opened a guest house, and we spent a restorative afternoon there: slow and gradual courses of mint tea, figs, turkey kebabs, salad, lamb tagine, and melons interspersed with walks around the house and rests on outdoor Berber carpets. It appeared that a storm was brewing (it ven rained for all of one minute), so the air carried the a cool freshness as we laid under the tents and enjoyed the moment. We even we able hear a traditional song that some of his family members performed.
It's fascinating to think about what Moroccans do with their resources. They use natural elements (like mud) to construct their houses, use designs like thick walls to evade the heat as much as possible (it was shocking how cool it felt there) and limit the use of electricity to after daylight or when extremely necessary. Rivers and oases are also maximized for farming potential and to support local populations (and I was surprised by how many of these lush areas we did see interspersed in the rest of the harsher landscape; while we were not in the desert, much of the area through which we traveled was brown and dry).
Being farther south of Marrakech now, we are in Berber territory. That is to say, while they are Moroccans just like those in the north, their ethnicity, instead of being Arab, is Berber. Berber tribes are spread all over: Morocco, Algeria, Libya, Tunisia, Egypt, Mali, etc. I need to do some more research on this, but from what Idris as well as several merchants along our route have said, Berbers may have had to struggle as a minority group under the Arabs. Idris had mentioned that one of the Berber letters (zed, the Berber z) symbolizes a movement for their rights within Morocco.
Another night, another hotel- each more opulent than the last. It was amzing to me exactly how nice our accomodations have been for this trip. As we were a bit removed from the town and not able to walk anywhere, we all hung out by the pool playing cards, chatting, and listening to Idris play the guitar.
It's fascinating to think about what Moroccans do with their resources. They use natural elements (like mud) to construct their houses, use designs like thick walls to evade the heat as much as possible (it was shocking how cool it felt there) and limit the use of electricity to after daylight or when extremely necessary. Rivers and oases are also maximized for farming potential and to support local populations (and I was surprised by how many of these lush areas we did see interspersed in the rest of the harsher landscape; while we were not in the desert, much of the area through which we traveled was brown and dry).
Being farther south of Marrakech now, we are in Berber territory. That is to say, while they are Moroccans just like those in the north, their ethnicity, instead of being Arab, is Berber. Berber tribes are spread all over: Morocco, Algeria, Libya, Tunisia, Egypt, Mali, etc. I need to do some more research on this, but from what Idris as well as several merchants along our route have said, Berbers may have had to struggle as a minority group under the Arabs. Idris had mentioned that one of the Berber letters (zed, the Berber z) symbolizes a movement for their rights within Morocco.
Another night, another hotel- each more opulent than the last. It was amzing to me exactly how nice our accomodations have been for this trip. As we were a bit removed from the town and not able to walk anywhere, we all hung out by the pool playing cards, chatting, and listening to Idris play the guitar.
Morocco Day 4
Today started off with a long drive towards Ouarzazate, which is like a jumping off point for groups headed to the desert. We spent the morning traversing long, windy roads in the High Atlas mountains, which reach at least 10,000 feet in altitutde. We stopped for lunch in a small town and enjoyed another version of tagine; this time featuring lentils, kofta (meatballs), and an egg. This nourishment was in prepapration for climbing up to a famous kasbah, or fortress, which has been featured in movies such as Gladiator and Jewel of the Nile. We wound through a small village to get there, and saw that many Moroccans in the southern areas are living in similiar conditions to those as their ancestors. The house are made of mud and straw and we sw the equpiment that allows them to mold huge bricks for home construction. The walls are so thick that they block out the heat from the sun to some extent and keep it cool for those who live inside.
After enjoying a view from the top of the kasbah, we stopped to see a local artisan at work. He creates drawings with henna and saffron, then heats the painting over an open flame. The heat reacts with the dyes and changes their color, adding depth and shading to his work. I bought the picture he made in front of our group.
I would love to know more about how the people living in small towns like this make a living. Clearly some tourists stop there, but i would also doubt that enough is purchased to support everyone who sells their wares. There are clearly farmers, as there was a lush spurt of trees and other plants near a small river, and we are in a region famous for their figs.
We finally arrived at our hotel in Ouarzazate and took a pre-dinner dip in the pool. This was followed by a night of drinking and dancing at the hotel with some friends from the group.
Morocco Day 3
Whereas we were able to troop through Day 1 (and missing basically a night of sleep with the time change), jetlag really set in on Day 2. Waking up was quite a challenge, but wortth the effort. Our first stop was the Koutoibia mosque, first constructed in the 11th century. An earthquake in the 1700s destroyed the original building, but you can still see the old pillars. We also learned about the symbolism of the stacked orbs on top of each mosque: the bottom, largest represents the earth, the middle one represents the skies, and the top orb the heavens. Zouhair told us a joke about the ingot on the very top, but it wasn't true. My logical deduction is that it would represent Allah, though. (Update- on the last day, Idris told me none of it is verified as true, just a story that's told).
We went on from here to a Berber pharmacy, where we were given a bit of information on many products, mostly involving argon oil, then given the chance to purchase what we like. I should have looked up argon oil sooner. Lots of claims were made from prevention of wrinkes and dark circles to greater moisturizing benefits to improved memory, etc.
Next up was the Bahia Palace. It was built by a man who was a slave, but eventually became a Pasha. Bahia means beuatiful, and the palace certainly lives up to the hype, but its name also came from the woman in his harem who gave him his first son to carry on the succession. During this stop, we learned about the 5 characteristics of Arabic architecture: ceramic tile mosaics, arched ceilings, Arabic script as a decoration due to the prohibition against reproducing the image of another living thing, the color green, and fountains in the courtyards.
The other incredible thing was seeing the gardens at the palace. While they were lovely to see, it was striking that every plant had a purpose; we saw ginger, dates, figs, bananas, yuca, and I'm sure I've forgotten some other things. Oranges. Morocco is strongly based on agriculture, which makes it all the more vital that they get some rain each year (which does happen).
We followed siesta patterns; that is, as the zenith of the day's heat approached, we returned to the hotel for lunch and a much-needed nap. The afternoon took us into Djemma al-Fna, which has been declared a UNESCO world heritage site, and I completely understand why. It's this insane walled-in labrynth of stalls, shops, and artisans that you could get lost in, and I am not exaggerating. I took pictures, but there's no way to replicate for you the serpentine nature of this place's layout. Our first stop in the maze was a Quoranic school. While now just a tourist site, it had been in use as a school until 2004. As women cannot be imams within the Muslim religion, there is no need for them to attend Quoranic schools (they instead go to regular schoools). Boys begin attending around the age of 6 and live at the school until 15, when they go on to secondary and then university. To exit the school and continue on the path towards being an imam, the boys must memorize the entire Quoran. Students also receive lodging based on their hard work, the best students are given the more spacious rooms with windows overlooking the courtyards, which slackers are given basement rooms and possibly no windows, or at least not a good view. It would be interesting to see what a slacker in this situation looked like; since it's such a long amount of time and a large commitment of family resources to send a boy, it is hard to imagine that the boys who are sent wouldn't work hard out of a sense of duty.
We went on from here to a Berber pharmacy, where we were given a bit of information on many products, mostly involving argon oil, then given the chance to purchase what we like. I should have looked up argon oil sooner. Lots of claims were made from prevention of wrinkes and dark circles to greater moisturizing benefits to improved memory, etc.
We wound through more of the maze, seeing incredible craftsman ship: blacksmiths creating intricate wrought iron lanterns and wood carvers using both hands and feet to carve out the perfect pattern. Eventually we ended up in a large city square, where we saw snake charmers, henna painters, and stands selling everything from goat heads to fresh squeezed OJ. Michael even had a monkey thrown on his back.
We had a mint tea (ubiquitous in the country) on a rooftop cafe and watched the life happening down below. Then it was time for a swim, a nap, and dinner. This time, we went to a traditional Moroccan restaurant, and it did not disappoint. It was somewhere in the labrynth, and while the ornate door belies a bit of the opulence to be seen , you are not fully prepared for how stunning the huge underground chambers of this place area. In between delicious salads, tagine, and melons for dessert, we enjoyed two belly dancer performances. The first was an older woman, respectably clad, performing the traditional Moroccan version. This involves incredible gyrations ALL WHILE A TIERED TRAY OF BURNING CANDLES IS BALANCED ON HER HEAD. Wild. The second dancer performed in the Egyptian style, which is the more scantily clad hip shaking version that most of us picture when belly dancing is the topic.
We then walked into the main square we had seen earlier, and it was a complete transformation. Hundreds and hundreds of people were gathered onut, eating, drinking, playing music, telling stories, and enjoying each others' company. What was most impressive were the 10s of restaurants than had not existed during the day, and had been set up for the evening gatherings.
After some time here, we went back to the hotel, and eventually found our way back to the hookah bar again. There was a nice mix of Brits and Americans, and it made me really look forward to spending the tour with a fun group of people.
Morocco Day 2
After a failed excursion to find a lunch spot, Michael and I took a much needed nap, then rejoined our group for a brief info session. The info session's most important reveal was that our group would have a hilarious guide named Zuhair. He then took us to a small store (which we keep referring to as a bodega, if that gives you an idea), to get water and snacks. I also got to practice my Arabic with Zuhair, which was incredibly fun. That on the heels of a successful Arabic-only exchane to buy water in the Casablanca airport has really revived my desire to continuing to study Arabic. Maybe after the TESOL courses...
While Morocco is a Muslim country, there is a great range in what women wear. We've seen everything: burka (everything including eyes covered), niqab (slit for the eyes), to chador (big cloth that covers head and upper body, with pants on the bottom), the hijab (scarf covering hair), and then finally no head covering whatsoever. We have also noticed some Moroccsn women wearing short sleeves or skirts. As for foreign women, supposedly you can wear whatever, and while there are some in our group who do, the most daring I'll go is a cap sleeve shirt, still with pants or skirt below the knee.
A final note on day one is our cast of characters:
Along with Zouhair, mentioned above, Idris is our other guide. Both wonderful and experienced tour guides. Idris has been bitten by a scorpion twice and lived to tell the tale, so he may be a desert god.
Sandy and Vicky- two American girls who are travel buddies of the same age as Michael and myself.
Jackie, Kristen, and Vinnie- 3 amazing Californians, mid 20s, and super friendly.
Adam and Glenn - two British guys that can drink more than should be humanly possible. They a quite nice (we learned from them over the trip that this genuinely means they are great, whereas a Brit simply saying "nice" may mean anything from indiference to f***off).
There are certainly others on the tour, perhaps 30 in total, but these will be the familiar names over the next few days.
Our first dinner experience in Morocco was a bit disappointing; we ate at the hotel, and as it caters to tourists, much of the food was not native (pastas, fish, turkey, etc). They did have some nice chopped veggie salads with beets and cukes, plus couscous and tagine. (A note on tagine- it is a style of cooking that involves throwing all the raw ingredients in a conical pot, then leaving it over the fire for several hours- think crockpot minus the need for electricity. Ingredients are usually meat, veggies, and spices, and then it's served with rice or couscous. Michael and I have been looking forward to this since first trying it with Hlavka and Palmer at the Moroccan hookah place in Baltimore.)
Dinner was followed by a hookah excursion, wherin I was able to practice more Arabic. Right now, Mulslims are observing Ramadan. During this whole month, they must fast during the day, which includes not drinking any water and abstaining from sexual contact in addition to the no food. Exceptions are made for kids, pregnant women, older people, and those who are ill. As makes sense, people try to avoid being out in the heat of the day if possible, and while Michael and I certainly saw people during the day, there was a much greater presence at night. Everyone is very friendly and receptive to the cobbled together Arabic spoken by me and the French spoken by Sandy, an American girl we've become friends with.
The hookah bar was a fun experience, because we were seated in a spacious room decorated with rugs and sofas, but with trees growing in it and open to the night sky.
While Morocco is a Muslim country, there is a great range in what women wear. We've seen everything: burka (everything including eyes covered), niqab (slit for the eyes), to chador (big cloth that covers head and upper body, with pants on the bottom), the hijab (scarf covering hair), and then finally no head covering whatsoever. We have also noticed some Moroccsn women wearing short sleeves or skirts. As for foreign women, supposedly you can wear whatever, and while there are some in our group who do, the most daring I'll go is a cap sleeve shirt, still with pants or skirt below the knee.
A final note on day one is our cast of characters:
Along with Zouhair, mentioned above, Idris is our other guide. Both wonderful and experienced tour guides. Idris has been bitten by a scorpion twice and lived to tell the tale, so he may be a desert god.
Sandy and Vicky- two American girls who are travel buddies of the same age as Michael and myself.
Jackie, Kristen, and Vinnie- 3 amazing Californians, mid 20s, and super friendly.
Adam and Glenn - two British guys that can drink more than should be humanly possible. They a quite nice (we learned from them over the trip that this genuinely means they are great, whereas a Brit simply saying "nice" may mean anything from indiference to f***off).
There are certainly others on the tour, perhaps 30 in total, but these will be the familiar names over the next few days.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Entry
We have landed in Marrakech and are figuring out plans for the afternoon. In the meantime, enjoy this picture of our room as if you can read Spanish, below are some thoughts I had on the plane about frustration and our attitude towards it.
Morocco: Primera Leccion
-si soy adulta y me frustro hasta la punta de pensar en violencia, como se translada a nuestros estudiantes? Es vital que entendamos su capacidad disminuido (en comparison con la mayoria de adultos) para controlarse, y igualmemte importante que le ayudemos en desarrollarla. Tambien, necesitamos comprender que si no se portan bien, al fondo hay una incomodidad de una manera u otra, e eso es lo que resolvemos para que el estudiante siga aprendiendo.
-todos nosotros fallamos en algun momento. Hay que tener paciencia con si misma para superar los momentos dificiles. Pero igualmente necesitamos exigir que tenemos expectacionese altas para nuestra comportamiento, hacia otras pero mtambien en la mente. Porque tener "the habit" de pensar algo negativo muy pronto translada a un camino negativo de vida. Siempre debemos intentar alcanzar el positivo y el mejor que hay adentro de nosotros.
Mientras escribo, todavia puedo sentir la presion de su brazo sobre mi lado. Planeo en hacer un tipo de meditacion balinesa: me rio por el proposito de reir. Muy pronto aterrizamos en Morocco, y llevare sonrisa adentro y afuera.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Climb Every Mountain...
A bit delayed, but I still wanted to write about the experience of 4 days worth of trekking through the Andes and arriving at Machu Picchu...
Guinea Pig
Before leaving Cusco, of course I still had to try guinea pig. Erin and I went to a little restaurant down the street to enjoy this local delicacy. We entered and ordered. A moment after, one of the gentlemen restauranteurs dashed out the front door of the establishment. In short order, he returned, discreetly "hiding" the plastic-bag wrapped guinea pig from the eyes of his impressionable clientele...which in the entire restaurant came to the sum of two gringas from PA and MD. Erin and I had a great laugh over that...and had to chuckle again when our orders (or the ineptitude of the cooks, who seemed to be googling the recipes as they prepared the meal) necessitated not one but two more errands down the street. And while this all might sound strange, this is nothing particularly out of the ordinary, at least from what I've seen previously in my travels. I enjoy it, to be honest- it's a distinct departure from what we are used to at home, and the entire meal is an experience in one way or another. I think I probably would have been more disappointed if I didn't have a tale like this to tell.
Once the pig finally made it to our table, I stared him in the eyes...and the teeth. It was served whole, including the head, and WOW were his teeth sharp. There's not much meat on a guinea pig, and it was so well-cooked that I could not get my knife or fork through the guy. One of the waiters took it back to the kitchen, and a few whacks with a chopping knife had it quartered for me to pick up and eat finger-food style instead. My next recourse was to pick up the guinea pig (cuy is the local word for this delicacy) by his hind foot and take a bite. This, also, was more difficult than anticipated, as the meat was really done. The consistency was like leather (I imagine) with crunchy flakes breaking off in your mouth. Because of all the effort needed for mastication, it was hard to get an actual flavor from the meat. I tried a second bite, to no avail. Check that off the list, but unless it were to be cooked in a different style, guinea pig is one food I won't feel the need to try again.
Porters
Before I start writing about the actual trail, I have to put in a word about porters, or chasquis (Quechua/Incan word for messengers). For each group of trekkers that goes out on the trail, there is also a group of chasquis that goes with the group. These gentlemen are, in a word, incredible. Wearing, in most cases, no sturdier footgear than a pair of leather strap sandals, the chasquis carry around 55 pounds of gear (think tents, kitchen equipment, and food for the trek) all over the Inca Trail- and many run or jog the trail. To give you a better visual on this, I'm struggling to get my ass up the trail, with a backpack and water bottle plus the aid of a walking stick, and these guys are running by, passing me, and carrying about 9 times the weight that I am. One chasqui with our group was in his SIXTIES. We figured out that each guy makes about $75 dollars, plus maybe another $15 or so in tips, for a grand total of $90 plus food and lodging for a 4 day trek. I cannot imagine getting paid that amount to run all over the mountains. These guys are, again, no other word but incredible. One of the really neat things about the trail is that no matter who you are walking near, anyone who knows a chasqui is approaching will yell ahead to the next group: "Porter on the right!" or "Chasqui on the left!" to give them right of way.
The Inca Trail
This was truly the trip of a lifetime. After being picked up around 5:30 AM on Wednesday, we rode the bus for a few hours until we were dropped at a town called Kilometer 84. At this point, the elevation is already 2600 meters and you're left to stare at the rugged mountains around you, thinking to yourself, "Can I really do this?" Well, hopefully so, or else you'd better board the train because at this point, there's no turning back (or at least not without a lot of work- once you're on the trail, you have to hike back the way you came, so deciding to quit makes little sense unless it's still Day 1).
Day 1's hike is basically a pleasant meandering along the River Urubamba with one or two hills of any note. You take a break along the river for a delicious lunch, which is your first introduction to just how magical your cook is (Benedicto will live forever in my memory- I can't even cook like him with the amenities of a full kitchen). After lunch, we hiked for another few hours until arriving at Camp 1, 3000 meters up at Wallaybamba. Although our hike wasn't particularly stressful, we still took a nap before dinner was served at 7, and promptly fell back asleep again at 8 PM.
That was a good thing, because you're woken up with tea service at 5:20 (aka, shortly after my normal get-up-for-school-time anyway). You have about 40 minutes to pack your bag and get ready for the day, breakfast is served at 6, and you're hitting the trail again before 7.
Day 2 is...grueling doesn't really even do it justice. It turns out that I was doing the trek with some sort of upper respiratory infection, possibly bronchitis, so that complicated things too, but even in good health, it probably would have been killer. There were many times during the day that I really thought, hmm, I might have been insane to start this or even There was mention of kidnappings by the Shining Path....let them take me now if it means I don't have to hike anymore! No joke. I'll come back to this later, but I would have been so excited to finally reach the top if I hadn't been so exhausted. I don't even want to mention how much later I reached Dead Woman's Pass than the rest of my group...
...but on the other hand I caught up to about a third of them while climbing down the other side, so I guess I wasn't too far behind. Despite a persistent hacking cough, I don't think I've ever slept better than I did that night.
The next morning, we had two more passes to make it over. After having made it through Day 2, my attitude was definitely, "well, now I can do anything!", so it was much easier going. I had also had the genius stroke of putting in my iPod, and I was enjoying the misty morning, so all in all it was a wonderful day. We also got to see another ruin, Phuyupatamarca, another Quechua word that literally means "City in the Clouds". Very true to its name.
That day, we also encountered the Gringo Killers. Basically, after you've come through the second mountain pass of Day 3, it's straight down more than 2500 steps. Wayyy worse than if you were simply walking down a path. Every step, you're jolting a knee, ankle, or hip (or all three). Finally, you emerge from that and arrive at the Intipata, one of the old Incan terraced farming sites set way above the Rio Urubamba, and from which you can actually see the third and final campsite on the trail.
We really tried to go to bed early that night, because we were waking up at 3:30 the next day. The trail opens at 5:30 to get to Machu Picchu, so we were trying to be first in line. Team Goonies ended up being second, and following our entrance into the Sanctuary (as it was stamped in my passport), we had a very rapid 2 hour hike all the way up to the Sun Gate. The Sun Gate is the first place from which you can actually see Machu Picchu- at least, if the weather permits. Climbing at the end of the rainy season like we did, the weather did not cooperate, and we waited a few minutes in vain before continuing our descent down into the sacred city. We paused at another lookout, where we were able to start making out some of the forms below, but it was until we were right in Machu Picchu City that we could really see things. I don't really even know how to describe what it was like to see this ancient stone city rising out of the mist, or how it felt as we began to explore and the sun began burning the mist off, so that more and more of the ruins were revealed. All I know is that I eventually needed some time to just sit by myself and revel in being there.
The Lesson
That brings me to my personal revelation from the trip: indomitable will. The Incas needed will in order to build a city so high up on the mountain that from the bottom, it can't even freakin' be seen. They needed will to destroy THE ENTIRE FIRST DAY'S WORTH OF THE TRAIL just so the Spaniards wouldn't be able to find Machu Picchu (and they never did). And I needed it to make it up and over the trail at all- in fact, if I had been more sure of myself, I honestly don't think Day 2 would have been AS hard as it was. It's all about telling yourself that nothing will dominate your confidence and your willpower.
The End
Because Erin and I are masochists, we decided that noo, we wouldn't take the bus down from Machu Picchu like everyone else- nope, we had to hike down and all the way to Aguas Calientes. David and Angel, our wonderful guides from Peru Treks, Ltd., told us that it would take 40 minutes. They must have been telling us chasqui speed, though, because it took us about 2 hours. Still totally worth the effort to roll into town and know that we did every last inch of the trail on our own two feet. After some pizza, beer, and final laughter with the group, we got on a train, then a bus, and finally made it back to Cusco. BEST SHOWER OF OUR LIVES.
The next morning, we headed for Lima (but not before we finally got to try choclo con queso!)
where we lounged in hammocks at the Pay Purix Hostel before heading to Miraflores. Once there, we found a lovely restaurant on the sea, gorged ourselves on seafood and dessert, and then headed back to the hostel, where we spent the night drinking beer and eating pizza (again) with some other hostel dwellers until our flight the next morning.
Guinea Pig
Before leaving Cusco, of course I still had to try guinea pig. Erin and I went to a little restaurant down the street to enjoy this local delicacy. We entered and ordered. A moment after, one of the gentlemen restauranteurs dashed out the front door of the establishment. In short order, he returned, discreetly "hiding" the plastic-bag wrapped guinea pig from the eyes of his impressionable clientele...which in the entire restaurant came to the sum of two gringas from PA and MD. Erin and I had a great laugh over that...and had to chuckle again when our orders (or the ineptitude of the cooks, who seemed to be googling the recipes as they prepared the meal) necessitated not one but two more errands down the street. And while this all might sound strange, this is nothing particularly out of the ordinary, at least from what I've seen previously in my travels. I enjoy it, to be honest- it's a distinct departure from what we are used to at home, and the entire meal is an experience in one way or another. I think I probably would have been more disappointed if I didn't have a tale like this to tell.
Once the pig finally made it to our table, I stared him in the eyes...and the teeth. It was served whole, including the head, and WOW were his teeth sharp. There's not much meat on a guinea pig, and it was so well-cooked that I could not get my knife or fork through the guy. One of the waiters took it back to the kitchen, and a few whacks with a chopping knife had it quartered for me to pick up and eat finger-food style instead. My next recourse was to pick up the guinea pig (cuy is the local word for this delicacy) by his hind foot and take a bite. This, also, was more difficult than anticipated, as the meat was really done. The consistency was like leather (I imagine) with crunchy flakes breaking off in your mouth. Because of all the effort needed for mastication, it was hard to get an actual flavor from the meat. I tried a second bite, to no avail. Check that off the list, but unless it were to be cooked in a different style, guinea pig is one food I won't feel the need to try again.
Porters
Before I start writing about the actual trail, I have to put in a word about porters, or chasquis (Quechua/Incan word for messengers). For each group of trekkers that goes out on the trail, there is also a group of chasquis that goes with the group. These gentlemen are, in a word, incredible. Wearing, in most cases, no sturdier footgear than a pair of leather strap sandals, the chasquis carry around 55 pounds of gear (think tents, kitchen equipment, and food for the trek) all over the Inca Trail- and many run or jog the trail. To give you a better visual on this, I'm struggling to get my ass up the trail, with a backpack and water bottle plus the aid of a walking stick, and these guys are running by, passing me, and carrying about 9 times the weight that I am. One chasqui with our group was in his SIXTIES. We figured out that each guy makes about $75 dollars, plus maybe another $15 or so in tips, for a grand total of $90 plus food and lodging for a 4 day trek. I cannot imagine getting paid that amount to run all over the mountains. These guys are, again, no other word but incredible. One of the really neat things about the trail is that no matter who you are walking near, anyone who knows a chasqui is approaching will yell ahead to the next group: "Porter on the right!" or "Chasqui on the left!" to give them right of way.
The Inca Trail
This was truly the trip of a lifetime. After being picked up around 5:30 AM on Wednesday, we rode the bus for a few hours until we were dropped at a town called Kilometer 84. At this point, the elevation is already 2600 meters and you're left to stare at the rugged mountains around you, thinking to yourself, "Can I really do this?" Well, hopefully so, or else you'd better board the train because at this point, there's no turning back (or at least not without a lot of work- once you're on the trail, you have to hike back the way you came, so deciding to quit makes little sense unless it's still Day 1).
Day 1's hike is basically a pleasant meandering along the River Urubamba with one or two hills of any note. You take a break along the river for a delicious lunch, which is your first introduction to just how magical your cook is (Benedicto will live forever in my memory- I can't even cook like him with the amenities of a full kitchen). After lunch, we hiked for another few hours until arriving at Camp 1, 3000 meters up at Wallaybamba. Although our hike wasn't particularly stressful, we still took a nap before dinner was served at 7, and promptly fell back asleep again at 8 PM.
That was a good thing, because you're woken up with tea service at 5:20 (aka, shortly after my normal get-up-for-school-time anyway). You have about 40 minutes to pack your bag and get ready for the day, breakfast is served at 6, and you're hitting the trail again before 7.
Day 2 is...grueling doesn't really even do it justice. It turns out that I was doing the trek with some sort of upper respiratory infection, possibly bronchitis, so that complicated things too, but even in good health, it probably would have been killer. There were many times during the day that I really thought, hmm, I might have been insane to start this or even There was mention of kidnappings by the Shining Path....let them take me now if it means I don't have to hike anymore! No joke. I'll come back to this later, but I would have been so excited to finally reach the top if I hadn't been so exhausted. I don't even want to mention how much later I reached Dead Woman's Pass than the rest of my group...
The next morning, we had two more passes to make it over. After having made it through Day 2, my attitude was definitely, "well, now I can do anything!", so it was much easier going. I had also had the genius stroke of putting in my iPod, and I was enjoying the misty morning, so all in all it was a wonderful day. We also got to see another ruin, Phuyupatamarca, another Quechua word that literally means "City in the Clouds". Very true to its name.
The Lesson
That brings me to my personal revelation from the trip: indomitable will. The Incas needed will in order to build a city so high up on the mountain that from the bottom, it can't even freakin' be seen. They needed will to destroy THE ENTIRE FIRST DAY'S WORTH OF THE TRAIL just so the Spaniards wouldn't be able to find Machu Picchu (and they never did). And I needed it to make it up and over the trail at all- in fact, if I had been more sure of myself, I honestly don't think Day 2 would have been AS hard as it was. It's all about telling yourself that nothing will dominate your confidence and your willpower.
The End
Because Erin and I are masochists, we decided that noo, we wouldn't take the bus down from Machu Picchu like everyone else- nope, we had to hike down and all the way to Aguas Calientes. David and Angel, our wonderful guides from Peru Treks, Ltd., told us that it would take 40 minutes. They must have been telling us chasqui speed, though, because it took us about 2 hours. Still totally worth the effort to roll into town and know that we did every last inch of the trail on our own two feet. After some pizza, beer, and final laughter with the group, we got on a train, then a bus, and finally made it back to Cusco. BEST SHOWER OF OUR LIVES.
The next morning, we headed for Lima (but not before we finally got to try choclo con queso!)
where we lounged in hammocks at the Pay Purix Hostel before heading to Miraflores. Once there, we found a lovely restaurant on the sea, gorged ourselves on seafood and dessert, and then headed back to the hostel, where we spent the night drinking beer and eating pizza (again) with some other hostel dwellers until our flight the next morning.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Cusco: 2 and 3
I decided that while Erin was still sleeping, I´d run down to the nearest ATM and grab some more soles. This should have been a quick walk downhill to the Plaza de Armas, but that ATM wasn´t working, so I had to venture further afield to the Avenida del Sol to find one that did. At that point, I was already close to one of the sights I wanted to see, called Qorikancha. This was the most important Incan temple compound in the city of Cusco and had been resdiscovered thanks to an earthquake in the 1950s. The Spaniards, when they came, had repossed the building as a church (Iglesia de San Francisco), and so much of the Incan stonework had been hidden by the Spanish additions. When the earthquake struck, the Spanish parts didn´t withstand the shaking, fell the the ground, and left the Incan temples to be standing
The Incans built all of their buildings with the walls at a 6 percent incline upward (sort of trapezoidal with the widest parts at the bottom). This, along with two masonry techniques, meant that although many Spanish buildings were destroyed in earthquakes, the Incan temples were more likely to withstand the shaking of the earth. The other techniques they used were to unite two stones with bronze to function as glue, and the machahembrada. Machahembrada literally means "male-female" and it meant that one stone would have a recess, while the other stone had a protruding peg to fit into the first. I´ll leave you all to figure out why the name was as such.
I came back to our B&B, refusing to use my map and thus extending my walk by a few accidental blocks, thinking about Cusco. In comparison to any other Latin American city, it´s much less modern. No high-rises, and despite the multitides of stores selling alpaca wool godos, leather-worked ítems, and jewelry, it reminds me of a city you may have seen a few hundred years ago. It´s more or less a city for its residents and a jumping-off point for travelers, akin to Independence, Missouri on the Oregon Trail. It´s also very manageable- I feel very at home by the end of 3 days, and feels fairly secure (using smart traveler practices). It´s a fascinating change of pace.
Erin and I then set out to run some errands, most importantly checking in with our trekking company. I think we both felt greatly relieved afterward: there are stops every 15 minutes or so, lots of ruins and scenery to enjoy along the way, and we´re at camp every night by 5 at the latest. There is a pass called Dead Woman´s Pass, which we´ll have to go through on our second day, and it looks pretty tricky. Good news is that we reach camp by 2 or 3 PM that day! We´ve both been bothered less and less by the altitude, which is also a relief.
Erin then headed back to the B&B while I returned the the Plaza, the city residents were already starting to form a crowd for a procession (religious parade) for Nuestro Senor de los Temblores (Our Lord of the Earthquakes- in the 1850s an earthquake struck Cusco on Holy Monday, and they've held the parade ever since to honor God for allowing the survival of those who didn´t die). That said, when I asked one of the guardia how long till the parade, he told me an hour later, so I had lunch (Tequenos con palta, which is basically cheese wrapped in a wonton, fried, and served with avocado) then met Erin. Little did we know that the procession actually lasted into the late hours of the night!
That afternoon, Erin and I ran trek-related errands and picked up the last few things needed (small bills of soles to buy water and treats along the trek, more bags of coca candy, made from the same plant as cocaine, it actually helps fight the effects of altitude sickness, etc). After climbing the hill (third time that day for me, and I wish so badly I had a picture so you could see what it was really like), it was nap time. Our dinner that night was at a local sándwich joint, where the man Juanito does masterful things with meat. Mine was lechon with salsa de pina. Lechon is a traditionally roasted pig that´s very common in the área, and he tops it with pineapple sauce since this is also a locally available fruit.
We finished the night in a Café Cultural across the Street from our hostel, where a small boy (Aloum, the son of the owners) had us bent over in hysterical laughter as he lugged a tiny blue guitar around, went up the the mics onstage and yelled "Hola todos, es Dinosaurio por Big Boy" (Hi everyone, this is the song ¨Dinosaur¨sang by Big Boy). It reminds me of a certain younger brother I have who used to call himself ¨Brady Daniel Haughney, Big Boy¨(love you bro!).
Today I woke up not feeling so great- I had chalked yesterday´s runny nose up to allergies or altitude adjustments, but an additional cough convinces me that this is not the case. So we slept in (last night that I´ll be able to do so until April 6 between trekking, flights, and work) then worked on packing our bags for the trek. We each hired the services of a porter to carry 6 kilos for us (11 pounds), which will amount to our sleeping back, our sleeping mat, and a spare change of clothes. In our own bag, we have to carry wáter, snacks, cameras, and things like gloves, hats, bandanas, fresh socks, and toilet supplies that we may need at any given momento.
*I just realized the line above said momento, and I should add that the keyboard I{m working with is not particularly reliable, so please ignore the typos, random capitalizations, and punctuation erros.
Brunch was cappucino french toast served with fresh fruit (so much fruit!) and brightened my morning. We passed by a shaman shop just to see what this is about. Shamans are traditional healers whose tradition lasts thousands of years. In particular, you can go on trips (doublé meaning) with shamans: in Peru, ayahuasca (similar to peyote) is completely legal, and people go on shaman-guided spiritual trips aided by this psychadelic plant.
After some shopping and coffee, the rain has chased us back to the hotel to finish packing, shower, and prepare for our last real night in Cusco (I may be trying the local specialty, cuy, or guinea pig if it´s available wherever we go).
We are getting picked up by the trekking company at 5:20 tomorrow and don´t return to Cusco until Saturday night at 10:30, which is followed by a flight the next morning to Lima, so it will be a while until I write again. Wish us luck!
The Incans built all of their buildings with the walls at a 6 percent incline upward (sort of trapezoidal with the widest parts at the bottom). This, along with two masonry techniques, meant that although many Spanish buildings were destroyed in earthquakes, the Incan temples were more likely to withstand the shaking of the earth. The other techniques they used were to unite two stones with bronze to function as glue, and the machahembrada. Machahembrada literally means "male-female" and it meant that one stone would have a recess, while the other stone had a protruding peg to fit into the first. I´ll leave you all to figure out why the name was as such.
I came back to our B&B, refusing to use my map and thus extending my walk by a few accidental blocks, thinking about Cusco. In comparison to any other Latin American city, it´s much less modern. No high-rises, and despite the multitides of stores selling alpaca wool godos, leather-worked ítems, and jewelry, it reminds me of a city you may have seen a few hundred years ago. It´s more or less a city for its residents and a jumping-off point for travelers, akin to Independence, Missouri on the Oregon Trail. It´s also very manageable- I feel very at home by the end of 3 days, and feels fairly secure (using smart traveler practices). It´s a fascinating change of pace.
Erin and I then set out to run some errands, most importantly checking in with our trekking company. I think we both felt greatly relieved afterward: there are stops every 15 minutes or so, lots of ruins and scenery to enjoy along the way, and we´re at camp every night by 5 at the latest. There is a pass called Dead Woman´s Pass, which we´ll have to go through on our second day, and it looks pretty tricky. Good news is that we reach camp by 2 or 3 PM that day! We´ve both been bothered less and less by the altitude, which is also a relief.
Erin then headed back to the B&B while I returned the the Plaza, the city residents were already starting to form a crowd for a procession (religious parade) for Nuestro Senor de los Temblores (Our Lord of the Earthquakes- in the 1850s an earthquake struck Cusco on Holy Monday, and they've held the parade ever since to honor God for allowing the survival of those who didn´t die). That said, when I asked one of the guardia how long till the parade, he told me an hour later, so I had lunch (Tequenos con palta, which is basically cheese wrapped in a wonton, fried, and served with avocado) then met Erin. Little did we know that the procession actually lasted into the late hours of the night!
That afternoon, Erin and I ran trek-related errands and picked up the last few things needed (small bills of soles to buy water and treats along the trek, more bags of coca candy, made from the same plant as cocaine, it actually helps fight the effects of altitude sickness, etc). After climbing the hill (third time that day for me, and I wish so badly I had a picture so you could see what it was really like), it was nap time. Our dinner that night was at a local sándwich joint, where the man Juanito does masterful things with meat. Mine was lechon with salsa de pina. Lechon is a traditionally roasted pig that´s very common in the área, and he tops it with pineapple sauce since this is also a locally available fruit.
We finished the night in a Café Cultural across the Street from our hostel, where a small boy (Aloum, the son of the owners) had us bent over in hysterical laughter as he lugged a tiny blue guitar around, went up the the mics onstage and yelled "Hola todos, es Dinosaurio por Big Boy" (Hi everyone, this is the song ¨Dinosaur¨sang by Big Boy). It reminds me of a certain younger brother I have who used to call himself ¨Brady Daniel Haughney, Big Boy¨(love you bro!).
Today I woke up not feeling so great- I had chalked yesterday´s runny nose up to allergies or altitude adjustments, but an additional cough convinces me that this is not the case. So we slept in (last night that I´ll be able to do so until April 6 between trekking, flights, and work) then worked on packing our bags for the trek. We each hired the services of a porter to carry 6 kilos for us (11 pounds), which will amount to our sleeping back, our sleeping mat, and a spare change of clothes. In our own bag, we have to carry wáter, snacks, cameras, and things like gloves, hats, bandanas, fresh socks, and toilet supplies that we may need at any given momento.
*I just realized the line above said momento, and I should add that the keyboard I{m working with is not particularly reliable, so please ignore the typos, random capitalizations, and punctuation erros.
Brunch was cappucino french toast served with fresh fruit (so much fruit!) and brightened my morning. We passed by a shaman shop just to see what this is about. Shamans are traditional healers whose tradition lasts thousands of years. In particular, you can go on trips (doublé meaning) with shamans: in Peru, ayahuasca (similar to peyote) is completely legal, and people go on shaman-guided spiritual trips aided by this psychadelic plant.
After some shopping and coffee, the rain has chased us back to the hotel to finish packing, shower, and prepare for our last real night in Cusco (I may be trying the local specialty, cuy, or guinea pig if it´s available wherever we go).
We are getting picked up by the trekking company at 5:20 tomorrow and don´t return to Cusco until Saturday night at 10:30, which is followed by a flight the next morning to Lima, so it will be a while until I write again. Wish us luck!
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