Petra, Jordan

Click here to see my web album photos of Petra.

There are two routes to get to Petra from Amman and Madaba. One route is along the “Desert Highway“, which is pretty much as boring as it gets. The other route is along the “King’s Highway”, which is much less boring, and always recommended by guidebooks and tourism personnel. It takes almost twice as long, but goes through some quite pretty and sometimes dramatic terrain. The actual destination is not Petra, but the town of Wadi Musa, right next to the iconic site. I stayed in a backpackers hostel there, along with others from all over the world, many Japanese and Koreans among them. It occurs to me now that the bulk of the backpacker tourists are, Japanese and Korean in the Middle East, whereas in Eastern Europe the most prevalently represented nation was Australia. I have only met one or two Australians since Istanbul, I think.

If you have seen the movie “Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark” then you have seen film footage of the magnificent carved city of Petra. The real thing is a breathtaking experience, in many ways, and requires a good two days to get a good look at the site. It is vast and glorious and spectacular, and requires a lot of energy. And money - admission price is currently 33 Euros for a one day pass, 38 euros for two, and set to rise to 50 euros for a one day pass come September. Inside the site are dozens and dozens of local horse, horse cart, camel and donkey divers who will save you the work of climbing up hundreds of stairs (and I’m talking in the realm of 800 stairs at a time) for a fee. When the gate prices rise again (as they already did last September) these folks stand to lose a lot of business. Some of them actually live in Petra in caves, as do many of the children and women who try to sell jewellery and trinkets. Clearly, they are not on the receiving end of any trickle down from the high entry fee. The two days that I was in Petra, I would guess that there were close to 5000 people there, maybe more. The second day, they arrived bus load after bus load - all Cunard Cruise guests who had driven up from the port at Aqaba. That alone would account for a few thousand, and it was still low season.

When you enter the site of Petra, you approach the famous Al-Kazneh (Treasury) through a 1.2km long passageway of vertical walls of colourful rock. This natural, narrow chasm (not a canyon) is known as the Siq, and as you approach the end where it opens up, you get your first glimpse of the Treasury. It is nothing short of breathtaking in its splendor, size, colour and magnificence. It is considered to be the most impressive of all the sites in Petra, but there are many, many more beautiful carved buildings and hundreds of caves to be found.

As impressive is the natural beauty of the rock itself. Sandstone in composition, laden with iron it has many colours and hues, ranging from reds, blacks, browns and yellow and resembling wood grain, it has been sculpted by Mother Nature into beautiful, convoluted shapes. Lots of fun to clamber around on and explore, there is always another carved tomb and cave around each and every corner. My feeble small camera was not up to the task of capturing the beauty of the site, so I will encourage you to have a look at some web sites to get a good idea of what I saw.

I think I covered a high percentage of the “main sites” (and innumerable stairs) over my two days in Petra, although I’m sure one could spend several days and keep discovering more and more, but I was pretty much Petra’d out by then, and had had my fill. Glad to have seen it, and glad to be moving on. Next stop - Amman, the capital city of Jordan.

Click here to see my web album photos of Petra.

Bursa, Turkey

Bursa, Turkey

Click here to see my web-album with pictures of Bursa. Here are some more.

The decision to go to Bursa was a good one. To get there from Istanbul, one needs to cross the Sea of Marmara. The bus depot for getting to Bursa is on the Asia side of Istanbul, and the instant I got off the ferry with my luggage I was spotted by a bus company operative, and hustled over to the coach office to purchase my ticket. It was about a 3 or 4 hour journey, including the ferrying across the sea. Catching the city bus at the Bursa bus depot felt a bit sketchy, because I really had no idea where I was supposed to get off, but with a bit of help from another passenger, whospoke no English but was happy to help, I exited the bus at the correct stop, and got my bearings.

The city of Bursa is small in comparison to Istanbul - only 2 million. It has a glorious and interesting past as well, and among other things, it was and still is the silk centre of excellence. Nearby the hotel where I stayed, is the market area, including the covered market, and the various “Hans”, where the different trades and marketers met, back in the day, to do business and strike deals. These Hans, or lodges, were dedicated to, for instance, silk traders and they make up part of the larger market in general, where you can purchase anything thing your heart desires. There are old photos in the Silk Han showing heaps and heaps of cocoons being sold to the silk producers, and it is still where the silk shops are mostly found, with a dazzling array of choices of scarves and garments. Here I was sorely tempted to step inside the shops to consider a purchase. Alas, I did not give in to temptation, and left Bursa empty handed. Bad decision!

There is a local high school principal who goes to the Gunes Hotel, where I stayed, every evening after work. There Ahmet greets all the new guests and basically takes them under his wing to share his passion for his home city. The first order of business is to accompany him to a tea house just around the corner, where locals gather every evening to play and sing traditional music, and of course drink tea. Once ushered into the back room where this daily event takes place, everyone is welcome and welcoming. The musicians are of a few generations, and they all seem to know all the tunes, sharing the lead vocals and lead on the long necked lute-like instrument. There is always a hand drummer and sometimes another will play a large boran-like drum (like a large tambourine withot the jingley-jangley bits). They also have a version of “spoons“, made of wood with a small striker that make a fabulously fun percussive addition to the mix. These spoons will be passed around the group, and you can expect to be invited to join in the ensemble. Once you figure out how to hold them, it is remarkably easy to come off sounding like you actually know what you are doing! It was with great pleasure that I attended three of these jam sessions, each evening hearing different singers and players, thus being introduced to various styles in the local genre. Each evening in the midst of a tune in full flight, the music would suddenly stop, in unison, at which point the instruments were replaced and the gentlemen left for prayers. And that was that, until tomorrow! Quite amazing!

My first evening in Bursa, after meeting Ahmet, I teamed up with a few other guests, one of whom was a “veteran” and already know the ropes. Together, under instructions from Ahmet, we went to see the Whirling Dervishes at their school. It was truly an incredible experience, where any and all are welcome to witness this ritual, at no cost. There were mostly Turkish people watching on, but foreign tourists as well. As is typical in Islamic temples, men are downstairs and women and children upstairs in the balconies. There ritual includes a group of musicians and singers, and a master Sufi who oversees the event. In turn, each of the dancers greet the master and each other twice, and when the music begins, each in turn, begins to whirl. There is a set pattern to their movements across the floor, with one man is stationed in the centre. There pattern represents the universe and the position of their arms represents receiving and giving of light. Some men had one arm extended up (receiving) and the other down(giving), while others had both arms in the receiving position, and with various gradations between, depending on their seniority. The head is tilted to one side for the entire dance, which last about one hour. Sufism is the mystical branch of Islam and Bursa is one of the main centres of the sect. One can see Sufi dancing in Istanbul, where it is a tourist spectacle for which one pays dearly. In Bursa, this was truly a mystical experience, and one of absolute inclusion. After the dance was complete, tea was offered to anyone who wished it in the adjoining garden, where members of the congregation provided information pamphlets on the restoration of the temple and dvd’s of the dance.

Apart from the main attractions within the city of Bursa itself (various mosques and neighbourhoods of particular interest and the market - oh the beautiful produce!) that Ahmet insisted we all take the opportunity to visit, there was another big attraction that he recommended. It was a visit to a nearby Ottoman village, where every weekend the entire town becomes a market place. Fortunately for me and 3 others at the hotel, we were able to join Ahmet for this excursion. We took the local bus, and within about an hour, we were sitting at a table in the garden of one of the local families, indulging in a fabulous spread of local specialities laid out before us. The cherry trees were in bloom and it was a perfect warm spring day. When we had sufficiently stuffed ourselves, we made our way up through the town, being greeted by the friendly locals as we wandered. There was an air of genuine joy and happiness that pervaded the scene, with visitors and vendors all relishing the fine weather and the bounty of the earth such as homemade breads, preserves, honey and propolis, figs, olives, cheese, vegetables and freshly prepared crepes with spinach and cheese. It was a beautiful and memorable outing for us all and we were very grateful to Ahmet for being so caring and taking the time to share the best of Bursa with us.

After five days in Bursa I made my way back across the sea of Marmara to Istanbul to catch my flight, same day, to Amman Jordan.

Click here to see my web-album with pictures of Bursa.

Egypt Bazaar, aka Spice Bazaar, (aka Heaven!)

Buddies

Turkish tea glasses, trays and pots

Modern day mosaic. Istanbulis have a good sense of humour!

Byzantine Mosaic. OLD!

Aya Sophia is HUGE!

Sundy shoppers in Taksim ditrict

It's a really big city!

Bad photo of reallt good food

Blue Mosque calligraphy

Aya Sophia

Pomegranites for juicing

Galata Bridge fishers and Suliemani Mosque

Istanbul

It was with great anticipation that I boarded the plane for Istanbul in Casablanca. Anticipation and trepidation, I should say. When I was going through security in Casablanca airport, I happened to notice the man in front of me, travelling with his wife and toddler, actually slip the security screener some cash! I thought “no, that can’t be!”. But YES, I saw the guy actually sneaking a peak to see how much money it was! Good God! What would you do, if you were boarding a plane in Morocco? I held my tongue, and am happy to report that I arrived safe and sound in Cairo where I transited to Istanbul.

Flying over Libya and Egypt was pretty amazing, of what I could see. The flight was at night and so only the last couple of hours were light enough to see that the landscape 30,000 ft below was nothing but wind affected sand, as far as the eye could see. Completely non-arable, there were absolutely dead straight roads that stretched for hundreds of kilometres across the wasteland to who-knows-where. You could see where the sand was blown across the roads, obscuring them for long sections. Like the surface or the moon, it makes the artic look like the Garden of Eden, what with climate change and all!

After a couple of hours in Cairo airport I boarded for the short flight to Istanbul, and arrived Ataturk airport before noon. I was a little surprised to have to pay US$60 for a ninety day, multiple entry visa. Canadians have to pay more than any other visitors for a visa (Americans pay US$20), such is the wrath of the Turkish Government over Canada’s recognition of the Armenian genocide. First visa I have had to pay for, so I guess I shouldn’t complain, but I still do! There’s more to come on visas….

I went to an ATM to withdraw Turkish Lira, and was more than a little concerned when both my TD bank card and my TD Visa were rejected! There happened to be another Canadian who was also using the same Visa card and his was rejected as well. It took us a little while until we found an ATM that accepted our cards, but I can tell you I felt a bit tense about it, since having issues with one bank in Morocco that not only rejected my card, but also retained it! Well, lets hope that there will be no repeat performance of that scenario.

Anyway, the Canadian man and his wife and I shared a taxi into the city which is quite a long trip. I was prepared to take the metro, but since I was pretty knackered from the long day behind me, I decided to spring for the extra cash, especially as it would take me directly to the door of the hostel that I had booked.

Istanbul has a population of over 17 million people. That’s about half the population of Canada! It’s ’way bigger than New York City. I was in Istanbul in 1974, and I can tell you that it was a LOT different then! It was more like what Morocco is now - broken. The city was a mess. Buildings were crumbling, water and electricity were unreliable, pavement was busted, and jobs were scarce. The cay (tea) shops were filled with idle men, the streets were a jumble of clapped out vehicles (all honking, all the time), and carts pulled by boys and men hauling supplies. There were touts and hawkers and gypsies, and it all felt somewhat sketchy and unsafe, and definitely without much hope.

That was then. Now, Istanbul is full of energy. Many, many of the old buildings have been restored and historic sites are also restored and open for visitors, of which there are millions every year. But even the daily thousands of tourists don’t come close to out-numbering the locals, so it is relatively easy to steer away from the carpet salesmen in Sultan Ahmet (tourist central, where you will find the Blue Mosque, Aya Sophia, the Grand Bazaar and many other important attractions) and wander into a charming neighbourhood bustling with local commerce serving busy local citizens.

There are many wonderful things to see and ways to while away the days in Istanbul. The city has a great tempo, busy but not stressful, and local people are friendly and helpful. There is an abundance of museums and historic sites and monuments to visit, as well as hidden treasures to search for off the beaten track. It is really amazing how many beautiful, ancient Ottoman buildings there are that seem to be in relatively good shape. Some are unoccupied, but still appear to have structural integrity, and so I assume that they are a restoration project in-waiting. I found myself walking into numerous “villages” within the greater city, and being delighted by the bazaars and markets (the produce is really about as good as it gets, anywhere - oh, how I wish I had a kitchen to cook in!). One day rolled into the next, with no shortage of interesting places to visit, and GREAT food to eat, and so I ended up spending 11 days there, before I pried myself away.

Over that time I stayed in 3 different hostels. The first one, I had booked on-line, and they were able to provide me with 3 nights, and then they sent me to their “sister” hostel, which wasn’t full. Neither of them was a bad place, but could have been cleaner, and fixed up somewhat. They were also both in Sultan Ahmet, which is very handy for a LOT of sites on the tourist tick list, but it gets a bit much after a few days, and so I started looking for something a little bit away from that area and I found a much better hostel, which was super clean and had super friendly, helpful staff, AND was a bit cheaper. Maybe it was a bit too comfortable, because it was really easy for me to stay just one more day, and another and another.

It was also better for meeting other travellers. One of my room mates was a young woman from Kyrgyzstan. First Kyrgyzi I have ever met! She was really interesting and we toured around together for a couple of days. She had just arrived, and I knew a few of the ropes already, so she was thankful to have me as a bit of a guide to the neighbourhood. She was delighted to find that Turkish and Kyrghiz languages have many words in common.

Another woman I met there, Daniela, is an Italian pianist, who lives in Barcelona. We had a great day together, that started in the morning and ended after mid-night, having finished it off by going to the opera! It was a pretty adventurous day actually. Daniela had decided to take the Bosporus “cruise”, which I had already taken. It is a beautiful way to see Istanbul, from the water, but all in all it takes 6 hours to complete the trip, including a 3 hour wait at the turn around point. There are options to get off at a few points on the way up, and to possibly get back on the return trip, or take the bus back from there. Daniela had thought that 6 hours was too long a time to commit to, so together we decided to get the one way ticket, and get off before the turn around point.

On board, I happen to see Brian, whom I had met a few days earlier. He and his wife, Sheila are neighbours of my sister in Calgary. My sister advised me by email that they would be in Istanbul at the same time as I, and so we communicated by email and set a rendezvous. Sheila preceded her husband by two or three days, and she and I had a couple of fine days exploring together. A couple of days after Brian arrived, they left for a side trip to Cappadocia. I knew that they were coming back to Istanbul, but only for a day or so, before there onward flight to Jordan, but of all the millions of people in Istanbul, I still thought it was pretty amazing to catch sight of someone I knew!

The four of us ended up getting off the ferry boat at the same stop, so we teamed up to look around. We all wanted to check out a few things on the European side of Istanbul and then hop another ferry to the Asia side where it would be possible to re-board the “cruise” ferry. That was all fine, until I realized that I had left my guide book for Turkey at the ferry iskelesi on the European side. Uh oh - big problem, because I really, really need the book for the rest of my trip, and it is hugely expensive to buy in Istanbul - double what it costs in Canada, and it is impossible to find used copies. After some sign language and a patient explanations to the iskelesi attendant, he was able to phone across to the other side and advise the attendant there about the book, and tell her that I would be back to retrieve it, later.

After straightening that out, and finally shaking a couple of shoe shine boys who were determined to polish our running shoes, we started up the hill to find the gardens and palace described in the guide book. We were highly impressed by the display of colourful primroses and tulips. Tulips are originally from Turkey (Istanbul celebrates spring with a Tulip Festival) and primroses grow wild in the meadows in the countryside. The gardens were surrounding a fabulously beautiful Ottoman palace which now serves as a very post restaurant. Noting the crystal wine glasses and crisp white linen on the tables we opted to hike back to town for lunch. Fish is a good choice in Istanbul, despite the fact that the Bosporus is an international shipping lane, and we enjoyed some fresh catch before getting on another ferry to return to the European side, which is where we said our good-byes to Sheila and Brian.

Retrieving my book was quite an epic event. The ferry did not return to the same station, but ’way ’way down from it, requiring a long bus trip in heavy traffic to get back to the quay where my precious book was waiting. There was a huge police presence due to some sort of a meeting of international leaders, I presumed, since I did happened to see the German Chancellor in one of the limos. After the long, but interesting bus trip back, Daniela and I realized that there wasn’t enough time to return to our hostel before going to the opera. We had only a couple of hours before show time, and a long way to go to get there. We found out though that we could take a different ferry to the appropriate iskelesi back on the Asia side. It left us just barely enough time to grab a quick bite, which we did - a fantastic small spread of meze (kind of like tapas) of dolma, kofte, and yogurt. Unfortunately we had to wolf them down and dash to the ferry, not forgetting to retrieve my guidebook as we boarded.

There is a slightly different flavour to the Asia side of Istanbul - maybe a little bit more laid back, but not enough to make it feel sleepy by any means. The streets were teeming with shoppers and the restaurants were full, just like the European side, but there is definitely less English spoken. We did manage to find our way to the theatre with time to spare. We used that time to try to find out how we would get back to the European side after the opera. Having already checked the ferry schedules at the quay, we were left scratching our heads about the fact that they stop running well before the opera would finish. The general response was “you don’t”! Finally, together with a couple from Barcelona, we were able to work out the details of how to get back, by way to the mighty Bosporus Bridge - a LONG way around, by shared dolmus, (shared taxi), which travel specific routes and have specific stops, just like a bus.

I know you are just dying to know about the opera. It was The Tales of Hoffman by Jacque Offenbach, and it was pretty awful. The soloists were quite fine actually, and the chorus was decent, but the orchestra was dreadful. Daniele was practically apoplectic! With her Italian accent she cried “the violence, the violence!” which struck me a bit harsh, but then I realized she was talking about the violin section. “Ten years” she declared. They need ten years of work to become an orchestra. I won’t bore you with further details, but to say that the second act was an enormous improvement over the first, but the third dragged on.

My daughter, Caitlin, and I had been making plans to meet in Istanbul in early May after she finished up her final year at UBC. Early May was still a good six weeks away, so rather than see most of Turkey before her arrival, I decided to check out Syria and Jordan for three or four weeks. In anticipation of that, I knew would need to apply for a Syrian visa, but it was hard to find out exactly what the requirements are. I took a half a day to walk to the consulate and back, through a part of Istanbul that I would otherwise never have seen - beautiful business area, more fabulous buildings - in order to get the correct information. It was required that I obtain a letter from the Canadian consulate supporting my application for a visa, and return with it to the Syrian consulate. The visa would be processed the same day. Good! I knew that the Syrian visa cost 45 euros (same as Turkey for Canadians), but what I wasn’t anticipating was the 35 euro fee that the Canadian Consulate charges for a one-liner on official letterhead with an official seal! Thank goodness the Canadian dollar is strong right now, and the exchange rate is quite favourable! The Canadian Consulate is an “Honorary” one, and situated in a dumpy apartment of a rather tired building in Taksim, where most consulates and embassies are located. I was told that soon a full consulate will be opening there, and in a new location. Let’s hope so, because the present facility does little to create a favourable impression. Maybe better relations with the Turkish government will lower the visa cost to Canadians!

Once I had my visa for Syria I booked a one way flight to Amman, Jordan on-line, and found a guide book for the Middle East. I had a week of time left in Turkey before my flight, so going far from Istanbul didn’t seem like a good idea. I headed for the city of Bursa, with ideas about side trips from there, to fill the week.

A small part of the exterior of Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca

The Hammam, Hassan II Mosque

Mosques provide good places to play!

Casablanca gentleman.

Casablanca

I was warned about Casablanca being a pretty boring place, and the warnings were correct. Not a lot to do there. The main attraction is the huge mosque, Hassan II, which is one of only two in all of Morocco that non-Muslims may enter. The only way to see inside it is to pay for the guided tour, which is fair enough, because there are a lot of facts and figures that are explained by the guide, without which, it wouldn’t be all that interesting. This is a new mosque built in the traditional style with some high tech inclusions, such as heated floor, 100 meters worth of re-tractable roof, and a laser beam which pierces the night sky, pointing in the direction of Mecca lest the faithful should have trouble figuring out where that is. It is the third largest mosque in the world, capable of housing 25,000 worshippers within and 80,000 outside on the surrounding marble terrace. In the basement of this mosque is the royal hamman (Roman/Turkish bath), which although is extensive and very luxurious, it is only for show. All this and much, much more for a cool one billion dollars, or there abouts.

As for the rest of Casablanca, there were really only a few things to take in and the next best bet seemed to be just trying to negotiate the extremely close confines of the labyrinth of the medina. In this medina, I never ended up where I wanted to be. Invariably when I wanted to get across it to my hostel, I ended up going in a complete circle back to where I started from. Luckily it is a small medina so it was no big deal just to go around the perimeter to find my way back home. The medina was not touristy at all, which made it a little more interesting. For the most part I was ignored by vendors, which was a real treat! I was really just biding my time in Casa, anxiously awaiting my flight to Istanbul. Casablanca offered me a place to enjoy doing some reading, and catching up on this blog.

Would I recommend a trip there? Well, maybe - it depends! I would say go with one or two others and rent a car. Or rent a car to do excursions into the rural areas. You don’t want to drive in any of the big cities, that is for sure. But to get to the smaller

If you asked me “would I go back to Morocco?” I would likely say “no”. There are many other places that I haven’t been, which take priority over a return trip almost anywhere, including Morocco. centres and to the surrounding vicinities (especially in the mountains) a car would be very useful, just the way it is in Canada. Without a car you are pretty much at the mercy of Grand Taxi drivers and the local buses, and you just aren’t going to get to some of the recommended sights. If you have a hard time with ever present garbage and grime - don’t go to Morocco. If you cannot tolerate being harassed and hounded - don’t go to Morocco. If seeing desperately poor people and beggars upsets you - don’t go to Morocco. If you have a passion for big geography and beautiful landscapes - Morocco is a good choice. If you can prepare yourself before you get there, to be kitted up for hiking, surfing, mountain-biking, mountaineering, rock climbing, then Morocco could be a real playground. So, you see - it depends!

Roman and Islamic ruins, Chellah, Rabat

Roman ruins, Chellah.

Islamic ruins, Chellah.

Rabat Medina

Brocade and Tassle shop, Rabat medina

Mohammed V Mausoleum, Rabat

Rabat

Rabat is where most of the foreign embassies and consulates are, being the capital of Morocco. It has a much more cosmopolitan feel to it than any other Moroccan city in that there is an established “downtown” area complete with high end fashion shops, cafés and restaurants. There are also a LOT of black luxury vehicles with smoked windows and chauffeurs. But by European and North American standards, the city is still a mess! Garbage and construction debris litter most of the streets, and ever present grime is just a little less thick in Rabat than, say, Casablanca or Tangier.

The medina is a pretty wild place. Not so much of a tourist haven, it is where the locals go to buy cheap stuff - everything from cell phones to “savon noir”, plastic shoes, gaudy clothes, leather jackets, bedding, furniture, pirated c.d.s and d.v.d.s, toiletries, household items, fruits and veggies, beans, couscous, meat, fish, olive oil, olives, bread, preserved lemons, snacks, toys, and all manner of junk! And it is absolutely packed with merchandise and people. Vendors without a stall simply spread their wares out on the road for people to negotiate around and through.

Somehow, nothing gets kicked or stepped on! The racket is quite something as well, with all the haggling, occasional spats, happy greetings, and blaring ghetto blasters. But, thankfully, no one hassles you!

Moroccan people are very warm hearted, and it is a common site to see them stopping on their way, to share an affectionate greeting with a friend or acquaintance. Always, it begins and ends with a handshake and then touching ones own heart (male) or lips (female). Physical contact is often maintained whilst chatting, and it is not uncommon to see men and boys, and women and girls holding hands or arm in arm while walking together. Much rarer is to see men and women holding hands, but a little more common with young people. Children are, for the most part, adored by one and all, and adorable is what they are! They look after each other, as much as anyone else does, the “older” ones taking the wee ones by the hand and weaving through thick crowds and across insanely busy streets. Frightening!

It’s hard not to notice the high incidence of blindness in this country. The number of completely blind people is staggering, as is the huge number of maimed and crippled folks. While I have no idea as to the reasons for blindness, it is all too obvious why so many people are seriously physically handicapped. The hazards of living here are too numerous to imagine, what with faulty vehicles, archaic machinery, broken infra-structure and non-existent safety measure. Throw in child labour, largely unregulated traffic, and 1001 distractions and you have the basic recipe for an accident waiting to happen.

There is a place in Rabat known as Chellah, which is high above the river Oued Bou Regreg. Originally a Phoenician settlement, in about 40AD it was taken over by the Romans, who named it Sala Colonia, but was abandoned in 1154, in favour of Salé across the river. In the 14th century Sultan Abou al-Hassan Ali built a necropolis over top of the Roman site, surrounding it with the towers and defensive walls that remain today, and re-named it Chellah (Sala - Salé - Chellah). It is a remarkable place for many reasons, not the least of which is its historical significance, which makes it all the more remarkable that it hasn’t been more scientifically excavated and developed as an important monument. Inside the walls there is a beautiful garden through which you pass on the way to the ruins, which include the remains of a typical Roman city - a triumphal arch, forum, temple of Jupiter, Pool of the Nymph, and water distribution system. There is precious little information on site, and what there is, is in French and Arabic, but even I could get the gist of it! As for the Islamic complex, those remains are more intact, but still sadly neglected and overgrown. They include a minaret (now topped by an enormous stork nest!), the tombs of Abou al-Hassan Ali and his wife, still with beautiful tile work (zellij), and the remains of the medersa (religious college) with student cells and scalloped pools. The colony of storks that have made Chellah their home have a flight path that takes them right overhead, on their way to collect more nest building material and food for the hungry young-uns. They are a sight to behold, with enormous wingspans and bills. I didn’t see any bundled babies, though.

Speaking of young-uns and babies, I read that, as of at least a couple of years ago, 55% of the almost 35 million Moroccans are under the age of 25, and almost 1/3 are under the age of 15. Less than 5% is over 65 and most of them are women, often working widows. Urban unemployment rates for 15 - 34 year olds is a staggering 34%. The good news is, the birth rate has dropped from an average of 7.8 births per woman in 1971, to 2.7 currently, with lower infant mortality rates and longer life expectancy.

In addition to the Chellah, there is an archeological museum which houses a nice collection of Neolithic rock carvings, and artefacts from Roman settlements of Lixus, Volobillus, and Chellah. There are a few very beautiful carvings and some examples of (my favourite) glass objects, as well as jewellery, ceramics and the like. It’s really pretty mind-blowing to think about the ancientness of civilizations!

The Kasbah is mostly restored, and contains a lovely, quiet, and restful garden. The 17th century palace is now a small museum with mostly royal jewellery of gold and precious stones, elaborately decorated clothing, and ornate firearms and daggers. It’s a nice place to wander up through the residential area of the Kasbah, where it appears are some very wealthy residence of whom, I believe, many are ex-pats. It is a clean, sunny, and calm enclave for the lucky few who live there.

I walked a lot in Rabat, and pretty much covered all there is to see there as a tourist and a bit more, I think! It was a pleasant three days of my count-down to Istanbul. From there I took the train to Casablanca.

Citerne Portugaise, where a scene from Orson Wells film of Othello was shot.

El-Jadida fishing boats.

Stone steps up to former lighthouse which is now a minaret. El-Jadida.

El Jadida

From Essaouira I headed north up the coast. I had my flight booked to Istanbul, and ten days to kill before leaving for Turkey. I wasn’t sure how I was going to fill all those days given what there was to see between Essaouira and Casablanca, my departure point. In fact there were really only a couple of places along the way that seemed worth any trouble. I was thinking about Turkey more than Morocco, and the intervening days just seemed like a waste of time. I wished that I could have made my departure date sooner.

The first place that I stopped at and spent a couple of nights was Oualidia, (say Walidia) another beach town that for the most part was devoid of tourists. Well, not quite - there was a convoy of motor homes parked in the trailer camp. The beach there is really quite lovely, there being a huge lagoon for safe swimming and wind surfing. On the other side of the lagoon the waves crash up against the rocks dramatically providing the more thrilling aspect of the ocean’s attraction. The rocks are highly eroded and convoluted, with blow-holes and sink holes and all manner of challenges for walking.

The weather turned REALLY nasty there, making it a good place to leave, so I caught the bus to the next destination - El Jadida. It is a much bigger centre, of at least 150,000 people. It was quite a long hike from the bus station to where I hoped to find a room at the Hotel Bordeaux. I finally found the place deep in the medina, and took a room. This was the cleanest hotel I stayed in in Morocco, and it was really reasonably priced! Eureka!

The main attraction is the Cité Portugaise, the walled fortress which dates from 1506 built by the Portuguese (who called it Mazagan) as one of a string of trading posts along the Atlantic coast. The tiny fortress is really a gem, and an island of tranquility (tranquille!) away from the hustle of the rest of El Jadida.

One of the most interesting features of the Cité is the Citerne Portugaise, a vast vaulted cistern used to collect water, it is illuminated by a single shaft of light. There remains a thin film of water over the floor providing a mirroring of the ceiling and pillars to great effect. Good enough for Orson Wells to use the space in his 1954 film version of Othello - the dramatic riot scene. Very cool place.

The fortress walls are 2 metres thick and provide a great walkway from which you can look out to sea, and across the city. I had good weather for the most part, although it looked pretty threatening for a while. The enormous beach was largely uninspiring in March, but apparently it becomes a real attraction in the summer months.

I liked this place and felt good about my decision to check it out. But I still had 5 days to kill, and was dreading Casablanca. Everything that I had heard and read about the place told me to avoid the big sprawling mess of broken down city. Rabat was my last choice before deferring to Casablanca which I ended up transiting through. And yes, it did look grim….

Essaouira fishing boats

Essaouira has nice skies

Essaouira

Essaouira

After returning the car to the agent in Tiznit, Yves and I headed to the dreaded Grand Taxi rank to find a shared ride to Agadir. From there we would find another grand taxi going to Essaouira. Yves only wanted to go half way to Essaouira (say Esweera), because his hike would take him along the Atlantic coast the rest of the way to that tourist hot spot. I was going all the way. We quickly hopped in the front seat in order to have a bit more space than when crammed into the back seat. Remember, these so-called Grand Taxis leave when they have six passengers - two in the front and four in the back, in a car that is really meant to hold a maximum of 4 passengers. You can forget about seat belts and window cranks, which have been removed in order to create a little more room for passengers. The driver has one which gets passed around according to the needs of the passengers.

So, it was somewhere along the highway between Agadir and Essaouira that Yves and I parted company, agreeing to keep in touch, and possibly meet up in Essaouira, where he expected to arrive in 3 or 4 days. He had an 8 km walk down a side road to get to the coast, and just missed a ride going that way, which the taxi driver tried in vain to flag down for him. The sky was looking variable with dark clouds and sunny breaks…

About another hour with the front seat to myself (luxury!) put me in Essaouira, and as expected I was immediately approached by someone offering accommodation. As usual “tranquille” was the operative descriptor. Since I had no reservation, I agreed to have a look at it, on my way to one of the hotels suggested in the Lonely Planet. Once again the medina seemed impossible to navigate and I had no idea where I was when we got to the riad. It was swell enough and not too expensive so I decided that I would settle in for a few days. Then off I went to get lost and explore the medina.

There is a section in fortification walls separating the medina from the sea where there is a wide ramp up to the ramparts. If you have seen the Orson Wells film version of Othello, you will know this spot because he used it in the opening scene for a panoramic shot where Iago is suspended in a cage above the rocks and sea. It really is a spot with tons of style, and I can imagine how Mr Wells would see it as a perfect location. Not having seen the movie myself yet, I am now determined to when I have access to a dvd player again. While he was in the vicinity he filmed another scene in the town north of here, called El-Jadida, which I went to a few days later.

Essaouira is another surfer destination, although technically speaking the waves aren’t all that good, I guess. There are beaches nearby which offer better quality waves. There are tons of tourists here, most of whom certainly don’t look like surfers though. Mind you the water was very turbulent and full of stirred up mud, perhaps a seasonal condition that improves later in the year. The beach is very, very wide with not too much of a slope, and serves the local lads as multiple soccer pitches at low tide. Sunday seemed to be league soccer day, as there must have been at least 20 games in progress, with what seemed to me a high degree of expertise in ball handling skills. Soccer is played everywhere in Morocco, and rarely with the advantage of a proper pitch or even a proper soccer ball. Kids are always at it, sometimes even the young girls get to take part, down any street or alleyway, with whatever substitutes for a ball. And of course, the t.v. stations are always tuned to the game, if not the imam.

There are thousands of small shops offering all manner of Moroccan handicrafts. There isn’t too much hassling from the vendors, but there are always a same few who can’t resist pestering tourists. A lot of what is for sale is of fairly high quality, and there seems to be a lot of variety of styles and colours in any given item. Leather goods, wood furniture, metal work, clothing, et cetera.

There are a lot of restaurants as well, all offering the exact same fare that is offered all over Morocco, no better/no worse. It’s the standard couscous, tagine, kefta, rotisserie chicken, salads, fried fish, and often hamburgers for those who crave. Frankly, it’s all pretty boring food, and I have only eaten one couscous that I found to be tasty and well prepared. Mostly, tagines and couscous consist of overcooked vegetables and/or meat with very little spicing. I’ve had ‘way better at home with certain friends (you know who you are!). And the harira (Moroccan soup) is awful. Cheap but awful. Every single bowl that I have had is exactly the

same as the last. I have a much better recipe! Bread is served with everything and is the sold everywhere. And every morning there are piles of day old bread torn up and lying on the sidewalk in a heap. Can someone explain this to me?

Some of the my best bets for food have been salads and fruit smoothies which at least have no starch and provide some minerals and vitamins. The tea is variable, but always sweet, and coffee is generally good.

I was starting to weary of Morocco by the time I reached Essaouira, and after finally having some decent internet chats with my daughter about meeting up in Turkey in May, I decided that it was time for me to head to that country well in advance of her tentative rendezvous with me.

I had pretty much seen what I came to see, and so since I had found a cyber café with a reasonably reliable internet connection, I took advantage of that to search out and book a flight. After a few sessions, I had it figured out - I would fly from Casablanca to Istanbul on March 18/19. With that date now fixed, I planned the remaining days of my time in Morocco to wind up in Casablanca for a couple of days before flying east.

Sidi Ifni

Amelm Valley

Old traditional door, abandonned village

Abandonned village near Tafroute

Chapeau Napolean, Tafraoute

A Belgian artist thought this would be a good idea. Painted Rocks, Tafaoute