Posted Monday, April 30, 2007, 3:37 PM by Lonely Planet
It's a sad fact of life that along some stretches of the western Thai border, refugee camps are rather plentiful. I'd been curious about the camps' living conditions for some time, so it was a fortunate coincidence that only hours after arriving in the town of Mae Sot, I met Na Yean Kim, a Korean doctor studying tropical medicine in Bangkok. She was curious about the camps as well, so we made plans to visit the following day.
An hour-long songthaew ride passed before we finally reached the massive Mae La Camp, where more than 25,000 members of the Karen hill-tribe now live. The Karen have been battling the military-installed Myanmar government for autonomy since 1948 - the same year Burma gained independence from the British. The vast majority of Mae La's residents first fled their country in an attempt to escape the fighting, and now they're essentially citizens of a no-man's land, trapped and frightened at the same time. Camps have been torched without warning in the past, so everyone lives in constant fear of another torching - or something worse - happening again.
Interested in learning more? Check out the fascinating Karen Refugee LiveJournal blog, featuring entries by Mae La kids.
- Dan Eldridge
Labels: Asia and Pacific, Volunteer
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Posted Thursday, April 26, 2007, 10:31 PM by Lonely Planet
If you're heading to Amsterdam for the Queen's birthday (30th April) and you haven't already booked a place to stay, you'd better hurry. Somewhere between 500,000 and 2 million visitors are expected to descend on the city and online booking agencies show a dearth of available beds. In stark contrast to the stoic English who go to work on their Queen's birthday the Dutch celebrate with their Queen and the day has become one big party in orange. All of Amsterdam takes to the streets and it seems to be law that if you own a boat you must fill it with as many people as possible and cruise the waterways. The wearing of orange is encouraged and a significant amount of people get about wearing decorative carrots. Originally when carrots came to Europe they were red and yellow. However those colours disappeared as the Dutch cultivated only the orange carrot which came to symbolise the House of Orange and the struggle for Dutch independence. Happy Birthday Queen Beatrix.
Labels: Europe
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Posted Sunday, April 22, 2007, 9:46 PM by Lonely Planet
'A guest is a gift from God' goes the popular Arab saying. The hospitality of the Middle East is legendary, and Saudi Arabia had proved no exception. During our weeks on the road and over the course of the 11,250km we clocked up, our car had become so stuffed full with presents that I now called it 'Abdullah's mobile bazaar'.
We stocked everything from the choicest dates and most luxuriously packaged boxes of chocolates to lavish coffee-table books, the finest coffee beans and even a pearl necklace. Saudi generosity was overwhelming, and it did not seem in any danger of dwindling.
The Red Sea port of Jeddah was our final destination. Considered the most cosmopolitan town in the Kingdom - and somewhat wild, degenerate and dangerous by the country's more conservative kinsmen - Jeddah had a palpably relaxed, seen-it-all air. On the private beaches outside town, we even came across bikini-clad girls on jet skis.
With its ancient souqs and crumbling coral houses that once belonged to the city's moneyed merchants, as well as the excellent museums of the heritage-proud Hejazis, laid-back, libertine Jeddah was a lovely place to end a circuit of the Kingdom.
But engulfing the region in the form of two million pilgrims was the Haj (the annual pilgrimage to Mecca) and every hotel room was taken. Without a second's hesitation, several Saudi 'friends' stepped up to offer accommodation in their own homes.
Abdullah insisted on showing me some Saudi hospitality too. Invited for 'lunch', I sat down the following day to an all-afternoon feast of fish, meat and vegetables in the company of his charming family. Near the end of the meal Abdullah suddenly burst out:
'What will become of you in Riyadh, Ms Frances?'
'I'll be fine, Abdullah, don't worry. I am sure your countrymen will take good care of me.'He need not have fretted. During the remaining days' research in Riyadh, and following an interview with a minister, I found myself passed like a parcel between princes. The hospitality was such that I found I had only to show the slightest interest in a subject, the least liking, and my 'wishes' were granted or dreams became true.
One day, Aladdin-like, I murmured imprudently about the ancient art of falconry. The very next day, I found myself being flown first-class to a nature reserve north of Najran to see a royal falconry display staged especially for me. On muttering about camels, I was whisked away to a camel beauty contest outside Riyadh and given a personal tour of the princes' favourites.
A fracas followed merely trying to persuade my hospitable hosts that I could not delay my return home.
Saudi Arabia. Quite possibly the most frustrating and fantastic, demanding and dream-like assignment I had ever had. Were it not for the sand still in my camera bag, I would never have believed I'd been there at all.
- Frances Linzee Gordon
This is the last in a series of eight blog posts from Frances Linzee Gordon on her unprecedented research assignment in Saudi Arabia for Lonely Planet's forthcoming guide to the Arabian Peninsula. As the first person ever to be granted a visa to visit the Kingdom as an independent tourist, she kept a diary of her adventures. Read the whole series here...
Labels: Frances Linzee Gordon in Saudi Arabia, Middle East
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Posted Wednesday, April 18, 2007, 12:17 AM by Lonely Planet
Chiang Mai, walking along the eastern moat, I feel the splash of water drench the side of my face. I instinctively look up, down, left, right - then glance behind me, just in time to see the backside of a Honda scooter fleeing the scene.
Naturally, both passengers were packing water pistols. I laughed to myself as they sped off down the Moon Muang Road. Songkran started early in Chiang Mai. The next few days were going to be a bit out of the ordinary.
Songkran is a three-day-long holiday to celebrate the Thai New Year. Like similar celebrations in the west, the event is symbolic of renewal; a fresh start. But here's the fun part: country-wide, Thais symbolise the cleansing aspect of Songkran by pouring water onto friends and strangers alike.
Over the years, the festivities have gotten a bit out of hand. In Chiang Mai, the ritual that once consisted of little more than the sprinkling of scented water has transformed into an event that many now refer to as 'Water Wars'. Thais and tourists alike flock here en masse every April, and as I sit at a café just steps from the city's ancient brick wall, it seems as if all hell has broken loose. The town centre is the scene of a totally out-of-control liquid revolution. Everywhere I look, someone is firing a ridiculously high-powered water gun, or slinging a bucket of water onto the head of the person closest to them. During the five-minute stroll from my guesthouse to breakfast this morning, I was drenched to the core no less than six times.
It's worth bearing in mind that all this liquid insanity is done entirely in the name of good fun, of course. A splash from a stranger is considered something of a blessing, and I've yet to see anyone become agitated due to a dousing. Then again, a traveller I spoke with this morning assured me that come this evening, as the drunkenness inevitably escalates, the insanity in this city will explode. To which I can only say: Happy New Year!
- Dan Eldridge
Dan Eldridge is in Thailand researching the Thailand chapter of South East Asia on a Shoestring.
Labels: Asia and Pacific
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Posted Sunday, April 15, 2007, 3:40 PM by Lonely Planet
'That's not good enough', I growled, narrowing my eyes at the official standing before me. 'I would like to visit the site now.'
To my enormous surprise, the official nodded obediently and scuttled off at once to attendto my request.
'You see, Ms Frances, I try to explain', Abdullah had volunteered early on in the trip. 'We Saudi men, we cannot say no to women when they ask help'.
Abdullah had encouraged me to take full advantage of this convenient dictate of Saudi etiquette; I did. Soon I had become quite brazen in my demands, asking for anything we required while Abdullah lurked smirking in the shadow of my abeyya.
'I want to visit the village of Habalah', I stated succinctly as soon as I had entered the offices of the Asir Tourism Board. Soon an entire cable car - lying dormant in the off-season - had wheezed into life, requiring a team of perhaps twenty to coordinate it.
Though women are denied such simple freedoms as driving a car, staying unaccompanied in hotels, entering Internet cafes or even eating in many restaurants, the treatment of women had in fact turned out to be very different from what I had imagined - or from what is popularly portrayed in the West. Most people appeared to accord women remarkable respect - as indeed I had always found throughout the countries of the Middle East.
Upon entering a shop or bank, an airport or railway station, I soon learnt to march to the front of a queue (as women everywhere were expected to do), watched contemptuously as men scattered before me, and waited impatiently while everything was done for me. If I hadn't been working such long hours, I would have become as large as a Saudi house (as many locals were; the country apparently has the highest incidence of diabetes in the world), so entirely indolent, spoilt and shamefully demanding I had become.
In the meantime, we continued to clock up the kilometres as we slowly wound our way around the Kingdom. From the beautiful mud-brick towers of Najran, we travelled via the spectacular rock carvings of Bir Hima and ancient tombs of Al-Faw, to the stunning, skyward, 20th-century towers of Riyadh, and onto the town of Al-Hofuf, home to one of the largest and most ancient oases in the world.
From the Eastern provinces, home to most of Saudi's oil and a seething mass of immigrant labour, we turned northwards to visit the country's greatest attraction. Known as 'Saudi Arabia's Petra', Madain Saleh numbers among the most magical and monumental sites of the Middle East - or it would if it were better known. Built by the Nabataeans in the first century BC, the rock-hewn tombs spread spectacularly over a desert landscape.
'The Al-Khuraibah tomb is closed...', the guard began.
As I drew myself up and narrowed my eyes, Abdullah took a step back and smiled.
- Frances Linzee Gordon
Frances Linzee Gordon has just completed an unprecedented research assignment in Saudi Arabia for Lonely Planet's forthcoming guide to the Arabian Peninsula. As the first person ever to be granted a visa to visit the Kingdom as an independent tourist, she kept a diary of her adventures. There is one post left in the series... tune in next week.
Labels: Frances Linzee Gordon in Saudi Arabia, Middle East
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Posted Thursday, April 12, 2007, 1:33 AM by Lonely Planet
As you might imagine, here at Lonely Planet we're fascinated by sites like Wikitravel and World66, where travellers build something not dissimilar from an online guidebook. The idea is the info is kept fresh by regularamendments and additions, just like Wikipedia.
We've always thought we were excited because we live & breathe making travel content here. Now we know we're not alone.
How so? As everyone gathered back in Lonely Planet's London office after Easter trips to Whitstable, Brighton and Bury St. Edmunds we read Tim Wu's great piece on Slate Magazine about his guidebook-free trip to Thailand. Tim only used traveller-built sites to guide him to the best spots for rock-climbing and, though he couldn't resist picking up a guide half-way through his experiences made for great reading. And it sparked a debate about where best to hammer our chocks into the lovely Thai limestone. I'd tell you where we settled on but we're still squabbling over it.
This got us all chatting, and we'd love to know what you think about using the web on the road, and your experiences of trying similar things. We're all big fans of what travellers can add to guides - the Thorn Tree and your letters and emails have been doing that for years, after all, and our Haystack accommodation booking service is but one place we'd love to get more of your views. How well do you think sites like this work, or could work out on the road?
What do you think?
Tom Hall
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Posted Wednesday, April 11, 2007, 7:40 PM by Lonely Planet
Dov experiences some night-time mischief...
Growing up in Brooklyn, New York, I'd spent much of my youth trying to stay out of trouble, but as most New Yorkers will claim, trouble has a way of finding you. Up until my last night in Morocco, I had been successful in avoiding Marrakesh's less desirable characters.
However, after some last-minute haggling for gifts, a quick peak into a few drum circles, and of course a few kebabs, I left the Djemaa el-Fna for the final time and walked bravely back into the maze of alleys on the way back to our riad, only to have a brief encounter with the dark side of the Medina. It was a few ticks shy of midnight, and the dimly lit narrow streets looked just a little bit emptier than usual. I imagine that natives to Marrakesh's old city can navigate the labyrinth of alleys and markets with their eyes closed, but I was not yet that skilled.
Perhaps looking a little lost, as I turned around what I hoped was the correct corner, I suddenly became surrounded by a group of five kids, all probably between the ages of ten and fourteen. Everywhere we had travelled in Morocco, after taking a picture of someone, especially children, it was impossible to escape a demand for a few dirham. However, once in a while, the more audacious young ones would ask for money without providing any sort of service at all. The kids on this last night in Marrakesh were of the latter group, surrounding and pestering me in French, Spanish and English, fishing for a response and a few coins. I kept trudging on, ignoring their persistent hustling, and as I passed through a darker and narrower section of the street, I felt a slight tugging from behind me, and realized that the rascals had snatched my sunglasses out of the water bottle pouch on the side of my backpack.
They surrounded me now, smiling, laughing, and playfully demanding money to give back my stolen sunglasses. I snatched the sunglasses from one of their taunting hands, as they still demanded money, 'Masseur, Money, Please!'. I placed my sunglasses on the ground, and with an equally taunting laugh and a smile, I brought down my boot, stopping an inch short of smashing the cheap sunglasses to bits.
Astonished at my actions, the young troublemakers stretched out their hands and yelled 'Masseur, No No!'. I picked up my sunglasses, still intact, and walked away. The boys then strolled the other way back down the alley, giggling in respect of their slightly cleverer elder.
On my last night in Morocco, I had no intention of being a victim of petty thievery, and those kids had no intention of leaving their nightly mischief without a few extra coins in their pockets. But as we parted ways in that dark Marrakesh alley, we shared a laugh and a story which for me was worth more than my sunglasses, and I hope for the them, worth more than a few dirham. I'd also like to think that we both learned an important lesson from that encounter. My lesson: Keep your eyes, ears, mind, and heart open when you travel, especially in a place like Marrakesh. You might just have an experience that will alter the way you see yourself and the world, and you might just foil the scheme of some young pickpockets. And the lesson for those young pickpockets: Don't mess with the boy from Brooklyn.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Lisa risks her life on the streets of Marrakesh...
Here the road rules are limited to this - just drive. Drive your car, your horse, your mule, donkey, camel, motorbike or bicycle anyway you can to get you where you need to be.
The narrow alleys seem to turn Marrakesh drivers into Grand Prix drivers rather than act as deterrence. Blind corner: who cares, floor it and test your luck. There are pedestrian crossings, but if you stop you'll never get started again. If being a girl on a bicycle didn't make people look, being a girly girl on a bicycle guaranteed a few stares. All was fine until my first corner turn in a good five years. I know riding a bike is a skill that once learnt is never forgotten but... this corner threw me... literally. After trying to stop my bike (which was of course rocketing with speed) I stumbled graciously into the path of an oncoming taxi, which luckily had brakes in good working order. A near miss and slightly tarred ego, but an authentic Moroccan experience all the same. After a quick dust off and a brief 'lean into the corner' pep talk from Baxter, I was good to go again.
Marrakesh has more shades of pink than a Mardi Gras so it was rather odd to travel to the coastal town of Essaouria and be confronted with white walls. It felt as though our two-hour drive had transported us to Greece. Greece flavoured with Moroccan spice, where the alleyways and people remained the same, but there was one distinct difference. Seagulls. Never before have I seen more seagulls congregate in a single airspace. And with good reason. Everything from bream to bass, shark to seahorse (okay I didn't see the latter on a plate though I'm sure it's possible) is on the menu, making life extremely sweet for the seagulls of Essaouria. Braving the almost definite probability of being hit by a bird bomb, I wondered just how long these gulls hover above the harbour. After watching (both the birds and their bombs hit unsuspecting passers-by) I came to the conclusion that they simply hover all day. Why go anywhere else than a place that serves up a constant supply of fresh fish and lets you get a bit of target practice in!
From the seaside smell of seagull to the musty stench of pigeon mixed with cows, camels and lime there was only one thing I was extremely grateful for when I entered a tannery on my final day. The bundle of mint I was given on entering. Having followed a young boy after he insisted we saw his family's tannery, Syliva and I could smell what can only be described as dead animal. I really had no idea what I was in for and while I'm very glad I ended up with a camel-leather pouf and an empty pocket, I was even happier to be breathing fresh air outside in Djemaa el-Fna.
Morocco has been a surprise package of culture shock, culinary creatures, exotic wonders and experiences I simply could have never predicted. If there is one thing I want to end with it's to encourage people to travel. See the world through your own eyes. You can read a book about pretty much anywhere or watch a program on television, but to truly experience a place in your own unique way you need to get yourself a guidebook and get out there.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Baxter gets taken to the cleaners, Moroccan style...
The hammam (Turkish bath) is a physical metaphor for the essential Moroccan experience. It is the distillation of all the competing sensations of a North African vacation: excitement, anxiety, fear and revelation all vie for your attention like the food sellers in the Djemaa el-Fna.
Just like when you fly abroad, the first time you step into the steamy confines of a Marrakesh bathhouse, you are magically transported to a place where the normal rules of propriety no longer apply. Inside the hammam, and outside of your comfort zone, you pay your fare (just eight dirham) and are literally and figuratively laid-bare, all except for your underwear that is.
Remember your first time overseas when you realized there was no way you could even look like you fit in? Well, this is one of those times. As if he can sense your faltering spirit for this adventure, your guide suddenly appears to coax you through the process just like the astute handicraft merchants in the souq do. The stringy old man you saw upon entering the hammam is going to be your new best friend, it seems. In matching plastic slippers and threadbare robe, he smiles up at you almost tenderly.
There on the grimy, grouted floor, he leaves you alone and vulnerable in the company of strangers. Growing more self-conscious by the minute, you hope for the safety of your guide's speedy return.
In what seems like an hour (but are really just minutes) the little old man reappears in just his skivvies and an odd-looking glove on his left hand. What relief! Without warning, he dumps two buckets over your head in rapid succession. Before you can catch your breath under the water, he lays you out flat on the floor. After a thorough lathering with the black soap and another dousing, he pop, pop, pops your spine into realignment. Just exactly how bent out of shape you've been and how much you have in common with the humpbacked camel (at least in terms of posture) becomes painfully apparent. You've never felt dirtier nor cleaner in your whole life and yet, you couldn't be happier with the contradiction.
As you slip sheepishly into the medina outside, the seemingly divergent emotions that possess you - cleanliness and dirtiness, a relief that it's over, and a longing for more - leave you with the distinct impression that you've just had a quintessential Moroccan experience.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Sylvia takes a final stroll through Marrakesh's alleys...
The road to Essaouria is a rollercoaster ride north of Marrakesh. The landscape is bleak and empty apart from a solitary minaret standing at the roadside. Why it stands there is a mystery as there seems to be no one to hear its call to prayer except the occasional lonely shepherd with his skinny dog.
Essaouria is known as Morocco's windy city, but it was a refreshing Atlantic breeze that swept through the white alleys of this attractive town. In a courtyard below the ramparts, woodworkers create high-quality jewellery boxes and furniture from thuja wood, which is unique to the High Atlas area, and calligraphers paint Berber or Arabic symbols on goatskin. Around every corner there stands an art gallery with art for every budget, from the cheerful mass produced oil paintings of Gnaoua horsemen to the high art dreamscapes of La Mancha.
Back in Marrakesh for our final day we saw a less salubrious side to Moroccan creativity. A chance encounter at a mint stall led to a guided walk down endless alleys with a toothless man to visit his family's tannery. Random animal entrails lay scattered on the street and the air was thick with the ammonia-fumed aroma of pigeon droppings (used to soften the leather). We were offered a sprig of fresh mint to act as a gasmask as we made our way up to the rooftops to balance between great vats of quicklime where animal skins are soaked before being laid out to dry in the sun. After that they are soaked in natural dyes - calico, saffron, indigo, kohl and mint to give the spectrum of colours that hang in the souks. Somehow those soft leather babouches (pointy slippers) don't seem quite so appealing now.
As dusk fell I took a final walk through the Djemaa el-Fna. At last, the Gnaoua dancers were out, performing their mystical Moroccan-style line dancing. With heads swirling and tasselled fezzes spinning, they took their turn in stepping forward to show off their best moves. As the drum beat ever faster they shut their eyes and worked themselves into a frenzy. One flash of my camera however and the tallest dancer was out of his trance-like state in an instant, hat outstretched with a smile that said, 'You know the score'.
Marrakesh is a magical place and seeing it through the eyes of a travel writer has enhanced the experience, as every sight formed itself into a sentence and every detail became so valuable. Thanks Lonely Planet!
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Posted Tuesday, April 10, 2007, 5:12 PM by Lonely Planet
Jim Flannery, skipper of the Lady Avalon II, gazes across the still water of Dingle Harbour as his grandson Colm drones towards us in a motorboat, hood up like Charon crossing the River Styx. "What are our chances of seeing Fungi?" I ask. "Like all of us, it depends what humour he's in" says Jim. "He feels energised when the sun's out and he's had a good feed of salmon."
Fungi is an oversized dolphin who has been a special friend to the town of Dingle in County Kerry, Ireland for over twenty years. In the early Eighties, vague reports that the same dolphin was swimming alongside fishing trawlers, all year round, led to an American tourist paying a local fisherman three punts (Irish pounds) to take him out. Eleven boats now head out every day in the summer, packed with crowds that have a high chance of snapping the sociable dolphin swimming or even jumping alongside their vessel.
I've opted for the full-on 'swim with Fungi' experience and I'm hoping this dolphin is all he's cracked up to be as I pull on my wetsuit. I'm accompanied by four New Yorkers, whose upbeat attitude makes them the perfect companions as we hurl ourselves into the icy Atlantic. Fungi soon appears, but he plays a trick whereby he swims up close, then when we're in the water, reappears half a mile away. Jim says he's focused on feeding, but I think he's a mischievous dolphin.
We have our most memorable encounter in the motorboat, when Fungi leaps across the stern then bobs from port to starboard. It's amazing that he greets most boats in this manner, but I have to ask Jim about the conspiracy theories I've heard. One newspaper article claimed the original Fungi died and was replaced by an impostor shipped from Florida. Jim dismisses such heresy, and tells tales of Fungi cheering young girls suffering from leukaemia or cancer, and repeatedly pointing his nose at the chest of a woman later diagnosed with breast cancer. The sharp wind is bringing tears to our eyes as we head back to the pier.
- James Bainbridge
Labels: Europe
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Posted Monday, April 09, 2007, 4:45 PM by Lonely Planet
It's Holy Thursday afternoon and I'm standing outside the Virgen de la Candelaria church in Seville, surrounded by people in white cloaks and pointy hats holding large unlit candles in gloved hands. These are the nazarenos, who are to start their 12-or-more hour procession through the streets of Seville, accompanying the floats of Jesus and Mary for the Easter celebrations, and fulfilling their religious vows. Everyone's silent. This is the annual spiritual peak of the nazarenos, a peak that may yet collapse under a spring shower. This year's unpredictable spring weather has brought suspense onto the streets of Seville: people are phoning each other to find out what was going on in other parts of town ("Has such-and-such procession come out yet? What? They're hiding from the rain in another church?!") and bursting into tears when it was announced that some of the floats wouldn't be allowed out for the rain.
Semana Santa (Easter week) in Seville is the most exciting time to be in the city, with thousands of people in the street all day and night during the madruga, the night before Good Friday. Everyone is dressed in their best outfits - men in white suits and slicked back hair, women in traditional black dresses with black lace crowning their hair. Hundreds of nazarenos walk in silence, some barefoot, the most morbid with crosses on their shoulders.
I braved this year's cold madruga and stayed in the street until 8am. The first part of the night I watched the El Silencio procession, and had the float of the Virgin stop right next to me. I could hear the sigh of the costaleros, the unseen men who carry the floats on their shoulders, as they lifted the heavy burden in unison. Then I rushed to the Jesus de los Gitanos route, which was made even more exciting by impromptu flamenco singing and dancing.
When the Virgin float appeared, the street filled with adoring shouts: "Oh Virgin, you are so beautiful!", followed by a saeta, a spiritual flamenco song. And again, like last year, and despite my lack of religious belief, I am in love with Seville's Semana Santa.
- Vesna Maric
Labels: Europe, Festivals and events
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Posted Wednesday, April 04, 2007, 10:36 PM by Lonely Planet
Lisa finds that snakes are charming until they try to slip the tongue in...
Being told it's good luck to kiss a snake just isn't enough to coax me into it, but today there was no choice...
The past few days have seen me gaze in wonder from afar at the snake charmers and their mesmerised snakes, because I lacked the kind of silver that makes them do their thing. Today however, armed with coinage and courage, I went to interact and get a little closer, only for a photo though. A photo was granted in due course after paying up. I had had my snake charming experience. But the charmer decided there should be more interaction and it would be better to put the charmed one around my neck. This wasn't in the initial contract. Now the whole snake around my neck thing didn't exactly worry me, it was the orange and black diamond scales that made its strike ability rating soar, plus it oozed fierceness. Not only that, but the snake ended up in my mouth. Yes, the fabulously witty charmer had another great idea, get Lisa to kiss the snake. 'Kiss it for good luck, kiss it', he insisted as I blatantly refused. There is only one thing you can do when a snake's head gets pressed against your lips. You kiss it.
Before arriving in Marrakesh I was well aware of Lonely Planet's popularity, but the motto today seemed to be 'You just aren't hip unless you have a blue bible'. Sitting in the cafe of the Jardin Majorelle (an extravagant gift given to the city of Marrakesh by Yves Saint Laurent) it became pretty clear just how many people rely on and trust the opinions of Lonely Planet. Prior to my hot chocolate being served I had counted at least five other tables with people sipping their coffee and flipping through the pages of 'Best of Marrakesh'. I'm guessing it's become even more fashionable than a designer handbag, at least in terms of travel essentials and I was sure to have my copy on display so I could be part of the 'in crowd'.
After visiting the Ville Nouvelle (the new, touristy side of town with a little less authenticity and a McDonalds serving McArabia's) the meandering alleyways of the old town (our home for the week) were quite welcoming. The aged-carved face of the onion seller and the little old men that sit and watch the world go by have become to me what this city is all about. While I have been on the hunt for the illusive portrait photograph, it's surprising to me that I'm okay with just looking, purely because their true beauty really can't be captured. Not that I won't stop trying of course!
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Sylvia lifts the lid on Marrakesh's secrets...
One of the secrets behind the city walls revealed itself today. The Jardin Majorelle is a little corner of France in Marrakesh. It has tall palms to rival St Tropez, a waterlily pond that Monet would have died for and a lovely coffee shop where you can enjoy a chocolat chaud in the shade. Art and nature collide in a riot of colour. Lest you forget where you are, the cobalt-blue cubist structure in the corner houses the Museum of Islamic Art. Cool and stylish on the outside, inside it resembles an Islamic architectural salvage yard. Rescued wooden doors carved with Qur'anic script, 16th-century wedding chests and giant candle holders leave you guessing at the history of the vanished riads they once adorned. Playing the 'if you could take one thing home with you?' game I coveted a little blue fountain that would look perfect in the corner of my own garden.
I can also let you in on a few secrets that must surely be included in a Bluelist on how to make a few extra dirham in Marrakesh.
First, establish the country of origin of a customer and play the word association game. America - French fries, Australia - kangaroos, England - Marks and 'Spensive: 'I give you much better price than them for that Moroccan leather camel'.
Second, look for someone with a map and puzzled expression and offer to show them the way. If the route just happens to pass through your cousin's carpet shop, all the better.
Third, pop a snake around a startled tourist's neck and walk away. You'll find they will be more than willing to pose for a photograph to get you to take the snake away. Just don't be surprised if that smile on their face looks something like a grimace.
Finally, be gracious in defeat and always be prepared to give away a smile for nothing.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Baxter gets all poetic and looks to the past...
As I was waiting to enter the Saadian Tombs in the Bab Aganou cemetery, I came across a postcard in a curio shop, torn, tattered and long-forgotten.
Old-school postcards always bring to mind my step-mom's time in her Peace Corps days during the freewheelin' early 70s. That's when Tony and Maureen Wheeler rolled from Europe overland through Afghanistan into the wilds of Asia with no real plan.
There, over a few brews in Kathmandu the first authors were 'commissioned' at a bar on the seedy side of Thamel. The rest is, as we say, history. That my path should cross with theirs 30 years later on this electronic forum for like-minded travellers appears entirely impossible, but somehow or another, more likely than probable.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Dov gets up close to tanjines, markets and all things Marrakesh...
Sitting comfortably cross-legged among piles of cushions at a restaurant in the Medina, the waiter walked slowly toward our low table, smiling as he placed a covered dish in front of my wide eyes and empty stomach. In a cloud of steam, he removed the cone shaped lid, revealing a pungent mix of chicken, olives, preserved lemons and other vegetables. This is the tajine, the most common and traditional of Moroccan dishes. The tajine is a mixture of meats, vegetables and spices, cooked slowly in an earthenware pot, and kept covered until served at the table. Hidden from the sight of the customer until it is ready to be tasted, the tajine is as representative of Moroccan cuisine as it is of Marrakesh as a whole.
Flying into Marrakesh, the landscape was filled with thousands of low pink buildings with the occasional minaret or tall palm tree poking through for some more air. However, as I wandered about on my first morning in Marrakesh I became completely lost in a maze of alleys and souqs, and it took me a full hour to find my way out of and back to our hotel. This is the hidden Marrakesh. Invisible from the air, the narrow streets and alleys teem with energy and life.
But even as I wandered through that maze of markets and alleys in the old city, another hidden layer of Marrakesh stood right behind those high pink walls: beautiful homes and hotels, or riads. With spacious central courtyards and relatively quiet rooftops, these houses and riads act as an escape from the hectic pace of daily life in the streets.
On our third day in Marrakesh, we were treated to yet another hidden side of this perpetually mysterious city. Spread throughout the city are lush green-walled gardens, and like the one we visited today, the Jardin Marjorelle, many of them once acted as inspiration for European artists. A calming trip to a garden allows those worn down by the chaos of Marrakesh to stroll or sit among palm trees and colourful flowers, and recharge the spirit by connecting with nature, right in the middle of the city.
Like the tajines, markets, riads or gardens, much of what comprises the experience of Marrakesh is hidden from view. On our way home today we passed a sandwich shop with a sign in French reading: Recommended by the Guide Lonely Planet. As I have learned on this trip so far, the job of a Lonely Planet author is more than just recommending a place to find a good kebab. The job of a Lonely Planet author is to spur the curiosity of the reader, so that they can have their own unique experiences and adventures. No place is this more evident than in Marrakesh, where much of the splendour off the city is ever so slightly hidden, only to be revealed to the senses of the curious traveller.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Posted Tuesday, April 03, 2007, 9:42 PM by Lonely Planet
Dov Quint experiences the warm hearts of Moroccan folk...
My night of sleep wasn't too bad. Except for the fact that every time I awoke in the middle of the night I feared rolling over to see that poor sheep staring me in the eye. It never showed up.
Instead, we awoke to pristine blue skies and began a 90-minute journey to the town of Imlil, a small place in the High Atlas Mountains that serves as a jumping-off point for trekkers in the region.
With the snow capped mountains beckoning us on the horizon, we drove through a landscape which slowly transformed from sprawling fields of olive groves into green valleys surrounded by red hills. We stopped along the river to check out a crowd of Moroccan tourists singing and dancing around a drum circle comprised of local Berber women. We were treated to other entertainment including one man who seemed to be performing the equivalent of a Moroccan stand-up comedy show. As he stood above his donkey, which was lying below him in the grass, he initiated a call and response routine with his audience. I'm not sure of the translation, but I'm guessing it was something to the effect of 'My donkey is so lazy...' followed by the crowd's response of 'How lazy is your donkey?!' I'll leave the punch line to your own imagination.
Continuing on our drive into the mountains, we arrived in Imlil to find a small town surrounded by terraced fields, acting as staircases to the snow covered jagged peaks of the High Atlas. Spread across the lush green valley, clusters of mud-brick houses stacked one on top of another blended into the hills onto which they clung.
The first local Berber to great me in town was a young boy riding a donkey. After smiling and shaking my hand, he then touched his own to his heart, the warmest of Moroccan greetings. The contrast between the serenity of the mountains and the controlled madness and energy of Marrakesh matches well with the people of Morocco. As with the contrasts in surroundings, Moroccan society is a vibrant mix of languages and cultures, and the Moroccans I have encountered seem to approach life with a warm sense of hospitality, and, as I found out during the donkey comedy show, a fantastic sense of humour.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Baxter Jackson goes eye to eye with a sheep's head...
Come sundown in Marrakesh at the Djeema el-Fna you can get good sheep's head. Far from being the culinary Russian roulette that you'd think (the poor thing is nearly boiled to death), eating sheep's head not only gives you bragging rights back home but encourages sustainability abroad. How? Simply put: waste not, want not. Before filling your stomach with sheep's head, fire your appetite by uncoiling a boiled snail from its shell at one of the steamy stalls on the square. If you dare, your braggadocio will no longer be empty and neither will your belly.
With dreams of baying sheep and tales of snails still slithering through our heads we hit the ground running for the crisp and clean air of the High Atlas Mountains. At just an hour and a half to the south, access makes North Africa's roof top extremely popular for day-trips from Marrakesh.
The pink labyrinth of the souqs and the old medina soon gave way to palm trees and snow capped peaks floating in the distance like a desert mirage. These illusions of grandeur drew closer as the Mizane Valley grew greener and deeper. White apple blossoms filled the air with the scent of spring and the hope of life eternal.
At the end of the winding road slept Imlil, a small alpine village and the jumping off point for trekking expeditions into the higher Atlas. The big payoff for our small day's journey was the climatic moment when we climbed to the top of the hamlet's kasbah. There on the terrace we stood in the presence of the snow enshrouded giant of Mt Toubkal, the highest peak in North Africa.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Sylvia Dubery continues her journey and meets a few donkeys on the way...
Today we escaped the narrow lanes of the Medina and took to the hills. Wide boulevards lined with olive groves and bougainvillea-draped walls lead to the High Atlas Mountains which rise dramatically out of the flat landscape, a sheer wall of white.
En route we came across a little oasis and a scene that could have come from The Arabian Nights: Tales from a Thousand and One Nights. Beside a stream, camels and decorated horses grazed while the valley rocked to a group of Berber women playing drums. Dressed in their thick brocade jellaba, designed to protect them from the stares of men and the crisp mountain air, they shimmied and sang - audience participation encouraged. With their kohl-lined eyes and beaded headscarves, they were cheerfully lost in the rhythms of their music, albeit with a keen eye for making a quick dirham from curious tourists.
Star of the oasis, however, was the best-trained donkey in Morocco who played dead while his owner enchanted the crowd with his storytelling skills. He spoke quietly to the donkey, shared jokes with the crowd and spun his tale with extravagant gestures which could only leave us guessing what the story was all about. Perhaps, 'There was once a very lazy donkey...'
At last we reached Imlil high up in the hills and took a breathless walk up to the kasbah where the early white blossom framed the view of the last snows of winter. While we paused to catch our breath little children confidently hurried past on donkeys, already demonstrating the Berbers' unique relationship of trust between man and beast.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Lisa Burns'a hole in her boots what with the dancing and the trekking and...
A drive into the High Atlas Mountains, 1740m above sea-level, proved two things today: anyone can dance and trekking is best left to those with boots...
Lying quietly to the south of Marrakesh, the snow capped peaks of the High Atlas appear to float like hovering clouds as they meet with the stark, dry desert plains of Morocco. But, a stop outside the town of Asni led to me to wonder whether the peaks were floating for another reason, the beat of the Berber women. With a crowd of local Berbers (indigenous inhabitants of Northern Africa) making a man-made arena, the women let their hair down, let loose on the drums and let the music take control. Venturing over to the pumping circle of tradition led to a belly-dancing lapdance, a little hip shaking and a sight that made each of us stop and sigh with awe. In the centre of the circle was an elderly Berber male getting his groove on in a big way, proving to young and old you can dance - but it doesn't hurt to have the support of music-mad Moroccans to keep your toes tapping.
Good thing I don't get car sick as our drive to Imlil, the base town for most mountain treks, had us enduring some tight turns - grand prix style corners, in fact. After passing snake charmers, crystal sellers and sheep tied to donkeys (I guess we all get tired feet), arriving in Imlil made me think that this was what a base town should be like - inviting, stocked with hearty meals and full of smiling faces begging you to come into their shops 'just to look'. We didn't go to Imlil just to watch the trekkers arrive exhausted as we sipped our cold cokes at a sidewalk cafe - oh no, we also went on one mighty long trek. It lasted all of 15 minutes and took us about 400m up the hill from where our van dropped us. Hard work indeed, but such strenuous exercise was rewarded with a stop at a kasbah so picturesque it had us gazing up at Jebel Toubkal (the highest peak in Morocco) imagining what could've been.
One little surprise for today was the children of Imlil. Approaching them for a photograph resulted in a business transaction as they grouped together to work out a price. I was then faced with extended hands expecting money to fall from the sky. Quite clever and I expect to see them on the Forbes Rich List one day with the amount of travellers that pass by unable to resist a photo. They weren't all suits and ties though. They asked what my name was, where I was from and told me their ages and what subjects they learn in school. A local interaction a bit different to the norm.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Posted Monday, April 02, 2007, 11:43 PM by Lonely Planet
Baxter Jackson reports in on his experiences as an author...
On my first day in Marrakesh, over mint tea and tajine (a Morrocan stew of sorts) Paul and Alex - with characteristic 'colour, flare, attitude, and authority' - dished out the inside scoop on being a Lonely Planet author.
The romantic notion that most of us have of this profession (even Mick Jagger named it as an alternative career in a recent interview) came face-to-face with deadlines, long hours, and personal relationship reality.
Friends? What friends? Email, messenger, and Skype mean most relationships are virtual. If you're actually working, you're on the road anywhere from 40-60% of the time, so there's a reason they call it Lonely Planet.
Easy Jet and other budget airlines have lowered prices so much that they have helped transform Morocco into Europe's Tijuana. Casinos, Ibiza style nightclubs, legit pornography, and even a thriving gay scene make the pink city decidedly libertine by Islamic standards. Still, the wide-eyed and scantily-clad Easy Jet set scuttle through the clogged arteries of the old medina leery of their first encounter with the dark continent.
Much to their delight and that of the locals, at the heart of the ancient city is a mish mash of classic orientalism called Djemaa el-Fna, Arabic for assembly of death. The square, which isn't square at all, pulsates with its lifeblood of snake charmers, acrobats, soothsayers, match stick men, and street musicians. That so much life could spring from a place of so much death (executions were common in medieval times) is testimony to the city's ability to re-create itself and continue to be a major draw even in a post 9/11 world.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Sylvia Dubery speculates on secret treasures...
The early morning adhan in Marrakesh sets the pace for our first day. From every minaret across the city it calls, evocative and persistent. It is echoed by an eager rooster as if urging 'lets go!' For a city that clings so tenaciously to its ancient traditions the pace is fast and vibrant with everyday events a performance.
Last night we joined in, dining at the foodstalls in the Djemaa el-Fna. We were enticed by showmen with their one-liners at the ready. The chefs are part of the show with a stream of banter flowing as fast as the clouds of smoke that obscure the faces of fellow-diners.
Despite the inferno, there are no hell's kitchen style tantrums here - these men laugh and joke constantly as they sizzle, steam and stew. Less inviting were the roasted heads of sweet-faced calves which lined the table, so diners can eat, face to face with their victim.
The backdrop to all this is the sound of manic drumming, pipes of snake charmers and the aroma of perfumed spices.
Today we stopped for iced coffee and fresh fruit milkshakes at Venezia Ices whose style is more continental than kasbah. What it lacks in Morroccan ambience it more than compensates for by location. Here we watched horse drawn carriages, donkeys and mopeds navigate the frantic traffic at the foot of the Kantoubia minaret. At 70 metres it is visible from everywhere in the city, its golden orbs gleaming in the sun. And everywhere the sweet fragrance of thé à la menthe.
If the Marrakeshis are showmen at the foodstalls they are artists in the souks. A walk down the narrow passageways is a mesmerising feast of colour, shape and texture. At every turn a new delight greets you - conical towers of spices, ornate lanterns, floral spices and sparkling crystals and the pastel shades of handmade sweets.
Behind terracotta walls we catch through-the-key-hole glimpses of tiled courtyards and gardens. Marrakesh has many secret treasures to offer yet.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Dov Quint finds there's always room for a little bite of Sheep's Head...
The sprawling maze of mud-brick buildings which comprises much of Marrakesh is about as dense as one can imagine. As they wind through the city, narrow alleys give way to narrower ones. Motorbikes, pedestrians, and donkey-drawn carts all compete for space amongst the shopkeepers and beggars. The experience for a traveller can be intense.
Walking through Marrakesh's old city, or Medina, this seemingly endless labyrinth of alleys suddenly turns into a wide open space. This is Marrakesh's central square, the Djemaa el-Fna. Shopkeepers selling crafts line up next to stands selling freshly squeezed orange juice and dried fruits and nuts. Moving south into the square, several small crowds gather in circles around snake charmers and bands playing Moroccan music.
At the centre of the Djemaa el-Fna are several rows of food stalls. A cloud of smoke looms over the square as chefs prepare snail soup and sheep heads, as well as the more mundane but still delicious kebabs and grilled vegetables.
The Djemaa el-Fna is an outlet for the energy in Marrakesh's old city, that is otherwise unable to be released for the crowded alleys which surround it. As energy pours into the open space of the square, it turns into a wonderous mix of food, music, and entertainment that everyone - travellers and locals alike, can enjoy.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Lisa Burns' first impression...
From the clouds Marrakesh looks like a monotone Legoland, typically barren and deserted, but on the ground it proved otherwise...
Okay, so I was expecting the pink ochred walls and exotic food, but I wasn't counting on seeing camels a mere ten minutes after arriving. Nor was I ready for alleyways bustling with donkey carts despite only seeming wide enough for a thin Marrakeshi on a bicycle or the faces of locals so chiselled with history you could read words in their wrinkles. My eyes were opened from the moment the plane touched down. Here, ancient meets slightly less ancient, but with sky TV thrown into the mix (satellite dishes dot the Marrakechi skyline).
Our Riad, hidden to the average tourist, is a little haven of unexpected luxury - so much so my jaw dropped. After walking past (vegetarians be warned) skinned cows and hearing the final clucks of chickens on 'meat street' our Riad proves to be paradise in a box.
Our night at the Djemaa el-fna, a marketplace in the centre of Marrakesh bustling with street acts, food stalls and people warrants one word - wow! So alive, so filled with character and activity and so far from home. My camera came out a few times, the first snap halting a boxing match and turning the crowd silent so the referee could hunt me down to collect my payment. Lesson learnt: carry change when taking photos, they will want money.
I'm quite a fussy eater, so when it was suggested we dine at a food stall in the centre of the Djemaa el-fna my stomach got a little queasy. We were beckoned into a stall with the promise of 'bloody great' food and... that's exactly what we got, and more... smoke filled the air under the overcrowded tents where locals were grabbing a feed. The result was more atmosphere than... well more atmosphere than I've ever experienced.
Marrakesh is so far beyond my imagination I feel like I'm in a film - somewhere between the likes of Star Wars and Aladdin. Lets see how much farther it can get from my imagination tomorrow...
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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"Do you mind taking a picture for us?"
Being asked to take other people's happy snaps is a part of any holiday, but we wonder whether Cynthia Swanson was aware just who was doing the asking...
Our Bluelist winners have landed in Marrakesh with authors Alex Leviton and Paul Clammer. Here is the line-up from whom you'll be hearing over the next week - from left to right: Dov Quint, Paul Clammer, Sylvia Dubery, Alex Leviton, Lisa Burns and Baxter Jackson.
Labels: Africa, Bluelist Winners 2007
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Posted Sunday, April 01, 2007, 4:04 PM by Lonely Planet
There has been an earthquake in the Solomon Islands. As a result the bureau of meteorology has issued a tsunami warning for the Pacific coast of Queensland, Australia.
See the full report here.
Labels: Asia and Pacific
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