10 reasons I love Barcelona

1.  It's flat!  Easy walking, my friends...

2. It's on a grid pattern (for the most part).  Even the old city, the Barri Gotic, is perfectly easy to navigate.

3. It has wonderful "grande allees" or boulevards - every third street is a wide avenue.  This picture is the Arc de Triomf.

4.  The architecture - while Barcelona has many famous attractions, such as the Sagrada Familia, it's the beautifully designed buildings that line every street that makes the city a visually exciting place.

5. Shopping - fashion boutiques abound, from high end to moderately priced, and everyone is dressed up (I'd say the people here are more fashionable than those in Paris - don't berate me for saying so!)  This is a great window display - these are security cameras all checking out the Louis Vuitton bag.

6.  The food - finally in Spain we come across awesome tapas!  Yummy!

7.  It's on the water.  Interestingly enough, Barcelona demolished the railway tracks that used to divide the living city from the waterfront! (gee, sound familiar?)

8.  The weather - it's Oct 25th, 22 degrees and sunny outside. 

9.  No habla espanol - most people here do speak some English (unlike our experiences in the rest of Spain).

10.  Finally - they have Starbucks!

I swear, everytime I looked behind me this elephant was following us.  I wonder how he'll manage on the autoroute to France!

Managing in Marrakech

Sitting in the comfort of our room at the Sheraton in Casablanca (on our way back to Spain), I wrote an email to my sister Laura saying, "I am glad to be leaving Marrakech and Morocco, but already I want to go back".  And that pretty much sums it up!  

The Lonely Planet guide book on Morocco provides many suggestions for those with Western sensibilities (yup, that would be me!) and I just wish we had read more of it in advance to be able to follow its sage advice.  We very nearly went without a book at all!  It wasn't for the lack of trying though, and we did find, purely by chance after we had given up looking, an English travel book on Morocco in Seville, two days prior to leaving.

The guide book says to plan for quiet retreats periodically during the day while touring through Marrakech. Now we know why!!! You cannot get away from the noise, the smells - diesel exhaust, cooking, raw food, sewage - and the heat. 

The guide book recommends staying in a centrally located riad for 2-3 nights and then escaping to the less congested new town - with its modern, upscale hotels - for the remainder of the week. I would definitely pass this advice along to anyone planning on going.

We booked a lovely room in the Oasis Riad. It was right in the heart of the medina and the souks (markets). The riad itself was relatively quiet, but any trip in and out through the congested alleys was mayhem. One evening we decided to dine on apples and cookies so we wouldn't have to face the trek out and back.

We stayed very close to Jemaa El Fna Place. Picture a large plaza filled with people (including crowds of tourists), motorcycles, cars, scooters, and donkey carts, and well as groups of buskers. These included snake charmers playing their high pitched horns, drummers, food stall owners, and lots of other Moroccans selling their wares (our favorite was the guy selling teeth - he had a table heaped up high with them).

Everyone here is going in every which way and it is very hard to walk through without being pulled in various directions due to the flow of traffic and aggressive merchants and other hustlers.

The guide book provides advice on how to avoid Marrakech "Medina rage" (honestly, it does). We learned that humour and a few white lies was the best way to deal with constant demands for our attention (& money): "We just ate thank you" and "We'll come back tomorrow" were somewhat, but not completely, effective. Once you provided a somewhat genuine reason for not wanting to buy out their entire store, they'd usually leave you alone. 

You know you are in a very different area of the world the first time you hear the call for prayer. Muslins pray 5 times a day (4:30 am, 12 noon, 4:30 pm, 6:30 pm and 8 pm). I guess anyone (no matter how devout) would need encouragement to drop everything and go to a mosque to pray - or in the case of 4:30 am just to wake up - and so the mosques use loudspeakers mounted on the minarets to call people to pray. We asked our riad hostess Saida what they were calling and she said, "come and pray, you will feel better," "come and pray, don't go back to sleep". We are not sure if we totally believe her or not. I am glad to say that I was only woken up once by the 4:30 am call to prayer.

By the third day we were able to navigate our way around (even through parts of the maze-like souks). Nevertheless, you had to remain vigilant. The architecture in Marrakesh is the same throughout - streets lined with 2 storey red colored buildings. Every street and roundabout looks the same to the uninitiated eye, and so you have to start looking for very specific land marks to make you way around.

Back to the guide book. It says that if you do not want to buy a carpet, don't even enter into the shops as the owners are extremely persuasive! We did our fair share of contributing the the Marrakesh economy. I think we got some exceptional deals on some things, such as two woven silk bedspreads (each $30), but other things are similar to prices in Toronto (once you factor in the cost of shipping the stuff home)! All in all we are happy with our purchases...each is a reminder and has a story to tell.

 

We didn't just shop! We also visited the El Badi Royal Palace and the Majorelle Gardens, a beautiful oasis in the city (pictured here). And of course the obligatory stint at a hamman. The "girls" area was very busy and I was herded from one treatment to the next (desperately trying not to skid on the wet floor) and ended up waiting over 1/2 hour at the end for Marcus to finish (and he ended up having to skip his relaxation time with mint tea). I think I could have skipped this experience.

Our riad was managed by Saida. She is a French-speaking Moroccan of Berber heritage and acted as our guide throughout our stay. We were the only guests at the riad during our week's stay and luckily had Saida at our complete disposal. She was indispensable - even though sometimes it took quite a bit of back and forth (in French) for us to communicate accurately. I spent the whole week not entirely sure what was going on! I have to admit that I did not like that one bit! This is a picture of us relaxing after shopping and enjoying an excellent cafe au lait (the best since Figueira de Foz in Portugal).

The guidebook says that if you stay in Morocco for more than 3-4 days you will get sick. I got sick. Pretty much right after my visit to the hamman actually. To our great disappointment, we had to miss our next day's excursion, which was a planned hike in the Atlas mountains. This was to be our main event! Very unfortunate. Now we definitely have to go back because I believe the best that Morocco has to offer is it's dramatic countryside.

The one thing the guide book does not tell you is to bring along a fluent French (or Arabic) speaking friend - offer to pay their accommodation or airfare - it will be worth it! That being said, thank god for the guidebook!

Into Africa

After disembarking the ferry in Ceuta, the Spanish enclave within Morocco, we filled up with duty-free fuel and made our way to the Moroccan border. It was at this precise moment we realized that we had not actually written down the telephone number and detailed address of our accommodation in Marrakech. These critical details happened to reside in our gmail, which is web-based and not on our laptop. This meant that, in the absence of an Internet connection, we were headed into Marrakech - that churning souk in the desert - on a wing and a prayer, with only the vaguest concept of where we would end up that night.

Now, we consider ourselves to be reasonably capable people, organizing our lives in such a fashion as to avoid most catastrophes fairly consistently. However, once in a while, we really blow it. Unfortunately, this time found us in Morocco. Nonetheless, despite highly elevated levels of all possible stress hormones coursing through us, we decided to just go for it.  With vague plans to find an Internet cafe once we got there, we set off.

At the border

After a couple of false starts (the main road to the border was blocked) we managed to find the crossing into Morocco. We fell into line with a bewildering assortment of vehicles, including buses, campers, dilapidated Mercedes, old wheezing wagons, cross-terrain motorcycles, vans stacked impossibly high with cargo, and 4x4 vehicles taken right out of Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom. The drivers and passengers were as varied as the vehicles.

We were immediately approached by a seemingly helpful and impressively multi-lingual fellow most anxious to sell us - at a very, very good price - the forms we would need to enter his country...fortunately, we knew these forms were available for free at the border station itself and we were able to resist his entreaties, pleas, and eventual dire warnings.

We parked, gathered the forms from harried and impatient immigration personnel, haphazardly filled out forms printed only in Arabic and French, and returned the forms to the same harried and impatient immigration personnel. We did this through trial and error, as Morocco is apparently facing a national shortage of helpful signage of any kind, and spent a lot of time simply waiting in line. Periodically, a vehicle would impatiently blow its horn, prompting a chain reaction eruption of horns that appeared more cathartic than effective.

After about one hour, we had jumped through the hoops, run the gauntlet of several checkpoints where our papers were repeatedly scrutinized, and finally allowed on our way.

On the road

We headed toward Tangiers and suffered immediate culture shock, from the perspective of driving. While we had it on good authority that one was to drive on the right in Morocco, no one had told the Moroccans. The total disregard for the niceties of driving - only overtaking when safe, staying out of on-coming traffic, maintaining at least some lane discipline, and signaling once in a while - led us to think that no one had told the Moroccans anything at all about driving. This, in addition to the local road conditions and encumbrances (boulder-sized debris, dogs, pedestrians, cows, goats, horse-drawn wagons, playing children, and wrecked cars), led us to revise our estimated time of arrival in Marrakech: we hoped we might get there eventually.

After about twenty kilometers of pure driving excitement (not the good kind), we beheld a most welcome sight: a motorway. A highway. A freeway. Whatever you want to call it, it promised motoring heaven, like an oasis promises a long, cool glass of water. A fast, well-paved, well-maintained road that was going our way. Our spirits soared, the sun shone, and bells rang as I put the hammer down.

And was immediately flagged down by the cops.

Okay buddy, where's the fire?

Now, I didn't know it was the police at first. I thought it was just another crazy pedestrian walking about on a high-speed roadway; but as his gestures became ever more frantic as we barrelled towards him, and I got close enough to discern his uniform, I simultaneously hit the brakes and the shoulder, churning to a stop in the gravel (kudos to the Renault engineers that had obviously been working hard at reducing the stopping distance of their cars). Kristine was jolted out her reverie and my heart was jolted into near arythmia by a generous dose of adrenaline.

In a perfectly pressed motorcycle police uniform, and wearing aviator sunglasses, we were approached by what I feared was the Moroccan version of the archetypical southern Sheriff at a speed trap. My mind took a short and break from reality to wonder if his name might be Sharif, and wouldn't that be a funny cross-lingual pun.

Reality returned when I heard the officer addressing me in French. I responded in kind, which prompted him to instantly switch to perfect English. He asked for my papers, which I - in a mild state of agitation - heard as 'peppers.' This confused me for a moment until Kristine, with a slightly incredulous look, said "papers!" and I handed over the customs documents and driver's license.

Now, at this point, I really didn't think he had pulled us over for speeding: I had set the cruise control at 120 (the legal limit). So, imagine my surprise when the officer asked, in his infuriatingly excellent English, "Sooooo, why were you driving so fast?" 

My mind instantly dissolved into a blur of catastrophizing thoughts that ranged from trip-ending fines to an indiscriminate search of our car to an indiscriminate search of my person to the inconvenience of securing a local, English-speaking lawyer.

However, I rallied and politely responded that I had been travelling at the legal limit (120), to which he countered that his radar gun, cradled in his arms, had read 136. I bluffed: my cruise control had been set at precisely 120 and could I please see the reading on the radar gun? He poked his head into the cabin to glance at my dash, as to somehow confirm in the now stopped car the settings of the cruise control.

He harrumphed, asked if this was our first trip to Morocco, and then abruptly handed back my "peppers" and bid us a solemn "you're welcome" before waving us on. We pulled onto the highway, and continued on our way...setting the cruise control at 110. Just to be safe.

You don't take Euros?

Not trusting the money changers at the border, we only exchanged 40 euros, which we thought was sufficient until we found a bank machine and could withdraw Dirhams at the official rate. As we approached Marrakech, we encountered our final toll booth...and discovered we were short about 50 Dirhams.

The toll booth attendant suggested we ask "somebody" to change money for us, which I thought might be interesting, since we were sitting at a toll booth in the middle of the highway. I decided to employ "helplessness" as my strategy...I shrugged and did my best to appear completely incapable of helping myself out of this jam.

The toll booth attendant then did something unexpected: she beckoned the driver behind us out of his car and asked that he change some money for us. He was most happy to oblige (perhaps just to get us out of his way) and we were soon on our way. Just another little blip on the road.

Entering Marrakech

Along the way we stopped several times for breaks and to sort out some strategy for finding our riad. Our GPS was useless here, as it did not cover Morocco. As such, we cross-referenced our road map with the guidebook in order to plan a route into the city that would end in the vicinity of our riad, where we hoped to find Internet access. The route seemed reasonably straightforward and previous communications with the owner suggested it was "easy" to find one's way to the nearest landmark. With a misplaced sense of confidence, we approached Marrakech, sprawling ahead of us on the desert plain.

On the outskirts of the city, we encountered - wait for it - an Ibis Hotel. We laughed and promised ourselves that we would find the riad and not end up there. Well, thirty minutes later, after encountering complete traffic chaos, no street signs, five near-collisions (including one with a donkey), and rapidly gathering darkness...we made a run for the Ibis and gratefully checked in. We'd sacrifice one night at the riad for the safety of a familiar hotel and try again in the morning... insha' Allah

Let's be Seville

Seville is a wonderful city with a varied history and bicultural influences that, to the uninitiated (like us), surprise and delight at every turn. And there are a lot of turns, especially in the labyrinthine old city.

We stayed again at an Ibis hotel. You may remember my uncomplimentary assessment of this chain's charms in a past post, but either it is growing on me or my standards are slipping, because they are not that bad. Close to downtown, yet with parking, and at a low (for Europe) price, they fit the bill, so to speak.

On our first night, we took bus #28 to downtown and walked a few minutes into the beautiful core, finding ourselves in the Santa Cruz plaza. We were hungry and looking forward to enjoying some Spanish specialties...unfortunately, we had to settle for overpriced and undercooked pallela served by disgruntled and feuding waiters. It was a disappointed welcome to the city.

The following two days were spent exploring the city. This included stops at two of it's most famous sites: the Cathedral and the Reales Alcázares (the royal palace).

The cathedral (Catedral de Santa María de la Sede) is big. So big, in fact, that it takes hours to see properly and leaves you exhausted and in desperate need of coffee. Or reveling in the glory of God.

The cathedral is built on the site of a mosque that existed here during the time of the Moors. Not surprisingly, the cathedral incorporates some elements of the old Mosque.

These elements include the Giralda, an impressive 100 metre bell tower that once functioned as the mosque's minaret, as well as a gate and exterior wall that exhibit distinctive Islamic designs.

 

This is the view of the cathedral from the Giralda, which we climbed during our visit by way of 34 ramps.
 

The cathedral is not only known as being one of the largest (bigger than the Notre-Dame in Paris), but also for hosting the remains of Christopher Columbus.  There is some dispute about this - it may be remains of his son or not at all.  This is a detail of the Columbus tomb, featuring one of four pall bearers.

The Alcázares Reales de Sevilla is the royal palace, once a Moorish fort that has been expanded over hundreds of years. The upper apartments of the Alcázar are still used today by the royal family as their official Seville residence.

The structure is expansive and is one of the best remaining examples of Mudéjar architecture, a style employing Islamic architectural influences.

The Mudéjar style is a symbiotic architectural style resulting from Muslim, Christian and Jewish cultures living side by side. It emerged as an architectural style in the 12th century on the Iberian peninsula and is characterized by the use of brick as the main material. To enliven walls and floors, Mudéjar style developed complicated tiling patterns that have never been surpassed (thanks, wikipedia!).  It was really quite impressive.

Aside from our first, disappointing dinner, we enjoyed some good food in Seville. One lunch consisted of some weird, yet tasty, sandwiches (shredded ham, smoked ham, and creamed salmon with walnuts).

We also followed the lead of the locals and tried few tapas. We sampled several varieties of grilled fish (pijotes, salmonetes, salmon, squid, tuna, and an unnamed, yet delicious, scallop-like shellfish), chicken mini-sandwiches, potato salad, and olives.

We ended our visit with a Flamenco show, the famous musical and dance form that originates from this, the Andalucian region. Who knew, but there are both male and female flamenco dancers. We quite liked the one who wore a dress with a long ruffled train and whenever she moved she'd have to kick it up and out of the way!

Pictures...

We are a bit behind on posting our pictures, so I am including a few different slide shows here.  Hope you enjoy them.

Our 3 days in Lisbon:
http://picasaweb.google.com/kristine.d.morris/Lisbon#

Here is a selection of pictures as we made our way south through Portugal:  Figuera de Foz, Obidos and Coimbra.
http://picasaweb.google.com/kristine.d.morris/ASelectionOfPortugal#

We loved the Knights Templar temple in Tomar (also called the Convent of the Order of Christ).  Here are some detailed pictures which I noticed are the same available in the wiki article (ha!)
http://picasaweb.google.com/kristine.d.morris/Tomar#

Bye for now,
K.

Do you know what this is?

How about this?

Our plans as of Oct 7th

Hiya - just a quick note.... we are in Seville, Spain (stayed one extra day because we didn't get to see all of it in one day).  We plan to spend a couple days near Marbella - the costa del sol (south of Spain) before heading to Marrakech in Morroco.

We will have internet access at both places (I think) and promise to upload more pictures.

Tonight we see a flamenco show!

Bye for now.
Kristine and Marcus

Lisboa

Bom dia, boa tarde, boa noite and obrigada!
Good morning, good afternoon, good night and thank you!

Thank god most people in Portugal speak some English and many are fluent, because we can't seem to grasp much of Portuguese.  While it appears similar to Spanish, it does not sound anything like it.

We hadn't planned on staying right in Lisbon, but we couldn't find our hotel.  They insisted that they had no address, but could be found by following the signs for "camping" off of one of their major highways.  As if!   We arrived at a sister hotel (one that was listed in our GPS) and begged them to find us a room.  Later, Marcus read that in fact many buildings don't have street numbers.  Go figure!  As it turned out, the hotel we stayed in was not far from downtown Lisbon - an easy 5 stop metro ride and so we decided to make it our base for 5 days as we explored the city and Sintra.

In Lisbon we started with the Castelo de Sao Jorge, but at this point we were truly "castled out".  There was no interpretation or signage so it felt a bit like visiting (as Marcus' dad George says) just another pile of rocks.  Sorry Castelo de Sao Jorge - no doubt you have much to offer, but we were too tired to fully appreciate you.  So we took a bus tour of the city instead and that certainly helped to get the lay of the city, not to mention a rest for our legs.  We got off in Belem which is about the same distance as the Beaches are from downtown Toronto.  Here we visited the famous discovers monument. 

Personally, I think Toronto could use a cool monument like this.  Not sure what we commemorate though - maybe a giant size garbage can as  we're seen as one of the cleanest cities on earth?? 

On advice from our friend Lucia, we found the Belem Pastelaria and had their pasteis de nada - worth the price of the bus tour!  YUMMY!  The best we had in Portugal.  (Thanks Lucia for the tip!  You haven't steered us wrong yet).

The most fun we had in Lisbon was walking the downtown shopping district which consisted of several pedestrian zones.  We weren't sure what to make of the buskers who were dressed like North American native indians but played pan flutes.  We were sitting enjoying an ice cream at a cafe (our most helpful waiter suggested we save half our dollars, by buying the icecream in the store as take out and bring it back outside to eat with our coffee), when a young man set up his accordian next to us.  I couldn't believe it when he placed a very small rat like dog on a box in front of him, hung a little change pail from his mouth, and began to play, the dog yapping a high-pitched whine along with him.  He proved extremely popular with everyone, and I was rather horrified at first, but on reflection, figured the dog might actually be having fun and you have to give credit to such an enterprising young fellow, I suppose.

 

Our week in the Algarve

It's our day of arrival in the sunny Algarve on September 28th and.... it's pouring rain!  In fact, the region experienced a torrential downpour, accompanied by constant lightning, for a total of 36 hours. The locals (we were told that the Portuguese detest the rain) were quite horrified and we witnessed the construction of several arks. Thankfully, the weather turned perfect after this first day and we enjoyed sun and warm temperatures for the remainder of the week.

We can't complain because, while we've had only a few sprinkles in the last month, and we haven't had the type of rainy day that keeps you indoors. 

We are staying in Alvor which is just outside of Lagos (the western end of the resort strip in the Algarve).  The condo is beautiful - it's brand new and spacious with expanses of stainless steel and granite. There is a large private terrace, a few steps away from a shared swimming pool.  We didn't know what to expect (you can never really tell from the pictures online), so we are very pleased that the place turned out.

After arriving we did some grocery shopping (can't wait to  make a large green salad) and sussed-out the local cafe/pastelaria, which happens to be a mere 50 metres from our door.  They have fresh bread in the morning!

So far, I can sum up much of my jaunt across Europe in search of two things:  the nearest washroom, and a good cup of cafe con leche/cafe au lait/cafe latte/cafe com leite (take your pick!)  When I do come across a latte that hits the spot, I order two as I never know when I will next come across a good one.  Marcus, needless to say, loves the coffee here - hasn't had a bad cup yet and has only thought longingly of a large Tim Hortons once or twice (usually while driving).

There is really nothing exciting to report about our week in the Algarve, unless you can find anything riveting about lying on the beach and by the pool soaking up the sun.  

It was a refreshing break from eating in restaurants, and we made good use of the local grocery store and our kitchen to make our own simple meals. We did go out for one dinner, but quickly realized our mistake in accepting a restaurant recommendation from Brits. They actually like overcooked fish and veggies. Sigh.

We did hike up to the highest point in the Algarve - a place called Foia (902 metres above sea level).  Our way up was a constant uphill two-hour walk in full sun.  I was thinking I felt a little light-headed from the heat, but it may have been the 25 communication towers that greeted us at the top scrambling my brain.  We stopped for our packed lunch and enjoyed the view out to the ocean.  Although too hazy for a good photo, it was impressive nonetheless.  

Unfortunately,  I made a tactical map reading error so we spent the next hour and a half trying to find the second half of the trail (which required going downhill and then retracing our steps uphill AGAIN!).  I take total blame.  But......... in my defense, I was interpreting a map that covered the entire region.  In other words, the trail was only about the size of a quarter on the map.  Detailed it was not!  After consulting some obviously lost German hikers, we did, in the end, find the right path back and had a nice downhill trot back to Monchique, where we stopped for a well-earned coffee and beer. We then hopped into the car and bought some pottery from a roadside stand as a reminder of the area.

This is a picture of a cork tree - the reddish area is where the cork has been harvested.  We passed many cork and eucalyptus groves in Portugal, which appear to be a significant agricultural commodity in Portugal. You can smell the eucalyptus as you drive by, which might be handy if you have a cold.

Figuera de Foz lunch

(we are behind on our posts - we visited Figuera de Foz on September 24th, 2008)...

After wandering the beach and the old town of this summer beach town, we were in search of lunch.

Away from the beachfront cafes and tourist restaurants, we found the local lunch spot, covered by a large canopy anchored to the back of the restaurant. It appeared to be a favourite with the locals, who ranged from well-dressed business types to tradesmen to families out for a typically heavy Portuguese mid-day meal.

Upon sitting down, we were immediately brought an appetizer, consisting of mixture of cod, beans, and onions, as well as a basket of hearty bread. I could have easily been happy with this, but there was a matter of the morning's fishermen's catch to consider: everyone was eating it.

As such, through pointing, miming, and reliance on our waitress' limited English, we got through ordering and were then quickly served lunch. This included a plate of potatoes, a green salad, a huge tray of grilled sardines, and a small jug of house wine. Together with the appetizer and bread, it was very filling - and delicious. With wine, it came to about 16 euros...a darn good deal (even better, if you like sardines).

In this picture, Kristine appears to be enjoying the prospect of digging into her sardines.