Return to America (for now)

After a fabulous 2 days in Lyon, France, and a very short but stunning few hours in Paris, we're hopping the pond and heading stateside tomorrow to relax, recuperate and celebrate my brother's marriage in Jacksonville, Florida. It's almost strange to be going to America at this time. Aside from the fact that I cannot wait to see my family, there's a part of me that thinks, "oh, it's over? We're going back to our country?" But then I have to remember, that in all the little legs of this trip, this big leg #1 is coming to a close and a new chapter of our adventure is beginning. Being in France seems normal at this point - we have been in the country for 7 weeks now. For me speaking French comes easily, and Jon's comprehension is really picking up to where he can follow conversations. There are things every day that surprise us and help us remember that we're traveling and living abroad, and those moments continue to make every day special.

I also have to remember that our ticket is a round trip flight, and 2 weeks will pass very quickly. Before we know it we'll be back in Paris and another part of our experiment will begin. I for one, am really looking forward to being in a familiar place, with people that I know care about me and with whom I don't have to second guess or worry a decision will drastically impact the next set of events. We've come to learn just how stressful (all the while amazing) continuous travel can be. Both Jon and I commented that if we weren't going to Florida at this point, we'd need to find an apartment somewhere for a good long while just to stop moving. Not only is it expensive, but it's just exhausting. While I miss my friends, community, definitely family, and sometimes work, I still wouldn't trade being here. There's so much more to do and see, and so many unexpecteds to cross our path. I can't wait for the next chapter.

Some Stats

Since December 28 (our departure date) here are some fun facts from our travels:

• Visited 29 cities, villages and towns
• Traversed approximately 39 degrees of latitude and around 118 degrees of longitude
• Used boats, trains, buses, cars, taxis, airplanes, shared taxis, metros, our feet, bikes and hitchhiked to get to where we wanted to go
• Stayed in 7 people's private homes thanks to their generosity
• Attempted to entertain approximately 308, 8-14 year old French children over the course of 6 weeks
• Colored, drew and/or laminated well over 200 handmade posters (and trust me, the mention of designing something on a computer and printing it results in a very disappointed look from your boss - tried it)
• My favorite stat for which I truly have no idea - the number of bottles of wine consumed that cost less than 3euro each - enough to be proud - budget traveling baby.

Lyon/Paris Recap

Before I get too far into thinking about the future - because let's face it, Jon and I make travel decisions on the fly - I do want to tell you just how awesome Lyon is. It's really awesome.

But seriously, Lyon for me is to Paris as Chicago is to New York - the more laid back, user friendly, unintimidating 2nd largest city with arguably better food, definitely nicer people and attractions that will still boggle your senses.  We rented a little 1-bedroom flat through airbnb (if you don't know it, try it it's fantastic) from a lovely French woman who happens to have traveled a bunch in West Africa and Morocco and is really into the arts. We rented her entire apartment (she goes and stays with a friend while she has guests) for at least 20 euro less than the cost of a hotel. BUT we got a kitchen, private bathroom, washer and endless internet. We also got to spend time in a neighborhood we would never have seen, which happened to be the Asian/North Africa/Turkish neighborhood. YES! Pho for lunch, kabab for dinner, and endless options for grocery shopping in the Asian food markets and Middle Eastern pastry shops. It was also a 10 minute walk from the very heart of Lyon. It was almost too good to be true - must have been the 5 flights of stairs we had to climb to get there that offset the perfectness.

Another bonus was that we got to spend the day with our counselor friend Krista, who was passing through on her way from our mutual last work site to Barcelona. Together we spent the day walking Lyon, searching for traboules (tunnels that connect buildings in old Lyon), and climbing the mountain to see the incredible castle-like church that overlooks the city.

If you do anything in Lyon, I recommend traboule hunting. Some of them are marked, and as we learned from a nice bookstore owner, you just have to press the bottom button the call pad to open the doors. Naturally, since the majority of them are not marked, this led us to probably prank call about a half-dozen or so homeowners on their callpads, before realizing these were just private residences with no cool tunnels running under their apartments. Oh well. Sorry people.

Anyway, our stay in Lyon, as usual was too short, and so here we are, with less than 12 more hours in the grand city of Paris before we board the plane and head to Florida. Still recovering and exhausted from camp, we walked through the Louvre courtyard and the Jardin des Tuileries. Crossing the bridge near Musée d'Orsay and meandering down Rue St. Germain was about all we had in us. It's my 5th time in this fabulous city, and Jon's first. If we weren't arriving back here in 2 weeks, I think we would have made a more concerted effort, but since (incha'allah) we are coming back, we're contented to enjoy our little neighborhood (thanks to a free hotel night on American Village! woohoo!) and lay low. Paris Party 2013 begins on May 23 - stay tuned.

So, off to the States tomorrow, check ya'll stateside!

Reflections from Camp

It's our last week at American Village, and with approximately 5 long days left on our contract, I find myself attempting to reflect on the last 5 weeks of craziness that has become my life and sort it all out. It's been a fascinating, frustrating, at times funny, and at most times frantic experience (Jon wants me to insert f^&*cked in to my 'f' adjective list...). So here are some thoughts on where we've been and perhaps what's next. "Being" in France

Yes, it's true, the phrase, "I'm working in France" sounds sooo romantic and exciting and wonderful all at the same time. We've also been pretty good I'd say at sharing some enticing photos from where we've been. But it's time for us to come clean. In the last 5.5 weeks, we've had 4 days off, with the addition of a 3 day break when we moved work locations. ALL of the adventuring, eating and yes, drinking, we've been boasting about has happened on those short days. That should tell you that we do a lot of the following things when we're not at camp:

• Eat
• Drink
• Walk (usually 5-10 miles in a day)
• Think about eating and drinking
• Think about and subsequently search for patisseries and chocolatiers (that's usually JStern-driven)
• Walk
• Get ourselves to and from our work site.
• Oh yeah, we usually spend a lot of time griping about camp...

I will say that in our short and few days off in the last month or so, the best part about where we've been in France is that we would NEVER come to these small towns and villages. Most likely we would pass through Vienne on the way to somewhere else, and we certainly would not have stopped in Marmande or even remotely thought about going to Eymet - which was truly a highlight. We would probably not have quite the exposure to the different regional flavors and wines as we are having, and we certainly wouldn't be seeing so much rural farmland. So although the time we're spending experiencing France as opposed to working in the bizarre little microcosm that is American Village is short, those days off have been really great.

Cultural Lessons from Camp

The fascinating 'f' adjective in my introduction stems from the fact that being around French adolescents for 5+ weeks really has been quite interesting. It's a great way to experience French culture and see how different (and sometimes similar) French kids are from American kids. For me, although I am not permitted to speak French with the kids (full on English immersion) it's been an excellent way to improve my comprehension of the language, as well as learn vocab and take in colloquialisms. I also realized today that it really wasn't my fault I can't understand anyone here back at Vienne, their accent is so much thicker than the folks that live near Bordeaux. It's as though they really do have marbles in their mouths! Some observations about the kids are:

• Although incredibly competitive - much more than American kids - French children will support and encourage their peers in such uplifting ways.
• French kids are pretty whiny
• As a result of an education system that teaches by repetition rather than problem solving and critical thinking - French kids have a really hard time with creative projects and open ended questions for which they have no model. (Insert a plug for the need for quality arts education HERE!)
• As language learners, they say incredibly funny things. For example, we had a super cute kid last week try and ask to pass the bread at the table, but what came out was (think of a strong french accent here), "can uhh you uhhhh shit bread?" What?!? Awesome. Of course he wasn't saying 'shit' but whatever he was trying to say certainly sounded like it.

Life After Camp

At the end of our American Village experience what will we do? SLEEP. I will also be certain to never work a job that pays less than $3/hour and requires me to work 6 days per week for over 15 hours per day. It's just dumb.

We're thinking of heading back to the South of France, but it's super expensive so we're looking at other options to spend time here until May 10. On said date, we're flying all the way to Jacksonville, Florida for the fabulous celebration of my brother's (heeeyy Jeremy) wedding. Let me tell you, we have NEVER been more thrilled to go to Florida. 3 months of various illness, exhaustion, ups, downs, stress from this crazy job and so on, makes us happy to spend a relaxing 2 weeks soaking in the sun and doing nothing but celebrating. Don't get me wrong, travel is AWESOME, and I feel blessed and so fortunate to have been able to make the decision to take my life in this direction. Wouldn't change a thing. A little break will be nice, that's all.

Signing off for now - have you ever needed a break from something really super awesome?

Aixactly!

Four days off has offered a nice break from the long days of kid-dom and allowed us to finally see a bit of France. Observations? Yes I have them. Lyon

Our first full day off from camp took us to France’s second largest city (ok, I thought Marseille had that title, will check) of Lyon, situated on the Rhone and Saone Rivers, partly tucked into and built onto some lovely hills, partly sprawling into the Rhone Valley. As Jon mentioned, Lyon is the gastronomical capital of France. For food lovers this would normally elicit a “Yipee!” However, when you’re on a “budget” good eating at fine restaurants is limited to a one shot experience, and if you read Jon’s last post, that one shot experience can be pretty disappointing if it doesn’t turn out.

But we know there’s good food to be had in Lyon and gosh darnnit some day will find it. Having visited during college, I know there’s a fabulous Saturday market there where all the top chefs shop for their ingredients. We didn’t get to see it this time, again for the future.

For France’s (maybe) second largest city, Lyon has a great vibe. It’s laid back, totally impressive architecturally and just a really fun place to be. I could spend a lot of time there.

Aix-en-Provence

A desire to see another place in France took us to Aix-en-Provence. We originally had grand plans of going down to the coast, maybe skirting into Italy (which is really only about a 45 minute drive from Lyon) or Switzerland, but 4 days and the cost of train tickets, hotels and food forced us to pick 2 places, and I’m so glad we did.

I LOVE AIX-EN-PROVENCE. There I said it, totally in love. The area has been settled since Roman times, and I was more than overjoyed to get a glimpse of the famous Roman aquaduct from which I built a model of in grade school from the train.

Aix has everything you think of in a small town of France – the food, the old and charming architecture, beautiful natural surroundings, and art – lots of art. Not only is Aix the home of Cezanne, this is a town bursting with cultural activity. If you don’t include the 8 theatres within a kilometer radius, you’d still be impressed. At the tourist office I picked up the “Guide Culturel” for April. It was just for April and thicker and more event-packed than Portland’s own TBA Festival (nothing against TBA!!!). There were over 10 events listed for each day, including lectures, gallery tours, dance, music and theatre – and these were just the programmed events. Everyone who doesn’t work in a restaurant in Aix must be an artist I’ve determined.

Jon and I opted for a free concert of live JS Bach played on the grand Cathedral’s organ. We figured – what an awesome opportunity to hear Bach’s music played on a grand scale in the environment for which it was written. It was cool, needless to say.

Our food experience was better in Aix, mostly because we stuck to the local boulangeries and patisseries and ate picnic style – stocking up on sausage, cheese, fois gras for Jon, wine and fruit – all for under 25 euro.

Jon’s probably tired of hearing me say this, but Aix is a place I would love to hole up in a studio apartment and just live the small French town vibe for a good while. It also helps that the Mediterranean is less than an hour away!

Wine Country

That’s sort of a silly title, because I’ve come to determine that all of France is wine country. We took the slow train (which still moves pretty quickly) from Aix through Nimes, Montpellier, Beziers (which has a giant castle/church overlooking the town for future note), Narbonne, Carcasonne, Toulouse, Agen and finally to our destination of Marmande, just ahead of Bordeaux.

It was a fun game of looking out both sides of the train and continually saying to each other – look castle! Look cathedral – look castle cathedral! I wish we’d started a castle count, but just know there are a lot of them.

The south of France between the cost and the Bordeaux region is stunning. Vineyards are everywhere, flowers are blooming, trees are sprouting. This is what you think of when you imagine France. Rolling countryside, stunning villages tucked here and there, vineyards, farms and gardens.

Le Chateau

You already know that Jon and I suck at budget traveling. So we decided that instead of staying in a not so great 1 or 2-star hotel for 50-70euro, we’d just do it right and stay in a chateau for 10 euro more – and that’s where I’m writing you from. We opted not to go to Bordeaux in order to slow down and have more time to rest before camp starts again tomorrow, and instead of staying in town where we’re to get picked up Wednesday we booked a room in a chateau in the countryside. It’s lovely, what can I say; it’s a blessed life.

Wish us luck with the start of camp tomorrow! What have been some of your favorite travel accommodations?

Camp: Not for the weak-hearted

Weekly post here, phew I think I'm three for three, woohoo! Jon and I officially have 1 week of camp under our belts and are preparing to greet a new group of kiddos tomorrow. It's been an exhausting, exhilarating and exciting experience (like my string of E's?? yeah, I'm tired).

For those just tuning in, Jon and I have camp counselor gigs in France for 6 weeks for American Village - a program that offers English exposure classes and activities to French kids. We're called "Animateurs" and I have never felt so animated on the spot (whether naturally or forced) than in the last week. Actually, if the work day wasn't literally nonstop from 8am-10pm with the kids (last week was 53, 8-11 year olds) plus a staff meeting 'til 11pm, I'd say that it's actually quite fun to be in a purely playful environment where my biggest responsibility is to make kids - most of whom don't understand english - laugh, play and have a great time. It's a nice change from the office life.

The Stats

If I remember correctly, in the first week of camp I wore 3 wigs, played a robot, a cow, a rocker, a French Olympian Ninja Chess Player (I won the gold - of course), did aerobics to "Pump Up the Jam", learned and taught 53 kids Gangdam Style, rocked the basketball court and felt pretty good about it until I realized I was playing a 9 year old who'd never touched a basketball, and watched in awe as Jon played a clumsy spiderman and 2 women. Generally - we've been nothing but ridiculous and I love it (except the tired part).

Rhone Valley

In all the silliness, I can't forget that we are in the heart of the Rhone Valley of France - surrounded by lush rolling farmland and mountains in the distance. I wrote about Vienne last week, and yesterday on our day off Jon and I walked to the nearest village of Cour et Buis. Round trip it was 7 miles, a nice opportunity to take in the scenic rural landscape and enjoy each others company, which we aren't able to do during the week. Cour et Buis is tiny - with 3 restaurants, a boulangerie, a tabac (mini mart) and our favorite stop - a farmers co-op selling products from the farmers that live and work right in the pastures we walked by. We picked up some locally made salami, honey and of course a large bottle of wine, all for under 10 euro. I will note that you can buy 5 liters of "Vin du Pays" or table wine for 8euro. Clearly the way to budget travel in Europe is to get your calories from drinking and sleep under a tree (?).

VACATION

Since I'm working now I get to say that time off = vacation. So, as far as I know we have next week off. Any suggestions on where we should go in France (or Italy...or Spain... or Switzerland..)??

Weekly Fireflies - Essouira

I know I just posted a couple of days ago, but I am going to make an effort to post weekly, so here goes. Catching up! Essaouira

I-swear-a it’s a good place (hehe, I love turning city names into phrases). This laid back beach town is a craft-lovers dreamscape. It seems everyone is an artist in their own right – whether it’s the inlaid woodcraft, silver filigree, weaving or stitching, this place not only is downright beautiful in and of itself, but it’s full of beautiful things. I can see why it’s a popular vacation spot for Moroccans and foreigners alike.

The food in Essaouira is also particularly good. Jon talked a bit about it in his recent post – but we’ve had a great time sharing meals with our AirBnB host, Hamid. Every night we’ve gone to the souk, picked out our meat of choice, visited Hamid’s favorite spice guy, his preferred vegetable vendor and we were on our way to the best meals we’ve had in Morocco. It drove home the point that home cooking is where it’s at here, and I’m so glad we were able to do the airbnb thing and stay with Moroccans.

Pan-Africa

One of the most fascinating opportunities we’ve had has been to travel overland from Mali to Senegal through Mauritania and up through Morocco. To experience cultural shifts and changes and to see qualities that are similar has been such a wonderful learning experience. Things as simple as the tea service that has gone from a multi-hour super strong syrupy green tea in Mali, to the even sweeter but minty-er brew in Senegal, to the very light even more minty tea of Mauritania to tea that is served in every café on ever corner in Morocco – this is something in which nearly everyone in this region of the world partakes.

It’s been fascinating to watch mannerisms change from the kind and gentle but indirect communications of Malians to the abrasive, loud and argumentative ways of Mauritanians. We’ve seen the similarities and differences in how people negotiate for prices, and how plumbing does and doesn’t work and just what service and hospitality means to different cultures.

Pan-African Health

It apparently is hard to stay healthy! I realized today that between the two of us, Jon and I have had some sort of ailment since week 2 of this trip. Wowza. Here’s to good health!

Being a woman in Morocco

Gender has been a topic of discussion often between Jon and me, mostly because my experience when doing something alone is entirely different from when we’re together. In Mali I could walk around safely and unbothered just about anywhere. In Senegal I knew the culture well enough to know how to deal with just about anything that came my way. In Mauritania, I covered up and hung back quietly.

Morocco has been the most complex and challenging for me, as this is clearly a country that has a conservative and traditional past for women, but whose position is rapidly changing. In 2004 the new king passed laws giving women more equal rights, abolishing polygamy and paving the way for women to have more choices. But it’s still awkward and difficult for me to go to a café alone, walking in a souk by myself warrants unending cat calls and hassle, and conversations with Moroccans about the egalitarian nature of my marriage confounds most. What’s also interesting is that it’s challenging for Moroccan women as well. Many experience the same hassle as I have, and I imagine that many young independent women feel pressures from family and potential husbands to adhere to certain cultural norms. All I can do is be grateful for the opportunity to experience these cultures and understand a world different from my own.

Transport Tally

One thing’s for certain about our first 2 months of 2013 – we did a lot of moving around. After final tally and some guesswork, I figured out that we took about 85 different types of transport trips. Here’s how we got around from leaving Portland, getting to Belgium, and moving through Mali, Senegal, Morocco and Mauritania:

• 10 Buses
• 5 Airplanes
• 4 Bush Taxis
• 2 Taxi Clandeau (shared inner city taxis)
• 5 Trains
• 2 Ferries
• 1 Pirogue
• 3 Car Rapide
• 4 Metro/Subways
• 2 Rental Vehicles
• 1 Mini Bus
• 1 Ride with Mom (that would be Jon’s, thanks for getting us to the airport Sheryl!)
• Approx 45 taxi rides (I had to guess, we really weren’t counting)

Phew! No wonder we’re tired. By the way, I wished I started taking photos of the taxis in every place we’ve been. Taxis in Bamako are all yellow. In Senegal, always yellow and black (except in the Casamance where they spray paint some blue stripes on a car). In Mauritania, I have no idea, they aren’t identifiable – like so many other confusing things about that place. In Dakhla and on the Moroccan coast, white with a blue stripe, or all blue with a white top. In Agadir, bright red. Finally, in Marrakesh – tan or..mud brown/yellow – not attractive.

Not wanting to go to France – um, what?

I never thought I’d say that I don’t want to go to France. Jon and I are leaving Morocco today to head to a small village outside of Lyon. We’ll be in France for six weeks working for a camp that teaches English to French kids. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had a steady job in 3 months, or because I just like waking up at 10am every day, but I’d really like to just head back to the Dades Gorge and hang with our friend Ismail. My perspective on life must be really off when my choices are spending 6 weeks in France or skipping out on responsibility and immersing myself in a lush green valley tucked in a range of snow-peaked desert mountains.

Marrakesh to Ait Ouffi

My first attempt at creating a weekly blog post has quickly failed. Sorry. But in all fairness the last 10 days have been a wild ride – from arriving in Marrakesh which is so different from what we expected it to be, to getting lost in the Medina, to getting sick to taking an adventure up and over the Atlas Mountains and somehow landing ourselves in the most beautiful chateau-like house by the good grace of a new friend, it’s been a long week!

Marrakesh = Maz’ll catch ‘ya

We arrived in Marrakesh on a Monday night (I guess that was Feb 25), expecting to land in the middle of a crazy large, crowded city with tall buildings that felt super urban. Instead, we drove into an area that appeared out of a rural agricultural land, with buildings not more than 4-5 stories high, palm and olive trees everywhere. The snowpeaked Atlas Mountains rise sharply in the background, reminiscent of Denver, although the mountains are much closer, and the call to prayer ringing out from the mosques is a stark difference.

For Morocco’s main urban draw, Marrakesh is a puzzling place. It’s urban and the traffic stinks, but it’s incredibly green and lush. The Medina, with its 7km of walls, separates the Nouvelle Ville (the new city) that was built by the French.

Our single day wondering in the Medina left us with a frequent, “Aannnd, we’re lost” refrain. Winding-unnamed streets lead one to easily lose any sense of direction. And this is just a warm up to Meknes and Fez! Oy. But the Djemma el Fna is exciting – an open air circus, and we certainly didn’t shy away from being tourists. There are snake charmers (see exhibit A), monkeys, dancers, storytellers and anyone and everyone trying to sell you something (or rip you off, depends on how you look at it). Marrekesh is fun, but we had our sites on the High Atlas, and the oases towns on the southern side of them. A fever and bad bout of digestive troubles for me threatened to ground us again, but I’m working on being the winner in that battle.

The High Atlas

It takes no time at all before you’re out of the city and into the country. It took us only 2 hours on a big bus to climb high up (on the most windy, tiny roads you could imagine a big coach fitting, but they do) and reach the pass through the mountains. Squarely in Berber country, the people look weathered, but are so incredibly friendly.

Berber Music

Coming from the cafes and grillades (places where you get grilled meat – whatever’s cooking is hanging outside) I’m serenaded with Berber music – the boutique owners are kind to give me the musicians name and album so I can find it. Love.

$50 for Independence

This excursion to the mountains was our ‘splurge’ trip. We decided to rent a car and stay 2 nights in a nice hotel for some pampering. It’s amazing what a different feeling it is to have your own means of transportation. For $50/day we had our own little car that can take us wherever we please. So nice. With no understanding of how many litres of gas to put in the car, we filled it up (gas is REALLY expensive here) so we had a mandate to drive as much as possible. FREEDOM.

Budget Traveling 

We suck at it. Not only do we suck at finding good deals, but we suck at being ok with it. Since St. Louis Senegal, every place we’ve stayed has had some plumbing problem, or something essential that hasn’t worked. Thus the pamper trip. Oh well. But it seems that just a little more $$ gives you a lot more value more. It doesn’t always happen that way (hello everything Mauritania), but in our High Atlas adventure it worked.

Dadès Gorge

Is truly Gorgeous (yes pun intended). Our bus from Marrakesh took us to the town of Ouarzazate, and from there we drove through the Valley of the 1000 Kasbahs into a canyon. I can’t get over the contrast of the deep terra cotta red earth and the vibrant green gardens that are tiered along the river and up the sides of the canyon. Ancient crumbling castles are perched on every high places, tucked into villages and built right into the rock. The valley of 1000 kasbahs is also home to the Valley of the Roses – thousands and thousands of Damascus rose bushes make this area a pink carpet in May and rose products are sold everywhere. Throw in some happy goats meandering the hill sides, plus the almond and peach trees that are blossoming and it’s a perfect high desert paradise.

We rocked the Kasbah

Upon arrival at our fancy hotel (Auberge Chez Pierre, you must stay here if you go), we exclaimed, “oh we’re so tired” and had a nice tea and chat with the owner, Ismail. I was still recovering from fever-meets-digestive-problem and we must have looked really pathetic because when we showed us our room he said, “You stay here tonight and then tomorrow I take you to the riad, it’s quiet, and there will be families and children here, so you must relax.” We kinda saw this as an inconvenience, until we saw the “riad,” which we’ve now named our own Kasbah. “It’s for making the babies!” exclaimed Ismail and pretty much the entire staff at the hotel. Um… (that’s all I have no response).” How on earth we were blessed with such fortune I have no idea. We planned to stay 2 nights and stayed 4, and I’m still bummed we left. I'm campaigning for our return in June.

We got rocked by the Kasbah

We went exploring through the nearby villages and walked into an ancient Kasbah. All was well, minus the animal stench, until we were climbing the stairs and noticed the gaping holes in them. Time to turn back! I don’t want to die in a crumbling mud structure. Apparently in the old days the way to conquer a Kasbah was to divert the water from the river and just wait until the Kasbah dissolved. You’d think for citadels they’d come up with a better protective solution…?

Desert Rain

Makes everything crazy beautiful. One of the reasons we stayed an extra day was because it rained (apparently for the first time in 4 months). There’s so much silt and clay that when it rains it seems like the mountains come down on themselves and the roads get blocked. On the plus side, the reds become more red, and the greens become more green. It’s beautiful. I don’t know if the Moroccan flag is green on red because of the colors of the land here, but it would make sense. The red of the earth is SO red and the green is SO green. I’ve never seen anything like it. Even the water running off the mountains is deep red.

We almost died – no really.

We’ve taken a lot of bus rides in Morocco. I mean, I don’t know how many kilometers we’ve traversed but it’s well over 2500 since crossing the Mauritanian border. The buses here go REALLY fast, and feel like a rocking freight train hell bent on getting to its destination as fast as possible. Hairpin turns on crazy mountain roads that plummet hundreds of feet into nothingness don’t stop bus drivers from taking blind corners quickly – while passing – all while the driver is happily singing along to the music. Yeah, we almost died while rounding one of those corners when a truck came around the bend. We actually hit the side of the mountain, swung out towards the pathetic excuse for a guard rail and stopped. I realized my final thought would have been, “Really??!!” Jon’s was, “You’ve gotta be f#$^in kidding me.”

I am so grateful that we were able to spend four days in the Dades Gorge. Our friend, Ismail, made us feel so at home in such an incredibly beautiful place. I almost don’t need to go anywhere else. I’d be happy hunkering down right there the mountains, surrounded by lush green wheat gardens, snowy-capped mountains, red, wind-swept earth and people with the kindest faces. Tanamirit Morocco (that’s Berber for thanks, Morocco).

Sidi Ifni & Weekly Fireflies

I’ve decided to start a new weekly wrap-up, which will hopefully encourage regular blogging on at least my part (I can’t speak for Jon). So this first ‘weekly’ is a recap of our last few days in the former Spanish enclave of Sidi Ifni, and some impressions and observations from the last week. Departing from Dakhla was a welcomed move – not that Dakhla was unpleasant by any means, it’s just a very sleepy coastal town that presented itself with a mixture of West African/Mauritanian and Moroccan/Arab/Berber cultures. In other words, not really having a grasp on any of those cultures at this point, we were mostly just confused. Personally, I was also ready to move beyond the vast stretches of bleakness and see some landscape. I’ve read and heard that Morocco is a dramatically beautiful country and I wanted to see it for myself.

A 9-hour bus ride brought us to the city of Laayounne – home to about 200,000 Moroccans. Not much to say about it, other than it was refreshing to be in a somewhat urban environment. This fashionable town even has a Vegas-style neon-lit fountain. Cool. We spent one night there and boarded a bus at 7:30am Goulmim – described by our Rough Guide as a ‘drab administrative town.’ The bus ride was the most interesting yet (excluding the beautiful dunes of Mauritania), with the desert giving way to sweeping plateaus, plunging cliffs into the sea, and lush inlets carving valleys from the sea into the desert. The 7-hour ride brought us to Goulmim in the early afternoon, with an easy change to a ‘grand-taxi’ (bush taxi) for the hour-long ride to Sidi Ifni.

Not more than 15 minutes out of Goulmim we found ourselves winding through the colorful hills and lush valleys of the Anti-Atlas. Such topography! I was stuck again on the middle seat of a car filled with too many people (there were 4 of us in the back seat of a regular Mercedes sedan – one of whom was a…well-proportioned woman). An adventure!

The Spanish built up Sidi Ifni as a military garrison in the 1930’s when they colonized the area. The town is set high above on a cliff, with a nice beach and steep stairs leading down to the water. It’s famous for its art deco architecture – which honestly not knowing much about architecture doesn’t seem very impressive (I think I got spoiled in Greece!) – but it must be unique to Morocco. It’s lovely nonetheless. We opted for a hotel on the beach, rather than up high, which has essentially given us the chance to get a nice workout every time we want something (food, water etc).

Jon’s healing another wound, similar to what was on his feet, so I took the day Saturday while he tended his wound and headed 10km north to the beach of Legzira. Just a few hotels nestled into the cliff, Legzira is a rocky beach famous for the red archways carved away by the sea. It was nice to find a private little cove where I could sunbathe, and then explore the rocks. I had planned to walk the 10km (6 miles) back to Sidi Ifni, but the tide never really went low enough to cross one of the rocky sections. Luckily I didn’t get too far before figuring this out! A kind Englishwoman and her Moroccan husband gave me a lift back to Sidi Ifni, thankfully before I felt too dejected walking alone on the hot, exposed road back to town. It was nice to have a little solo adventure for the day. A non-date-day as a friend recommended – nice for coming back and sharing stories with your travel partner.

Staying an extra day here allowed us to check out today’s Sunday flea market – the produce section of which made the Portland Farmer’s market pale in comparison, at least when it came to quantities of things. I’ve never seen bigger piles of oranges and carrots! It also allowed us to enjoy the phenomenon that is Saturday night in Sidi Ifni. Apparently everyone gets dressed up to walk the town starting around 8pm – who knew there were actually so many people here!

Tomorrow brings an 8-hour bus ride to the grand city of Marrakech! Very exciting.

Here’s some other weekly thoughts:

Are they arguing or just talking? I may not know a lot about this culture, but one thing I’m convinced of is that Arabic is a language for making one’s self known. People are always talking loudly, and very unabashedly in the presence of others. Whether it’s on the cell phone, or like the larger woman and her young son who talked over each other the whole way to Sidi Ifni – I’ve decided that the most important thing when learning Arabic is to speak forcefully. Maybe they’re just talking about puppies?

Solo vs Couples Traveling: My non-date-day solo adventure to Legzira highlighted the stark contrast in the experience one has as a solo female traveler vs a couple traveling together. From taking breakfast in a café where I was joined by a kind gentleman who gave me a lift to Legzira (yes, I’m very trusting…); to the willingness of anyone to talk to me – it was interesting see how people treated me differently without Jon there.

“Camping Cars” – French for Retired RV Tourists: There are lots of them – easily over 100 are parked in the two ‘camp grounds’ right next to our hotel. They are all French. Not much else to say, it’s just curious.

Coffee: FINALLY good coffee, freedom from Nescafè. Give me a noss noss (Arabic for half half – half coffee half steamed milk) and I’m a happy girl.

Olives, dates, oranges and argan: The presence of any of these during a meal is fabulous – and this is where argan oil comes from – a highly prized oil used in western beauty products. Here it’s mixed with almond butter and honey for a delicious bread dip. Yes please.

Cliffs: I can now safely say that the majority of the entire Saharan coastline is a very steep cliff. We saw everything from Nouakchott to Sidi Ifni – it was far.

Part 2: Senegal to Morocco: Impressively Bleak

The road out of the Mauritanian side of Rosso was rough. There were so many impressions of the road to Nouakchott and the next 3 days were so strange and interesting, I’ve decided to share them as the fleeting thoughts I jotted down as we traversed Mauritania. Read on for the story of Senegal to Morocco. Scrub turns to beautiful orange sand dunes, camels, goats, people with flowing robes of blue, white and black and turbans to guard from the desert. The real desert – the Sahara. Skeletons in the sand – cars, cows, this place claims everything. Close call passing a car, our extra passenger starts shouting match with driver – so much more dangerous! Major insults being past back and forth - woah this is a different place! Lasted a long time; they’re pointing fingers in each other’s faces, yelling. But, then they made up, passenger bought snacks for everyone and then proceeded to invite us to stay at his home. Huh. Maybe Mauritanians are really nice, but just direct? Incredible desert sunset. Can’t believe I’m in the Sahara. Nightime arrival. So. Tired. Dusty. Hot. Africa – Arab Africa – it’s a different place.

Nouakchott

We paid our driver a bit more than the regular taxi fare to drive us across town and stop at a bank plus deliver us to the Auberge Sahara (on the road to Nouadhibou). Thierno offers to come in the morning for breakfast and to help us get to Nouadhibou. WOW. This guy is amazing. Thank you Senegal.

Auberge Sahara great for meeting travelers, but not so clean. Our room littered with cigarette butts. Gross. Mama Africa across the street had excellent plates (I recommend the beef) for cheap. We went back there for lunch. Upon paying for the room, I asked the group of gentlemen in the office what the best way to get to Nouadhibou would be and the owner, Mohammed Sidi, said, “oh well, if you want you can come in my car, and if you’re not pressed for time, I’m accompanying 15 French RV’s for a night of camping in the desert and then we’re going to Nouadhibou. If you want to camp with us I’ll loan you a tent and then drive you all the way to the Moroccan border the next morning.” Wow. 30euro buys us transport (with A/C!) to the desert and to the border, meals, a tent, and the experience of witnessing an entourage of French RV tourists. We didn’t sleep – too worried about the potential for bed bugs, while getting eaten by mosquitoes and trying not to breathe in the everlasting scent of stale cigarettes.

Nouakchott -> Nouadhibou

The road = flat, expansive nothingness. Blue sky on the left signals reflection of the ocean, yellow on the right signals reflection of the desert. Again with the fiche – we used 4, with the potential for 3 more but since we were with Sidi who apparently knew everyone on the road, we didn’t have to use as many. This land is like a painting – orange sand dotted with flecks of green brush. Camels – more of them than people here. Wind blowing ripples in the sand dunes like mist – incredible. And this is just the side of the road. Camping in the desert – not so glorious as it sounded. It’s the uninteresting part of the desert. French RV tourists are kinda… unincorporated or unaware of their surrounding culture. Spent most of our time hanging out with the Mauritanians, drinking tea, chatting. The soldiers are really nice. Wished we’d planned to stay here longer.

Nouadhibou -> Moroccan Border

Nouadhibou = under-developed, spread out, strange town we couldn’t figure out. French RVs stayed near an expensive hotel (that we ended up staying in for too much – despite being told it was a 4-star hotel we’d get for cheap…some other kinds of 4 stars I guess, and it was NOT cheap), inconveniently out of the town center. How the heck do we get a taxi? Where to eat? Why are ouygias (the currency) so darn expensive?? I do not get this place at all. People are aloof, not open like in Senegal/Mali. Got to have lunch in a home though. No one wants me to take their picture. So glad we’re not staying here longer. Up side was getting to tag along with the RV tourists for their music/cultural night, their ride and tour of the world’s longest train – the iron ore train that travels 650km east into the desert, and a trip to the market. We got a big chunk of shea butter for $.35. YES. Nouadhibou is still strange. It’s surrounded by beautiful ocean, but the developments are in the center of the land, not on the water. Massive amounts of undeveloped space, littered with trash. I know the people are nice here, but how do you access them? At least we tagged along with the auberge owner and got a ride to the Moroccan border, nice!

Travel tip: On both sides of the border of Mauritania and Morocco there are 4km of no mans land. This means that if you don’t have a car – you must take a taxi or bus through the checkpoints on either side, and then past each “Poste Police”. You cannot walk across the ‘no mans land.’ Since it doesn’t belong to any country, the “road” is barely a path beaten into the rock – and it’s 4km long. It is also apparently heavily mined, which is why you can’t go on foot. Coming from Mauritania, basically you’ll have to cross 2 sections of 4km areas to actually get into Morocco. I imagine taxis can be expensive: it’s a niche market. We’re happy we had a ride. On the Moroccan side, our auberge host’s wife runs into another tourism friend, who, like Thierno, befriends us and helps us make the crossing. He is dressed in a billowing sky blue boubou with a white turban and has the kindest face. We have Moroccan breakfast – flatbread with olive oil and jam, and mint tea together. Yay.

 Western Sahara

The differences between where we’d been and where we arrived were stark and noticeable. #1: No trash. None on the Moroccan side. #2: Actual buildings, meaning, real structures that probably have working plumbing and aren’t crumbling. Combined with the trash, Jon points out this is a country that pays attention to detail. #3: Open and friendly border guards and police, all with a smile ready to help you get through. Basically we weren’t met with the skepticism that said, “why are you coming to Mauritania, no really, whatever you say we won’t believe you…”

Not surprisingly, the beginnings of Western Sahara are the same as northern Mauritania. Impressively bleak. I was delighted at the presence of any kind of topography, a pile of rock here, and a distant sandune there – anything calling out – I’m interesting look at me! But for the most part the drive presents itself with the challenge of simply appreciating the flat and expansive nothingness.

Dakhla is a small but developed town on a spit of land, like Nouadhibou, surrounded by blue/green ocean that changes color depending on the direction of the sun. Apparently the bay creates a haven for kite surfers. Perhaps another trip. I’m intimidated by Moroccans thus far, and thrilled when I meet Senegalese in town. I realize how little I know about Moroccan culture – good thing there’s time to learn. The food is good and cheap, and the weather is great. We’ve stayed in Dakhla a few more days to help Jon heal another small wound, which is getting better Allhumdililaay. This sleepy town is a nice intro nonetheless. It’s easygoing, no one hassles us, and we met THE guy with the biggest smile I’ve ever seen. He is so happy, and it makes us happy. His name is Ibrahim, although we call him Aladdin. I am happy to be here – and very much looking forward to the beauty that I know awaits in this North African country.

450km to Layounne tomorrow. Then to Essouira and Marrakesh.

What are your strangest travel experiences?

Senegalese Taranga to Mauritanian Spirit

I’ve been trying to come up with a clever phrase to describe the experience we’ve had in the last week – and it’s been a challenge. Rifs on the movie title Extremely Loud Incredibly Close come to mind – extremely hot, incredibly dusty; extremely kind, incredibly strange – but the one that seems to fit the best is one that the writers of Rough Guide: Morocoo coined: impressively bleak. St. Louis, Senegal to Dakhla, Morocco has certainly been one of the more curious experiences I’ve had in my (short) life. I’ve divided this into 2 posts because it was just getting so long. The first part is Senegal to Mauritania. The Second is Mauritania and into Morocco. Enjoy!

Dakar -> St. Louis

We woke up early after only a couple hours of sleep on Feb. 10 after going dancing in Dakar with our hosts Dieyna and Abdou and the two LC students who are studying in Dakar, the same as I did 10 years ago. Senegalese night clubs don’t get going until 2am so we didn’t get home until about 5am. It was a fun night, but exhausting – nonetheless I was happy to get my fix of live mbalax and people watching.

We headed by taxi to the Gare Routière Pompière to take a bush taxi to St. Louis. The 150km ride was long but not horrible (I am SO tired of sitting on the middle bump!) and we arrived at the St. Louis Gare Routière in the late afternoon. We took another taxi 12km to the Zebrabar – a campement outside of the city that’s beachy and is right on the River Senegal in the Parc Nationale de la Langue de Barbarie. The accommodations were cheap, but the meals were outrageously expensive. Bummer.

2 days later we headed to St. Louis to stay in the heart of Ile Nord – the old colonial center of St. Louis (which was the colonial capital of all of west Africa in the 18th – 19th centuries). I think I’ve decided to rename St. Louis to Stinky Louis because frankly, this town is rank. The combination of fishing village, trash, river and ocean, not to mention very old plumbing is well – really smelly. If it weren’t for the decidedly charming city center, great bars, actual coffee and friendly people – I don’t think I’d want to spend much time in St. Louis.

Another 2 days later we prepared to say goodbye to Senegal. Although we were ready, Senegal left us with its best. Our last night we had a fantastic meal at a tiny restaurant aptly called Restaurant Taranga, where we ate for a total of 4000cfa ($8) with beverages. Nothing fancy about this place, but the owner was over and above kind. A good laugh at a local boutique, and a nice chat with the door guard for the hotel left a smile on my face and a thought of ‘oh geez, I do love this country.’

St. Louis -> Rosso Border Crossing

I will not lie in saying that given the lonely planet thorn tree forum reviews of this place, I was downright nervous. But before I could act on my nerves, we had to wait almost 2 hours before leaving. We were convinced to take a Ndiaye Ndiaye (big white bus – 25 seats) to Rosso instead of a sept places. We realized as soon as we bought our ticket and boarded that there was no way the bus was leaving ‘toute de suite’ (right away). I knew that these buses didn’t leave until filled, but for some reason I let the driver convince me that we’d leave right away, when really, ‘toute de suite’ in African transportation lingo means ‘sometime today.’ Awesome.

Travel Tip: Don’t confuse Rosso with Ross-Berthio. They are different. When we stopped in Ross-Berthio I was concerned we should get out and I asked the gentleman sitting next to me if this was our stop for going to Mauritania. He said no, and that he was going in the same direction. Ahh, we should share a car! I said. Best. Move. Ever. Our new friend Thierno Ba, gave us one last parting gift of Senegalese Taranga and essentially took us under his wing for the rest of our journey. Not only did he make sure no one took advantage of us, made sure we were always headed in the right direction, and he paid for all our fares, which was incredibly generous.

I can see why people have trouble at Rosso. There are certainly grifters waiting for anyone looking the slightest bit confused, and there are no signs or any indications of how to get from the Gare Routière to the pirogue; or how much it should cost. The single best tool (aside from the fiche) was a sincere and hearty “Asalaam Malekum” coupled with a smile to greet anyone looking official. This and any wolof you might know does wonders for softening officials; and people trying to grift you for that matter. Aside from the extreme heat, all in all it wasn’t a bad experience. The river is a scene, with kids diving and playing in the seafoam green water. It’s a nice last display of the Senegal that’s all out in the open and in your face; the Senegal that teases, and vexes, that’s easy and hard all the same; the Senegal that’s continually fascinating. I smiled as we crossed the River and I looked back to say goodbye, not sure of the next return, if ever.

If you’re reading this and preparing to cross the border, see our lonely planet post for details. Border Travel Tips.

Rosso

I knew we had arrived into an even more arid place, when dust and sand billowed from the taxi seat as we got in to connect with the bush taxis to Nouakchott. Our cab driver was especially proud that the passenger door was held together by a rope – “C’est uniquement comme ca en Afrique!” he exclaimed with a big smile (It’s unique in Africa!). It’s things like this that you just have to laugh at and call it good. I couldn’t even be worried that I would fall out if the door swung open – there’s a rope there of course it will catch me!

The kindness of our new friend, Thierno, was overhelming in that without having someone speak Arabic or Wolof, connecting from the Rosso Gare Routière to Nouakchott would be difficult. The drivers of the various modes of transport descended on him like vultures, all tugging and pulling. This is a culture of in-your-face dealings. Thierno says they all just want money – perhaps it’s true? People at the border seemed really kind. Getting a coke, we were overpriced, even though there’s a fixed price for everything. Boo. We finally decided to take a 4-seat Mercedes car instead of a shared taxi – more expensive but much more comfortable. We paid for all 4 seats (even though were 3), and then the driver decided to take another passenger. Awesome. This should be interesting.

Next stop: Nouakchott.

Comme ci, Comme ca

When I first started taking French in the 4th grade, this is one of the first phrases we learned. It’s a greeting, like when you say, “bonjour, comment allez-vous” (hello, how are you?). You can answer, “Tres bien, merci” (very well thank you) or “comme ci, comme ca” (so, so), or casually, and what everyone really says is “ca va” (it’s going). But, honestly, when do you ever say, oh it’s going just so so. I mean, even if things aren’t going well, you always say, oh yes things are fine, thank you. It’s a double standard. I’ve come to realize that we hardly share our full presence, but rather manufacture what we think might be socially acceptable. And so, since for most of you my only presence these days is of an online nature, I refuse to give you just a perfect, rosy picture; rather I choose the honest one. And really, things are comme ci, comme ca, a little this, a little that. So so. Not bad, not great. Mangi fi (That’s wolof for I’m here).

It’s a double-standard that mirrors perfectly to the Senegalese experience. One that, after such a long time, I forgot about. I mean, when you get back from a 4 month study abroad experience people want to know, “so? How was it?!” and really, what are you supposed to say? “It was fine, it was great!” And after saying that for 10 years you forget all the ups and downs.

I keep saying you, but really I mean me, and really, I mean to say that as per my last post, Senegal really hasn’t changed at all, I just forgot a lot of what it was like here. I’m so truly thankful that we have been invited into the home of friends – friends who have made us family, who have shown us the true meaning of Senegalese taranga (hospitality). Friends who want nothing more than to share our company and be together. There are many Senegalese who exude this cultural quality – who truly just want to be open and talk with us, and chat a bit. But they are too often mixed in with those who abuse the notion of taranga and slyly invite you to a seemingly jovial conversation only to really want something from you – primarily something monetary. It makes us skeptical, more closed off, and so well, it’s just so so.

During our last few hours in the Casamance, Jon and I sat and had a cup of coffee (Nescafe thank you) in a little local restaurant. The owner was so kind and welcoming. We had a lovely little chat and were getting ready to leave when a very kind woman came up to us and like so many Senegalese wanted to know about us, know our names and chat. But she quickly devolved into desperately trying to sell us something, which after much persistence simply became her asking us for money so she could buy rice, and she then became angry when we wouldn’t dole it out. Ugh.

It’s a similar picture as today when we journeyed to Lac Rose (see Jon’s post), and were essentially followed by a guy who wanted to sell us a tour (any kind of tour!!) juxtaposed with two women, who originally came out on the road to sell us something but instantly changed their minds when I started speaking wolof with them. They kept saying (in French), “wow, you are so open, the tourists never speak to us, they just ignore us, wow.” I have thoughts about that, but what could have been another frustrating please-just-stop-looking-at-me-like-a-dollar-sign moment turned into a spontaneous natural science lesson on the lake, and the economics involved in harvesting salt. Penda and Fatou were so kind, and as we got to talking, were not at all interested in selling me anything, just happy to be connecting. Comme ci, comme ca – like this, like that.

Senegal is a mixed bag, I guess is the point. It will always be a special place for me, one that was a true place of learning and growth during some pretty formative years of my life. One where I will always have friends, incha’allah, and incredible stories to recount. But life is hard here. When we arrived I thought I was just used to being in West Africa, but no, really, things are tough. People live leanly, and I know I have it good. I don’t know if it’s a product of globalization, of the Senegalese being too easily influenced by French and American pop culture (they know more about Kim Kardashian than I ever care to), or being stuck somewhere between a developed country and a very underdeveloped country that brings out these stark contrasts in people’s cultural behaviors. Maybe it’s all three.

When it comes down to it, I’m happy that we came here. If anything for me it was an incredible opportunity to share this place with Jon, and to relive some great memories. I won’t lie, I’m looking forward to being a tourist in St. Louis for a couple days and then getting on the road for our epic overland journey across Mauritania and Western Sahara. The good with the so so right?

I’m going to follow up with some travel reporting – some how-to’s of where we’ve been, as a future resource. We’ve noticed that in the process of trying to find travel information on other people’s travel blogs there is often a lot of rambling (ho ho just like mine!!), but little in the way of practical information – as in go fetch the bush taxi here to save you 3 hours kinda thing. Until then, I hope each of you is well, and allowing yourself the full spectrum of your experiences and presence, the good and the not so good. I think it’s good to take time to feel what we feel and not shy from it when it’s not perfect.

What do you think?

Ciao ciao.