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Africa, Morocco, Travelogue

Travelogue Morocco 4: Marrakech

MARRAKECH

24-26 April 2013

With 489km to cover from Fes to Marrakech, we had to be up and out early, hitting the road at 07h20. Breakfast was the same disappointing affair as the previous day – boiled eggs and chocolate croissant (separately), brightened only by the superlative OJ (very sour and authentic, but not pulpy) and excellent hot chocolate (made entirely with hot milk).

Since we have a full sized bus for just 17 people, there is more than enough room for everyone to stretch out, so it wasn’t too bad for the long haul. Quite soon most people were napping, so it was quite peaceful to watch the countryside pass by.

For a country of 35-odd million people, I’m not sure where everybody is. You can go for miles and miles without seeing sign of a human. Or animal for that matter. And Fes being one of the biggest cities at 1,5 million people seems to end too soon after city centre for credibility (although at least we did see more of what we consider traditional Morrocan architecture, which provided a level of smug contentedness).

The “highway” was by no means what we’re used to and very picturesque. Although predominantly single lane either side, the allocations are generous – and everyone seemed to crawl evenly so we weren’t ever stuck wanting to overtake. The tarring was consistently perfect and they (the French I presume) were meticulous to the point of obsession with lining the road with double rows of trees either side. We were told that most were cedars, which were protected (probably because of the obscene amounts they use for those gargantuan doors and gates).

It was remarkable to see how well established and maintained the infrastructure was even in the smallest towns. Double lanes standard in city centres (not a whiff of a pothole); wide pavements tiled with elegant and decorative paving stones with neat and generous flower and tree gardens embedded; at least 1 showy traffic circle with manicured gardens, fountains and/or statues even in the smallest town; clear of litter and debris, with the odd street-sweeper spotted sweeping the gutters like life depended on it. It was like the Moroccans are better at being European than the Europeans! … Except for the Arabic on the street signs and a disproportionate representation of green roof tiles (apparently a tribute being a well-associated Muslim colour).

Our first pitstop was in the University and ski resort town of Ilfane. It was a private and pricey university, twinned with Georgetown University in Washington. The town was nestled into one of the Middle Atlas Mountain slopes and besides being renowned for skiing (getting snow up to 1m deep in town), it was also known as the Little Switzerland of Morocco, having been built by the French in the 1930s with A-frame chalets and beautiful little cabins. It was gorgeous – and certainly worth an investigation for a cheap ski holiday!

We rolled into Marrakech at about 18h30 and checked into our hotel – a luxurious resort with gorgeous lobby with marble floors and enormous chandelier suspended from a triple volume section in the centre that hinted at the floors above. Automated doors led to a generous terrace with wonderfully extravagant swimming pools, welcome in the hotter drier climate than that from which we’d just come.

We had an hour before dinner to check in and make ourselves comfortable in our rooms, which turned out to be superb – and a welcome break from our bus!

The hotel dinner was excellent, including mash potatoes (my best!), roast turkey in lemon and herb gravy, a beef goulash type dish (Moroccan-style of course) and incredible creme caramel for dessert. Of course, the buffet offered far more than that, but it was these few simplicities that hit the spot and sated.

We’d planned to catch the 20h30 hotel shuttle to the famed Marrakech souk, but were dismayed when the bus filled before our eyes and the 4 of us were left standing on the pavement watching a busful of people disappear toward town!

Luckily, we’re not easily disheartened and we simply flagged down a taxi and negotiated a R50 return fare – and ended up regretting bothering with the shuttle at all, when our own steam was so convenient, cheap and easy. We agreed for the taxi driver to meet us at the designated spot (a KFC, definitely to be revisited for mealtime purposes later!) and hit the market with much excitement.

The market was chaos! Starting with the main square, with loads of entertainment, snake-charmers, drum circles and so on, there were literally thousands of people wandering around, soaking in the atmosphere. There was no way that the 4 of us would manage to maneuver together through the crowds in the dark, so we split up to shop. In the 6 square kilometres of shopping area on offer!

Mother and I picked an aisle and immersed. It was quite overwhelming so we decided to set the pace, researching and price-comparing in order to be ready for real action and quality purchasing the next day. Mother also did her fair share of Cinderella’ing, trying on every pair of bright yellow slippers she could get her hands (well, feet) on… And getting more and more depressed as each one was either too big or too small (or not yellow enough).

Time passed all too quickly and we were soon communed at the KFC, fruitless shopping trip behind us, but optimism that our prudence would stand us in good stead the next day. And optimism that our great hotel dinner might be a prelude to a great breakfast buffet.

Sadly, breakfast was far from greatness. While there was a revival with scrambled eggs and they added a pancake station, there was no french bread to make Vietnam sandwiches with – and still no bacon or bangers! Now very sorely missed!

Still, we were fed and watered and ready to go on the city tour when the coach arrived to fetch us. The tour started with the Mosque (of course) and Koutoubia minoret. All the Moroccan minorets are square, as is this one with its 3 x 18 carat balls of descending sizes on a spire atop the dome, and a 1kg ball of solid gold to top it all off.

The opulence continued at the Bab Agnar Gates, the most beautiful of the gates with cut stone arranged in clean, regular lines around the arch, floral decorations and calligraphy adorning the cornerstone and frame panels. This gate was famed for where the Berbers brought their fruit liquor (40% proof) down from the mountains to sell in the medina.

Then into the kasbah (fortress) and on to the royal residence. A maudlin visit to the Saadian mausoleum for 16th century rulers. Traditionally, the dead weren’t embalmed, and were buried lying on their side facing Mecca. As was customary, they would always separate kings, princes and queens, burying important people in the centre quad.

We entered the Bahia Palais, which became a tourist sight in 1956 alongside Moroccan Independence (you can only see about a quarter of it though, because the king still uses the suites when he’s in town). The palace took 17 years to build – 1893 to 1900 – and was reserved for the first of the 4 official wives to bear a son. He also had 24 concubines (bought or given as gifts, aged 13-14 years old who at 35 become cleaners) to complete the harem. The palace covers 8 hectares, 4 of riad and 4 of rooms and buildings, all with tiles in natural mineral or vegetable colours. The walls are incredibly thick and other measures have been taken (like doors within doors) to insulate from searing summer heat and freezing winters.

We wound around, being shown this and that, including the leather works and steelworks (where business is largely conducted as in olden times – and the welders don’t cover their eyes and wear flipflops!) – and being taken into what we suspect are the ‘kickback’ stores, where guides get commission on sales generated from the guests they bring in. The most interesting of these was the pharmacy/spice shop combo, where they tried to flog us (over-priced) everything from “35 spice” to cumin to arnica to Argan oil to mint tea. Of course, Mother wasn’t falling for that and “went to the loo”, returning with a gorgeous big leather overnight bag! She’d snuck out and down the road to haggle a bargain with the leather man! 😀

Can’t really blame her. Knowing the El-Jamaal Fna Souks cover 6 square kilometres of shopping, means that if you miss the opportunity to buy there and then, you may very well not be able to find your way back to that store. We’d learned this the hard way at the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul the previous year! …And we were quite committed to committing when it came to the day’s shopping. We methodically ticked off the items on the list that we’d plotted and planned over the duration of the trip, added some new ones and bargained and bought like we were on a trolley dash!

Still, we seemed to be out-shopped by Monique (a short plump half of a middle-aged couple) from Brussels, who didn’t seem able to resist any peddler who walked up to her (and there were many since she didn’t bargain). We laughed when we met back at the bus and there was Monique with a Moroccan cotton shirt (not even close to her size) slung on her back, 2 mens leather belts fastened around the waist, bangles up to her elbow, bulging shopping bags clutched in her henna’ed hands, husband in newly acquired silly hat in tow.

There was an hour to freshen up and then it was back in the bus and off to the Fantasia cultural evening. We ended up sitting with our Saffa friends and the Canadian couple from Ontario; much easier company than the Lebanese and Belgian couples we’d shared the awkward lunch with en route to Rabat.

Dinner was a bit weird. Started with soup, plated at the table. Seemed to be what I’ve seen (imaginatively) described as “Moroccan”, ie a hearty consistency with barley, chickpeas and veg. Not quite sure if it had meat or not. As has become customary, we asked for butter or olive oil to have with our bread. As is customary, they said they’d get it and never did. They don’t do ice either, which is annoying. It’s so sub-grade drinking Coca-Cola – or wine for that matter – without ice. It’s really the simple things that make you appreciate home!

The next course was even more odd, because it was so unexpected. The waitress delivered a platter with half a sheep on it. Literally. We got the entire right side of a sheep between the 6 of us! Just plopped on the table without instruction, carving utensils or any sort of accompaniment. No garnish, starch or veg! We hacked at the poor beast, each serving ourselves using our own knives and forks. Such a pity, because so much must have been wasted – and it was very tasty.

If we thought it was odd, the Canadians were horrified. They *really* didn’t know how to operate this course. The wife picked a bit at their end of the sheep and was visibly unimpressed. When asked, they said the lamb was a bit dry and, seeing as our end was very succulent, I suggested she try the shank. She didn’t know what it was, so I told her it was the bit that looks like a drumstick. She pulled on the leg bone, which came out clean (the lamb was that tender!) and she placed it gingerly on her plate, looking at it puzzled as to why I’d suggest it. Glad to clarify that I really meant the knob of meat around the top of the bone, it was very rewarding to see how much they enjoyed the meat when they eventually recovered it. It all made better sense later when the couple told us they’d met when they worked at McDonald’s…

When the table was cleared, another server delivered the next course. Chicken and veg with couscous. Another mountain of food! It was a bit dry so we made a plan and nabbed an extra bowl of the hearty soup to use as gravy. An excellent plan!

Dessert was (yet another) bowl of fruit. Just fruit. Costa chopped up and apple, which we passed around. I did the same with an orange. There seems to be no middle ground in Morocco – either obscene amounts of baked goods or dull and boring whole fruits. These people really need to embrace an elegant simplicity like ice-cream and chocolate sauce!

The whole way through dinner, we had entertainment brought to us. Groups of musicians and dancers from the various Moroccan tribes. They have a very different idea of tempo and rhythm to ours, to be sure! We specifically enjoyed an odd little hand-flicking dance that the first lot did, which looked like they were trying to dry a fresh manicure. It was also unusual that their “dancers” clearly weren’t recruited based on looks or age, nor were they the usual scantily clad belly-dancer types but rather draped in quite excessive layers of cloth and carrying a tune seemed optional for their “singers”.

The beat was carried by handheld drums and/or tambourines and one tiny wrinkled old tambourinist seemed to take a shine to Mother, doing a bizarre Arrested Development chicken dance, alternating banging the tambourine in her ear and leering and jeering at her with contorted facial expression. By the time the group moved on (with Chicken Dancer continuously turning back and throwing parting shots in our direction), Jolande, Diane and I had tears streaming down our face from laughter! Such a pity that their partners had missed all the fun, having pleaded “smoke break” (despite neither being smokers) as the troupe approached, tired from being cajoled into getting up and dancing with the entertainers. Might have been a different story if they had been the slinky sexy belly-dancers! 😉

After dinner, we moved to sit on the concrete grandstands facing the centre quad to watch the belly-dancing show (in the conventional sense and outfit) and horse displays. The equestrian elements were divided into 2 types, the traditional warlike charging and tricks and balancing acts by skilled horseman on horseback; dismounting and remounting, running alongside and remounting and twisting and slipping around the horse like it was a gymnastics prop! The charging was a bit more disturbing, with the riders in flowing robes and turbans, frothing the horses up to quite a pace and then skidding on the brakes and shooting their rifles in the air (crackers not bullets). The real thing must’ve been quite fearsome… But it can’t be fun for those horses having to endure that every night.

All the entertainers came out and paraded around the field a bit in a sort of closing ceremony and then the night was called a close and the bus took us back to the hotel.

Having a later night than we have been, it was nice to have no plans for the morning so we could sleep in. We met our Saffas at 9 for breakfast and were ready well in time for the 10 o’clock shuttle into the market for a last whip around.

We didn’t buy (much) and the highlight was ending off with the much-craved KFC. I tried the Big Filler, which is chicken strips with cheese, ham (surprisingly; first pork we’ve seen in Morocco), garnish and ranch dressing. Served with McD’s style chips and Mirinda… met ys! Very delicious!

A shuttle back to the hotel and we’re packed and ready to move out. Back to Casablanca in the arvie and then homeward bound on our last day!

Africa, Morocco, Travelogue

Travelogue Morocco 3: Fes

FES

23 April 2013

On first impression, Fes is a big hustle-and-bustle city, with an active pavement cafe culture (men only) and wall-to-wall restaurants and apartment blocks (all in dire need of a coat of paint). It’s as neat and tidy as the rest of the Moroccan cities we’ve seen – exemplary road maintenance conditions, free of litter and lots of attention paid to lining and adorning the streets with trees, shrubs, flowers and park benches.

In the main avenues in the area where the hotels are, there are 3 lanes for traffic in either direction with the equivalent 6 lanes of gardens and walkways for an island and similar amounts on either side for tiled pavement terraces in front of the shops. Lots of people around, enjoying their city.

Fes has about 1,15 million people and is located between Rif and Middle Atlas mountains, so is rich and fertile because it gets water from both sides. Fes el-Bali is old city (from 9th century) with a labyrinth of 9400 narrow streets, while Fes el-Jedid is new city (from 13th century). El-Bali has the first university in the world, started by a woman from Tunisia. Our tour guide pointed all this out from our vantage point where the tour commenced, that had panoramic views that gave a stunning perspective to the day’s itinerary.

We started our tour with the 7 gates of the Royal Palace. This is the residential palace, which is an 82 hectare estate where the King lives when he’s in Fes. Originally, when the King decided to move to Fes and they therefore needed to build a Palace, it wouldn’t fit into the Old City (Bali) so they just started building the new city (Jedid) to accommodate. The 7 gates are enormous keyhole arches with bronzed doors. They still clean the bronze doors the old school way, with tomatoes and vinegar, the marble columns with lemon.

Moving off from the square onto the side street heralded our entrance to the Jewish Quarter, a bit of a misnomer these days since there are no longer any Jewish people living there (there was a mass emigration after WWII to Israel and the few remaining Jews live in the new city). This quarter has always been a prosperous trading area, starting off selling salt, now known for gold. Luckily for our guide, group and us it was still too early for many shops to be open, so our memories will have to be photos not trinkets and we didn’t hold the group back with our would-be shopping, as had become customary.

We’d been prepared that this was to be an entire day on foot as the entire medina is pedestrian and donkey-cart only. We walked down to the road and entered by the Blue Gate. This meant our induction to the medina was through a butchery and fishery row. It was a bit of a shock to the system, with the strong smells from the narrow covered walkways lined with open butcheries and on-counter meat displays, including some stomach-turners like severed animal heads and live chickens, rabbits and turtles still in cages with their impending fate all too clear.

A few roads down, by stark contrast, we visited the Qu’ranic School. It’s central quadrangle is lined with very detailed mosaics and carvings, with Qu’ran verses (hardly surprisingly) on every surface, mostly stucco of plaster, alabaster, marble and ceramics. The school holds about 80 students at a time, who live at the school for complete immersion in their Qu’ran education, and impressively the school still operates business-as-usual in this 600 year old building, with very few restorations having been required.

Next was the brass shop, selling brass plates with painstakingly tapped engraving and traditional Berber camelbone inlays, Moroccan lamps, pewter teapots. This store posed no danger; clearly not our category!

Winding through the twisty turny roads, you pass few windows (as mentioned in Casablanca, it was customary for windows to face internal central terraces) so it was a pleasure to be allowed entrance to a Riad to see one of the upmarket houses. A riad is a house with garden while a dar is just a house. Most of the houses of the time were built 2 or 3 stories high. The bottom floor was lined with mosaics on the walls and marble on the floor to keep it cool; in winter the family moves upstairs, which is made from wood to keep it warmer with the rising warm air.

The houses are all very close together, some alleys and passageways so low / narrow / dark that it’s hard to imagine that people live there – and to comprehend that these people can’t move furniture in or out so tradesmen have to take supplies in and build their stuff inside!

It really is a different world and such a different life. So odd to see little little children walking purposefully on their way to who knows where, somehow recognising their way in what seems to be a complete maze to us. We walked past a school and it’s so foreign to see a campus that doesn’t have a blade of grass or even much natural lighting for that matter. We passed a group of teenagers on a bend in the walkway, huddled around a boombox, which would be perfectly normal for teenagers anywhere in the world, but seems so out of place here – and must get quite monotonous for them compared to the limitless entertainment options their counterparts in other parts of the world have!

Of course there is still a lot of influence of religion and tradition and there seem to be a disproportionate number of roads, workshops and stores dedicated to the seemingly complex courtship and marriage demands. Specialised tailors creating fabrics, garb, handmade lace and sequins. Sublime bordering on the ridiculous with the puffed and adorned couches and bedazzled stretchers for the event. Pots, crockery and eventware for sale or for rental. And my favourite, the jewellery, including the 18 carat gold jewel-encrusted belt that the would-be groom presents to the potential bride as part of her dowry – that has every man silently hoping to court a skinny and every mom fattening up her daughter in anticipation of the impending nuptials!

We had a late but traditional multi-course lunch, learning from the previous day and teaming up with the Saffa couple, the American friends and the Canadian girl to share a couple of set menus. We opted for the chicken tagine, couscous with chicken and veg and a side order of kefta (spiced meatballs with tomato and egg) and, as anticipated, were still filled up by the baskets of flat bread, mese starter of sweet carrots, cauliflower, olives, rice, aubergine etc. My highlight was making a schwarma sort of thing with the kefta and flatbread… And avoiding the fresh melon dessert.

It was an exhausting day, packed with culture and ritual lessons (in English, French and Spanish every time nogal) and after being shown how to make brass engraved plates, twill silk, dye fabric, make carpets, tan leather, weave agave silk fabric, chip tiles, lay mosaics… we were FYI’ed out for the day! And of course knowing better than to buy wares from these tourist traps, we still remain relatively empty-handed!

We did muster the energy to jump off the tour bus at the main road in town to explore a bit and found that while the city is as vibey and lovely as it appeared from the bus, there was not a hell of a lot to do. It was all restaurants and cafes that line the main street, but the cafes are largely male-only (by tradition, not dictate) and the restaurants all empty (we’d read in a few places that Moroccans don’t have a culture of eating out – suppose the women at home have to have something to do, so they must cook… And bake for fun).

We had dinners at the hotel included in the package we bought, so that was out, but we found a delighful cafe and had some delicious and super-fresh confectioneries with cappuccini and the like (I of course don’t drink them, but Mother says they’re strong but wonderful).

We wanted to be back at the hotel to photograph the sunset (7pm) from the rooftop terrace (Jolande is quite an avid photographer), but were disappointed to find that the lay of the hotel on the lower side of the slope in the shadow of the hotel between us and the main drag meant there was little attraction in sunset photography. Jolande has said she’d aim to do a sunrise shoot instead, but seeing as that would be 5h40 in the morning, I was thinking she could just give us feedback… And I’d pinch the pics off Facebook! 😀

Africa, Morocco, Travelogue

Travelogue Morocco 2: Vasubilis – Meknes

VOLUBILIS – MEKNES

22 April 2013

The next part of the journey would take us 234km cross country from Rabat to Fez via Meknes. While a seemingly short distance in home terms, there is lots to see in Moroccan ones.

There are 35 million people in Morocco, with mixed heritage from all the various invasions. The dominant local tribes are the Berbers in the High Atlas mountains (medium-sized, white-skinned, round-faced farmers), Zayan in the Middle Atlas mountains (tall, skinny, white skin, black hair and eyes, nomad shepherds) and Chluh people in the Rif Mountains in the South (tall, strong, blonde with blue/green eyes). We had expected darker, more “African” looking people, so were surprised to hear that the first black people came from Ghana only in 11th century, from Niger and Mali in 15th century and then later from Sudan.

En route from Rabat to Meknes, in the Rif Mountains, we stopped at Volubilis to see the Roman ruins from the 3rd century BC to AD 40. Archaeologists have uncovered what was a wonderous complex spanning hectares and hectares down a hillside and into the valley. As was convention, the town was surrounded by a stone wall and there were 6 gates allowing access and exit to the countryside beyond.

The complex was inhabited by some very rich Romans, counting 50 large houses of as much as 17-20,000 square feet each! Seems a bit excessive for families of 6-8 people, but they had decadent entertainment areas and tens of servants to contain within their compound.

The town shows how thoroughly Romanised then-Mauretania was from the public buildings and sophisticated townhouses. They were a relatively advanced civilisation with a sophisticated aquaduct system, central public watering stations, oil press, washing facilities and latrines (unisex), with all the usual indulgent mosaic floors, larger than large arches, fountains, swimming pools, columns and statues. It’s remarkable that the mosaics have lasted almost 1,000 years – and you can still clearly see all the artwork depicting Greek and Roman mythology, symbols and patterns.

Like all the open air sights we visited in Turkey the previous year, it was refreshing to be able to walk around these pieces of history freely – and to see that there is no graffiti or damage inflicted by disrespectful tourists.

Peckish from our walking and exploring (although not starving thanks to the brunch pitstop at the bakery with all its fresh delights) we were perfectly happy with the next item on the agenda: lunch at Palais Terrab in Maknes. Until we got there. It was yet another big crowded and rushed dining hall, where people were herded to tables to be forgotten, drinks took ages and food was served seemingly at the convenience of the busy harassed-looking waitrons.

A bread basket was already on the table, sans butter as is apparently the norm. Of course, Mother hunted some down and the flat loaf turned out to be very soft and tasty. Meanwhile, a salad platter was served; a big plate of beetroot, chickpeas, sweet carrots, cucumber, rice and olives. I added some chickpeas to my buttered bread and was OK with that.

The waiters had taken our tagine orders when we sat down and we’d opted to share a lemon chicken one but when, 45 minutes later, everyone else at the table had eaten theirs and ours still hadn’t arrived, our Saffa friends shared theirs with us and we turned ours away when it eventually came.

We were then served biscuits and mint tea (which the waiters serve with much showmanship, pouring from a teapot a full arm’s length above a tray of tea glasses). We’d been short-changed the Briwate though, which was the highlight I’d been waiting for (because they look like samoosas, which I adore!) all hour and a half we’d been stuck in the restaurant! They brought them and it was worth the wait – sweet mincemeat in deep-fried pastry (like a samoosa and also triangular), with castor sugar sprinkled on the outside. It was supposed to be a starter, but actually worked better as a dessert. Needless to say, after the shoddy service, they didn’t charge us for our meal either!

Back on the bus, we hit the road to Meknes, a traditional Moroccan medina (town enclosed by ramparts), protected by stretches of walls totaling 40km. We entered by one of the several elegant gates, the Bab el-Khemis or Thursday Gate, so named because this used to be the entrance to the weekly market. The Bab el-Berdaine is said to be the most magnificent, but Bab el-Khemis seems to do alright for itself judging by all the posers and photographers!

We were taken to the old stables, which were quite imposing with very high ceilings above rows and rows of arches. The horses were tied 2 a side to each of the arch pillars and it was designed in such a way that wherever you stood, you’d get a good vantage point down the aisles in front of you as well as the diagonals, making it easier to control such a big stableful.

Of course, all these horses must be fed and Meknes is close to the Middle Atlas mountains, so horses were very important for them. The Berber horse was favoured to Arabians as it is taller and so better suited to the terrain, but eats more as well. We toured the granary appended to the stable that housed all the grains and hay to feed that lot.

On our way out, we made a stop at the Bab Mansour gate, arguably the finest gate in Morocco (so we’re told). It was commissioned by Sultan Moulay Ismail in 1673 when building the kasbah, but he never got to see its completion (although his son made sure this happened). We got a quick photo of that magnificence and opted rather to spend our allotted 15 minutes doing a whip around the market directly opposite the gate.

The Place el-Hedime (Square of Ruins) links the medina and the kasbah and provides a congregation place for business, entertainment and socialising. It’s a noisy buzz of eastern music, shishas, cafes and peddlers selling their wares from stalls or displayed on mats in the square itself. We didn’t make it past the first stall and I ended up with 2 mini tagines for table condiments and Mother with a lovely leather wallet (not bad for R40 all in all!).

As unbelievable as it sounds, we had as yet only spent R250 between us since we left home – including shopping and bakery exploits! We were wondering how we would fare with the markets in Fes though! 😉

Africa, Morocco, Travelogue

Travelogue Morocco 1: Casablanca – Rabat

CASABLANCA TO RABAT

19-21 April 2013

Given the success of our Girls Getaway to Turkey for Mother’s 60th the previous year, it seemed only fitting to test another exotic destination for this year’s birthday. Morocco was on both our lists and a very manageable week-long package serendipitously sealed the deal. Soon we were up, up and away to breakfast in Dubai, lunch over Italy and dinner in Casablanca!

While the flights and transits were smooth, our induction to Morocco started with a bit of a bumpy ride. It had been a long haul with 2 eight hour flights and then a wait at the airport while our group collected their luggage and communed. But a short taxi ride later and we were at our digs, Hotel Casablanca. What a joyously simple pleasure to have a shower, get fresh clothes on and brush teeth! Just enough to get us motivated to up and out to spend the rest of the afternoon exploring the city.

We sought a few opinions and placed the route option and landmarks to our intended destination before deciding to forego the trams and head down to the Mosque and beachfront on foot, down the main Avenue. Perhaps a poor choice as this led us to be at the traffic lights where a local on a moped veered up to us and ripped Mother’s gold chain from around her neck. 🙁

There was a policeman stationed across the intersection so we drew his attention and explained – slowly and repeatedly – what had happened. No mean feat with him only speaking Arabic and French and us speaking neither. He did summon some passing policemen on motorbikes (using his whistle) and they sped off in high speed pursuit of a suspect they couldn’t possibly have expected to find.

We found out the hard way that there are 2 types of police and we couldn’t just report the theft at the local police station but had to report to the tourist police office in order to make a formal statement (that we’d need for insurance). 3 hours later we had statement in hand, but no intention of commencing sight-seeing in the dark, so the police chauffeured us to the hotel. What the hotel staff must’ve thought when we arrived!

On a happier note, Mother informed me that our dinner was included in the package so we headed to the hotel restaurant to see what that entailed. It was a mystical experience seeing as we didn’t have a language in common with the waitress so there was no explanation of courses / options / processes.

First we were set up with a dinner plate with soup plate atop. Next came a big basket of wedges of French loaf. Then there was a wait. Not sure what to do next – since you normally either get served a plate of soup or get sent to fetch soup and plate at buffet – we did nothing. It turned out to be the right call as a steaming tureen of soup was delivered by the dumb waiter (the delivery shoot, not the one who didn’t speak English). We were served lovely creamy butternut soup. With no idea what was to come, we weren’t sure how much to have nor if we should fill up on bread or not!

We finished the soup, our plates were cleared, no further clues given and we just sat and waited. Minutes later we were served baked fish with thermidor sauce, a wedge of potato bake, gratinated veg and half of the smallest baked potato you’ve ever seen, done in foil and everything but served cold. It was a delicious meal, topped off with a lemon meringue style wedge but with a liquidy meringue not the peaks as we’re accustomed.

After a long sleep that outperformed refreshing all the way to invigorating, we were in good spirits and re-enthused to start our Moroccan adventure.

Breakfast was the predictable affair with a range of breads, cold meats, cheeses, eggs, olives and garnishes and we made short work of preparing delicious Vietnam-style baguette sandwiches. Vanilla yoghurt and orange juice to top it off and we were ready to hop on the bus for our tour – the Imperial tour of the palace towns of Morocco (Rabat, Fez and Meknes) starting in Casablanca and ending in Marrakesh.

But first to fetch the rest of our group – totalling 17 people including French, Canadian, Argentinian and Brazilian alongside us and another couple from Constantia Kloof – from their hotels, all of which seemed to be along the same main road, Avenue D’Enfa.

Casablanca isn’t what you’d expect – the cliche keyhole window frames and curly-swirly metalwork. From just the short journey to fetch the other tourists, the French influence in the city is apparent; wide avenues with manicured centre islands dotted with pretty antique-looking twin streetlights that look like they’d be better suited to paraffin lamps and horse-drawn carriages than to electric lights and this flow of traffic. All road names are in French; traffic signage in Arabic and French. But there is also the medina with small shops in narrow, winding streets. Such a stark contrast!

Anfa, the original name for the city, had modest beginnings in the 7th century as a small Berber settlement, with a cluster of white block houses (think Mykonos). The town held some interest as a port by the Portuguese in the 15th century and the Spanish in the 18th century, inheriting along with it the new name Casablanca, ie “white house” – or Dar el-Beida in Arabic. This first quarter still lives and breathes, just in front of Atlantic, with all the houses still white as they have always been.

In the 20th century, Casablanca became a French Protectorate (1912-1956) and it was with this inception that the 40 year town-planning project began, primarily modernising the port, expanding with highrise buildings and of course adding the tree-lined avenues and French gardens that still beautify the city today.

Fez was originally the capital of Morocco, which was then transferred to Rabat in 1920, wanting to make a port but the sea wasn’t deep enough. So, with such burgeoning prospects, Casablanca became the capital and the economic commercial centre, with town revolving around the Place de Nations Unies – which until 1920 was still only a market place with snake-charmers, and now is arcades of brasserie terraces looked on by art-deco apartment blocks with wrought-iron balconies and carved stucco – and Mohammed V Square, the administrative heart of Casablanca. Where Casablanca in 1920 was no more than a few thousand inhabitants living in the old medina, the city now houses 6 million people, accounts for 75% of trade and uses 51% of energy in the country.

Arab’s League Park (Casablanca’s “green lung”) makes up for lack of parks in town planning and new factories are built outside of the city because it suffers from bad pollution because of lack of greenery. They seem to have made up for the lack of parks with trees lining most streets (very uniformly all in neat boxes), with flower boxes wherever possible, even lining the tram lines. This suits my overactive sense of symmetry perfectly and I think it looks wonderful!

We will also be on the look-out for the Argan tree, which we are told is native to Morocco (also known as the “goat tree” because goats climb it to eat the fruit) and used for its oils as constituent in many and varied products.

Our first alight from the bus was to visit the Old Quarter, where we were shown the Roman influence, with no windows facing the road in favour of opening to central courtyards, and the Spanish influence adorning the archways.

Then it was to the first of the 2 palaces restored by King Hassan II, son of King Mohammed V. This is the residence where the King stays when he is in town (he lives in Rabat) and it’s a proper old school regal Palace, complete with imposing high walls, mammoth doors in cedar covered in bronze with alabaster adornments either side. According to Muslim dictate, there are no animals or people in the decorations, just Qu’ran verses. The artworks and artisans come from Fez, known to be best for these.

By stark contrast, the next stop on the agenda was the central market. We were pre-warned that this was market as in fruit and veg, not as in goods and keepsakes (which is our preference and goes by the name “souk”). It was a ripe affair, with altogether too many strong smells competing in a crowded and noisy place, featuring an open fish market and skinned animals strung from their feet – among other noxious delicacies.

Still, Mother (ever the dedicated and talented shopper) found something to buy and she was very chuffed with finding a small rattan weave basket with leather base and zip top section among the otherwise very ordinary wares at the basket seller stall, which would function very nicely as an unusual handbag.

Out of there and back on the bus, we were transferred to the Mosque of Hassan II, which we hadn’t gotten to the previous evening. The 2nd biggest religious building in the world, after the mosque in Mecca, it covers 9 hectares, 2/3 of which is built over the sea, and has the highest minoret in the world at 210m (taking 1,000 workers 7 years to build, 24/7), with 2 laser beams shining (over 30km) toward Mecca. There is capacity in the covered area for 25,000 people and in the open area for 80,000 people! It has a fixed roof over some sections and over another a retractable roof that can be opened in 3 minutes. It is the only mosque that’s open to non-Muslims. The whole complex is really impressive, accentuated by the beautiful ocean backdrop.

Done with ooo’ing and aaah’ing at the architecture, we used the last half hour to hunt for the famous Amood Bakery. Across the road from the mosque is a collection of official-looking buildings, all with the greenest grass and prettiest bright and colourful pavement gardens and islands. But, straight after that the buildings revert to shabby, once-white flat roof blocks with a smattering of cafes. We’d tried to venture into one, but it was a bit awkward with a male-only clientele who gawked at us. The cafes were all about the coffee and nothing about the baked goods, so not what we were after anyway.

No mind, we persevered a few blocks, taking some detours as would-be hosts lured us into their stores despite our clear instructions warning we weren’t looking for lunch. Down a side-road to a kebab shop, through a pizzeria, round past a tagine takeaway and we broke free and found exactly what we were looking for – a tucked away simple patisserie!

We bought a cream-filled, chocolate covered croissant to share along with an OJ and a custard slice to take back to share with our Saffa friends (who’d said they had the best slice ever the evening before). The croissant was so good that we went back into the bakery and topped up with 2 chocolate brownies (1 with nuts and 1 without). The whole bakery shopping trip had cost less than R20!

Leaving the mosque, we took a scenic beach road drive to where we were due to lunch. We passed Anfa – a residential area with wide palm-treed avenues, mansion homes, terraces and pool decks that made it feel like Beverly Hills!

The theme continued to the beachfront promenade where the bus stopped. The Boulevard de la Corniche looks like the Miami beach scenes from shows like Dexter, wide pavements with tall palm trees, lots of pavement cafes and white buildings headered with bold neon names. But that’s where the comparisons end. The frequenters look (and dress) very differently.

We’d taken a wander up the promenade to assess what there was to see and do, wanting to make the most of our lunch break. When we realised that there was little else to the area besides eateries and hotels, we were able to fulfil a desire created earlier in the day when we’d been told of the McDonald’s McFondue burger. We cleverly shared one (a cheese burger housed in a square ciabatta drenched in fondue-style cheese) with ranch style wedge chips and Croquette Fromage (cheesy chilli bites). Very yum!

Done with lunch, we walked up the other side of the promenade, past the private beach clubs on the sea side and more cafes and restaurants on the left. It was funny to see more “La vache qui ri” signage marking vendors than the Coca-Cola signs that brand the rest of the world!

It was soon the end of the lunch break and we headed back to the bus for the short hop to Rabat.

“Facing the Atlantic Ocean, Rabat is an attractive city of domes and minarets, sweeping terraces, wide avenues and green spaces. It is markedly more pleasant than some other Moroccan cities and is also undergoing fundamental change”.

Rabat is the political and administrative capital of Morocco, has the biggest university and is 2nd biggest city in the country after Casablanca. It is across the Wadi Bou Regreg (river) from its ancient rival, Sale, a city so named because the Romans used to make salt from its waters.

We entered the city through the Old City walls, which were built in the 12th century… Although most of the architecture immediately on the inside is from 1920s.

Down Hassan 5th Avenue past the red Parliament buildings to the Royal Palace. Built by same King who built Palace in Casablanca. Quite an impressive regal affair with a long, wide driveway with evenly placed trees, with topiarised trees cut square in line with the edge of the pavement to give the impression of a floating hedge.

The Residential section of the Palace is protected by Royal Guard, Police, Army and Gendarme. They’re a bit more casual than elsewhere, with a few leaning on posts and all unperturbed at our picture taking (which is expressly forbidden by other palace guards). The Palace doesn’t look as you’d expect. Not fort-like and Arabian. More like a casino that’s big and impressive but loosely themed, mostly cream walls with green accents with the odd keyhole door and mosaic stucco for effect. Lots more terraced gardens, rows of trees, pretty flower borders (we’ve decided they’re Geraniums) and waterless fountains.

Done with current royals, we headed to the Mausoleum of Mohammed V, built on the ruins of the unfinished mosque from the 18th century. The mosque was being built when in 1755 the Earthquake of Lisbon hit, toppling the columns that had been erected and only leaving the incomplete minoret standing (at 40m when it was planned to be 80). It was never rebuilt because Rabat was no longer the capital.

As part of the Mausoleum build, the area was cleared and columns rebuilt using the original stones that were part of the still-remaining debris. The square was paved with big stone tiles and serves as an outdoor overflow for the mosque next to the mausoleum. The whole complex features the river and view of Sale on the one side and the remaining ruins of the original wall on the other, which have been gated and serve to secure the area.

Next we were off the rock the Kasbah of Rabat. More aligned with our expectations, the entrance is a grand red sand walled fort, multiple stories with an imposing arch entrance.

Once inside the Kasbah it starts with quaint narrow cobbled roads with tiny closet-like shops behind traditional arches and wooden doors, peddling curios, leather goods and ceramics. Further down the road, we veered off into a labyrinth of windy up-and-down cobbled pathways, little more than a metre wide in most places, walls all white and blue with little wooden doorways dotted here and there, sometimes up a few stairs or recessed into a corner. Apparently people live here. Not sure where they shop, where they park their cars or how they get their groceries back and forth… But it is awesome!

After a brief issue over re-grouping, our guide managed to herd us all back to the bus to drop us at the relevant hotel. Ours is called the Rihab, which inspired it as the punchline in whether or not we wanted to go there. After a long day, though, it was “yes, yes, yes” and it was good to call it a day and have some downtime.

Asia, India, Travelogue

Travelogue ISC 6: Surajgarh

SURAJGARH

22 November 2012

Having done all the major sights (7 World Heritage sites in 6 days!), we didn’t really know what more was in store for the last day and a half back to Delhi. Yusef explained that we were headed a little off the beaten track to stay in a merchant’s mansion and do camel rides to a special spot to enjoy the sunset.

We’d gotten quite ‘bus fit’ so the 5 hour ride wasn’t so bad. It helped that there are only 15 of us on a full massive bus, so we had a few rows each to stretch out, spread out our stuff, recline seats and so on. We were double lucky because dumb luck had placed us the furthest back on the bus, so we had the whole back row to stretch out on full length for quality napping. We had cards, books and conversation (with each other and the Aussies) to fill in the rest of the gaps, so it could have been worse.

We arrived at Surajgarh early afternoon and had to walk through the town and up the hill to the fort because the roads in the old town aren’t suitable for busses. The local children were thrilled at all these Westerners and greeted us exuberantly with loud greetings and waving. We must have seemed like royalty to them… And we could see why when we arrived.

Our accommodation was a converted mansion that had belonged to a rich merchant from the area. Their houses were extravagant in every aspect; size, gardens, finishes. We were told that some of these mansions have up to 200 rooms and 7 courtyards. Sadly, a lot of them are just locked up and abandoned since the families have moved, but they don’t want to sell the properties in case they are perceived to need the money and hence lose face.

We were allocated an enormous first floor suite (lucky #7), opening (through a short and wide wooden door with big brass bolt and an old fashioned 22 tumbler lock and key) on a 3 piece lounge with flatscreen TV, in front of a big square bedroom, with king size bed in the middle of the room surround with windows on 2 sides and Arabian arches on the other two. A large enclosed verandah ran the length of the bedroom and lounge, overlooking the big pool below (through weird little windows that were waist-height to knee-height). Completing the suite was a big dressing room with free-standing wardrobe and illuminated mirror, adjacent to a long bathroom with all the usual trimmings.

Yusef had arranged a simple buffet for lunch so, once we’d finished exploring our suite, we headed up to the rooftop terrace to tuck in. Odd combination of fried rice, veg noodles, french fries, onion and potato pakoras, but all very nice. Our camel ride was booked for 4.30 so we’d had every intention of having a swim, but time slipped by while we were chatting to our group mates and soon we were off again for the next excursion.

We met in the fort entryway, where the camels had been corralled and were waiting for us to climb aboard their carts. We split into the requisite groups of 5 and soon were off to parade through the town, as much a spectacle as we were spectators of the surrounds. We were taken to an old Hindu temple and Yusef explained more about the religion, its gods and its practices. All very fascinating – and a lot less complicated than it seemed at first now that the key names are sounding more familiar.

We rounded off the afternoon with a visit to an abandoned fort in town, where we watched the sunset through the arches and turrets on the open-air rooftop terrace. Back at our hotel, Christian and Craig took to the pool, while everyone else was freshening up for dinner, again to be served on the rooftop. The seats had all been arranged in a big U so that we could watch the show (drummer, piper and 2 kids dancing) and very soon it became a mandatory interactive dance lesson, which was quite a laugh.

Finger food snacks were brought around and we were very pleased with the tandoori aloo (potatoes), tikka chicken and barbecue paneer (big blocks of cottage cheese). A buffet followed with the usual assortment of breads, rice and curry, followed by gulab jaman and ice-cream for dessert. We sat up there for hours having beers, laughs and good chats with our tour mates, having a great time. We were very lucky to have had a fun group.

Yusef joined us at one point for a few drinks and told of some of the nightmare groups he had had that didn’t gel and that just complained about everything. Luckily we’ve had a team of seasoned travellers, all looking to enjoy ourselves and see and do as much as we can.

FRIDAY

After a last breakfast (the usual omelettes, toast, beans, bananas and juice), we were back on the bus for our last long haul – from Surajgarh back to Delhi. Most of the others had a last night in Delhi, with the exception of the Brits who were leaving a bit later than us on the Friday and the Aussie solo traveller who was leaving on Sunday for China. It was a quiet ride all round, with several members of the group licking their wounds from the festivities the night before.

We got to the airport in near perfect time and had no trouble checking in and getting through passport control, with just enough time to grab a McMaharaj (a Big Mac with curried chicken patties) and get to our gate for our flight to Sri Lanka.

Asia, India, Travelogue

Travelogue ISC 4: Agra

AGRA

19-20 November 2012

As we arrived in Agra, after a 4 hour bus ride from Delhi, we crossed the bridge over Yamuna River, the western most tributary of the river Ganges. Cows and buffaloes were wallowing in it and our guide, Yusef, told that they are like homing pigeons – they go off for the day and return to their owners (in the crush of the dusty dirty town centre) in the evening to get fed and milked.

Like in much of India, the land in Agra is barren and their owners are poor, so there is little food for the livestock bar what little they are given. The water buffalo are revered because they produce more fatty milk than cows, preferred by the Indians. The cows are also seen as holy, said to stem from their role as surrogates providing rich milk for babies who lost their mothers in childbirth, which used to be a frequent occurrence.

The river doesn’t flow as deep as it once did, so there are numerous sand banks. Washer-people stand knee-deep in the water around these and thrash the washing, then spread it out on the sand to dry.

Agra was established as a more central (than Delhi) dispatch area for Indian troops around the country. There are still big army bases in the city, which even as a smaller city still claims a population of 2,6 million people.

We stopped at a garden restaurant for lunch. They had some kids in traditional dress entertaining the guests. There were drums, singing and puppet shows with marionettes in elaborate traditional outfits.

Christian wasn’t feeling 100% (churny belly, inevitable Delhi fall-out) so he had a vegetable curry to up the veg content without losing out on the house speciality entirely. I was feeling aces so had Masala Gost (mutton curry with egg) and garlic naan.

Yusef had offered the group the option to alter our itinerary slightly, moving the Red Fort tour to the next morning so as to allow more time at Taj Mahal, but also meaning we could linger over lunch and have a leisurely stop while checking into our hotel, the Raj Mahal (where we were greeted with marigold garlands). It worked beautifully – and meant we could have a few hours at Taj to include sunset so we could see the subtle change in the colour of the marble.

The monument was built by Shah Janah for his favourite wife, who he’d named Mum Taj Mahal (“Chosen Crown Palace”), as her final resting place after she’d died giving birth to their 14th child. The design was inspired by the description of the Gardens of Paradise and House of Allah in the Qu’ran and it took 20,000 people 22 years day and night to build it. It is perfectly symmetrical, in that it looks exactly the same from all 4 sides; the only deviation from this is the placement of the Shah’s body in the mausoleum, to the left of his wife’s, which is the exact epicentre.

This OCD carried through to every element and the gardens are mirrored on either side, the fountains elevate water to exactly the same height (requiring some quite sophisticated engineering for those times) and there was a mosque sitting to the West of the building that he had mirrored with a perfect replica on the East side (that was used to house visiting dignitaries).

There is conjecture about the Shah ordering the chopping off hands of the workmen when the building was completed so they couldn’t make another Taj, but Yusef claims this is just scandalous rumour and that the king had made extra effort to ensure that the reputation of the building was flawless to maintain his wife’s honour. He was apparently quite shrewd in some of his gestures, like clearing the site by offering the building material leftovers to the people – quite some feat with the high ramps it must have taken to complete the highest sections. Everything was gone in 2 days, when it would have taken months for waged employees to clear it!

Stories aside, it was clearly built to last, having been completed in 1653 and still requiring no restoration, just a river sand mask that peels off all the dirt to give it a clean every few years. It’s just a pity that the Shah didn’t get to complete his dream, which was to build an exact replica (but made from black marble) across the river to be his mausoleum, with a bridge connecting the two. His plan was thwarted when his son put him under house-arrest for the last 8 years of his life, meaning he never got to start the project.

Over time the opposite bank had become home to factories and plants, but the government has closed these down since they posed threat to the Taj not only from pollutants, but from their effect on the river flow. The Taj was built intended to be indestructible to an earthquake up to 8 on the Richter scale (even including details like angling the minarets ever so slightly outward so that in event of earthquake they fall away from the mausoleum, minimising damage), but this all rests in the firm foundation of rubble and bamboo. Affecting the river could mean that the bamboo dries up and the Taj could sink and become vulnerable and unstable.

That would be a real shame. It’s such a prolific icon. At least the authorities are protecting it adequately, with very stringent security checks on entry that even disallow cigarettes and chewing gum – to the point that there are x-rays machines, bag checks and confiscation. Good for them though; looking at the rest of India that we’ve seen so far, it’d be just another big dustbin if left to the hygiene compass of the common people. And there are lots and lots of common people at the Taj. As with at the other sites, there are discounted tickets for locals, but they have to queue for entry into the mausoleum where “high value ticket holders” are ushered in (by gun-wielding police guards) straight from the front of the queue.

After an hour’s repose at the hotel, we were bussed to yet another restaurant for dinner. We were put off by the curry all being on the bone, so opted for a radical change and went Chinese. Every menu has had an entire Chinese section, but we hadn’t even considered before. Very glad we did tonight though – we had the most gorgeous lamb with mushroom and garlic in a rich thick brown gravy as well as a chicken and pineapple in creamy lemon sauce. Both were incredible… And now we’ll have to try Chinese somewhere else to see if it was just that restaurant or if Indians are better at Chinese than SA – and possibly better at Chinese than Indian!

TUESDAY

The next morning kicked off with a visit to Red Fort. The great mughals lived there and the country was governed from there, including the treasury and mint. The mughals were descended from Mongolian mothers and Turkish fathers, hence had oriental eyes and lighter skin from their maternal side and were Muslim from their patronage. Over generations their facial features evolved and their skin darkened as they inter-married with Indians.

The Red Fort has stood in one form or another since 11th century (first written reference was 1060). Rebuild to its current red sandstone form only started in 1560, upgrading it to include additional safety features like the double moat – one with tigers and one with water – and 2 gates at right angles to retard possible charging elephant rams. Above the enormous wooden entrance gates are also windows they could throw stones and boiling oil out of; it’s no wonder nobody ever tried to force entry!

Inside the royal section, where the emperor and his most important harem members lived, was where the illicit goings-on and more indulgent lifestyle happened (opiates and wine, which are forbidden by the Qu’ran but excused in the Palace because of royal status). One of the wives attempted growing grapes to make wine, so an elaborate garden was dug, 10 feet deep with brick dividers to keep the different grapes separated. Of course, the climate wasn’t conducive, so a more conventional, although far from ordinary, garden was made from it, with a thick carpet effect delineated by the swirling brickwork dividers.

Shah Jahan’s prison is adjacent to the gardens. Not the usual jail, made from marble with floral designs inlaid with jasper, turquoise, malachite, onyx and cornellian (called fire stone because it glows when light is shone on it). The torturous part really was that he had a perfect view of his best creation, the Taj Mahal, from his prison… But he couldn’t go there. That, and being imprisoned by his own son of course.

Quite a story really since it was Shah Jahan’s 3rd and 4th sons that colluded to murder the 1st and 2nd sons so they’d be first in line for the throne. Then the 3rd son (Aurangzeb) murdered the 4th son to take out the competition. But since there were only daughters remaining, the 3rd son imprisoned his dad and seized the throne. He reigned for 59 years and wasn’t the usual money-grabber, living a simple(r) life and not taking money from the treasury. But it was he who started driving the wedge between the Muslims and the Hindus.

Back to the bus and off to the marble factory. Different merchandise (to the gemstone factory shop in Bangkok, ‘handicrap’ factory in Viet Nam, carpets in Turkey etc etc), but same hard sell. “No obligation to purchase”, but a salesman breathing down your neck showing equally unattractive pieces at escalating prices – clearly showing pieces that make more sense to his target than our tastes.

It’s a pity because the craftsmanship is painstaking (we were demonstrated the process and had a chance to try the various stages of manufacture) and it really is a fine art that would be far more enjoyable to be able to absorb the showroom like a gallery, appreciating the patience and effort it takes to conceptualise the design, shape the stones and mould the marble to fit – irrespective of how flowery the design and how unlikely it is to ever feature in our lounge (even if it weren’t hundreds of Pounds). But we were more focused on out-running our adversary and responding with vague and polite answers and glazed smiles.

Sikri is the village next to Agra that comes from the Arabic word for ‘thank you’, and was built by Akbar, considered to be the greatest of the Moghals. He ruled from the age of 14, so traded education for his royal duties and was virtually illiterate. Generally very tolerant, he was the first Muslim king to marry a Hindu – even allowing her to continue to practice her religion and build a place to worship and store her religious books in the Red Fort. Akbar also allowed a Portuguese christian missionary to build a church in the fort in Sikri.

The Palace seems a bit excessive for just the emperor and his wives until you consider that his harem was about 2000 women. There are the wives (Islam allows 4), the contract wives (marriage for a limited defined period to save widows’ virtue when their husband passes, lest she be turned to prostitution to support herself), concubines (on a good day used as human pieces in a life-size pachisi board in the recreation courtyard) and slaves.

The Palace at Sikri was short-lived; it took 6 years to complete, but was only lived in for 15 years, including construction time. Akbar had no male heirs so nominated one of his sufi’s (priest / mystic) sons and moved to where the sufi was in order to carry on the moghal line. Unfortunately there was no river here, so he built a dam, but it wasn’t sustainable as a water source so they moved back to Agra.

We left Sikri for the long bus ride to Jaipur, stopping at a restaurant for a buffet lunch, with tandoori and mustard chicken as the stars. We’d been passing through farmlands and Yusef had explained that India theoretically should be the self-sufficient from a food production point of view, being among the top producers of wheat, rice, tea, potatoes and tomatoes. They also produce vast quantities of mustard, ergo the local mustard chicken dish on the buffet.

Chicken is generally a winner as a pretty safe choice. Most of the time when you order beef, it’s likely to be water buffalo, reason being that the God of Death rides a water buffalo so they’re not sacred like cows. Similarly, the mutton is often goat meat. Add to this the fact that almost all curries are described as a combination of tomato/onion/capsicum/thick/rich/pungent/aromatic (or better still, where it is from with no clues to the ingredients), the menu is just the vaguest of guidelines as to what to expect! Today’s lunch was included, expressly for the purpose of having us taste the water buffalo.

India is such a dichotomy. So much pride taken in some things and so much blatant disregard for others. For example, most big trucks are gaily painted (permanent) and decorated with garlands of flowers (possibly just for Diwali), while the shop stalls are dusty little hovels lining streets strewn with litter. At least the cow pats are recycled, being dried and made into methane cakes for fires (we were assured that they don’t smell once dried or burnt), but India really could use more dustbins and a good “zap it in the Zeebie” campaign!

With the dirty dusty state of things, the unconventional (compared to Western) way these towns seem to operate and the vast expanses between towns, I’m very glad we got an organised tour for this part of the trip instead of fashioning our own itinerary online as we usually do. Looking at the conditions and locations of some of these self-proclaimed “resorts”, I doubt we could have come right with all our choices based on the very one-dimensional views our usual websites present – and I’d have hated to end up in dodgy accommodation in the middle of nowhere spending time and money getting to the sights these places claim to be close to.

It had been a pleasure being guided and informed on a luxury bus between the great iconic treasures that this part of the country holds, with convenient and clean hotel rooms guaranteed each night. It was a double bonus that this kind of tour is better priced for us South Africans (at ZAR 4000 a person) than our Aussie counterparts (AUS $2000 per person).

Asia, India, Travelogue

Travelogue ISC 3: Delhi

DELHI

17-18 November 2012

We had to laugh when we disembarked from the plane in Delhi and were herded to a bus that would take us to the terminal. That wouldn’t be funny, except we were directly across the roadway from it, so we alighted the bus only to literally make a U-turn and get off at the other side of the road!

The airport was a bit more inspiring than Mumbai’s. Newer, cleaner, more modern. And it was a blessing to be met by our tour driver so we didn’t have to think or negotiate transfers. The traffic in Delhi is just as chaotic, although the roads seems to be wider and better maintained in general. There’s still no adherence to road markings and cars, vans and rickshaws straddling the white line is quite common. More of the bike-riders don helmets (very rare in our experiences so far) and there are lots of “don’t drink and drive” billboards; maybe the two are connected. Also hootinghootinghooting, but with requests for hooting painted on the back of most trucks, one shouldn’t expect any less and clearly it’s seen as serving to warn of approach, not signal aggression.

Our hotel is great; nothing short of amazing as compared with the others we’ve stayed in so far! Weirdly, it had no windows because it wa wedged in the middle of a block with neighbours on all sides except the narrow slit of an entrance. I bright-sided that this should make for a good sleep, based on my experience of the inside cabin on the South East Asia cruise and how the pitchest of pitch black made for coma sleep. The hotel is well positioned and mercifully stocked with tourist street maps, so we were soon sent on our merry way to go and explore.

We caught a Metro from a block down to Karol Bagh (8 Rupees each, just over R1,30), which is a shopping district. We been briefed by the hotel concierge that we were to ask for discount in the formal shops and bargain with the stalls for as much as 70% off. We didn’t end up doing any shopping though because what we weren’t prepared for was the chaos – cars hooting their way through hordes of shoppers, not helped by the double- and triple-parked lurkers on either side; dirty with litter everywhere; spitting seemingly culturally acceptable, but entirely disgusting. We ratified the trip with a chicken Momo plate from a street vendor, who served the 6 little dumplings with a searingly hot red chilli relish. Burning aside, it was a great snack (and a bargain at R5).

Then it was back on the Metro to Connaught Place, which had been recommended to us by a chap at the shack as being civilised concentric circles of shops and entertainment. It was exactly that, big fancy shops and recognisable brand name stores (both Indian and international) – with the usual cloud of cars and spray of street vendors.

Wearied by our ‘shopping’, we accepted an invite into Knight’s, a restaurant and lounge upstairs overlooking the hubbub. Cold Kingfishers welcomed, with the sting of double the price being counter-balanced by the 2-for-1 happy hour (from midday to 8.30p m).

One turned to several and soon we’d (been) befriended (by) a soldier originally from Goa now stationed up North, who spoke little to no English. Made for laboured conversation, but we persevered. We were also in high demand to be in pictures and posed here and there with anyone who asked; all quite bizarre, but easy to comply. Got carried away a bit and ended up missing dinner entirely (fortunately we’d been compulsively eating for 4 days so were hardly likely to starve).

We were well in time for the last train though, but got hopelessly lost returning to the hotel from the Metro station (losing bearings from having mistakenly taken the opposite platform to the one on the way out, meaning we were on the block across the line from where we were supposed to be), so it ended up being quite a late night.

SUNDAY

Breakfast was adequate with a meagre buffet of chaffing dishes offering boiled eggs, baked beans, some traditional creamy corn thing, french toast and a flat bread of sorts, as well as the usual fruits, cereals, toast and juice. Was nice enough… But what we really needed was a good old greasy fry-up to get us going!

8.30 we met our tour guide, Yusuf, and the rest of our group. There are 15 people on our tour (mostly Saffas, with 3 Aussies and 2 Brits). We have a full sized bus (luxury, aircon, with a glass door partitioning us from the driver to maintain the temperature) so there’s lots of room to stretch out. Probably the least populated part of this city with its 20 million people!

The tour started in Old Delhi at the Red Fort – Captain Obvious’ly named because it’s made from red sandstone so the building is red in colour. New Delhi was built by the British, but the ‘new’ is a bit of an oversell since a large portion of the buildings were built a hundred years ago. The fort initiates with a high roofed tunnel in the fort walls housing a Chhatta Chowk (covered bazaar), which is apparently unusual in Delhi. The fort complex contains several buildings, including the Court, Rang Mahal (Palace of Colours, mahal means palace), and Diwan-i-Khas (Hall of VIPs) with its hand-made floral art made from precious stone inlays and the famous inscription “if there is paradise on Earth, it is this, it is this, it is this” (clearly this person had never been to Goa). It’s reassuring to see that most of these buildings are still all original materials in very good nick, even though tourists can walk into most parts of most buildings and through the expansive gardens.

We caught bicycle rickshaws outside the fort which took us past the mosques and temples and through some of the narrow shopping streets (grungy and dirty with electricity lines webbing between buildings), and deposited us at the main Mosque. It technically holds 20,000 people, but could exceed this on Fridays. It’s 360 years old still with all the original parts, the only difference being water piped to the central fountain for hands and feet washing, which used to be manually brought bucket by bucket from the river.

According to our guide, contrary to what I’d imagine global trend to be, religion is expanding in India. People can only be a Hindu or Muslim by birth and the population is expanding; uncertain times have people clinging to religion because they’re scared of world aggression and poverty and need something positive to believe in. Hard work though this Islam story, with its five prayer times every day!

We then moved on to Gandhi’s final resting place, a mausoleum where his ashes are accompanied by an eternal flame and orange floral wreaths atop a plain grey marble housing, with Gandhi’s final words inlaid in bronze (2 words, ‘her ram’ which means ‘my God’ in Hindi). Suitably simple structure for a fella who got by on a bowl of rice and a safety pin, with lovely surrounding gardens that speak to his quest for peace and serenity when he was alive.

On the way to lunch we past the India Gate arch, built in 1929 to pay homage to the soldiers fallen in World War 1 (India lost 80,000 men even though they weren’t officially part of the war; each one of these men’s names are inscribed on the inside arch of the monument). There are gardens and lawns surrounding it and, as the tour guide says, anywhere there’s any open space, a game of cricket will start. True to form, there were several games going on.

Way overdue, we were relieved to arrive at our lunch spot – Have More curry house, renowned for it’s award-winning Best Butter Chicken in Delhi status. Of course we had to try it and can confirm that it’s amazing, especially with the boneless tikka chicken they use. We paired it with a mutton saag wala (spinach), which was a bit off-putting being almost black, but what it lacked in appearance it more than made up for in taste. We had sides of garlic naan and garlic and onion kulcha.

We made a turn past the presidential palace (all 380 rooms of it!), but couldn’t stop because of security so it was just a ‘take snaps from the bus’ thing. Then proceeded to have a nap on the bus on the ride over to South Delhi.

We awoke on arrival at the Qutub Archeological complex, which is home to the tallest stone minaret in the world, which is over 800 years old. The minaret was a display of power by the Muslims to demarcate the Eastern edge of the Muslim religion’s reach (with the West being Spain). The minaret has 5 distinctive sections with different shape stones, balconies between sections that use screws (very advanced technology for this time) and extends 72,5 metres into the sky off it’s 14m base… And even that’s less than 3/4 of the height of Taj Mahal!

The complex also has a mosque that was abandoned before completion because the Muslims had used stones from a Hindu temple to build it and only realised half way in that this wasn’t going to work because the stones have pictures of humans and animals, which is not allowed in a mosque. You’d think someone would have noticed sooner before the poor humpers had to schlep those heavy stones around the place and the poor Hindus had to lose their temple for nothing! Nonetheless, the arches, carvings, Qu’ran inscriptions and 1600 year old iron flagpole all made for interesting enough gandering.

There was merit in group tour sight-seeing. We usually make our own plans as we go along, but the pre-organisation of the tour company has meant that we didn’t really have to think or queue, which has been a blessing. We hadn’t had to manage any ticket buying or handling at any of the sights, as these were all pre-arranged, but I imagined they get discounts for group buying.

All the sights have had different prices for Indians and for tourists (as much as 25 times more for tourists, with 250 Rupee vs 10), but good on them for making it easy for their people to experience their history and learn about their culture. Someone quoted that the average Indian has to survive on 200 Rupees a day and I had spent that before I’d left the hotel room on a bottle of water to brush my teeth with!

The group was also a manageable size so there hadn’t been any lingerers holding the group up. Typically, the (South African) Indians all seem to stick together, the Aussies have packed and we had bonded with the Brits, who were really well-travelled so it was nice to swap stories and where to and how to advice.

We had an hour to freshen up and then back in the bus to cross town to an (allegedly) famous restaurant, called Chor Bizarre. The reception was decorated with framed certificates of their awards, so they must have been doing something right. We had a veritable feast served to us plated for starters and desert and mese-style main courses in multiple dishes spread across the length of the table. We had: Popadoms Paneer (cheese) Keema (mince kebab) Tandoori chicken Dahl (lentils) Butter chicken Lamb in yoghurt sauce Paneer in spinach Aloo jeera (potatoes sauteed in onion, garlic, ginger and cumin) Rice Naan Gulab jamun

Well fed and ready for bed, we headed back to the hotel to pack and ready for our departure to Agra bright and early in the morning.

Asia, Thailand, Travelogue

Travelogue SEA 8: Koh Samui – Home

KOH SAMUI

31 December 2011 – 04 January 2012

It was a pleasure to have an uneventful transfer from Phuket to Koh Samui.

We’d managed to make pre-arrangements over BBM with Mike and Michelle that we would meet them at their hotel, from where we would all transfer together to the port to leave for Koh Phangan for the Full Moon New Year Party. M&M had been touring the Thai islands and arrived at Koh Samui a few days before us, so they had a good idea of the lay of the land and the local options. Michelle – a talented and experienced haggler – had managed to strike a good deal and had our tickets (which included minibus taxi transfers between hotel and port as well as speedboat transfers from Samui to Phangan) for 700 baht apiece.

After stealing a strategic sneaky nap, we headed off to find Seascape Resort. It turns out we were at the very north of Chaweng Beach and they at the very south, so we had a longer sunset walk along the beach than planned! … But there was a Happy Hour 50 baht Singha at the end of it and we’d arrived with a half hour to spare before the taxi was due, so all’s well that ended well.

Was great to see M&M and catch up on all the travel tales (and stories from home seeing as we’ve not seen them in a while) while we went through the motions of waiting for taxi, taxiing, queuing at the pier and then the speedboat journey to the party island. Mike, who suffers badly from motion sickness, did really well on the boat, so all the boxes were ticked and we were headed for the Countdown.

The entrance fed all boat arrivals up one of the island’s narrow streets so, predictably, that section of town was teeming with people at the roadside food stalls, restaurants and most of all street bar stalls and convenience stores (cheap beer and mixers!)

We stopped at an early food stall and picked up some really divine deep-fried chicken drumsticks and wandered around exploring the winding streets criss-crossing the island on our way to inspect the mayhem at the beach.

Which, we found when we got there, really truly was mayhem! Lots and lots and lots of sweaty people dancing and belting along to hideous dance music, bodies painted with fluorescent paint and drinks sloshing all over the show!

We headed right along the beachfront, zig-zagging between the people toward a club on the end of that stretch that had “The Rock” emblazoned in bright neon letters, ever hopeful that it would be a rock venue, where we could have some beers and eats listening to something with actual guitar, drums and lyrics. No such luck.

We decided that next natural step would then be to hunt for dinner in ‘town’, so we trawled the market stalls for something of interest. Pizza seemed to be the common consensus, but all the stalls had the same very-bready-but-not-cheesy-enough style. We shifted strategy and headed for the Lazy House restaurant, which we’d stopped at for a toilet break en route and which had a varied and reasonably priced menu. We found it again with relative ease, seeming to have found our bearings on Phangan quite quickly despite the same same (but different) roads.

Good pizza (bacon, mushroom and garlic) and poor service (a common combination in South East Asia we’ve found; no qualms saying wait a minute and then leaving you hanging for ages) later and we headed to find Mellow Mountain, which someone had told Michelle was a must. It turned out to be a bar nestled in the rocks overlooking the bottom end of the main beachfront we’d been on earlier.

We settled in the loft area (the bar is spread over multi-levelled decks). It was too loud and hot, so we didn’t last long. Moving back down the shore we found a beachside hostel that was serving from its bar and had a little raised area with mats and cushions and low tables. It was open with fans, so far better suited to our chill vibe.

We stayed there until just before midnight, then went down to the beach again to join the official countdown, which was being displayed on a big digital watch under a countdown sign with a fiery countdown sign that had just been lit. We counted in the New Year (twice) and saw in 2012 with the waves lapping at our feet as a group of 4 friends among a sea of strangers!

We then made it our mission to hunt down the elusive rock club, since a friend had told us there was one and it made sense that there must be at least one place that bucked the senseless dance music everywhere else was blasting. We got mixed response from the several people we asked along the way, but settled for the only reggae bar in town when we stumbled upon it. Very chillaxed, mats and cushions with sarong drapery and obviously only reggae music.

The return speedboats were scheduled at every hour on the hour so we left the reggae bar at 1.30 figuring we’d just hop on the 2am one. No such luck! There were long queues and the 2am boats filled all too quickly. The wait for the next batch wouldn’t have been so bad except the natives were very restless and there was pushing and crunching as every person tried to ensure that they’d secure their spot on the next boat. We managed to get on the boat just before 3 and were very lucky to catch the last 2 spaces in the minivan going to North Chaweng as we landed, which would take us right to our door. M&M weren’t quite so lucky and had to wait and then catch a  series of inter-connections and it took them ages to get home!

SUNDAY

The 1st, as is common, was a bit of a write-off, worsened by the fact that it was raining – and as a result cooler and dark – so we didn’t even stir until midday. Heading out down the road toward town to find breakfast, we ended up getting caught in a torrential downpour, initially seeking shelter in the doorway of a market stall but eventually accepting that we’d make no notable progress toward town so we might as well dart across the road and eat at the very Anglo place we’d rejected on first sight.

A Full English behind us, we dashed back to the hotel for an afternoon of indulgent nothingness, reading and napping and half-watching telly.

At 5-ish we hailed a taxi and headed to M&M’s resort as we’d planned to go to the night market at Lamai, which was supposed to be the best on a Sunday. Since 1 Jan is also Mike’s bday, it would make a great place to celebrate and dinner overlooking the ocean from one of the most beautiful parts of the island. But… Rain stopped play and the market was closed, so we sourced a few tinnies from the local 7Eleven to enjoy on M&M’s stoep while we regrouped and revised plans.

We decided to stick close to home and start with a pub they’d tried (and liked) a few times, called The Wave Samui. It’s owned by 2 English chaps who were travelling the world and happened to be in Samui when their plans to go to Hong Kong were thwarted by the bird flu outbreak, so they stayed in Samui and opened a guesthouse and pub/restaurant. The place has loads of atmosphere and is known for its wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling book cases, complete with inset door to the bathroom with books wallpaper!

We liked the pub immensely and it got us jolly and ready for the chosen fare of the night – a set menu at the local Indian with 2 potato samoosas, a chicken tikka masala and a chicken makhani with saffron rice, an onion naan, a garlic naan and 2 beers for 600 baht (ZAR 150). Very yum!

Moving from there we found an awesome bar called The Loft. Built across 2 buildings with a little pedestrian bridge connecting them, the bar was a collection of rooms and decks of varying sizes at 2nd and 3rd floor levels, front and back of the building, with some smaller mezzanines. All covered by roof but open air, not a window frame or pane of glass in sight. Very cool. And we were very happy there with their 60 baht G&T and vodka & red bulls, while the rain belted down.

We took a gap in the rain to dash home. It’s always good to have a brisk walk home after time in the pub, something that’s sorely missing in SA lifestyle. It was still drizzling though so we were soaked by the time we got back to the hotel.

MONDAY

Had another long sleep-in after discovering that our last full day was also destined to be rainy. We’d heard reports that parts of the island were flooding and the whole of Southern Thailand is super-flooded (destructive, but not yet life-threatening).

We’d discovered that the rain belts down, but provides periodic eyes in the storm where it gets down to virtually nothing before it starts up again so used an eye to make a dash for brunch run. We hunted down a (pork) Masamang and (chicken) Penang curry, both which Michelle had recommended and both on good advisement.

We dotted window-shopping (eyes) with actual shopping (storms) and ended up with (another) 4 bags of gifts and goods, so thought it wise to busy ourselves rather with a Thai massage (since we were in the hood after all). We spent the next hour being prodded and pressed and were most pleased with our decision.

By this time we had walked as far as The Wave so we thought it rude not to pop in. And spent the next 5 hours there! The best potato skins ever! And finally we found flexible people – easily convincing them to make us nachos with their beef and mushroom bolognaise mince (which we’d had on the skins) when there was panic because they were out of the chilli con carne mince advertised on the menu!

Again, using the eye of a storm to make a dash for home, we poked our heads in at a few of the pubs and bars with live entertainment, but nothing held our attention so we called it a night.

TUESDAY

Fortunately, our last morning was quite painless as we’d had the good sense to book a private taxi to get us to the pier for our speedboat-bus-plane to Bangkok. We had a fair enough breakfast of cheese omelette and fried bread (they couldn’t toast because of yet another power failure – they have more than we do when we’re load-shedding!) and were soon off to start the long journey home.

Got to the harbour without incident, but the stupid speedboat was an hour late, which worried us with the tight timing of all the connections. A short 45 min ferry and the bus was waiting for us for the 30 ride to the airport, where we arrived at 16h20 for our 16h50 flight. Fearing the worst, Christian took charge of getting our bags and I scurried into the airport to find the Nok Air desk.

Shouldn’t have worried – this is Nok Air! Nobody seemed concerned at all by my urgent tone and, although there was some discussion between the *four* people clustered behind the counter, no info was forthcoming and the faces were poker-worthy. People were starting to cluster around me, with connection concerns far more time-sensitive than ours (but of course my only mission was to get us airborne).

Eventually we were issued boarding passes for what we were told was the 19h45 flight, but which said were boarding 17h55… And were both in my name!!! They reissued Christian’s. By now he was seething and there was no way they’d mess with his “don’t dare ask me to pay for overweight luggage” comment as he hoisted our 20kg (mine) and 22kg (his) suitcases onto the scale for our 15kg (each) weigh-in.

We also made them give all the delayed passengers food vouchers, since we’d spent all our baht, planning on dinnering at Bangkok airport where credit cards are readily accepted and had no intention of going through the hassle and expense of drawing money to entertain ourselves in the canteen of a restaurant in this one-horse (still quicker means of transport than a Nok flight it seems) airport. They obliged (am sure they’re used to it by now) and we ordered bacon, cheese and tomato double-decker sandwiches. They were OK, but all the bacon in Thailand was bland.

We had a last scare when all the people around us seemed to have Thai Air boarding cards when we were sitting with Nok Air slips… That said boarding at 17h55 for a 19h45 flight, with nothing filled in next to boarding gate (although there are only 2).

Fearing that the team of nimrods at the desk had managed another mess, we checked with the departure gate security. And then, not taking our chances on non-airline staff, Chris went back out and double-triple checked with Information and the Nok Air desk… And, yes, we were on the 19h45 flight despite what our ticket said and what all appearances seemed to indicate.

We boarded as we were told we would, given a sausage roll (disappointing soggy pastry thing compared to home) and no sooner were we up than we were down. All that palaver for such a short flight!

Bangkok Airport (Suvarnabhumi or somesuch) was a pleasure. Big and clean with lots of shops, dry toilets with toilet paper and toilets that can flush toilet paper, and several foodcourts. We did a quick Subway Melt (chicken, ham, bacon, cheese, onion, jalapenos, tomato, toasted) and waited the hour or so to board to go to Addis Ababa, with a short(ish) stop and then onward home.

And just like that; the end of the South East Asia travelogue series.

See you soon!

Asia, Cambodia, Travelogue

Travelogue SEA 6: Siem Reap

SIEM REAP

27-28 December 2011

The last few days in Phnom Penh had been marred a bit by some hitches in the travel plans.

When we first arrived at the beginning of our trip, we received an email from Nok Air saying that our flight from Bangkok to Phuket (28 Dec) had been cancelled due to maintenance and that we had the option to move to the 11h30 or 13h30 flight or get a refund. We knew that, even with the private taxi we had booked, we would never get to Bangkok in time for the 11h30 flight so accepted the 13h30 flight and contacted our Siem Reap driver to move our departure to a searing 05h00 in order to get to the airport on time. The Siem Reap driver was accommodating, but the airline didn’t reply, despite several follow-up emails from us.

They eventually replied on Christmas Eve saying that they were sorry, the earlier flights were full and we could expect a refund in about 45 days (and if not, to follow up with them in writing!) Great Christmas gift that was! We sent a strongly worded reply saying this was unacceptable seeing as we’d replied to their email (sent 15 Dec) as soon as we’d received it (16 Dec) and it was their delay that had led to the capacity issues. Again, no reply.

We started doing research into options… Which were few and unappealing. Being the busiest time of year, there were no flights available out of Bangkok at all. Next option was the sleeper train. Fully booked. Then the sleeper bus. Nobody could tell us. We even looked at cancelling the taxi and taking the bus from Siem Reap through Bangkok to Phuket. A gruelling 20 hours on a bus, with only a reclining seat 🙁

We resolved on retaining the early departure from Siem Reap (although at a more civilised 7am) and get dropped in Khaosan Road in Bangkok to assess overnight bus options from there. Not ideal, but at least we had a plan. At the very eleventh hour – mid-afternoon the day before we were due to leave for Bangkok – we got word from the airline that they could now accommodate us on the 14h10 flight. Hallelujah!

Lousy for our NZ friends as there were no seats on the flight available for them (we did ask Nok Air), but there was hope in sight for us.

To take the sublime to the ridiculous, we received a second email from Nok Air later that afternoon saying that the flight had been delayed to 15h00 – exactly the time of our original flight!! All that stress and a cloud over us while we were seeing and doing such amazing things… to end up in the exact place we started!

But, back to Siem Reap… It’s a charming little town that exists because of and thrives on the tourists that come to see the famous Angkor Archeological Park temple complex, with its 400 square kilometres of over 200 monuments and temples built between the 7th and 13th centuries by Khmer kings when the civilisation was at its height and dominating most of South East Asia.

The town itself has the same combination of markets, restaurants and pubs that everywhere else has, but is far more relaxed. With considerably less traffic and roads closed off, the Pub Streets are tables spilling over the pavements and people milling around creating a buzz, rather than the roar we’ve been seeing throughout our journey.

We’d arrived mid-afternoon, so dropped our stuff at the hotel (very lush Riverside Hotel, with lovely pool area, US$25 per room per night), grabbed a tuk-tuk into town and explored the markets.

There was lots more of the same stuff we’d seen in all the previous markets, but even cheaper! Lower starting prices and even more amenable to a haggle! We bought a few bits and pieces and then headed off to meet for dinner. The food was also much cheaper than anywhere else we’d been before and we chose a really nice Khmer restaurant at an upstairs table overlooking the market and Pub Streets. Everything on the menu was under $2! Main courses, curries, seafood, BBQ, everything!

We were tussling between options so decided to just get all 3 things we wanted – chicken lok lak, beef in spicy basil and beef & broccoli. Good thing too because they were all delicious and I’d hate to have missed out on any of them! We settled for Cambodia beer because 3 quarts earned a free t-shirt, which ironically ended up going to Aaron (who was the only one not drinking beer) because it was his size.

We had a sunrise start the next morning, so just walked around the night markets and around some of the town and then called it an early night.

WEDNESDAY

5am came all too soon and we were up and out with our driver, Kriss. We got to Angkor Wat by about 5.30 and watched the sunrise behind the main temple buildings and then explored the buildings until about 8. The buildings are in surprisingly good shape for their age and there is free access everywhere with no demarcated routes or cordoned off areas as is commonplace in most sites we’ve visited elsewhere. You really can create your own value for the US$20 per person (per day) that they charge and it’s refreshing that one tickets cover all the temples in the area.

We spent the morning exploring the main temples – Angkor Wat, Angkor Thom (‘Big City’, walled ancient city with Palace, Bayon temple and 12 towers), Preah Khan (another temple), Ta Prohm (the jungle temple with trees growing through the buildings) and ending off with Banteay Srei (a pink sandstone temple with very intricate carvings). By lunchtime we were all templed out and returned to our hotel to spend an afternoon by the pool relaxing.

Refreshed, we returned to town (by tuk-tuk) to grab a sunset appetiser – the enormous prawns we’d seen the night before. Individually selecting our prey, we delighted as they turned from grey to pink and the shell crisped from the searing BBQ fire. They were served up with a simple sweet chilli sauce… And were worth every penny of the $2! 🙂

Next up was a foot massage. I’d had a sore throat and burning sinus for a few days (undoubtedly from all the polution and scooter fumes; no wonder the locals all wear face masks) and wanted a reflexology treatment to see if it’d help at all. We ended up having a fish treatment (where you put your feet in the fishtank and they eat the dead skin off you – very weird, but very cool) and a foot massage. Not the reflexology I was after, but US$6 for both of us for half an hour including a free beer each, so couldn’t complain.

Popped into the pharmacy and got some Cold caps (conventional, US$1) and White Siang Pure Menthol Balm (traditional, 3000 Cambodian Rials or US$0.75) so seemed to have all the bases covered.

Met up with the others and had a selection of local fare from the market restaurant for dinner – again, all good curries, noodles, rice and stir fries – and hit the town for a bit of a pub crawl. We were spoilt for choice with lots of activity and drafts for US$0.50 a pop! What a pity I was feeling lousy so we had to cut our evening short(ish). Still, a good time had while we were having a good time.

SATURDAY

Great Trek to Phuket day started a bit better than expected with us managing to get the hotel to feed us. We were getting collected at 7 and the restaurant only opens at 7 and the Cambodges are reeeally inflexible. Both drivers bat-out-of-helling for us (comparatively speaking, nothing like home of course) and the border crossing and taxi-changing going quite smoothly.

We got deposited at the airport at 13h30, well in time for our 14h00 check in… And allowing a leisurely lunch at McD’s, where I had the Samurai Pork burger, which would definitely be a regular order for me at home if we had them. Pork patty (which tastes like pork sausage) grilled in BBQ relish, served simply with creamy mayo and crunchy lettuce. What’s not to love?! 🙂

Grateful for the refuelling, especially since there was another hour delay before take off which would have been hellish if we hadn’t eaten since breakfast! Even more inconvenient though since I’d bought anti-histamines at the airport pharmacy and taken some with lunch so was dozing off at the departure gate – but great because I slept like a baby from the moment I sat down in my seat on the plane until when we touched down.

Asia, Cambodia, Travelogue

Travelogue SEA 5: Phnom Penh

PHNOM PENH

24-26 December 2011

Up and out at way-too-early o’clock, our shuttle got us to the bus stop in Ho Chi Minh City in time to catch our 7am bus to Cambodia.

The bus hostess handed out Cambodia visa application forms and Viet Nam departure forms and collected all the forms with our passports and US$25 visa fees to take care of the rest of the process for us. What a pleasure.

She then handed out fresh white bread chicken, ham and pate sandwiches (am sensing this is a local speciality combination after the last few street vendor baguettes) and water, which was a far sight more appealing than the take-away breakfast the hotel had sent with us (toast, jam and milk sachets).

We were treated to a little surprise when some time into the journey the bus speakers switched from the warbling local music to Christmas carols and who should appear from the bus WC cubicle but Father Christmas himself! Bearing gifts nogal! He had a big red sack filled with gifts and gave everyone on the bus a little woven reed parcel, which turned out to have a cloth scarf inside.

We had marvelled at how into Christmas South East Asia seems to be. There are street decorations up, carols on loop in the hotel lobbies and blaring from street vendors, loads of bell-ringers in Santa suits around the town and loads of shops and stalls selling not only the usual Christmas decor paraphernalia, but also little kiddie dress-up suits (made of red felt with furry collars and cuffs. In this weather?!)

Anyway, we got through the border crossing quickly and painlessly and could see the difference between the 2 neighbouring countries right from the border post signage. Cambodia uses the Khmer alphabet so the writing is all curly whirly like the Thai writing, where Vietnamese writing is the same alphabet as ours but with loads of added accents, cedilla and kappies. The people do seem to speak more English though and we had no trouble asking questions and ordering food at the truckstop (the food looks very different to Vietnamese, with lots of fish and atchar looking gravies, so we played it safe and had a fried rice with chicken and veg and a pork and noodle stirfry. Both delicious.)

The countryside is beautiful, with wooden houses on stilts where the area is marshy or the water levels erratic alongside the riverbank. The inhabitants seem to use the area under the house for dining, socialising and parking (their scooters). Have seen some quite impressive brick temple complexes in drier places, with big golden gates and long statue-lined driveways leading to big pagoda buildings with golden decorations on the roof eaves and guttering.

Heading into Phnom Penh, the first impression is that it’s busy and bustling but not as chaotic as the Vietnamese cities we had visited (bearing in mind that it is Cambodia’s capital, but the country only has 14 million people, 2 million of whom live in the capital). The road system seems from our map to be more of a grid than the winding alleyways we’ve become used to – and the roads are numbered rather than named so, for example, our hotel was 26-28 Street 130, Phnom Penh. It did seem that the roads didn’t follow strictly in sequence, so the seemingly simple system had potential to be fraught with danger.

Our hotel was nice enough. Very well placed being just off the main riverfront, so again close to the action but not affected by it. The Central Market was also on our road, heading away from the riverfront, which is where we made our way to in search of a Khmer curry as an afternoon snack while we waited for the NZ’ers to arrive.

The market was big and under roof in a 5 pointed star shape and – as usual – divided into sections of like industry or wares. It was easy to find the food section just by following the nose because of the wide selections of fresh fish and roadfront cooked food vendors. Despite the BBQs tempting us with fresh crabs and enormous prawns and the woks ready to make-to-order, we stuck to our guns and held out for the (chicken) curry. The curry is thinner and soupier than we’re used to, but deliciously creamy with lots of coconut milk base laced with khmer spices, which only have flavour but no burn at all. You’re given whole, diced and dried chillies to add your own zing.

Leaving the market, we accidentally took the wrong feeder road and ended up taking an unintended walking tour of Phnom Penh, which wasn’t altogether unpleasant as there are wide pavements and manageable chaos as compared to where we’ve already seen on this trip. We also got to stop and peruse menus to see some of the weird and wonderful delicacies that they serve (fortunately none as icky as the horse on the spit that I saw in HCMC), giggle at the Engrish (am sure that “crapsticks” were meant to be crab) and gauge beer options and prices.

We were well-versed to spot a bargain by the time we met up for dinner – at the restaurant at the riverfront end of our road that served Angkor draught at happy hour (which never seems to be a single hour and often stretches to as much as 5 or 6!) for US$ 0.60. Perfectly paired with a Beef Lok Lak (wok fried seared beef cubes in Khmer spices, traditionally served on rice in a banana leaf cup).

The riverfront is perfect for pub trawling and crawling and our Street 130 was neatly between Pub Street 136 and Pub Street 104. Although we ended up spending most of the night at a second level bar overlooking the river, picking up 2 Kiwi girls and (unintentionally) an Aussie couple, who we took with us when we moved on to an Irish pub (Paddy Rice’s, cute name) we’d spotted that offered live music.

Turned out to be a good move with free Christmas vodka jelly shots, buckets of Angkor on special and the opportunity for a breather from the Aussie bloke, who Aaron convinced to do a rockeoke debut, resulting in a complete butchering a Chilli Peppers song. Irish pubs are always good for festivities and merry-making so it was the perfect place to herald in a very unconventional Christmas.

As always, a good time was had by all… And it became too late all too soon.

SUNDAY

We felt the late night and short sleep when we had to meet our driver at 09h00 for our sight-seeing tour! First up was the Killing Fields. The tour (US$5) includes an audio guide that talks you through a path around Choeung Ek, a real working human abattoir during the Cambodian genocide implemented by Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. Although a lot of the landmarks have been removed (the buildings were stripped by poor farmers for the raw materials) there are monuments and displays… And fresh clothing, bone and teeth artefacts that the eco system and weather continue to dredge up from the mass graves, which makes the experience very tangible.

It’s horrific what that regime did, killing not only perceived threats but their wives and children too so as to leave no survivors that might want to later seek revenge. It sounds like these camps were brutal, bussing in victims under the cover of darkness and killing most in very hands-on ways, like using knives, sharp jagged palm fronds and beating babies to death on tree trunks. It’s very difficult to reconcile how ordinary people can be brainwashed into performing these atrocities, or how they can live with themselves with the burden of retrospect.

The S-21 prison (entrance fee US$3) was no better. Having once been a school, the classrooms were transformed into cells and torture chambers, some of which still have the metal beds and torture implements on display. In the quad was a large wooden frame that was used to hang prisoners, mostly by their ankles until they lost consciousness and then dunk them into buckets of rank water to revive them, only to repeat the process. Some classrooms were used as-is for groups or divided into individual cells a metre wide with either bricks or wood. You can freely access all the areas and there are still specks of blood on some of the floors.

The Khmer Rouge kept detailed and meticulous records so there are many rooms with display boards of prisoner registration photographs and induction transcripts. It’s very scary to see how many thousands of people were shunted through this prison and sent off to killing fields – and how young the victims were. Since most of the trafficking was done under subterfuge and the people often didn’t know they were being taken to prison, let alone where, families were split up and separated with no concept of where their relatives were. Stories told post-fact also describe how family members intentionally didn’t acknowledge each other in the prisons because the policy was to remove all possible future vengeance (“to kill the grass you must remove the roots”) so, by implication, if one family member was killed, all would have to be killed as well.

The UN have put together programmes that have helped more than 6,000 Cambodians to travel from around the country to come to these prisons and killing fields to trace what happened to their relatives. It’s hollow comfort, I’m sure.

It’s unsettling to know how recent this barbaric slice of history is, with the Khmer Rouge still recognised as the reigning government until 1989 (even though the Vietnamese had deposed them 10 years earlier) and only disbanded in 1999. So many people lost their lives (3 million people of a population of 8 million over 4 years!) that it’s uncomfortable to see a 50 year old Cambodian now and wonder exactly what they had to do to still be here today, since it was literally a ‘kill or be killed’ time.

It’s atrocious that Pol Pot died a free man in 1998, at the ripe old age of 82, and that his 3 top leaders were only detained in 2007 and are only now standing trial, with fancy lawyers from all over the world defending them (how do they sleep at night?!). The only charge so far is a chap called Duch who headed the S-21 prison and has received a measly charge of 35 years imprisonment for the more 15,000 deaths he was responsible for! Shameful.

After a morning of quite sombre sight-seeing (there are even official signs at the prison with a smiling face with a line through it), it was good to head back to town where we ditched the planned museum visit in favour of lunch. I finally got the duck I’d been hankering for, served in a delicious noodle stirfry. Things were looking up!

We were a bit culture and historied out so opted to just take a few snaps of the Palace and pagoda and a stroll along the waterfront… To prepare for a long and much-needed pre-dinner nap.

Very solid thinking on the nap and we were good to go for a refuel at 7. Found an excellent curry house that lured us in with a mega meat platter (steak, chicken, pork chop, sausage and sides for US$8.50), which kept us happy alongside my very tasty butter chicken and garlic naan. Aaron had the all day breakfast, which had us convinced that we’d be back in the morning!

We did a walk along the promenade to work off some dinner and popped in at our regular spots to have a beer here and there. My mission was too get a snap of (at least) 5 people on a scooter, which is quite commonplace and a sight to be believed. It’s normally Dad driving, with toddler standing in front of him on the foot platform, a kid wedged behind him, then mom with a baby on one thigh being held in place with an arm across the chest. I kept missing the opportunities with my camera being away or the flash taking too long. Oh well.

We opted for an early night, based on the long drive with the morning’s transfer to Siem Reap (which we’d already moved from 9am to 10, just in case). Was a good call and the extra hour’s sleep was well enjoyed this morning.

MONDAY

We did go back to the Indian restaurant for our breakfast and I bucked convention by having my second choice from the night before rather than any traditional form of breakfast. It was amazing – a chicken breast cooked in a tomato relish and served with mozzarella melted on top and then drowned in creamy mushroom sauce, accompanied by fried potatoes mixed with sliced onions and fleshy bacon. All my favourite things!

Then on the road to Siem Reap. A seemingly manageable 300km journey, hampered by the 30km speed limits in the towns, hay-smothered tractors and threshers in the countryside and hooting and wild lane-changing throughout! 3 hours in and we were only halfway…