All posts by cl@rks

Africa, Mauritius, Travelogue

Travelogue Mauritius 1: Mont Choisy

MONT CHOISY

15 June 2013

How very early 05h00 is in winter! Especially when you’ve been out on the red wine the night before… And you’re so excited for your holiday that you wake up at 03h30, afraid you’ll oversleep (and end up getting up at 04h30, half an hour before the alarm goes off!) Fortunately, Mother was uncharacteristically on-time so we were bags packed (in her new car) and en route to the airport (in fully econo mode) with time to spare.

… Which we wisely spent at Wimpy, carbo-loading for the journey ahead.

Good thing too because, while our short 4 hour hop of a flight was just about back-to-back feeding, we’d never have lasted through the first 2 rounds of snacks to have our first main meal “lunch” at 11h00. A really respectable ravioli though, well done BA!

We landed at the Seewoosagur Ramgoolam International Airport, which is in Plaine Magnien at the very south of the island while our accommodation was at the very north. This wasn’t as daunting as it seemed, as we soon found out with an easy 40 minute (private car) commute. Like in Sri Lanka, we found ourselves on the only highway on the island, fortunate that it ran exactly from where we departed to where we wanted to go. Hardly surprising though, since Mauritius was only 65km from north to south and 45km east to west, so nowhere was really far from anywhere else!

Our driver initially took us to the wrong resort, but was soon sanctified when it was apparent that it was an easy mistake to make with Mont Choisy comprising several resorts, hotels, motels and villas… Most with Mont Choisy in the name! Second attempt fruitful, we discovered Hotel Mont Choisy Coral Azur to be our home for the week. We hadn’t even taken our bags out the car when the driver pulled up because the resort seemed fancier than we expected but, to our surprise and delight, that was it… sparkling pool, loungers, palm trees, blue skies and even bluer sea!

We checked in and the porter escorted us to our room, 218, a lovely upstairs suite with private balcony overlooking the gardens and the Indian Ocean beyond. The room was mostly an obscenely large bed (made up of 2 three-quarters side-by-side), reassuringly made with just a mountain of pillows, a sheet and a purely decorative runner – in contrast to the down duvets and electric blankets at home.

We’d checked in at about 17h00 and in the quick once-over of our room and discovery of our balcony we realised we were in the midst of our first Mauritian sunset, so decided to do a quick up-and-down our road while it was still light.

A short adventure revealed a road generously dotted with holiday accommodation, restaurants and shops. We spotted signage for a supermarket (which we wanted to visit to buy stocks for our minibar since the hotel prices were predictably extortionate), but couldn’t seem to find the shop. Arrows pointing in both directions but the centre point seemed to be an Indian restaurant on one side (bannered as Indian, but also serving Chinese and pizza!) and a clothing shop on the other. We were flummoxed, so decided to consider our next moves over a beer at Le Bay des Pirates – a decorated-to-death bar, restaurant and dancefloor with thatch overhangs, banana trees, barrel bar tables and a wooden boat centrepiece. It was 18h05 on Saturday and they offered a Happy Hour from 6-7 on weekends, so it seemed like kismet!

We tried the local Phoenix, which is quite strong tasting and bitter, and then the Blue Marlin, which is equally strong but sweeter. And then tried each again to secure our first impressions.

The only other patrons were an entertaining couple – Terry and Antony from Durban – who’d been to Mauritius before and had lots of sage advice for us, and who were generally well-travelled so we shared anecdotes about the highs and lows of various places. They also solved the mystery of the missing supermarket for us, explaining that you have to go through the clothing store to get to it. Thinking they meant “past” rather than “through”, we nipped back to the clothing store. True as nuts, you have to go through the clothing store, through the ensuing souvenir store and only then get to the supermarket! Three stores armadillo’ed all using the same entrance! We stocked up on water, Fanta and a couple of cans of variant of Phoenix – lighter and with lemon – that would serve as poolside wetties for the following day.

Having not eaten in a few hours, grumbling tums encouraged us to return to Coral Azur for our dinner (since we’d booked half board so our breakfast and dinners were included). We were met with a sumptuous buffet with everything you can think of and piled plates high with an odd mix of a bit of everything – pasta, roasted chicken, curry, sausage stew…

Full and tuckered (even though it had only been a 4 hour flight, commuting had taken the entire day), we turned in early and watched a few episodes of series on the laptop (real 2013 travellers) before turning in.

A gloriously long night’s sleep later, we made no rush to up and out to breakfast, served until 10h00. When we did, we discovered it was a beautiful clear-skied, sunny day – perfect for a leisurely breakfast on poolside deck. We plotted our day over cold meats, cheeses, yoghurts and full fry-up, deciding to try the watersports first, lounge at the pool until our meeting with our tour operator at 13h45 and then catch a bus to Grand Baie for the afternoon.

Taking a walk to the beach, we presented ourselves at the hut that served as hub for the hotel’s watersports. The staff all spoke good English and were friendly and very helpful. A pleasant surprise that the hotel included the usual non-motorised activities (kayaks, windsurfs, lazer boat, pedelo etc) as well as a range of motorised (water-skiing, inflatables, glass-bottom boat snorkelling etc) all for free!

We started with the water-skiing. Despite a decade or more since the last time I skied, I had no trouble getting up and thoroughly enjoyed my laps on the smooth-as-glass open waters. Christian wasn’t so lucky and aggravated an existing rugby groin injury, likely ending his skiing possibilities for the holiday. Nonetheless, we were able to grab kayaks and took a trip up and down either side of the coast – even able to catch a rather spirited local church service on the seafront on the public beach a few properties down.

While we weren’t out for long, kayaking takes a different kind of fit and, lacking upper body strength as I do, I was grateful to have a lovely sit by the pool for an hour to relax after the morning’s activities.

Our tour operator, Ziad, met us at 13h45 to run through the “what to do” options on the island. The guys at the resort’s beach hut had told us about some of the tours that operate from the hotel and we were horrified when Ziad’s prices averaged three times what we’d been told! This made us more resolute to get another opinion in Grand Baie before committing to anyone. We politely let Ziad finish and headed out the hotel for our outing to Grand Baie.

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.

Africa, South Africa, Travelogue

Travelogue: Wilderness Roadtrip 2013

WILDERNESS ROADTRIP

06 – 12 Feb 2013

It’s amazing how – no matter how well (or poorly) you plan – all sorts of things crops up just before you’re due to take some “Out of Office” time.

In this case, it started with the delightful news that my school chum, Lixi (Alex Scott), was coming out to SA to see her folks, who were due to be extended holidaying in Wilderness (on the Garden Route). The idea was that she’d come out for some family time, I’d join her at the folks’ and then we’d do a bit of a roadtrip (in either direction, being so well positioned) and then head back up to Jo’burg in time for my birthday and the traditional hooray of celebrations that generally accompany.

Plans got hatched and sub-plans attached – come down on the Friday since Christian was keen to come with to Wilderness based on the lovely time we’d had last year, but could only make a weekend of it because of work commitments. This left Lix and I keen on roadtripping for the week and possibly hooking up with Leek in Hermanus (her dad lives there and is overdue a visit by her), extra relevant since it was Leek who introduced Lix and I all those decades ago, making for our own little coming of age roadtrip on the 21st anniversary of our friendship! Ending off with a weekend in Cape Town to hook up with more long-losties.

But these notions devolved as all sorts of other opportunities and commitments presented themselves on the home front, including Barry announcing that he was coming to SA for a few weeks (well, Emma announced on Barry’s behalf, but same difference). The trip happened to overlap with previously mentioned plan – but there proved to be no hope in getting any idea of the overlapping itinerary from the flurry on Barry’s side to see what that meant in terms of availabilities and implications on our trip plans.

Opting for ‘rather safe than sorry’ (and Kulula pricing sweetspots) the final itinerary developed, being coming down earlier and leaving earlier so as to fit everything in. So, I jumped in and booked my tickets for the afternoon of Wednesday 6 Feb down to George and back home again on the evening of Tuesday the 12th, confident that I’d only be missing one day of office time (a custom more than a commitment) and pleased that I’d managed to juggle all the balls to make the most of all the faces from far. (Especially seeing as the Kulula January sale hit and Alex got a plum flight up to Jo’burg on Friday the 15th, so would get in more QT with the parentals but, more importantly, have a whole week in Jo’burg with me!)

No sooner was the proverbial ink dry than I was presented with the opportunity to spend time at the office daily working on the sales pipeline while Marco was to be off on his next adventure (www.emptyquarter.co.za). I happily took on the commitment, always enjoying my time at Eurocom and pleased for the additional work… and was now thankful for my now-strategically minimised away time – marvelling at how things have a way of working themselves out!

The month between planning and travelling flew! And so did I! Flew to the office at sparrows, flew through a crazy To Do list, flew through a lovely Alfredo (thanks to Luciano, Eurocom’s amazing chef), flew to the airport, slooowed down on the shuttle between long-term parking and the terminal, flew through a proposal at the Slow Lounge, flew to the boarding gate… And then finally flew to George.

Worried that somehow over the 2,5 years since our last reunion (Venice, August 2010) Alex would have become unrecognisable to me and there’d be an awkward moment at the airport where I’d be feverishly oscillating like a lawn sprinkler looking for her when she was right in front of me, I was relieved when I spotted her from the moment I walked through into Arrivals – and there was much Woo Girling (without the literal “woo”ing) as we giggled noisily and hugged our hello’s.

Alex’s stepmum, Clare, had been kind enough to drive to fetch me and she bustled off – ostensibly an act of efficiency to find the parking pay machines, but likely a good dose of wanting to distance herself from us, already engrossed in monkey-chatter of catch-ups!

Stories flew thick and fast on the drive and we were soon pulling into the driveway of the charming beach-house that they’d rented for the duration of their 6 week holiday. Literally right on the beach, with a wide covered balcony all along the length of the front (overlooking the sand and sea) and I had been allocated a lovely cottage suite, separate from the house.

By 17h30 I was settled in (ie had dumped my bag in the cottage) and we were all comfortably seated around the patio suite on the balcony, sundowners in hand (perhaps premature since the sun only sets around 19h30, but can one ever really be too prepared when it comes to such vital matters?). Clare had pre-prepped a roast dinner and while this was in the oven, we took a wander down the beach to have a looksee at a house of interest that had been dubbed The Hacienda for its Spanishy Mexicany architecture – quite distinctive among the patchwork of largely unremarkable houses around it (most are old boxy houses with bric-a-brac extensions, bar the monster modern Big Box house neighbour overshadowing the Hacienda, apparently owned by the famed Sassoon family).

En return from our mini-inquisition, we had a lovely dinner of roast chicken and sweet potatoes, creamed spinach and green peas (for some). Really delicious – and amazingly we ate in relatively broad daylight even though it must’ve been 20h30 by then. We chatted and laughed and a great time was had by all.

The parentals went to bed early, leaving Lix and I to our own more detailed catch-up, talking about then and now and everything in between… Until it was time to call it a night and I curled up in my cottage, under the fluffy down duvet to read a single digit number of pages by the sidelight until it was officially end of play for the day.

THURSDAY – WILDERNESS

Waking on Thursday morning, all thoughts of the previously discussed morning run were thwarted by (over-)sleep… But replaced by a well-timed breakfast instead (fruit for Lix, toasted cheese for me).

I had some work crises to attend to, so we based ourselves on the patio, me on the phone-then-laptop-then-phone trying to get what needed doing done as quickly as possible. As always, it requires setting a series of balls in motion, then patiently waiting for the balls to return to be juggled into orderly place. We used this wait time to walk into the village and suss out free wi-fi options.

Luckily, Pomodoro’s (our first choice based on Christian and my great experience last year) had free wi-fi and a marvellous terrace table became my new office. Double-bonus was that the work stuff didn’t start again until we’d ordered, and I was able to do the majority of what I had to do while we waited for our pizza, while Lix graciously busied herself with stuff on her phone and let me work.

It was all worthwhile! Clearly the karma from my difficult but responsible day must be the reason for such an awesome pizza! Honey-glazed chicken with mushrooms and onions, smothered in melted cheese on a wafer-thin base (and a layer of garlic and fresh chilli that I smeared on the moment it arrived). Delicious!

In between things at lunch, I’d booked us a car because we’d decided to drive to Hermanus to stay with friends. I’d bumped into the Kennedys last week and Lizzie had told me that she was off with her cousin Josie to Hermanus to clear out Nic’s late father’s home. I’d suggested we might roadtrip and she’d been quite excited about it. I had mentioned it to Alex on the evening I arrived and she was keen so I set those balls in motion over Whatsapp and presto! We had a plan!

Well, sort of…

We’d thought we’d get a car on Friday morning and drive to Hermanus (360km), spend the night and the meander back all day Saturday. Clare was the voice of reason, saying (on Thursday morning when we were bedding down our plans) that if we’re paying for the car for 2 days, we might as well use it the full duration – so why not collect the car on Thursday afternoon instead? Genius!

So, I booked the car (using Pomodoro’s free wi-fi) through Avis using my eBucks and we were set to collect at 15h30 – leaving just enough time to walk home, pack bags and get Clare to drive us to the airport depot to collect our car.

When I was signing for the car, we realised that while the car hire was paid for, there was only a 400km mileage allowance, which wasn’t going to get us very far with a minimum of 360km each way! And at R2,10 a km it was going to prove extortionate!

The Avis people were prepared to cancel the eBucks deal and create a new one with 800km mileage for R1,300. A quick survey of the competitors (all based in the same depot) endeared Thrifty Dollar hire to us since – although they could only (self-admittedly, repeatedly) deliver “a really big car” – they operate on unlimited mileage. Ergo, our “really big car” (which turned out to be a really comfy, not as big as you think Nissan Lumina) was all the mileage we could drive for a bargain R623 for the 2 days! We were quite smug to return to the Avis desk and say “no thanks”… And get all the paperwork needed for me to get refunds on the payments and deposits already taken off my card. Groan.

Paperwork notwithstanding, we were still quite giddy when we were (finally) on our way to Hermanus, in our really big Lumina. Lix had shopped for supplies at the airport Sweets From Heaven, so we could just bullet straight through on the N2, virtually door-to-door, with chewies and boiled sweets keeping us perky in between long stories and witty one-liners.

The road was really easy, the view consistently spectacular (sea, then fields, then mountains. Wash, rinse, repeat). Before long, we were at Lizzie’s complex doorstop – quite surprised that the seemingly vague directions were spot-on and crystal clear in context.

From the gate we could see that Hemel en Aarde (a cluster complex) is gorgeous and new with palatial houses and manicured lawns and common areas – and it seemed fitting when Lizzie came bounding up to the car in a bright purple party dress!

She was quick to explain that the garage sale she’d planned for her father-in-law’s extraneous belongings had been vetoed by the body corporate and so she’d had to amend her plans into an upmarket “Lounge Sale”. All became clearer when we got to the house and saw all the neat nuggets of items laid out around the lounge…

We’d taken some wine with us (a couple of bottles of red), so we cracked the seal on the first and had a good yarb with our very hospitable hosts about the what, when and how had brought each group to this point and what, when and how we planned to spend the next 2 days. Lizzie had already booked us a tuktuk to take us to Gecko (a bar and restaurant at the New Harbour) at 20h30, so that was to be our first excursion. Luckily, we’d made good time and arrived just after 19h30, so there was time for (the tail end of) sundowners before a shower, change and out the door.

We walked to the gate of the complex to meet the tuktuk as planned, only to find that it had been and gone, deciding to arrive at 20h15 and leaving when we weren’t there in 10 minutes (seeing as this was clearly still 5 minutes before our agreed meet time!). Lizzie did some backing and forthing and at last the tuktuk arrived for its return journey to pick us up.

The commute was quite an adventure in itself – a double cab tuktuk, with 2 rows parallel forward-facing in the back, with full canvas enclosure and plastic zip windows to protect from the elements. Quite a laugh, although it meant (good or bad) that we didn’t have a great view of the township we passed through to get from home to destination!

Gecko is a comfortable enough establishment. In the door to a bar / smoking area, then downstairs for the non-smoking round tables and built-in cushioned banquettes around the perimeter, then outside wooden bench tables for a view of the waters. We arrived geared though for the live music they’re supposedly known for, but were greeted with the barman/laptop DJ combo.

With no entertainment to place for, we opted to sit at the outside bench tables. Service wasn’t easy with no waiters and a single barman, so we split up bar runs periodically to order food and drinks. We solved the service problem soon enough by getting an ice bucket of beers, but didn’t hold high hope for the food… until it arrived. Lizzie and Josie had ordered pizza, which looked good enough, but Alex and I’d (adventurously) ordered Thai… and I got the most tasty beef and oyster sauce (with noodles) and her the most amazing red curry (with rice). What a delightful surprise!!

We finished our food and retired to the bar since the downstairs area was quite quiet and anti-social sans the live music we’d expected (apparently only Friday to Sunday off-season and we were there Thursday), while the bar was buzzing. What a pity Gecko hadn’t commissioned our very talented host, Josie, who is a well-known songstrel and would have been quite a coup for this little nightspot in a sleepy town! Nonetheless, we intermingled with the manager and locals, had a great time of the rest of our evening and all too soon it was time to go home.

Deposited on our doorstep, we had a (great-night-fuelled) giggle about some of the Lounge Sale items and I found a few very targeted gifts for key people, as well as a recipe book entitled “Fun with Mince” for myself! Josie and I had a good laugh at a 2002 Fairlady magazine while we sipped on our nightcaps… and then it was off to bed.

FRIDAY – HERMANUS

Having enjoyed a languished sleep-in (while Lizzie and Josie dealt with the various charity benefactors who they’d arranged to come and collect the last of the Sale items), I was further treated to a 5* star breakfast, ready when I surfaced from my upstairs lair. They’d prepared fried eggs, tomato, toast and smoked haddock with mushrooms and herbs – perfect with a smattering of the homemade garlic and chilli relish they served it with.

While Lizzie and Josie had opted to stay at the house for the day (exhausted from their week of clearing out), they were very helpful with a list of places to go and things to see, that set Lixi and I off on a very merry day of sight-seeing.

We started with Old Harbour (which took a trip to the end of town and a U-turn to find) and wandered up and down the shopping district, popping our heads in at shops of interest – and my derriere in at the hammock shop!

We stopped at the looking point, but didn’t see any whales (hardly surprising since we’re either 5 months late or 4 months early for season, depending how you look at it!), but we did buy Lix the lesser-spotted Red Velvet Cake (which she’d never had, but heard so much about) after stopping in at Coco’s for a gander through the ‘open window’ (which wasn’t actually open, but rather an enormous bay window).

We then moved from Old Harbour to New Harbour to hunt down the fish shop that Lizzie had recommended for lunch as the freshest fish in town. We found it! Quayside Cabin. No airs and graces, literally in a shipping container, with just a bench table outside. Our interest was piqued. We ordered a hake, calamari and chips combo to share. Good thing too – it was ENORMOUS! But delicious. Crispy batter, white flaky fish, golden chips, lemon wedges. Perfect!

Fed and happy, we returned to the house to see what the gals had been up to. They’d been napping, swimming at the clubhouse and were in the process of showering and preparing for the evening. A slap-up dinner. Soon. Very soon after our fish ‘n chips!

We booked at Lemon Butta, on the advice of our neighbours (who have a standing weekly reservation there, so we know their recommendation is sincere) and had a sundowner while catching up on our respective days.

We headed out and had pre-drinks at Coco’s (on Lix and my recommendation since we’d found out earlier that they have live music in the evenings… and anything to prolong eating again too soon!). Lizzie and Josie ordered nachos though – and who can resist?! Good company, drinks and snacks later, we were headed to Lemon Butta, which turned out to be just next door, for yet more food!

It was a lovely long and leisurely dinner and Lix and I shared a 24 piece sushi platter of tuna handrolls, salmon sashimi, salmon roses, a salmon and avo maki roll and a prawn California roll cut into slices topped with tempura prawns. Lix had oysters to start, taking her total to 7 different types of seafood in one day! I’ve finally made friends with sushi, outgrowing my aversion to the sludginess of the rice and the seaweed and learning to press the avo out with the back of a chopstick. I’m still not the world’s biggest fan, but I see a future for us at least.

We rolled home and into bed. A long but tasty day indeed!

SATURDAY – MOSSEL BAY

On Saturday, our leaving day, Lix and I cooked breakfast to return the favour (while Lizzie and Josie packed up their stuff). Toast with bacon and scrambled eggs with diced tomatoes, shredded broccoli and cheese. Good solid meal to get us on our way – and we were all ready for our departure, as planned, just before 11 to drop Lizzie and Josie off at their car hire place (the dastardly Avis) in time to collect their rental they intended to drive to Cape Town to catch their flight home.

We waved our goodbyes and soon we were on our way to our trusty N2 for the drive home.

We’d intended a bit of a meander on the way back, stopping in here and there for shopping, seafront adventure and lunch, but the weather was foul so we just headed in the direction of home. We did take a slight detour through Mossel Bay though, to buy biltong and take some snaps from the look-out point.

We managed to get the car back to the airport by more or less the required time, but found our dutifulness to be completely unnecessary seeing as the airport was entirely deserted and there was only a solitary rep at the car depot, who told us to just throw our car key into the car hire office – through the mesh and onto the floor.

The parentals had started partying early so weren’t fit for driving to fetch us as pre-planned, so they instructed us to catch a taxi home. Easier said than done in a deserted airport in the rain, but we managed… and were soon on our way home in the world’s oldest taxi (643,812km on the clock when we got in!) with a very sweet old local chap with awful music taste.

We arrived home to much joviality. The folks had friends (Vivienne and Ulrich) over to visit and they were all in fine fettle! We shared stories of our roadtripping and adventures and were filled in on everything we’d missed (quite a bit bearing in mind we’d only essentially been gone one full day!).

With champagne and wine flowing, we enjoyed a spirited dinner – roasted chicken and sweet potatoes, which had been intended for a braai, but had to be oven-cooked thanks to the threat of inclement weather (the harder rains hadn’t seemed to find their way all the way to Wilderness yet though).

The visitors left early and we settled in for the evening – me on the balcony engaged in a long and winding conversation with John, and Lix in the lounge watching Black Swan with Clare. It was only Saturday, 3 nights into the vacation, but the ‘holiday within holiday’ made it seem like I’d been away for much longer!

SUNDAY – WILDERNESS

Sunday was a moochy day, thanks to the festivities of the night before. We slept in, so that we were vaguely perky on surfacing – a slow process helped infinitely by reheated pizza leftovers and low impact movies. The weather was still grey and bleary so we resigned ourselves to a day on the couch with comfort food and headed off to the village to shop for spag bol ingredients.

Of course, the sun came out while we were walking to the village (a short trot on Sands Road past a dear little café in the building that previously housed the railway station, across the railway tracks, through the tunnel under the highway), so we changed all our plans and opted rather to scout for a dinner spot for that evening and to get hotdog supplies from Spar for lunch.

Despite the numerous options in town, we decided that we’d like to take the folks to Pomodoro’s, which we’d enjoyed so much. We slothed an afternoon of leisure – on the sun loungers, walk along the beach, more patio time – and drove into town (Lix’s dad’s not one for walking) for an early dinner. Pomodoro’s did not disappoint and we had quite varied, but all delectable, meals. Re-energised from our great meal, we confirmed that we three girls would head to Knysna for a window shopping expedition on Monday, so we retired to the 8pm Mnet premiere and got in an early night in anticipation of the next day’s mini-roadtrip.

MONDAY – WILDERNESS

With a plan in mind and good night’s sleep behind us, we rose with a spring in our step on Monday morning and headed out to the beach for a morning jog. Probably a kilometre and a half or so, just to the end of the cove and back again. Just enough to kickstart the appetite, serendipitously combined with Clare’s request that there was bacon that needed eating. Lix had her usual fruit and yoghurt and I made the world best’s sourdough toast with 4 rashers of bacon and white cheese (microwaved for 10 seconds to melt it to gooey). YUM!

Well-fuelled, we headed out for our trip to Kynsna, Such a pretty drive along the coast and through the hilly treed sections!

We started off with a trawl around Thessen Island, but it was very quiet and dreary, so didn’t hold our interest and we thought we’d try our luck at the Kynsna Waterfront. While a little better, it still didn’t captivate for long, being a very small mall of mostly restaurants and cafés, so we were soon off to Kynsna central to have a gawk around the Mall. We wandered around for an hour, achieving little bar some grocery shopping… and an appetite for lunch.

We drove around to the Knysna Heads and had a ridiculously good meal at East Head Café, overlooking the waters’ entrance to the bay in a really pretty terrace setting. Alex and I prequelled with milkshakes, which turned out to be enormous and likely not the best strategic bet seeing as we had a mound of fish, calamari and home-style chips on its way! Still… we found space for most of it, but sadly not for a wedge of any of the mouth-watering options we’d seen the waitress serving around us – multi-layered moist chocolate with sticky rich icing; cloud mountains of meringue atop sunny yellow lemon curd and crumbly biscuit. Way too ambitious on top of our battered bellyful!

Our big lunch was definitely a good preamble to our beach amble though, and we enjoyed yet another long sunset walk on the beach. Have become quite a cliché actually with this whole “loves sunsets and long walks on the beach” thing!

Lix’s folks were expecting visitors coming to stay, so I’d moved in to bunk with Lix on our last night. Since the guests were expected later in the evening, we did back-up with Clare on the wait (John having retired just after dinner). Time very easily passes, sitting on the patio, sipping red wine and having a good chat with excellent conversationalists… and soon Jill and Nigel had arrived – and there was the renewed excitement that comes with new faces and places.

Jill and Nigel were the Scott’s friends from Turkey and it was their first visit to South Africa. Bravely, they’d opted to land in Cape Town and roadtrip the last section. Alex and I were of course well versed in the ease of the N2, but it’s a bold option to take blind.

TUESDAY – GEORGE

Tuesday, being my leaving day, was far from the usual ‘pack up and go’ day. We started off with a hike along the railway track (and up koppies, through tunnels and over bridges) to get to Victoria Bay. John drove around, while we were dipping in the sea and scoping out the single row of holiday homes and darling café. We lunched at the only eatery, which provided yet another winner calamari and chips. The others seemed to enjoy their meals as well, so luckily the only choice of restaurant also made for a good one.

It was a bit sad to drive home, knowing that there was little time left and soon I’d be making tracks back to the big smoke, but we made the best of it with a dip in the sea and a laze on the sands, before having to shower and change and pack the car.

Clare was kind enough to make yet another airport run to get me timeously to George to catch my plane home and that was it, my beWilderness break was done and dusted.

Sri Lanka, Travelogue

Travelogue ISC 7: Sri Lanka

SRI LANKA

23 – 27 November 2012

We had a bit of an up and down start to the Sri Lankan leg of the holiday. We’d opted to forfeit the last night of the organised Golden Triangle tour in India so that we could make the most of the limited time we had in Sri Lanka. The flight we’d booked was 18h50, due to land at 22h20, which brought us into Colombo late, but meant we’d have a full day on the Saturday rather than wasting it on more transfers and waiting around in airports.

The flight left 10 minutes early, which was good; but hovered on the runway when we arrived so we ended up only disembarking the plane just before 11, which was bad.

It was raining, which wasn’t great; but the currency was half the price of the Indian Rupee and we easily arranged a taxi transfer to our hotel, which was good. It was *very* humid in Colombo, which was bad; but our taxi had aircon, which was good. The taxi fare was arranged in advance and a bargain at the price, which was good; but the driver couldn’t find our hotel, so we ended up driving around and around until 00h30, which wasn’t fun.

It was not the taxi driver’s fault though. Their numbering system is up the pole. Our hotel was number 103/12 Dharmapala Mawatha, which had no road frontage – it just went 101A, 101B… Big bank with no number. We drove up and down, went around the block stopped a few wandering locals to ask them… And then eventually lucked out with a stab in the dark, driving down a narrow alley at the far side of the big banking complex… Which revealed all the 103/extensions! It was so narrow and windy that we’re not sure how the poor driver got out of there but we tipped him well for his troubles and – short of having to apologise profusely to number 103/11 whose bell we mistakenly rang the first time – were done with the challenges for the night.

Or so we thought. The room we were allocated wasn’t the room we booked. We got a very spartan back room with twin singles on either wall, with thin foam mattresses and a single top sheet draped at the foot to be used for cover. Worse than that – no en suite! Far too late for debate though (I started the discussion with the landlord but was soon lost in translation) and seemed pointless to argue seeing as we were straight to be and up and out early anyway.

We placed an order for our breakfast (cheese and ham toasties, with coffee for Christian) and called it a (very long) day.

SATURDAY

Saturday morning we awoke to no rain, bright skies, but a few menacing clouds on the horizon so we decided that, rather than tempt fate and end up doing Colombo sight-seeing in the rain, we’d go straight to Galle.

We were staying in Unawatuna Beach, said to be one of the most beautiful beaches in the world preserved by its coral reefs, and the prospect of a lazy lounger day and lingering sundowners trumped hot and sticky Colombo from the moment the possibility was brought to discussion!

We grabbed a taxi down to Maharagara, to the terminus where the busses leave for Galle. We’d initially planned on taking the train from Fort (Colombo) to Fort (Galle), but this was a 3 and some change hour ride, so the express bus on the Southern Expressway being less than an hour and a half held much appeal. The hotelier warned that this express comes at a premium and is twice as expensive as the normal train or intercity bus, but at 940 Sri Lankan Rupees for both of us (R70), we sucked it up!

Our hearts sank when we got to the ‘terminus’, which was little more than a tarmac clearing with a long snaking queue of people waiting, but it worked out swimmingly since the bus arrived as we joined the back of the queue and – unbelievably – we got literally the last 2 seats on that bus! Enormously good signs!

Turns out the earlier-than-planned departure to Unawatuna was the right thing to do. An easy bus ride, greeted at the Galle end by a jovial and enthusiastic taxi driver who gave us a new appreciation for living with his Knieval driving style and, best of all, we beat the weather at its own game. Galle and Unawatuna were both sunny skies and nowhere near as humid.

We checked in at Surfcity Guesthouse and were pleased to see that the ‘hit and miss’ relatively blind online booking process had dealt us a winner. Down a single lane road parallel to the beach, the triple story hotel had us booked in a simple, but clean and ample room on the middle floor, facing directly over their restaurant and bar (across the road) with a lovely view of the ocean.

The ocean was gorgeous, with dark blue on the horizon, mottling blue and green over the coral reef, lightening to turquoise near the shore and then dramatically changing to a light aquamarine in the last few metres before the white foamy section climbs the sand toward us.

Of course there was science to the miraculous effect since there wasn’t much shallow end to this big pool and clearly as soon as it gets deep, so does the colour deepen. It was quite rough (especially after the tranquility of our Goan experience), but the unpredictability of the incoming swells and the strength of the undercurrent were the fun side of challenging and we had some good giggles at having our feet pulled out from under us! … And better fun watching other people floundering about the place!

We lunched at a spot called The Rock, drawn in by the plaque at the entrance that commemorates their reopening after being devastated by the 2004 tsunami from the earthquake measuring 9 on the Richter scale. A good story was enough to draw us in and we enjoyed our fresh seafood metres away from the waterline. The food was really good – fried tuna and deepfried calamari rings (even though we’d ordered grilled, they clearly knew better), and I even ate the salad that was served alongside! It was unusual – shredded cabbage, grated carrot, slivers of cucumber, diced spring onions and wedges of pineapple. I haven’t eaten that much raw food on one plate since I last ordered carpaccio!

We wiled away the afternoon on loungers outside our hotel’s beachfront restaurant. Dipping and dunking in the sea periodically and entertaining ourselves watching the beach dogs and kittens.

At sunset we showered and changed and checked out the high street, which really doesn’t have anything to offer (including no ATM, we found out we have to catch a tuktuk to Galle to draw money!) so we retired back to our stretch of paradise for sundowners.

Unawatuna is a 2 km long bay with bars and restaurants side by side most of the way around, with a skinny walkway of sand between where the loungers end and the sea actively begins. It was not crowded or built-up though. The restaurants are all wooden and charming and there was a single row of loungers so it was not cramped like Patong Beach the previous year. It was great to sit at The Peacock with a lowered table with short-legged patio furniture for sundowners. We were inches above the sand and every so often a goliath wave would make it as far as lapping to our feet.

We’d picked a good spot so we ended up ordering dinner there as well. Noodles and pizza for a change of pace, but both with prawns and shrimp to keep the seaside authenticity. We’d had a bevvy of beach pets around us all day, but it was only our black and ginger patched kitten that begged for food, wailing as each forkful went into our mouths. She got a small cube of chicken, a shrimp, a piece of pizza crust and a faceful of pizza crumbs for her efforts and seemed quite pleased with herself (before strutting off to her next feeders).

SUNDAY

We arranged first thing in the morning for a tuktuk to come and collect us to take us to Galle at 11am. Our mission twofold, see the sights and find an ATM. While there’s no shortage of tuktuk drivers begging our custom, it was just easier to pre-negotiate and firm a fixed time with our concierge.

Plans in place we hoofed it to ‘town’ in search of a light breakfast (bananas and drinking yoghurt the Plan A from experience in Eastern Europe), but found no such things at the nearby supermarket, so we returned to our stretch of beach and had a cheese and egg roti (spelt ‘rotty’ here) instead.

It was delicious! A big thin roti with eggs and cheese smeared on top and folded as it cooked so the final product was a sideplate-sized square parcel with a few layers of roti, egg and cheese. Very light, very yum.

We rewarded our great choice with a lounge on the restaurant’s loungers and a dip in the sea before heading back to shower and ready for our excursion.

The day was a scorcher. By the time we’d walked down the stairs and got into the tuktuk, we were drenched from sweat and very grateful for the breeze the puttering tuktuk created on movement. Our driver spoke good English and so we’d negotiated a full city tour on top of the return trip for an extra 200 Roupees (R14). He told us that Galle is 6km from Unawatuna and we’d be seeing the fort, visiting a spice shop and a jewellery factory and stopping for lunch.

First was the Fort, which you can drive into and comprises an entire walled old city taking up the full bulbous peninsular south of the cricket grounds. The fort was 620 years old and was built by the Dutch. They did a good job and the fort wasn’t damaged in the 2004 tsunami; in fact, the high thick walls meant that the water didn’t even get in the fort at all, chanelled around either side and wiping out the new city inland.

We saw the famous clock tower and lighthouse, took some photos of the cricket ground (apparently funded by Shane Warne), saw the underground dungeon jails and the pits where prisoners were kept, got gawked at by locals (there was a school on tour) and warned against entering the area still operational by local army. It was a really quick tour that we probably could have managed on our own, but it was nice to have the tuktuk at our disposal to be able to drive us up and down the narrow streets so we could see some of the ‘antique houses’ that are now mostly government buildings, hotels or holiday houses owned by rich overseas people (mostly Germans, we were told).

Next was the jewellery shop, with the same schpiel and false warmth. Still, we enjoyed their aircon and the 3 ice cold Cokes they gave us (saying Christian was too big for just one buddy bottle).

We asked our driver to take us to the market, but were underwhelmed with the merchandise. We visited a spice store, which held the most promise but left empty-handed.

Last stop was lunch. We’d asked the driver to take us to a local spot that served a decent Sri Lankan signature curry and rice, and ended up in a backroom cafe, with a generous handful of locals pouring over very interesting looking plates. We ordered 1 fish (tuna) and 1 chicken curry and waited to see what we’d be given. We ended up with an enormous bowl of rice, 2 little bowls with the meats each in its own distinct sauce, a bowl of dahl, and 3 or 4 other bowls of things we’d never seen before. All in all, a worthwhile experience for R30 in total, including a 1,5 litre bottle of water.

Back to our beach, we frittered away the afternoon on loungers, browsing the wares of passing hawkers (I bought a throw for my spare room) and joining the bobbing heads in the sea every now and then.

We rounded off a perfectly productive day planning the next, by booking the much anticipated surf lessons for the following day. Plans in place, we celebrated with yet another leisurely candlelit beachside dinner (grilled tuna for me and nasai goreng for Christian) and retired to our hotel patio.

MONDAY

We had intended to breakfast at the place that professed itself to be the best rotty shop in Unawatuna… But it wasn’t open yet – and we had a surf lesson date to keep, with the tuktuk meeting us at 9am. We settled for Black & White (our hotel’s beachside restaurant – our room’s terrace looks over the restaurant’s roof at the sea) and had a very pleasant cheese and mushroom (me) and Sri Lankan (onion, tomato, chilli, spice) omelette.

The tuktuk took us 40 minutes South to Weligama; it’s a small island so this was far enough to take us from SSE Sri Lanka to Sri Lanka South. We met with the surf instructor who issued us with rash vests and boards and we were off.

We were given a short tutorial on the sand on what to do. Paddle, hold the board, chest up, pop, crouch, adjust weight, arms out. Seemed simple enough. So, it was out to the water.

We did really well the first few times, even standing on the board within the first 15 minutes! But, then you get tired and it gets harder to fight the waves to get out and we misjudged a few waves and followed duds and, to be honest, ended worse than we’d begun. First hour up, we took to the shore for some liquid refreshment to regain breath and composure. Christian decided to man the shore, but after a half hour break I hit the waves again.

It was hard work, but really cool. And ticking off a bucketlister to boot!

On the way back home we stopped to take pics of the stiltfisherman – perched on poles fixed in the ocean bed, with their feet just above the water, spearing fish below.

All the surfing and commuting had been thirsty work, so lunch was a matter of urgency on our return. We decided on the Lucky Tuna, mainly because they take credit card (very rare in these parts), and they promised us toasties post haste. True to their word, Christian’s tuna and cucumber and my Club sandwich were very quick – and yum. Being fed on a comfy lounger led to the inevitable and we were ‘reading’ (really, napping) soon after.

At sunset, we were ushered from the loungers and headed back to the hotel to shower and dress and head out to do our last gift-shopping. We’d accidentally found the night before a road sort of parallel to ours that had a stream of restaurants, hotels, jewellers and curio stores. We had found it after dinner so the stores were shut, but definitely worth a revisit.

We doubled the gift-shopping with a hunt for a restaurant serving fresh butter fish. It had become a sort of quest since the night before a few restaurants we’d tried had advertised it on their specials board and then not had it when we ordered. We found a gorgeous spot, that had the actual fish on display at the open air barbecue selection buffet (“you pick it, we cook it” kinda thing), so the deal was sealed.

Thaproban had a very ‘tranquil’ entrance section, which initially put us off the night before as it seemed more zen than yum. What we hadn’t seen was that once you choose your fish from the road-facing zen side (all floating lotus flowers and whatnot) you’re led around the hotel to the sea-facing side to wooden tables and chairs on a seasand piled terrace with the sea lapping up to the edge. Really pretty.

The food was amazing! The butter fish was served whole, with head and tail, alongside a generous helping of McD’s style chips and the same shredded cabbage salad as the previous days. Christian selected deep fried crumbed seer fish as the second dish and it accompanied perfectly. While the butter fish was moist and flaky, the crumbing of the seer fish provided the crunch with a slightly drier meat, but not chewy like a game fishg. Christian likened it to a kabeljou; it just liked it.

We also had the delight of getting our hands on a few bottles of Three Coins, supposedly Sri Lanka’s local beer… Although this is the first time we’ve seen it and Lion was everywhere. Christian has been trying to get a beer label vest (or even t-shirt) everywhere, without success. The hotel manager happened to wander past our table to ask if the food and service had been satisfactory and we ended up having a lengthy digress with him about it – and he’d offered to get us a shirt sent from the factory for free, but it would take a few days, which of course we don’t have.

Nightcaps at Black & White to end the day as it had begun and it was off to bed, to wake for an early start to return to Colombo. A day of sight-seeing and then we’re off to the Maldives.

TUESDAY

Our plans to get up early and have a good breakfast before our trek to Colombo were thwarted when, typically, the hotel’s restaurant didn’t open at its usual 8am. When it still wasn’t open at 8.15 and our tuktuk was early we decided to change tack and head to Galle, thinking we could grab a snack from a shop near the bus depot and eat properly in Colombo.

We had been warned that there may be no bus service running since our planned departure date happened to coincide with Poya Day, which is the monthly full moon holy day as observed by the Buddhists, being the majority, so is a public holiday (every month!). We’d consulted a few people and gotten quite conflicting reports varying from the busses not running to running every 10 minutes.

It all worked out quite well, with our tuktuk driver stopping at a cafe where we could buy egg rotties and water (under R20 for both of us) and the bus waiting for us when we arrived. We ended up 15 minutes ahead of schedule with the best of everything we’d planned! (Except the bus’s very exuberant entertainment, with local music videos blaring from screens suspended from the aisle roof). We again thanked our lucky stars for the express bus, slicing the travel time in half. Might not sound like a big deal for back home, but quite fortunate that Sri Lanka’s *only* highway was only completed last year and happened to be the exact route we needed.

There was a moment of panic when the bus didn’t return to the depot as anticipated and we were unceremoniously deposited on an arbitrary section of pavement. But a request for directions to the depot (since this was where we were meeting the guide we’d pre-arranged) yielded easy directions to 50m down the road, where Shami was already waiting.

We started our guided tour with the Monument of Fallen Soldiers – a monolith with lions at its base with walls and walls of names of soldiers who died over the 33 years of war between the Sinalhese and the Tamils. Our guide estimates around 400,000 people fell during the fighting, including innocent people in the terrorist park bombings.

We then drove past the biggest Buddha and the national cricket grounds (which Christian recognised from TV) and on to Independence Square, with its large monument to commemorate independence in 1948. The monument is pagoda style – which again reinforces our constant impression that Sri Lanka feels a lot more like Thailand than India – and is again guarded by lions (statues, not beers). The lions apparently play a big part in the nations mythical history, with some strange story of witches and human/lion children.

This route led along Marine Drive, with a far more predictable beachfront layout than that in Mumbai – and a host of new hotels launched and under construction, not least of which the 7* Shangri La, due for opening in 2014 (and clearly not in the slightest related to the modest Shangri La where we stayed in Goa!). By contrast, we stopped at the railway station opposite and it was functional, but far from beautiful – and the train that stopped looked ancient and packed.

We were hungry again, being lunchtime and having such a light breakfast hours ago, so we stopped for a quick and easy McD’s. Christian had the Big Mac combo, which was exactly the same as at home, and I had the Big Mac chicken combo, which turned out to be a Big Mac with 2 junior chicken patties and mayo instead of the secret sauce. All good.

Refuelled, we drove through Colombo 7 (the fancy bit) and Shami pointed out all the important buildings – mostly municipal, governmental and state homes of dignitaries (mostly naval and military). Most fly the Sri Lankan flag as well as the Buddhist one (5 vertical stripes from left to about 3/4 right with blue, yellow, white, red and orange; then the same colours horizontal stripes taking up the right hand 1/4).

We passed on (yet another) Buddhist temple and our guide was a little taken aback at our honest “just the famous ones” response. There really are just too many for all to be interesting – and I’m more fascinated by the little offshoot shrines that can be found in the middle of intersections, at bus ranks, in the markets etc. Just a Buddha, with an altar and a bit of tiled floor space within waist-height palisade fencing, making the religion really accessible to the people to integrate their worship into their daily routines.

I’d wanted to visit Pettah, which is the famous market area, but was a bit disappointed that it was mostly luggage and electronic shops. The clothing shops are all a bit backward and the textile shops, where people seem to have everything made up custom aren’t of interest. Nonetheless, we walked up and down a few streets and drove around the rest and can tick it off as seen and done. It’s a blessing it was a public holiday so, while half the shops were closed, there was a fraction of the traffic so quite a pleasant experience overall.

We asked about the Fort here, having read that it’s a ‘to do’, but it’s a bit different to the other we’ve been to in that it’s not city within walls as is the conventional sense and the areas we’d been wandering around fell into the general ‘Fort’ district, adjacent to Pettah. The Cinnamon Gardens are also a bit misleading. I was expecting an actual cinnamon plantation or botanical experience of some sort, but it turns out that it’s just a fancy suburb named for the cinnamon groves that were there beforehand, when the area was established.

We did a bit more shopping and stopped at a few of the more interesting temples to grab a snap, especially the pretty pagoda on the lake next to the Botanical Gardens (which were literally that, not like the cinnamon story) with the ‘Treasure of Truth’ and wishing pond. But really, Colombo is just a city, so we’d had enough of driving around and got to the airport early for a relaxed check in for our flight to Maldives.

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 5: Jaipur

JAIPUR

20-21 November 2012

Arriving in Jaipur, we wound our way up the mountains through the ‘hotels’ that lined the streets on either side that had welcomed the traders as they arrived with their caravans of wares. The buildings are all in relatively good condition already and are planned for a restoration project that will turn them into proper tourist attractions.

Jaipur, founded by Jai Singh, is known as the Pink City because when the Prince of Wales visited in 1876 the Maharajah Ram Singh painted the entire Old City pink, which is the colour of welcome in India.

Our hotel, Mandawa Haveli, was gorgeous! We had a lovely suite with marble floors and walls, an entire lounge (which it sounds like not everyone has) and a flatscreen TV and satellite decoder on a lazy susan that swivels between the lounge and the bedroom, so you can watch from the couch, 4 poster bed or window seat in the bedroom.

We decided to eat in the hotel since our journey in hinted that there was nothing of interest in the direct neighbourhood. Turned out to be a great decision and we thoroughly enjoyed our starters of tandoori mushrooms (me) and chicken pineapple salad (Christian) and our shared main course of chicken lababdar and lamb, with garlic naans. Double victory for the hotel kitchen since we’d decided well in advance to take a night off curry and have a western dinner!

WEDNESDAY
Jaipur is one of the first planned city of northern India based on the principles of “Shilpa Shastra”, in fact “Jaipur clearly represents a dramatic departure from extant medieval cities with its ordered, grid-like structure – broad streets, criss-crossing at right anglese, earmarked sites for buildings, palaces, havelis, temples and gardens, neighbourhoods designated for caste and occupation” (UNESCO, 2015).

9 square miles within the walls, with 9 rectangular grids, length and breadth of roads are multiples of 9 and 9 gates to enter the city, emulating the 9 openings in the human body. Other reasons for the 9 are found in Hindu mythology, Vishnee the Preserver has had 9 incarnations and Durga appears in 9 different forms and so on.

We made a stop to look at the facade of a Palace where the royal ladies used to sit behind the windows and watch the royal processions. While taking pics, we were lured in by a snake charmer and I got to don turban and play the calabash pipe to get the snakes going. Creepy but cool.

We were disheartened to see the long snaking queue at the elephant rides, but it moved quite quickly and soon we were atop an elephant and climbing the hill to Man Singh’s Palace (built in 1592). Man Singh was the maharaja of the Rajastani people and a general in Mughal King Akbar’s army. The entire structure of the palace, much like the rest of Jaipur, is well preserved since the city has never seen war, having strategically aligned with the Mughals. They were generals in the Mughal army and ceded any territories won to the Mughals but brought the bounties home to fund their prosperity.

The entrance quadrangle is large with frescoes painted above all the arches and entryways into the buildings. Frescoes are painted while the plaster is wet, so lasts longer and requires more skill.

The summer palace was constructed with a primitive aircon that drew cool air from the lake on one side of the palace up 3 walls to cool, then through a khuskhus reed curtain with tiny pipes of water spraying on it to give it a light scent and cool it even further. The winter palace was lined with thick curtains that made the areas 5 degrees warmer than outside. The central area had mirrors embedded on the walls, to help the king ‘get in the mood’ when the belly-dancers performed before he was due to make heirs.

The harem had 12 apartments for the king’s 12 wives. The king had so many wives because of matrimonial alliances with neighbours to prevent fighting. The king would use a secret passage that ran behind the apartments to access them so as to prevent squabbling between the wives. Only women were allowed in this area – not even their sons could visit after a certain age. Children fathered through concubines or servants were either passed off as belonging to deceased soldiers or murdered.

Then the shopping started.

With a jewellery shop.

Not only was inner magpie on high alert, but they also greeted us with samoosas (pyramid shaped veg ones) and *cold* Cokes, so we were done for! They displayed the beautiful ruby Star of India stones that the country is famous for. The salespeople had done a good job of piquing interest by ushering us all into a darkened office and spotlighting the stones, but the chap holding the stone made the faux pas of glimmering the reflection ‘star’ toward himself so the rest of the group was quite underwhelmed. Having a solid education in such things, I picked up another stone and showed our little huddle the star and there was much ooo and aaah’ing from everyone.

Block painting fabric. The patterns are made from a series of stamps. The first lays the outline and then ensuing stamps colour in their part of the picture with a single colour. Once all the stamps are overlaid, the pattern is completely coloured in. Traditionally all the colourants are sourced from nature – green from mango leaves, red from cane, yellow from turmeric, black from gooseberries, grey from onion leaves and, least of which because of cost prohibitiveness, orange from saffron (“golden flower”).

We were also shown the process of carpet-making and the millions of knots per centimetre that make up the better grade carpets. While reassuring that they’re washable and fire retardant (they went at it with a blowtorch and then just brushed it clean), the opening price of R10k for a small mat was enough to make an easy decision. But we did accept their offer of a Kingfisher, so as not to offend and headed into their shop where their hospitality was rewarded with Christian buying half a dozen silk ties.

Pooped from shopping, we all welcomed lunch, which doubled as a trip to the Turban Museum. We had a delicious Mutton Shahi Korma (I was delighted that their korma doesn’t have nuts as normally I wouldn’t have it because of the cashews), paneer stuffed tandoori potatoes and a garlic and an onion naan.

Jai Singh was a great astrologer and mathematician, so established an awesome open-air observatory at Jantar Mantar, with a great big sundial (the Vrihat Samrat Yantra) and smaller dials that measure time with accuracy up to 2 seconds, astrological charts and monsoon forecasting. We had a lovely wander round, finished off with a visit to the Art hall, where we were demonstrated the art of miniature painting. This was a painstaking technique that required the artist to use a very thin brush (sometimes a single squirrel hair!) in order to create the finest of outlines and smoothest smear of colours. The paintings could be quite elaborate, painted on gold leaf with embedded jewels.

The artists included craftsmen of wooden items, inlaying trinket boxes by hand with brass wire to make intricate patterns or crushing semi-precious gems to adhere the dust onto glass that turned over reveals a beautiful pastel artwork, which is inlaid into the top of a wooden box. We bought a few items, but held back as the plan for the remainder of the afternoon and evening was a visit to the markets.

This turned out to be a chaotic affair. We were dumped rather unceremoniously roadside (the bus wasn’t allowed to formally pull over for fear of fines) and had to make our way back to the shops and market. This wasn’t what we expected at all. Rows of shops the size of a single garage lining either side of the road, with owners hovering in the doorway luring people to come buy their merchandise. The problem was that their wares weren’t what we wanted to buy. They were all home goods and rolls of textiles, hardware items and PEP style clothing stores.

After being given poor advice by seeming Samaritans, who really just wanted to take us to their shop no matter how ill-fitting the category, we (us and the Aussies) decided to suck it up and high-tail back to the fist bus stop we’d made in the morning (where I’d charmed snakes). Fortunately, it was quicker to get there on foot than it had been in the bus – but that’s not to say it was a pleasant walk!

Nonetheless, we found it… And with it an entire road of stalls with the tourist stuff (tees, crafts, parasols, sarees and tunics etc) that we’d all been looking for. We spent a few hours looking at everyone’s stuff and walked away with surprisingly little. Really just tees for the kids, a smattering of gifts, one or two odds and sods for us and (my coup de gras) a lovely leather laptop bag for me.

Getting home was another story. We (by now just Christian and me) walked and walked. We hadn’t realised how far we’d wandered, after the high-tailing which had only begun outside the Old City, within which we were staying. It wasn’t the distance that was the problem, but the darkness from the power failure, hawker-obscured pavements, maverick bikers, garbage everywhere, incessant hooting, puddles and filth. Still, we got back to the hotel quicker than if we’d caught any mode of transport – and we were very grateful to be back in the clean sanctum that was our home for the night.

We’d decided to eat in, and to eat ‘international’. Christian ordered a garlic chicken and noodles dish and I ordered a spag bol, then we also ordered ‘exotic veg au gratin’ to share, mostly because we were curious to see how exotic the veg actually was.

As it turns out, the spag bol was the most exotic! It was a stewy gravy with lumps of mutton (or goat?) served moat-like around a mountain of spaghetti. Not in the slightest bit tomatoey, garlicky, thick or saucy. I suppose we should have predicted that. The exotic veg turned out to be cauliflower, carrots, peas and green beans, which wasn’t really exotic (to us), but was delicious in the creamy cheese sauce with crunchy baked breadcrumbs on top.

Fed and watered, we hit the sack so we’d be rested for the next day’s trek to Surajgarh.

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).