Life Lived Well
By Miah on Jun 7, 2009 in Featured | 1 Comment
Someone had to say it.
Your actions are predictable. Your insights are recycled. You don’t bring surprise with you when you enter a room. You don’t bring mastery to your tasks.
That’s why people are ignoring you.
The only path left is to lean out of the edge and become interesting, noteworthy and yes, remarkable.
By Miah on Apr 10, 2010 in Rant | 6 Comments
You know, a trip like this scares me. You know why? I’m. Not. Ready. Of course I realize that nobody is really “ready” to ride a motorcycle half way around the world, leave their life for over a year, fly off mountains they’ve never seen, scale cliffs of terrifying difficulty, leave their business indefinitely, and trust the universe infinitely… But that’s not really it. I’m actually prepared to do all of those things. I’m just not ready.
See. I have back fat. Yep. Back fat. A month of hedonistic eating on my return from Africa has left me embarrassed when I take off my shirt and winded when I walk up the stairs. My typically skinny frame is taking on the shape of redneck on the way to go tubing. I’ve got to do something about that. How can I expect to perform at a high level on my trip when wetting myself seems like a better answer than dragging myself the 20′ to the bathroom?
But that’s not all. I’ve eaten a steady diet of Paragliding junk food with lots of binge and purge thrown in. I went from baby peas, to steak with no transition. I went from beginner pilot to P4 launches and cross country insanity in the Owens Valley (serious big mountain site). I went from being scared to use half my brake travel to doing full stalls. I went from hardly being able to land in a football field, to having to land in a parking spot. There was no transition, and none of the accumulated wisdom that comes from slowly progressing through a sport. Imagine having learned how to ride a motorcycle last week, and this week you’re entering a televised superbike race. That’s what my paragliding learning curve was like. That’s fucking dangerous and I know just enough to get killed.
Climbing. Yah, I’ve got back fat there too. I’m like the hot amateur boxer who had some title fights in Vegas, was pretty damn good, knew his shit, slowly drifted into retirement after too many thumps to the head, then just up and decided he was going to jump right back into a title fight ten years later. Aww, the lure of past glory. There’s a big problem though. Back fat.
Should we talk about money? Do you even want to know how much back fat is hanging off my credit cards? My finances and my lungs are in similar states of pathetic shape.
I think you guys get the point. I’m. Not. Ready.
This trip of global domination proportion is happening, and I better be ready for the level of pain, abuse, and toughness that’s necessary for success. I better be solid climbing sketchy, run out 5.11 finger cracks. I better have the wisdom to judge conditions and leave my paraglider in the bag if death is waiting in a thermal. I better have the skills to slide in and square off a corner I just entered too hot on my motorcycle. I better be strong and flexible enough to not break when shit goes wrong and my body hits the ground. I better have the lungs and heart to haul bricks all day for the people I’m volunteering next to. I better get rid of the back fat, all of it.
Training starts NOW. I have eleven months to get fucking strong, fit, and really good at my chosen sports. If I want to change the world, I have to change myself first. Good bye back fat, hello awesome.
By Miah on Mar 2, 2010 in Rant, Travel | 3 Comments
Immersion travel is different. You get to be someplace for long enough that you quit seeing it through tourists eyes and start seeing and knowing the hearts and minds of the friends you’ve made. The markets, palaces, ancient walls, crazy traffic, all the crazy sights, sounds and smells quit registering as vividly and become the backdrop of your life in the moment.
There comes a time when you realize you aren’t here visiting, you live here. This is where your life is taking place in the now. The awkwardness of language and cultural differences remain, and you miss the simplicity and comforts of home, but this is your home for now. This distinction is profound. Instead of walking through a place soaking it all in, you are in a place as part of it.
I don’t travel to escape anything, I travel because I love it. I love to see new things, meet new people, and have amazing experiences. The start of a trip always feels like an escape though. It feels like vacation. After a few weeks, that wears off and the normal you is still in that place. The normal you stripped bare of your normal outlets for your natural tendencies.
If your life habit is to work 50 hours, eat junk food, and watch tv all night, you will come to a point in the trip where those desires will overwhelm all the “new” and excitement of a place. You will want your normal life back. You will CRAVE that routine and you will want to go home. This is a feeling you have to lean into and push through, and it’s not easy.
It’s ok to be homesick, but it’s far better to be honest about why you are. What is this life you miss so much and why is it so damn important for you to get back to American Idol and a job you hate? Is it your path to drift through life from one pointless stimuli to the next? Is this your purpose. Is this all you are?
These questions cut deep and the truth often hurts. But it’s ok, you can always pour one more whisky, load one more porn site, eat another bowl of ice cream in front of the tv, or take another trip to the mall.
Is this all you are? And of course, when I say you, I mean me. And you.
By Miah on Feb 25, 2010 in Travel | 2 Comments
There were so many things we wanted to do! Hiking in the high Atlas mountains was high on the priority list, as was heading to the coast of Essaouira for some beach time. While discussing our options over breakfast, Tariq’s phone rang. It was one of his friends telling him about a trip leaving the next day to Zagora which is the gateway to the Sahara. Decision made. Plan settled. When the universe talks it’s best to listen!
The rest of the day was normal for Marrakech. Snails and OJ, snake charmers and monkey tamers, story tellers and henna artists, and us hiking through the middle of it all. We ate, talked, walked and Garry shopped. He got a room for the night and we made a plan to get together at 6 am for our long trip south.
Seven hours. That’s how long it takes to drive to Zagora. We had five Argentineans, one Greek dude, and our trio. Our little van had room for everyone, and our driver was extraordinary. It was wonderful zooming through parts of Morocco I hadn’t seen yet. It seems each village has its own specialty. Some were sheep, some were geodes, some were crops, some were nothing but ladies digging weeds to weave. I napped, we ate, and we drove on.
Our driver pulling off the road startled me from sleep. I saw that we where high in snowy mountains, with crazy cliffs and waterfalls everywhere. I jumped out, snapped a few pics, and realized there was an animated conversation going on in the van. I climbed back in and heard our driver and our Argentinean pals heatedly discussing something in french, them talking to each other in spanish, and our driver making calls in Arabic. I didn’t know what the hell was going on, but it was clear that it wasn’t good.
One of the Argentineans brought us up to speed in english. We couldn’t go on because the bridge in Zagora was flooded. What! We can’t go to the sahara because it’s flooded, and we get this news while we are surrounded by snow! The hair on my neck stood up because I knew this was about to get good.
Ours was not a passive crew. Immediately, maps came out, ideas got tossed around and the driver realized we were not just going to go along with whatever program the tour company had lined up. The wanted to take us to a hotel close the sahara and put us up there for the night and take us back the next day. We said fuck no, you can give us more than we paid for, but not less. We looked at teaming up with another expedition that was leaving from anther city and spending an extra day. We talked about going back and getting refunds. In the end and after a phone call he said “Zagora!” Cool! We headed on to our original destination knowing there was a flood waiting for us.
People were everywhere. We drove our van through crowds of people, past cars parked on the sidewalks, and up to the first barricade. Our driver talked with the cop (everything in Arabic sounds like an argument), we crammed our van into an open section of sidewalk and hiked down see what the commotion was about.
God there were a lot of people there! It was clear people had been waiting for days for this bridge to open, thousands of them. There was an optimistic energy from the crowds, and an excitement from seeing such a sight. The river was indeed flooded, WAY flooded. We had seen many signs of this miles before Zagora, but this was our first encounter up close and personal with the river. The bridge we needed to cross was about a half mile beyond another heavily patrolled barricade and about 200 yards long. You could see the river rapid that was formed from the river pouring over the high railings of the bridge. Impassable.
Our crew of nine watched the river, the people, the cops, the engineers and the folks on the other side for an hour or so. We talked to anyone who had some idea of what might transpire. It seemed that the river had gone down throughout the day, and may go down enough at night for people to cross on foot. Naturally I only listened to the optimists, and I felt good about our chances.
We told our driver that we wanted him to line up transportation on the other side of the river, have our camel team ready to trek into the night, and we wanted some beers while we waited. At the bar in a hotel we had our first chance to sit around and really get to know everyone. When you go through a tour company, you never know what kind of people you’ll wind up traveling with. We struck gold with our crew.
Every person was well traveled, highly intelligent, down to earth, funny, and emphatic about blazing their own trail. There were other groups in the hotel lobby too, and they all looked glum and resigned to having shitty trips. Our crew was laughing, drinking, locking down plans, and having a damn good time. Rock stars. After beers, came wine, and with wine came dinner. After dinner we hiked our asses back to the river to see how things looked.
We were almost there when we saw our van heading our direction. Our driver had been doing some bribery by the river and had talked the police into letting us attempt a crossing. Funny how quickly optimism can turn to fear. To attempt and fail meant they would find our bloated corpses tangled up in some reeds in the Nile. Thankfully the water had gone down quite a bit.
Nervous excitement took over, and each person rapidly collected their packs, pulled their hip straps tight and crossed the barricade for the half mile walk to the bridge. Going from huge crowds, to an empty road in the moonlight was intense. Hearing the water roaring was intense. Seeing the bridge up close for the first time was just fucking nutty! Holy shit. We are about to actually do this!
We took off our shoes, rolled our pants up to our crotches and I stepped into the mud leading to the bridge. WOW. Thick mud, then soupy mud, then cold water, then water over my feet, then deeper water, then the current. We hiked slowly along with the moon reflecting off the rippled water around us, some people holding hands for support, . There was a fire on the other side of the bridge to aim for and we waded farther. Over our knees the current was strong. We all took careful steps with water splashing higher up our bodies. Close now. The people on the other side of the river where cheering and we hiked on.
I never felt in danger, but it was there. The metallic taste of adrenaline overwhelmed any fear. I loved being in the middle of that river, feeling the current pull at my legs knowing that my life is wonderful.
There was a driver waiting for us on the other side. He drove us a couple miles up the road, then off the road to our camel team and their Berber tenders. Under normal conditions this would have been kinda neat, but since this was unfolding under African stars in the middle of the Sahara after crossing a deadly river, the experience is burned into my mind. The smile on my sisters face as her camel stood up, back legs first, then front, was about enough to make a fella cry. What a beautiful experience.
Camels kinda suck to ride. They take huge loping steps, and the back of beast a long trip from the front. Your torso is always fighting to catch up to your hips. Christ, where is my KTM 450! My nuts hurt in five minutes and I swung sidesaddle in eight. I finally figured out how to move in time with the animal and settled in for the ride into the Sahara. The only sound was wide feet on dirt, the occasional groan, and some murmured conversation. The stars were blazing over head, and my friends were shadows around me.
We finally made it to our Berber camp. We all tiredly staked out a pad, grabbed a couple of blankets and drank tea with our three wonderful Berber hosts. This day is for the record books.
There was real danger of the river rising again and us getting stuck on the wrong side. No one wanted that, so we were up early, snapped a few pictures of camp and saddled up for the plod back. Our original driver was waiting for us at the road and told us we had two hours for breakfast before they closed the bridge to vehicular traffic.
The seven hour ride home passed without event. Everyone slept, snacked and slept some more. We said our good bye’s in Marrakech and parted knowing we all shared something special together. Yes. Rock Stars every one.
By Miah on Feb 23, 2010 in Travel | 4 Comments
Still on the road to recovery. About the best I could muster was food and more naps. Sadly there is no more to tell.
I woke up with energy for the first time in what felt like forever. Sister and I went on a morning hike before anyone else was up. After breakfast we went on a bike ride too. Nothing eventful, but it was wonderful being out of the house and moving my body. The sun was a treat too. It’s been crazy rainy and windy here the last several days. I was thankful the sun was smiling on my recovery.
I’m still not 100%, but close. Sadly, it seems April is coming down with what got me. Hopefully she doesn’t get hit as hard or as long, because she has boy company coming tomorrow.
In Morocco, rarely do I enter my days before 9 or 10:00. Today was different. I was in the kitchen making sandwiches out from the best peppered turkey you can imagine at 5:30am. I was alert, full of energy, and excited to be moving on to a new city, meeting new friends, and celebrating my healed body.
Aunti, April, me and our taxi driver chased Tariq on his scooter to the train station. In spite of the early start, we were late. We ran into the station, they got tickets, we ran to the ATM to get cash (Dirhams), and we all sprinted to catch our train. We found a mostly empty room on the train and settled in for the long ride to Casablanca.
I like trains. I like trains way more than busses, cars, taxi’s or camels (more on that later). Clickity clack, clickity clack, soft rocking motion combined with the company of my sister and wonderful Aunt and the African countryside, creates an introspection that’s hard to duplicate. Amazing. There have been terrible rains here for the last week and sections of our track were under water so our progress was slower than usual, but we arrived in Casablanca about four hours later.
Aunti had some business at the Consulate, and April and I were on our way to the airport. See, April has a guy, and he’s crazy enough to buy a ticket to Africa to hang out on a whim. I like him already. In spite of being in Africa for two weeks, this was our first venture out alone. I was super stoked to be adding a person to our crew, all of having no idea what to do, an nothing but imagination to guide us.
We found our way to our airport train, found our way through airport security and found out that Gary wouldn’t be in for another 12 hours. What!?! We argued with the guy at the information booth, wandered around some more, and finally made a plan to double check his itinerary ourselves. I tracked down a WIFI for my iPhone, and paid 10 Euros for a little bit of time and worked on getting into my sisters email to see what the hell was going on. In the mean time, she went hunting. Turns out we were right all along. Up tromps this tall dude with dark curly hair, a scruffy face, and traveled eyes, along with my sister who is glowing. Stoked!
Our plan from the airport was a bit comedic. We took the train to a new station, asking at each one of this was Casa Port. Nobody speaks english. Nobody. This hip young dude, threw us a nod when we got to the right place and pointed to the other train we needed to catch to get to Casa Port. Chocran (thanks) buddy.
At Casa port I battled with the pay phones till I get through to Tariq in Marrakech to find out where we are supposed to meet his friend. I got a hotel name, we flag down a taxi and go zooming through Casablanca chaos to our meeting spot.
Casablanca is way different than Marrakech. It’s much more cosmopolitan and modern. It’s like any major city in the world without the mini skirts. Lots of people rushing around, less mules, more cars, and people who look like people, not like monks.
At the hotel, we waited for a stranger to come find us. Fifteen minutes later our pal arrives. He come up and says Tariq, we nod, grin and shake his hand. He speaks nothing we understand, and he can understand nothing we say. We buddied up and hiked back to his bachelor pal. It’s impossible to share how silly, but empowering it feels to so readily have a friend in a new city with no verbal communication possible and still creating a bond and functional communication. We all liked each other immediately.
He showed us his house and I realized he was trying to figure out if we were pleased with it enough to stay with him or if we wanted to get a hotel. It was a basic crash pad, and the decision was a no-brainer. I emphatically told him that we loved it and would be honored to stay with him and it was settled. We drank some tea, talked to each other in gibberish, laughed about that, and jumped in a couple of taxi’s to head to biggest Mosque in Northern Africa.
The Mormons have some stuff to learn about architecture from the Muslims. The scale, beauty, and intimate detail of this building made me want to face mecca and praise Allah. Being there at sunset added to the magic. Being there with friends made the magic matter. What a deep honor to be in such a sacred place.
Finding a taxi back was a challenge, so we hoofed it. One trip through a corner of a city on foot or by skateboard, and I can always find my way from any place. It’s my superpower. I was glad for the chance to see the city up close and to calibrate my compass. Our new pal had to work, so we were on our own for the evening. We kicked back, watched some american action movies with french voiceovers and Arabic subtitles, ate takeout, and got to know Gary.
Gary is a published author of philosophical fiction, plays poker for money, worked for the NSA, and has traveled the world. We share many of the same world views, ideas about life and work, and have made similar choices in regards to drugs and alcohol. April met him at a book store in Vegas and didn’t know him much better than I did! It was a good time talking to him. It was a better time when our Casablanca hookup got off work and lit up the hookah.
The word for hookah here is chisha which sounds a lot like hashisha to my ear. We really weren’t sure what we were smoking, but what the hell. When in Rome… He packed the sticky stuff into the top, covered it in foil, put a big charcoal on top and puffed away. And puffed and puffed and puffed. I figured he wasn’t sucking that much hash into his lungs or he would have passed out in moments, at least I knew I would, so we figured it had to be tobacco.
He passed me the tube and I sucked in a long delightful pull of minty smoke. Following his cue, I sucked in more too. When the smoke around my head was as thick as Utah smog, I passed the love on to April. We went around and around and smoked and smoked, drank mint tea and smoked more. Conversation wasn’t even needed and everyone was beautifully content.
This was why I wanted to get away from Marrakech. This was the Morocco I was missing. My perfect day was perfectly complete.
Gawd I slept good. Traveling before sunrise and staying up till 3 am smoking with pals will help with that. Around 11 or so we all headed down the road to get our coffee fix. The little cafe our Casablanca buddy took us to was awesome. The coffee was the first good coffee I’d had here, and the corn cakes were the closest to an American breakfast I’d had in weeks. Did you know that America and Great Britain are the only places in the world who have big ridiculous breakfasts?
Our buddy had to work again, so we were on our own for the day. He pointed us towards the Medina and we set off. You’ve read about other Medina’s in my other posts. The medina’s here are similar, but slummier. The energy is more dangerous and the goods more modern. Designer jeans and fancy shoes are next to slaughtered sheep. Electronics and hand made pottery share the same corner. All around us are the high red walls of the original ancient city.
We hiked aimlessly for hours, found ourselves in the slums and kept on going. We were warned about wandering too deep off the main roads, but I’d rather risk a mugging than sanitize my experience. I like the slums, I like the trash, I like the dark corners and shady characters. I like that I was hiking with a stout 6’4” ex-government agent too.
We wound up near the ocean and giant mosque again, made a lap, played yo-yos with the visiting school kids and hiked back the way we came. On the way home, we bought a new Hookah for our friend who took such good care of us, and took him out to eat.
Around dark we said our goodbyes and taxied over to the train station. Sadly, the process of catching a cab took longer than we expected and our train to Marrakech had departed by the time we got to the station. No matter. That just gave us two hours to eat M&M’s while we waited for the last train.
There was no scenery drifting by on the return trip, since the sun had been down for hours, but my ipod, some naps, a some snacks created the absolute clarity we all treasure. Clickity Clack Clickity Clack to Marrakech. I found my bed around 2 am and sleep was a blanket pull away.
By Miah on Feb 16, 2010 in Travel | 0 Comments
It’s inevitable. If you travel you get the shits. A vague shadow of “not feeling so hot” started to show its face today. I think I ate a little less at lunch that normal, but other that that I stubbornly refused to accept that I wasn’t feeling tops. There were two big items on the agenda, so sick was not an option!
I’ve been hearing about these public bath houses (Hammam) since I got to Morocco. Tariq tells me regularly that we must go to the Hammam. The thought of a public bath house makes me a bit nervous. Pooping, talking on the phone, and showering are the three things I like doing in private (in that order). Going to bathe with a bunch of dudes just didn’t trigger my stoke button. However uncomfortable I thought it might be, I knew it would be an upgrade from the cold shower earlier in my trip though. (link)
The first room you come to is much like any changing room in any gym or pool, except here they throw you out if you expose yourself. I did the modest towel change like everyone else and got into my swimming shorts. From here things get more interesting.
Hammam’s are basically a bunch of cavernous tile rooms heated from below with a wood furnace. Tall arched ceilings hold in the humidity. It feels much like a sauna, but there are multiple large rooms, each progressively hotter. We staked out our spot in the rear of one of the back rooms, and went to fill our buckets with hot water. Here the bathing is done by dipping into the buckets and pouring water on yourself, no showers in sight.
The first step after getting wet is to wipe a black soap that has the consistency of melty carmel all over your body and then lay on the tile floor. Ahh, relaxing in that hot humid room melted away any apprehension I harbored. I could have done that for hours, maybe I did.
When I came in I noticed that many of the men were being aggressively scrubbed by the bath attendants, or fathers by their sons, or sons by their fathers. I thought I would just sit in my corner, pour hot water on my head and body, relax, soap up, rinse off, relax, etc. Nope. Tariq left and returned with a wiry guy in his mid 40’s. He took me to one of the cooler rooms and had me lay on my back. I didn’t even have time to get used to the idea of this before he tore into me.
Holy. Shit. The scrubby gloves they use could double as cheese graters. He was a strong bastard too. For a minute I thought he was punishing the infidel, but I refused to show the agony. He’d scrub and scrub, moved me this way and that and scrub me some more. My skin tingled like when your arm falls asleep, and he scrubbed some more. Back, face, legs, arms, stomach, feet, he scrubbed till I felt lumps of dead skin mounded next to me. Gross.
He sent me into the bathroom with the glove to wash my private bits. Needless to say, I was more gentle. Back at my buckets, I rinsed off the heaps of dead skin, pulled out my soap and washed again. I am certain I have never been so clean. It was a miraculous way to bathe, and I’m excited to do it again.
I think balance it important. After experiencing a cleansing bath in a style not much changed for thousands of years, I need some sin square things up. Tonight is club night and I hear it’s outrageous. Tariq stayed in, so our gang consisted of my sister and I, aunti, and a local player and his hottie girlfriend, both who are deep in the club scene.
Morocco was occupied by Spain for a long time and is still a major tourist hub for Europeans who want to party. The new section of Marrakech is a collection of posh hotels, clubs, shops, and restaurants. Did I say Posh? That would be an understatement. So far I had only seen old Morocco. It was a shock to see how modern and upscale the new side of town was.
Mini skirts replaced veils, leather jackets replaced robes, dancing replaced prayer and booze replaced tea. Nice. Our first stop was a fun little place, much like most bars in the U.S. or Europe. We had a couple drinks and some laughs then headed to the main attraction.
You’ve not experienced this level of nice before. Vegas, New York, you “thought” you had the club scene figured out! Elegant and upscale are inadequate to describe this club. This large building was built around a huge desert oasis scene enclosed in glass, couches and tables running around the periphery, and beautiful people everywhere. This place is all money. Drinks cost 100 Dirham (about $15) and the women cost considerably more. Everything is for sale here.
In Morocco you are virgin or a prostitute. There isn’t a lot of middle ground. It’s an unfortunate side effect of the harsh attitudes towards woman who explore their sexuality outside of marriage. It’s nearly impossible for them to marry, the family often disowns them, and work opportunities are scarce. Prostitution is the only thing left for many of them. Under the soft lights and pulsing beats of the club, no one looked like victims. To my eye, it seemed liberation in comparison to the subservient role most women adopt here.
I enjoyed my drinks, the wonderful company, the opulence and beauty around me, and really enjoyed watching the dynamics of all the people around me, men and women. I had to chuckle a little to when a very handsome European man propositioned my sister with several hundred Euro for the night. Sadly the yuck that was sneaking up on me all day decided to attack full force.
By the time we got home around 1:30 am, I was shivering uncontrollably and wouldn’t stop shivering for a long time to come..
Shivering under pounds of blankets, soaking my bed with sweat, dreams and reality getting mixed up, time distortion, pain, so much pain. That was my day. My joints hurt so bad, I limped to the bathroom. I was so weak I struggled to open my water bottle or sit up. Aches everywhere. So miserable. Thankfully sleep came easily, and I spent most of the day napping. It is rare that I get sick, and even rarer for me to get crushed. I was decimated.
I ran my list of symptoms by my sister in med school and she came back with “typhoid fever, african sleeping sickness, dengue, filiarisis, leishmaniasis…” Shit! New policy: Every time I visit a new country, pop a penny and start sucking on the local currency. Immortality, here I come.
Since I obviously have no wild stories of crazy happenings, here are some observations that might surprise you.
By Miah on Feb 13, 2010 in Travel | 6 Comments
I’m feeling it. You can only stay in someone’s home for so long before you start feeling like you are putting them out. This feeling is certainly coming from me, since they have given no indication that I am wearing out my welcome, and they did tell me to come and stay as long as I want, but just the same, I feel like I am in the way.
Transportation is part of the problem. We have three people and one scooter. Going anywhere together that is not close to the house is difficult. I think we are all ready to explore dinner places outside of walking distance. Construction is another issue. The house is fairly large, but they are redoing the ceiling on the top level where I live, so I’m forced downstairs. The two huge main lounge areas are full of boxes and moving stuff, so this large house has shrunk to one room where we all can hang out.
I spend many mornings between breakfast and lunch outside reading, and most days after lunch I go exploring, but there is still a good bit of time at home. Maybe my feet are just itching for more and I’m projecting that feeling. Tomorrow April will be here and everything will change.
Excited! Up early because my sister April will be here soon. Tariq and I jump on the scooter and ride the 20 minutes to the airport, shivering in the cold morning air. It only took us a few minutes wandering around the airport before we spotted April hiking around with her huge back pack. Hugs and smiles were exchanged, and we went out to find a taxi.
April started her trip on Tuesday morning from Las Vegas. A layover in Atlanta, and a long layover and airline change in Madrid left forced close to 48 hours of non stop travel. Exhausting. Poor girl. She was able to get out of the airport in Madrid for a while and jump on the metro to explore. Still, she was tired. Food and sleep. I thought that was a good idea, so I slept too.
Lunch was again unbelievable. I can’t even describe it because I don’t know what it was, but it was delicious. A good start in Morocco for April for sure. I knew it was important for her to get on local time, so instead of more naps after lunch we did a trip into the city.
April is a bad ass. She’s been cranking through Cross-Fit for months and Bikram Yoga for years before that. She is definitely in shape. We jumped on the bikes and charged full speed into Morocco chaos. The bike ride with Aunti was fun, but I’m a full throttle guy and April can keep up. I’m sure it was crazy intense for her being in the middle of the traffic here for the fist time.
We rolled, we talked, we walked, we listened, we sampled, we laughed. Perhaps we looked and acted more like tourists than I do alone since we had a lot more encounters with people aggressively trying to put henna on our hands, or get us to eat their figs. It only took April a few minutes to learn how to effectively wave them off.
The little boy, probably four or five, who jumped on the back our bicycles while we pushed them was more determined! He’d jump on hers, run over and jump on mine, run back and jump on hers, she’d throw the bike into a wheelie to try dumping him off, he’d hold on for dear life till he slid to the ground then he’d run to mine and try again. It was damn funny for about 5 minutes, then it was just pesky. I tried putting on my mean voice: no, No NO, *roaring* NNNOOOOOOOO. And still this kid persisted. I’d pick him up by his arm and drop him away from the bikes, and back he’d run. Finally I had to give him the shoulder death grip. Ohh that just pissed him off. He looks at me with his little cheeks puffed out, mad as a hornet. He runs full speed at April and pushes her in the butt. I want to fall down laughing, but he runs at my bike and does a Charlie Brown kick at at it. He finally gets scolded by some locals, throws in a couple more token kicks and walks away with his mean face on. Now that was funny.
We met up with Aunti and Tariq around 9:00 pm, they rode the scooter together deep into the new part of the city and April and I sped behind them on our bikes. Every ride is an “ohh shit” experience, but I love every one. For dinner we had pizza that would have sucked in the states, but actually tasted good here. Strange.
The ride back became a race of wills, legs and lungs. We were really really far from home, but full of energy and on our own. We rode as fast as we could through the insanity and made it home with blood in our lungs and legs on fire. That rocked.
Sleep.
I could sense Anti’s stress growing. She need her printer, and she needed to see some progress on her house. The ceilings upstairs were done, so we could move some things into that room. One of the great rooms in her house is floor to ceiling boxes, bags, suite cases, and random oddities that she likes to collect. The amount of stuff she has is outrageous! Where to start is a big part of the problem and it kept everybody from doing anything. I determined to solve this for her. It helped that they were not going to be around to assist.
As soon as we all had lunch and they left, April and I dove in. It was the kind of chaos I like taming. We assembled contraptions to hang cloths on, we grouped like items together, we step up furniture in other parts of the house and when we were done, a massive room you could hardly walk into was a clean open space with walls organized with goods. Aunit was elated. She deserves some elation for being so generous with her hospitality.
At night Tariq, April and I rolled into the main square of the city. As usual it was wild; Monkey tamers, snake charmers, dancers, story tellers, hustlers, psychics, boxers, all with an audience. We wandered, talked and snacked sweets.
One of the highlights was a spice shop. Rocks and bark, powders of every sort and a very knowledgeable fella filled us in on what was what. Thousands of jars full of all kinds of everything made me feel like I was in a Harry Potter book. He crushed up some black seeds in a small fabric square and gave it to me to snort. Ohh what the hell, when in Rome… I took a long snort of this black powder, then did it again with the other nostril. Nice. The prophet Mohammed talks about this powder, Sanouj, as the cure all for many ailments.
Around 10:00pm aunti met up with us and we hiked to a little cafe and ordered a couple veggie sandwiches. Yuck. Thank god for hot sauce. Sometimes you just have to suck it up and swallow what’s on your plate. I’m sure tomorrow we will make up for the yuck food today.
By Miah on Feb 10, 2010 in Travel | 0 Comments
Jet. Lag. Yah, it’s starting to hit me. Being five hours ahead puts my sleep cycles way off. This was the day of naps, lots of them. I’d eat, take a nap. Read, take a nap. Eat, take a nap. You get the picture. I never woke feeling rested, just more out of it.
Me and Aunti did take a short hike through some of the Kings gardens to an old palace still under construction. There are ancient walls you must go through to get there, but some guy demanded we give him 5 dirham to pass. We knew he was just some guy, but he was insistent, even grabbing aunti’s arm. That’s a no-no. At the same time I took a BIG fast step towards him, anuti had smacked his hand and told him off in withering French. He got the hint and slithered away.
Typically, it seems that if a woman is with a man, the woman is well respected, not even gauked at. Single women are another story and have a more difficult time here. I love Morocco, but this aspect of the culture is difficult for me. The idea that it’s a woman’s fault if she is attacked because she is in the wrong place, or wearing the wrong thing is a bit infurating. I do believe each of us has to take responsibilit for our own safety and not put ourselves in compromising situations, but to actively blame the victim is barbaric.
Another nap brought me to me dinner time. Tonight we were to having dinner with Tariq’s family. They live down a series allies barely wide enough for two scooters to pass. Left, right, left, left, twist and turn. Crap, I’d never find my way out of here! We rolled up to an undescript door in a wall, and were greeted by the whole family.
His father, with a deeply weathered, angular face and welcoming smile greeted us with the family behind. Tariq’s sister is a lovely woman with two beautiful little girls, 8 and 3. Everyone is full of smiles; I’m sure partly because that is the only way to communicate with me. The 8 year old is learning english in school and we had such a wonderful time trying to speak. Tariq’s mother I had met before and his sister-in-law was there. Teriq’s father knows a very little bit of french and tells the same story about working as a mason with the American’s in Parris over and over. All details were lost on me and the family was amused at my attempts to understand and talk back.
It’s an interesting feeling beeing a guest, but not understanding and not being able to be understood. It is amazing how you can get the gist of a question through gestures, good humor and an open mind. It was a lovely time with a lovely traditional Moroccan meal capping the experience.
In bed, sleep never came. Again. Uggg.
I finally just got up. Earlier that normal too. I’ve got to break this sleep cycle. I haven’t slept for the last two nights and my days are full of zombie naps. Today I train myself. I got my coffee, grabbed my book and went into the park to sit with the sun. No naps, lots of exercise, lots of sun, go to bed exhausted. That was my plan.
I read and worked, mostly in the park till lunch. Another amazing experience. Every day I am astounded again by the food. Instead of my afternoon nap, I asked Tariq to drop me in the middle of Jemaa Elfna square, and to meet me at 9pm at my favorite spice tea vendor. Alone for the first time in old Morocco. Cool.
There seems to be more people than space. Like a morter which is always mixing to keep from taking a perminent set, the people here are always in motion, it seems for fear of perminent gridlock. It’s not just the people; mule carts push through the crowds, scooters with massive baskets full of bread thread into any empty space, the occasional two-horse carriage or honking car forces everyone flat agains the narrow alley. This place is not for the closterphobic.
Jemaa Elfna is a world herritage cultural site. It is a massive square full of performers, food and spice vendors, and everything else imaginable. There are countless alleys off this square, each with it’s own maze of shops, carts and delights. When I was hungry I’d try one of the delights, mainly snails, when I was thirsty, I’d have some tea or fresh juice.
I walked and I walked some more. Sometimes I would push myself against the clay wall and just watch, but mostly I walked. I walked out of the old city and into the new. I walked past mosqus, cafes, tour busses, and schools. Happily the fatique from little sleep was massivley overwhelmed by the purposeful energy of the city. I felt great.
When I finally sat to rest, people would approach me asking if I wanted to buy shoes, hashish, beer at a bar, or time with a woman. I like moving. Rapid motion always makes me feel secure from the chaos around me. It’s only when I stop that I feel vurnable. I didn’t stop long.
Night came, the crowds doubled and finally it was time to meet Teriq for my ride home. I savored my super spicy tea (out of the same glass everyone uses) and was glad for it and my warm coat while I waited.
He was hungry, so we walked for a while and found a vendor he liked. Super greasy stew was my meal, to be eaten with my fingers. Conversation with Tariq is always a delight, but once I locked eyes with the girl across from me, I heard nothing else. I can still feel my heartbeat in my ears as I write this. She made me dizzy just looking at her. She seemed to feel the same, or maybe I just have a helpful imagination. Whatever the case, our visual dance was all that was to be had, but it was better than many dates I’ve been on.
Once home, I walked straight to bed, laid down and didn’t stir till dawn the next day. My plan worked.
The days here don’t really start till after a late lunch, so the mornings have become a routine of one cup of coffee, bread and jam to eat, some kind of cheese ,and tea. Lots of tea. I’m going to need a giant Colorado mountain-town breakfast after a month of this. Reading, chatting, napping follow breakfast. Lunch is a feast of delights, then the day begins.
Today the plan was for me and aunti to pull out the bicycles and explere. Explore we did. We peddled more miles than I’ve peddled in the last five years. Strangely I felt safer bicycling through the chaos here than bicycling on the roads at home. At least here there is no danger of some idiot fireman pulling out a gun and shooting you for not riding safely
Into the markets, down the streets, through the allies, onto the highways, out of the city and it seemed half way to Cassablanca we rode. We rode past palm forests, herds of cammels, trash filled rivers, walls new and antient, crumbling houses, and opulant villas. When we weren’t riding we enjoyed wonderful conversation.
This was really the first time aunti and I have spent a lot of time together alone. She is really something else, full of stories you can’t imagine. What a cool lady.
It was hours after sunset before we got home. I can’t guess how many miles we rode, but the blisters on my ass matched the blisters on my feet from the day before.
Another perfect day in Africa.
By Miah on Feb 7, 2010 in Travel | 1 Comment
Saturday, Feb 6, 2010
My first morning with traditional Moroccan breakfast. I woke about 10 local time, which meant 5:00 back home. I heard that everything is prepared for you here, but was still a little surprised to see the table in our towering lounge room peppered with silver, ornamental domed covers for various breads, jams and cheeses. There was also the silver tray of ever-present Moroccan mint tea with the cutest silver leaf decorated glass tumblers to drink from. Alas, no coffee. Covering all this was a delicate clear and gold cloth hinting at the delights underneath.
Mint tea is wonderful, but my American mouth loves the dark bitterness of black american coffee, so the heavily sweetened tea takes some getting used to first thing. Being an admitted coffee fiend, I’m a little concerned about my head punishing me if it doesn’t get its required shot of black caffeine. I brought some instant Starbucks just in case. I don’t want to sabotage my jet-lag day, so I added my instant coffee to their mint tea. It tastes like shit, but I think I’ve adverted a crisis. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have the cook prepare some hot water for my coffee, If I can figure out how to ask her…
There are few things in this world that I despise. Cold water is all of them. Imagine my terror when moments into my first shower the water went immediately cold. The agony of skin shredding off my body during a bad motorcycle crash feels like bad sex in comparison to getting blasted with firery spikes of cold water. I HATE COLD WATER! I’d rather go a month without showering and have my dick smell like a swamp of used car tires than take a cold shower. Too late now. Fuck.
After some hurry up and wait, aunti got on the back of my scooter and a suitcase got on the back of Tariq’s and off we went. Tariq was very detailed in his instructions on how to ride. I don’t think he believed me when I told him I got paid to teach motorcycle classes, raced superbikes, made a syllabus for a high performance riding school and have well over 100,000 miles of motorcycle traveling. Ok enough tooting my own horn…
I had a hell of a good time zooming through Morocco chaos. I’d like it more if I didn’t have to worry about petrifying my aunt, but it was fun just the same. We picked up Tariq’s brother and headed into the new part of the city for food.
This time it was liver, sheep balls, chicken, kidneys, sausage and ground beef. I don’t really like liver and this was no exception. The sheep balls looked and tasted like chicken but with a softer texture and sticky aftertaste, the chicken was delicious as was the ground beef, and the kidneys just tasted terrible. They know how to make some awesome tea though! Moroccan mint tea is a staple here, but places doctor it up with various spices and such. This place had it doctored up just right.
I could go on and on about how crazy the scooter rides are here, but I just need to post a video for you guys. You’ll see what I mean.
By Miah on Feb 6, 2010 in Travel | 8 Comments
My first day in Morocco, but it felt like three. We landed in Casablanca around 7:00am, which is 2am back home. I did get to stretch out and sleep on the plane (good food too), but thats just a bastard hour any way you slice it. Customs was easy enough, especially with Tariq leading the charge.
Baggage claim, not so much. See, while we were loading in NYC, there was a guy at the door of the plane who was intensely aggressive about forcing people to check bags if they had too many carry-ons. Aunti (who will not be named here) got tagged, and had two laptops yanked in the process. She was understandably upset when her bag was empty in Morocco. Turns out the exact thing had happened on the two previous flights from NYC. Fuckers.
Tariq did a good job of dealing with security and filling out forms, but did a lousy job of consoling Aunti. What is it with us guys who are so good at solving practical problems, but so lousy at smoothing emotional ones?
First steps out of the airport, and my first lung-full of African air erased whatever tiredness I was feeling. Alert, jovial, and excited replaced fatigue. Our taxi-van ride from the Casablanca airport completely missed the city. That’s a shame, because I would definitely liked to have seen that place, and may still yet, but I understood the need and desire to Just. Get. Home.
Three hours of driving past lush green fields and beautiful rolling hills, dotted with homes ranging from nothing but clay walls, to small clay fortresses, brought us into Marrakech. Fatigue had returned, and I felt disconnected from the experience, but it was delightful just the same. EVERYONE rides scooters, bikes, mule carts, etc. Zigging and zagging; zipping and dodging. It’s a choreographed chaos that seems to work. This modern chaos on the roads unfolded next to the original BC walls that surround the old part of the city. This is the Morocco I came for.
Ancient is everywhere. Ancient buildings, ancient dress, ancient markets, ancient transportation, and I was zooming through all of it with my face plastered against the window of my van. Every mile closer to home, Tariq’s smile got a little larger. Both of them had had MONTHS of intense preparation to make today possible, so it had to be the largest relief imaginable to finally be done.
Tariq’s brother and a friend where there, along with the cook/housekeeper, Mina. They are all super nice and I can’t understand a word. I did understand the delightful delicate pastries and mint tea waiting in the central sun room though. The house keeper worked for years in one of the celebrated pastry bakeries in town. Nice lady to have on staff.
Our home here is three stories, but not hugely spread out. It has the feel of a small tower with rooms to the east, north and south of the house, with the stairwell and square hall to the west wall. The sun room on the second floor is a tower inside of a tower with the ceiling open to the sky. Sitting at the bottom of this tower on rich blue cushions, you see tall yellow walls leading up to the engraved window for my room on the third story, and a gossamer maroon tapestry to soften the sun a story above that.
My room is wonderfully comfortable with a temperdic mattress on a floor of beautiful carpet, with two oddly shaped sitting chairs and two leather moroccan floor pillows (poofies they call them). Beautiful blue cloth in front my large arched doorway provides privacy. My room is open to a large empty space which is open to a large patio overlooking an expansive park and massive mountains covered in snow in the distance. Not a bad little place in the least. I could get used to this. A nap helped me do just that.
REM sleep and vivid dreams were in full force when I was woken for lunch. God I needed more sleep, but I needed to train myself for the new time-zone more. A massive silver platter was on the table in the sun room. It was mounded with hand made cous-cous. Which was covered in beautiful cooked vegetables, many of them still whole. Whole eggplant, giant pumpkin pieces, carrots and many other vegetables I couldn’t identify were arranged around the seasoned beef in the middle. Everyone eats from the same platter, starting on the outside and working towards the middle. Luckily, for this meal, we had forks, but typically you eat with only your hand here. Only the right hand specifically, since the left is used for, well, other things.
Rejuvenated, I decided to go exploring. I love getting lost and getting found in new places. I followed my feet for several hours as they took me past soccer games played by men with robes in the shadow of the old city wall, past women covered completely in black, only eyes visible, and then quickly adverted, past gold, purple, and richly ornamental robes of confident looking women who at least showed their face, past children playing with yo-yos, past mules pulling carts piled 20′ high with goods, through alleys crowded on all sides by vendors selling everything imaginable. I followed my feet till they were raw in my sandals, then looked for the sun and headed that direction.
I rested for a while in a park and watched the kids play games I’ve never seen while being looked after by groups of women ornamentally dressed. The city sped by on foot, by scooter and bicycle, by mule and taxi. I just sat and watched, feeling invisible even though everyone glanced at me. I was the only foreigner out, and I was alone in their land today.
I awoke from my second nap with an invitation in Aribic to ride on the scooter into the old city to meet up with Tariq. I put on my jacket, jumped on the back, and we sped into the chaos. This beats the shit out of walking! We zipped along, pulling in our elbows and knees to keep from loosing them to oncoming cars, or people, or animals. We zoomed through traffic, onto sidewalks and through the opening to the old city. The roads narrowed to alleys, the cars thinned, the scooters and people multiplied. Zoom zoom we go.
We stopped at the office of Tariq’s catering business. I asked lots of questions to get a feel for how business here works. An hour or so of this and it was time to zoom on to the famous central market for some real cultural experiences (aka, FOOD!). I think Marrakech has a million inhabitants and they all come to the market at night. Seas of people crowd every space. The chaos of spice vendors, leather workers, basket makers, pirate DVD sellers is only overwhelmed by the smells of the thousands of food options. Most foods I don’t recognize, but the lambs brains I did, simply because the lambs head was still there with the cooked brain in it’s rightful place.
Tariq and I walked, talked, laughed and gawked. The multi-story mazes seem designed to ensure you never find you way out. We sat and ate a delightful chicken pita accompanied by a bowl of snails and talked about women, sex, marriage, homosexuality and other topics of cultural difference.
Tariq had some ideas on homosexuality I haven’t heard before. His theory is that homosexuality is so rare here because a man is mandated to always be with his son. The family and cultural gender distinction is reinforced by the amount of man with boy, and woman with girl interaction. There is not a lot of overlap. Boys learn to be men because it is men they spend all their time with. This rigid gender structure doesn’t leave much room to explore, or even question your sexuality. In theory anyway. I can’t help but wonder if homosexuality is just as common, but hidden much deeper.
This was only one day? WOW. I am excited to see what else this delightful country has in store for me!