TravelStream™ news feed for member dangabesisaak on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/dangabesisaak en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Tue, 20 Jan 2009 16:22:12 -0500 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1232474580/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1232474580/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1232474580/tpod.html Tue, 20 Jan 2009 16:22:12 -0500 Fortress Europa - Round 2 Dan and Gabes Return to Europe, Morocco and Cross the Atlantic by boat.

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Gisborne, North Island, New Zealand

Moving to another country has it's ups and downs.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1228013580/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1228013580/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1228013580/tpod.html Sat, 29 Nov 2008 13:54:10 -0500 Fortress Europa - Round 2 Dan and Gabes Return to Europe, Morocco and Cross the Atlantic by boat.

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New York City, New York, United States

Entry To Come
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1227495060/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1227495060/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1227495060/tpod.html Sat, 29 Nov 2008 13:53:10 -0500 Fortress Europa - Round 2 Dan and Gabes Return to Europe, Morocco and Cross the Atlantic by boat.

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Barcelona, Catalonia, Spain and Canary Islands

Entry To Come
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226373720/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226373720/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226373720/tpod.html Sat, 22 Nov 2008 05:04:01 -0500 Fortress Europa - Round 2 Dan and Gabes Return to Europe, Morocco and Cross the Atlantic by boat.

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Granada, Andalusia, Spain and Canary Islands

Granada has been a blessing since we arrived.  We left our farm placement on the early morning bus and transfered in Malaga, where we only had a short wait before we were off on the two hour bus journey to Granada.  The good vibes started as early as the bus stations information booth, where an extremely helpful young woman, who spoke excellent English, gave us a map and told us exactly how to get to our pension.  Thanking her profusely we were on our way and arrived at our cute little pension, Alcazaba, shortly afterward.  We had opted for a pension over a hostel, for a few reasons, some of which were both of us feeling a little... people sick... at the present moment and a bit of time to get back into traveling again.  We had read good reviews of this pension and it's knowledgeable owner, but when we arrived there was only a woman on staff whose English was as minimal as our Spanish.  We eventually sorted it out between us and after settling into a very nice little room we went back to meet the owner of the pension when he returned.  He was, in fact, a wealth of information and grabbed a pre-printed map of central Granada, which he proceeded to mark up while explaining to us the best things to see and how best to get around.  Again, thanking  him profusely, we headed off on the town. The sky was a clear, bright blue and the sun was shining as we walked through the streets.  We headed up a steep hill to the historic Arabic neighbourhood, through various small squares and eventually winding our way to a large open square, high on a hill.  The square backed on to a church, its pristine white walls topped with a reddish brown tiled roof and a large bell tower.  The other side of the square was filled with what we came for - the Alhambra, a 700 year old Moorish castle and palace complex topped the hill opposite to the one where we stood, and snow capped mountains loomed in the Alhambra's back drop (more on the Alhambra later).  The square was filled with... well, it was filled with hippies.  But they were the kind of hippies that sold stuff.  Blankets and small tables were randomly scattered throughout the square, covered with jewelry, paintings, clothes, and other trinkets.  The tables were watched over by scores of dreadlocked, rainbow coloured, multi-pierced, sandle-wearing, pot smoking hippies, many of whom had dogs, as rag tag as they were, which of course didn't look very well cared for. We really stood out, especially since the massive amount of hippie sales people didn't leave much room for anyone else in the square, and this had possibly scared off all the other tourists.  There was an impromptu Flamenco guitar player who started up in the middle of the square, and we managed to find a small section of wall to get some photos and soak up the atmosphere / view for a little before moving on and leaving the hippies to do whatever it is that massive hordes of hippies do... maybe helping each other work on their dreadlocks or something. The district of Granada which we had wandered into was known as the Albaicin district, or the Arabic Quarter, due to it's large Moroccan population.  We'd heard that it had some interesting markets and stores, but it must have been siesta time because everything was closed.  After some quiet street wandering, we found another quiet square and picked out a cafe / restaurant place that seemed to be mostly filled with local students, always a good sign for a backpacker.  Having heard rumours that Granada provided free tapas (small food platers of snack type things) with their beer, we ordered two tall glasses of the local Cerveza (beer) and had a seat in the sun.  Our beer was supplemented with some slow cooked pork bites and french fries and we sat and chatted and enjoyed the relaxing atmosphere.  Granada seemed to be OK at this point.  BUT WE WERE WRONG!!! Nah, just kidding.  Granada rocked pretty much the whole time. The next morning we woke up early (for us) to the very exciting news that Helen Clark was no longer the prime minister of New Zealand!  Finally her tyrannical reign has come to an end!  The peasants rejoice!  Yaaaaay! (This is probably more interesting to those of you with an interest for New Zealand politics, but whatever, it's our blog)  Fueled by this exciting news, and a breakfast of coffee and cake from the cafe across from our pension, we bounced our way off to the Alhambra.  Forgoing the extensive exercise of hiking our way up the steep, steep hill, we took the mini bus and admired the bright and highly artistic graffiti which lined many of the tiny, winding streets.  Once we finally reached the summit of the hill, it took us a few minutes to navigate the fairly confusing systems of booths and queues necessary to buy a ticket to actually go inside the Alhambra.  These, as it turns out, are strictly controlled by time to reduce the number of tourists within the palace walls at any given time, and we were told in no uncertain terms by our ticket salesperson that we had thirty minutes to make our way to the palace gates or we would not be allowed in, and no, we definitely didn't have time to go to the bathroom first. We meandered our way through the huge palace complex in search of the gate, wandering through manicured gardens and ancient ruins and arrived at the Palace Nazaries  just in time.  No less than four separate ticket checkpoints later, we were in!  Now for a wee bit of historical background.  The palace was built in the 1300s by the Moors and was the last outpost in the Iberian Peninsula to fall to the Catholics, who finally conquered it in 1492 under the rule of the famous King Ferdinand and Queen Isabel.  The story goes that as the ousted Moorish king was forced to flee the palace, he looked back longingly and was berated for it by his mother, who told him "You do well to weep as a woman for what you could not defend as a man".  Ouch.   Over the following centuries the palace and it's fortress, the Alcazaba, were home to a series of rulers, dignitaries, travelers and artists.  By the 1800s, the complex had fallen into disrepair and was used mostly by gypsy communities of artists and English-speaking travelers in search of romance and adventure.  One of these, an American writer named Washington Irving, wrote a book about the time he spent living in the palace in 1830.  Called 'Tales of the Alhambra', it was an imaginative recreation of the lives of the generations of nobility and courtesans who had inhabited the castle over the centuries.  The book was such a huge hit that tourists began flocking to the site, and the Alhambra was restored to much of its former glory as a result. Today, the palace complex is a dizzying series of spectacularly elaborate Arabic-influenced rooms, pillared courtyards and fountain-filled gardens.  Intricate plaster work and bright geometric tiles contrast with placid pools and graceful arches and cool shady rooms open onto terraces with spectacular views out over the Albaicin district.  Whispers of history and legend beckon from every corner, and it is easy to see the mystery and appeal of the place to generations of writers, travelers and tourists.  We wandered for hours through the crowds of people filling the palace, and explored the formidable series of towers, fortifications and dungeons that make up the Alcazaba, with stunning views over the city from the highest walls. We walked out of the Alhambra and back towards town, taking our time to explore the streets and shops that we had passed so quickly on our assent.  We stopped along the way for a closer look at the incredible graffiti art along the walls with varying artistic styles and forms.  For several blocks the streets were lined with eye catching designs that blended and flowed into one another.   As we neared the center of town our stomachs began to seriously grumble.  We found a schwarma stand that was cheaper than the ones we had seen in the main square, but packed in just as many toppings.  We walked out with thin crispy pita bread wrapped around piles of veges, hot chicken, and tangy sauce, reminding us of the mouth watering schwarma we had eaten in Turkey on our previous trip.   We wandered into the center of town, coming across the ultra touristed Plaza Nuevo.  We quickly passed through and found our way to the large cathedral we had seen from the Alhambra towers.  Our guidebook had warned us that the cathedral wasn't worth the 3.50 Euro ticket, but the nearby chapel was.  The chapel was the private place of worship for King Ferdinand and Queen Isabel, the rulers of Spain's 'golden age'.  Now the chapel serves as their mausoleum, where their bodies, as well as the bodies of their daughter and son-in-law, are kept under, startlingly life like, marble statues.  The rest of our day was spent wandering the streets and browsing for Christmas presents for our relatives in Canada.  This was followed by an extensive struggle to find somewhere affordable to eat at dinner time (our dinner time, not Spanish dinner time which seems to take place around 10 or 11 pm).  We eventually settled for the old backpacker standby of sandwiches and called it a day.As this post is dragging on, we'll keep this brief.  Our last day was fairly relaxed.  We had a brief stop at the train station, where we discovered that a trip to Madrid would just be too much money and frustration for the short amount of time that we had, so instead we decided to head to Valencia the following morning.  We followed this up with a trip to the bull fighting ring, which was closed for the season, and then found a local cafe where we sat and chatted for an hour or so.   We left the cafe and walked the streets.  It was sunday, and most of the stores were closed, but the streets were filled with families out enjoying the sunshine.  As the morning wore on, more and more people filled the streets.  We found a park with a large fountain where we sat and watched the people go by, feeling more relaxed than we had in a long time.   The rest of our day was spent exploring the streets and window shopping.  We found ourselves at the top of a small street that was packed with cafes and clothing stores that seemed to cater to the local hippie population.  The clothing stores were bright displays of colour and cooky design that seemed to be the mandatory outfit for Granada's hippie community, stocking everything a hippie would need except for dreadlocks.   Overall our time in Granada has been very rejuvenating.  After our less than ideal experiences on the farm, we will be departing this funky, historic, and artistic city feeling relaxed and excited about our travels again.All our best from SpainDan and Gabes
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226377440/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226377440/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226377440/tpod.html Sat, 22 Nov 2008 04:51:19 -0500 Fortress Europa - Round 2 Dan and Gabes Return to Europe, Morocco and Cross the Atlantic by boat.

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Valencia, Valencian Country, Spain and Canary Islands

After two nights and one busy day in this pretty city, we are charmed but ready to move on.   The eight hour train trip from Granada was long and full of delays, mitigated only somewhat by the spectacular mountain scenery.  We were glad to finally arrive in Valencia and step out into the swirly bustle of the streets.  Our hostel, Red Nest Hostel, had tiny dorms and a young party loving crowd, but was nicely located on a street full of historic buildings and flashy boutiques, and we dropped our bags and headed out to the nearby grocery store for food.  A hearty dinner of salad, tortellini and ice cream helped ease the minor frustrations of the day, and we wandered the lit up streets for awhile, packed with late night shoppers, before heading out to our cozy little top bunk to crash. The next morning we woke up early (trying not to wake our inebriated Aussie dorm mates) and set out to explore.  We started at a historic little Horxataria (pronounced Horchataria) in a cafe filled square, the same one that was featured in Gabrielle's National Geographic magazine.  We tried the Horxata, a strangely dusty tasting, creamy cold drink, made of sweetened tiger nut milk that is a specialty of Valencia.   We set out for the City of Arts and Sciences, a futuristic collection of museums and theatres set in massive reflecting pools.  It was a long, but pleasant walk through slowly awakening shopping districts where apron clad shop keepers mopped the pavement in front of their stores.  We carried on down to Valencia's former river, now a dry river bed that contains a park and beautifully kept gardens, stretching around the old city for over 5 km.   As we approached the sciences complex, the buildings loomed alien space craft on the horizon, reflected specacularly in the clear blue pools around them.   We stood and stared for awhile, then went inside to check out our options for where to visit.   The complex is divided into four centres - a science museum, an Imax theatre, an opera house, and a massive aquarium.  Unfortunately, all of the above were very expensive, the the aquarium being obscenely so.  With tickets priced at 23.00 Euros each, we couldn't justify the aquarium, so we settled on just seeing the museum at 7.50 Euros a ticket.  The museum contained a great many hands on exhibits, and it quickly became clear that it was geared towards a much younger crowd (see 'children').  Non the less, we had a fun couple of hours checking out the exhibits on Super Heroes, climate change, evolution, and biotechnology.   Starving hungary at this point, and eyeing up the unhatched eggs in the chicken incubator, we found a nearby super market and stocked up on food.  We ate our picnic lunch of gourmet proscuitto sandwiches and chocolate milk as we sat on mosaic benches, overlooking the City of Arts and Sciences.   Feeling a great deal better, we set off back to the Plaza del Toros (the bull fighting ring) and the train station to buy some train tickets for the trip to Barcelona tomorrow.  After some siesta time, and dusk almost falling, we set off to climb the bell tower of the Chapel of the Holy Grail (as the name implies, the chapel holds a cup that was once believed to be the Holy Grail.  At some point someone must have tried the cup and decided it was not as 'graily' as once thought but the chapel retained the name). We blitzed up the narrow steps (cause it wouldn't be a proper visit without climbing a random bell tower!) and came out to a beautiful view over the blue church domes of Valencia.  The flashy modern buildings were mixed in between old tower remnants and bustling streets that were beginning to light up as the sun faded.  Our reverie was slightly broken by the giant, clanging bell tower bell that was immediately behind us and we eventually decided to make our way down to the cathedral below.   Inside the cathedral, graceful vaulted ceilings framed a golden alter piece that was domed with angels painted in bright colours on a deep blue background.  We wandered for awhile to the sounds of Mass coming from a small side chapel, then headed out into the bright night markets before heading back to the hostel.   A dinner of disheveled gourmet omeletes and Sangria was finished off with a wild night of blogging (party animals!).  We're mostly packed and ready for bed, excited for Barcelona and seeing Gabrielle's sister Joy and her partner Matt in only two more sleeps.  Some of us are beyond excited.  All our best from SpainDan and Gabes
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226020860/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226020860/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226020860/tpod.html Wed, 12 Nov 2008 12:37:41 -0500 Fortress Europa - Round 2 Dan and Gabes Return to Europe, Morocco and Cross the Atlantic by boat.

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Alozaina, Andalusia, Spain and Canary Islands

(Note: names have been changed in this story so crazy folk won't look up these people and badger them.  They're nice people... really.)Day 1: So we arrived and Robert and Suzanne seemed like lovely, aging ex-pat hippie types.  They cooked us a nice meal and set us up in their place for the night.  Cool, awesome, everything appears well.  Day 2: Easy morning, kinda cold but nice sun.  Robert takes us up to the land, introduces us to the super-affectionate (possibly attention-deprived) cat, Silver, and has a list of things he wants us to do.  We soon realize that this sort of organization is few and far between.  Vague instructions and indecision ensue.  We had initially signed up to pick olives here, but turns out that although the olives are ripe, the village cooperative isn't ready to pick yet, so they won't be picked until after we planned to leave.  Robert finds us alternative tasks.  Suzanne is up with us and cooks us lunch - lovely salad and spinach soup. Hmm... farm work fueled by Spinach soup sans spices... hmm indeed.  Anyway, the sun is shining and we're then given some more vague instructions so we decide to get some work done.  Soon Robert and Suzanne go down for the night, neighbor comes to visit with their Canadian woofers.  Cups of tea all around, it gets cold fast, they go home, we make dinner and huddle in our little space for the night.  The cat joins us and claims one third of the bed in the name of Spain, occasionally clawing another occupant of the bed during the night.  We soon realize that this is a sign of affection but can't bring ourselves to appreciate it anyway.Day 3: Rain.  Lots of Rain.  Robert and Suzanne don't come up, but rain proceeds to visit.  Robert's come down sick.  We huddle all day and its pretty darn cold.  Our winter gears we brought for the NY to Winnipeg leg of our trip come in handy.  Much chocolate is eaten.  A brief battle between ourselves and the cat ensues over bed space, cat maintains some decent territory.  In the afternoon someone tries to force the door to our room while we're siesta-ing, confusion ensues, he realizes someone is in fact home and quickly vacates.  Initial thoughts are that it was a neighbor having come around to visit, but then the more we wake up the more we put together.  Arrives in the rain, expectantly tries the door, surprised when someone is there, didn't call out (all neighbors call out when they come on the property), left quickly after he realized we were there and didn't stay to say hi.  Realization: Burglar.  Normally our space where we are staying has nothing of value in it - but backpackers are now there.  Something had apparently been stolen a few weeks before from some of the nearby locals, also on a rainy day.  The opportunistic burglar must have thought no one was there due to rain and came poking around.  We didn't see a face, just a rain jacket and umbrella, and the general direction he headed off to.  Everyone thinks it's the evil neighbors, a local Spanish family with a propensity for owning approximately fifty very loud dogs, shouting at each other and shooting songbirds on their property.  Called Robert and Suzanne, they made some vague noises about calling the police, never heard from them again.  Got a text later from another neighbor inviting us for tea.  Much better.  Went to visit them and the Canadian woofers again and saw their cool Mongolian yurt.  Gotta get one of those.  Much more paranoid and less safe feeling now.  Stuff is now locked in the upstairs studio at all times.Day 4: Rain holds off for the majority of the day.  We figure digging a new vege bed is a good idea.  Bad idea.  Soil make up consists of 80% rocks.  Pick axe and shovel ensue.  Soon we have a system worked out.  Dan shovels into a wheelbarrow, Gabrielle picks out rocks.  A pile of clayish soil slowly develops.  Back pain quickly develops.  We work our hours and then the rain starts again.  Also, it turns out that Gabrielle is allergic to some kind of pollen on the farm.  Can't figure out which, but ever since we arrived at the farm she randomly breaks out in itchy hives and sneezing fits.  We ask for some antihistamines.  Robert appears for a ten-minute visit that evening without antihistamines, but lets us know that he did some radionics (a kind of telepathic, New-Age healing thing) to cure Gabrielle's allergies.  Unfortunately the allergies persist.  Long sleeves help, but not much.  We decide to try and sneak out and get some antihistamines when we finally get off the farm, so don't tell.Day 5: Sun! Holy Crap!  Nope... gone.  More rock sifting.  Food, toilet paper, and sanity supplies begin to run low. Unless you count Avocados as a food group.  Finally clear a foot deep into the vege bed.  It's like the army, dig a hole, fill it in.  We begin filling the soil back in mixed with layers of 'goat muck', also known as poop.  Shoveling goat shit begins to feel ironic.  We finish the vege bed (hooray.. I think) and hurry to find our employer to show them our hard work... oh... right.  Phone Suzanne.  Robert's away for the day.  We come into town after lunch and hope to spend the evening emailing and the next day gathering supplies and wandering the town (its nice to do your own shopping when you are the one doing the cooking.  Efforts by our hosts have been appreciated, but we don't know any recipes that involve just rice and avocado... and Dan needs meat)  Agreed to spend the rest of our days hours helping Suzanne clear out one of the back rooms.  Bad idea.  Suzanne picked us up, from the farm, in her car.  She's terrified of driving but insists on taking us on a small car tour around the countryside.  Frequently tells us how she is shaking, mixed with screams of surprise as a car approaches on the other side of the road.  They seem to do that in Spain... I thought they did that in many places but it always seemed to be a surprise.  Dan frequently tries to tell her that she doesn't have to take us anywhere, but she insists.  We consider insisting back.  Back at the house, we do the moving, she does the directing.  The back room is a very small space.  Plan: Move everything out, throw crap away, move everything left over back in.  Reality:  Move each object several times before piling all but three items back into the same space.  Suzanne spends much time directing and we spend our time moving stuff.  Following this Suzanne asks us to sort the wood shed, re-stacking wood.  One look tells us banging our head against the wall may prove more productive.  The wood stack is filled with small sticks of wood, all in odd shapes.  Wish we spent more office time playing Tetris.  Spend 10 minutes attempting not to get our palms ripped off before attempting escape.  We eventually manage to extract ourselves and dash up to our room, where we hide out until dinner.  After dinner Suzanne tells us of a 'program' they are involved in that they would like to tell us about.  Description is titled 'circle of abundance' but sounds suspiciously like a pyramid scheme.  Opportunity passes, sleep follows.Day 6: Suzanne brings up the 'circle of abundance' again.  It's a circle in layers, with one person in the middle, a few more people in the next circle out, and even more people on the widest circle (this can also be stacked as 'one person on the top, a few more people below them, and even more people below them... much like... a pyramid).  Everyone in the outer circles (bottom) 'gifts' (loses) money, the person in the middle (on top) receives it all (scores big).  Sounds great if you're in the middle (on top).  Suzanne would like us to join the circle (pyramid) on the outer circle (bottom).  Apparently the circle (pyramid) scheme is also connected to a hyper evangelical Christian group. ... Yup.  We make some non-commital noises through our breakfast of porridge and promptly make ourselves scarce.   Sight seeing commences.  Hill top church, hill side stores, more hills.  Local stores lack focus, stocking several random types of items (eg. Hygiene supplies, ham, and home hardware), and usually involve gambling.  Dan employs the phrase book and hand gestures and acquires antihistamines for Gabrielle at the local pharmacy.  We run into the other Canadian woofers who have not yet managed to decipher the internet cafe's hours, which are posted in code.  Open from 10am to 2pm actually means they may open some time after 6.  Or not.  We all proceed to a local cafe for something involving Cafe and Leche.  Turns out to be coffee with milk and not leeches.  Dan is relieved.  We invite the Canadian woofers back to Robert and Suzanne's to use our WIFI.  Tea and WIFI follow.  Woofers depart, Suzanne reveals that she is a medium and proceeds to predict the future of one of our friends.  Not telling who but you're gonna have another kid.  Congratulations.  Suzanne smuggles Gabrielle off for a jewelry making session / random musical instrument display.  Dan has strangely vacated.  Dan begins to worry after hour 4 and returns to rescue Gabrielle from a rendition of birthing music on the sansula.  Gabrielle is saved from giving birth and we begin to look forward to returning to the farm.  Day 7:  We join Robert and Suzanne for the weekly market.  We split up at the market.  Gabrielle proceeds to acquire clothes.  Dan proceeds to acquire candy.  Gabrielle proceeds to acquire Dan's candy.  Dan resists the acquisition of Gabrielle's clothes.  Robert rejoins us, Suzanne has toddled off.  Robert directs us to a Churroes stand (Deep fried dough, sprinkled with sugar).  We thank the churroes man, Robert tells us not to say 'thank you' so much, 'it confuses them'.   We make note to fight Canadian genetics to say 'thank you' all the time.  Robert continues to host us.  We are taken through town and shown things.  Very cool.  Robert shows us a stained glass thing he did of the town crest that now sits inside the town hall.  Super cool.  We head back to the farm.  Things go back to normal.Farm work commences.  Weed, shovel goat poo, Robert stays for a bit and heads back.  Clouds and cat make themselves presently known.  Clouds sporadically rain again.  Cat sporadically claws again.  Avocados form very little of our evening meal.  It's cold. Day 8:  We start work.  Canadian woofers trek up to the farm with their bags.  They've left their placement due to 'differences' with their hosts.  Apparently they failed to re-arrange the couch cushions to unprovided specification.  The host expressed how sad they were that the Canadians wouldn't stay, yet neglected to offer them breakfast or a ride into town.  Rain resumes.  We invite the Canadian's up for some hot chocolate, cookies, and commiseration's.  Rain finally stops.  They head off on the long walk into town.We gather windfall olives.  Robert makes cheery assertions that we 'probably' won't find scorpions this time of year.  Olive gathering continues more gingerly.  We're joined by the cat and one of the neighbors dogs named 'Chica', who is almost outsized by the cat.  They refuse to pick olives, however, but make a fine entourage.  Robert spends almost an hour at the farm.  We put some plants in our new vege bed.  Robert leaves.  It gets cold.  We refuse to eat any more avocados.Day 9:  We woke up early and commenced work.  We begin digging another vege bed.  Brief flashes of reason insisted that this was a silly idea.  Widespread insanity insisted that shoes would make great new age hats.  The realization hits that Robert could make a fortune in gravel production.  Robert arrives in the early afternoon.  We break for lunch.  Robert joins us for vege bed rock sorting.  Dan now fills two wheelbarrows while Gabrielle and Robert sort.  The digging is almost complete.  Dan discovers one extremely large rock residing at one end of the vege bed and a battle of wills ensues.  The rock breaks Dan's pick axe.  Dan calls it a draw.  We shovel more goat poo,  Robert goes exploring the rest of the garden.  We finish the vege bed and trudge off to pack.  A neighbour arrives for a visit.  The visit extends.  We eventually make it back into town.  More neighbours have arrived at the town house for more visiting.Robert plays piano, Dan plays violin.  Pizza is eaten.  The evening is pleasant... too pleasant.  We suspect this is an attempt to make up for ditching us on the farm with only the cat and the occasional burglar for company.  The evening progresses amicably.  We eventually head for bed, excited to be off to Granada in the morning.In conclusion:We had really mixed feelings about what to say about this work placement.  On one hand, circumstances were pretty crap.  The weather was consistently wet, cold and generally miserable.  Robert was ill and busy attempting to expand a new music career.  Subsequently we were left up at the farm, alone, most of the time.  Circumstances aside, we felt our hosts could have made a bit more of an effort to actually host us.  Throughout our time there our hosts spoke of taking us to see the coastal towns and some of the surrounding villages, and to meet some of their various artsy and interesting sounding friends.  Despite their regular trips to said coastal towns to visit said friends, during our time there, they always had a reason why we couldn't go along.  Robert didn't actually get to spend much time with us up at the farm, which made projects confusing.  Overall, our hosts were nice people, very interesting if rather eccentric, but it was obviously not a good time for us to be there, however it has been a fascinating insight, for us into the often difficult and unrewarding realities of ex-pat retirees living their dream of getting back to the land.  We wish Robert and Suzanne the very best on realizing their dreams, but are very glad we've shoveled our last load of goat poop.All our best from SpainDan and Gabes
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1225160220/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1225160220/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1225160220/tpod.html Wed, 12 Nov 2008 12:35:27 -0500 Fortress Europa - Round 2 Dan and Gabes Return to Europe, Morocco and Cross the Atlantic by boat.

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Málaga, Andalusia, Spain and Canary Islands

We woke up early this morning and made a taxi dash to the bus station after the usual assault of breadfest and syrup like mint tea for breakfast.  The bus station quickly devolved into a scene of chaos when our bus arrived, with a very drunk and seedy man directing people traffic and shouting in Arabic as bags were loaded on.  We made our way to the back of the slightly run down bus, a place where most locals seem to avoid, since Dan was still feeling some effects of previous travel sickness, and attempted to argue with the drunk bag man as he charged us three times the usual price for loading on our bags (which we did).  Too eager to escape the hassle, we paid the money and were on our way.   It was a crowded and hot bus ride down the mountain, through various small villages, occasionally stopping to pick up more passengers till the bus was packed full.  We soon arrived in the city of Tetouan, and it's very very posh bus station, where we were herded off the bus and onto another bus, along with several pieces of furniture and a whole motorcycle.Bus trip number two took us to Fnideq, the Moroccan town that sits two km from Ceuta, the last remaining Spanish enclave in Morocco.  The Fnideq bus station was not posh.  The building was recent and spacious enough but beginning to see some age, and the ground surrounding the bus station was, to put it honestly, a mud pit.  We gingerly made our way through the swampy terrain and crashed in the station for a few minutes while we organized for our border dash.  Counting out the last of our Moroccan money, we spent the remainder stocking up on food, saving just enough for a taxi ride to the border.  The bus station stalls were surprisingly cheap, and we filled a food bag full of two large sandwiches, chocolate bars, yogurt drinks, and other snacks for what equated to a few Canadian dollars.A trip back through the mire of mud took us to the main street where we, again, paid way too much for a taxi to the border crossing, but we had prepared for the overcharge and had just enough cash to get us there.  As we headed up to the border post we passed heaps of Moroccan's walking back into town, all of them carrying or carting giant packages or bags.  Coming up to the border crossing, our taxi waded into a sea of humanity, Moroccan's filling a giant space at the base of the border.  People lined the hills, donkeys pulled carts, and cars were parked randomly amongst the hordes.  We both looked at each other thinking 'what have we done?!?', realizing that crossing the border at Ceuta was obviously not the 'done thing'.  There was not another backpacker or foreigner in sight.As we exited the taxi, we were immediatly surrounded by hustlers, Morocco's enterprising spirit pushing right up to the Spanish steps.  Several Moroccan's tried to sell us immigration papers, trying to insist that we needed them to get through customs.  We knew that this was a scam, any papers we would have needed would have been given to us by an official and not some joe off the street.  A kindly Moroccan police officer shoed away the entrepreneurs and ushered us towards the border gates.After passing the first set of border guards, we walked for ages through a narrow tunnel encased by a metal cage.  We soon reached a second gate, preceded by a few desks and more border guards.  We walked from desk to desk, each person dismissing us to the next desk and the guards not allowing us to pass without our passports stamped out.  Standing our ground, we soon had one of the officious desk officers finish our paperwork and stamp us through.  That was it! We were out of Morocco!  We stepped happily into Ceuta, Spain.Unfortunately our travels weren't over yet.  No Spanish officials stamped us into Spain, and there was only a cheery set of Spanish border guards who welcomed into Spain with big 'Ola's'.  We caught a city bus from the border into town, quickly becoming unsure of where we were supposed to get off the bus to get to the ferry crossing.  We waited for awhile, fighting our common propensity to get off a bus too soon to only find ourselves miles short of our intended destination, but the suspense became too much and we though we glimpsed the port so we hopped off.  Suddenly unsure again, we sat down to eat.  Food always makes these situations better.  The giant sandwiches and yogurt drinks from Morocco hit the spot, and a break from carrying our heavy heavy bags wasn't bad either.  Apparently a picnic on a stone bench wasn't common though and we received quite a few looks from the young locals that passed by.  The view from where we sat included a giant, old stone wall, probably part of an old castle, with a moat full of fish, a park behind us, a gas station, and a glimpse across a large-ish span of water with the other side being populated by large boats and more buildings.  We figured that if that was the actual harbour we were hooped.  Dan, attempting to increase morale (both Gabrielle's and his own) went scouting while Gabrielle waiting with the bags, and discovered that we had actually landed right where we wanted to be.  Just around the corner from where we sat was a sign to the ferry crossing.After a stop at a ticket building where some dodgy Moroccan's filled out our paperwork, and despite taking information from our passports, Gabrielle's ticket came out under the name of 'Rath Isaak Isaak'.  We told them about this discrepancy and they responded that it was 'ok, no matter, no matter' and shoed us out. Eh, off to the ferry terminal.  After a bit more confusion and wandering around, we finally exchanged our ticket passes for actual tickets and made it on to the ferry with 10 minutes to spare, each of us thinking, right up to the step before we were actually on the ferry, that the boat would pull away at any minute. Crashed out on some lounge chairs with a beautiful view out the window, we watched the Rock of Gibraltar loom closer and closer as our ferry sped through the sparkling blue waters.  Out of Africa and back on to the European continent, we landed in the town of Algeciras and a heck of a lot more walking took us to the bus station.  We took another bus to Malaga, the city where we were to get a small local bus to our farm placement in the mountains.  We met another Canadian guy on the bus and got chatting.  He was off to Granada, originally hailing from Ottawa, but he had gotten tired of his job as a Nazi War Crimes researcher for the government and decided Spain seemed like a good place to go.  Switching buses again part of the way through our trip to Malaga, we finished of the trip in relative silence as everyone was tired from the long day of travel. Five buses, two taxi's and a ferry later we arrived in Malaga, finally.  Too tired to go hostel searching, we saw an advertisement for a nice looking, but cheap, hotel that was uber near the bus station.  A short walk later we were crashed out on a very nice and very clean bed, with ensuite bathroom and the works. That was it, we made it.  Out of Morocco, into Spain, and a beautiful and comfy bed for the night.  We found a wireless internet network that worked for just five minutes, but it was just long enough to call our soon to be hosts on the farm to let them know we would be there the next day.  An epic day of travel and now for some epic sleep.All our best from SpainDan and Gabes
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226012220/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226012220/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1226012220/tpod.html Mon, 10 Nov 2008 14:21:19 -0500 Fortress Europa - Round 2 Dan and Gabes Return to Europe, Morocco and Cross the Atlantic by boat.

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Chefchaouen, Morocco

We woke up early this morning, and after a lukewarm and grubby shower Dan dosed up heavily on some stomach meds to combat the recent resurgence of a stomach bug that had been plaguing us both over the last few days.  Making our way outside to find a taxi, we were all too willing to pay the $2 Canadian to get a ride to the bus station, rather than walk the 20min uphill laden with packs.  About an hour later we were riding the almost empty bus to Chefchaouen with the back of the bus all to ourselves. We spent the trip catching up on listening to our iPods, watching the countryside and small towns roll by.  Often the towns were no more than a cluster of low mud brick houses and possibly a white minaret of a mosque standing above them.  The outskirts of the town were surrounded by what stood for farmers fields, barren and rocky ground, being ploughed by men and donkeys pulling heavy metal ploughs.  Women in hijabs carried baskets or stacks of wood on their shoulders and children played in the dust while chickens scratched for food.We arrived in Chefchaouen in the bucketing rain, both feeling a little sick and hungry.  Dan had not eaten anything that morning and one of the pastries we bought yesterday turned out to be a pastilla, a sweet pigeon pie in flaky pastry dusted with cinnamon and icing sugar.  Neither of us were willing to try the, now day old, pie on our upset stomachs, so Gabrielle had only a small croissant to last her the four hour trip.   Despite Chefchaouen being a small hill town, the regular gaggle of cutthroat taxi drivers still loitered outside the bus station.  We commenced with the regular haggle over how much a taxi ride to the town square would cost, once again receiving ridiculously overpriced responses.  We eventually found one for a decent price, which we shared with another man who had arrived on the bus with us, and made our soggy way upwards.  The ride was surprisingly steep, and everywhere we looked the roads mostly curled around tight bends or dove up and down hills at incredible angles.  As we reached the square Gabrielle realized she had left her favourite green pashmina (scarf) on the bus, which had now departed.  Crushed and soggier by the minute, this wasn't an auspicious start. The rain was coming down in torrents so Gabrielle parked inside a nearby internet cafe with the bags while Dan went scouting for our intended hostel.  Dan soon returned, very soggy, to retrieve Gabrielle and the bags and we were soon safely ensconced in a little white walled room in the airy Pension Cordoba.  Dropping our bags we pulled ourselves together and headed out to find food. According to our guidebook, Chefchaouen is a beautiful blue washed town (which it is) with a laid back attitude to tourists (which it DEFINITELY is not).  The streets were lined with tourist shops and sellers called out for customers to come and buy.  We found a small cafe on a quiet terrace which served vegetable tajine and chicken sandwiches while we watched the tourists and cats crisscross the square.  The rest of our day was spent resting up and sitting at a cafe with cups of mint tea, people watching in the main square as the rain continued to fall. This morning we woke up to hot showers complete with a pension bread-fest breakfast topped with a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and syrupy sweet mint tea.  The rain had refused to stop throughout the night so we grabbed a taxi down to the bus station to book our bus tickets out of Chefchaouen the next day, having been told that booking the day before was a necessity.  Our helpful taxi driver waiting for us as we stopped at an ATM and helped us in our panic as the ATM ate Dan's bank card.  Since it was a Sunday, and the bank was closed, we started to get desperate.  Upon the suggestion of the taxi driver (in Arabic and minimal French) Dan started to dash up the hill to find a police officer that might be able to help.  Just as Dan started up the hill the ATM belched loudly and spit out Dan's card.  Relieved we found another ATM and continued down to the bus station. The morning adventure ensued at the bus station where Dan attempted to purchase bus tickets from the CTM stall, the government owned bus company.  A surly, wrinkled, and almost toothless gentleman manned the booth and refused to sell Dan a ticket, telling him to come back in ten minutes.  While waiting Dan noticed a familiar face in the bus station - Viv, the Australian we had shared a ferry ride into Morocco with, was on her way out of Morocco that day after braving lightning storms in the Sahara and the tribulations of Marrakech as a single female traveller.  Soon Gabrielle and Viv were chatting up a storm and our incredibly helpful taxi driver was helping Dan to buy bus tickets.Turned out the friendly CTM stall person didn't actually have any bus tickets left for the next day and may have thought it funny to have Dan waiting for ten minutes before he decided to let us know.  So the taxi driver pulled Dan from stall to stall, checking with each of the private bus companies to see if they had buses running to Ceuta the next day.  We soon found one, we think, and were on our way back to the town square after fond farewells with Viv and a big tip for our taxi driver. We wandered the touristy medina streets in the light rain and Gabrielle bought some small ammonite fossils from a fascinating stall that was drenched in fossil souvenirs from a famous region in the south of Morocco.  Giant fossil sinks, stacks of fossil plates, carvings and polished fossil paper weights in every shape and size filled the tables, and the short, tubby store owner blended in to the chaotic stack of fossil items in his grey and brown gelabia.   The rest of our day was spent between resting up at the hostel, still recovering our energy from the bouts of stomach flu from the last few days, and wandering the pretty blue washed streets and poking around at shops.  Chefchaouen turned out to be quite the tourist town, mainly for Spaniards who had driven down for a brief holiday, but still managed to retain the striking beauty that had made it famous.   Tomorrow we head back to Spain.  Morocco has been an interesting experience, full of ups and downs, and lots of memorable moments.  It hasn't always been very easy traveling here but very much worth the effort.All our best from MoroccoDan and Gabes
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1224901860/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1224901860/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1224901860/tpod.html Tue, 04 Nov 2008 03:10:18 -0500 Fortress Europa - Round 2 Dan and Gabes Return to Europe, Morocco and Cross the Atlantic by boat.

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Fes, Morocco

After a brief train ride from Meknes, we came out at the rather uninspiring train station of Fes with defenses up and bristles out. Coming to the taxi stop, the group of drivers tried to charge us five times what the trip to the town center should have cost and blatantly laughed at us when we asked them to use their meters (as local law required).  Eventually we found a driver who agreed to take us for a reasonable price, leaving an angry crowd of taxi drivers behind us.   We went for the HI Youth Hostel our guidebook, unusually, recommended.  It was clean and quiet and run by an extremely knowledgeable and chatty man who told us to watch our wallets while in Fes.  Unfortunately the hostel was full save for beds in separate dorms, so we sadly said goodbye went looking at a few places on the suggestion of the hostel owner.  Deciding against some of the dodgy, and dirty hotels we went back to our guidebook and found a nearby hotel that was cheap and grubby, but not as bad as some of the others.  We discovered, as we suspected before, that many Moroccan hotels don't actually change or wash the sheets between guests.  Thankful for our sleep sheets (Dan sends a big shout out to Aunt Karen), we kept reminding ourselves it was only for one night. After some discussion, we went against our usual practice and decided to hire a guide to take us on a tour of the labyrinth that is the Fes Medina.  The Fes medina is partly infamous for its inability to be mapped.  When UNESCO declared the area a heritage site, they sent in expert cartographers to map the area.  Every single cartographer came back with a vastly different estimate as to how many streets there were, ranging from 9000, to 18,000 in the Medina alone.  Best estimates take a middle road and vaguely say that there are 12,000 streets, home to around 800,000 people, 83,000 stores and countless bakeries, mosques and hammams.  It is said that if a stranger enters Fes' medina alone, it will take at least four days to find their way out. Our guide was $25.00 Canadian dollars for three hours, and well worth every penny.  An older gentleman who previously lived in the Medina, he took us on a tour of all of the best sites that the Medina had to offer, while deftly weaving his way amongst the maze of streets.  Due to it being a Friday, an Islamic holy day, the majority of the shops were closed, making the tour delightfully quiet and laid back.   We were taken the Kairaouine mosque (site of the worlds oldest university), and although not open to non-Muslims, we could peek in the doorway to view the splendor inside.  We did manage to discover why the mosques in Morocco aren't open to foreigners.  Apparently it was due to the old French gendarmes (police), who would follow suspected criminals into a mosque when they went to confess and would arrest them inside, not removing their shoes or showing any respect for the sanctuary and place of worship that the mosque was to provide.  In response to this, the government of Morocco passed a law saying that any non-Muslims were no longer allowed inside any of the mosques, and although Morocco has not been a French colony for some time now the law still stands. Our next stop was the tanneries, one of the most famous sites of Fes.  We were taken up into a building, tiny from the outside, but spanning many rooms on many floors once you entered the door, and eventually came out to a balcony overlooking a set of tanning pools.  The building was basically a tanning workshop and series of showrooms for finished leather goods, and the smell of the finished leather mixed with the stench of the tannery vats and unprocessed skins.  The vats were, visually, very striking with a mix of colours from white vats that were filled with pigeon droppings for ammonia to treat the skins before they were taken to the various colour pools to dye the skins over a period of three weeks.  The dyed leather was then dried on the rooftops before being taken to the surrounding workshops where they were turned into all kinds of leather goods.   We were really struck by how labour intensive the whole process was.  Due to it being a Friday, only a few young men remained at the tannery, hauling piles of skins in and out of the vats, and hanging up sodden skins.  Although the tannery staff assured us that the dyes used in the vats were all derived from natural plant sources (pomegranate and saffron for yellow, mint for green, paprika for red, etc.) our guidebook had warned us that, in fact, most dyes these days are chemical based and are very damaging to the workers health.  Although it was amazing to view the colourful vats of the tanneries, with the sprawling medina behind, it was an uncomfortably voyeuristic experience to be a camera toting tourist looking down from our balcony on these obviously impoverished young men up to their knees in vats of deadly chemicals. We extracted ourselves from the leather shop, resisting the hard sell that, inevitably, came after the tour.  Our guide took us on to a herbalist that specialized in traditional herbs, where an extremely enthusiastic young chemist proceeded to extoll the virtues of a series of Moroccan herbs, spices, and extracts, some used for their beautifying, edifying, or aphrodisiac qualities ('this is traditional Berber herb, you make tea with this, no sleep, jiggy-jiggy!').  We passed on the jiggy-jiggy herb but did buy some Moroccan sweet curry powder before we moved on.   Our guide continued on to a traditional Moroccan weaving shop (we did enjoy the 'how it's done' aspect of our visits to these shops, but the unfortunate side effect was the constant 'buy buy buy' as we tried to exit).  Last but not least was an excellent view from the top of one of the very tall buildings in the Medina.  The view was an interesting juxtaposition of ancient, crumbling buildings topped with hundreds of satellite dishes.  Our guide informed us that satellite dishes were very cheap in Morocco, which explains the thousands of them that top every Moroccan city and town we've seen. Our guide also took us amongst the countless narrow streets, peering into cavernous underground rooms that housed giant ovens which were used to heat the local hammams.  We passed communal bakeries, and hammams that were identifiable by the tiled entrances and the babble of women's voices from within.  He told us of Fes' 1200 year history, the finer points of Islam, and daily life in the Medina before finishing the tour and taking us back to our hotel.  Feeling like we had received more than our moneys worth (and actually making it out of the medina in one day) we said a fond farewell to our guide. We took one last trip out that evening, taking in Fes' streets at night before grabbing some pastries for our bus trip to Chefchouen the next morning.  Our dinner was at a small restaurant that served heaping plates of roast chicken, rice, potato, and noodles, full of filling carbs but definitely the energy we needed at this point.Suddenly exhausted we braved our grubby little hotel room for the night.  Tomorrow we head for the mountains, our last stop before we leave Morocco. All our best from MoroccoDan and Gabes
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1224815340/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1224815340/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/dangabesisaak/3/1224815340/tpod.html Tue, 04 Nov 2008 03:01:30 -0500 Fortress Europa - Round 2 Dan and Gabes Return to Europe, Morocco and Cross the Atlantic by boat.

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Meknes, Morocco

Not feeling up for the grind and hustle that Morocco's larger cities provide, we debated heavily about heading straight from Marrakech to Fes.  Looking through our guidebook, we came across a chapter on Meknes.  Meknes is a smaller city that sits about an hour's train ride from Fes, and lacks the volume of tourists that roam Fes' chaotic streets, maintaining a more honest Moroccan charm and laid back atmosphere.  Deciding that this was more our speed we headed for the train station and the seven hour trip. We ran into Loubna, the young woman that we shared a train car with on the way down to Marrakech, who was returning home to Casablanca after visiting her sister.  She joined us on the train, chatting non-stop in a mixture of French and English the whole four hour journey to Casablanca, telling us all about her boss (a jerk that briefly courted her), her future husband (met online, he's from Syria), her family, and her frustrations in Marrakech.  Apparently Loubna was unable to get a taxi for hours on arrival, every taxi driver refusing her service saying 'we only work for Europeans'.  Loubna also found the prices in Marrakech incredibly expensive, and the people fairly cold.  Strangely this made us feel better about our time there, knowing that the hassle wasn't solely directed at us, as travelers, but it did make us very sad for the city itself.Upon arriving in Casablanca, Loubna invited us to get off with her and stay with her family for a few days, saying that she had family in Fes and would take time off work to take us there and be our guide in the city.  Honoured and torn we eventually had to politely refuse.  After her tales of the difficulties she was having with her boss, and the state of her family, we knew that the hospitality she was offering was beyond her, and her families, means, and that to accept such a generous offer would in the end be to her detriment.  Loubna gave us a small photo of herself and a kiss goodbye, leaving us feeling incredibly humbled once again by the generous spirit of the ordinary Moroccan's we've met.We continued on our train journey to Meknes in relative silence, watching the countryside outside slowly turn from barren, hard land into a lush oasis as we neared Meknes.  Arriving late in the evening to a combination of stiff joints, raining skies, and grumbling stomachs, we took a taxi to our distant hotel.  The rooms smelled of mothballs, and were filled with faded and mismatched linens.  Despite the dated furniture, the room was functional and about as clean as we could hope for from a budget hotel in Morocco.  Dashing to a nearby food stand, an enthusiastic restaurant tout offered us some seasoned hash brown things.  He then deliberately misunderstood (and ignored) our request for sandwiches and cooked up what we think were goat kebabs.  Too hungry and tired to argue, we wolfed down the spicy, filling pita sandwiches. This morning the rain had settled into a light, but persistent misting.  Not to be set off, we but on the rain gear and went in search of breakfast.  First we stopped by a local bakery where we discovered chocolate covered, custard filled pastries that exploded in your mouth with every bite.  Our next stop was at what is best described as a 'juice bar', a small whole in the wall store that sold freshly made fruit juice and small sweets.  We'd seen many of these stores all over Morocco but had never stopped in before.  We sat down at the tiny bar with freshly squeezed orange juice and a slightly sweet yogurt type thing that seemed to be a common local food. Sugared up and ready to go, we hit the town for some sight-seeing with a light, drizzly rain still falling.  We headed for the main square, with two large gates facing towards it, each of them striking to the eye with their incredible detail breaking up the otherwise barren, brown wall of the old town.  The square itself was lined with cafe's and shops, and had smaller decorated archways that led down to the souks (covered markets).   We visited a museum that sat on the opposite side of the square, formerly a mansion of a 19th century aristocrat.  We wandered through the rooms, filled with small displays of pottery, cloth, and jewelry, but the museum was as much for the rooms as for the displays themselves.  Each room was sumptuously decorated with Islamic design, and an open, airy feel.   Back on the streets, we dodged crowds of people and cats as we dove into the markets.  We past spice sellers with cones of brightly coloured spices and women sifting piles of deep red paprika onto bright blue tarps.  We walked past sweet sellers with elaborate piles of decorated candies and honey-soaked pastries stacked so high that the buyers could barely reach to pay.  The most shocking, to us, was the meat market, where sellers, disconcertingly, sold live chickens and rabbits by weight while others stripped carcasses, cut meat, or sat in boredom watching over cages full of chickens, boxes of rabbits, or buckets of slowly fleeing snails.   Slightly queasy from the sights and smells, we came out into the open market streets, full of people buying their daily goods.  The open market sold the majority of the household items and food that local Moroccan's would use day to day, such as clothes, fruit and vegetables, baskets, lamps, cd's, shoes, dishes, and cleaning supplies.  We wandered for hours, exploring the back streets and eventually finding our way to the musical instrument workshops, with wooden lutes and beautifully painted drums hanging from their ceilings.  We were tempted to buy some, but decided that they probably wouldn't get through customs.  Walking back, we past shops filled with craftsmen, mostly welders and iron workers, many working without goggles or safety equipment of any kind, as they created intricate fences and bed frames.   We finally found ourselves back in the main square, so after a brief stop at one of the sweet vendors, we sat at a cafe, with a cup of mint tea, and people watched as the drizzle continued to fall from the sky.  A late lunch took us back to the same sandwich stall as the night before, but we came in prepared and managed to get our egg and potato sandwiches without the pushy restaurant tout trying to sell us mystery meat kebabs.  With the rain picking up we spent our evening in the all too rare internet cafe, tapping out emails on the funny keyboards, many of the letters sitting in unfamiliar places.   We'd heard that Meknes had an excellent night market at the main square, but the rain had reached torrential proportions so we settled for a very light dinner at a juice bar and skype calls home before calling it a night.  Tomorrow we set off for Fes, fingers crossed that it goes better than Marrakech.All our best from MoroccoDan and Gabes
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