LYNN’S SPAIN/MOROCCO JOURNAL

MAY 2002

 

 

Wednesday-Thursday, May 8/May 9

Travel Day to Spain (SFO to Munich to Madrid)

 

We boarded our Luftansa flight without mishap, although since we had neglected to ask for either aisle or window seats we found ourselves in the two middle seats in the middle row of four.   Since much of the flight would be at night, we didn’t miss being able to look out the window that much and managed to sleep quite a bit.  We arrived in Munich the next day and had a two-hour layover, which allowed for some more shopping, mainly for candy for Corinna (Snickers and little Swiss chocolate bars).   On our flight to Madrid, our seatmate was a German guy.  As had happened to Philip before, when he sits with Germans, the Luftansa stewardess end up trying to talk to him in German or trying to talk to the Germans in English, assuming that the people sitting together must be speaking the same language.

 

We took a taxi to our hotel, Hostal Persal, near the Plaza del Angel, near the Puerto del Sol.  The taxi driver grabbed our bags quickly and quoted a price of 50 Euros, which seemed way too much.  The meter wasn’t running, but when we got to the hotel he clicked on the meter which read 45 Euros.  It must have been preset, since he learned from the hotel clerk that the cost should have been close to 20 Euros.  We took a walk in the neighborhood before retiring.  All of Madrid is out at 11 at night walking, eating, talking.  We bought cookies and drinks at a small grocery store down the street from the hotel (Asian-run, Korean?).  Our room has tall ceilings and a balcony, plus its own full bath.  The noise from the street remained loud far into the night.

 

  Hostel Persal with Lynn on Balcony

 

Friday, May 10

Travel Day to Sevilla

 

We did not sleep well in the early part of the night because of the noise but found it quite quiet in the early morning.  We awoke at 7:30 but had meant to get up earlier to get an early start for Sevilla.  We had closed our wooden shutters to try to block out the noise—which also blocked out the light.  Breakfast was continental but also included juice and cereal.  We had a nice taxi driver who took us to the Plaza de Espana—he ran the meter and the fare was only 5 euros 40—he tried to give us back change for the 7 we gave him.  We had a little trouble finding Hertz, but we got out of the city without mishap. 

 

The ride down to Sevilla was maybe 4 hours.  We stopped once for gas.  Scenery was not notable—some mountains, including one very steep spot with formations a little like Castle Crags in Northern California, olive trees, bright yellow sunflowers, red poppies—we saw much the same in northern Morocco as well.  On the map, I saw that the steep part included a pass called Desfiladero de Despenaperros.  It was used through the ages by mule trains, traders, highwaymen, and armies to cross from La Mancha and Castilla to Andalusia.  There was a lookout, but we were on the wrong side of the road to stop. 

 

We managed to get off the highway (N-IV) into Sevilla—actually the road seemed to stop there (it does go on further south).  We even found our hotel, La Muralla, in Macarena (northern part of Sevilla), but found no parking.  I went in and found out there was a garage we could use down the street.  The woman who met us speaks French so we got along.  I think it was same woman who talked to me when I called and later to Fede when he called (her name was Gloria).  Unfortunately, we never saw her again to confirm.  We were just inside one of the few remaining sections of the old walls that used to surround all of Sevilla—hence the name of the hotel.  I always felt like we were coming home to safety inside the walls for the four nights we stayed there. 

 

 The Old Wall

 

 

   Hotel Muralla                                                          

 

We rested a while in our room and then left to explore Macarana.  First stop was the Convento de Santa Paula, where we bought apple jam with mint from an old nun who showed us her picture in the Dorling Kindersley guidebook for Andalusia we carried everywhere.  I was wondering what she was doing flipping through our guidebook!  I could smell the smell of jam cooking as we walked toward the convent. 

 

We took the walking tour around Macarena after, making sure to hit the 3 highlights:  the convent, Iglesia de San Marcos, and Iglesia de San Pedro.  Other highlights of the walk:  watching a flamenco class for children (closest we got to seeing flamenco), seeing a procession called Cruz de Mayo, complete with drum and horn players, children walking with long candles, incense smoke coming from a censer which was swung back and forth by an altar boy, a float propelled by maybe a dozen people whose feet only were visable.  It was wonderful to see.  I thought it was a good way to spend the first evening, when we were perhaps too tired to tackle Sevilla itself. 

 

 Cruz de Mayo Procession

 

In fact, we were too tired even to walk downtown (Santa Cruz) for dinner, so we went to a nearby restaurant recommended by our hotelkeeper:  Hermanos Gomez.  Food was plentiful but not overly flavorful—plus we made the mistake of ordering the appetizers when asked.  They turned out to be huge plates of shrimp and ham that cost $16 out of our 25-euro dinner.   Not knowing Spanish put us at a big disadvantage.  Philip described his entrée as a plate of very salty chicken McNuggets.

 

Saturday, May 11

Cordoba

 

Breakfast is not included—I got coffee and a roll at the closest café-bar one block from the hotel.   I also took some bread back to Philip.  Day trip today was Cordoba.  Took the N-IV back to Cordoba (we had passed through it on the way to Sevilla the day before). 

 Cordoba from across the River

Tried to park at the Mesquita but never found a garage so we parked across the river.  That allowed us to approach the old city via the Puente Romano bridge—with Roman foundations but rebuilt by the Moors (reminded me of Regensburg in Germany).    Main site to see was the Great Mosque, also called the Mesquita.  850 red-and-white arches paraded before our eyes—what a phantasmagoric mixture of Islam and Christianity!  There was a Catholic cathedral right in the middle of the former mosque.  After wandering through the Mesquita to our heart’s content, we took the recommended walk in the old city. 

 

 

  The Cathedral

 

Before we tackled the last sight, we saw down to have a prix fixe lunch—that took the guesswork out of menu reading (important to us after the dinner last night).  I picked the menu with gazpacho—similar flavors but mine is better!  Best meal we have had but not spectacular.  The palace fortress we wanted to see, the Alcazar de los Reyes Cristianos, was closed until 5:30 so we left to take another route home:  the A431, a wise choice. 

 

Ruins of Median Azahara

We were able to take in two spectacular but different sights:  Medina Azahara and the castle above Almodovar del Rio (a village).  The first was in ruins, basically an archeological dig.  Built by Caliph Abd al Rahman III in the 10th century, it rivaled neighboring Cordoba.  Only 1/10th of it has been excavated, but it only took a little imagination to see how beautiful it was.  It was also beautifully located, high up on a hill overlooking the valley.  It was impressive even in its ruins—some halls and arches had been reconstructed.

The second sight was almost complete although reconstructed.  It, too, sat high upon a hill, but the difference was that it sat atop a rock silhouetted against the sky and was practically impregnable—the other was nestled in the hills.  It was somewhat boxy looking, much like a Norman fortress, had lots of towers and ramparts, almost like a stereotypical castle.  In fact, it was a Moorish castle from the 8th century, only recently restored.   To get to it we had to negotiate a winding dirt road—I was driving.  Along each edge were triangular stone caps—a motif we were to see again and again in both Spain and Morocco.  It was fun walking the ramparts and scrambling up and down.  I used the bathroom there—one of the most beautiful on the trip:  new, limestone walls, clean.  Below the castle was the white-washed town of Almodovar del Rio.

 

 

Views of the Town and Olive Orchards from the Castle

 

We entered Sevilla from the north, where we live, but went too far south.  Dinner was late and very casual.  We were too tired to negotiate another Spanish menu so we broke down and went to a Pizza Hut not far from our hotel.  It was a truly wonderful day:  big tourist attraction that I had long longed to see, city in ruins, old stone castle.  Left at 10 a.m., came back at 10 p,m.—long day but well worth it.  It was a pattern we mostly followed:  up early, late dinner, late to bed. 

 

Sunday, May 12

Sevilla

 

Today was the day to stay in Sevilla.  Our German friend had told us that it might be difficult to get into El Granada so we decided going there on a Monday was better than a Sunday.  The café-bar was not open.  So we walked to Santa Cruz without benefit of coffee.  I got my coffee in the cafeteria of the royal palace later in the morning.  Got to the cathedral area quite early—9:30ish—too early for there to be many tourists.  It was grand to see the square in front of the cathedral so empty—Plaza Virgen de los Reyes.  The horse cabbies were anxious to give us a ride—we declined.  The Reales Alcazares (royal palace) was first on the list because it was open in the morning.  It was a feast for the eyes—lacey plasterwork, arches, tiles, pools, carved wooden ceilings, marble floors, different colors, different textures.  What we had seen at the Medina Azahara was only a hint.  And such a mix of cultures—Christian, Muslim.  Philip and I had a hard time trying to follow the guidebook.  The gardens were also quite extensive:  flowers, fountains, fish, grottos.

 

 

Inside the Reales Alcazares

 

The royal palace visit plus the walking tour we did afterwards did us in--we recovered over paella lunch in a vine-covered patio not far from the royal palace entrance.  We had seen it on our walking tour.  We sat next to a French/American couple who offered

us free tickets to view a house—they were returning to Nice that night.  The paella was pretty good, especially the crayfish (we had better later).

  

Reales Alcazares                                              Street Scene

 

After lunch we tackled the cathedral—the largest in Europe.  It was very light-filled inside.  We had quite a nice tour with the help of a brochure—free entry on Sunday.  It was exquisitely ornate:  stained glass windows, huge organ, altars, gold chalices, large paintings.  But nothing like the French cathedrals. 

Sevilla from the La Giralda, with Bull Ring

We also got to climb La Giralda, the tower or old minaret—another example of Muslim/Christian architecture—Muslim minaret (finished in 1198), Catholic church (started in 1401).   The climb was a great one—ramps, not stairs, beautiful display cases to view if one got stuck in line (we did not).  On the way down though we noticed that the people on the way up had to wait quite a bit—good thing we were early. My favorite view was the one over the square we had first come across, filled with horse-driven carriages and accented by flying buttresses.

 

Views from La Giralda

 

We hiked back to Macarena, rested a bit, and took the car out to Donana, the national park.  Philip had read there were guided tours where you could possibly see lynxes.  But we got there too late for the tours and only in time to do a quick 30 minutes walking tour.  Looked through a couple of blinds but did not see much in the wetlands.  On the way back to park headquarters, we did notice some large birds roosting on the roof of the headquarter building—one flew off in the direction of the wetlands.  We later figured out these were storks—we were to see a lot more in Morocco.  There wasn’t enough time to enjoy the park, but at least it was open.  Drove back late again—past 10. 

 

On the way out to the park, we passed through the normally quiet little town of El Rocio.  The next day was going to start the Romeria del Rocio—when a million people converge on the town in hopes of miraculous cures attributed to a statue located in Ermita de Nuestra Senora del Rocio.  People travel from all over Spain on foot, by ox cart, by bus, whatever.  We were glad we weren’t caught up in all that—it was would have made going to the park impossible.  Later on the trip we saw decorated ox carts obviously on their way to El Rocio. 

 

Monday, May 13

Granada

 

Got up very early and left for Granada—it was our longest drive, took over two hours.  Cranky for 3 reasons:  no coffee, sleepy, worried about not getting into the Alhambra.  Had to circle around quite a bit to get to the Alhambra—saw lots of new Granada, more like Los Angeles than Sevilla but without all the freeways.  We got great parking and were able to get in, we thought for noon.  Turns out the Nasrid Palaces tour within the Alhambra was at noon—we could have gotten into the Alhambra itself as soon as we arrived, about 10:30.  But instead we spent a peaceful hour or so drinking coffee, changing money, wandering around. 

Carlos V Palace

 

The enclosed space of the Alhambra is shaped like a boat with the Acazaba (military quarters) at the prow, castles down the right-hand side.  The first area we entered was the Carlos V palace—only the circle-shaped, two-story courtyard, kind of like the Roman arena.  We were late for our Nasrid palaces tour but were able to get in anyway.  This was a series of palaces and a series of rooms and courtyards within each.  Again, as in the palace in Sevilla, Moorish motifs:  lacy decorations of plaster, arches, reflecting pools.  Who did all that work?  Wonderful, talented artisans.  It was fun imaging being a member of the royal household floating around in my robes. 

 

 

 

We exited too early through a gate which we count not reenter, without seeing the last palace and without going on the tower walk back to the entrance.  So instead we entered the Alcazaba area, which was really like a fort with towers and battlements—it was very hot.  From there, as well as from the palace windows, we had fine views.

 

 

 

  

Alcazaba with Sierra Nevadas in Distance

 

During this time, we also plotted to get back in the areas we had mistakenly exited too early:  begging the guards, climbing over the fence, etc.  We tried the former, but they said it was impossible.  Philip wouldn’t let me try the latter.  We managed to get into the restricted area by going backward on the tower walk (no one stopped us from going in) and into the last palace (Yusuf III), which was but a ruin anyway (just the foundations).  I felt vindicated—official channels had said it was not possible to go back in once one had exited.

 

 

We debated eating a late lunch/early dinner in Granada, but I won out:  go home, shower, eat dinner in Sevilla.  The ride out and back was not too memorable—except seeing the snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada flanking Granada—pretty impressive.  Getting back was a bit of a nightmare in town.  We got on the wrong roads, got turned around, found right roads but were forced to go the wrong way, etc.  Probably took at least an extra half hour to get back home.  It was wonderful after a long, hot day to get into the shower.  I changed into a dress (a first and a pattern we were to follow), and we strolled down from Macarena to Santa Cruz.  We hit the main square near the cathedral and the palace.  We walked back to where we had eaten lunch to seek out a recommended restaurant:  Corral del Agua on Callejon del Agua.  We had passed right by it on our walking tour.  Dinner was chicken for me, pork for Philip—very well prepared, best dinner so far.  We ate outside in a vine-covered patio, very romantic.  Smelled night-blooming jasmine on the walk back to the hotel.   Got back late but packed up for our trip to Morocco tomorrow. 

 

Tuesday, May 14

Travel Day to Fes (Sevilla to Algeciras to Ceuta to Fes)

 

Got up early again to head out (7ish).  Had coffee in my café-bar and bought a toasted bread.  Paid the hotel via credit card—from our funny little man who sleeps on the couch and is almost impossible to wake up when we want to get in.  Took us a long time to get out of the city toward Cadiz.  Lots of wild flowers on the way to Algeciras, where we had to drop off the car. 

 Checking Out

 

We stopped at the train station to use the bathroom—turns out it was good to know where it was since we left this same train station to go to Ronda later on the trip.  We had been heading downtown but got lost and were heading for the port—looking for the Hertz office.  On the way, we quite by chance found the Hertz office.  We dropped off the car with no extra charges—these came later in the mail.  We took a short taxi ride to the ferry building, where we bought our tickets to Ceuta (20 euros each) and lunch (sandwiches). 

 

We were able to catch the 12:15 ferry—it was my goal to reach Algeciras by noon or so.  It was a short (35 minutes), calm ride in a quite nice ferry.  Philip saw dolphins—I mostly stayed inside where it felt safer and calmer.  I had bought 20 stamps for airmail postcards at a tobacco shop in the ferry building.  We could see the Rock of Gibraltar outside the big windows—pretty impressive.

 Dolphins in Distance                                     Gilbraltar

 

We disembarked at Ceuta, where Philip got us a guide (or rather the guide got Philip).  Ceuta is technically in Spanish Morocco—so we officially were not in Morocco at this point.  I had been talking to the information person about getting into Morocco.  Our guide, Mohammed, spoke pretty good English.  He made our life easy at this point in the trip and for not that much money--$10 (we gave him $20).  This was probably the diceyist part of the trip.

 

Lyn Zais was right—entering Morocco was like going into another world.  I had been reading parts of her account loud to Philip while we drove from Sevilla to Algeciras.  We could see the ocean; it was hot; people in djellabah were wandering around all over carrying bags of stuff.  First we got into a taxi for a short ride to the border.  It was very hot and dusty with people and cars going in all directions and rows of young men lining the hills around the border crossing, apparently just watching the people coming and going.  Without our guide we would have had no idea where to go, but we just followed Mohammed from the taxi to a window in a small office, where we handed over our passports and filled in forms.  Then we changed money for the first time into dirhan.  Then it was a much longer taxi ride into Tatouan to catch the bus/train.

 

  

 

The travel agency from whom we needed to buy the tickets to get a bus and train to Fes was closed for midday so Mohammed helped us to check our bags at the local bus station.  Then we were free to walk around.  Of course, we got a tour of the medina—our first in Morocco.  It was everything we had been led to believe and more—a maze of twisty little streets lined with all kinds of shops.  Different sections sold different things:  vegetables, fruit, fish, cloth, brassware, etc.  It was a fascinating experience and a great introduction to Morocco.  After seeing this one medina, the others (Fes and Marrakesh) were kind of old hat. 

One of 7 gates to the Medina

 

Sheepskins at the Tannery

 

Mohammed even led us through a tannery, where we walked around various vats into which I definitely did not want to fall!  The smell was strong but not unbearable.  Mohammed pointed out various sights such as minarets and mosques. 

 

The Medina From Above the Carpet Shop

 

Of course we were led into a rug shop and plied with sweet mint tea.  The mint was fresh, and we had seen huge sprigs of it being sold in the market.  I can’t believe it—but we bought a rug for around $350!  We were shown dozens of rugs, but I had had my eyes on a bluish/greyish and tan rug hanging on the wall almost from the beginning.  The rug on the wall was huge—we ended up buying a much smaller version with only six squares—less than ¼ the size of the big one.  We paid by credit card—I hope it comes, and I hope it is what we ordered! 

 In the Carpet Showroom

 

By then it was time to go back to the travel agency.  We bought our tickets to Fes.  They were only 200 dirhan or so (for second class).  But the voyage was complex: a long bus ride from Tatouan to a field (later found out it was called Itnine Yamani)—there wasn’t even a station there.  We caught the Tangier to Casa train there and took it to Sidi Kacem, where we changed trains for Fes.  Mohammed left us at the bus stop—we gave him a tip and a soap from Crabtree and Evelyn for his wife.  He had said his wife said her eyes were the camera—kind of how I feel.

Waiting for a Train

 

The bus trip was fine—we stopped once for refreshments.  Indeed, we got off in a field, but so did everyone else.  The porter from the bus took care of us—Mohammed had spoken to him.  He put us in first class, but we later had to pay a supplement because we had bought second-class tickets in Tatouan.  There were 3 train guys who were quite nice:  the guy in our compartment who apparently was off duty, the man who had us pay the supplement for first class, and a maintenance guy who was very charming and handsome and spoke good English.  And they did not have their hands out for tips.

 

Everyone knew we had to get off at Sidi Kacem.  The train was right there when we got off, and it left right away.  We found a compartment with three people at the end of the car—two women who talked together and a man.  They sat across from us, confirmed that it was the train to Fes, told us when to get off.  The countryside is much the same as Southern Spain:  relatively green, rolling hills, olive trees, bright yellow sunflowers, cows, goats, bright red poppies. 

 

Once in Fes, we were able to catch a petit taxi to the hotel—without the unnecessary help of a guide.  The hotel people were expecting us, and we discussed tour plans.  After a long day, it was good to take a quick shower (we were past the time of hot water but did have hot showers), change clothes, sit down to dinner.  We were lucky that the hotel restaurant was still open.  We sat outside on the open-air terrace that looked out on the courtyard.  Rooms were around the outside facing the courtyard, with a fountain and a pool.  The prix fixe dinners were expensive (115 dirhan) and too much food.  Philip had cous cous, an oft-repeated meal of his, and I had a pork cutlet—he made the right choice.  We went to bed exhausted—but we succeeded in reaching Fes from Sevilla in one day and without too much hassle.  Thank God for Mohammed and all the nice people on the way who helped us.

 

 Hotel Batha

 

Wednesday, May 15

Fes

 

Big money day—we cashed $300.  It basically all went:  shopping, guide, trip out to Volubilis.  In the morning we had a guided tour of the medina.  Since we had had already a similar experience in Tetouan, it was not so novel.  Plus we got the usual obligatory hard sells, even from a rug merchant after we told him right off the bat that we had already bought a rug.  But I had indicated that I wanted babouches (leather slippers) and a hand of Fatima necklace (we saw hand of Fatima decorations on doors—the guide pointed them out).  They are to ward off evil.  For the slippers, we went to a leather shop, where we were shown upstairs to view the tannery.  This tannery was much larger than the one at Tatouan, but rather than walking amongst the vats, we only could observe it from the roof of the shop.  Red was the color of the day—from the red poppies we saw everywhere in the countryside.  We negotiated down somewhat the price of two pairs of babouches (Marisa and myself) for $50—very soft, made from goat. 

 The Tannery

 

The jewelry shop also had pottery—short hard sell here.  But I wanted to buy two silver pendants with the hand of Fatima—turquoise and coral little stones set in silver.  Bargained down a little to $100—still way too much—should have been less than $50 probably.  Our mistake was indicating interest in something too soon.  Once the  shopkeepers knew you wanted to buy something, they would not bargain very much.  I bought saffron and musk for Corinna at a spice and herb shop.  I also bought dried fruit (figs and dates) and some round bread.  The guide helped me—the dates were very good, sweet and soft.

 The spice Shop

A Souk (Market) Area

Outside the Mosque

 Bringing Bread to the Ovens

According to the guide, there were 65 neighborhoods (arrondissements) in the medina, each with 5 elements:  fountain (to get water), public bath/hammam (houses don’t have bathing facilities), oven (women make the bread at home, children deliver them to the oven), mosque, Koran school.  We got a petit taxi back to the hotel.

 

In the afternoon, we had hired a taxi guide to take us to Meknes.  We should have taken a train—would have been a lot cheaper!  Having a taxi guide is not as good as a regular guide—but hiring a taxi driver and a guide is too expensive.  He knew the places to drop us off—we tried to follow along with our guidebook.  We skipped the medina, not wanting any more hard sells.  We did get a view of the city, the big gate to the Imperial City (Bab el Mansour), the Mausoleum of Moulay Ismail (made Meknes the capital in the 17th century), and the Heri es-Souani (former granary and horse stables of the king).  The latter were immense and cool inside—the site for many movie sets apparently.  The stables were a series of arches in which horses were quartered—open air today although originally with a roof. 

 Inside the Stable Ruins at Meknes

 

Getting to Meknes was 400 DH—to Volubilis was 400 more—per the hotel tariff schedule.  The taxi driver had said he could take us for a good price (un bon prix, madame).  We settled on 600 DH—although I tried to bargain him down.  We went by Moulay Idriss, named after the founder of Morocco’s first dynasty—no time to stop to see this town nestled in the hills.  We spent an hour or so rambling around Volubilis—the Romans were master builders.  Most of the town is in ruins—the marble was carted away in the 18th century for building Moulay Ismail’s palaces in Meknes.  This was the last outpost of the Roman Empire in North Africa. 

 Volubilis

 

Aside from the ruins, there were many beautiful mosaics.  One particularly nice one was in the House of Venus—Diana Bathing.  Amazing how you can get such realistic images from little chips of stone/tile.  We were there in the late afternoon in May—can you imagine how unbelievably hot it would be at mid-day in the summer!  As it was, I felt like I was going to have heat stroke—sun shining on me even with a hat, not enough hydration.  Still, I loved exploring the Roman ruins, imaging how life was for Roman citizens in that far-flung outpost. 

 

On the way out, I remember passing by a whole series of orange vendors—wish we could have stopped for pictures.  Since we went back another way, there wasn’t another chance.  And our guide was not one to offer to stop for pictures.  He just wanted to get us out there and back—and collect his money.  He also came by to take us to the train the next morning—and charged us a lot more than a petit taxi!  He also tried to talk us into letting him drive up to Marrakesh, but the train was a lot cheaper and a lot more comfortable.

 

We got back around 6 pm—time enough to take a shower rest, have dinner.  That kind of became our pattern—nice to eat dinner clean and refreshed.  We ate at the hotel again—so much for actually being in the old city.  We asked to split one dinner of couscous—wasn’t on the menu but the waiter was informed they could make it up again—alas, no harissa!  It was preceded by a bowl of vegetable soup (orange in color) and followed by fresh oranges, sliced up and covered with cinnamon and powdered sugar (a dessert we were to have again).  We returned relatively early to our room, but I had to take a nap before repacking/turning in—was exhausted from another long day, the heat, being overwhelmed by so many sights/smells/experiences.  Felt bad for having spent so much money and losing my black drawstring bag from Canon (disappeared from my room).  We talked several times with the hotel staff—but they claimed it never turned up, was not taken home by the maid.  I missed my little bag later—but it was one less thing to carry. 

 

Thursday, May 16

Fes to Marrakesh

 

We had our final breakfast in the hotel before the taxi driver from the day before, per our agreement, came to pick us up.  We tried to pay for the hotel using our traveler’s checks, but the clerk claimed to have no forms.  We ended up charging the room.  We bought drinks before we boarded the train.

 Lynn and Nezha on the Train to Marrakesh

 

From Fes to Meknes, we were alone.  At Meknes, a Moroccan woman, Nezha, with a baby Myriam, aged six and a half months, came on.  She had been visiting her family in Meknes, the first time since the baby was born—prematurely in France at six and a half months.  She lives in Chartres—she invited us to her home—and her parents-in-law have a farm 25 kilometers from town.  She was very friendly, very open.  I shared my dates; she shared a wonderful sandwich with me, made by her mother.  It was a mixture of chicken and green vegetables, plus garlic and lemon confit.  It was delicious!  She also shared her and her babies cold, which Philip came down with exactly three days later.  She had met her husband in Tunisia.  He is some kind of businessman who conducts business in North Africa.  After they got married, he curtailed his activities to some extent and works out of their home.  He had been in Meknes with her before.  She will return in September.  Her brother picked her up in Casa, from where she will fly to Paris (Orly).  She also told us we could stay in her home in Essaouira (on the coast), where Corinna took her vacation.  I would have loved to have gone there, but it would have required a lot of backtracking, plus there is no train to Essaouira (bus only). 

 

In Casa we were joined by a French couple who did not pay much attention to us.  He talked on his cell phone; she read magazines.  The vistas outside changed from landscapes with olive trees to a much more arid countryside. The white-washed villages of the north were replaced by mud huts and compounds while the green fields gave way to scrub and dessert-like conditions.  I took the opportunity to write postcards and catch up in my journal. 

From the Train

 

We got to Marrakech relatively early:  5ish.   The Hotel Oudaya is in the new part of the city, in contrast to the Hotel Batha in Fes, which was actually in the medina.  It is bigger and more modern.   We ate dinner near the hotel at Jack-Line, owned by a French woman who looked like Edith Piaf and had a noisy parrot.  We sat outside as did she—she looked like she was holding court.  In fact, a couple of woman friends did come by to sit with her.  I had beef tajine, salade nicoise, sangria, and a crème caramel (much better than the one at Hotel Batha).  Philip had couscous again.  We fed meat scraps to the calico cats underfoot. 

 

After dinner we walked to the main square inside the medina, Djemaa el-Fna.  I had read about this in the guidebook—it is quite the spectacle.  At night, when we went, all the food stall guys were out.  I just had an orange juice on the perimeter—too timid to try the food.  The next day our guide told us that even he got sick from eating food from the square.  We first saw the square, which we approached from the side, because of all the smoke arising from the barbeques.  All manner of food can be had:  soup, barbequed meat, etc.  I was sorely tempted, but we had just eaten dinner.  Small groups of people were surrounding entertainers:  musicians, dancers, games.  Later we returned in the day—less food, more entertainers.  But I will never forget our first experience in the square at night.  It was fascinating to be there with all the smoke, music, food, people jostling about.  It was a long walk from the hotel to the square and back—a horse-driver carriage ride would have been nice (we did that later).  We stopped at an Internet café on the way back.  Once home, we did some laundry—we even had a nice balcony to hang our clothes from. 

The Djemaa el-Fna

 

Friday, May 17

Marrakesh

 

The hotel, Hotel Oudaya, also comes with breakfast—out on the terrace by the pool.  It was served buffet style—like in Madrid.  In the morning we had our city tour.  Of course we went into the medina and had the hard sell by various kinds of merchants.  The rug salesman in particular really tried to schmooze us, even though he had been told that we had already bought an Arabic-style (deep pile) kind of rug in Tetouan.  He tried to sell us a kilim (flat weave) instead.  He was quite a flirt as well—offered 5,000 camels to Philip for me.  Philip refused saying what would he do with a bunch of camels!  We also stopped at a wood store—saw many beautiful boxes, bowls, and animals—but just bought a little turtle for Emily. 

 

Weaving Carpets

The Carpet Salesman

 

First stop on the tour was really our guide’s apartment—his wife was already waiting in a taxi to go to the lab for his mother who has Parkinson’s disease.  She had a vial of blood in her hand.  He dropped us off at the Majorelle Garden, a formerly private garden that now belongs to Yves St. Laurent, while he drove his wife to the lab.  It was a pleasant place to stroll for 15 minutes—lots of named plants, some of which we have in California, such as jade plant and white lilies, fish ponds, lots of almost cobalt blue on walls and pots. 

 

Next was the medina, already described above.  We ended up in the Djemaa el-Fna—very different during the day—same juice guys but more entertainers.  We found a snake charmer who draped snakes around our necks—our guide said I was brave!  He didn’t know I actually like snakes and am not at all afraid of them.  Anyway, they had been defanged and so were not dangerous. 

 

  

With the Snake Charmers

High point for me was the Koranic school (medersa) of Ali ben Youssef.  There students (boys) lived, ate, slept, and studied for 9 years.  Depending on how good a student you were, you got assigned different accommodations—top students got single rooms.  If it were a double, the second student lived in a loft, accessible via rungs set across the corner of the cell.  As usual, there was a central courtyard with a beautiful pool.  It is in the process of being restored by private money. 

 

In the souq, Philip did buy a pair of camel babouches—more than I paid for mine—and his smell!  We also ran across the train guy we had met on the train from the middle of nowhere (near Tetouan) to Sidi Kacem—he sat in our compartment and kind of watched over us.  He was riding a bike in the market area—he seemed happy to see us and asked how we were.  I wish we had taken a picture of him.  We discussed lunch and the Koutoubia minaret but decided against.  I got the feeling that our guide was finished and wanted to get home to his family for mid-day lunch and prayers.  If we had gone out to lunch (he showed us the restaurant), I’m sure he would have gotten a cut though.  In the afternoon, we rested—slept, wrote on my terrace. 

 

The evening program was the Palais el-Badi and dinner.  The cab driver dropped us of at our request at the Koutoubia minaret, from which we had planned to walk to the el-Badi palace—big mistake because we had a very hard time finding it.  We wanderer around quite a bit before we found it, with the help of a kind-of guide, and finally found it, thus only leaving only 15 minutes to explore it.  It was but a ruin, but oh what a ruin!  I could have used a bit more time—like at least 15 more minutes.  It was the most famous palace of Marrakesh and built by Admed al-Mansour between 1578 and 1602.  It was torn apart by Moulay Ismail in 1696 for his new capital at Meknes—he also stole marble from Volubilis.  What is left is basically four walls and a rabbit warren of underground storerooms, dungeons, and corridors, which we were able to explore a bit.  On top of the walls were many storks and their nests. 

 

It was easier to find our way back to the Djemaa el-Fna, where we were able to catch some Berber acrobats.  On the way back, I was consulting my guidebook wondering how to get to the square.  A woman asked if she could help—I told her where I was going, and she told me the way.  I think she was genuinely trying to be helpful—but I was suspicious that she wanted money—but there are genuinely nice people in Morocco, something I should remember. 

 

On a restaurant on the square, we took coffee and orange juice (for four times what I paid on the square) to rest and get a view from a terrace.  It was more exciting at night when we had had our first glimpse of the square.  We negotiated a horse-driven carriage ride almost back to our hotel.  It was a pleasant way to get back to our hotel, even on Mohamed Avenue because of honking cars and exhaust fumes. 

 

Philip had found a restaurant near the hotel with lots of different kinds of couscous, but when we went by, it was empty—not a good sign.  So I found a restaurant with authentic Moroccan food according to Lonely Planet so we wandered further down Mahomed V, which we had been driven down by horse-driven carriage earlier.  This was Restaurant al-Fassia.  It was upscale from Jack-Line—we found that out right away because you needed reservations to sit outside.  Plus, there were real (not plastic) flowers, candles, nicer linens, more flourish (scented towels and water after dinner).  We sat at a corner table and enjoyed watching our fellow diners:  a family with a child, another couple, and a business dinner. 

 

The latter was composed of a smooth talker businessman (Asian) and a couple from the area.  The couple was another businessman and his wife.  The lingua franca was English, which the wife plainly did not speak very well.  The Asian businessman flirted with all the waitresses, some of whom were quite pretty—smooth, coffee-colored skin and dark hair.  Our waitress was particularly pretty but also a little snotty.  I had chicken tajine spiced with olives and citron confit (my sandwich in the train given to me by our Moroccan friend was also spiced with lemon confit).  I was given the recipe in French but have since forgotten it.  Philip had couscous again, his favorite—we even got some harissa this time.  The food was marginally better than the food at Jack-Line—we paid more because it was fancier.  We walked back to the hotel in the cool of the evening and reorganized all our stuff to go into the Atlas Mountains.

 

Saturday, May 18

Travel Day to Ait M’Hamed (Marrakesh to Azilal to Ait M’Hamed)

 

Woke up early (at 5 or so) in my excitement to see Corinna.  Went back to sleep though for a couple of hours, then got up for breakfast.  Had breakfast this time inside for it was cooler—and Philip got orange juice for extra money.  I then spent some time writing in my journal on our little patio.  Before 10, the time Corinna had set to meet her, Philip went down to the lobby to see if she had arrived.  He came up with a perplexed look on his face—he had found a couple downstairs that he thought might be Corinna and Brett.  So I went down with him—by then Corinna and Brett were coming through the door—the other woman was definitely not Corinna!  We cried and hugged—we had come such a long way to see her and through such uncertain times.  It was a very emotional experience. 

 

 Meeting Corinna and Brett

 

They came into a room off to the side of the foyer to talk—we had so many logistical questions.  We continued our talk upstairs in our room.  Brett said goodbye and went off to his site (further south on the edge of the desert). 

 

When Corinna went off to make a phone call, one of the hotel employees approached us and asked if she was the American who spoke Berber.  He was quite impressed and had a brief conversation with her when she returned.  The people in the Mountain villages speak dialects of Berber (grouped in three main languages).  Arabic is the language of the cities and the schools even though the majority of the population is Berber.

 

We took off for the grand taxi stand, where Corinna deftly negotiated that we would go to Azilal with our stuff for 300 DH.  The taxis, mostly old Mercedes, are supposed to hold six passengers—four in back and two in front with the driver.  But we paid for four seats so we could have the entire back for the three of us.  We talked nonstop for the whole trip, letting the landscape slide by:  red earth, old walls, scrubby plains, eventually snow-covered mountains in the background.

 

In Azilal, we stashed our suitcases in a hotel used by the Peace Corps, sat down and had a drink (banana in milk), and negotiated another taxi ride to Ait M’Hamed.  (Later in the day my stomach was a little rumbly—probably from the milk drink.)  We again paid for four; so we were comfortable with three of us in the back seat while two more sat cramped in the single passenger seat in front.

 

Lynn and Corinna in Azilal

 

In the market town of Ait M’Hamed, we walked to the tent of Chifoor, her landlord, in the souk.  He has a stall there on souk (market) day, Saturday, to sell prepared food like lentil soup.  There we also met Zahara (older sister), Fatima (younger sister), and Hasan (younger brother).  We walked around the souk for a while to see the other stalls (vegetables, shoes, clothes, scarves, etc.).  We also walked around the town a bit to see the clinic where Corinna sometimes works.

 Ait M’Hamed Souk 

 

We then started up the hill to the flat road that would lead us to her duar or neighborhood of houses.  We went ahead of our two donkeys, into whose pack we had put our green duffel bag of presents (a Green Bay Packers bag from Wisconsin).  It was like taking a hike up in the hills—except that I had a heavy pack on my back (enough clothes and toiletries for three days).  Other than that, I enjoyed the walk.  By late afternoon, the sun was not as hot.  Corinna met and greeted many people along the way, some on foot some on donkeys. 

 Starting to Corinna’s

 

Greeting Passers by Along the Road

 

We saw the house long before we got there—I was so happy when she said, there’s my house.  What I did not realize is that we had to climb down, then up, to get there.  We had stopped once to eat my dried fruit.  We stopped again just to rest—just before climbing down and then climbing up to her house, which sits on a hill.  The paths and trails were full of loose shale—could have used my hiking boots for surer footing.  As it was, I only fell once—on my rump.  My chiropractor adjusted my back when I got back. 

 

When we got to the house, Fatima was already there!  We met Khadooj (mother) and later Said (older brother) who seems to be a bit slow.  We sat and rested when we first arrived:  used the squat toilet, took out our presents for Corinna (many) and for the family, looked at her photobook. 

Corinna Family’s house compound (on hill toward left) from the trail

 

Corinna’s apartment on the left

 

After this session for ourselves, we joined the family for dinner in their main room.  They had lots of round bread and two tajine with lots of vegetables, meat, flavorful sauce.  We washed our hands both before and after dinner—someone came around with a tea kettle of water, a bar of soap, and a basin.  The tajine was wonderful—made by Khadooj, wonderful sauce, plentiful.  This dish is named after the dish in which it is made. It has two parts:  a flat bottom with a little bit of bowl shape and a conical top.  I think her tajine was cooked over an open fire—we also had this dish cooked in restaurants.  After dinner, we distributed their presents:  duffel for Dad, blue silk scarf for Mom, toiletry bag for Said, fanny pack for Hasan, barrette for Zahara, and bracelet for Fatima (who was fast asleep in the same room).  I saw her wearing it the next day.  Other goodies included:  a bar of soap, a black baseball cap, candy. 

 

Corinna’s Kitchen/Living Room

 

After dinner, we retired to Corinna’s apartment, which is attached to the main house.  We continued talking and also made preparations for bed (which did not include a shower, which I could have used after that long hike—and it was a long day, which started in Marrakech).  So went to bed dirty—only washed our faces and brushed our teeth.  I found out the next day why—no shower facilities like I had been led to believe.  The shower room next to the squat toilet is still not done.  Corrinna remarked that she had decided to reenlist for another 8 months since she can’t leave before her shower is built.

 

Sunday, May 19

Ait M’Hamed

 

Today was hiking day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon.  In the morning, Kadooj sent over mint tea and bread for breakfast.  After breakfast, we headed north to various other neighborhoods around Corinna’s house.  The house that belonged to Chifoor’s grandfather—either a granary or a house—is all in ruins.  We also went by a granary with a mean dog—these are to house all the wheat and barley we saw growing in wavy fields of green. 

 

Ruin’s of Chiffor’s Grandfather’s House

 

But the height of the morning hike was visiting Corinna’s friend Zahara—with 3 children, the last one on her back and somewhat sickly.  She herself is sick—diarrhea—cannot afford to go to Azilal.  She of course invited us in for mint tea—but she also served egg and a special nut dish usually reserved for feasts and parties.  A mixture of walnuts, peanuts, almonds, wheat, sugar—about the consistency of brown sugar but darker and not as heavy.  As we left, Zahara greatly admired my trip wedding ring—bought at the De Anza crafts fair.  Corinna had earlier admired it—it has the phases of the moon on it.  On impulse, I gave it to her—it fit on her baby finger.  She was so happy—but she also showed much pleasure in her face before that.  She promised to make me a rug like Corinna’s—I was overwhelmed.  She is a special friend of Corinna’s.  Corinna had told me earlier that it was the custom to give away what is admired.

 

Meeting Zahara

 

By the time we came back, the family had eaten their tajine lunch, but they had saved some for us.  We rested and bathed after lunch—set up Corinna’s sun bath—only we used hot water instead of waiting for the sun to heat up the water in the bag.  We hung the bag in the latrine—it worked great.  I can’t believe she went for almost two years with no shower system—this sun bath only recently came from a volunteer who went home.

After our rest, we went for a hike in another direction, this time to see the various water sources, many of them improved through Corinna’s work.  There was a huge compound that looked like an American Indian dwelling.  Fields of red poppies everywhere, fields of green wheat waving in the breeze—late afternoon is a great time for a hike.  At the end of our hike, there was a cave to explore (we forgot to bring the flashlight!) and an old granary to clamber around.  I climbed to the top of the granary—someone had tried to plant a small garden up there—but the seedlings were all wilted despite the watering can nearby.  The ruined granary was very near a modern-day school. 

 

 

In the evening, Corinna made her specialty:  veggie burgers made out of lentils, rice, flour, onions.  We had real burgers:  patties on bread with raw onions and tomatoes, embellished with catsup and mustard from MacDonalds in Sevilla!  I had started saving things for I normally would have thrown away—on the hope that it would be appreciated.  It was a super day—saw a lot of the surrounding countryside, met Corinna’s friends, saw the fruit of her labor, went to bed clean, feasted on tajine and veggie burgers.  Life is good.

 

Big differences between our Peace Corps experience and hers—more, much more, fresh water for us, much more fresh vegetables/fruit for her.  Her water has to be hauled up by donkey from a well down the hill.  Part of her rental contract includes as much water as needed.  We never had to worry about that—it fell from the sky!  Corinna is in excellent shape:  lean, great skin, good shape.  Comes from the diet and from walking everywhere.  I sleep like a baby on her cement floor cushioned by a ponge and a blanket—unlike Philip with the bony hips.  Her water system is quite primitive—she washes everything (dishes, clothes, herself) in a plastic basin which she fills from her well-water containers.  One container hold untreated water from the well, one holds bleached and filtered water, which is used for washing, another contains filtered and boiled water (which we mostly drank) and the last contains the used “grey” water which is for flushing the squat toilet.

 Corinna with her Family

 

 

 

 

Monday, May 20

Ait M’Hamed

 

 Guests

 

Today was the party in our honor.  A number of women came as well as some men.  We entertained the women in Corinna’s living area.  The men, including Philip, were entertained in the main area of Chifoor’s house, where we had eaten the first night.  We had two courses:  tajine and couscous.  There was a big discussion as to who was gong to divide up the meat from the tajine—I think usually the man of the house does it.  The tajine was sopped up with bread.  The couscous was more of a challenge.  You had to make balls with the couscous and wrap in some of the veggies.  It was even harder when buttermilk was added—you kind of made a spoon of your hand.  I managed without a spoon.

 Eating Tajine

 

The hit of the meal though was eating the goat testicle that was the main meat of the couscous—it was kind of a raunchy conversation.  An older woman next to me held the testicle over her mouth and pretended to be dropping it into her mouth.  Finally, Fatima (a friend, not the daughter) broke it in several pieces and gave me a piece to eat—the consistency was like a soft sausage.  I think I scored brownie points for not turning it down.

 

In Wedding Dress

 

Corinna took out her recorder, and a few women tooted away, some more successfully than others.  Some women came with their bride outfits—long dress, belt with spangles, bright floral scarf, another spangled thing to put on your head.  They dressed me up in bride clothes and took pictures.  The women dispersed pretty quickly after we ate—I had thought they would stay longer.  I’m sure they had things to do at home.

 

Philip was alone with the men, but David, a relatively new Peace Corps volunteer from a near-by village, came late to the party and was able to keep Philip company.  He had been told that he didn’t have to join the men if he felt more comfortable with us.  Their lunch was more sedate.

 

A lot of preparation and work had gone into the party.  I saw Corinna hand over 300 DH to Chifoor I think to buy food.  Women had come over early in the morning to help cook:  tajine and the couscous.  They were sitting on the floor of Khadooj’s kitchen.  Each family nearby had been told to send only one person as a representative. 

 

   

Preparing Couscous                                                Preparing Henna

 

After the party, Corinna and I took a bath in the hammam of the family, newly built (many of the women had bathed earlier).  It was like a Japanese bath except instead of dunking yourself in a hot tub of water, you sit in a steam room heated by boiling water from the fire beneath.  Earlier in the day, Chifoor had split some firewood.  The actual steam room was a beehive-shaped structure, with the fire below heating up a big vat of water.  There is a chamber at the top, just high enough to sit down in on a wooden bench.  We washed up in the room right next door.  We scrubbed down first with a tool designed to rub away our dead skin—hers was not as rough as what some people apparently use.   Then we went into the steam room until the sweat rolled down us.  Back in the wash-down area for a thorough scrub with soap, followed by a shampoo.  It was surprisingly cool in the wash-down room, perhaps because of the difference in heat compared to the steam room—I actually felt cool and wanted to go back into the steamroom, not Corinna!  We had been told to bring a sweater and head scarf so as not to get chilled on the walk back to the house.

 

The Family Hamman

 

Fatima and a younger girl were the only ones left from the party.  They participated in the henna party.  Fatima did plain henna pretty much on Corinna’s hands.  Zahara (older sister) did designs on mine—applied with a stick so the design was not that delicate as I had hoped.  Before we had eaten, Fatima had ground the dried henna leaves into a fine powder with a special pounding stick that fit into a wooden vase-like vessel.  The stick was crowned with a large knob—both the stick and vessel were made of wood.  After the designs were applied, we dried our hands over the brasiers left over from cooking to hasten the process.  The result:  orange hands and fingernails!  I didn’t really want Zahara to do my fingernails, but now I’m glad she did because that is all that is left of my experience—the orange designs on my palms are long gone.

 

 Applying Henna

 

Henna Hands

 

After the henna party, Corinna fried up the rest of her lentil burgers to share with the family for supper.  Supper was taken back in the family’s house:  lentil burgers, boiled egg in oil, butter, bread, mint tea, which I love so sweet and minty.  Poor Chifoor had caught a cold, maybe from Philip, and said he was dying!  We said our goodbyes to the family after dinner—it would be too early in the morning the next day. 

 

Chifoor is also a beekeeper—as well as he earns money from Corinna’s rent and from his food stall in the Saturday market.  Hence, they are relatively prosperous.     One example of this prosperity is their black and white TV, which I had not seen the first night—it is run off a car battery as they have no electricity.  They, like Corinna, use butane stoves and lamps.  His hive is near Corinna’s end of the house—she is very afraid of bees and has been bitten several times (and swells up like a balloon).  The honey we had from last year’s crop at the first night’s dinner was exquisite:  so rich, complex, dark, flavorful.  I would give a lot to get some from Corinna when she comes home at the end of the summer before she starts her last six months.

 

David slept in our room—we all went to bed late—and he had to get up early.  Corinna spent some time rereading all her own letters. 

 

Tuesday, May 21

Travel Day to Rabat (Ait M’Hamed to Azilal to Beni Mellal to Rabat)

 

We woke up at 5:30 and woke David up—he said he wanted to leave at 6.  We said our goodbyes—should have given him our roll of toilet paper (Corinna had bought one for us).  He apparently hasn’t yet made the transition to the local custom of using water instead of toilet paper.  I asked Corinna to give him our roll the next time she sees him.  We had pretty much packed up the night before.  Corinna made some eggs for breakfast—many people had come bearing eggs yesterday.  Even though we had said our goodbyes the night before, of course we did see Khadooj, already hard at work—she was making bread.  I had given $20 to Corinna to have Khadooj make me some placemats (Corinna had shown me some samples).  We said goodbye to the bees and to Vini, the pregnant cat, very friendly.  She looked so funny when she tried to squeeze out the window looking out on the terrace—her pregnant belly would not allow it although she used to be able to squeeze through.  I still have reminders of this cat—21 fleabites all over me—Philip never even got one!  I bought some special cream from a pharmacy in Rabat.  We felt the kittens move—Corinna had thought they would have already been born when she came back (she had been away for two weeks).  We learned later that they were born this day while Corinna accompanied to Beni Mallal.

Starting Back from Corinna’s House

 

The walk back was easier than the walk to the house—a bit cooler and less of a load (Corinna helped us carry stuff—she had had her own backpack on the trip in).  Her countryside is very beautiful in its own way:  rolling hills dotted with small oak trees, waving fields of green wheat, red poppies everywhere.  A neighbor man caught up with us with a woman’s wrap which could also be used as a kilim—it looked a little shopworn to me and was not exactly what I wanted—I like the idea of Zahara making me a rug.  I could have taken it in place of the rug that Zahara had promised me.  But Corinna wore it damp (it had just been washed) the rest of the way and stored it in the store where we had bought cold water before.  We had to hurry a bit because the grand taxi to Azilal was waiting for us.  There is even photocopying available in Ait M’Hamed!   We saw a huge herd of camels on the taxi ride to Azilal.   A pity we couldn’t stop to take pictures—Corinna thought they were Bedouins. 

          

In Azilal we picked up our suitcases at the Peace Corps hotel, where we met a Peace Corps couple from another village.  We got a grand taxi to Beni Mellal—this time with four in back and two more in front.  .  I offered cinnamon gum to one and all.  Passed a large reservoir—kind of like Don Pedro in appearance.

 

At Beni, we bought tickets for the !2:15 bus to Rabat.  Before we boarded we ate lunch in a little café with Corinna—pita bread-type sandwiches—delicious and cheap.  It was sad to say goodbye to Corinna—we had had such a good time in her village.  It was a long hot ride—not much to look at (Brett was definitely right), obnoxious bus driver who liked to honk his horn and kept turning off the air conditioning until even the locals were dripping in sweat and demanding that he turn it back on.  We stopped in Casa where I got off to go to the bathroom.  The boy who was selling tickets on the bus helped me find the bathroom.  He kind of watched over me.  The bus seemed to stop in random places along the road to let people on and off—we couldn’t figure it out.

 

At Rabat we took a petit taxi to the Hotel Royal, a mid-level hotel in our guidebook—fortunately they had room for us.  We even had a choice of rooms—both of them were shown to us to choose from.  We chose the one with the double bed—our first.  After washing up, we went out to dinner.  We had targeted La Clef on the way to the railroad station to buy our tickets to Tangier, but there was a scuffle of some sort going on when we returned.  So we went to another restaurant, inaptly named La Bamba, where we had a very elegant meal for 300 DH—I tried pastilla (chicken or pigeon in between layers of crispy pastry, slightly sweet).  Philip had tajine again.  We also had harira, a traditional soup somewhat like minestrone.  I had Moroccan salad (tomatoes and onions and peppers all mixed up).  For dessert:  oranges for me (like in Marrakesh) and cookies with mint tea for Philip.  I had a coffee, too.  We were treated very well, and there were nice linens on the table.

 

After dinner we walked into the souq area—mouth-watering smells of food cooking over open fires—corn, skewers, you name it.  Smoke curled up into the open air above the cooks.  It was an experience to walk down Rue Souika, one of the main streets of the medina:  meat hanging from hooks, cheap clothing, plastic bags, food stuffs in bulk.  It was our introduction to Rabat and not unlike the other medinas we had been in—but this was our first time in a medina by ourselves.  But in Rabat they tended to leave us alone, except for a couple of bad experiences.

 

Wednesday, May 22

Rabat

 

We had a really nice breakfast in the hotel—complete with eggs, bread, orange juice and coffee—the best and most complete we have had.  We walked south to Chellah, a walled city built by the Merenids  in the 13th century.  Also within the walls were the remains of the ancient Roman city of Sala Colonia.  Actually most prominent were the storks in the trees, on top of the minaret, flying about, taking care of their young—everywhere.  It looked like a bird refuge.  We could see the ruins of a mosque, complete with a medersa.  There was also an eel pool (I saw a couple), presided over by a semi-official person.  He fed boiled eggs to the eels to make them come out; women having trouble getting pregnant do the same.  He also was taking care of six kittens whose mother had died.  They looked about the age where they could be given away.  There was a man with an identity card drawing the designs from some of the ruins, as a way I guess to preserve the heritage. 

 

Storks in the Chellah

 

The rest of the morning was spent looking for and touring the archaeology museum.  We had read earlier that the bones of a huge dinosaur were to be transferred to Rabat, but they were not there yet.  We did get to see some of the things that had been found at Volubilis, which we found particularly interesting since we had been there:  bronze statues, marble statues, glass, jewelry.  There was also a lot of jewelry from other areas.  It wasn’t much of a museum but worth a short visit—the art of exhibit display was definitely not world class but very representative of the third world.  We stopped back at the hotel to rest.

 

We left at 2 and got lunch at the café across the street—seafood pizza, which later caused a lot of trouble for Philip.  It wasn’t even that good a lunch!  The afternoon program was the casbah and the souq in the medina.  We were going shopping first but took the wrong street through the medina so decided to go to the casbah first.  The entrance to the casbah is a very beautiful gate—ornate and large—the Bab Oudaia.  The casbah is built on a bluff overlooking the estuary that goes to the Atlantic.  From the lookout, we could see jetties, beaches, restaurants. Unfortunately, a false guide attached himself to us and showed us around for a fee.  We didn’t need him, but he did show us a rug-weaving factory, where we paid more money to take pictures—hopefully some woman is making our rug!  I would have preferred to walk around by ourselves—the houses were very pretty, white-washed and accented with Mediterranean-type colors, and the paths went up and down.  We didn’t spend a lot of time there. 

 

We went back into the souq to do our shopping.  I found a shop selling pretty nice scarves, cotton with silk embroidery.  There wasn’t time to negotiate as Philip needed to go back to the hotel.  So we did that and walked back to the scarf place on the Rue des consuls.  We had priced some scarves in some of the modern shops near the hotel so had some idea what to pay.  He said 150 DH for each or 200 DH for two—I thought that was more than fair. I was very pleasantly surprised because I had expected a lot higher price.  I bought a blue one for me and a green one for Marleen.

 

We went back to the hotel to shower and change.  Philip went out to find an English language bookstore he had read about but didn’t succeed in finding it.  All he got were sore feet.  Tonight’s restaurant, La Clef, which we had targeted earlier, was not as elegant as La Bamba—but better priced by half.  The food was pretty good despite less elegant surroundings.  I had harira and lamb tajine.  Philip of course had chicken couscous—I put some in my tajine bowl to soak up the yummy sauce.  We got back early enough to pack up and retire early.  Before that we had gotten some money out of an ATM and settled in cash the hotel bill.  Always many travel matters to take care of.

 

Thursday, May 23

Travel Day to Ronda (Rabat to Tangier to Algeciras to Ronda)

 

The hotel clerk said the night before that we would not be able to have a full breakfast (pastry shop did not open until later, etc.) early in the morning, but the hotel staff came through:  eggs, rolls, juice, coffee, tea.  It was a short taxi ride to the train station—we almost could have walked.  We had one last hassle at the train station—a man in a blue uniform grabbed our luggage against our will and carried it to the platform.  But then he wouldn’t take out money when we tried to tip (so we thought he was employed by the train station).  When the train came, he came back and helped us load our stuff into the train.  Then he wanted money, 20 DH, but all we had was 10 DH left.  We managed to find a dollar bill, but he still wanted more (even though $1.00 is worth more than 10DH.  We found another $1.00 which he grabbed.  By then, the train was moving—I don’t know if he got off, and I didn’t care.  Not a nice way to leave Morocco, and he wasn’t even nice—but hey it was only $3.00.  Lynn and Fatima

 

The two women who got on the train at Sidi Kacem made up for the bad experience.  One (Fatima) spoke English and French; the other not.  Fatima was going shopping with her friend in another town that offered lower prices (she said it was contreband).  Her husband was a security officer on the train—we later met him.  She had beautiful henna designs on her hands—mine were very crude by comparison—but lovingly applied by Zahara.  They were done by a specialist who had come to her house in preparation for her younger son’s circumcision.  She used to work in import/export in Casa, I think of clothes.  But since she got married, she lives in Sidi Kacem.  (Sidi Kacem is also where we transferred to catch the train to Fes).  She claims that Moroccan women have no rights and that husbands beat wives.  She gave me a plastic bangle that looks like ivory—as a remembrance.  Philip took pictures and promised to send copies.  They got off before we came to where we had first caught the train in the middle of nowhere on our way to Fes.   Her husband later pointed it out to us. 

 

We made it to Tangier without further ado.  At Tangier, we made it through the crowds of guides and taxi drivers and got ourselves a taxi to the port area.  There we were able to buy ferry tickets for about $20 each (same price we paid before) even though this crossing (Tangier to Algeciras) was longer.  We made the 1:30 p.m. ferry—it was not as nice a ferry as the one that took us from Algeciras to Ceuta.

 

We got hamburgers and walked the deck some.  It seemed to roll and pitch a bit more than the other ferry, especially in the beginning.  The crossing took about 2 hours, plus we lost 2 hours between Moroccan and Spanish time zones.  I had a somewhat uncomfortable experience.  We took turns walking around while the other watched our backpacks.  I went in search of the easy chairs to sit on, started talking to a friendly seaman, who steered me to another level where the easy chairs were.  But this area seemed to be deserted—and just the two of us were in the room.  I didn’t catch any bad vibes, but still I was uncomfortable so I fled as soon as decently possible.  No dolphins—saw the Rock again.  We landed at Algeciras and got our suitcases out of the hold. 

 

Then it was a quick taxi ride to the train station, where by luck a train to Ronda was just about to leave.   We reached Ronda in an hour or so where there was a small train station that had no tourist information desk to call for hotels.  We figured out the phone system and called a fancy hotel (not the Parador) that was in the Dorling Kindersley guidebook.  The clerk, who mercifully spoke English, said they only had a single, which we took.  We took a taxi to the hotel for 4.50 euro.  We checked in and got a promise that we could most likely switch to a double the second night. 

 

Our room was beautiful, easily the best we had on the whole trip!  We sat in the lap of luxury for two nights—it was heavenly!  It was indeed a single (single bed), but it had a beautiful marble bathroom with THICK towels and a patio of its own.  The hotel was built on the edge of the cliff and from the patio we had an absolutely stunning panoramic view of the mountains in the distance and views of the olive orchards and farms in the valley spread out below—still very green.  Ronda was almost impregnable because it sits atop a limestone cliff.  In fact, it was the last Moorish town to fall to the Christians because of its strategic position.  We showered, changed, went down to dinner in the hotel—too lazy to leave the hotel.  We had (too much) paella for two, possibly the best meal of the entire trip.  We did not sleep too well in the single bed—getting two old.

 

 

Friday, May 24

Ronda

 

   

View from Hotel                                                         The “New” Bridge into Old Ronda

 

We decided to have breakfast at the hotel.  The morning view from our terrace was just as beautiful as last night.  It was a busy day—we knew we only had one day.  First we had to go on foot from the new city to the old—not very far.  The way into the old city was via a beautiful old bridge with three spans.  The Parador hotel, where we did not stay, sits on the edge of the chasm, just before the bridge.  We started on the walk recommended by Dorling Kindersley guide book.  The first stop was the “House of the Moorish King”—its main feature was the 365-step staircase down to the river which we had just crossed.  The stairs gave access to the water, but the purpose of the rooms off of the stairs is unclear—whether baths or prisons—it felt like a prison to me being cold and damp.  At the bottom, the river was polluted, but we could see up the limestone cliffsto the city is spectacularly above—no wonder it was almost impregnable. 

 

At the corner of the walk, where we viewed the Moorish Baths and the Old Bridge, we lost our way a bit because we went outside the walls of the city.  We knew we were outside but thought we could find our way back in. Instead we turned back before but managed to find a set of steps that led us back in—quite a climb.  We had lunch (a cheese sandwich from breakfast) in the square behind Santa Maria la Mayor, one of the main churches in the city.  But we declined to go in.  We even saw two Siamese cats, the only such on the trip although we saw lots of cats both in Spain and Morocco. 

 

We then departed from the walk and went further into the old city.  We visited two churches:  Maria Auxiliadora and Espiritu Santo.  Outside Maria there were buckets of Stargazer lilies, my favorite, wilting in the sun.  Inside the church people were working on two floats (like we had seen in the procession in Sevilla earlier):  one with white carnations and another with the Stargazers.  There was to be a procession at 8 p.m. that night!  In Espiritu, we were able to climb a tower.  The views at the top were obscured by iron mesh, but it was still worth the exertion.  We picked up the walk on the way back—the main sight was the Mondragon Palace:  beautiful courtyards, fountains, also some museum-type exhibits on wildlife and the first inhabitants of the region.  There was also an interesting sculpture exhibit featuring art from Zimbabwe (like my turtle at home, bought in Portland). 

 

We walked back home to rest up a bit—it had already been a long, hot day.  Philip wanted to take another walk down to the valley which we had seen from our terrace—but wanted to take it in the cool of the evening.  On the way back, I bought some painted pottery:  a small bowl for myself and 4 teabag-size little dishes from a little store near the bridge that sold a combination of new and antique things.  It was more fun than buying things from a ticky-tacky souvenir store.  I had eyed painted bowls in both Spain and Morocco but knew I didn’t want to buy a big one to carry back.  The little store was on the old side of the bridge, on the right-hand side with one’s back to the new city. 

 

We only rested up for an hour or two—too much to do:  change money, hike, change, eat dinner.  We didn’t succeed in changing any money—pulled money out of the ATM, easily done wherever we went, even in Morocco.  We also bought our RENFE tickets on the AVE (Tren de Alta Velocidad Espanola) back to Madrid.  I also bought one small bottle of olive oil (for Linda).  The hike down was from the last part of the hike—on the other side of the bridge from the 365 steps.  A couple of zigzags down the path, we saw a hand-lettered sign saying this way to a view of the bridge.  We entered the area only so far, quickly realizing it was private property, not an official viewpoint.  So we exited, but an old man came out and told us what a beautiful view it was.  We said we could come back later.  On the walk back up, he had closed a gate and had smoke curling up his chimney—obviously getting ready for dinner.

 

We continued on down as far as some remnants of an old wall outside the city.  From there we got great views of the bridge—although Philip was a little disappointed the bridge was not in the full sun—the whole point of our taking the hike at that time.  After taking a few pictures, we started back up.  In this area, there were wild pink snapdragons—but their mouths did not snap much. 

 

My goal was to go look for the procession—for it was that time.  Philip had said with Spanish time, it would be better to start looking at 8:30.  Earlier in the evening, we had seen a little girl in a long, white dress, obviously on her way to the procession—I think it had something to do with first communion.  We came upon a line of dressed-up, chattering women—I figured that they were on their way to the procession.  We just followed them and of course came right to the procession—we saw the white carnation float and also one that we had not seen in the morning.  This procession was different from the one we had seen in Sevilla although some elements were the same:  headed by a cross-bearing boy, incense wafting back and forth, music.  But this one had no long candles wielded by the participants and was more elaborate.  The float in Sevilla was carried by people who were hidden by long curtains that fell to the ground (except we could still see their feet).  The first two floats in this larger procession were carried by boys and girls who carried them on their shoulders in full view of the passersby—they had little cushions/pillows on their shoulders to pad themselves from the wooden poles.  The third and largest float had its bearers hidden inside.

  

Ronda from Below                                                    The Procession

 

There were girls in their long white dresses, boys in uniforms, important male officials, women mostly in black suits and beautiful black mantillas, very formal.  Finally we saw the float with the Stargazers, with the Virgin Mary on top.  It was very emotional for me—I cried when the procession went by.  I think because it was obviously very important to the Spanish people.  Later we asked the hotel staff what it was all about.  It was in honor of “Mary the Savior” or the “Mother protector.”  I also pleased to have been part of the community of the town, if only for a little while.  Also, it was interesting to see the continuum—we had seen the floats being assembled earlier in the day.  The procession was going across the bridge, and scores of people were lined up to see. 

 

Happening upon this procession put us behind the timetable.   We stopped at a cliffside restaurant on the Parador side of the bridge to make a reservation, probably unnecessary.  Then we raced home to shower and change.  We had dinner out on the terrace—I had stuffed eggplant and a wonderful ice cream dessert.  We watched as the night fell—the sky slowly changed from light blue tinged with pink to a mixture of dark blue at the top and shading to lighter blue toward the horizon to inky blue (and it was almost a full moon). 

 

We fell asleep soon when we came home—it was nice to have a double bed instead of the single from the night before (the hotel staff had moved our things in the afternoon).  Other than that our room was pretty much the same—actually the smaller room was cozier.  We were glad to still have the view of the mountains—we were told we would even without asking, something we had been wondering about.  I would have kept the single if it meant giving up our view.  I don’t think we have ever stayed in a nicer room—luxury room plus great views.

 

Saturday, May 25

Travel Day to Madrid (Ronda to Sevilla to Madrid)

 

We hadn’t succeeded in getting our Ronda to Sevilla bus tickets yesterday (apparently can only buy them the day of travel).  We had inquired at the front desk, thinking from looking at the train schedule the day we arrived that it was possible but awkward by train.  Turns out the solution is to go to Sevilla by bus.  We had learned the day before that there were 7, 10, and 5 o’clock buses, a truncated schedule for Saturdays.  At the bus station, we learned that you could just buy a ticket on the bus, that the station was closed all day.  So we went back to the hotel and had breakfast—expensive but lavish (and this time I made a proper lunch, unlike yesterday).  We paid up and said good-by to our beautiful hotel.  I arranged for a taxi to the bus station since by then we had all our stuff.  Turns out the office was soon to open up (we had obviously not gotten the right information from the previous trip to the bus station).  We still had to wait 10 more minutes though. 

 

We bought our tickets, but it was a little unclear which bus (and the clerk was not very friendly).  We went outside to the bus area to investigate—turns out our bus later drove in.  We loaded up our stuff and climbed in.  It was only about 2 hours, but very hot despite the bus supposedly having air conditioning.  It seems to be at the whim of the bus driver whether or not to turn on the air conditioning.  As was true of Moroccan buses, it was unclear why and where the bus stopped to let people on and off, certainly not always at designated bus stops.  We saw fields of red poppies and bright yellow sunflowers—common sights in both Spain and Morocco. 

 

At Sevilla we took a taxi from the bus station to the train station.  We had found the train station by mistake when we were in Sevilla before because we got lost going from the main highway to our hotel, La Muralla.  We had time there to shop around and relax.  I bought a couple of key chains (Rico for Fede and Reyes for Arthur) and a box of cookies made in a convent.  At the pastry shop, I also bought a couple of tile fridge magnets—I had seen a lot of small tiles for sale in Spain before but had not bought them (I think they were not magnets).  We saw a lot of tile work both in Spain and Morocco—a Moorish motif.  The woman helped me to buy a good box of cookies for travel, wrapped securely.  They were great—a little like shortbread cookies but not overly sweet or rich.  How quaint to find such a shop in the train station—would not find such here. 

 

We had bought second-class tickets on the AVE, they being $30 less each than the first-class tickets, but they were fine—better than most of the first-class seats we had in Morocco.  It was a 2.5-hour trip—pretty smooth and of course fast.  Once back in Madrid, we took a short taxi ride across town to the same hotel we had had before:  Hostal Persal on Plaza del Angel, not far from Sol. 

 

Our first stop was El Corte Ingles on Sol—to get T-shirts for me.  They didn’t have a wide selection—no Schiesser—so bought 2 T-shirts from Princepa, a Spanish company, I think.  I later found out that I had bought medium, not small—it had been pointed out that just the labeling (medium) was wrong, but when I turned the package around, turns out they really were medium.  I will do a hot wash/dryer number on them.  In another building of the same store, I bought 2 children’s books for Mateo. 

 

We dropped off our things and went to an adjoining square, Plaza de Santa Ana, larger than our own and fronted by beautiful buildings (a hotel and a theatre).  In the square, which is under reconstruction, there is a statue of Calderon de la Barca, the playwright.  We decided to finally try tapas.  The waiter wasn’t that helpful so we only ordered things we recognized:  bread with tomatoes, chicken, smoked salmon, and cheese.  Four orders of tapas were enough for a supper, plus sangria for me, beer for Philip. 

 

After the tapas, we took an evening stroll through medieval Madrid from our Madrid guidebook.  It was kind of frustrating.  The descriptions from the book left a lot to be desired (no connecting streets).  The map we were using was falling apart.  I was trying to man the description book and the map, Philip the street signs—we really needed three people.  After wandering through the old streets of more charming cities, this walk did not seem that special.  But it did start out well—we had to walk through the Plaza Mayor to get there, and the Plaza de la Villa, which is where the walk started, was very pretty.  The Plaza de la Villa faces la Calle Mayor, a major street, but on three sides it features three older buildings, built at different times.  It was one of the top 25 sights in Madrid, according to the guidebook.  On the way back, we stopped at the Plaza Major again:  lots of people, music, coffee at an outdoor café.  It was a short walk home to bed. 

 

Sunday, May 26

Madrid

 

Not the best day of the week to be in a big European city because either things are closed or close early.  If our schedule had allowed, it would have been nice to go to mass.  This hotel included breakfast—more than rolls and coffee--we also had juice and cereal.  We wanted to get an early start at the Prado, which opens at 9 on Sundays.  We had allowed a couple of hours for the Prado, which is ludicrous—quite a shame for a great museum—but we wanted to leave time for the Royal Palace in the afternoon.  Unfortunately, we got behind a Japanese tour group in line, and the pass through for security took a long time.  Once inside, we found the map and gamely tackled all the many rooms and floors (three).  We saw a quantity of paintings by Rubens, Velasquez, Goya, el Greco, Rembrandt, Bosch, various Flemish painters.  The Bosch included the Garden of Delights, about which I had written a paper in school.  It was like eating at a great feast.  We did manage to hit the Top 10 according to the guide except for two Goyas (Duchess of Alba, clothed and unclothed, on loan to Washington).  It got more and more crowded as the morning progressed. 

 

We passed a wonderful fountain right outside the Prado—in the style of Roman fountains.  We walked through the Plaza Mayor again on the way to the Palace—we had gone there before going to the Prado.  On the earlier visit, we had seen Army trucks and soldiers getting ready for something.  On the second visit, they were obviously starting to cook something—big pots. 

 

The Madrid cathedral, Catedral la Almudena, is right next to the Royal Palace or Palacio Real.  Over Philip’s misgivings, we took a guided tour of the palace.  I’m glad we did because we had an excellent guide, but Philip’s feet hurt more from standing around listening to her descriptions (easier on the feet to keep moving).  She made a big effort to both stun us with figures (we will see 25 rooms out of 3,000) and to connect the past with the present (this room was used last week).  The palace seems like a poor man’s version of Versailles:  different rooms for different parts of the king’s day, beautiful marble floors, impossible to describe frescoes on the ceilings, embroidered walls.  There was also a temporary art exhibit of a lesser-known Spanish painter in another part of the palace.  We skipped the royal armory and the pharmacy.  I bought my last 4 postcards—2 at the Prado and 2 at the Royal Palace, plus a leather purse for Dad at the latter.  I later wrote and stamped these 4 postcards—then forgot to mail them from Spain.  But they arrived faster at their destinations since I sent them from California.

 

 Palace Ceiling

 

We decided to have late lunch at the Palace, a wise choice.  I had a big salad, and Philip a meat/cheese platter.  They also had great rolls.  Walking back home through the Plaza Major, we came upon the reason for the army.  There appeared to be some kind of benefit for an organization to save children.  There was a table selling T-shirts to that effect.  There were people walking around with bowls of chick peas and sausages.  And there were lines of people waiting to be served from the army’s big pots.  There was a big banner proclaiming cocida something.  We learned from the dinner menu that night what that was:  chick peas cooked with meat and other vegetables (looked kind of like cassoulet).  Wish we could have had some, but we had just eaten late lunch and were planning to eat dinner at one of the restaurants Bob Vallone had recommended.  So we passed on through to the hotel, where we rested and showered.  Dinner was just a few steps away off the Plaza de Santa Ana:  la Trucha, not fancy but served pretty good food.  We had checked it out the day before and confirmed that it was open on Sundays. 

 

I had fried eggplant and bulls-tail stew (I had tried to get that in Sevilla, but they had run out); Philip had vegetable soup (mostly potatoes and leeks) and Spanish eggs (eggs with potatoes).  We walked to Sol after dinner—I finally found the plaque on the sidewalk outside the Casa de Correos, once the post office, now the Madrid regional offices.  From it (kilometer zero), all distances in Spain are measured.  I was frustrated about not being able to find it the first day.  It wasn’t much to look at, but it to me symbolized the might, power and glory of Madrid, much as Paris is for France and Rome once was to all of Europe (all roads lead to Rome). 

 

We spent the evening doing the final pack and going to bed relatively early (11 p.m., early for us on this trip—sometimes we were eating dinner at 11!).  We had figured out earlier how to set Philip’s s watch alarm so as not to oversleep in the morning for our very early morning flight.

 

Monday, May 27

Travel Day Home (Madrid to Munich to San Francisco)

 

Last night, being Sunday, was quieter than the first night—people partied all night long on Saturday.  But I woke up a couple of times anyway, nervous that I would sleep through our alarm and miss our plane.  Getting away was easy:  get up, get dressed, finish packing, check out, wait for a taxi.  This time the taxi driver charged the right amount:  22 euros, not 45 like the first taxi driver.  I was very grateful!  At Barajas, we had time to eat breakfast (I had coffee and churros) and go shopping (more olive oil and cream sherry for me).  It was a 2-hour flight to Munich—we ate breakfast (again) and slept. 

 

The Munich layover was quite long—5 hours.  We debated going into Munich downtown, but it was rainy and cold (12 degrees Celsius).  So we decided against.  Spent our time shopping and eating.  I tried to get into the Lufthansa airline club with my silver Premier Exec card (I had been told I could use it for international flights), but the Lufthansa people said I needed a gold card (turns out the United people told me the wrong thing). 

 

Lunch was in the big shopping area one floor below.  I had potato soup (delicious if a bit salty), and Philip had sausage and pretzel.  We bought German bread and pretzels in the grocery store to take home.  I also bought a small cotton square for Mom—with flower embroidery (it was made in Austria).  I had seen stuff like that last year while in Munich but decided against.  I did most of my shopping in the duty-free shop near our gate:  Lancome Vitabolique, Lancome HydraZen, Bulgari Green Tea perfume, Haribo GoldWaren gummi bears for Arthur (his favorite), and chocolate candy for work and for Philip.  I also bought cigars in another shop:  5 cigars for $15 from the Dominican Republic (for Uncle Keith).

 

We boarded the plane on time, and here we sit flying home.  So far we have eaten, filled out forms, and were trying to watch A Beautiful Mind (the sound has gone out and is still out).  We saw parts of Iceland and Greenland—tall peaks like the Himalayas--Philip took pictures.   This time we have the two seats on the side—unlike the flight over when we sat in the middle in the long row of seats (forgot to ask for our favorite seats).  Marisa and Arthur are supposed to pick us up—last communicated with them on Friday (from Ronda). 

 

 Iceland

 

The sound system never came back on.  Read, slept, wrote in my journal.  Customs was no problem, despite saffron and having been on a farm.  The Department of Agriculture put us out the wrong door—had to go around to meet up with Marisa.  She had seen a friend get off the same plane so knew it had landed.  Arthur was circling around in the car.  They took us home and went out to get pasta dinner.  Marisa had bought groceries for us.  We took showers and went right to bed.  I forgot to take my Melatonin—got up at 3:30 a.m. to take it and went right back to sleep.  Good to be home but also sad that our odyssey is over—but many great memories.