SAHARA SANDS AND DUNES GALORE

After escaping the drunk bickering arabs, Wyonetta and I, safe in our room, debated whether or not we were actually going to be heading into the desert the next morning and who we would be heading in with and if we would even have food. At one point we were told that Mohktar had not yet organized anything - hence the strange email to my family with all details on the hotel and who I was traveling with. Pictures of Wyonetta and I stranded in the desert with groping, grabby arab men certainly flashed through my head as did the question of, if that happened, how the hell would we escape and where to! The desert is quite vast and my directional skills when there is absolutely nothing around are pretty bad. Think I missed the star reading course back in college but damn was I thinking that might just come in handy now.

The next morning when we peeked out of the door, no one was to be found...neither Hassan (thankfully) nor Mohktar. Hmmm, what to do now. However, about 10 minutes later, Briham (Mohktar's brother and one of the guides) showed up to take Wyonetta off to buy cigarettes for the trip and a few minutes behind him was Mohktar asking for our bags and running them out to two very loaded camels. This is impressive we thought as we really believed that absolutely nothing had been done to prepare for the trip. Bags loaded on the camel, we were off heading across the dried out river bed into the Sahara sands. We looked like quite the little band, us two girls with our two camels and three nomad (Tuareg) men dressed in their blue robes and turbans. We learned later in the day that our two camels were named Tomsaier and Zurich. Tomsaier turned out to be the nice quiet, docile, sweet camel while Zurich grunted and groaned loudly whenver anyone came anywhere near him with a bag or box. He was also quite the pig and when not grunting and shouting at us, was trying to grab bits of whatever shrub or bush he passed - belive me, in some spots there were not a lot of shrubs but boy did he manage to find something to eat.

I guess that the easiest way for me to give the rundown of the five nights/six days of Sahara trekking is to do it the same way I did the Nepal trek.

Day 1
Late start of around 9:00 when we finally left the hotel in M'Hamid, the end of the road and the beginning of the desert (post pannic email to family about should I not return...) Headed off into the desert - direction straight into the middle of nowhere -light hearted and light footed with our three decked out nomads and two well loaded camels. Travel was fairly easy over sandy, slightly rocky areas. Various camels, nomads and donkeys pulling carts were sighted off in the distance and in a few instances one of our guides would wander off for a quick chat with somone about 1km away and then suddenly reappear by our sides. They seem to be super fast walkers.

About mid-day, we stopped and had a rest under the shade of a tree (we had not yet hit complete desolation). Blankets and cushions were pulled out and Wyonetta and I were set down like princesses. The men set about making a fire and slicing and dicing things (we couldn't see but could hear and were much too busy lounging about to care). About 1/2 hour later, two lovely cups of mint tea appeared followed by an entire platter of fresh cut tomatoes, onions, green peppers, cucumbers and olives. All of this was, unfortunately topped off by some type of canned fish (definitely could have done without that) and accompanied by bread. Fortunately the fish was not in vast enough quantities to taint the entire platter and I was able to pick about and get the good stuff off the plate without much trouble. It was quite the spread and both Wyontta and I were in awe that they could create such a feast. Post lunch was siesta time and we all settled down to naps, books and chit chat. Think we post-lunched a little too long as when we came to, and were ready to carry on, the wind had picked up and the sand had started to whip about creating a haze on the horizon and dimming the sun to a dull yellow color.

We got all packed up and ready to head off but by then, the dust was pretty much surrounding us. At that point, I opted to be turbaned (I know, Jane, that is not a word and one cannot "be turbaned", however, it is the most appropriate term for me to use at the moment - at least in my little mind). Mohktar took about 9 meters of a red, orange and cream material out of one of the camel bags and proceeded to twist, wind and wrap my head up in it, finishing with a flourish and tucking the last bits of material across my face to cover my mouth and nose from the sand. Then came the comment, "oh, the eyes, so lovely!" Where they get these comments I just don't know as I am well aware that my eyes are all fine and good but not anything particularly unique or stunning. Blah, is all I have to say. So once wrapped up and with sunglasses on for further protection (tres chic, no?), we headed on. The sand got thicker and my contacts got grittier and gritter until I was pretty much in constant pain with buckets of tears streaming down my face. At this point, the wind had whipped up so much sand that you could not see more than a foot in front of you, if you could see at all, which in my case, I could not. Even having the turban over my eyes did not help and finally I had to stop and turn with my back to the wind, try to sort my eyes a bit, and then be lead on (blind) by Mohktar across the sandy field. It was so bad that they decided to stop near some trees and call it quits for the day. By that time, and when I unwrapped my turban, I was crying tears of sand.

Wyontta and I hunkered at the base of the trees while sand and wind, and even a little bit of rain whipped about us. Ten minutes later, it was completely gone and the sun came back out and the birds began to sing as if nothing had ever happened. Our nomad men began to set up camp, putting up the tent, getting the camels hobbled and searching for firewood. By this time, it was quite clear and lovely out so off Wyonetta and I set to help collect wood. Well, about five minutes into it, the wind came again and before we could get back, sand was swirling all about us. Wyonetta was out with Mohktar so was OK but I was off under another tree in a different direction and had serious visions of getting completely lost even though the camp was about 200m away. Clearly I made it back as I am still writing this darn thing and hopefully not boring you all too much.

So the wind stopped and the sand cleared and we had a fabulous sunset while sipping mint tea and snacking on nuts, dried dates and cookies. They definintely provided for us quite well and both of us girls were very amazed that they had pulled all this together - especially after the night before when it sounded like nothing at all had been planned. The boys set about taking care of the camels and getting dinner ready and before you knew it, we had steaming bowls of home made harira in front of us, followed by lamb tajine (not sure how I feel about the meat after it sat in the sun on a camels back all day but we didn't get sick so it must have been OK) and then the 'seasonal fruit' (orange with cinnamon).

After dinner we gathered around the fire under the stars. Apparently all of those sateites that we see flying about the sky are not really satelites but stars going across the sky to visit other stars in other areas. At least that is what our guides told us and when Wyonetta said to me, "Steph, come look at this shooting stars, they go so slowly out here!" I just about died laughing when I realized she meant the satelites and then with the follow up story about them being moving stars...well, you can imagine. So as we are sitting here enjoying our first evening under the stars, out of nowhere appears this new guy, wearing the required blue robe and turban, of course. He stops in for a bite and a jam session and there you have it, all four guys are all of the sudden banging on the water containers as drums, playing the castanets and singing and dancing. I am still not sure where this guy came from as there were no other people around and about an hour later, he got up and wandering off in to the desert and we never saw him again. Very odd. Apparently his camel was out there somewhere as well.

Day #2
7:30 or so breakfast with 8:30 departure once the camp was taken down and the camels were retrieved. I say that the camels are retrieved as they are hobbled in the evening and for lunch and then left to go roam. Amazing how far those suckers can actually get and many times our camel boy (Mohammad) had to walk a couple of KMs just to find them and bring them back.
The walk was mostly through dunes and sand and it was quite hard going. The camels are walked around the dunes but we walk up and over them for the most part or it would take hours. I cannot believe how fast these guys walk and even when they are leading the camels, are well ahead of us. By noon, I was about to die from the heat and the pain of going up and over the dunes and walking in the sand. I think they realized this so finally found us a nice shady tree to rest under.

Lunch was the same as the other day with the addition of a saffron rice and a starter of nuts and dates. Zurich was quite keen on the nuts and dates and even though he was hobbled, kept coming round and trying to poke his nose in our plate. We tried to shoo him off several times but he wasn't getting the hint until camel boy really got to him and then he limped off with his lower, saggy lip, flopping about looking like a child pouting. Of course, since we shooed him off, he felt the need to go way off and that meant it took camel boy about 1/2 hour to retrieve him. Tomsaier wasn't much more helpful that day and wandered off the opposite direction, also with the lower lip flapping away.

After a few hours rest, we carried on through the dunes. Wyontta (not very fit) jumped on a camel for a bit until her ass hurt too much and she had to come down. Apparently the underwear wasn't too helpful and added to the discomfort as it crept up. We stopped for the evening amongst the dunes and shrubs, quite an interesting landscape, which unfortunately I cannot share with you as this is where my trusty canon decided not to be so trusty and died completely on me. I think that the find sand of the Sahara may have gotten the better of it and now I am just hoping it can be fixed. That said, it was an amazing sunset and the sand turned a brillant amber color with the wind ripples shading bits with a dark black color. Very beautiful and very dramatic and boy, would have made a nice picture!

Dinner was harira and chicken tajine (again, weary of the meat as we weren't carrying any form of refrigeration) followed by, you guessed it, seasonal fruit! After dinner we sat by the fire again for a bit then I turned in a bit early to lay under the stars and enjoy the evening light. This is where the "do you want a berber massage?" comes in, which I politely, declined and turned away to go to sleep. Wyonetta, however, decided to dabble with Briham and well, that turned into quite a mess a little later in the week. In any case, she got the, "oh you must stay with me in the desert and the I love you" etc. etc. Silly girl.

Day #3
A half day today...first through old fossil fields and then up into some small dunes and finally to our goal - Erg Chigaga! This is a dune field of 40+Km with dunes over 300m in height. We arrived about mid day and the boys set about making us lunch and camel boy went off to some oasis somewhere 6kms away to get the camels water. Seemed a bit far to me as there were semi permanent places that had water closer but guess he likes to walk and an additional 12Km for the day is nothing to him as long as his camels are well cared for - and boy did her really care for the camels...Wyonetta reported that Briham kissed much like you would imagine a camel to so maybe they do spent a little to much time with their little hump backed friends.

We spent much of the afternoon under our little tent thing with the sides up covered in our turbans and trying to ward off the flies. I was much too hot to do anything more than that and thus we all fell asleep until sunset was almost upon us. At that point, we roused the energy to get up and head to the top of one of the 300m high dunes to watch the sun set. There was a sandstorm on the horizon so the sun was blocked a bit and hazy, making the dunes look like they were under a solar eclipse. It was quite spectacular looking at them in this strange glowing almost black and white light. As the sun dipped down, we did get some lovely blues and reds to finish it off.

This is also the day that my feet decided to follow my hands in their excessive peeling and, really, just plain falling apart. I would post a picture for you all to see what torment my poor little feetsies are going through but I think you would all be rather disgusted. Think a good pedicure when I get home aught to do the trick as they sure don't seem to be wanting to sort themselves out on their own with all my walking around in tevas and flip flops.

And back to more pleasant things, afte the sunset, we came down the dunes to find a nice little congregation of our Arab friends (our guides plus a bunch of other guides) sitting on the small dune above our camp. They were snacking on nuts and dates (I have really grown to love these dates) and chatting and drinknig whiskey and coke (whiskey had come from Sweden). So what could we do but join them. Later a couple from Minnesota or Wisconsin or one of those states (they weren't overly friendly so there is really no need for me to bother to remember what state they are from) joined us and out came the water canister drums and the castinets and the singing and dancing. The whiskey-coke tasted divine after all the walking we had done and went quite perfectly with the brillant stars shinning above and the drumming and singing. After that, it was off to bed under the stars for a good night of sleep.

Oh, two other things of note did happen that night: One, I got a shower (scarab beetle included, although I am sorry to say, he did not survive). There was a little shower block for the people staying at the semi-permanent camp and we took advantage of sneaking in there for a quick wash. It definitely beat the dunking of the edge of my pack tower into a sawed in half 1.5L water bottle for a wash, which is what we had been doing. Two, we had a Berber Omlette for dinner instead of a Tajine. OK, it is a form of Tajine but very different tasting so a welcome departure from the usual.

Day 4

The use of the word 'Directly' becomes a constant in my life. Mohktar left early in the morning to go join up with another group that was coming through and he left his brother Briham and Camel boy in charge of getting us back over the next three days. As we walked slower than the boys, actually I should re-phrase that, Wyonetta walked a lot slower than the boys as she was wearing a pair of flip flops most of the time and didn't want to put on her tennis shoes as they made it hard to walk in the sand. Lets just say she was not very well equipped or ready to do something like this. So, having decided to head out ahead, we enquired as to which direction we should take to get back out of the dunes. The reponse from Briham was "Directly!" with a wave of his arm in a vague direction forward. We weren't quite sure if this meant go straight up and over the massive dune in front of us or maybe wind around it. We asked if we should be walking toward the grassy, palm filled area we had seen on our way in (seemed to be directly on the other side as far as we could remember). Again the response was "Directly!"

Off we headed, directly, which turned out to not be the "right" directly. Funny that. We corrected and carried on that morning for about 2 1/2 hours across sandy stone field filled with old fossils that the boys kept picking up for us and giving us to look at. At around 11:30, we arrived at an oasis. It really was a true oasis with two sweet water springs, one in a well and the other coming out as a little creek and running along the edge of a walled area that was meant for the nomads and various campers that came through. It was amazing the life around this little creek. Palm trees and green plants lined the edges, frogs jumped about and fish were all over swimming through the algae. Both of us girls just wanted to jump right into it and splash about but we realized that would probably not be appropriate and settled for squatting down next to the water and having a small splash. It really wasn't big enough for much more anyway.

After visiting the creek and while Camel boy made lunch (Briham had gotten quite lax about doing his job after his brother left and was basically just hell bent on spending every second with Wyonetta) we headed to the small auberge/hotel next to the stream. Rumour had it that they had ice cold beers. And guess what? They did have ice cold beers and they were mighty refreshing. Wyonetta loved her drink and was struggling with not having a cocktail, wine or beer nightly, so she was particularly pleased and ready to settle in for the entire afternoon. Fotunately, Briham still had a little sense of what were were doing and how far we needed to go that afternoon and before she could order beer number 3, he ushered us out for lunch. Lunch was the usual although the amount of fish being used seemed to increase by the day. We did have an excellent lentil dish though and that made up for the excess in fish.

It was really quite a challenge to find the camels this day and Mohammed was gone for about 45 minutes before he returned with them and we were able to pack up and head out. Story was that we would be sleeping in or near a village that night. Wyonetta was particularly excited as they said she would have a chance to shower, which she hadn't done when we had the previous opportunity. Hmmmm, well, lets just say that no village appeared and we walked until the sun was almost down. Apparently our boys got a little lost out there in the sands and didn't find their way to the village. They even looked quite stressed and confused as they tried to find a place for us to camp amongst some small dunes before the light disappeared completely.

Camp got set up right quick and us girls were set up on top of a little sand hill with our tea and coffee and snacks to wait for dinner. We asked about the village and what happened and boy, isnt it just amazing, "What village?" popped out as did a lot of confusion and Briham all of the sudden not understanding English very well and not really knowing what we were on about. Mohammed didn't speak English so there wasn't any asking him. I think dinner arrived about midnight this night as Briham had taken to doing absolutely nothing but lounging around petting and kissing Wyonetta. Poor Camel boy got stuck with both his job and Brihams. Thought I would die of hunger before the night was out and almost fell asleep before the food came.

Oh, should mention that part of the delay in the food was that they decided to make a special nomad bread. It was absolutely fantastic but it meant making the dough, letting it rise, kneading it, moving the coals off the fire, digging a hole, burying the dough in the sand (sans cover) and then putting the coals back on top to let it bake. How we were not eatting a gritty sandy bread mass, I don't know. There was a lot of patting and scraping after the bread came out of the sand but the outside was nice and crusty and inside soft and warm. Don't think I will be trying that one at home though...Dad, maybe if you get ambitious with your bread making????

Day 5

This is the day we completely lost it. To begin with, we were lost which meant extra mileage. Adding to that was the fact that we were supposed to be checking out some fossils bu really were just walking through what appeared to be an old river bed that never, ever, ever ended. No matter which way we looked there was nothing but flat open ground, sand colored with rocks and more rocks. Oh, I am sorry, did I miss the two pathetic acacia trees (shade only if you sat at the base of the tree) that we stopped under in the almost five hours of walking and only because Wyonetta and I could not take the heat and walking anymore? We finally looked at them and said "Uh, could we get on a camel?" They appeared to be a little suprised that we were so beat and wanted to get on a camel. Sorry boys, we are not used to walking miles and miles in the middle of nowhere with nothing but the sun beating down on us.

Up on Zurich we went and he grunted and moaned and whined his displeasure before one of us even got on him. In fact we werent even near him and he was moaning. This was a bit better on the legs, although our asses sure did not think so. I think the heat made us quite loopy as we began to sort out what songs we could sing as we were jolted along on our camel. First up was Hotel California (Wyonetta decided I should know this one - I didn't and could only sing chorus/backup). Then came 100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. After about 20 bottles we got bored and decided to try it out with different accents. British was definitely the winner and we sounded like two old biddies having a gay old time after too much wine (or tea as it may be). German didn't work too well and I think we ended up sounding more like that German sex doctor lady who is so famous for advising people and has that talk radio show thing (can't remember her name..ah, Dr. Ruth Westeimer). This was followed by a Julie Childs impersonnation of how to make a Tajine and sand baked bread in the desert and finally by a brief shout out by Yoda. By early afternoon, we were imagining cars driving by and waving our turbans fantically at them to come save us. I can now fully understand how people see things that are not there in the desert as at one point, a bush sure as hell looked like a camel to me. Oh, and yes, there really were cars off in the distance as by this point we had gotten close enough to civilization to have dirt tracks around.

We stopped early afternoon under another scraggly acacia tree close to some small dunes. Not much to report on the lunch as it was the same as the others. We all tried to take cover under the small amount of shade and our turbans. Couple hours passed and guess what, a sand storm decided to whip itself right up and keep on going throughout hte entire night. We only had a couple more hours to walk so got there as fast as we could as the wind whipped about us. Setting up the tent was quite the challenge but we got it done - several times as it almost blew over a couple times while dinner was being made. The wind howled all night (even rained a bit) and was still going the next morning (although much lighter) when we packed up to head out.

Day 6

At this point us girls had sort of had it with teh walking thing and prevailed upon Zurich to carry us the last 10km back to M'Hamid. Little embarrassing to be carried in but we were pretty beat so accepted the humiliation until we reached the winding streets of the town. We were brought to Mphktar and Briham's house first to unload the camels and also to stop in and have a tea. this was the amost amazing tea process I have ever seen. They made the tea in a little kettle that was set directly on hot coals that were fanned with one of those puffer things. The first setting of the tea is poured out as it is bad. More water is poured in, sugar added, glasses poured out and then back in (to mix the sugar appropriately). This went on for about 10 minutes before any of us got a glass of tea and I think that only four glasses were served. The tea was exceptional so I guess whatever they are doing works.

We were invited back for Tajine that afternoon after we had showered and set our bags down and rested for a bit. Boy that shower was nice, as was lying on a propper bed. My back was beginning to hurt from the thin flimsy mat we used in the desert. Someone should introduce them to the ThermaRest. The Tajine was like no other Tajine I had tasted. It came in an absolutely gigantic Tajine ceramic pot and was loaded with tender lamb and vegtables. Their sister had made it and complimented it with ther freshest cucumber I have ever tasted (wanted to use it as a cooling pack for my eyes), Moroccan salad (tomatoes and onions), an olive and pepper tapenade, olives and a sweet, shredded carrot mixture, and, of course, bread. All of this was followed by, you guessed right again, seasonal fruit of orange slices and cinnamon. We spent quite a bit of time relaxing there and enjoying chatting with Mohktar and Brihams sister in my little bits of French and her little bits of English.

Apparently we did not offend as we were invited back for a couscous dinner. Couscous has become quite a favorite of mine so having a home made couscous was particularly exciting. At this point my time on internet is running short so I will have to make the couscous adventure short as I would like to move beyond the Sahara on my Morocco trip. Suffice it to say, we were very late. We had gone back to do laundrey and Wyonetta had managed to get Hassan to find another bottle of wine from his collection. The man reminds me of one of those fat, greedy Roman men of the old day during Julius Caesar. Of course he was more than willing to find one for the outrageous sum of 150 Dirham or almost 20 USD. Then he proceeded to drink most of it. He found a second one, which he decided to late add to our bill and also enjoyed a fair amount of that. At this point Wyonetta and Briham decide to have a quick "five minute" chat, which turns into about an hour, meaning that it is almost 10:00 at night when we finally turn up at the house for couscous. I am petrified at the rudeness of it all and seek out Briham's siter and apologiwe profusely in my pathetic French. She tells me not to worry and says that she only just got home despite the fact that I am positive I saw her come out of the bedroom still pulling on her sweater. The dinner was fantastic and I really wish that I could have been able to enjoy it at a more restful pace. As it was there was a bit of tenstion and back and forth going on between Mohktar, Hassan and Briham so it was all a bit awkward.

Until next time....

MERHABA (WELCOME) HAPPY? HAPPY? WELCOME....

I think that those above words were Mohktar, desert man extraordinaire's, favorite words.
But wait, you don't know who Mohktar the desert man is...so guess, at this point, I should back up a bit and explain who Mohktar is and how he came into the picture.

One of the days I was lazing about in the Cascades d'Ouzoude drinking my 20th cup of mint tea for the day, a blue robed, black turbaned man showed up with a Swiss girl and was sitting around chatting with a blue robed, blue turbaned man (turned out to be none other than car crashing Saiyd). The never missed question of whether I had already been to the desert or not came up and I got to (innocently) chatting with the three. I blindly assumed that they were all together and that they were there on holiday (Swiss girl had come out for a wedding). I was hoping to gain a little information on which part of the desert was best to visit. The big debate was between Erg Chigaga (300m high) outside M'Hamid and Erg Chebbi outside of Merzouga. Merzouga's dunes are small at 150m high and also supposed to be more touristy and visited than Erg Chigagi in M'Hamid. The bonus for Merzouga though is the pictures still looked quite spectacular and it appeared to be much easier to visit. Blue turbaned Saiyd was quite keen on Merzouga and had all sorts of plans and thoughts and input about heading out into the desert and gee gosh, he knew just the right person, but, well, we would talk about that later. Black turbaned man (Mohktar) did not say much at all on the subject but when Saiyd left and I pressed a bit more, out came the business card and sure enough, Mohktar was a guide in the desert area outside Erg Chigaga and should I wish, should I happen to get to M'Hamid, he would be happy to take me on a trek out there - for a good price as well! With that, he fished in his robes and out came a business card. This is all he said and even later when we sat with him to listen to the music and have a cup of tea (#25 or so for the day), he said nothing until I prompted, "see you in the desert" and he replaid "ensha allah" (god willing). I figured that was a pretty good sign as Saiyd and several others pestered me to set up trips with them for the next couple of days. I had also seen the pictures from the Swiss girl of her trip and learned that she had just spend two weeks with Mohktar and his family and was out for the wedding. All pretty decent signs to me that he was not your usual scam guy trying to take you in for tons of money. Besides all of the others quoted rates up in the $75 a day range, which was a bit much for my taste. It also turned out that Saiyd and Mohktar had absolutley nothing to do with each other - another bonus after the car incident.

So, off I went back to Marakesh, as you know already, which is where I met Wyonetta, a NZ girl. She was also quite keen on heading to the desert and so we decided to head out there together - I belive I may have mentioned this already. In any case, we did a little research about companies and who had good prices and nice trips and ended up agreeing to go with, none other than, Mohktar the nomad from the Cascades. I was a bit sad to leave Marrakesh as I really enjoyed the atmosphere of the place, just wandering around the souqs, drinking the mint tea, watching all the chaos and the colors flash by my eyes. Oh, and one cannot forget the fabulous little cocunut cookies that were being sold by street kids (and adults) all over the place. At first glance you swore they would be hard and cruncy and not so nice but boy, they were crunchy on the outside, slightly gooey as they pulled apart in your teeth and then soft in the center...so yummy. A couple of the days I managed to squeeze in four of those little suckers. At 1D each you really cannot go wrong either. The problem is that they are being sold everywhere so it is hard to pass them up. Now (I am in Fez) my problem is that I cannot find them anywhere and would absolutely love one!

However, I digress...back to Marrakesh and being sad. While Hostel Ali was not the top place in the world - the staff was absolutely horrible and you could stand in front of them for ages without them even aknowledging you (I think I might be a ghost) - it was a decent place to crash and had a fantastic buffet dinner and good breakfast with eggs, crepes, bread, honey, jam and, of course, tea for only 100D. The cockroaches in the room didn't even eat too much and as they were small, could pretty much be ignored. I hope my family is sitting down at that statement, yes, I actually remained calm and collected as the cockroaches crawled across the floor and walls (wait, the bugs get even bigger in the desert!).

Our last supper before jumping on the overnight bus to Zagora was had in the open market in Djema el-fna. As I mentioned before, late afternoon the entire square is converted into a giant restaurant with various stalls selling everything from steamed/stewed snails to the tajines and couscouse. Smoke rises from every corner and the waiters call out from every corner, "miss, here, lady, I have the best food for you, tajines, couscouse, escargot, tea..." the list goes on. The hard part is really trying to figure out which place to eat at as they all look fairly similar and all look good. Wyonetta and I pretty much decided to go with the stand that pestered us least and enjoyed our last supper under the stars amongst the horns, drums and castanets of the street performers.

Our bus was conveniently late - two and a half hours - so we did not go anywhere until 2:30am. By then we were quite tired and well, it was a good thing we were getting on the bus as I think we both would have fallen asleep on our bags in the street if it did not show up soon. Of course there was a lady in one of our seats and she refused to move so we had to deal with one of us getting stuck in the back row without a reclining seat. We did get lucky though and no one else tried to sit in the very back so Wyonetta got two seats to herself to curl up on and I jumped in next to the grumpy lady who wouldn't move for us and proceeded to whip out my blow up neck pillow, ear plugs and eye mask. Wyonetta gave me a sleeping pill and off I went for the majority of the bus ride. Apparently grumpy lady next to me couldn't get comfortable and moved about much of the night trying to settle in. Guess she gets what she desrved for not moving as we were both comfy, well, as much as you can be on a bus. There was a Lithuanian couple in the back row as well and the man was so tall that he ended up sleeping on the floor across the entire back with his girlfriend curled up on the two chairs across from Wyonetta. Overall I think we came out OK and when we arrived in Zagora at 10:00am, we weren't in too bad of shape.

The minute we stepped off of the bus, we were attacked by shop owner saying that gee, they would help us get a taxi to M'Hamid and help us give Mohktar a call to meet us, just stop in for a cup of tea. I am always up for a cup of tea so we agreed to check out one of the places and suck down a tea before we headed on. The tea process is far from short here and so it meant waiting for about 1/2 hour before we even got our glasses and also meant looking through many a photo album and testimonials from other travelers about what a great camel trip they put on. We got the tea but we never did get help with the taxi or with making the phone call. In fact, help making the phone call meant showing us the phone booth and when I kept getting disconnected from Mohktar, showing me again how to put in coins and that the phone did in fact work. I was none too pleased after the phone had sucked up 15d (almost $2) and I still had not figured out what in the world Mohktar was talking about. At best I got that some guy Lassen was going to meet up somewhere and help us get there.

Fortunatley for us, Lassen was a crafty guy and we were easy to pick out with our backpacks and he picked us right up and took us to his shop for, guess what????, more tea! Yes, I know, you are in complete shock and awe that more tea would be offered but alas, it was. We politely sipped the tea while they chatted to us about their camel trip (hmmm, trying to steal business from their mate...not sure that is so kosher) showed us many a carpet and sort of arranged for our taxi. We finally had to just get up and say "OK, we are going to get our taxi" and at that point, the mini bus we were reserved on (supposedly), magically appeared. It was quite long morning trying to get out of Zagora and on our way to M'Hamid, which was another 1 1/2 hours to the very end of the road at the edge of the desert. There is a sign somewhere in the city that gives the number of days it takes to reach Timbuktu by Camel but I didn't see it - belive it was supposed to be 56.

As we pulled up into the small, dusty town of M'Hamid, we were greeting by Mohktar, looking very much the same as he did in the Cascades, all dressed in his blue robe and black turban. He helped us get out bags and whisked us across a (dry) river to a the hotel of his cousin (they are all related somehow through something or someone). We were quite pleased with the place as it had a lovely room, hot shower and nice ambiance. After we were settled, Mohktar took us out for a stroll through town and to the edge of the desert to watch the sunset. It was one of the most amazing sunsets I have ever seen and was like walking through a Maxfield Parish painting. The sky was dusty pink and blue initially and changed quickly into deep pinks with grey edged coulds, the light shinning gold through their edges. It didn't hurt the image either to have Mohktar in his turban and robe standing looking out at the sunset with the vast desert in front of him. A lovely image.

When we returned to the hotel, we headed to the restaurant for dinner. Unfortunatley the dinner in the restaurant was not as nice as the rest of the hotel. We started with the harira (always seem to) and I really wished that I would have stopped there and eaten another bowl of it. After that we were served the ususal tajine, although this one seemed to be made of nothing but onions, prunes and lamb neck bone. I am sure all that know me well can imagine what I thought of the lamb meat neckbone thing that was in the center of our dish (you share the tajine plate). Basically I tried to ignore it and sopped up the sauce and onions around the pathetic, grisley, boney hunks of whatever in the middle of the table. Wyonetta was a little more adventurous and actually tried to cut some of the meat off. It was no use and she defaulted to dipping bread as well. Desert was "seasonal fruit". Translation of that is orange slices with a sprinking of cinnamon. The oranges here are damn good though so I didn't mind that at all and ate them down happily. I think that I have had more oranges in the past three and a half weeks than I have had in 10 years. They are just so delicious and juicy here I cannot seem to get enough.

Here is where our evening got a little bizzare and resulted in me sending a something panicky (I hope not too bad) email to my family with clear details on who I was traveling with and what hotel I was leaving from. As soon as we finished dinner, we were joined by one of the nice young waiter guys. Just wanted to chat and speak english with us, which he did not do very well. Shortly after that, Briham joined us (Mohktar's brother) and he informed us that he was going with us in the desert. Then Hassan, the hotel owner, showed up with a bottle of wine and started pouring that. Then Mohktar arrived. Then some other man, whose name I have forgotten, showed up along with one of the other waiters. Before we knew it, Wyonetta and I were sitting at the table with about five nomad men all drinking wine. The wine thing was more the issue than the number of men as Arab men are not good with alcohol and seem to get a little funny once they have had a glass or two. Wyonetta and I held our ground and stuck together at one side of the table and chatted away working out our escape back to our room. However, before we knew it, a little arguement seemed to errupt at our table. There was a lot of back and forth and some heated, raised voices and before we knew it, Hassan was asking us if we would like to go camp in the desert that night. This was a bit odd as we were scheduled to spend the next five nights in the desert so I could not possibly figure out why we would want to go out that night at 9:00 only to come back in and go out again the next morning. So I asked, "We are going to the desert tomorrow with Mohktar, are we not?" The answer was not clear.

More heated conversation took place and Mohktar sever times leaned over and suggested that we depart to discuss the itenerary of our trip. He was well looped after only a couple of glasses of wine, which made for even more concern on Wyonetta and my part as we weren't sure he was in any shape to discuss anything. Also, any time he tried to leave or talk to us, a big conversation errupted. Finally we just said that we were going to bed and that whatever needed to be discussed we could do tomorrow. The plan was to meet at 7:30 for an 8:00am departure. Mohktar gave one last attempt at coming with us to explain the schedule and was duely followed by Hassan and another huge conversation ensued outside our door. Turns out that Mohktar made the deal with me to go on the trip but was not sharing any of the spoils with his family members who all also had businesses of desert treks. They were all trying to get in on the action while Mohktar was trying to keep them out. The statement of "business is business not family" came out a couple of times.

We both went to bed a little confused and concerned that we would not be going anywhere at all or that we would be going somewhere but without any supplies that we needed and that we would end up lost in the desert. Clearly this did not happend but the desert trip story will have to wait, as now, it is time for some harira, couscous and a little seasonal fruit. MERHABA!

Pixs from Morocco...

Mr. Camel and Miss Hahn enjoying Morocco...

more blabbering below in the other latest post.

MAGICAL MOROCCO, LAND OF SLIPPERS AND BATHROBES

Wow, so can I start off with two things...I hate French keyboards and, I absolutely LOVE Morocco. Not to slight India or anything but Morocco is so much more a place for me and I just can't say enough about how much I have been enjoying it. I think that from the first moment I got off the plane, despite the complete chaos, I knew it was a place for me. Getting off of the plane I was hit with a warm blast of air and faced with the cleanest airport I have ever seen. The building was sparkling and decked out in beautiful tiles. It was a bit of a pain getting out as no one was directing people traffic and about three planes landed at the same time. We pretty much all filed into a big room and stood in what I can only call piles of people clustered about in front of what looked like customs counters. I really chose the wrong line and was pretty much the last person on my plane out of the customs area. Odd thing was, they did not ask me a single question at the counter, just looked at my passport, stamped it and let me go on my merry little way so I am really not sure what the hold up was.

After collecting my poor little lonely bag off the conveyor belt, I braved the ATM (big queue) then headed out to find the bus. This was a bit more confusing as apparently the taxis were on strike but no one was there to tell us that so the front of the airport was a bunch of people wandering around with their luggage, books and maps out, looking lost and asking each other how to get into town. No one really knew and the airport seemed to lack airport personnel so we pretty much just piled onto this one bus as it came through and hoped for the best. It was very bizarre and I felt a bit like I was in a strange dream land especially when I looked up and saw massive snow covered mountains looming above me that looked an awful lot like the Himalayas from a distance but with the desert surrounding it. It truly looked like a movie backdrop.

So, once on the bus, I headed into the Medina area in hopes of actually getting accomodation (i hadn't booked anything). On the plane a number of people had said how hard it had been for them to find accomodation so I was a bit worried that I would not be able to get a bed. I succeeded after a very circular conversation, which I am very used to at this point and getting quite adept at. It went something like this...

"Do you have a room?"

"How many persons?"

"Just one."

"No, we only have a room for two people."

"OK, how much is that?"

"120D."

"OK, that is fine." (at this point I just wanted to make sure I had a place to rest my head)

"But you are just one, we don't have a room for one."

"Yes, but that is OK, I will pay for two."

Then another guy showed up and said, "What do you need?" I replied, "A room." "How many persons?" Again, "Just one." Answer: "We don't have a room." So on it went until finally the first guy who said that he had the double said that it would be OK for me to have the double for the night. They really don't get the concept of paying customer right in front of you with cash in hand.

After I settled in and realized that there was no shower to be found (for my cheap rate, the bathroom was outside) and a toilet getting close to rivaling those of India. Oh well, not too bad and hell, I was in Morocco and had a bunch of things to go explore. This place really overwhelms the senses much like India but for me in a much more interesting way (again, not trying to slight India, just personal preference). In the main square area (Medina area) there are snake charmers, drummers, henna ladies, water pourers dressed up in costumes with colored tassles and loads of stands selling dried fruits and nuts or fresh squeezed orange juice (right into the glass). In the evening the place lights up with food stands galore serving everythign from escargo to hearty bean soup. The stands glimmer with all of their lights and smoke pours out of the grills as the clarinet type things from the snake charmers sound in the background meshing with drums and the clickity clack (sounds like a horse) of the metal merenges (like castanets - spelling is off on both of those...sorry!). It is a feast for the eyes and I just wanted to eat up everything in sight. I was good though and settled in to a nice tajine (see picture above for what that is) of chicken, lemon and olives in a location right on the side of the main square where I could watch the world go by. As it was a social little restaurant I ended up having a great conversation with a couple living in London but originally from New York. They were just taking a quick trip here for the Easter break.

My hotel turned out to be quite the chaotic little place with the refurbishing of the courtyard (late into the night and early in the morning) and the car park that my room butted up to. That said, the next day, I opted to move to a different place and take on the dorm room. Also a good place to meet fellow travellers and swap stories. I got quite lucky as I immediately met Jess and Abs, two American girls here for about 10 days. They were also needed to head to the bus station for tickets so I tagged along with them. Unfortunately for them and fortunately for me, the bus they wanted to take into the mountains was on strike or somethink like that, so they decided to also head to Essaouira, a beach town. We got tickets to head out for the next day, then parted ways for the afternoon as I was quite keen to sort out my ticket to Tunisia and also to hit a Hammam (turkish bath).

It was at this point that I got lost in the souk amongst the bathrobes and slippers (market area of twisty, narrow roads and loads and loads of shops glittering with all their wares). I should probably explain the bathrobes and slippers thing a bit more. Traditional dress here is the Jellaba (long robe that looks like a bathrobe with a pointy hood) and the babooshes (sp) (leather pointy slippers). Basically the image is of a Jedai Knight from Star Wars wearing his house slippers - often in yellow for some reason that I cannot explain. The women also wear them but they tend to be in colors (often pink for some reason) while the mens seem to be in more modest browns, beiges and cream. I must say that they do look awfully comfy and I often feel a bit overdressed in my khakis and T-shirt. Maybe I should take up wearing one of these robes...hmmm...not a bad idea...well, If I do get one, it'll probably never make it out of the house as I cannot imagine running out to the grocery store with my pointy hooded, tassled robe. Of course, if I do get one, it will have to be in some fun color so that would make it even more of a sight. Could always save it for Halloween and go as Princess Leah but that would mean I would have to get a conservative white one.

In any case, lost in the souk and feeling a bit under-dressed, I decided to do a little poking around in the shops. In retrospect, I am not sure this was such a good thing. The shopkeepers here are much worse here than in any other country I have visited. Not only do they pester you to visit their store but they grab your arm and basically drag you in. Then when you ask a price, which is always too high, and you say that it is too high, they start with the "How much you pay????? How much you pay???? If you then give them a price that is too low, they will, shake their head (usual) and sigh (also usual) and then counter. If you continue on this line, you just may get thrown out of the store - literally! I have met several people that were "escorted" out by their clothes and then yelled at as they tried to escape down the souk. If you refuse to give them a counter offer, they get equally pissy and chase you down with "What you want to pay?" and when you say, "Just looking." you get them yelling after you in nasty tones and spitting at you, "Just looking, I am just looking." then something in Arabic that I cannot understand. I think I escaped quite lightly only receiving the "Just looking" and spitting.

After all of this, I decided that it was time to head to the Hammam to relax and get clean (they scrub you and wash you as well as let you relax and enjoy the heat and steam of the baths). It was not quite what I had pictured, nor what I had experienced while in Turkey. This Hammam was much more traditional and very much so a local place. Negotiations at the desk were quite interesting as they didn't speak English and my French is fairly limited. We got by and came to the understanding that for 70D I got the loofah, was and massage. Having not been in side yet, I thought this was quite the deal if it was anything like the lovely place in Turkey. After paying, they gestured and explained that I should leave my bags and clothes with the little woman in the front of the Hammam.

First let me explain that I was standing in an entrance hallway (a big one) and at the end of the hall was a little wooden desk/divider and the woman was sitting on the floor behind that on a pile of blankets guarding various purses and bags. They explained, as much as they could, that I should remove my clothes and give them to the woman. Well, I was still standing in the hallway. Yes, apparently this was OK and I was to undress in the hallway then walk over and leave my stuff with the woman. Towel????? Could I have a towel please! That was pretty much what I was thinking. I realize that I have lost a lot of modesty after Africa and peeing on the side of the road in a line with six other girls while locals walked by but for some reason undressing in this hallway and then standing there in the buff while trying to figure out what to do next did not seem very comfortable. I managed to communicate that a towel would be good and they nodded and then told me to undress so I did. That resulted in me standing in the hallway naked and trying to duck a little bit behind a wall in the direction of the hammam. A local woman came in and, doing me the favor of helping me sort out the etiquet (sp) of the hamman actually managed to delay my entrance and have me standing there for another five minutes. Finally a towel came, as did the nice local woman and I was lead into the bath house and set amongst a bunch of other women unsure of what to do next.

Basically the drill here is that you sit and let your skin soften in the steam, a woman then comes and washes you with an olive soap, gell, blob, type thing and then she loofahs you and then you get a massage. Well the place in Turkey had a beautiful marble raised circle to relax on and the women sang and were gentle. Here it was quite different. Us poor women sat around a slightly dingy looking room on marble tiles (those who were lucky had mats) naked or half naked waiting for a boney cross eyed woman or a massive black african type woman to call us over for our scrubbing. First they handed me the soap thing and gestured that I should splash water over myself out of the bucket and wash myself, which I did. Then after a couple minutes, the massive woman called me over and had me lie down and then began to loofah me. I think I was actually punishing myself rather than rewarding myself and if there was any grime at all left from India (the bath water at my friends house turned grey when I took at bath on my stop over in London) it is all gone now. As she loofahed, I watched peels of grey/brown skin roll up into little balls and fall off onto the tiles. Is this sounding sanitary enough yet? In retrospect, I am thinking this sounds pretty darn disgusting. In any case, she loofahed me and I don't think there was any skin left when she was done. She then sent me over to the other lady to be washed with some scented soap and have a semi massage thing. Overall I am chalking it up to a very interesting experience and have noted that the next hammam I head to, will be a bit more up market and geared more toward the tourist looking for a steam bath/sauna and real massage. Think I will save this until after I get back from the desert. I itched for the rest of the evening however the next day my skin felt as smooth as a baby's bottom. It is still recovering though and in this dry weather my hands, elbows and knees are all falling apart and peeling. For a few days I was hoping that I hadn't picked up some nasty skin disease in the hammam but it seems to be subsiding so I think it'll be OK.

Next day it was off to Essaouira. We got nicely ripped off to begin with by paying 15D to the bag guy but he insisted and well, you never know if they will toss your bags off of the bus if you don't pay. We were a bit pissed off about it but decided that there was not much we could do and boarded the rickety old bus. The bus ride was well, not so comfy, but a step above the Indian buses as they did not pack people into the aisles. I almost got the bonus of the seat coming with me when I left as it wasn't bolted to the frame anymore. We had the usual hassle of everyone wanting to take us to their hotel when we exited at Essaouira but managed to shoo them off enough and make our way through the city walls and down the narrow passages. Our hotel was a bit off the main route so it took several stops and several "Can you tell us where..." and one reprimand before we found it. Note to self, say "Hello" and "How are you" before you ask for directions anywhere. We stopped in a nice wood shop to ask directions and before I knew it, I was being reprimanded for just asking directions and not passing some pleasantries first. I have since learned my lesson and always begin with the niceties before asking anything at all. This seems to work and the shop keepers are much friendlier.

We acquired a fantastic room on the very top of the hotel facing out onto the terrace with a straight shot of the ocean. The three of us immediately loved the place and were ready to stay the rest of our vacation there. Basically we had a good couple of days just wandering around the windy narrow streets and walking along the beach watching all of the windsurfers and kite surfers. The area is HUGE for windsurfing - Dar, you would love it! - and looked to be quite a kick. I debated staying for a few days and taking some lessons but there is so much to see here in Morocco, I am opting for doing something like that back home rather than in a country where I want to explore.

With much saddness we departed our rooftop abode to head to the mountains and Cascades D'Ouzoud. It was quite a long bus day to get there as we had to come back to Marrakesh then head out again to the mountains. Pretty much most of Easter Sunday was spent in transit. We stayed the night in a place called Azlil, not realizing that we could get great accomodation in Ouzoud right next to the water falls. When we reached the junction, a bunch of high schooly looking Brits got off the bus and the three of us wondered what we missed and why we weren't getting off there. We quickly grabbed our lonely planets and realized that alas, there was a little place right there that sounded quite nice. The bus had already headed off so we were stuck with our first choice and settled on Azlil for the night. It was pretty much a one horse town and as it was late when we got there, we wandered the streets trying to find a suitable place to eat. They were all packed with men and did not appear to be too welcoming of three females. Of course, a local boy decided he wanted to chat and joined us for the wander until we did settle on a place to eat. Bonus was that he was able to tell us which places were OK for us or not.

That night we met a Canadian couple also heading the same direction so we agreed to take a Grand Taxi to the falls the next day. At this juncture, I would like to note that there is nothing Grand about a Grand Taxi. Basically "grand" refers to the size of the car not the stature. A Petite Taxi is along the lines of a Volkswagon Rabbit while the Grand Taxi is an old beat of Mercedes four door. Clearly a car that seats six, despite the fact that only two seats grace the front of the vehicle. Don't mind the little padded lump in the middle by the stick shift that you just may get stuck sitting on. As we were five, we decided to rent the entire car to take us to our destination. It was definitely a good thing as the four in the back was a bit cozy and we all came out with various body parts aching.

Arrival was fantastic. The little town was adorable and sat perched above the falls. I guess you can't really say it was a town as it was a few hotels and restaurants and then a little strip of shops along a walkway down to the cascades. It is quite a climb down and all along the way restaurants and tea shops dot the hills. Quite pleasant. We scored again on the hotel and were ushered in to a three bed corner room, nice fresh sun dried sheets and a fresh breeze wafting through. They also wecomed us with a lovely cup of the mint tea, or Berber Whiskey, as the Berberse refer to it. It is quite sweet so after a couple of cups you feel a bit like your teeth are rotting out of your head. Not always pleasant but the stuff is delicious. If you ask for half sugar, then it is most enjoyable.

So, once settled in, we headed down to the falls and off on a six hour hike. It wasn't meant to be six hours but we got lost a couple of times and ended up climbing up out of the canyon and then back down to the river a few times. In the summer the place is packed with campers escaping the heat and swimming in the river. It was a lovely hike and at the end we were rewarded with the river spilling into another canyon. First though we had to sneak past the locals that had decided we needed to pay to cross the last sand bag bridge. We ignored then and Jess almost got her head taken off by a boy who was ready to throw a rock at us. Fortunately his little sister had more sense and stopped him. Day two was spent much the same way but Jess and Abs had met one of the shop keepers and he fed us a fantastic Tajine lunch (see pic above) and then took us out on a hike to the source of the river. We wandered through olive groves, stopped and ate fresh, not quite ready almonds and then hiked back through the farmers onion fields back to town where we enjoyed a cool evening outside with more Tanjines and Couscous dishes and the hotel boys playing the drums. It was a fantastic evening sitting around watching these guys play various drums and castanets. A few of them even managed to pull out their bright blue and orange turbans and get all wrapped up.

Day three was departure day for all of us...quite sad to see Abs and Jess head out as we were having a really great time lazing about, going on hikes and eating fantastic meals. The two of them were scheduled to leave a few hours before I was so I headed back to chat with Jalil, our favorite shop owner and also with the guys at the hotel. Well, turns out that I was convinced by all of them to stay one more night, which I am so glad that I did. I had another lovely lunch with Jalil (shop owner), spent much of the afternoon learning how to play the African drums, and then headed off for an evening hike, which finished along the river with cups of tea and more drumming. They had the big drums by the river and before you knew it, there was a group of 15 people sitting around the fire by the side of the river playing the drums and enjoying the onset of night. We headed up a bit before it got too dark to see. Jalil then invited me to dinner at his uncles house, where we had yet another Tajine (seeing a trend here???? thankfully they are tasty!) and watched a really really bad mel gibson movie. It was a pirated copy so maybe it wasn't actually the real movie but it was one that I would not even put on my rent list. After that, I headed back to the hotel to get some zzzzz's before my ride back down to Marrakesh.

I should mention here that over the course of the day, I had met a British couple with a car. They were quite lovely and offered to drive me back to Marakesh so that I didn't have to take the bus. It is here that I got a bit stuck...they had lent their car to one of the hotel guys and well, he failed to come back with it that night. In the morning it still was not parked in the parking area and we all started to get a bit concerned. Apparently the night before they called this guy, Saiyd, several times and he always said he was just heading back or almost there (oh, well, at one point he did admit to being 90km out). The story was that he needed to help his police officer friend get his uniform fixed. Well, that wasn't really the case and turns out that him and his police officer friend went off and got quite drunk. Saiyd did turn up but only early in the morning and when asked about the car, Adam (brit guy) got, "Oh, it is just over here". That went on for a while and "just over here" turned out to be a taxi ride away and a car off the side of the road and 1/2 way down a ravine. Apparently the car was about 10 m down and was stopped from dropping down the gorge by a tree. Saiyd still insisted that the car would be fine and coulde be "fixed". When Adam returned a couple hours later, he did not look so sure that the car could be fixed and when the rest of us saw it after it had been dragged and bounced out of the gorge, we agreed that fixing did not appear to be an option. It was a bit of a stressful day for us waiting around to see what happened and ultimatley the rental car company came out, took the car away and left the three of us to make our way back to Marrakesh. I must say that despite a few tears, and given that they were going to take the hit for it all, the British couple really was quite calm and handled it all really well. After that day, we opted for a Grand Taxi back down the hill rather than another night at the Cascades. Saiyd was still around as well and that did not provide for a pleasant atmosphere as he never really said he was sorry or seemed to feel any remorse and the hotel owner's son was in a right mood of being stressed and pissed off for what Saiyd had gotten the hotel wrapped into. Saiyd was more there to pick up tourists for desert trips than he was for working in the hotel and lucky for me that he did create the mess as I was half tempted to meet up with him when I did reach the desert. He probably would have left us tourists stranded lost in the middle of the dunes with no water.

Anyway, we all came out OK and made it back to Marrakesh. I had a nice dinner with the Brits (Adam and Heidi) their last night and have otherwise just been wandering around through the souks and checking out the many sights that Marrakesh has to offer. It is a wonderful city even if the drumming and bad claranet playing doesn't stop until 3 in the morning. I still feel like I could spend many more days here exploring all of the nooks and crannies of the city. Each time you turn a corner, there is something new to look at.

Tonight I am catching an overnight bus out to a city called Zagora where I will then catch a Grand Taxi to M'Hamid just on the edge of the desert. I have hooked up with a Kiwi girl and we are heading off to go on a five day desert trek. Should be fun...supposedly we get to see a dune field of 300m high dunes that stretches for 40+km.

That is about it from here...sorry for the lame bit of ending and not really saying much about Marrakesh but frankly, I am tired of typing and also deathly afraid that after all this, the computer will crap out on me. Not too worry (as if!), I'll be back on again in a week or so....

ONE LAST RUPEE....

Wow, so here I am sitting in the airport waiting and waiting and waiting. As I suspected, despite the fact that I have 7 hours to kill before checking in for my flight, I will most likely not leave the airport - or at least go very far. I do have plans to have a bang up dinner at the Sheraton, which is just off the airport property so that doesn't really count. My desire to go back into downtown Mumbai, on Sunday and when the shops are closed as well as the museums, was very limited. I did attempt to head to a place called Juhu Beach just for a look and maybe a movie but when I got in the autorickshaw, they all of the sudden changed their price and wanted quite a bit of money, which I felt was better spent on my spectacular meal later this eve. So now I am just killing time until the restaurant opens for business...probably should clean myself up a bit while I am at it too or they may not let me in for the meal!

Now back to my saga. As you know, I was last in Darjeeling doing, well, basically nothing but hanging out. I did, however, just before I headed out, make it for a spectacular tea tasting. I finally found a store that would actually let me try the tea before I purchase it. At their prices, I pretty much felt that this should be part of the deal. Oh, did I mentiont that in Darjeeling, my first cup of tea was actually from a Tetley tea bag? How funny is that? Figured I'd get some good local stuff but alas, only the good ole Tetley. Where was I, hmmm, tea tasting...yes...the shop had around 20 types of tea, ranging from standard Lipton type tea all the way up to the real posh stuff that the Queen of England consumes. It was quite amazing the difference in taste depending on when it was picked (spring 1st or 2nd pick or autumn) and also the difference in estates. Actually it was quite a bit like doing a wine tasting of different producers and regions. The man was quite patient and actually let me taste around 8 different teas. He started with saying that I could only taste two or maybe three but guess I charmed him into by actually caring about the tea and showing that I really did want to buy something not just taste. He even gave me cups of the top three and boy was that top one scrumptious!

Fortified with loads of tea, I headed to the jeep stand to get my taxi/jeep down the hill. The down ride was a bit more, well, shall we say, trying, than the up version. The driver and his assistant (money taker) both looked like they were 15. My bag went on the roof but was not locked down - climbed up there myself to lock it on. Given the twists and turns in the road, I wasn't about to take chances with my stuff rolling off and down the cliff. It must have been the most phlegm infested, sick group of men in the back of jeep (I requested from seat squashed next to the assistant guy) as the noises coming from the back were none too pleasant. Lots of deep throat, nasal sucking snotting sounding grunts going on and loads of spitting out the window. I think there were even a few, hold one side of your nose and blow going on out the window. Very typical though. I guess I was blessed to be in the front and only have to listen to the two on either side of me chew and spit their paan - stuff they put in their mouths made from beetle nut and all sorts of other junk that turns their teeth red. A few times I was sure that it was going to splatter back into my face but I got lucky. After much twisting and winding down the hill (I even started to feel nauseous) and taking every detour and stop that we could, I arrived back in Siliguri where I took the Darjeeling Mail train to Calcutta (Kolkata). The rickshaw driver made sure to inform me how far he was taking me and how strenuous it was to get to the train station in the hopes of getting a little more money, which he did but cause I liked him and he was chatty and honest from the get go about price.

Yeah! The last train ride! Yippppeeee! It was actually quite pleasant but part of it was that I had decent people (no leering soldiers like when I headed to the Nepal border) in my six bunk section and that I was so tired from getting up at 3:30am that morning that I just wanted to crash - and managed to! I did have to pay an extra 150 rupee charge to get on the train though as it was completely sold out. They have a thing here called "emergency" or Tatkal that allows you to pay more and get off the wait list and guaranteed a spot. The big catch is that you have to pay for the entire train ride so if you are only going 1/2 or the way, it can make the trip quite expensive. Good thing was, I was going the entire way, which made it not such a bad deal given that I HAD to catch the train in order to make sure I caught my flight in the morning to Mumbai.

Early am arrival in Calcutta and actually, I found the city quite OK. I was dreading heading back into a big, crazy, noise infested, dirty city but it really was quite clean. Clean, that is, compared to Indian standards. It was an easy trip to the hostel and I got settled right in and headed off for a haircut. This is something I am really not sure I should do when I travel, especially after the haircut I got in Namibia where the woman took the front section of my hair, twisted it up above my head and then snipped at it randomly and let the bits fall down back to my head. A girl in the hostel seemed to have a decent haircut and she said she got it around the corner, so off I went. I was a bit curious about how the salon would be as the closest thing I had seen to a salon in India thus far was a barber shop. There are all sorts of little barber shop places and people set up on the street that will cut hair or shave you but they really aren't what I would be looking for, nor would they know what to do with women's hair.

So down the street I went until I came across a sign that said something about Ladies Parlour. It had white paper up on the windows to keep people from looking in and pictures of women's product taped on top of the paper. Slightly reassuring as I at least I was guaranteed that it was a salon. Inside were several Indian women clustered around something giggling and chatting. One came to me right away, asked what I wanted and before I knew it, had an apron draped around my neck and was leading me to the shampoo table. It actually was a table thing that was set on the edge of the sink. No comfortable neck rest here and in fact, she was none to gentle with the picking up and putting down of my head as she washed. Done with that, she sat me in a chair (regular chair, not hairdressing chair), divided my hair and pulled out a comb thing with a razor in the teeth. Before I could say much she had razored off about four inches from the length of my hair. I sort of figured she was going to shape the front first and also ask me how much length I wanted off but guess not. When she moved to the back, she only wanted to trim it a bit, which I though was a bit odd given that the front 1/3 of my head on each side was a good chunk shorter than the back. Not sure if she was going for the shoulder length look in front and mid-back length in the back but it wasn't working for me. Turned out that even though she only took a couple inches off of the back, she razored that as well (layers apparently), by the time she was done razoring, the length was almost as short as the front. Overall not a bad cut but I was sure worried what it would turn out like with that razor comb whizzing around my head hacking away. Nothing that won't grow and thankfully my hair grows fast.

After the cut, I decided to head out and face the big, bad city. I started off with the New Market, which was supposed to have some nice stuff. It did look, if you had the time, patience and inclination, like you could find some good stuff. The big problem was that shop keepers or markets workers (not sure how they worked but they had ID cards) would join you on your shopping and tell you how you should go to their shop or this shop or that shop. The continually asked, "What are you looking for miss?" "Sarees? I know a nice saree shop" "Spices? Would you like some spices?" One man persisted for about 20 minutes and no matter how many times I said, "Please go" and "I do not need help, I would like to be alone" he kept following. I finally stopped and very sternly said, "Look, please go away. You are making me want to leave the market area and not shop at all. Do you not understand that if you pester people like this, that they leave the market? It does not make them want to shop or look in any stores!" At that point he left and the store owner of the shop I was in front of, nodded approvingly. That done, I escaped the market empty handed and headed off to see the Howrah bridge and hopefully the flower market.

I never made it to the bridge - although I did see it. I ended up just walking around the town and through a park and mostly along a very busy street next to the train tracks that were blocking the view of the water. Too bad they didn't do a better job with the waterfront, it would have been very pleasant. It was a nice overview of Calcutta though. At some points I did feel a bit uncomfortable though as the men in Calcutta do seem to stare quite a bit and not just at your face. I did a bit of staring back as well and saying "Namaste!", which freaked them out and they turned away quite quickly. One man in the park, wearing the Indian skirt/wrap type pants) felt the need to treat me to a show of his entire toolbox if you know what I mean. I had just finished chatting with a couple Brits and getting directions and turned to go on my way when, oh, there it was walking right at me in all of its glory. I carried on my path, which was diagonal, and pretended that I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary and he wrapped himself back up. I not really sure what these guys get out of touching, staring at and showing private parts to foreigners but it can't be all that exciting.

After my wanders I headed back to the hostel for a bit of break then headed out to tea and dinner with an Aussie woman I met. It was her first trip ever and she chose India! Crazy! She was counting the days until she was leaving but at the same time, was enjoying the trip. That seems to be the way it is in India...so tiring and frustrating but equally fascinating. We sat on a street corner with our chai chatting away for an hour or so (8 rupees for the four cups! Cheapest I have had) and then wandered up to a street called Park Street, which was supposed to have an excellent little street stand restaurant serving a thing called Kati Roll. The Kati Roll was great. It is a parantha (chapati type thing but thicker) with egg, veg, chicken or mutton filling. They put all the goodies inside, roll them up and hand then to you - all for the cost of 17R, or just under $0.50. Quite tasty! I almost had two but was stuffed from the first one.

Of course, while we were eating, the ever present street urchin showed up and tugged on our sleeves and shoved her plate in our legs, arms and stomachs. It is a bit frustrating as, yes, I know that they are hungry, but they never bother the Indian people. It is only the tourists that they pester and poke and prod. I had pretty much had enough at this point as she stood there for about five minutes moaning and poking so, as rude as it was, I wadded up my greasy paper from the Kati Roll and put that on her plate. Boy did I get an angry look. She continued after us poking us with her plate as we walked off. I did feel a bit bad but really they should take care of their own a bit here and the fact that we were the only people she pestered really got me - oh, and that I have been listening to this for two months. India supposedly has the most millionaires in the world, recently surpassing China - they aught to donate a few rupees here and there to the suffering population. I do wonder sometimes if India has just made me heartless. The fact that I can walk by a two year old that is hungry and has her hand out for food and not even blink or care or feel any sort of pulling at my heart is terrible. Yet, I know that her mother and/or father has put her up to it and that if I give her money, she won't use it for food anyway. Half the time if you give them food, they run off and sell it back to the shop you just bought it from. I can't imagine if my little niece was hungry how I would do everything I could to feed her and I am so thankful that she does not have to know what it is like or to stand on a street corner holding out her hand.

Back to happier things...I think I have done and clearly from the above, am doing, India a disservice. I wonder how bad my blogs make this place sound. It really is a good place and very interesting. Many of the people are wonderful, friendly and kind and the places you can visit are spectacular. I do not think that I did a good job of describing the beautiful moments and places. India is such an overwhelming country on all sides - the noise and chaos, the people always around and with you (you are never alone) and the distances you must go to get places. I think I have barely scratched the surface of what I experienced and don't know how to put most of it in words. Sitting here now, I am very glad to be leaving India and can't wait to get on the plane. If you would have asked me a couple of days ago though, I would have told you I wanted to stay and go South. I do still want to go South at some point, so I will probably be back, but I also think that India is a country that must be taken in small doses and not all in one go. For now though, I am happy to be safe and sound in the quiet airport waiting for the plane.

To finish, as I am going to head off for a top notch meal in about 1/2 hour, I would like to end India on a food note. Just thought I would share a few of my favorite/interesting culinary experiences/visions:

The Cockroach Apple - My aunt and uncle would be proud...Ella squealed that there was a cockroach on her apple up in our room and out of curiosity, I had to go look (that would not have happened several years ago - I would have been the squealer). It was quite an impressive feat the cockroach had accomplished. It was about 2 inches long and it had chewed a hole in the apple big enough to stick its head in. It was almost cartoonish the way it was munching away putting its head in the hole and pulling it back out. I bagged the little sucker and brought him down for the manager and so Ella could have another look :)

The Cockroach and the Soy Sauce (seems to be a theme) - While dining in our favorite restaurant in Darjeeling - eating Momos - a cockroach decided to join us. First just on the table, then it went for the soy sauce but as it was covered, we just shooed it away. Thinking we managed to get rid of it, we carried on but next time I went for the soy sauce, I found little legs squirming around. What to do! I scooped him out and shook him off onto the floor and kept going...yes, I did still use the soy sauce BUT with a different spoon. He was a persistent little bugger though and reappeared climbing up the wall. Those things never die!

A Well Dusted Chicken - Last night a rickshaw driver passed by (walking one) with a passenger and about 6 chickens tied to the crossbar on his wheels. The chickens were well dead and tied by the feet, their beaks almost touching the ground. Guess they were getting a fine dirt dusting before heading off to someones plate.

Egg Plant Lasagna - or, Egg Plain Lasagna as the proprietor called it. On the menu it said Egg Plant Lasagna very clearly. What I got, however, was fettuccine type noodles with fried/scrambled egg strips tossed in with it. The sauce was good though. When we asked about it, the owner said, "Yes, Egg Plain Lasagna, what is wrong?" I think he knew exactly what was wrong but it was funny enough (and still tasty) that we didn't complain. The Danish guy ended up with salad on top of his Lasagna (Fettuccine) noodles!