Cooking, and cats, (and Camel) oh my

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

We woke up from the deepest sleep we'd both had in a long while. We both hadn't eaten more than an apple since breakfast on the plane so coming down to breakfast in our riad was a treat. The pastries were still warm from the oven. We then went off to our cooking class at the other end of the Medina when I post this I will include photos so I will just describe it as an 8^th Century walled city with narrow walkways for streets that have no plan and turn in all directions. When we had been shown our room the day before, our host told us it would take us a day to try to work our way from one end of the 2000 meters of the Medina to the other and we would easily get lost. Our riad was only 5 twists and turns in from one of the gates. He told us to get a petit taxi there and take it around the perimeter to the entrance on the far side where the Clock Cafe (which hosted our cooking school) was only three twists and turns in from the gate. It was good advice and we only got lost twice. The cooking class was good. We made traditional foods and cooked alongside a nice couple from Australia on their honeymoon. What made it special was that our chef/teacher took us into the souk to shop for our ingredients and explain how the various merchants did their business. It was also a surprise to see many cats sitting patiently in front of the various stalls for the occasional scrap of meat or cheese. They were treated well and I saw the Fassis petting them occasionally. Then we went back to the class for the lessons and much talk. Through our day, our chef talked about food and how it is used for important events in Moroccan family life and how serving certain foods communicates friendship, compassion, and respect. Weaving this in and around the traditions of courtship and marriage and stories from her own family, it was the highlight of our day.

After that and a good visit with the manager of the Clock Cafe we decided to attempt the impossible and walk right through the centre of the Medina and then head North to reach our Riad. Our cooking partners gave us great advice, don't worry about getting lost: when you're ready to give up, just ask a child to take you to the nearest gate and try to keep up. So we struck out from Cafe Clock, heading down the main drag (wide enough for a donkey with cooking gas tanks strapped to both sides and you with your back pressed up against a wall).

As we walked along we got some pretty steady invitations from the sellers in the booths. We got pretty good at a friendly “No Merci” and didn't look particularly interested in anything. Then a wedding procession with musicians suddenly rounded the corner in front of us and went in the same direction we had planned to go. For 15 minutes, we and a small parade of the Fassis and other tourists followed them deep into the centre of the Medina. It was great. Once they turned off the main street, we pressed on then started the zig zagging north through the tangle of alleys and passages towards our guest house. We surprised ourselves by ending up outside the gates and walking along them back up to our bab (gate) the Bab Jamais and home of the Palais Jamais, a swanky hotel. To cap our long walk, we stopped in for a beer before the short trek back to our guest house.

We were also able to talk with my friend Jeri who we will visit on Friday. Her co-workers father is a former professor and an official guide so we booked with him for a full day trip the following day.

Later that same day....

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Half way through the train trip the person across from us introduced himself and his friend beside him and we spoke for the rest of the ride. He had a cousin from Toronto that he spoke of and a few stops later, his cousin joined us for the rest of the trip. It was actually a really good and informative chat and we made plans to get together later for dinner, We got settled and showered in the Riad (Guest house) and then went out to meet them. We went to a farmers house for tea overlooking the Medina and a trip to see how the tiles were made. Aziz the farmer lived in a farmhouse with an amazing view and grew an amazing number of foods on two hectares of land. He was really nice to talk to. Then the conversation started turning moving into conversations about buying stuff: Ceramics and tile, rugs and brass, cooking classes with this amazing chef that they knew. It dawned on us that we had been taken into a classic scam in Morocco, where everywhere you are taken by the guide, you are promised the best price, but the guide gets a share of everything and the goal is to get you into as many stores as possible.

In a city where a day's wage is the equivalent of $1.25. Selling a tourist a plate for $20 that was made for $3 is a respectable and lucrative business. The situation sort of reminded me of one of those opportunities to learn about timeshares over a “free” lunch. Fortunately, we were able to claim exhaustion (Barb hadn't slept for 30 hours at this point and I was so tired my head was weaving while when I spoke) and went back to the Riad. As I went to sleep, I realized that elements of the story we'd been told about who did what didn't add up. At any rate, we had some great conversations, saw the old walled city from a beautiful vantage point and have a few plates to remember it by....

New York to Casablanca and Fes

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

We are now in Morocco. Our last couple days in New York were relatively slow. We had tickets to shows so we were limited in what we could do around them and the cooler, wetter weather meant that we weren't up for as much walking as before. Sunday we had breakfast and said goodbye to Tracey, Judith, Wayne, and Bill, then waited 5 hours until it was time to take a cab to JFK Airport so that we would be three hours early there. We got to read a lot and surf the web. At the airport I got the brainwave to search for reviews of our airline to Casablanca, Royal Air Maroc. To say they were bad was an understatement. Seriously, if you want to see how bad things can get on an airline, Google “Royal Air Maroc reviews” and read the two pages of horror stories on the first link. I immediately went to buy extra water and an earphone splitter so Barb and I could watch the same movie on the eeepc if we wanted to. I wasn't too worried about poor service since I was going to try out the jet lag cure that involves a 16 hour fast and Barb had trail mix. I figured all we needed to do was sleep through whatever horrors would come our way and pray for our baggage to be there at the end. Once we got on board though, it was far better than I'd read. I tried to greet the cabin staff in French and no one was rude or surly. The food was good (I made it 14 hours into my fast before giving in), and the plane was old, but in fine shape. It was 1980's vintage with an entertainment screen hanging down every 7 seats, the good news was that it also had 1980's leg room. I was very comfortable and got nearly 3 hours of sleep “Extraordinary Rendition” style (Double ear plugs and an eye-mask). Barb sadly doesn't sleep well on planes and is slogging it out today as we train our way to F'es.

The ugly reviews also slammed the Airport outside of Casablanca, I was prepared for almost no customs officers and the whole plane load of people to take hours. Again I was pleasantly surprised. We were through customs and waiting for our luggage in 15 minutes. Our luggage showed up an hour later but that was fine, we had plenty of time to catch the early train connecting to Fés. We got a local SIM card to make cheap calls and got on the train. There we met two young men with the strangest accent. It turns out they were Brazilian but working in Cork, Ireland. Sort of a portuguese accent with a brogue thrown in. They were trying to return from a holiday in Dubai by flying south of the Icelandic volcano plume and then going north via train.

They had almost no information about how they might do it, but our guidebook gave them some train info they could use. Our train to Fés included a change at Casablanca so they departed there for Tangier.

At this point, I need to say a big thanks to the teachers at our French school in Toronto. I started taking lessons in January and so far today I have bought train tickets, a coffee and snacks, asked about a taxi to Fés (way too much) and understood the announcement of a track change for our train. I'm feeling pretty good (and need to make sure I do some homework while I'm here).

So in the time I have been writing this I have been looking up to watch the countryside roll by. A chunk of the trip includes views of the ocean in the distance as we are traveling along the coast. As per everywhere else in the world, nobody puts their prettiest buildings beside the railroad tracks, so we've seen our share of slums too.

Liberty Island, Ellis Island, and Our Evening on the Town

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

These are the photos I took Thursday. They go with the entry below.

Our day at the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island

P1060174c, originally uploaded by davethetemp.

At Battery Park on Wednesday, we found the ticket booth for the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island tour. It was too late to go but we bought tickets for noon Thursday. After a nice breakfast together, Barb and I headed back to the park (this time watching for the correct trains).

At the boat terminal, we were surprised again by the level of security. Barb kept setting off the metal detector and eventually got a pat down.

The first stop was Liberty Island, I didn't think much of going there. Standing under a statue makes for lousy photos and in my mind the statue doesn't much history about it. I was surprised though at the quality of the museum in the pedestal. There was a fair bit about the technology of the statue, but the far more interesting section of the museum focused on the symbolism of the statue itself and how it had been used in public debates on immigration, patriotism and the meaning of liberty. Lots of posters, editorial cartoons, and other things to delight my not so inner history geek. Our planned 10 minutes turned into an hour and a half. The personal testimonials at the museum from immigrants who remembers seeing the statue of liberty from their ships as they came to America was also a great lead in to our next stop: Ellis Island. I also took my favourite photo of the trip so far.

At Ellis Island, the main building for processing immigrants was, beautiful. Apparently it won international awards when it was built. It was designed to process thousands of new arrivals everyday. The tile floor were well worn and every support column inside was covered in glazed white tile as high as you could reach for easy disinfection. I found the tiled columns and floors most evocative. You put your hand against them and wondered how many tens of thousands had done the same. After the great halls for baggage and reception, we passed through a maze of rooms where newcomers were examined for physical and mental problems, and questioned about theirs skills, money, and prospects in the New World. Other rooms included an excellent museum on immigration, including lots of displays on anti-immigration in America. We caught the last ferry of the island and were pretty wiped from a day on our feet.

After we got back to our hotel area on the subway, we decided to walk the neighbourhood both to find a restaurant and soak up the atmosphere. We'd been lucky with such beautiful weather and it was a prime walking time. We settled for a very small Italian restaurant and spent a wonderful evening over a couple appetizers and splitting a really nice seafood risotto.

An Accidental Pilgrimage

Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

I was last here with university friends 26 years ago and remember spending most of my time in grey concrete canyons (Maybe that's because I bought my one and only roll ever of black and white film for that trip). This time, it is a beautiful colourful neighbourhood.

Rather than try to write captions for all the photos I posted from our first day, I'll just put them up as a slideshow and write a few comments about our day.

Spring has arrived and the cherry trees and tulips are in full bloom. Everyone seems to be in a good mood. You get the feelings that New Yorkers accept the tourists around them as a feature, like the squirrels. They behave as if it is their duty to be good to tourists and have walked up to us to offer directions while we stood staring quizzically at our map.

The subway is far more complex than in Toronto which is how, on our way back to the hotel, I managed to get us on to the right track but the wrong train. We hopped on and were riding along, fine. As we got up just before our stop, Barb swears she saw someone watch us with mild amusement. Sure enough, we flew past our stop (and five more) on a rush hour express.

Luckily it was no big deal, we got out, crossed over to the track running in the other direction and watched carefully for the local train. Apparently in NYC, you have to watch for the correct name on the side of your car. On the positive side I got some beautiful pictures of the
Museum of Natural History in the setting sun.

Earlier in the day, we took the Staten Island ferry past the statue of liberty and for views of the city. I remember seriously disliking the World Trade Center buildings when I saw them
yeas ago: ugly black slabs surrounded by buildings with beauty and character. Looking back at New York from the ferry, I saw the skyline without their ugly forms but it didn't look right. It seemed like family photos after the loss of a relative, when no one is smiling like they used
too.

While the plan had been to do the historical walking tour that started in Battery Park, we decided to go to the WTC site.

We landed back at battery park and walked north. On the way we passed Wall Street and the Stock Exchange. The security was shocking. Cops in full body armor and blast helmets, the one car being allowed through with the trunk open and a bomb sniffing dog hopping in to check it out. When it was deemed safe, a 20 foot circle of street pavement rotated 90 degrees, so that the solid metal slabs that had blocked all vehicles were aligned to let the car pass.

Inside the security perimeter were at least a dozen more police. There, American flags on the NYSE competed with the Hermes banners on their flagship store across the street.

At the trade centre site, work is progressing on the new building (about 5 stories of girders right now). Beside it is a fire hall with locked doors and security, I think mostly to keep us tourists from asking them insensitive questions. Seeing a poster in the window of the 140 or so firemen lost in one day, I can empathize.

We weren't planning to do any 9/11 sightseeing, we just kept bumping into the signs and reminders. Being in Canada when it happened, I mostly think of that as the turning point when America went to a strange place and for a while, I couldn't identify with the mindset. In NYC, 9/11 is about one day and its aftermath on the people who were there. The museum walls are covered with posters of the missing made by family members in the days immediately after. Many objects from the buildings look strangely ancient, like dinosaur bones still embedded in rock: Two guns melted together, glass fused with other objects from the heat.

There is no call for patriotism in this place, none of the fierce eagles and tough talk that flooded the rest of the country, no pictures of the President standing in the ruins (Cameras aimed from below to add a heroic look). There's just a feeling of pain and loss and a call for peace in the world.

The confused subway ride home, the good Cuban-Chinese dinner that night with our friends, and the deep sleep after hours of walking and I'm still thinking about that skyline.

Why No Knees

What can you say about our upcoming trip?
David usually has a pithy title for our vacation blogs but this year?... Seriously, these cities have nothing in common except that we will be visiting them.

New York is a little getaway with our fellow Viet Nam travelers and since we were already going away; I thought "Why not make it into a bigger trip?".

We have a friend, Jeri, who is living in Rabat and we have been wanting to visit her for awhile so that's why Morocco and Paris , well it is my belated 50th birthday trip.

There you have the 3 cities

As for the no knees; David saw this post on a blog about Fes and thought it summed up traveling in a predominantly Arabic country well. I'll be the women in the bottom picture. http://riadzany.blogspot.com/2010/04/knees-of-spring-return.html