Just got back into Barca after a tremendous time at the music festival in Benicassim. A week of camping and beaching and sangriaing and beering and all that other good stuff. Festival was unreal, except for the second night which was canceled due to high winds. The last two nights were out of this world though. Time of my life.
I´m off to London tomorrow night. In the meantime meeting up with some friends in Barca to say goodbye. Meeting a friend of mine from SE Asia in London and we´ll roadtrip. Can´t wait.
Be back in the states in about a week. Looking forward to it. But going out in style. This trip has been amazing.
Much love to all. Be assured I´m having the time of my life.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Saturday, July 11, 2009
You haven´t lived until you´ve been to San Fermin...
Pamplona... wow.
So, let´s see. Had a great last night in Malaga and traveled the next day to Pamplona by train through Madrid. An interesting train ride into Pamplona, the train packed with people going to San Fermin. Quite a lot of bad American tourists, so bad it was embarrassing. By my guess, Texas frat boys or something of the sort. So annoying. But, all in all not so bad. Tried to sleep most of the way and spent the last half hour or so talking with some Spanish girls on our way into Pamplona.
Upon arrival, had to wait around for a long time to meet up with my Australian cousin Amelia, her boyfriend Leigh, and his mates, ¨Fat¨and ¨Wato¨. They arrived with a beer for me and after getting the necessary San Fermin uniform (white pants and shirt with red bandana and scarf worn around the waist) went off to a rented apartment to drop off my bags and head back out. Can´t say much for the apartment, just an empty room with some mattresses thrown on it, but such is the way many locals make some money during this massive festival. Went immediately back to the center of the city, stopping for some beers and sangria and making our way to the park for a fantastic fireworks display at 11. By this time, nearly everyone was drunk, celebrating in the fields and streets. A Romanian girl threw herself on me, talking broken Spanish the entire time. Her friends had to haul her off and we all had a good laugh about it. Following that, the thousands that had gathered on the field to watch the fireworks display spilled into the streets for food and drink, but mostly drink. Sangria and cervezas were plentiful everywhere, and few were sober. It is the most amazing festival I´ve ever been to.
While walking around, tried to call my friend Alfredo, who I know from Barcelona through a friend named Benji, who I traveled with in Hong Kong last summer. Told me he was in Plaza de Castilla, which our group randomly happened upon. About two thousand people packed the square listening to a salsa group. Didn´t think there´d be much of a chance of finding Alfredo, but sure enough, found him and his friends. They tried to teach Amelia and I salsa with mixed results. We decided to head on in the night after a while, and hit up various bars and bocadillo stands before calling it a night and heading home. Tried to wake up early the next morning to see the Encierra, or Running of the Bulls, but slept in till 12. Walked around the city for a bit, arranging the Aussies´bus trip back to Barca with a most unhelpful bus agent at the station. Thankfully I know a bit of Spanish, a lot of English speaking tourists there were having a hell of a time trying to figure travel plans out. Helped a few of them and gave out some Spanish phrases to say.
After that, we changed and headed over to the Plaza Del Toros to try and catch a bull fight. Tickets were sold out, but we scalped a 11€ ticket for 40€ but was well worth it. One of the greater entertainment spectacles of my life. We were seated up in the second level, in the sun, which was party central. Everyone around us (including us) brought in several bottles and boxes and buckets of sangria. There were bands in the stands playing music. Everyone was fairly drunk already, and it was just getting started.
We had to cram into small little areas for a seat as the chaos of the scene did not allow for assigned seating. The bullfight itself was rather brutal. Quite inhumane. At first the bull is run around to get it tired and raising its pulse. Then, horses are brought out as their riders spear the bulls in the back to get it to bleed. On several occasions, the horses received absolutely devastating hits from the bulls, falling down and one horse getting gored. After that, two flambouyantly dressed guys send two shorter spears each that stick into the bulls back. The bull is bleeding quite profusely after this. Then, to the crowd´s delight, the matador comes out. This is the part that many people think of with the bullfight, as he gets the bull to charge at his cape before taking it away at the last moment. He finishes with a sword to the top of the bull´s neck, at which point, if it is done well, the bull falls instantly. Every time I saw it, however, the bulls continued to stick around, and after collapsing to the ground, needed a short dagger to the back of the neck to finish them off. It concludes with a trio of horses dragging the bull off.
And then? The party begins...
One must understand that my cousin Amelia and I were rightly shocked by the brutality of this whole spectacle but as soon as the bull was killed, the crowd erupted in a massive celebration. The bands played. We sang. We danced. We most definitely drank. Sangria is tossed everywhere, transforming our white uniform into a blochy mess of purple (check my facebook photo for a good view). Sandwiches are shared, or tossed, with people and at people. This whole thing continues until the next fight, in which people settle down. But not for long. All of a sudden, everyone stands up and starts singing. The band is playing. More sangria rains down from the heavens. At this point, I figured it was pretty much heaven. Replace the bullfight with a soccer match and it just might be. I try my hand at talking with some Spanish girls with mixed success. They teach me a song and give me some sort of drink which I mix with my sangria. They tell me to toss it on their friends sitting a couple people over to the left. I oblige. Their friends retaliate. More sangria is shared, more singing, more dancing. At this point, the bullfight is secondary, providing only an excuse to kick the singing and dancing and drinking up a notch when the next bull is killed. After a while, the seats have formed a gutter of sangria and beer. Some Spanish guys, quite nice, decide to give Amelia a shower with a liter of beer on her head. All in good fun. By this time, my clothes are drenched, and my eyes stinking from sangria. I get hit in the head with an orange. A sandwich. More sangria. Some older gentlemen behind us offer us sandwiches of jamon and also of egg and prawn. The egg and prawn? Not so good. This naturally gets tossed into the lower decks. Some Australians from around us are also having a good time. What a party.
We eventually leave and wait outside for Fat and Wato who had other seats. They don´t show up, so we head back for a change and a most necessary shower. Finish that night off with a spectacular fireworks display in the part (check the video on facebook) and head to bed early for some sleep.
I was planning on running the next morning and was so nervous I couldn´t sleep. Fat comes in at 3 in the morning, shouting and reliving his night. Apparently he met up with some Spanish who took him and Wato under their wing and showed them the night of their lives. Eventually, we get Fat to shut up so we can get some more sleep, yet I still can´t so call the family at 4 in the morning.
Wake up at 6 and have a quick shower to wake up. Adrenaline starts pumping. Have a RedBull. Adrenaline really starts pumping. Right out of the apartment, run into Wato just coming back. Start walking off for the Encierra. Stretch a bit, run a bit. Get nervous. Try and calm down. Eventually part with Amelia and Leigh as they head to the ring to watch the finale. Work my way through the streets to find an access point for the run. It´s chaos already.
Upon finally finding the route, we are all immediately run off by the police so they can clean the streets of glass and rubbish. Run frantically around trying to find another access point. Eventually find it and it is incredibly crowded. They put us all in a pen and there is hardly room to move. The crowd is a mixture of Spanish and English speaking tourists. Nearly all male. A mixture of nervousness and revelry is in the crowd. People adorn the balconies in the buildings above. We clap, sing. Some chant goes up in Spanish for some of the attractive girls in the balconies to lift their shirts. One grants the crowd its wish to a tremendous uproar. It´s quite the scene all around. The police come through to take out the drunk and ill-prepared to run. More chanting and singing. Eventually, they let us out of the pen to spread out along the route.
I find some other Americans and we pick a spot about a hundred meters from ¨Dead Man´s Corner¨. Past it, of course. Not messing with that, a sharp turn where if you are caught on the outside as the bulls come through, you´re certain to get trampled. Stretch a bit. Talk strategy. Wish each other luck. The runners grow excited.
BOOM! The gun (or rocket?) goes off. This signals the start of the race. The bulls have been released. It´s 8:02. Chaos erupts. At this point, it becomes clear that the most dangerous aspect of the race isn´t the bulls themselves, but the people around. Mob mentality. We´re all looking around for the bulls. I´m nearly shitting myself. Adrenaline REALLY starts going. Then, the roar. First, you hear the runners shouting. We look back. They´re coming around ¨Dead Man´s Corner¨. You can hear the hoofs on the cobble stone streets. Chaos! Everyone is running, but looking back, and darting in and out. At this point, I decided that the center of the street is not for me, and run along the sides. More people to dodge, but at least my margin of error is greater. The bulls go by. It´s all a blur. We all keep running. More bulls go by. Piles of people emerge everywhere, obstacles to avoid. People on the ground cover up, not wanting to get gored. A trampling is better than a goring. I keep running, dodging people all the way. 300 m and about a minute later, I´m in the stadium.
At this point, I figure it´s mostly over. I survived the running, right? Well, after the running, they release smaller bulls with capped horns into the ring. It charges out of this tunnel and proceeds to run around the ring, a wrecking ball of destruction. Some people get it hard. Knocked up in the air, trampled, etc. I´m keeping a distance from the bull, just to observe the scene. You can´t see it most of the time as it runs around there are so many people. All you see at the last minute is the parting of people running from the bull. The Plaza del Toros is filled with spectators cheering and chanting. Touching the bulls horns is strictly forbidden. Chants of ¨You Are A Puta!¨greet those who grab the horns. Finally, a big steer comes out to lead the bull out of the ring. Everyone gathers at this gate, kneeling, arms over one another much like a rugby scrum.
Toro! Toro! Toro! We chant at the gate. The gate opens. At the end of the hall is the silhouette of th bull.
Toro! Toro! Toro! Venga! The bull starts running. It leaps over the first row, jumping on those several rows back. I was just a few feet away. The bull goes off into the crowd and the chaos ensues again. I start to get closer with this one but still keep a fair distance.
We repeat the procedure twice more. On the last bull, I figure I´ve got to do it. People run up to the bull and slap it on the ass before darting away. Might as well try, right?
I succeed. Wait till the bull is running, then come in from the side and give it a little tap. Simple enough. This bull is a feisty one though. It stops and turns in a circle, trying to get those who dare venture too close. I get it twice more. I back off for a bit. The bull then got its revenge, albeit it not on me. It finds a runner and pins him up against the wall, continuing to ram him. People pull at the tail to get it away. This is right in front of me. Eventually, the bull is distracted and runs off while the man is dragged away to safety and paramedics. I´m stll watching the bull.
Then WHAM! I get hit in the head, and hard. I didn´t see it coming. The steer came from behind and I was so transfixed with the bull I didn´t keep my head on a swivel.
It hurt, but not too bad. The event ended and I walked back to the apartment with the biggest shit eating grin on my face. We all rehash our events of the past 12 hours and pack and leave. Spend the day with a siesta in the park by the bus station. The Aussies head off by bus, I head off by train (first class!) back to Barca.
San Fermin. What a time. Planning on going back next year if I can make it work.
So, let´s see. Had a great last night in Malaga and traveled the next day to Pamplona by train through Madrid. An interesting train ride into Pamplona, the train packed with people going to San Fermin. Quite a lot of bad American tourists, so bad it was embarrassing. By my guess, Texas frat boys or something of the sort. So annoying. But, all in all not so bad. Tried to sleep most of the way and spent the last half hour or so talking with some Spanish girls on our way into Pamplona.
Upon arrival, had to wait around for a long time to meet up with my Australian cousin Amelia, her boyfriend Leigh, and his mates, ¨Fat¨and ¨Wato¨. They arrived with a beer for me and after getting the necessary San Fermin uniform (white pants and shirt with red bandana and scarf worn around the waist) went off to a rented apartment to drop off my bags and head back out. Can´t say much for the apartment, just an empty room with some mattresses thrown on it, but such is the way many locals make some money during this massive festival. Went immediately back to the center of the city, stopping for some beers and sangria and making our way to the park for a fantastic fireworks display at 11. By this time, nearly everyone was drunk, celebrating in the fields and streets. A Romanian girl threw herself on me, talking broken Spanish the entire time. Her friends had to haul her off and we all had a good laugh about it. Following that, the thousands that had gathered on the field to watch the fireworks display spilled into the streets for food and drink, but mostly drink. Sangria and cervezas were plentiful everywhere, and few were sober. It is the most amazing festival I´ve ever been to.
While walking around, tried to call my friend Alfredo, who I know from Barcelona through a friend named Benji, who I traveled with in Hong Kong last summer. Told me he was in Plaza de Castilla, which our group randomly happened upon. About two thousand people packed the square listening to a salsa group. Didn´t think there´d be much of a chance of finding Alfredo, but sure enough, found him and his friends. They tried to teach Amelia and I salsa with mixed results. We decided to head on in the night after a while, and hit up various bars and bocadillo stands before calling it a night and heading home. Tried to wake up early the next morning to see the Encierra, or Running of the Bulls, but slept in till 12. Walked around the city for a bit, arranging the Aussies´bus trip back to Barca with a most unhelpful bus agent at the station. Thankfully I know a bit of Spanish, a lot of English speaking tourists there were having a hell of a time trying to figure travel plans out. Helped a few of them and gave out some Spanish phrases to say.
After that, we changed and headed over to the Plaza Del Toros to try and catch a bull fight. Tickets were sold out, but we scalped a 11€ ticket for 40€ but was well worth it. One of the greater entertainment spectacles of my life. We were seated up in the second level, in the sun, which was party central. Everyone around us (including us) brought in several bottles and boxes and buckets of sangria. There were bands in the stands playing music. Everyone was fairly drunk already, and it was just getting started.
We had to cram into small little areas for a seat as the chaos of the scene did not allow for assigned seating. The bullfight itself was rather brutal. Quite inhumane. At first the bull is run around to get it tired and raising its pulse. Then, horses are brought out as their riders spear the bulls in the back to get it to bleed. On several occasions, the horses received absolutely devastating hits from the bulls, falling down and one horse getting gored. After that, two flambouyantly dressed guys send two shorter spears each that stick into the bulls back. The bull is bleeding quite profusely after this. Then, to the crowd´s delight, the matador comes out. This is the part that many people think of with the bullfight, as he gets the bull to charge at his cape before taking it away at the last moment. He finishes with a sword to the top of the bull´s neck, at which point, if it is done well, the bull falls instantly. Every time I saw it, however, the bulls continued to stick around, and after collapsing to the ground, needed a short dagger to the back of the neck to finish them off. It concludes with a trio of horses dragging the bull off.
And then? The party begins...
One must understand that my cousin Amelia and I were rightly shocked by the brutality of this whole spectacle but as soon as the bull was killed, the crowd erupted in a massive celebration. The bands played. We sang. We danced. We most definitely drank. Sangria is tossed everywhere, transforming our white uniform into a blochy mess of purple (check my facebook photo for a good view). Sandwiches are shared, or tossed, with people and at people. This whole thing continues until the next fight, in which people settle down. But not for long. All of a sudden, everyone stands up and starts singing. The band is playing. More sangria rains down from the heavens. At this point, I figured it was pretty much heaven. Replace the bullfight with a soccer match and it just might be. I try my hand at talking with some Spanish girls with mixed success. They teach me a song and give me some sort of drink which I mix with my sangria. They tell me to toss it on their friends sitting a couple people over to the left. I oblige. Their friends retaliate. More sangria is shared, more singing, more dancing. At this point, the bullfight is secondary, providing only an excuse to kick the singing and dancing and drinking up a notch when the next bull is killed. After a while, the seats have formed a gutter of sangria and beer. Some Spanish guys, quite nice, decide to give Amelia a shower with a liter of beer on her head. All in good fun. By this time, my clothes are drenched, and my eyes stinking from sangria. I get hit in the head with an orange. A sandwich. More sangria. Some older gentlemen behind us offer us sandwiches of jamon and also of egg and prawn. The egg and prawn? Not so good. This naturally gets tossed into the lower decks. Some Australians from around us are also having a good time. What a party.
We eventually leave and wait outside for Fat and Wato who had other seats. They don´t show up, so we head back for a change and a most necessary shower. Finish that night off with a spectacular fireworks display in the part (check the video on facebook) and head to bed early for some sleep.
I was planning on running the next morning and was so nervous I couldn´t sleep. Fat comes in at 3 in the morning, shouting and reliving his night. Apparently he met up with some Spanish who took him and Wato under their wing and showed them the night of their lives. Eventually, we get Fat to shut up so we can get some more sleep, yet I still can´t so call the family at 4 in the morning.
Wake up at 6 and have a quick shower to wake up. Adrenaline starts pumping. Have a RedBull. Adrenaline really starts pumping. Right out of the apartment, run into Wato just coming back. Start walking off for the Encierra. Stretch a bit, run a bit. Get nervous. Try and calm down. Eventually part with Amelia and Leigh as they head to the ring to watch the finale. Work my way through the streets to find an access point for the run. It´s chaos already.
Upon finally finding the route, we are all immediately run off by the police so they can clean the streets of glass and rubbish. Run frantically around trying to find another access point. Eventually find it and it is incredibly crowded. They put us all in a pen and there is hardly room to move. The crowd is a mixture of Spanish and English speaking tourists. Nearly all male. A mixture of nervousness and revelry is in the crowd. People adorn the balconies in the buildings above. We clap, sing. Some chant goes up in Spanish for some of the attractive girls in the balconies to lift their shirts. One grants the crowd its wish to a tremendous uproar. It´s quite the scene all around. The police come through to take out the drunk and ill-prepared to run. More chanting and singing. Eventually, they let us out of the pen to spread out along the route.
I find some other Americans and we pick a spot about a hundred meters from ¨Dead Man´s Corner¨. Past it, of course. Not messing with that, a sharp turn where if you are caught on the outside as the bulls come through, you´re certain to get trampled. Stretch a bit. Talk strategy. Wish each other luck. The runners grow excited.
BOOM! The gun (or rocket?) goes off. This signals the start of the race. The bulls have been released. It´s 8:02. Chaos erupts. At this point, it becomes clear that the most dangerous aspect of the race isn´t the bulls themselves, but the people around. Mob mentality. We´re all looking around for the bulls. I´m nearly shitting myself. Adrenaline REALLY starts going. Then, the roar. First, you hear the runners shouting. We look back. They´re coming around ¨Dead Man´s Corner¨. You can hear the hoofs on the cobble stone streets. Chaos! Everyone is running, but looking back, and darting in and out. At this point, I decided that the center of the street is not for me, and run along the sides. More people to dodge, but at least my margin of error is greater. The bulls go by. It´s all a blur. We all keep running. More bulls go by. Piles of people emerge everywhere, obstacles to avoid. People on the ground cover up, not wanting to get gored. A trampling is better than a goring. I keep running, dodging people all the way. 300 m and about a minute later, I´m in the stadium.
At this point, I figure it´s mostly over. I survived the running, right? Well, after the running, they release smaller bulls with capped horns into the ring. It charges out of this tunnel and proceeds to run around the ring, a wrecking ball of destruction. Some people get it hard. Knocked up in the air, trampled, etc. I´m keeping a distance from the bull, just to observe the scene. You can´t see it most of the time as it runs around there are so many people. All you see at the last minute is the parting of people running from the bull. The Plaza del Toros is filled with spectators cheering and chanting. Touching the bulls horns is strictly forbidden. Chants of ¨You Are A Puta!¨greet those who grab the horns. Finally, a big steer comes out to lead the bull out of the ring. Everyone gathers at this gate, kneeling, arms over one another much like a rugby scrum.
Toro! Toro! Toro! We chant at the gate. The gate opens. At the end of the hall is the silhouette of th bull.
Toro! Toro! Toro! Venga! The bull starts running. It leaps over the first row, jumping on those several rows back. I was just a few feet away. The bull goes off into the crowd and the chaos ensues again. I start to get closer with this one but still keep a fair distance.
We repeat the procedure twice more. On the last bull, I figure I´ve got to do it. People run up to the bull and slap it on the ass before darting away. Might as well try, right?
I succeed. Wait till the bull is running, then come in from the side and give it a little tap. Simple enough. This bull is a feisty one though. It stops and turns in a circle, trying to get those who dare venture too close. I get it twice more. I back off for a bit. The bull then got its revenge, albeit it not on me. It finds a runner and pins him up against the wall, continuing to ram him. People pull at the tail to get it away. This is right in front of me. Eventually, the bull is distracted and runs off while the man is dragged away to safety and paramedics. I´m stll watching the bull.
Then WHAM! I get hit in the head, and hard. I didn´t see it coming. The steer came from behind and I was so transfixed with the bull I didn´t keep my head on a swivel.
It hurt, but not too bad. The event ended and I walked back to the apartment with the biggest shit eating grin on my face. We all rehash our events of the past 12 hours and pack and leave. Spend the day with a siesta in the park by the bus station. The Aussies head off by bus, I head off by train (first class!) back to Barca.
San Fermin. What a time. Planning on going back next year if I can make it work.
Monday, July 6, 2009
Out of Africa...
While my stay down in Morocco was tremendous, I was getting a bit anxious to get back to Spain. Rather than spend more time at a beach resort down in Morocco, decided to head to Tangier on the 3rd and up into Spain on the next day. Of course, this means I didn´t get a chance to go diving in Morocco (and Spain is much too expensive for it) so I´ll put that off till later. But plenty of time for that.
At any rate, not much to really say about Tangier. It´s a zoo, really. Not many tourists, and almost felt unwelcome which was unlike the rest of Morocco. Also, noticed that cars seemed to clean their windshield while driving past me, happened on several occasions and got sprayed a bit each time. Coincidence? Maybe, seemed to happen much too often for that though. Stayed in a run down hotel in Tangier with no showers, used a handkerchief for a Mexican shower. Most of the people staying in the place were migrant workers, or at least guessing so as the front desk seemed to run an ID card scheme, matching workers with a photo ID that kind of resembled them. Most funny. They were thrilled to have a backpacker in there though, when I checked in they zoomed around the place showing me where everything was.
The ferry the next morning was rather uneventful. Quick shot right over to Algeciras. Upon getting into Spain, got the backpacker customs treatment I have become so used to. Customs agents take one look at me, see a grungy backpacker and immediately I´m off to the other room. Let them check my bags, which they didn´t do very thoroughly, but after some talk in Spanish, they realized I didn´t have anything on me. I very well could have, and they wouldn´t have noticed but I´d be a fool to risk that. We parted with some pleasant words and they wished me a happy stay in Spain. Hopped on a bus outside the port and was off to Malaga. I had wanted to go to Cadiz but they were booked solid for the night and didn´t feel like paying too much.
Malaga is.... hot. Well over a hundred degrees each day. Upon getting in (July 4th), found some other Americans and went off to the beach in the car they had rented. On the way back, stopped at the supermercado to get burgers, mac & cheese, corn, and Budweiser. Felt like celebrating Independence Day the right way. Food turned out wonderful, and fed the leftover beef to Chango, the hostel dog, a big furry dog with the most relaxed demeanor ever. Naturally, it being a holiday and my first day back in a ´wet´country like Spain rather than a ´dry´ country like Morocco, I had quite a few beers (as did everyone else) and sang songs and played drinking games late into the night. Quite a good mix of people in the hostel, some Canadians I stayed with in Brussels were also there, as are a bunch of Dutch, some Spanish, and some French, including a very cute French girl. Naturally, I did my best to improve France-American relations. Mission accomplished.
Next morning (yesterday) woke up quite hungover and went with the Americans off to the beach. Water was rather cold which was too bad, and we generally took the day rather easy. Last night we all took it easy, as many people had either cleared out or had early trains/planes/buses etc.
Today was a day to get stuff in order. Got my train tickets for tomorrow. Got a Spanish cell phone (633 367 254) after a long ordeal with that. Trying to get photos all sorted out but that´s proving to be near impossible.
Off to Pamplona for running of the bulls tomorrow. Hopefully won´t end up skewered....
At any rate, not much to really say about Tangier. It´s a zoo, really. Not many tourists, and almost felt unwelcome which was unlike the rest of Morocco. Also, noticed that cars seemed to clean their windshield while driving past me, happened on several occasions and got sprayed a bit each time. Coincidence? Maybe, seemed to happen much too often for that though. Stayed in a run down hotel in Tangier with no showers, used a handkerchief for a Mexican shower. Most of the people staying in the place were migrant workers, or at least guessing so as the front desk seemed to run an ID card scheme, matching workers with a photo ID that kind of resembled them. Most funny. They were thrilled to have a backpacker in there though, when I checked in they zoomed around the place showing me where everything was.
The ferry the next morning was rather uneventful. Quick shot right over to Algeciras. Upon getting into Spain, got the backpacker customs treatment I have become so used to. Customs agents take one look at me, see a grungy backpacker and immediately I´m off to the other room. Let them check my bags, which they didn´t do very thoroughly, but after some talk in Spanish, they realized I didn´t have anything on me. I very well could have, and they wouldn´t have noticed but I´d be a fool to risk that. We parted with some pleasant words and they wished me a happy stay in Spain. Hopped on a bus outside the port and was off to Malaga. I had wanted to go to Cadiz but they were booked solid for the night and didn´t feel like paying too much.
Malaga is.... hot. Well over a hundred degrees each day. Upon getting in (July 4th), found some other Americans and went off to the beach in the car they had rented. On the way back, stopped at the supermercado to get burgers, mac & cheese, corn, and Budweiser. Felt like celebrating Independence Day the right way. Food turned out wonderful, and fed the leftover beef to Chango, the hostel dog, a big furry dog with the most relaxed demeanor ever. Naturally, it being a holiday and my first day back in a ´wet´country like Spain rather than a ´dry´ country like Morocco, I had quite a few beers (as did everyone else) and sang songs and played drinking games late into the night. Quite a good mix of people in the hostel, some Canadians I stayed with in Brussels were also there, as are a bunch of Dutch, some Spanish, and some French, including a very cute French girl. Naturally, I did my best to improve France-American relations. Mission accomplished.
Next morning (yesterday) woke up quite hungover and went with the Americans off to the beach. Water was rather cold which was too bad, and we generally took the day rather easy. Last night we all took it easy, as many people had either cleared out or had early trains/planes/buses etc.
Today was a day to get stuff in order. Got my train tickets for tomorrow. Got a Spanish cell phone (633 367 254) after a long ordeal with that. Trying to get photos all sorted out but that´s proving to be near impossible.
Off to Pamplona for running of the bulls tomorrow. Hopefully won´t end up skewered....
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Chefchaouen
Well, been a while since my last post, but be rest assured this is cause I've been having a great time as well as the fact that the French keyboards they use in Morocco are an absolute hassle. So, here we go... last week or so...
My last night in Marrakech was fantastic. Went out for some food, settling on a mystery plate of meat and some skewers (didn't take me long to venture back into street food, but no snails for me). Spent the rest of the night talking with a bunch of others who were staying at the same hostel while smoking the hookah, made for a fantastic night. Every now and then you get a great mix of people in a particular hostel and this was one of the best groups I've ever encountered in a particular hostel, quite sad to leave them, but so it goes.
Woke up early the next morning for a 630 bus ride out of Marrakech. First on to Casablanca, which wasn't much from what I could see. Mainly a big business city from the looks of it, and reviews from fellow travelers were pretty awful (dead bodies in the road and other very strange things). Moved on from there after a few hours waiting in the bus station to Chefchaouen. Was a tremendoulsy scenic bus ride there, although long and the AC had broken on the bus. Even the locals said the heat was near unbearable. Made friends with a fellow traveler along the way, Daisuke, from Japan, and after arriving in Marrakech set out to find a hostel I had looked up.
Arrived at the hostel and for 30 dirham (3 euro, 4 dollars) a night settled onto a mattress on the roof. Simple, yet beautiful at the same time. Daisuke and I went off to support the local farming economy and settled in to a quiet night on the roof of the hostel, with spectacular views of Chefchaouen and the surrounding countryside.
Next day woke up and decided on a hike. Scrambled up the hill eventually finding a trail along the way. Managed to pass quite a few locals on the way up, all of which were very friendly and offered water and advice for the hike. Chanced upon a road leading up the mountain and took it, a valley leading up into the mountains far beyond Chefchaouen. Absolutely beautiful up that way. A creek ran through the valley with bright pink flowered bushes on the banks. Various fountains were stationed all over so we could refill water bottles and dip our heads underneath the water. We started the hike at 11 and by 1230 or so the temperature was already well over 100 degrees, probably 110 at the height of the hike. Along the road going up were many goat herders, marijuana plantations, and small homes. One guy invited us into his home for a break in the shade and we gladfully accepted, it was really hot. At this point, had ditched the tshirt but this resulted in an aboslutely ridiculous tan from my backpack that I'm still trying to beat. 4 hours up the mountain we reached the top where the trail went back down the other side. Explored around the top for a bit and then 2 hours back down. Much easier on the way down but still hot and came back to the hostel to relax for a while.
Went out that night for some internet access (incredibly slow) and a haircut, which for 3 dollars was the most attentive haircut I've ever gotten. Got the buzz again, in the Moroccan heat and while traveling it just makes sense. Ate a nice chicken tanjin dinner that night and went to bed relatively early.
Next day woke up and walked around Chefchaouen for the morning. A quick word on the town. Easily in the top 3 of most charming places ever. The walls of the city and doors are all painted various shades of blue. Small little alleys are filled with shops and homes. Just a great place to be. I'm working on photos so will try and have those up soon.
At 2 in the afternoon, met up with a group of other kids at the the hostel and took taxis about 40 minutes outside Chefchaouen to this waterfall which was a 20 minute hike or so up a valley. The walk was incredibly scenic, with monkeys hanging onto sheer rock cliffs and streams running all through the area. The waterfall itself was fantastic. Not the best ever, but a wonderful place to go too. Of course I had to jump off it into the pool below, which took some nerve considering it was a 12m (40 feet) drop into a 2m pool of water . Took a video of the jump using my waterproof camera. Will post that soon. Finished off the night with the waterfall group with dinner and some shopping. Got a hand woven blanket for 20 dollars or so, quite a good one, and should be of good use with camping in Pamplona and Bennicassim coming up.
More to come later, it's late, and if I can somehow get over the heat should like to sleep now. It's about 90 degrees I'd say. In Malaga in Spain by the way. Tangier and Malaga to come tomorrow...
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