Morocco - Real Men Don't Ride Camels?

Along the way back to M’Hamid, we passed a number of actual Bedouin nomad caravans with their camels. We came to learn that real nomads don’t ride camels – rather they walk alongside them and use the camels to haul their supplies and water from camp to camp. After cleaning the sand as best we could out of our cracks and crevices back at the hotel, we then ventured back out to the local desert on a camel ride – something the kids had been looking forward to this whole trip. Getting up on a camel turned out to be quite a thrill, as the camels would rock forward on their knees and then back on their hind legs, rising up in a herky-jerky fashion that left us all holding on for dear life for fear of being flung forward, as if from a catapult. But once we got going, it was quite smooth and quite a thrill to be so high up off the desert floor. That is, until the winds started picking up the sand from the desert, pelting us like a sandblaster with its microscopic “bullets”. Visibility became limited and it was a struggle to keep our eyes open as clouds of sand dust whipped into our faces. Not even the burkas we had purchased did much good. What started out as a; “Dad, this is the best thing, EVER!”, experience quickly degraded into; “Mommy, my butt hurts, my eyes hurt, my legs hurt and I want off this stupid camel, NOW!”. Under such conditions, an hour was more than enough and we were simply happy to get out of the sandstorm. On reflection, however, this was another great adventure and a much more realistic experience that the nomads have to deal with all the time. It was a good reminder of how hard life is for these people, and how they seem to take everything in stride - I have gained tremendous respect for these hardy people.

Morocco - Deep into the Sahara

That afternoon, our 4X4 was loaded up and we enthusiastically jumped in to head out to the Erg Chigaga dunes. Our enthusiasm lasted all but 5 minutes as reality sunk in that we had a very long two hours ahead of us on extremely bumpy roads. After only 10 minutes, we lost the tracks and had to circle back to town to get our bearings and reestablish the route. It made us appreciate the hard life of the bedouin nomads, who travel for months on end with very little by way of landmarks out in the open desert. The kids were already starting to complain about being tossed around like rag dolls in the back seat. After about 20 minutes, I started to seriously question the wisdom of continuing further. Suzanne was giving me the evil eye and Kellen was starting to feel carsick in the back. Perhaps we should have just opted for the 1 hour camel ride!?! I was just on the verge of asking Hammadi to turn around and cut our losses when the road started to get better and we all started to settle down. As we got closer, things started looking up, as the dunes were even more spectacular than I had envisioned. The tallest dune in Erg Chigaga is over 300 M tall and the dunes seem to run as far as the eye could see. We passed a few tent camps along the way, but overall things were pretty desolate out in the desert. When we finally arrived at our camp, we were shocked to see it was much more than some tents in the sand – there were about 15 adobe structures with thick blankets on top and the camp itself was very comfortable, with a big dining area with berber carpets on the sand and plenty of couches and pillows for lounging around. They even had flush toilets and sinks with running water! It turned out that we were the only guests staying in camp that night and basically had a crew of 5 staff taking care of the 5 of us! The sun was getting low in the sky and bathed everything in a warm, golden light. We wasted no time venturing out to the dunes before dinner. I had my eye set on the tallest one, but it seemed too far away. As we started walking on the dunes, it became challenging to do in shoes, and we all ended up taking off our shoes to let the super fine, warm red sand sift between our toes. The winds which had been blowing all morning stopped in the afternoon, leaving the dunes with an amazingly smooth, untouched texture – which almost resembled a perfect powder day in the mountains (albeit with “red snow”!). For lack of a better term, we were “giddy” with delight running up one dune and tumbling down to the next. Sand was getting everywhere, but nobody seemed to mind. Suzanne and I both agreed that this definitely goes on the list of one of the coolest life experiences we have ever had, and it certainly made up for the rough 4X4 ride. Before we knew it, the largest dune was directly in front of us and we scrambled to the summit and enjoyed the sunset in relative silence, save for the shouting of our 3 kids, awed by the vast expanse of the Sahara stretching out for hundreds of miles around us. We returned to the camp by nightfall, exhausted and extremely satisfied as we enjoyed a bottle of wine and a chicken tangine (okay, I forgave them this time, given our fantastic experience!). Christian promptly fell asleep on the couch and Casey on my lap as the staff started a fire and began singing traditional bedouin songs to the hypnotic beat of drums and empty 10 gallon paint cans. In many ways, I found this to be similar to chants of native American Indians and was mesmerized by the concert. Finally, we could not keep our eyes open any longer, and collapsed in our tent. In spite of our exhaustion and the comfortable setting, it was difficult to sleep, first because of the heat radiating off the desert floor and the absolute silence around us, and later by the sound of sand grains pelting against our tent as the winds picked up in the middle of the night. I finally got up at 5 am to find everything and everyone covered with a super-fine layer of silt. I decided to head back to the dunes to enjoy the sun rising over the Sahara in solitude. It was a magical experience and I found myself overwhelmed with appreciation and awe for being able to experience this and so many other amazing things on this adventure year. Sure, things haven’t always gone as planned and we’ve hit bumps and setbacks along the way, but moments like this make it all worthwhile. I made my way back to camp to find the boys up and running around, so back to the dunes we went, looking for dried up animal bones and tumbling down the dunes yet again. Suzanne and Casey joined us shortly after and we enjoyed playing together before breakfast before our trek back to M’Hamid. The ride home was not nearly as painful as the ride out, perhaps because we were more prepared, but also, because I think Hammadi found a better route out.

Morocco - Southern Edge of the Sahara

Today we had a short drive to M’Hamid, the last village outpost before entering the Sahara desert. Along the way, we stopped in Tamegroute, to tour a library with Arabic manuscripts on the Koran as well as medical and botanical tomes dating back to the 12th century. The kids got a primer on both Arabic and the more ancient Berber alphabets, and had their names transcribed in each language. We also toured a typical Berber community dwelling where the locals produced Moroccan pottery. It was a spectacular maze of almost underground adobe tunnels and houses (to keep cool from the sweltering summer heat). Once again, the simplicity of living conditions, the lack of basic comforts that we often take for granted and the overall hard life that these people live was a good eye opener for all of us – particularly as we headed to off a luxury resort style Riad with all the ammenities. The kids wasted no time playing in the pool while we had a relaxing poolside lunch - and finally, a welcome break from chicken tangines!

Morocco - Over the High Atlas Mountains to the Sahara

After a typical Moroccan breakfast of grilled flatbread, homemade jams and fresh squeezed orange juice (even better than in Valencia!), we met our guide, Hammadi at the hotel from Journey Beyond Travel (JBT). The Andrews had nothing but great things to say about him and JBT, and we were fortunate that he was available. We happily left the dusty, bustling chaos of Marrakech and entered the lush and comparatively tranquil foothills of the High Atlas Mountains. The scenery was magnificent, with fields of bright red poppies and small Berber (the earliest inhabitants of Morocco) villages almost popping out of the green foothills. We wound our way over the Tichka pass at over 2,300 meters and I had visions of riding my bike up here someday; if only they would ban the massive 18-wheel construction trucks that come barreling up and down the pass! Perhaps trekking on foot would be a better option... Far down below, we entered the lush Draa valley with many spectacular Berber villages, which almost appeared to be carved right out the mountainside. These villages were built out of adobe - similar to what you might see in the southwest US, albeit much cruder and simpler. We had a delightful lunch (albeit another chicken tangine) on a terrace overlooking the river and one such village before making our way to the Sahara. We stopped at Ourzazate and picked up some exotic spices for cooking and also tried out some herbal remedies for smooth skin (Suzanne), snoring and headaches (me). We also passed a number of fascinating Kasbahs sitting out like islands in the lusher parts of the valley. We also passed many typical Berber villagers, who seem to live a very simple and hard life, mostly revolving around agriculture and raising animals. After a long day on the road, we arrived that evening at our guest house in Zagora, which sits at the base of an endless sea of palm trees as far as the eye can see. Much to our surprise, we were greeted with yet another chicken tangine (hey, what gives - is that all they eat here?!?) but we enjoyed sitting outside on the terrace while the kids played in the pool. The next day, we woke up refreshed and excited to begin our trek deep into the Sahara.

And Now for Something Completely Different - Morocco

So after saying goodbye to our Javea friends, we packed up our stuff and headed to...Morocco. Hey, if we were going to break up the monotony and head out on the open road, this was certainly one way to do it! Our friends, the Andrews had travelled there in February and had such an amazing experience that we arranged a nearly identical trip, albeit with a few more days added on. After a bit of confusion at the Madrid hotel - where we reluctantly and anxiously opted to leave our computer and other valuables in the hotel storage closet - we had a surprisingly easy time getting to Marrakech, which turned out to be only 2 hrs away by plane. Our driver from the Riad (a typical Moroccan guest home) met us and began the seemingly impossible negotiation into the Medina, or old quarter of the city. Even with the luxury of a driver, it was quite a stressful experience, with people sharing equally the narrow roads - from bikes to motorcycles to walkers to big trucks - you name it. Cars were bumping up against bikes and people alike, and everyone seemed to take it all in stride. As we passed the Jema el Fna square, we saw monkeys and king cobras with their handlers. Everything was confusing and chaotic, yet exhilarating. Finally the car could not pass further and we were guided on foot out onto the streets with our bags towards the Riad. We passed through a dark, narrow alley that felt like a cave and passed through a small door no more than 3 feet tall, where we entered a beautiful, peaceful courtyard. We were greeted with sweet mint tea while we lounged on large couches with pillow cushions and were given an orientation to the city. The kids loved the courtyard - particularly the board games and feeding the two resident tortises who seemed to have the run of the place. After dropping off our stuff, we ventured out into the Souks of the Medina - the primary shopping/bartering region which is the ´nerve center´ of Marrakech. This is where things started to go downhill for us. We found ourselves disoriented and out of our element as people were calling us from all over, inviting us into their shops. Before I could practically turn around, Suzanne was off with the kids and they were all getting henna tatoos from two seemingly friendly ladies. ¨How much did you agree to?¨ I asked. Suzanne replied that she never discussed a price. Ouch!...this was not destined to end up very good. Of course, when all was finished they wanted 40 euros for their 90 seconds of “work” – not a very comfortable place to bargain now that services had been exchanged! We refused to pay what they were asking, and they started yelling at us angrily. After giving them more than they deserved, we kept wandering through the souks, albeit a bit flustered. The kids started to melt down, as they were up at 5 am to catch the flight here. We tried to head back for naps but quickly became lost. The locals were only too happy to help…for a fee of course! One man offered to help, only to lead us deep into a back alley in the souks to his store to try to sell us some blankets. Suzanne was getting freaked out about being cut off in a back alley without any people around, the kids were crying and we were clearly flustered. We turned around as fast as we could and found someone else to help us work our way through the maze of narrow crowded streets. We finally made it back to the Riad, only to be haggled with about the size of our tip! Everyone seemed to be trying to get money from us. After a much needed massage and nice full course dinner (with a wonderful lemon chicken tangine and bottle of Moroccan cabernet), things started looking up again. We were very much looking forward to the start of our guided itinerary tomorrow, and I was more than happy to let someone else take the reins for a while. Today certainly fit the bill as a memorable day in the annals of our “adventure” year.

Buenos amigos of the Cruz Roja (Red Cross)

Given that Javea had a disproportionate population of EU expats, it was often hard to get to know the locals. One of the most valuable and rewarding experiences for me personally was to sign up with the local Javea Red Cross. They had just started up a new environmental program, called Medio Ambiente, with the purpose of improving and preserving the local environs around Javea. This group was made up of a handful of young people (30-somethings), all with a common love and passion for the outdoors. For me it was a perfect opportunity to meet and connect with other like-minded individuals, practice my spanish and get out to see everything Javea had to offer. We met in the evenings on a weekly basis to begin building a "business plan" for how to care for the various parks and trails in the area by hosting montly cleanup days. I learned a great deal about budgets and local politics (particularly the region of Alicante versus the national directives) and did my best to keep up with my colleagues when they would break into passionate, rapid-fire dialog, often reverting to Valenciano, a dialect I could not speak and barely understood. Often during the weekends, we would go off on hikes to document areas that had been degraded or worn due to heavy use in the hopes of convincing others to support and fund our cleanup and preservation effort. We would also attend lectures from local park guides in Denia, who would give fasciating lectures about the geology and flora and fauna of the area. Raul was the ring-leader of this effort, and his dedication and tireless efforts to make Javea a better place were an inspiration to me. Plus he was a good friend, who would go out of his way to include me in conversations and invite me along various excursions. Other key people included Lorena - the organizer driving the effort through the Red Cross, as well as other local volunteers like Jordi, Marco, Santi, Johanna, and Bianca. Everyone was incredibly friendly and would go out of their way to bring me in to their conversations and make sure I was understanding what they were saying. All in all, it was a fascinating group of people and an amazing experience. Through the Cruz Roja, I have made some wonderful life-long friends and I look forward to following their future endeavors to keep Javea beautiful.

Semana Santa - Domingo de Pascua (Easter Sunday)

Today is Easter Sunday, marking the end of Holy Week (Semana Santa) in Spain. While the most significant Santa Semana celebrations take place in Andalucia (primarily Seville) and central Spain, several towns in the province of Valencia also host their own local versions. In particular, the mountain town of Pego hosted a number of processions throughout the town this entire week. I took the opportunity to see the final procession in Pego, which celebrated the moment when the Virgin Mary is reunited with her resurrected son for the first time. The procession began with two different parades leaving from different churches, one carrying a statue of the Virgen Mary and one carrying the risen Jesus. Each procession slowly wound its way through town with bands following -marching slowly to the beat of trumpets and drums - and culminated when the two statues were carried triumphantly into the town square to reunite. The bands then bursted into the "Hymn of Alegria", with children throwing caramelos and adults throwing flower petals at the statues. Of course, no festival in Spain would be complete without a mascleta (firecracker show) to cap off the celebration, and then the townspeople gathered up and returned to their respective parishes to celebrate Easter Mass. While the easter bunny is not well known in Spain (although he did make a surprise visit to our villa this morning - quite a feat considering the distance he had to travel!), the locals tend to spend the rest of the day with family, often heading down to the beach after mass to fly cometas (kites) and later enjoying a tarta de mona (a sweet pastry with a whole egg in the center) or a tarta de pasas y nueces (raisin and nut cake). For us, tarta de nueces was the hands-down winner of the day.