Morocco Part 2 A Berber Tale
December 23, 2007 at 9:48 pm | Posted in Morocco | 1 Comment(This is a sequel to Morocco Part 1)
Our next adventure was to ride the road along the foothills of the High Atlas mountains in a wide valley with our first stop being Todra Gorge. We passed sheep, goats, wild camels and scattered people simply walking in the middle of miles of terrain perhaps with a bundle of sticks on their back. Todra Gorge is known to be very scenic and we were lucky that its narrow road, which was mostly washed away durning floods last April was back in working order to carry us between the sheer red cliffs. We had no overnight reservations, again, so we just kept driving away from people until we found somewhere secluded. Our guidebook directed us to a small auberge which we had to drive over a stream to get to as it was built into the rocky hillside. It was across the road from a nomadic tent which we could faintly see up on the hanging rocks. The man was out tending his herds of goats while the woman was working over a steaming kettles and the children loitered around their small patch of flat land. Our innkeeper showed us to our room which was, surprisingly, a cave. A very nice cave. The room was literally carved into the rock and painted a lovely buttery yellow with enough beds for all and solar lights and candles. The boys thoroughly investigated all of the removables that can be toyed with and then ventured out into the streambed and hopped rocks until nightfall. Perfect. A herd of goats approached for the return home and surrounded the boys on all sides. They needed to wait patiently for the “locals” to pass. We went up to the main house for dinner and the entire room was swathed in candlelight while plates of salads and tagines were enthusiastically delivered. Both boys were worn down and fell asleep on the bench we were sitting at while Peter and I enjoyed another rare moment of “just us”. Up until now, the only private time we had was when the two boys sat in front of us on a bus and we sat behind them! We were able to finish more than 5 whole sentences uninterrupted by, “Mama, look how far back I can bend my finger!” or “Papa, what is the biggest thing in the world besides Mt. Everest?, or “What’s a jawbreaker?” The next day we left our cave, and hadn’t gotten more than 500 yards up the road when our adventure was to take a very interesting turn.
A group of Berber men were working to repair the washed out road and one slight, young man (about 25) with a fuscia-colored turban flagged us down with a smile wider than his thin face and asked if we could give him a ride so he could buy some cigarettes for his friends. We, feeling distrustful and generally not open to letting others into our car no matter how friendly-looking, offered instead to buy the cigarettes and drop them off on our return in a few hours. They considered this and decided to give us the money. This was very trusting on their part since they probably had very little money to risk. Then the discussion, in French, was about where to stop to buy them and what brand to get. Apparently you don’t buy packs, you buy individual cigarettes and he wanted 14. We cannot explain what changed our minds but a complete trust came over us and we decided to give him a lift instead. His skinny body easily fit between the boys carseats. Mustafa proceeded to tell us, in French, about himself and his family who ran a small inn up the mountain pass in the town we were headed for. He was down here visiting his friends who were repairing the damaged road. He also told us that there was excitement in the village because there was a wedding taking place in the hills between two Berber nomad families. We had read about Berber weddings and how they are a very unique experience and foreigners are lucky if they happened to come upon one as they would probably be enthusiastically invited to attend. He said that we should go to it. We were intrigued but didn’t know how to transition from picking up a total stranger to going to a wedding.
A few miles later as we wound through the spectacular mountain gorge, we arrived in the town of Tamtatouche. Mustafa led us to his “inn” which was on the side of the dusty road surrounded by fields, kasbah ruins and the red, rocky cliffs of the gorge. We pulled in, got out and looked around at the rustic surroundings and just followed him to his outdoor patio covered in a Berber tent as an awning. Then his brothers and sister came to greet us. Mohammed is the eldest at around 28 but looked 40, Abdou is 15 and Hassan, 13. Their sister, Fatima, about 27, waved from the kitchen. Without many words, it was just natural and assumed that we`d all relax and chat on the patio which is exactly what we did Mohammed brought tea and snacks as the siblings did their best to welcome us. We don`t know when it changed from simply giving Mustafa a lift to becoming their guests but we just went with it. Oliver and Henry played soccer with Abdou and became fast friends. Abdou only spoke Berber but Henry never left his side. Soon Abdou took Henry into the kitchen and showed him how to make french fries. Henry came leaping out of the kitchen in excitement when he realized that french fries are made from potatoes as he had just watched Abdou slice them and fry them up from scratch! Mustafa then invited us to go for a walk through the village. We walked through the fields towards the kasbah ruins and watched as women hauled tremendous bundles of corn stalks on their backs and Mustafa continued to tell us what people were doing and how they lived. The villagers literally gawked at us as we passed as though we were celebrities. A cluster of children gathered and were giddy at the chance to interact with us. We took their pictures and showed them the instant results which generated even more excitement. We went back to the inn and then the discussion about the wedding resumed. Mustafa explained that the wedding celebration takes place over 4 days with preparations tonight at the bride`s homestead and then at the groom`s homestead the next night when the actual ceremony would be held. Unlike weddings we know, folks in the surrounding towns simply go as it is a communal gathering and not an event with invitations. Everyone knows each other and even though the folks getting married were nomads who lived in tents in the hills, all the folks in the village know the nomads and they are all part of the same community. Now it was about 5:00pm and Mustafa’s friends came by in a van and decided they were all going to go to the wedding and that for only a few dirham, we could join them in the van instead of walking or taking donkeys. We still wanted to understand how we were going to be regarded, coming to this wedding uninvited and of course we didn’t want to detract from the event and cause a commotion. They tried to explain how the families would consider it an honor for visiting guests to attend. This was such a foreign concept to us to just show up, but we were intrigued and the boys were excited to go to a wedding even though they expected dancing, a large cake and a bride coming down an aisle. We agreed to go.
So, we only have our fleece pullovers and they advise us that it will be cool in the hills. Laura is given a traditional woolen blanket which is worn as a shawl and Mustafa gives Peter a woolen chelab, the traditional Moroccan hooded robe. We get in the old van with three men in front and four men in the back, all about 22-25, and the four of us in the middle seat. We drive about 1 mile up the road and then take a left literally off the road and over the landscape on what is called a piste, basically a dirt path often travelled on but in no way considered a road. We cannot believe the van will safely navigate this rocky terrain. It`s dark by now and there are no lights anywhere except for one distant twinkling light in the middle of the blackness as we`re heading into the High Atlas Mountains. Mustafa said that`s where we are heading. The young men seem genuinely excited for the celebration and they`re singing traditional Berber songs with a tamborine as we bump along wondering when the van will simply fall apart at the seams.
The chaotic thoughts running through our heads are so foreign to us. Are we really going to a wedding? We are in the middle of nowhere. We have two small children. These are complete strangers. We are so lucky to have met these people. We cannot believe we are part of this experience. This is not a tour so no one knows we`re here and we can`t send our family an e-mail at this point. Are these guys really this happy to be taking us to this celebration? Don’t they have something better to do? What are they singing? This is what our adventure is really all about.
About 45 minutes later, we stop at a ditch. The van cannot get passed it so we have to walk the rest of the way. The seven guys excitedly get out of the van and, without hesitation, one of them takes Oliver and another one takes Henry (who fell asleep 10 minutes after the van left the inn) onto their backs and carries them the short distance to the site. The blanket of stars in the sky are magical and seem ancient as does the muted landscape around us as we warily step over and around the rocks trying not to twist any ankles. We can hear distant rhythmic chanting and beating of instruments we`ve never heard before. Now we are thinking that perhaps we are the sacrificial family. Yet, we cannot explain why, we are also so excited to be here, in a scared, out-of-our-comfort-zone sort of way but also this-is-why-we-are-travelling-the-world kind of way. We are trying to read our instincts but none of our surroundings have ever been registered before and we don’t know what to make of this situation we are getting ourselves into. It is an incredible dilemma. However, the overriding instinct is trust. Throughout our day that we spent with Mustafa and his family and friends, the pure kindness, generosity, embracing nature and sweetness was permeating around us. We have very kind friends at home but this was something else. A kindness so pure and innocent and free of any evil, like the mind of a 2 year old child. You cannot get enough of it and you want to protect it and want to be a part of it and feel bad that you have bad thoughts. You want to desperately hope that this will not turn out bad – it is truly what it is – a wedding celebration and everyone is singing.
We arrive and we can make out a cluster of Berber tents and different activities going on. All of the local men are sitting around a bonfire in a circular stone pen normally reserved for the animals. There are about 60 men and everyone is wrapped in traditional blankets and huddled together in small friendly groups sipping tea. They all watch us carry our two little boys wrapped in a bundle as we plop down on the ground and find a place among them. A few smile back at us – most just watch. The men are in charge of the keeping the fire going and are boiling water in one kettle for the tea and in another bucket for rinsing glasses. The fire is fueled by either wood or animal dung which gave off a distinct peaty amoma. A turbaned man comes over and offers us warm tea which we eagerly accept. Not only is it appropriate but it also gives us something to do. Mustafa sits with us as does Joadd and we hope they don’t leave our side, which they don’t. We are told that the women are in the tent. Seems the women stick together and the men do the same. Laura is the only woman in the pen. We drink our tea and wait.
Then a group of men approach us carrying the biggest wooden shallow bowl we have ever seen. The bowl is filled with a cornmeal mash that is a community platter and we, as the visiting guests, are the first ones to be served. We`re relieved when one of the servers pulls out regular metal spoons and hands one to each of us as well as to Mustafa and Joadd. Again, the myriad of emotions goes through our minds. How does one eat appropriately from a communal bowl exactly? Do we take a big spoonful or a small one? Do we double-dip? We cannot believe we have just arrived and now are being given special treatment by having the bowl presented to us first. How many bites do we take? What is it? We can’t decline. We dip our spoons in and take a bite. It is warm and delicious and tastes like melted cornbread with a salty, buttery flavor and it is the consistency of farina. We want to eat the whole bowl. We were prepared for the worst and it was great. We follow Mustafa’s lead and learn that it`s fine to double-dip (glad we were first!) and we had a few bites. Whew. Now what happens?
The singing gets louder and Mustafa and Joadd invite us to move over to the tent so we can see what is going on. The boys are carried into the tent and we plop into a space where we can watch. The girls and women sit across from the boys and men and they sing and chat in rotation with the men singing and the women responding, over and over again. It is too loud to try to have Mustafa translate so we just listen. The women are all ages and are interesting to look at. They are equally interested in us and gawk at us without smiling. It`s not because they`re disturbed by us, they simply don’t greet with a smile. Some women look ancient with deep wrinkles yet they have long, thick grey hair and sit cross-legged on the ground. Some women look like a cross between Asian and Eskimo with almond-shaped eyes and black hair and high cheekbones. One woman looks 50 yet she has one baby tied to her back with a blanket, another one nursing and a toddler rolled up in a blanket on the floor. The nomadic life appears to be harsh on the skin but is a wonderfully simple and time-honored traditional way of life.
While the singing and chanting continues, we are once again the first to be approached with another huge bowl. This time it`s couscous and again, thankfully, delicious. We have our obligatory bites and watch as the bowl makes its way around the tent and the small groups dig in. We are told that the bride is in an adjacent tent undergoing traditional preparations which, we think, included having her hands and feet decorated with elaborate henna designs. While we sit in our little heap underneath the huge goat-hair tent, we enjoy it when the younger boys and girls scoot over to sit near these white strangers and look at our sleeping boys and look at us and the strange safari pants we`re wearing and our Keen sandals while they prance around in their colorful layers of smocks and robes and slippers. It is a profound moment when a young boy sits near us and I ask Mustafa how old the boy is. Mustafa asks the boy but he doesn`t know. He looks about 9. They don`t measure time by age. It is irrelevant in their lives. We thought knowing one’s age was a common denominator across the human race.
Now a group is gathering outside for dancing. We pick up the boys, who have slept through the entire experience, and move them to a new place on the ground outside. The men and women form a circle in the firelight under the stars and stand alternating man and woman and sing new chants while swaying, squatting, bowing and stomping feet. We are the only ones sitting and as the group gets larger, they begin to encircle us. Again, the sacrificial thoughts resurface. The experience starts to become reminiscent of Native American culture- dancing in a circle by the firelight with chants that sometimes sound like howls, moans and screeches within a rhythmic haunting melody. But, alas, they only encircle us because we haven`t budged from a little heap on the ground and not because we are about to be sacrificied to the gods. Soon a band of young girls sit with us and want to know our names and they giggle with embarrassment when they can`t pronounce our names as their tongues will simply not form the sounds of the American alphabet. Nor can we pronounce their names that include sounds unfamiliar to us. It`s a funny moment.
We next move to the tent to see what is happening with the bride-to-be who has not yet made an appearance outside her tent. She sits with her face and hair veiled in red and she is covered in layers of fabrics. Her mother and a plethora of other women are tending to all sorts of fabrics and traditional clothing that she is adding to her layers all the while chanting and chanting. Laura is offerred a scarf by one of the attending women as our hair is not to be visible. A woman who looks 150 approaches to lovingly fix Laura’s hair as it fell out of its place under the scarf. It is now close to midnight and it seems this celebration is going to go on all night. We catch sight of the men skewering a newly skinned goat back in the pen and decide it`s time to leave but it we`re very reluctant because we know this will never happen to us again. Once we tell Mustafa we are ready to leave, the six other men who came in the van and who we haven’t seen since arriving, suddenly appear and without being asked, hoist our boys on their backs and head towards the van. We didn’t know who to say goodbye to and who the hosts actually are but a small band of people follow us a bit to see the celebrities go and then trail off and became part of that dim single light in the blackness of the hills. We go back to the inn and sleep in one of the rooms. There are two double mattresses on the floor covered with layers of tribal handmade blankets made by Fatima over the years. We all stay dressed and just hop on the mattresses and contemplate whether or not we have already dreamed or not.
As strange as it was, it was very special and we feel as though the stars aligned for us to have ended up there. It all started out with a drive through the mountain and happenstance. Mustafa could have stopped another car or none at all and we would have driven up the road, looked around and headed back toward another area of the gorge but instead we were exposed to what`s behind the mud and straw walls and beyond the dirt pathways that meander from the road in the darkness.
Morocco Part 1
December 23, 2007 at 9:46 pm | Posted in Morocco | Leave a commentMorocco Part I October 12 – 28 17 days
Morocco was like a dream. Vivid colors, hypnotic music, bucolic landscapes, delicious foods, got-to-have-some-of-those handcrafts and the kindest, gentlest people on our adventure so far. We are finding it difficult to write just the highlights for the blog. There is so much to tell that we have divided Morocco into parts so you don`t get too overwhelmed by our ramblings.
Our adventure started when we flew from Egypt to Madrid, Spain where we planned to take a train to the southern coast and then a short ferry ride across the Gibraltar Strait into Morocco. We needed to fly to Madrid because our airline alliance did not fly direct from Egypt to Morocco. We arrived into Madrid on a sad note. We had been sleeping on the plane and the boys were sleeping with their blankets – the blankets they`ve had since they were babies and which have travelled everywhere with us for the past 8 years. When we awoke, Oliver’s blanket was mysteriously gone. We were rushed off the plane because it needed to stay on schedule so we had no time to figure out where it had gone. Oliver was too excited about our next destination to notice but Mom was going through a painful separation. We didn’t have time to stop and fill out “lost and found” paperwork because we wanted to try to catch the train to the coast. So, Mom attempted to deal with the loss while we rushed off to find a taxi.
It turned out that it was a public holiday in Spain and everyone was heading to the coast so the train was booked. We have been mentally prepared for things not going our way and we were able to easily change our plan. After storing our backpacks at the train station, we bought tickets for the afternoon train and learned from tourist information that Madrid was having a huge parade at 10:00am to celebrate their national independence day. We got to the parade shortly before it began. Calling this a parade was definitely an understatement – there were tanks, bands, cavalry and a dozen flyovers of different military aircraft. It was great for the boys and for us. After a tasty tapas lunch, we caught our train and six hours later arrived at our hotel by the pier. Early the next morning we ran to catch the ferry for the quick scenic ride over to Tangier, Morocco.
When we arrived we needed to get to a car rental agency and the only people to greet us at the dock were some hungry-for-business taxi drivers who advised us that Morocco was celebrating the first day after the end of Ramadan – the biggest holiday of the year. We were told that EVERYTHING would be closed for three days, maybe four, even the car rental places. Now Tangier was not on our itinerary due to its lack of touristic qualities, and to be stuck there for four days of our precious 14 would be a blow. One of the taxi drivers “called” some of the major rental agencies and said there was no answer. Interestingly, the taxi drivers had plenty of cousins and friends of friends who would rent us a car for “good price”. After getting some Moroccan dirham from a nearby ATM, Peter was smart to insist that the taxi driver first drive us to a car rental agency anyway. We drove through the empty streets wondering how we were going to spend four days here when we passed Avis whose door was partially open. With a glimmer of hope, we jumped out of the taxi and were pleased to find out that the robed, slippered, turbaned man was open for business and had a car available for us. What a rollercoaster of emotions the past 24 hours had put us on!
We sped out of town eastward toward Chefchouen which we`d read about in our guidebook. If this lovely town represented Morocco, we were in for a real treat! Everything was so colorful – even the whole town was painted a lovely ice blue. We walked through the labyrinth of alleyways filled with small shops all selling handcrafts. We hadn’t bought much up until now – we actually never considered ourselves shoppers nor did we ever think we would want to possess some of these unusual items yet the moment we arrived, we instinctively wanted to take some of this place for ourselves and try to be a part of it. Everything was different and special – the spices were shaped into tall cones with the earthtones of paprika and ginger glowing in the afternoon sun. The soft wool robes and delicate slippers worn by the Berber locals conveyed a feeling of peace, comfort and warmth. How could such a quiet, lovely, vibrant and welcoming place exist nestled beneath the mountains and not be full of tourists? It seemed like a Disney set up. And they speak French! The only language we can get around with. We passed ornately decorated restaurants with cumin and coriander wafting through the air. We indulged a man eager to sell us his woven carpets and spent a few hours with him as he fed us nuts and tea while the boys high-jumped the piles of carpets we had discarded while we selected our favorites. The boys eagerly stepped into each craft stall investigating all of the wares. They watched while a man sewed fabric into colorful jackets on his sewing machine and were fascinated by the wooden instruments and unusual candies being sold.
After enjoying some of the best food we`d had so far on our world adventure and a good night sleep, we reluctantly left Chefchouen and headed south toward the Middle Atlas mountains. We noticed that people walk the landscape no matter where they are. By that we mean people walk where most Americans don’t such as along the major roadways and so many of them just sit under a lone shadetree or on a guardrail doing nothing. We were always wondering where these people came from and where they are going because there are usually no houses, towns, stores, shacks or other shelter for miles. They walk and live on the land.
We landed in Fes and luckily found a reasonably clean and reasonably priced hotel with parking right within the old district- very lucky. We indulged in a dinner show complete with belly dancers, traditional dancers and exotic instruments. The food kept coming. We were the only table that was not part of a tour. Henry got a lot of attention when he was called up to participate in a dance involving twisting single-handedly on the ground and turning out rightside up. The next day we shrewdly fended off the touts wanting to show us around the town for a small fee and we negotiated the ancient streets just fine by ourselves. We were prepared for a city full of opportunists as we had read about and instead, in part because of the children, found people eager to meet us and show us their world and wares and willingly share their time with us. One shopkeeper taught Henry how to play nearly every handmade instrument in his shop while another man gave each boy a bead necklace simply because. Once again, the children reign supreme in the countries we have visited as everyone lets their guard down and their hearts show through. We realize more each day that travelling with children was the most fortunate of circumstances for us.
Our circuit around Morocco was shaped like a giant “J”. We continued south through the mountains and visited small towns with the desert as our ultimate destination. Along the way we visited wild Barbary Apes and desolate landscapes where four-year-olds tend sheep and Berber nomads live in tents in the most obscure places among the rocky outcroppings. The landscape changed with each day and none of us grew weary of the 3-4 hour car rides each day. We had audiobooks (Arthur, Berenstain Bears, Frog & Toad, Hans Christian Anderson, Rabbit Ears Series – thanks Aunt Amy) and plenty of kids music to pass the time. Each new hotel was pure excitement for all of us especially when the hotels were Arabian kasbahs that erupt from the sand in seemingly the middle of nowhere. The kasbahs literally look like sand castles and inside they are decorated with mosaics and all of the scrumptious dishes are served in the ceramic or clay tagines – a conical-shaped casserole dish. One tagine has the meat which was usually slow cooked beef, like stew meat in its own gravy and covered with carmelized onions, garlic, prunes and apricots and melted in your mouth. Another tagine had the couscous in it infused with light spices and vegetables.
We made arrangements at the last kasbah to go into the desert and stop at another kasbah who would arrange for an overnight camel trek. We were nervous about possibly arranging something hokey – we wanted the real deal. We headed out across the barren landscape and were the only car travelling this grey rock-laden lunar wasteland towards the glistening golden mounds miles away. We pictured ourselves in a movie where an aerial camera looks down on our car and then pulls up higher to reveal the miles of emptiness in every direction as we innocently travelled further and further away from civilization while happily listening to ABBA on the i-Pod remaining naive to mysteries of the otherworldly land ahead. Is it safe to be out here alone? Are we putting our children in danger? What if we run out of gas? What is in the desert, actually? Who is in the desert?
We finally arrived at the kasbah and were greeted warmly by a group of robed young men running the massive place. They`d been expecting us and quickly escorted us to the giant dining room for our lunch. We were the only ones and it was strangely exciting. Behind the kasbah is the golden, yellow desert – an isolated patch of soft golden sand stretching for miles around and containing the highest sand dune in Morocco. It is as if someone poured the sand there because it is so different than the rest of the terrain. There were camels and a number of nomadic camel-drivers lounging around. At 4:00, after discussing whether or not the boys should ride their own camels, we decided on three camels and half way into the two hour trek the boys would switch and have a turn on their own camel but otherwise ride with one of us. Our driver’s name is Youssef and he told us, in french, that he was a nomad – a family who lives in a tent and moves from place to place. His family makes a living harvesting sealife fossils from the nearby mountains. We trekked two hours over the seemingly infinite sand dunes. The boys were so excited at the prospect of sleeping in the desert as were we. The shapes and colors of the dunes were mesmerizing and we could not understand how it was that it was just our little family setting out alone with Youssef. We were relieved because we thought we might be out there with a large, boisterous tour group and feel like outsiders but here we were, just the four of us, slowly and silently making our way across the desert taking in all of the nuances of this foreign landscape.
We stopped to watch the sunset and dismounted our camels somewhat gracefully as we were getting used to the jolting experience of a camel`s awkward efforts to lay down and stand up. While we rested, the boys made a beeline for the nearest dune and rolled and slid in a flurry of laughs and giggles. They couldn’t wait to bathe in the golden suds and splash around. Peter and I enjoyed a quiet moment on a nearby dune watching the sun go down and anxiously awaiting the starlight extravaganza. We remounted our camels after the boys were sufficiently covered with sand in all of their nooks and crannies and were told that we`d be staying in a traditional bivouac. A BIV-OO-ACK is a small group of tents. The tents are sewn by hand from goat hair and decorated with colorful fabrics. After the sunset, we made it to our specific dunes – it was fascinating that Youseff knew his way with seemingly no landmarks. In the distance we would occasionally see another small group trekking or hear the sound of a distant dune buggy. We were happily greeted by yet another group of men who live and work in the bivouac. Some spoke only Arabic while some spoke French. We were shown to our tent and then enjoyed a lovely lantern-lit dinner of roast chicken and couscous and a bowl of fresh fruit. After dinner we stargazed and listened to the nomads play their traditional music. The nomads told us how they work and live there together for about a month at a time and only travel home to see their family for a day or two before coming back One man had 7 children. At home, their families either farm or dig for fossils to make a living. There was one other family from France staying at the bivouac that night and we sang some songs from our respective countries. We were only allowed to bring a small bag so we visited the nearby outhouse and and made our way to our goat-hair tents outfitted with mattresses covered in a myriad of colored blankets. Since we were behind a large dune, we were protected from the wind and the silence around us was deafening. It was so comforting surrounded by these mounds of soft, golden hills like a blanket – sort of like when you are surrounded by a new fluffy snowfall. Everything is quiet, blanketed and comforting and you just want to wrap a wool blanket around you and sit and ponder. We were very proud of ourselves for getting to this point and it continued to build our confidence in travelling independently. We have found that when the travelling becomes stressful and we`re not sure of our choices and wonder whether we should turn back or be accompanied by others, our perseverence has always been sweetly rewarded well beyond our expectations. It may not always end up that way, but this time it had.
We fell asleep to the distance chants and drumming as the men went about their duties and we didn’t wake until the 5:30 wakeup call to see the sunrise. We had slept in our clothes and simply got up and climbed to the top of the nearest dune as is the custom to take in the full impact of the morning’s sunrise magic. It is quite a workout to the climb a dune but Henry went to the top of the tallest one and Oliver followed. Peter and I stayed halfway down as we watched a sandboarder ride the waves down the dune. Without a chairlift it is hard to imagine that the trek up the hill is outweighed by the thrill of the ride but there is nothing else to do, so why not. Shortly after some tea and biscuits, we reluctantly made our way back to the kasbah with a stop or two for sandsliding. The trek truly epitomized adventure for us as we are pretty conservative when it comes to trying true adventures that involve endurance, bravery and will. We tend to spectate more than participate so this was great for us. One might say that going out into the world with backpacks epitomizes adventuring but you can still travel around the world and not inject yourself into the world. We felt we did that here. We arrived safely back at the kasbah and bought some of Youseff’s fossils and headed back to the road that would take us along what’s known as the Valley of a Thousand Kasbahs.
(click photo for slideshow)
Egypt
December 10, 2007 at 5:22 pm | Posted in Egypt | 1 CommentEgypt October 2-11
We left Bucharest, Romania via train at 6:00pm for our 15 hour train ride back to Budapest, Hungary. The train ride was lovely again and we slept comfortably (much more comfortable than a plane) and awoke in Budapest. Our plane to Cairo wasn’t until midnight so we spent the day in Budapest. At the train station, there was a convenient luggage storage facility so we packed our daily essentials into one daypack and left the rest. We take a deep breath every time we leave our stuff. We had a lovely breakfast and strolled the city. We were lucky that the Titanic exhibit was in town so we were able to take that in. Oliver had taken a keen interest in the Titanic before we left so it was especially fascinating for him. We made our way back to the train station, picked up our luggage and took a taxi to the airport. With only a catnap on the three hour flight, we arrived at 3:00am. In Budapest, we had called and made reservations at a Cairo hotel and they picked us up at the airport. The boys easily adjusted to sleeping and waking at odd times as the excitement of the adventure outweighed the inconvenience, just like the adults – plus they love shuttle vans! In retrospect, it was a blessing to arrive in the middle of the night when the roads were clear so we would not be immediately exposed to the death-defying chaotic driving that takes place in Egypt.
We arrived at the Windsor hotel in an “interesting” part of Cairo. Later we would label it the “real” Cairo and be glad we experienced it but, at first, it was jolting. Because we just wanted to get to bed, we put our blinders on and headed for the room. The Windsor is a hotel that has been featured in many classic movies for its British decor as though it has stood still in time from the earlier part of the 20th century. The small reception area was equipped with an authentic telephone operator’s switchbox which the host used to route the incoming calls while a hand-operated elevator awaited us. This was juxtaposed with the metal detector at the entrance and the armed guard which we concluded seemed unnecessary based upon our experience (but comforting, sort of). After we finished our interrupted sleep, we ventured out towards what was considered Islamic Cairo – full of market streets, mosques and outdoor restaurants. Our hotel was not situated in the tourist section of Cairo along the Nile with lights, clean streets, restaurants and museums. It was surrounded by dirty streets, whizzing cars, pandemonium and people, people and more people. We had not experienced anything like this to date and although it was chaotic, it was still exciting.
Everyone was very friendly towards us and could see us coming a mile away and would yell “Welcome”, “Go Yankees”, and, of course, “Come…I make good price for you.” They wanted us to take their picture or buy their wares. They wanted to talk to us or pinch the boys’ cheeks. We were not only the only Americans, we were the only white people that we saw for hours. People were jammed into buses, jammed on the sidewalks, and you needed a masters degree in the art of street crossing to get anywhere. Folks carried such large bundles on their heads that you could barely see their heads at all. The smiles and gentle bantering kept us moving forward. We headed up the crowded Muski Street which was a dirt lane lined with everything you could ever want to buy. Not only souvenirs, this was where the locals shopped – you could buy dresses, umbrellas, scarves, razors, oranges, toys, and pyramid paperweights. It seemed a mile long and it took us a few hours to get from one end to the other. The later it got, the more people started to fill the streets. During Ramadan, folks are quiet and contemplative during the day then they come out in droves at night in Cairo. Some of the stores stay open all night for shopping. As we approached the end of Muski Street at sundown, it became silent as store owners and shoppers all settled down in either a restaurant chair or on a mat on the ground to end their daily fast for Ramadan and eat. Suddenly the large square outside of the mosque filled with hundreds of people at once. Persuasive restauranteurs stand vigil along the sidewalks coaxing people into their eatery. We hesitantly took a seat not knowing what we were going to be served in Egypt for dinner. As we ate kebabs and pizza (phew), children and mothers approached our table offering popcorn, bracelets, songs and other useful things in hopes of a small payment. The restauranteur kept an eye to ensure no one was too insistent with us or he would shoo them away. The boys were playing with their army men on the table while we awaited our food and that attracted some young vendors who were temporarily distracted from their task of selling cigarettes. The boys wondered why children were selling cigarettes.
Traffic lights are disregarded in Cairo. It took at least 5 minutes of standing on the sidewalk to gain the courage and opportunity to dart in between the cars to cross the street. Some streets were four lanes across. Traffic lights were apparantly installed within the past decade or so and their purpose still has not yet been fully accepted. The other “interesting” traffic fact is that at night, cars do not drive with their headlights on because they believe it makes it difficult for other cars to see well from the glare. We regarded these differences with complete shock! How can a major city conduct itself this way! Sometimes we try to imagine what America was like before traffic lights and Cairo gave us a glimpse of what it might have been like.
So far on our travels, we have seen very few homeless on the streets or sidewalk. There were more in Cairo but less proportional to the number of people that filled the streets. The boys were attentive and concerned about someone on the street and always very generous to either the homeless or a talented street performer by donating any coins they had in their pocket.
Interestingly enough, where we should have been shocked and frightened of the crowds, litter, grime and dust, there was a constant reminder that this land and culture preexists our culture by thousands of years and even though they do things differently than us, their way is just as valid and appropriate as ours. Even the driving – we could not believe the chances that drivers took driving towards a group of people crossing the street but somehow they are able to successfully predict the actions of others where we would never attempt. It is an interesting dilemma to decide when you are putting your family at a real risk versus accepting the judgements of a different culture that you are unable to understand fully.
We ventured over towards the Egyptian Museum where the streets were clean and the Hilton and the Four Seasons hotels overlook the Nile. There are mostly tourists and fewer locals. It was a different world from where we were staying. The Egyptian Museum was fascinating even for novice Egyptologists like us. Most of the second floor is dedicated to the treasures found in King Tutankamen’s tomb. It is hard to describe the sheer volume of things that were stuffed into the tomb, each item painstakingly created to celebrate the King’s life and ensure a successful afterlife. The children were very intrigued with everything the museum had to offer. We had to make it a bit more motivating by asking them to find certain pieces in each room. At one point Henry’s actions afforded him a time-out behind one of the many sarcophagus relics. As he was standing there pondering his misdeeds, a group of Egyptian girls clambered around him admiring his golden hair and American looks. Two kissed him on the cheek (a common practice even between strangers when one of them is especially cute looking) and took his picture hardly acknowledging his mother’s presence. With that, it was difficult to continue with the time-out so we resumed our tour of the museum.
The next day we toured a papyrus institute and learned how papyrus can be made into paper. Oliver successfully wove papyrus strips into a paper and was very proud. We were gently but persistently reminded of all of the lovely artwork we could buy but had settled on some artwork of King Tut that included the boys’ names in both arabic and hieroglyphics. We toured an Islamic mosque and climbed to the top of its minaret to overlook the city aptly called the City of A Thousand Minarets and learned how to distinquish an ornate Egyptian styled minaret from a simple Turkish minaret. Then it was onto the Great Pyramids of Giza. We could hardly maintain our composure. The Pyramids, the only remaining one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, rose faintly beyond the haze and sad pollution strangely adjacent to the urban streets. One side of the road were houses and stores and across the street was the desert upon which the pyramids were built. We were glad to have survived the drive there and were happily greeted by a group of men and their willing camels. The boys were unaware of our prior arrangements to take camels out to the pyramids instead of the more typical drop-off area where you walk to them with the hoards of tourists. Each boy rode with one of us on a camel and we were escorted by a young man who pulled each camel by foot and by two men on horses. Mounting the camels was a trick in that first you get on when the camel is resting on the ground. Then he straightens his back legs so you are leaning forward so far that your head was about 45 degrees lower than your rear-end and then you have to hold on for dear life when he straightens his front legs and you are catapulted up from your formerly awkward position to the now not so much more comfortable position of strattling a camel`s hump. We didn’t anticipate that we would first have to ride these lumbering creatures through a small Giza tenement community so that we could enter the pyramids from a back gate and avoid the crowds. This was very strange especially when we were seeing other locals riding camels as a normal form of transportation. Not only that but they were chatting on their cell phones while doing so. This definitely wasn’t Kansas anymore.
When we finally reached the sands of the Pyramids, it was what fantasies are made of – endless sand in the distances, lonely caravans plodding between them, three pyramids graduating in size and a sunny day with no wind which is helpful in this environment. Were it not for the constant “Giddyup” and “Yahoo” and “Look Dad, yours is pooping!”, we would have felt like we were in the movies. We toured the Pyramids in a perfect way and even went inside one of them and avoided the crowds the entire time.
Our next adventure was to take an overnight train south to Luxor which involved negotiating the streets to get to one train station to buy the tickets, buying some flashlights from the street vendors (because they say you need them to visit the tombs in the Valley of the Kings) and hanging out at the Windsor Hotel the rest of the afternoon because they had internet access and we needed to upload our photos and make hotel reservations. After saying good-bye to the extra friendly staff who had helped us clean and hang our laundry and even sewed Oliver’s pants for us, we made our way to Luxor. We survived the ride to the train station and chatted with a couple of policemen from Australia who were also on a round-the-world trip (albeit in six weeks). They had just come from Rwanda where they viewed the mountain gorillas and showed us their pictures and gave us some tips for when we visit Australia. The most travelers we have met have been from Australia. We woke up on the train to view all of the Egyptians tending to their crops along the railway and living in small square mud homes with a donkey out back and a bright white satellite dish on top. This was the land that truly looked like the Egypt of your dreams (except for the satellite dishes). Papyrus fields stretching out from a gently rolling Nile river compared to the Nile in Cairo could have been the East River in Manhattan it was so busy with lights and commerce.
The ambitious taxi drivers practically knock on your cabin door upon arrival and after checking to see what the appropriate price was for getting into town, we took the short cab ride to the luxurious St George Hotel. It was an oasis from all of the chaos of Cairo – marble floors, swimming pool overlooking the Nile, and a bathroom that supplied soap and shampoo. Ah, yes, how quickly we run back to our creature comforts after suffering from a mere four days of “old world” living, and then some. Yes, the swim-up bar and the four international restaurants should do the trick. We suddenly decided that we were going to enjoy Egypt as vacationers rather than nomads. We hit the swimming pool for hours and sat on the floating deck on the Nile and had drinks and then sat beneath the stars and had a perfect dinner while listening to a zither player play classic Egyptian tunes.
The next day, we headed over to the famous Luxor Temple and had to constantly reject offers to get there by horse-and-carriage which we eventually succumbed to when we realized you could talk them down from $20.00 to about $2.00 for the ride for all of us. We hired a private guide for about $6.00 to show us around the temple and he had small children of his own so he was quite adept at explaining things in “kid-talk”. Most of all of the Egyptians spoke English so it was easy to travel and communicate. Despite the warnings against the intense heat, the next day we ventured to the Valley of the Kings where the great kings of Egypt are buried deep within the dry desert sands in hidden tombs. We had to negotiate the price for the horse and carriage, then for a taxi to transport us all day, and we even had to bargain for water and ice pops! We were experts at the end of our stay! The heat was very intense – like an oven – but the excitement of our surroundings outweighed the temperature. Even the children held up like champs.
We learned a lot about Egyptian history and hieroglyphics while in Luxor. Even without the benefits of tour guides, we were so impacted by the sheer undertaking of transporting all of the treasures we saw in the Egyptian Museum to a secret location in the heat of the desert into tombs only accessible by small passageways with no light. And the extent of the engravings along the miles of passageways forever celebrating the life of the king and ensuring his successful afterlife was mindblowing. We are sure the organized tour groups learned a lot more than we did about all of the sights and all of the tombs and sometimes we would try to eavesdrop on their lectures but tours were expensive and we would not be able to participate with the children and we enjoyed going at our own pace. We started to take pride in our ability to independently get our way from the hotel to a place like the Valley of the Kings for the cheapest price and navigate the horses, ferries, taxis and trams to get there which was part of the adventure rather than being whisked there on an air-conditioned coach. It is because of the gift of time that has allowed us to take our preferred way to get anywhere and has allowed us to interact with Egyptians at all levels and thus has been a sweeter experience, albeit sometimes requiring a lot more patience.
We were encouraged to travel further down the Nile via cruise to lovely Aswan but we didn’t want to change our flights to stay longer in Egypt because we didn`t want to have a long visit in some places and spread ourselves thin. Even though independent travel is sweeter, it takes a lot of energy to actually travel and we are still training ourselves to not try to see everything. We are finding that a place impacts our memories more if we perhaps walk the same path many times and pass by familiar sights more than once, especially for the children. We are taking our time – or at least trying to. It is a constant balancing act. So, we sat on the floating deck of our hotel, once again, and watched the Egyptian feluccas sail up and down the Nile at sunset and, once again, listened to the zither player who had shown the boys how to play, and sipped our last cup of fragrant tea before we caught our night train back to Cairo where we would catch a flight to our next destination.
click photo for slideshow)
Out of touch
November 12, 2007 at 8:35 am | Posted in Africa | Leave a commentDear friends and family,
We are out of touch since our last update as the availability of internet in Africa has been sketchy. We hope to be in touch very soon. We are doing well and are having the time of our lives.
Bucharest, Romania
October 28, 2007 at 12:15 pm | Posted in Romania | Leave a commentBucharest, Romania Sept 27 – Oct 1
Our visit to Bucharest, Romania was short but sweet. This would be our first experience with train travel via sleeper car which we arranged in Istanbul a few days before. We didn’t know what to expect considering the railway station was a bit forboding and an other hotel guest who had just arrived from the opposite direction via train had kindly advised us to remain “open-minded”. Luckily, our assigned compartment for our 11:00 pm departure was paneled in a rich wood and looked classic against the crisp white sheets of our bunks. There were three bunks one above the other all the way to the roof of the train with an exciting ladder to the top. While the children slept, Mom and Dad squinted out the open window across the turkish landscape awash with moonlight yet too dark to discipher the mysterious bonfires, movements, sounds, trees, wagons, and fields that will remain unseen on this trip. The consistent rhythm of the train against the metal tracks lulled us to sleep and we only woke once to get off to have our passports checked at the Bulgarian border which lay between Turkey and Romania. We envisioned grumpy border guards with little patience interrogating us in the middle of the night to get their jollies but rather we found sympathetic folks allowing families with children to go straight to the front of the line and we were back in our bunks in no time. See what Hollywood can do to your optimism? The entire train ride was 19 hours and because of the novelty, it flew by. We had plenty of snacks from the market and we conveniently slept in the compartment next to a family with four children (!) who were travelling to Transylvania for a weekend getaway while vacationing in Istanbul. They lived in Nairobi and before that, Thailand, and had travelled all around the world. They were so laid back about travel with children and gave us some good tips on where to go as we rattled off our itinerary. It was a confidence booster for us and fortunate to have met them.
Bucharest was nice because we had friends there and we basically took it easy. Our friend Michael was our next door neighbor when we lived on State Street before we bought our house on Pond Street. He married a Romanian girl, Daniela, and they were our hosts for the weekend! We toured around the city and were surprised at the beautiful architecture. Not knowing much about Romania, we didn’t have many preconceived notions but expected starkness but instead it was a lively capital city. Michael gave us a driving tour around the city where we were reminded of the deposed dictator Ceausescu (if you are wondering how I know how to spell his name, we have Microsoft Encarta’s Encyclopedia loaded on our laptop – handy) who was executed after being accused of crimes of humanity and how he had taken over the city and oriented it towards Communism and “the party” and the grandiose buildings that focused on the leadership. One such building was the enormous Royal Palace which was to house Ceausescu and all of his colleagues. Michael told us stories about how the Ceausescus installed thick gold roping at the bottom of the red velvet drapes so the drapes would not sway in the main hall while people in the country were starving. After his fall, the building, the second largest in the world besides the Pentagon, was deemed inhabitable because it cost too much to heat and it now sits empty in the middle of the city. We went to an outdoor museum that showed traditional country life. If we had more time, we definitely would have rented a car and went out to Transylvania to see the countryside and the Carpathian mountains famous for their beauty, skilling and Dracula associations. We were very impressed with the country architecture and at the museum and the boys caught their first glimpses of the impact of war in the indoor photographic section. It was not too graphic and was a healthy way to get introduced to war while seeing what there is to protect – individuality and the customs unique to each country.There are large parks in Bucharest so the boys enjoyed some much needed running, climbing and jumping while we enjoyed the sunshine. Daniela showed us the “old district” which we went back to ourselves the next day for some authentic Romanian fare at the “Beer Cave” Restaurant which included folk dancing in a beautifully decorated restaurant. The boys got to have frankfurters for the first time in weeks! It was our wedding anniversary also so we ate, drank and made merry Romanian-style! Since the hotel had wireless internet accessible from our room, (often it is only available from the business center) we spent the next day and a half, doing laundry, uploading photos, watching t.v., eating, and relaxing in the nice hotel that Michael and Daniela had arranged for us. It was great! Cartoons in Romanian are just as entertaining!We went out for a breather to buy a guidebook on Egypt – the next stop. Daniela told us about a big bookstore so we made our way there and, because the guidebook was in English and imported, the normally $20.00 guidebook was a whopping $35.00! Well, we expect Egypt will be worth it, so we licked our wounds and went on to mail a simple package back to the States containing some things we had collected. Not so simple. We first went to the post office nearby who advised us that we must go to a special post office that is just for mailing packages. Then we walked several long blocks to that post office only to find out that if you are going to mail something out of the country, you must go to one of two post offices in the city. By this time, we needed to get to the train station so we gave up but managed to buy a box and masking tape and took the loot with us on the train to our next stop. We also attempted to buy stamps but you needed to get on the stamp line and not the check cashing line or the bill paying line or the something else line. No one spoke English and we couldn’t figure out which line was for what nor did anyone offer up the explanation on how to mail packages so, we did not mail any postcards from Romania! Of all of the countries so far, this was the only one where we had an issue with being able to communicate! Our next stop was back to Budapest, Hungary which was returning us back to our starting point of the circle around the Balkans and was where we were due to catch our flight to Egypt. The train was a 15 hour trip but we were now so excited about train travel, we looked forward to it. We got an equally tidy cabin at 6:00 pm and settled down for our trip. Daniela had packed some cookies and treats and we waved good-bye to our short yet sweet visit to Bucharest, Romania.
Turkey
October 18, 2007 at 8:51 pm | Posted in Turkey | Leave a commentSept 19 – 27
To get to Turkey, we had to take a morning ferry from our last Greek island, Naxos, to Mykonos and spend the day waiting for another ferry which didn’t leave until 11:00 p.m. We had nowhere to keep our luggage for the day so we whiled away the day on the beach with our bags. The ferry from Mykonos took us to the Greek island of Samos close to the Turkish border. The ship was our first brush with a “what did we get ourselves into” moment. When we saw 70 year old ladies sleeping on the floor with sheets brought from home, about 100 army men intensely watching a soccer game at high volume and a snoring man laying in the aisle who wouldn’t budge from where we were supposed to put our feet, we figured our overnight ferry to Samos would just be one of those funny stories. We survived by finding a corner of the boat with few passengers and while the boys were able to zonk, we were tuned in to the snoring behind us while keeping one eye on our bags. We pulled in at 5:00 a.m. and waited in a smoke-filled coffee shop for a few hours until the small boat arrived to take us from Samos, Greece to Kusadasi, Turkey. We chose this route because it got us close to our first destination, Ephesus. We included Turkey on our itinerary because we didn’t think we would make an exclusive there in the future and we wanted to visit Istanbul at the very least. We stayed in Kusadasi at an all-inclusive resort hotel (compliments of a travel agent following a snafu). This was the first time we felt like foreigners in a foreign land. Up until Turkey, everything was very European and familiar. In Turkey we felt, at first, like outsiders. The hotel staff remarked that they had never seen an American at their resort before. This resort was for local vacationers, not typical tourists. After awhile we relaxed and simply observed how people in Turkey relaxed.After recovering from our near sleepless night on the ship, we headed to the town of Selcuk which is even closer to Ephesus. We stayed at Hotel Jimmy’s – another 4-bed, no-frills apartment that we found in our Lonely Planet travel guide. Oliver held hands with one of the staff who met us at the bus station and chatted about something on the walk to the apartment and even though the man couldn’t understand his words, he managed to say that “He has a sweet tongue” referring to Oliver’s high-pitched non-stop diatribe about the waterpark we passed on the way to town. We started off having lunch – food was good, especially the hummus. The boys had peach juice. Peaches seem to be a staple in Turkey. We arranged for a driver to take us to the Temple of Artemis (“Diana”), one of two of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World we plan to visit on our trip, and then to Ephesus – an ancient city with many remaining ruins spanning several eras. It was sundown and all the tour groups had since returned to their buses and it was just us and a few other travellers walking down ancient streets and studying walls, arches, facades and arenas from another world. We knew we couldn’t begin to fathom the importance of that place but we were glad to have visited it and the boys understood that populations had built wonderful places that were then taken over and destroyed by others and eventually were abandoned for new places.
We went back to town and after enjoying a turkish dinner beneath a trio of grapefruit, pomegranate and orange trees sitting next to a chair full of newborn kittens, and observing the local Muslims praying low down on their carpets at the neighborhood mosque, went to bed and awoke to the next morning’s call-to-prayer announced over the loudspeakers perched atop the minaret high above the town square. From our balcony, we could see everyone was setting up for the Saturday market. We were told about it but didn’t anticipate the massive effort undertaken not only to set up tables and display wares but also the hanging of the canvas coverings from one building to the next across the streets virtually turning an outdoor market 10 blocks around into an indoor market. Permanent poles exist around the town just for the purpose of hanging the canvas. This was their Walmart. You could buy figs, socks, mops, eggs, pencils, shawls, have your knives sharpened, your shoes shined or buy a new broom made from freshly harvested hay. You could also buy Turkish Delights which we had always wondered about since they were mentioned in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. They are essentially the predecessors to gummy bears – just a bit more rustic.
We had to leave Selcuk as we’d arranged for a flight from nearby Izmir to Istanbul for the rest of our stay in Turkey. We understood that the mini bus would take us near the airport and then we would take a taxi the rest of the way. The bus dropped us, in actuality, on the side of the highway where a man was sitting in an upholstered lounge chair, running the taxi show. We had to run across the highway and jump into a taxi which took us onto the airport road – for a two minute ride. Strange. On the bus ride to the airport, we saw many turkish families picnicking or resting under the largest shade tree around as though it was the only thing to do. If they weren’t sitting under a tree, they were working the land. Enough people spoke English well enough to assist us in our escapades so with their help and our travel guide, we were able to hop on and off mini buses, taxis and airplanes and managed to get where we needed to go and got to experience how the locals move about.
Unfortunately, at the airport, there were lots of tears when the boys had to forfeit their walking sticks since they were not allowed on the plane. Even Mom was sad as they had carried those sticks from Croatia and had received many kind smiles and accolades from locals and travellers alike as though their walking sticks had somehow branded them as bona fide travellers outfitted appropriately for their task. We arrived in Istanbul still wiping our tears over the lost sticks, and used our Blackberry phone to call some places in our book. All were full! So while the boys played with their army men, we made arrangements with a tourist agency in the airport for a place to stay. We are still adjusting to simply arriving in a city with no plans or place to stay when under normal circumstances, you would have made arrangements months ahead to stay in the perfect place and reserve the right tours and restaurants. We just show up. It is becoming less stressful as we go on as long as we keep landing on our feet. After the first night, we moved to a hotel we found in our book that was right behind the famous Blue Mosque and nestled within the local carpet shops and bazaars. It worked out perfectly and we spent 5 days in exciting Istanbul.
It was very festive because it was Ramadan and in the evenings, at sundown, the Muslims would break their day-long fast with a nightly festival with all of the lights, sounds, smells and traditions of the culture. We could not get enough of the celebration and we went every night to watch vendors shout out the different offerings and families migrate around the centuries old former chariot-race track to eat corn on the cob, freshly spun sugar lollipops, kebaps fresh off the spit, coffee brewing on open coals, figs, dates, cotton candy, pomegranate juice, baklava and popcorn. We drank delicious thick warm sallem – a warm milk dusted with nutmeg that supposedly comes from the sap of mountain trees. People everywhere loved our boys and men, women and even children only slightly older than our boys would cross the sidewalk just to tossle their hair and even kiss their cheeks. They were so excited to talk to Americans (we didn’t see any others) and, even though many of them also wanted us to buy their carpets, they were so incredibly nice about it, we didn’t mind being pursued. We became adept at saying no, the nicest way possible and we all learned what to look for in a good carpet. Even the boys learned that you cannot burn a real wool carpet. Everyone was very kind – they seemed to seek us out to help if we looked lost. People all around always walk hand-in-hand and men walk together with their hands on each other’s shoulders. It was a very affectionate city with no crime and nothing to be afraid of.
The mosques were captivating and the call-to-prayer every few hours (it was more frequent at Ramadan) became comforting. The boys bought wooden tops that you spin off a string like a yo-yo and then onto the ground. They played with them everywhere and made lots of friends with children and adults who wanted to demonstrate their own skill with the toy. We spent hours in the Grand Bazaar and sat at outdoor cafes drinking apple tea listening to turkish music while those around us puffed on their nargilla water pipes. Peter helped a man work on some of his English course workbook while the rest of us played Rummy. Our last day was rewarding when we took a walk along the railroad tracks to the “real” Istanbul. Away from the lights and sounds of the festivals and to the delapidated houses that abut the tracks and where seemingly ancient men and women haul heavy loads on their head or sit in doorways selling a basket of fruit. We passed a park where uniformed school children were taking a recess from the nearby school and we spent an hour taking their pictures on the digital camera and then showing them the results which delighted them. The children loved to practice their English with us. The waiter at lunch told us all about the Muslim religion and enthusiastically answered all of our questions. Later we met children who excitedly came out from their tenement to talk with us. The girl was 10 and three brothers with the youngest, Muhammed, 3, wanting to talk to us. It was market day and we admired everything there was to buy and loaded up on food for our overnight train ride to Bucharest, Romania. We would like to come back to Turkey someday.
(click photo for slideshow)
Greece
October 9, 2007 at 7:32 pm | Posted in Greece | Leave a commentSeptember 8 – 19
To get to Greece by sea from Dubrovnik, Croatia, you must first take a 6 hour ship across the Adriatic to Bari, Italy then spend the night and then take a 15 hour ferry from Bari to Patros, Greece. The first ship was fine and comfortable but a bit boring. We arrived in Bari at about 8 at night but didn’t have a place to stay and there was no tourist office at the pier. We knew we were in a bit of a jam but with the help of a ferry ticket agent who called a taxi, and a knowledgeable taxi driver, he took us to a decent hotel for the night. Did we spend more than we wanted? Yes, but that is the price of independent travel and extenuating circumstances. The name of the hotel was the Boston Hotel so perhaps it was a sign for better things to come. The 15 hour ship ride was very exciting for the boys. The ship had a pool, casino, dvd rentals, 2 restaurants, a kids play area and lots of room to explore. It also had wi-fi! It was more like a mini cruise ship. We booked a cabin and the boys could not believe that we were going to sleep on a bed on a ship. Bunk beds! We arrived 15 hours later at Patros, Greece at 5:00 am and boarded a train to Athens 3 hours away. The boys were excited all of the time. No matter what the hour or what the mode of transport, there was something to see.After missing the Athens stop (station signs were in Greek), we backtracked one stop and then called some places listed in our guidebook which we’d bought in Croatia. We found a place with four beds in a room and proceeded to navigate the metro (easy) to the right stop and hoofed it a few blocks to our hotel. It was basic (very) but it served the purpose.A travel agent helped us form a good itinerary for which islands to see and how to make our way to Turkey. We decided to spend only on day in Athens. By now it was approaching dusk so we headed to the Acropolis to see it at sunset. It was very exciting to finally arrive at a place so often shown in textbooks and magazines. We wished we were able to brush up on our Greek history a bit but we muddled through. Tour groups were gone by now so it was a treat to only share this treasured spot with a small smattering of tourists. The guidebook included details about the Acropolis which Laura attempted to translate on the fly into “kid-speak” and described the arena, the Parthenon, gateway and other buildings. Despite our attempts to explain what a special place this was and how old it was compared to other places we had seen, the boys decided to absorb the history via the marble dust on the ground which made good roads for their matchbox cars. We were all happy.The next day was Oliver’s birthday and as he was the last one to wake up, we surprised him with 3 gifts and homemade cards which depicted him in Greek garb as a leader perched atop the Acropolis so that he would remember that he turned 8 in Greece. We had secretly collected some coveted treasures along the way as gifts including a red Ferrari shirt which will now grace most of our pictures. Although the day had included a lot of administrative and logistical tasks, we promised to celebrate his birthday over several days and touted a trip to the Greek Islands and a hotel with swimming pool as part of the birthday package.
We caught a late afternoon high speed ferry to Mykonos and whisked to our hotel high above the center of town. It was nice not having to make any arrangements for the next 7 days since all was done via the travel agent. We had the best meal to date down the street from our hotel which was an area geared towards locals. The table was filled with greek breads, dips, shish kabobs, salads and wine. Despite the wild boar hanging in a cooler on the way to the restroom, the food was delicious (we ordered chicken and pork) and cheap. We spent two nights on Mykonos in a four bed apartment complete with pool and that was enough time to explore the small, touristy, pricey, lovely downtown. It was low season so we seemingly had the place to ourselves. The whitewashed windmills overlooked the harbor and we spent hours exploring the labyrinth of walkways and shops.
Laura was skeptical about going to Santorini knowing its commercial history but it was truly beautiful and an architectural achievement with whitewashed buildings cascading down the side of a dark grey volcanic landscape striated in earthtones. We would never tire of its beauty and unique setting. We stayed in a non-touristy section of Fira Stephani overlooking the blanket of fertile fields that had been created by this volcanic island. We watched farmers in wool caps and long-sleeved shirts return to their hilltop homes atop donkeys while we suffered from the heat. We watched black-clad plumb old ladies carry fruit and bread from the market uphill for their daily supper. We visited a black lava beach and collected bead-sized lava rocks to make necklaces and went to the town of Ia where we found a restaurant perfectly perched in order to get a front row seat for the famous spectacular sunset show. The natural surroundings had more of an impact on the boys than another historic site as the detailed illustrations in their journals proved.
Smoking. Everyone smokes. This has generated a lot of questions from the boys. Why do people smoke? How old do you have to be to smoke? What is inside the cigarette. Why do people drop a lit cigarette on the ground? Will a lit cigarette on the ground burn down the city? Can we buy candy cigarettes? Can I have a straw so I can pretend that I am smoking? Now the boys think it is their responsibility to go around and stomp out all of the cigarettes. Do you know how long it takes to walk down a main street in a city where everyone smokes and your children are stomping out all of the lit cigarettes? It has been a balancing act to allow them to “save the city” yet stay out of the gutters.
Our final destination was Naxos. This was recommended because it was supposed to be the “real” Greece. We had originally planned to go to Crete but decided it was too far afield and would require too many days to see so Naxos was the next best thing. It proved to be true and we spent 4 nights there and wanted to stay longer. Naxos had real sand beaches that stretched for miles, mazes of narrow paths to explore local shops with reasonable prices, fabulous food, and was a large enough island to rent a car and explore the ancient hills with tiny towns that look like they haven’t changed in centuries. We were excited to visit an ancient kouros which is a statue meant to be transported from the quarries in the hills down to the shore but the statue broke during transport and remains amongst the olive groves in the farmer’s fields. It was about 15 feet long and because it was dusk, our search was dark and mysterious as we looked for it on a poorly marked map. We also drove out to a recommended beach on the other side of the island. There was one lone restaurant and a long stretch of beach. There were 5 other people there. The water was aqua-blue with no waves but it was a bit windy (as most of the islands are) but this was perfect conditions for donning the boys towels as capes and playing superman and kicking up sand without disturbing the non-existant people. You would wonder how fresh the food would be in a lone restaurant 45 minutes from civilization, however, the platters of fresh fruit (watermelon, honeydew), hummus, fresh-baked pita bread, greek salad (to die for) with fresh feta, and the $2.00 Heinekens were an oasis.
It was nice to stay put in one place for four days. We could walk to the town, restaurants, the beach, the internet cafes and the ferry. Everyone was very friendly and loved our children – especially Henry’s floppy blonde hair. We would recommend Naxos to anyone wanting to experience real Greek culture in a laid back, authentic atmosphere. The things we enjoyed most were those things that were normal at home but a bit of a trick in another country like mailing a package – finding a box, finding filler, and finding tape. Then we went next door to find rope as Oliver left his rope somewhere. We need rope to hook things to the hotel door knobs, hang army men from it, tie it to trees, tie up siblings and generally do cool things with it.
We loved Greece and were very sad to leave. People were kind and several people, including shopkeepers and restauranteurs, gave things to the boys…just because. The bakery provided an “8” candle for Oliver’s birthday and then, looking towards the future, gave Henry a “7” and Peter a “?” candle which we all got a laugh out of. This is as close to everyday living than we had ever experienced outside of our home before and it is making us slowly feel like global citizens.
Croatia
September 30, 2007 at 6:58 pm | Posted in Croatia | 1 CommentAugust 26 – September 8 14 days.
The six hour train ride to Zagreb from Budapest turned out to be easy. We sat in a six seat compartment with two other adults so Peter and I were a bit worried about how we would be able to keep the boys calm and engaged in such small quarters, however, some snacks, homework, ipods and some conversation about the passing scenery helped pass the time. We arrived in Zagreb at the train station and this was our first time having to figure out where we were going to sleep. We called a few places listed in our guidebook and, surprisingly, they were booked or expensive. We didn’t want to stay outside of the center because we were only staying one night and wanted to walk to all of the nearby sites. We settled on a Sheraton. It was luxury compared to the prior two places. We didn’t feel we had earned luxury yet, but, we indulged anyway. We gathered up our packs and walked the 5 blocks to the hotel. Zagreb has a tourist center and we were pleasantly surprised on how European it was and appealing. We strolled up a pedestrian street and had a fantastic meal recommended in a guidebook.
We rented a car and headed north to a scenic town recommended in our guidebook. We easily took to the highway and followed the winding roads to Kumrovec. There was a open air museum of village life in the early days complete with thatched roof home, vibrant gardens and farms. The villages were reminiscent of Tuscany with clustered houses surrounding a main church on the crest of the hill and cascades of olives and grapes linking one town to another. Street signs were scant but we made our way through across the region taking it all in. The hills were so serpentine that we needed to stop and relieve a bout of car sickness with some fresh air beneath the trees while picnicking on grapes, apricots, yogurt and popcorn from a local market.
While the boys slept, we hauled down the highway towards the region of Istria. With no place to stay, we pulled in around 6:00pm and went to the Tourist Information Office which specialized in apartments. Within 5 minutes, we had an apartment, dropped off our bags and after some sign language with the owner, we made our way to a promenade that followed the coastline towards the resort town of Opatija. We had a lovely dinner while listening to a Croatian jazz quartet singing american tunes. The color of the water and the dusk sky were merged and enveloped the restaurant. We walked about a mile home along the same promenade. We hung our laundry outside one of the festoons of clotheslines that decorate all of the towns but suffocated a bit indoors as it was not until a few days later that we learned that the strange looking rectangle near the ceiling was an air conditioner and it wasn’t until a few days after that we realized that you don’t turn it on by trying to reach the buttons with a broom handle. All air conditioners are controlled with a come with a remote in your room.Istria turned out to be wonderful. We left our first apartment the next day and headed down the coast towards Pula at the southern tip of the penninsula. Pula had fantastic examples of roman ruins including a nearly intact amphitheater. The boys were fascinated by tales of gladiators unlucky criminals and explanations as to why a life sentence in jail is much nicer than having to face the lions. After exploring the medieval streets, we headed to lovely Rovinj – Laura’s favorite.
After stopping by a bat cave and a lonely church who’s claim to fame was that it contained six mummified christians (we serve the needs of all passengers), we arrived in Rovijn. Our route was dictated by what sounded nice in the guidebooks but the guidebooks never really prepare you for how lovely someplace is in real life. Unfortunately, everyone else thought so, too, and it was hard to find a place. This time we could not find the the tourist office but, we got lucky by being persistant with someone with some knowledge who took pity on us (Laura always brought one of the boys when asking for hotel availability) and found a hotel within walking distince to the town. The town kept unfolding as turned every corner until it opened up to a stunning harbor with cafes, umbrellas, lights, music, stars, strolling couples, bicycles, boats and food cooking. Overlooking the harbor was the belltower and church and the medieval town bathed in moonlight. We couldn’t believe that this part of the world was not more known to us before now but it was certainly known to a variety of European vacationers because the place was bustling – in a good and lively way. We felt like we had just crashed a private party and we felt very welcomed. The next two days we explored the hilltowns on our way to Plitvice National Park. It took most of the day to drive there so the ipods came in handy and we stopped to write our postcards and do schoolwork at a local village. There are three major hotels in the park and we must have got the last room because we paid for it! But, it was a big room with a lovely room and the boys were excited to have so much space to move all of the furniture around and create a fort and a restaurant before bedtime. The next morning we headed out for a 5 mile hike along the aquamarine-colored lakes that gradually cascade down a staircase of rock creating hundreds of waterfalls. You walk along boardwalks the whole way with your mouth agape at the beauty of it all. We took a truck to the highest end (we got to sit in the cab with the truck driver) and walked all day. There were lots of people but most were doing an abbreviated walk. We couldn’t believe how may folks were in heels “hiking” the boardwalks. The Europeans always look good. We were sure we were the only Americans for 300 miles around because we hadn’t run into any yet in Croatia.The boys found walking sticks at the beginning of the hike and they ended up keeping the walking sticks from August 31 until September 21. These sticks went in taxis, buses, hotels, restaurants, and ferries. The went from Croatia, through Greece and Turkey. They were practically like pets to us towards the end when we couldn’t take them on the plane. There were tears everywhere and it was too late to check them since our plane was already boarding when they were confiscated at the x-ray machine. We told the boys that they will go back into the earth and will probably reappear within something else they find along their adventure (Oliver is convinced that a wooden top he bought in Turkey is made from his walking stick, so everyone is happy again).
We visited Trogir, Split and the islands of Hvar and Korcula then onto famous Dubrovnik over the next week. We ended up spending 14 days in Croatia because we loved it and we had our own wheels for most of the time and were wanting to explore every nook and cranny. We dropped the car in Split and took ferries to the islands. Trogir and Split were focused on the castles and walled palaces while Hvar and Korcula were about being laid back and sitting at cafes most of the day, mailing packages, swimming, and this is where we got some good internet cafe time. It was in Korcula that we met up with some folks from an english-speaking country for the first time since we left. We chatted with them until we got our fill while the boys turned the deck furniture into a fort and took turns balancing ashtrays on the empty umbrella stand (they still haven’t touched their toys).
In Croatia, and other places, when you arrive somewhere (port, train station, bus station), folks are clambering at the end of the gangplank waving signs advertising rooms – “cheap”, “pretty”, “water views”, “close to town”, “free shuttle”. In Dubrovnik we decided to give it a whirl (prior to this we called places in our book or booked through an agency). This 70 year old woman was tenacious enough to gain my attention and showed me pictures of her place. We followed her for about 5 blocks (she spoke some english) and we kept asking “Is it close yet”, “Is it private?” (she didn’t understand the word private), “4 beds, right?”, “300 kuna, right”. We finally got to the apartment which was homely but clean (sort of) and decorated as typical Croatian city dwellers decorate. We said, “O.K” (who’s going to walk back to the port now with all of our packs) and then a young couple come walking out of one of the bedrooms (it was a 3 bedroom). We said, “Who are you?” He said, “We are renting one of the bedrooms.” Interesting that she didn’t understand the word private. In the end, they were a nice couple and they were leaving in the morning. We never even saw them after that and each bedroom had a lock. We used the suprise to negotiate a better deal and learned going forward that you must learn these words when you get to a country: Hello, Thank you and Private. The place was cheap and the boys had fun playing with the salad spinner in the sink in the kitchenette and they used other kitchen utensils to whip us up some bottlecap soup with fresh bottlecaps collected along our trails which had been safely stored in their pockets. Yum.
Everything about Croatia was satisfying to all of us: the coastal towns, the hiking, the white limestone coast set against the blue Adriatic, the bat caves, the mummies, the ferries, the wine, the castles, the pizza and the cobblestone pathways and the natural beauty. We were all truly sad to leave and we highly recommend Croatia as a family destination. The boys were most impacted by the roman ruins of Pula and Plitvice National Park. The walled city of Dubrovnik would impress anyone despite the crowds. They were also impressed by all of the fruit that grows in people’s backyards that we would buy at the fruit store in Marblehead including kiwi, pomegranates, limes and figs.
We booked our ferry tickets to get to Greece and left Dubrovnik after lunch to begin our next adventure.
Budapest
September 23, 2007 at 5:47 pm | Posted in Hungary | Leave a commentBudapest August 22-26
We left Paris after three days and flew to our next destination, Budapest, Hungary. We headed to the airport for our second of twenty planned flights. This flight was with Malev, a Hungarian company and one of the airlines within the Oneworld alliance that we were flying with. A two hour flight got us in right after lunch. Paris and Budapest were the only places we had booked lodging in in advance online before leaving Marblehead so our taxi whisked us straight to the Radio Inn (strange name). We picked the Radio Inn because it was able to accommodate 4 people at a reasonable price. Still, small name lodging usually doesn’t have a lot written about it online so it is always a surprise, of sorts, to see what we end up with. After driving past drab streets, billboards and communist-era rectangular bland buildings, we had turned onto a beautiful tree-lined boulevard which was an oasis in the middle of the city.
Our Hungarian apartment was clean, sparse but quite functional and roomy – a normal-sized 2 bedroom apartment that you would live in. It was not someplace we would book for a vacation but this was a gentle reminder that we were not on vacation and that cleanliness and function were priorities, not decor nor amenities. We soon discovered the best amenity was that it included a wash basin and a drying rack! We could do all of our laundry in two loads rather than 3 garments at a time in a bathroom sink. What luxury! Laura was happy.
One of Budapest’s main attractions is its lovely waterfront. We headed out to navigate the subway system to go the five stops to the river. Each subway station in Budapest has two people on duty that just stand there and make sure you are stamping your ticket and to offer assistance. After some serious sign language, we finally understood that for the subways in Budapest, you purchase your ticket and then time-stamp it in a machine. You can ride with that ticket for 30 minutes. They don’t check the times on your ticket when you get on the subway but there is a hefty fine if you get caught. The most remarkable thing about the subways was that each station was gleaming. Peter felt like they were straight out of Disneyworld. The box office was made of lovely pine and there were other pine cupboards and racks around the small stations. The walls were all tile with elaboarate tiles for station names and the top of each support column had ornate scrolling. You could eat off of the floor.
The stop we got off had a playground right there and the boys made a beeline for it. Not as elaborate as Paris playgrounds but they found it exciting none-the-less. We made our way to the waterfront and learned some lessons along the way like not to buy your deoderant in a pharmacy because you will pay $12.00 for it – you must buy it in a supermarket for $1.50. A liter of water at the waterfront was $3.00 yet it was .75 at the market near our hotel. Always shop at the market.
At the waterfront, there were stationary restaurant boats that afforded a great view of the famous Budapest scenery – palace on the hill, Chain Bridge across the river and the cafes lining the promenade. Dinner was Hungarian Goulash and Wiener Schnitzel. Wine was cheap (cheaper than the water) and good. The sun set as we ate and the scene became illuminated for 360 degrees around.
Day 2
We needed to hunt down some breakfast. We found a kiosk with pastries and, again using sign language, tried to find a pastry without anything strange in it for the boys. Try saying “jelly” in sign language! We ended up with plain. Oliver took a bite and said, “This tastes like, like….nothing.” It did. Oh well, it wasn’t Paris but still an adventure. We made our way to the post office (Posta) to mail some postcards and homemade birthday cards (we brought colored pencils and construction paper) and headed to the hilltop palaces. We were not always able to catch up on any history of the area. You would think we would have so much time on buses, planes, and hotels to read but we do not. The boys rarely sit still and when they are not imitating the lastest unusual sounds, they are asking questions like, “Do mosquitoes have bones?” or “If there was a spiral staircase up to the sun, would you get very dizzy going up?” or “When there is a battle, do the bad guys want to die?” These answers take a lot of time to contemplate and beyond that, we are usually navigating the map or guides or perfecting our sign-language. By the time we hit the sheets, we are exhausted. We wake up and do it all again.
So we toured the palace and hilltop churches not completely knowing who lived in the palace and what important things happened at the site and how many churches existed before the present one and what important things St. Stephen did for Budapest but it all looked nice and it was a lovely hot day. The boys learned that people find things underground and display them in museums and that old things are very important to understand how life was long ago. They eagerly looked at the faces of all of the statues on display to see who looked nice and who looked mean and called us over in a frenzy whenever they found a statue of a child. We guessed at what some of the old iron tools were used for and while we consulted our guide for the next exhibit, the boys chased a beetle on the floor. We learned that Budapest had been oppressed for a long time and was still a bit sullen as a result but they have recovered well and have a lovely city. It was all good.
The boys explored an archeological site and bought a keychain and while Mom and Dad rested on the pews of the church, the boys looked for lost coins under them. Because we are always in churches, the boys are getting quite an education on religion. They ask a lot of why Jesus is on the cross and if he was in pain and why no one tried to help him down. They want to know who put him on the cross and why and whether the people that put him on the cross really wanted to do that. They want to know what the Roman king believed and what Jesus believed and why they were not the same. Since we forgot our pocket guide to answer all questions on all subjects, we were trying to remember enough details to explain these delicate subjects. What is telling though, is that by immersing yourselves into places repeatedly like churches, museums, internet cafes (not so often), hotels and restaurants they rise to the occasion and ask questions and look for similarities in other places. They may be playing hide and seek behind the columns, but they are taking it all in through osmosis.
Sometimes their interest takes different forms. Now reading menus at restaurants is a race to see who can discipher the language and find Wiener Schnitzel (which as been scrambled a bit by Henry and Oliver and they ask the waiter for Wiener Snitchel – it is so funny!) and we have to keep track at hotels on who got to press the elevator button the last time and whoever didn’t gets to unlock the door with the room key. They want to make sure each gets a subway ticket to timestamp in the machine and want to know if the other one got to keep a coin as change from the market.
At breakfast, lunch and dinner, the boys do their schoolwork. Mom has each subject spreadout on the Blackberry calendar so that all subjects get covered during the week. We do not do work on Sundays. So since meals take at least 1.5 hours for lunch and dinner, there is plenty of time to get some work in while waiting for our meal.
Day 3
We went to lovely Margaret Island which is an island in the middle of the river. It is a “central park” for Budapest. We found an internet cafe along the way with wifi but it took Laura 20 minutes to upload about 20 pictures and it was unreliable. Frustrating. On Margaret Island you can rent a surrey bike (4 wheels) and pedal around. It seemed like a very touristy thing to do but we did it anyway because it was far to get around and see it all. Within the middle were grand spa pools. We could only surmise that landlocked Hungary made up for its distance from the sea by creating these elaborate pools. Later we indulged. You put your things in a locker but you don’t get a key. A burly Hungarian woman gives you a code that is written on a blackboard inside of the locker. You take the code with you. So, when you return to locker 450 later, you have to make sure your code matches that on the inside to be sure it is really yours. Leaving our few worldly possessions (laptop, blackberry, passports) in a locker without a key was a bit unsettling but the pools were that enticing. Picture 3 football fields length of 8 different pools with varying fountains to swim under and around. The fountains gave the atmosphere a palatial feel rather than a waterpark.
The last day we wandered around the parks taking our time to let the boys run, jump and have no place to be. We’ve been trying to take it slow and just soak in the atmosphere rather than getting to all of the sights. One more look at the waterfront and one more gelato and we headed for the train station the next morning for Zagreb, Croatia.
Paris
September 18, 2007 at 1:07 pm | Posted in France | 4 CommentsWe made it to Paris unscathed and with all of our possessions at 7:30 the next morning. Boys slept on the plane and we were happy that our full backpacks fit comfortably in the overhead compartments. We strolled off the plane to the train station. We had been to Paris before and it was a good thing because the first few days were quite clumsy and we were relieved we didn’t also have to cope with unfamiliar territory. The Paris hotel was one of two hotels that we booked before departure and it was beneficial to stay put for a few nights without having to pack back up again. We needed to get used to where all of our things were within our packs and stuff sacks. Getting out in the morning and getting changed at night took forever. Laura was reeling from the shock of leaving behind some forgotten items. Keeping our liquids separated and remembering what gadgets needed recharging became our new priorities.
Luxembourg Gardens was where we wanted to spend the most time while in Paris and we secured a hotel nearby in Montparnasse. It is a bit tricky finding a room for four. Europe traditionally does not have many rooms with two doubles like in the States. We were lucky to land a cheap (by Paris standards) hotel with a double and a bunk. Last time we visited, we had to reserve two rooms each with two singles. We stayed in a local neighborhood with few tourists and started to live the Parisian lifestyle by going straight to our favorite creperie. Chocolate crepes for the boys and ham and cheese with extra pepper for Mom and Dad. We spent the drizzly morning in Luxembourg Gardens where the children’s activities are quintessential parisian. Unique playground activities, a carousel complete with sticks for snagging the brass rings, pony rides, hot chocolate vendors, and using wooden poles to steer the antique miniture sailboats across the duck pond. We returned later in the day for the daily 4:00 marionnette show – english not required to enjoy the antics performed on stage. Mom snoozed in the back due to jetlag.
When we would finally drag ourselves out of bed and out the door at 11:00am (another jetlag symptom), we walked for miles each day and into the late night since Paris is just as beautiful at night as the day (and we were wide awake). Day 1 we walked to Notre Dame, lit candles and studied the stories told in the stained glass, Day 2 we walked to Notre Dame again, past the Louvre and the Tuilerie gardens where we came upon a small carnival complete with ferris wheel about 8 stories high with endless views in all directions from the top. We continued walking into the night to the illuminated Eiffel Tower which sparkled with strobe lights each hour. Day 3 we walked through the Latin Quarter and the right bank. We didn’t rush to visit museums or stand on long lines to go to the top of the tower – we just wanted to stroll and ease into our new lifestyle. However, it didn’t seem like a new lifestyle, it seemed like we were simply on vacation and we indulged as if it were. We rarely bypassed the carousel seemingly on every block and gelato or hot chocolate sold on every corner. Our thoughts by the end of three days, “This was going to be easy. La! La! La!”
(click picture for slideshow)
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