More Flying Fun and Games

So... fingers flexed, and it is time to start writing again. It's been a while since I put 'pen to paper' as the saying goes. Therefore to make this task a little less daunting I’m going to break our recent trip down into more manageable 'bite-size' pieces.

This year for our fall break, we had originally planned to do a tour of Northern Italy, stopping off at different International schools in the hope of making friends and potentially finding a job for next year. This idea morphed a little when we thought of maybe taking a day trip into Slovenia. There are just so many things to do there, that we decided to spend most of our time there.

The excitement started before we even left Morocco. Those of you reading this who used to frequent this blog regularly, will know that few journeys within or originating from Morocco, are without event. Whether it is driving to the shops or flying home, some eyebrow raising event is usually guaranteed to happen.

We have learnt, through repeated painful experiences, that when flying Ryanair into and out of Morocco, the 10 pounds for reserved seating is money well spent. The mad dash for the gate is worse here than I ever saw in Asia, So many sweet little old ladies have mercilessly perfected the art of negotiating the smallest of gaps, armed with the juxtaposed tools of the sharpest of elbows and a very innocent expression, to squeeze their way to the front.

This trip we were flying with Ryanair from Fez to Milan. It was early morning, but we had had our coffee, negotiated the passport control without incident, found a child-free section of the departure lounge, and had our reserved seating tickets. Having got up early, and made Shannon and Nate get up early on the first day of their holiday to drive us to the airport, we were then a bit dismayed that the flight seemed to be delayed without announcement. But no matter, this is all part of the holiday after all. When the boarding was announced, we shuffled our way forward to the 'Priority Boarding' line. This is always something of a rewarding experience, as the attendant patiently, then not so patiently explains to pushy people that they do not have priority and must join the back of the other queue. If you are a person who wouldn't pay for priority boarding then yes, we are those annoying people, the ones who get to go to the front of the queue. But after ten flights this year alone, we're done dealing with the annoying line jumpers.

Well, this time the joke was on us. The plane was delayed even further. When we were called to board it had not even landed. Instead we had to stand with the sun beating through the window, right onto the priority boarding line, wilting in the heat for almost an hour. When boarding time finally came, our line was ushered out and on to a bus. This is not usual practice, normally we walk, but we figured they just wanted to move us somewhere, due to the fact that we had been waiting so long. It became the airport version of a holding cell as we sat for another 5-10 minutes on the tarmac outside the gate. When the plane was finally emptied and our bus began to move off, the boarding gate was opened and everybody else was instructed to walk to the plane. This seemed a bit strange and worse, incredibly frustrating, as all on the bus realized that we seemed to be unable to go faster than about 6 miles an hour. The people walking also seemed to realize this, and all of a there began a sudden insane sprint to the plane. The racing business men, djellaba or high heel restricted women, and towed children was quite a sight to behold. The bus did make it to the plane first, but to everyone's further frustration the door remained closed and seeing their chance the sprinters increased pace.

While this farcical situation was annoying, none of this worried us too much, we did have reserved seating after all. But for those who had opted instead for Priority Boarding it was incredibly frustrating.

When we finally reached our seats, we breathed deep and tried to bring an illusion of calm upon us, after all, we were on holiday. We tried to ignore the overhead locker chaos, the increasingly irate instructions of the flight attendants, as they try to get people to find a seat, or actually secure that child instead of letting it climb over the chair in front. We even tried to ignore one flight attendant's mad dash up the aisle as the plane increased speed down the runway to instruct some deaf/ignorant person that they should really “SIT DOWN!”. We tried to ignore it and think of the holiday ahead, but as they dash past with an oxygen bottle you start to get a little distracted.

Just another day on the Ryanair Fez route.

We are lucky enough to be off to Rome for a week next Sunday. I wonder what surprises we'll get on the Fez Rome route.  

Yay! There's pig under there...

Living in Morocco has its own unique benefits. These include endless sunshine, great food and quick flights to Europe and home. Sadly socialising and cheap alcohol are not amongst the benefits. Last week we took a much anticipated trip to Spain on an alcohol and pork run. As I have mentioned before, much to the Moroccans dismay and our delight, Spain has managed to hang on to two small enclaves on the Mediterranean coast of Morocco. Although they could do with being a little closer than 450 km away, we appreciate them nonetheless. After our last stressful seven hour drive to Ceuta, for this trip we decided to visit the slightly closer town of Melilla.

Melilla is a 12 kilometre squared piece of land and port which has been part of Spain for over 500 years and is highly contested by most Moroccans. Similar to the other enclaves and all the small islands close to Morocco that are considered to be Spanish, Melilla is somewhat of a sore point with the Moroccan government who believe the areas should be under Moroccan rule and the Spanish should leave. The Spanish are sticking to their guns and are not going anywhere. This decision seems somewhat hypocritical considering their contention over the British rule of Gibraltar.

The drive from Fes to Melilla is relatively easy by Moroccan standards. It is 450 kilometres in sunshine so strong that when experienced in a car without air-con makes you feel like you are being baked in a tin, even in March. However, half of the way you are on a highway that is empty and runs through land resembling the Lake District, and the other half is along a pot-holey but reasonably straight road that is good for overtaking on. Frustratingly, we made it 450 kilometres in four hours and then five kilometres in an hour when it came to crossing the border. It seems that we were not the only people who wanted to go to Spain on a Saturday lunch to do shopping. Surely the cheap shopping isn't cheap enough to warrant an hour border crossing each way? Yes we drove 450 kilometres in search of a Lidl, but we were on a long distance beer and pig mission. The fact that Melilla is one of the most popular places for illegal immigrants to enter the EU added to our queuing time. However, the thorough car checks and six metre barbed wire fences with watch towers seem pointless when people appear to be able to wander through without being stopped.

There are few borders that I have crossed in my travels that give you that feeling of literally entering another world. Obviously you always have that few kilometres or grubbiness and chaos, that seem to occur no matter how wealthy the country you are entering, but usually what's beyond that is reasonably similar to what you have left. Leaving Africa and entering Europe in the space of five kilometres is quite an experience, one that is probably only matched by crossing from Mexico into America. Not only are the streets, buildings and cars smarter, it is almost like the air is cleaner as well. We are perfectly content with life in Morocco, but immediately upon entering Spain you feel you are in a whole other level of civilisation and order. There are road markings, litter bins, long tree lined streets, fountains, parks and ornate buildings, all of them gleaming. You turn a corner in search of a secure underground car park and there one is just where you need it. Amongst all this pristine order stroll stylish families off to meet up with equally stylish friends and spend the entire day sitting at café tables enjoying tapas, wine and beer all the while looking very....well....stylish.

Now I am sure most European countries have there own version of this, but Spain seem to have this one down to a fine art. Long lazy sunny weekend days enjoying small chilled-cheap beers, great table wine and a never ending stream of amazing nibbles that are heavy on the pork. The extent of our longing for pork was such that as a plate of mystery tapas was put down later that day Nick exclaimed with glee “Yay! There's pig under there!” For our first round of tapas we settled in as close as we dared to all the stylish people in a restaurant overlooking a square. Here we were subjected to being taken advantage of as naïve tourists. The waiter, when kindly taking the time to explain the confusing menu to us took our nods not as confirmation of our understanding of product, but instead as confirmation of us wanting to order everything he listed. Unlike the tables around us who were presented with a restrained nibble or two at a time, we were made to look like immense pigs as six large portions of food were brought to our table all at once. While this was all very enjoyable, we hadn't quite been prepared for what was to be the most expensive lunch we have ever had. 

 

 

 

After lunch we went for a short walk before admitting defeat to a full stomach and going for a lie down. In most places going to bed late afternoon is a recipe for disaster, or a missed night at least. In Spain it seems that yet again they have planned for this eventuality. Enjoy your long, lazy and stylish lunch, sleep it off and make your way out refreshed and ready to start your night just about the times pubs in the UK are closing.

Riads, riads, riads....

Riad Fellousia

I have had a small obsession with riads for many years. Everything from staying in them, stealing design ideas from them, to buying and doing one up has been considered. It is therefore with a pleasure to live 60 kilometres away from the medinas of two Imperial cities. We don't need much of an excuse to go down to the big smoke and test out different riads. So far we have been to sunny Riad Maison D'a Cote and formal Riad 53. Tempted by the thought of Christmas shopping and a break from the quiet of Ifrane we were thrilled to find an absolute bargain $40 stay at Riad Fellousia in Meknes. 

Maison D'a Cote

Riad 53

The Meknes medina is far smaller than the one in Fes and we have been told by many people that it is prudent to browse in Fes but purchase in Meknes. Prices are lower and the hassle far less. As this is our first Christmas at home in four years we are keen to take lots of local gifts back home. Partly because it's more original and partly because no present is worth going out looking for on Christmas Eve in the UK, the first full day we are back.

Set against the fortified wall of the medina Riad Fellousia has five suites and is a warren of little doors and steep staircases. Three of the rooms are situated around the small garden courtyard, the others up on the second floor sharing a lounge and with balconies into the courtyard. Decorated with local arts and crafts it is more on the traditional side than the other riads we've been to, but in a low-key Berber way rather than a ridiculously grand and fussy way as is often the case. 

For $40 a night we weren't expecting too much. We couldn't believe it when we saw the place. the location was so good that from the roof terrace of the riad it was possible to sip Moroccan tea while watching the shamens and snake charmers at work. Our room was a suite with an old converted section of a hammam for the bathroom. A hammam is a traditional bathhouse. Although only a few are still used, and now act more as spas than a way of life, these bathhouses were once the social centre for all women. Important for men as well, as there was often no place to bathe in the home, they were traditionally more valued by women as they were the only occasion that they were allowed to go out of the home and interact with people. It would have been usual to go and spend a whole day bathing, getting scrubbed and stretched, relaxing and gossiping surrounded by other women. Now people have bathrooms and go there only as a treat. Our converted hammam was a low ceiling arched bathroom with a toilet cubby that had a door frame that came up to only chin height and a slightly misplaced pink glow. The blue tiled shower was big enough for about ten people. 

 

As well as being a great place for much cheaper riads and a calmer medina experience than other Imperial cities, Meknes boasts the claim of having more pubs than any other city in Morocco. We saw quite a few but I’m not sure how relatively unknown and un-touristy Meknes can beat places like Tangier, Marrakesh and Casablanca. Having had our fill of tajine and Moroccan food we went to the highly recommended 'Le Pub'. Here it was a relief to see men and women out socialising and having a drink. This place is ruled by coffee shops. The majority of which will not have a single woman in them. It really isn't that sexist here, it just seems that way when you're in search of a café. Anyway, it was a pleasure to eat and drink in an almost pubby atmosphere with a roaring fire, beer, seafood starter, amazing blue cheese steak and red wine for under $40.

After our success at Le Pub we decided to carry on and investigate some of the other recommended drinking establishments in the area. Our next stop was the somewhat suspiciously named Novelty Bar. This was one that had been recommended as a great place to visit by a number of websites. There are two levels to this bar and when entering we were shepherded upstairs by a slightly bemused doorman. Upstairs was low ceilinged, smoky, neon lit and full of men. Not quite to our taste we went for the downstairs option. Upon entering we had one of those experiences you always read about. All chatter ceases and all eyes stare. We made it across the room full of Moroccan men before we decided that perhaps this wasn't a drink we really needed to have and turned and left. There it was, white woman in pub of Moroccan men, instant heathen. 

The rest of the trip was quite uneventful. I was called a Berber three times when shopping. This was on account of the fact that I have learnt to haggle the Moroccan way and managed to get most things at quarter of the price. Which is somewhere close to the real price. The only one annoyance of the trip was as we were leaving where we encountered the most aggressively begging child I’ve ever come across. About five years old and clothed nicely she lived in one of the houses along the alley from the riad. So angry and demanding for a Dirham, she grabbed, pushed and ripped at clothes. When I told her to stop she just laughed and pulled harder. She was not in desperate need and found it highly entertaining to harass the foreigners. Standing and shouting at kids in the street is not how we planned to end the trip.

Riad Fellousia http://www.riadfelloussia.com/

Riad 53 http://www.fes-ryad53.com/

Maison d'a Cote http://www.riadmaisondacote.com/riad_meknes.php

Visitors!!

Well, it has felt like forever coming around, but finally, over much last minute hammering and tidying away, we had people to visit the home we are so proud of. Both Nick’s and my mum were brave enough to pay us a visit. Unlike most mothers in law who don't know each other before their children get together, our mums have already travelled together and often catch up over coffee in our absence. Not the usual situation for most families, but then again very little is normal about my family and its set up.

Hoping for the best of what autumnal Morocco could show we were relieved when we checked and saw the weather would be fine. Not sure who wrote that forecast but they need to find themselves a job that they are more proficient at. It was blustery, cloudy and cold when we went to pick them up from the airport late on Thursday night and was only to get worse over thr course of the weekend. We were keen to be there on time to hopefully relieve some of the stress of arriving in Fes that we were greeted with when we arrived. The airport is okay, but you go from a chaotic flight (even by Ryanair’s standards) to an even more chaotic and cramped arrival lounge with suspicious customs men. To be fair they were far less suspicious of our mums than they were of us. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that we were bringing an oversized odd shaped bag in and trying to get them to believe it was a snowboard when it was 40 degrees C outside.

Once through and safely ensconced in the car you would expect the worst to be over. Not in Fes. Blessed with not only some of the worst drivers on the road and the worst lit highways you have ever seen, or not seen as the case may be, Fes also has some of the most Kamikaze like pedestrians I have ever encountered. Wearing only black these suicidal people of all genders and ages wander aimlessly along the road with little regard for potential loss of life. They find the darkest spots or the least visible corners and decide that this is the perfect place to cross the road. Without street lights, cats eyes, road markings or moon, you only see people at the very last minute. This was not the best first impressions to present proudly to our mums.

Now, we were fully aware of the fear that this and the general chaos that usually ensues when navigating around Fes would cause to an unfamiliar driver who is accustomed to the relative order of the roads in the UK, outside of London at least. It was for this reason that we decided to head down to Fes early in our hire car and do a trial run to make sure we knew the route and could instil our guests with confidence that we were in control. Within five minutes we were lost. Within ten minutes we were completely lost, and within fifteen we were so lost I couldn’t even tell which way was north. This is about as lost as I’ve ever been and reduced me to near panic attack. People were everywhere, kids were rolling tyres down the middle of the road and we were surrounded by crazy drivers. What was worse was that finding an approachable looking person to ask directions from in a dark and run-down suburb on the edge of Fes took a bit of time and nerve. Eventually we were heading back to the airport and deciding to stick with what we knew… a route that we had found on our previous attempt to get around the city when we got very lost. Following maps here is a nightmare, they have so many new roads that are not on the map that you are instantly lost.

Thankfully we got our guests to the medina without too many wrong turns. Sadly this was not the end of our woes and our failings in presenting the best of life here. As with most riads, ours was one that was somewhere inside the medina. The Fes medina is home to around 350,000 people and is the largest car free zone in the world. It is a veritable warren of streets and houses. For those who were not born, raised and learnt the hard way how to get around, it is impossible to navigate, especially with two mums and wheely bags. Knowing this we had come prepared and had a telephone number for the riad. We parked up at the gate and called to have someone come out and get us. This plan didn’t quite work out. Nick was quickly told in aggressive broken French-Arabic that our booking wasn’t for that night but the one before and the day after. The kind man then hung up on Nick leaving him rather stressed and me trying reassure our increasingly concerned guests that all would be fine. At this point our solution arrived (as it always does in Africa), in the shape of a young man who for a not so small fee ran in front of our car to find us a safe place to park and then took Nick off in search of the riad. Nick was met there by a friendly young woman with perfect English who had been worried we’d gotten lost. Thankfully all was fine. We still have no idea who we phoned.

Thankfully, when there, Riad 53 was everything we had hoped http://www.fes-ryad53.com/ . Three stories high surrounding a central blue tiled courtyard, it had enough ancient features to go with the ‘mod’est of mod cons. We even had sensor light switches. We arrived late and the table was set waiting with a small mince tagine and lots of warm fresh bread. Sadly they later tried to charge us 40 Euros for this small tagine. It should have only cost about 10. it was good, but not that good.

Next day we were up fresh and sprightly for our morning tour of the medina. Nick and I had explored once on our own but had been so terrified of getting lost that we barely ventured off the main route. This time we wanted to do it properly with a guide. Whereever you go in the medina you are likely to be followed, called out to or harassed by young men helpfully trying to show you the way or act as an 'unofficial' guide. Needless to say they still want official payment. Following the advice of many we hired an ‘official’ guide. He arrived impeccably dressed and was incredibly well spoken. Neither Nick nor I are one for tours and find we quickly get bored. This gentleman gave us the perfect balance of walk and talk, providing us with just the right amount of information. The walls of the Medina are from the 9^th Century. Most of the rest of it from the 12^th. What is called ‘New Fes’ was added on during the 13^th Century. It really is ancient. The oldest university in the world is in the middle and is today still used as a mosque. We toured around one old Islamic school with most of its original tile work and beams. Having spent so much time looking at the mosaic walls and thinking ‘my, aren’t they pretty’, we were astounded to find out the every part means something. From the base layer signifying the first level of schooling to university and further enlightenment of prayer, the walls are covered with representations that have lasted the test of time. Some of the most detailed work that has lasted is made from gypsum and egg white. Not something you would think would stand last the ages.

Having a tour guide was really worthwhile. We wound our way along narrow alleys, past traditional bath houses and even under some buildings along a path 4 feet high. Every so often you pass a leather tannery. You can’t see these places from outside but you can smell them a mile off. During the treatment of all the hide, which is pungent in itself, guano is used. When visiting a tannery you are provided with a sprig of mint to hold under your nose while you view the treatment pots from overlooking terraces high above. When walking near one of these places you are hit with such an onslaught of smell that you struggle to breathe until you remember to breathe through your mouth. It is a smell that seems to permeate the hair, clothes and skin. That’ll be that dreaded Bog of Eternal Stench again…

After spending two days back in time in the medina, driving back through Fes towards Ifrane is another onslaught of the senses. Back to masses of cars, bad drivers and crazy pedestrians. This is the side of Fes that I hate. The medina is a world away from the city that is pretending to be organized and modern. Thankfully driving up to Ifrane you quickly get away from the crowds if not the bad drivers. With rain and low clouds all the way we were quickly rethinking all our countryside appreciation plans. Thankfully the miserable weather can’t detract from how pretty Ifrane is and when we arrived the mums were shocked by just how picturesque it was. Autumn leaves, red sloping roofs and French mountain architecture look good in any weather.

Apart from getting home and starting a bid fire we did little the rest of the day. Much longed for supplies from home were unpacked and appreciated, and warm comfy clothes put on to ward off the increasing cold. We did tempt the mums out with the thought of hot chocolate. We took them up to Michliflin resort. Not expecting the grandeur and huge roaring fires of the five star resort that is owned by the King, they were both blown away and declared intention to stay there on a future visit no matter what the cost. Later that evening after some research, this thought was quashed by a $250 a night price tag for a room without a view. All of a sudden our sofa beds looked quite inviting again. Even our drinks were $10 a pop. The food menu is ridiculously expensive and not hugely appetising. I have no idea how the place survives stunning as it is.

The next day to our great surprise we woke up to snow. Due to the altitude here it snows at around 2 degrees C. This was definitely not what our visitors had expected. Defeat was finally admitted and sun cream was put away. We set off for our morning coffee well wrapped up and then instead of our planned walk we drove around and explored the area from the warmth of the car. Snow softens the landscape here which is admittedly very bleak in places. Snow also brings up what the Lonely Planet describes as the 'hoi polloi' from the warmer cities. Bus and car loads of people come up to play around on the slopes in the snow. When we drove past the ski area people were renting sledges to put on the tiny area of snow that remained and dragging each other over patches of mud and rocks and out into the road. Snow obviously goes to their heads even more than mine. On the way back to Ifrane we stopped off at our friendly carpets seller's shop. Hassan has run the shop for nearly ten years. Set in side a small riad it has head height piles of carpets in many rooms and other ancient artefacts dotted around. It is musty and a little dark but a great collection of history. As well as a bit of history on carpets, local language and tribes, he gave us tea and a desert saved for special feasts, all with no pressure to buy.

When we dropped our mums at the airport later that day it felt good that it will only be four weeks until we are back home for Christmas. Regardless of the nice apartment, small classes, fresh air and countryside here, that is one of the biggest perks of the jobs for me. Cheap and quick access to home. Probably the one and only time I’ll consider Ryanair to be a perk.

Despite the stressful start and bad weather, all in all I would say our guests left having enjoyed their stay and hopefully want to come back. Now, who's next...