Beautiful Prague

The Czech Republic

Prague is the most beautiful city in the world. Dim fell in love with the city once upon a time and she has shared the wonder. The city also has her most favorite bridge in the world. The Charles bridge. Built in the 14th century. Long, dotted with ancient black encrusted statues and artists hocking there drawings/watercolours. I must say I got sick and tired of the prettyness by the end. How can one city have postcard perfect streets at EVERY TURN! I mean what are these people. Can't they allow just a few ugly run down buildings.

Soccer!

BUGGGARRRRRR! Its a crap game anyway. Found an Auusie and Kiwi to watch the soccer with. Then proceeded to drink the bar dry, but it did not help. Bloody stinking penalty! Beer is very good!

Museum of Communism

This was a real surprise. The Czechs are very happy with the speed with which they threw off Communism, once they got the chance, and very little remains of the bad old days. Thus in the Museum of Communism they had everything from a fully kitted out shop selling TWO types of canned goods, to military paraphernalia and the full story of the "Velvet Revolution". This was championed by a bloke called Vaklav Havel. He seemed very laid back, t-shirt and jeans. Leading the fray into open speech and rock music.

Other stuff!

We spent plenty of time sampling the sights. Crowning the city is a most excellent palce/castle. More stunning facades/ spires/ statues/ don't you just get tired of perfection. They call Prague the city of spires for a good reason.

We also made a quick trip down to the Jewish quarter/ town square and saw astronomical clock. This was very fancy and has been ringing the bells with clockwork skeletons for centuries.

Now a word about the Czechs. Apart from the fairytale landscape they live in, they seem much the same as any other Melbournian. They have trams, they are cute and red, Dim the little gunzel wanted to vist the tram museum (I had to put the foot down!). The beer is cold and cheap, and the locals are friendly. A tourist trap is still a tourist trap though, and you need to get a few blocks away from any of the main sights to find resonably priced foods and beers. One thing about the local cuisine. It seems to consist of oversized hors d'oeuvres. The local parma consists of a whole chicken schnitzel served on a dry pice of round bread. I don't think they have ever heard of a sandwich. But man... they do do very good chicken schnitzels.

Fuhn Fuhn Fuhn on the Autobahn

Time to sprint north and what better way than on the impressive autobahn network in Germany. Of course there was a little matter of the alps to consider.

Stop off at Trento northern Italy

Small city on a Sunday.
Dead!
Nothing, bubcas, zip, zero..

I lie, there were some local youths doing their best break dance moves in the shade of the main square. No food, no pubs, back to the freeway.

On to Austria

So you are crossing the border are you?
Do you have papers?
Are you a terrorist?

After answering these questions, avoiding the strip search, our friendly plain clothed Nazi storm trooper waved us on.... We never did find out why they caused a 10 km road jam on the freeway, just to pull aside tourists in rental cars.... But the press was turning up as we left. Lucky Dim let me do the sweet talking.

Our trip through Austria was breif, by passing Innsbruck and on to Germany (by the way Austria was very beautiful and mountainous.... and I mean big big mountains, and cute little villages).

On to Germany

Finally! The autobahn and a chance to find out what the Megane can do. I was happy doing the ton, but Dim the little lead foot pushed it up to 173km/hr. Any faster than that and the door panels may have ripped off... Well I lie.. it seemed as though the little Megane was quite happy to go faster, but the drivers were not. Travelling at that speed we made no impression on the local Beamers. All of them flew past at well over 200 clicks.

Regensburg

ODO reading: 3330.2km. Gotta love the autobahn!

Well you might say, wasn't he an American president? Fortunately Regensburg has nothing to do with dead American presidents, but it is a quaint little medievil city, with an impressive medievil bridge built in the 12th century and a surpising number of beer halls and bars... who am i kidding we are in Germany, of course there will be beer halls!

We managed to catch a little of the world cup. All the Germans were baracking for the Dutch, but they did meet their demise. Yay for Portugal. Then a storm hit. In the twilight, with the wind picking up and the clouds closing in. lightning flashing. Clouds turning deep dark purple as they are lit from within. The lightning taking its time to wander the large thunderheads.

Quite a sight when viewed among the many gothic steeples that still stand in Regensburg. Aparently it was one of the few towns in Germany to be overlooked by the bombing offensive. All of its history still remains standing. Well back to the hotel, running from the weather and time to try some local beer. Dim found a can of lemon flavoured Becks!? and I indulged in the German wheat beer. Less that can be said about the German satelight TV the better. It is amazing what passes the censors here.

Italy

The road to Florence

We much enjoyed the road trip along the Mediterranean coast. On we sped past Monaco, Nice and the Italian border. The French riviera is quite stunning, mountainous and heavily popluated. Plenty of greenery, but the houses don't stop. The freeway is a marvel in itself, cutting a swath through the mountains by frequent tunnels and amazing viaducts. In between mountains we could glimpse the coast, where the rich squander their time. Crossing the border was a shock. The wealth of the rivera gave way to the lands of Italy. Still mountainous, but a little more arid. Still with the vast number of houses but of a poorer nature. Less glitz, less glamour. More rugged.

We kept up the pace streaming towards Florence. The socceroos were playing Croatia tonight, and we had to get to a pub. A frenzied number of phone calls found us a place to stay and in Florecnce arrived we did (thanks Yoda).

A fabulous Medici mansion, with some of its space reserved for the likes of us. A beautifully large room, only a hundred metres from the Duomo itself. The place is looked after by a delightful Welsh lady by the name of Evilin. The fittings are aged, as is the decor which include many antiques and paintings. Not to mention the many cherubs, books and sculptures that dominate the halls and lounge areas. The staircase itself was grand and cold, made from solid stone, wide like a roadway. No airconditioning, but very cool none the less. This is good because Florence is a hot box (we found it easily within tolerance having acclimatised in the desert). The big relief was the lack of humidity.

The world cup.

After frantically checking-in, we launched ourselves down the stree in search of a pub. We entered one near to our hotel and the loud noises we heard soon turned out to be a bunch of Australians crammed in the back room (apparently the rest of Italy was interested in the Brazil game). We arrived to see Australia down by 2 to 1. The red cards came out, the crowd went off and the few Craotians lost it in a fury. A massive goal and frantic last minutes, all while pressed elbow to ribs in a heaving sweaty mass. High fives were the norm and "OZZIE! OZZIE! OZZIE!" was frequently heard. Glad we were not in Craotia for the game, for they looked very pissed off after the game.

A beer down the street and a quick talk with the bartender by the name of Fabio, of course, revealed that we will be playing Italy on Tuesday. The locals suddenly have new respect for the Aussies (running shit scared is what I would call it). The local beer is great and cold and the food is excellent. Although we have serriously overdosed on pizza, calzone and gelati. At least Dim is out of her kebab fixation.

The sights.

Florence is beautiful, as are the residents, who are refreshingly helpful and friendly. Their English is often much better than mine. This is good, as my own attempts at Italian are some what messy. I am beggining to ask questions in Spanish, then get a kick in the ribs from Dim...."its Due not Dos!". We have visited almost everything on our hit list and still have another day before we leave.

A quick summary of the higlights:

The Duomo: another big fuck off church. It is magnificent. Tall, large, edifice clad in intricate white and green marble, with a terracotta dome the size of Los Angeles.

The bell tower: alongside the Duomo, has 414 steps. Dim seems to be getting better at climbing. My traing regime seems to be working. Magnificent veiw. The sight of Tuscan roofs, a few high domes and the streets of Florence. A pigeon could not hope for better.

Galleria dell Accademia: The gallery containing the true David. A price hike from that listed in the guide book, but still worth every penny. The statue of David is inspiring. I can see why it became the symbol of Florence and its people (they love the David and Goliath story as well). The marble is exquisitely smooth like skin, with veins and wrinkles and love handles. Dim got a photo before the gallery attendants could throw us out. But only got a snap shot of his waist (Dim claims it was his best asset).

Palazza Vecchio: Amazing! The Medici family (on and off rulers of Florence) turned this building into a palace, filling it with works of art. Barely an inch remains which is not clad with paintings or gild. The walls remain bare without their tapestries, but the ceilings are something special. Each a work of art, with many panels each in their own gilded frame. We spent a surprising amount of time here, getting a crick in our necks. The map room was also a highlight

Galleria delgi Uffizi: Once the home to the city's bureaucrats, now the location of the Medici family art collection. The single greatest collection of Renaissance/Florentine art in the world (I think?). Plus it has Botticelli's "Birth of Venus". We spent the last hour and a half of the day in the Uffizi, before being dragged out by the attendants. Works by Michelangelo, Raphael, Botticelli, El Greco, Rubens and Leonardo Da Vinci. Da Vinci's works were of particular interest. We were able to see a special showing of his manuscripts and notes. The man was an out and out genius.

Piazzale Michelangelo: Another hike up a mountain, but well worth the view. The gelati at the top/middle/bottom was worth every penny. Damn, those pennies are starting to add up..... we will be on bread and water soon.

Too many more sites to mention. It just goes on and on. We have spent much of the time walking, moving between sights, museums, gelaterias, pizzarias, bars and cobbled streets. And to top it all off there will be a fireworks display tonight.

Festival of John the Baptist.

The patron saint of Florence is "John the baptist" and his day happens to be 24 June. His society happens to inhabit the lower floors of the mansion in which we are staying. We were woken this morning by loud trumpets and a steady beating drum. Peering out the window we were greeted by a substantial march by men in garb of the Renaissance. Dim kept saying "They are wearing pontaloons! They are wearing pontaloons!" The marchers received a gift from the society and then left to continue their journey to the Duomo and then the Plazza Vecchio. There used to be a medi-evil football match on this day, but it has been cancelled this year. Apparently the damage toll from last year was steep. The day will finish with fireworks at 10:00pm ... ermm 9:15 now ...

Fire works were awesome.

current plans ...

ermm off to the Czech Republic? Poland? Croatia? Then back to Italy via a ferry from Dubrovnik, then a journey to Pompei and finally Rome where we will be meeting friends of the family (fingers crossed).

- all the best Nick and Dim

Skimming through France

Avignon

We visited the French walled city of Avignon in the lands of Provence in France. Some hard driving from Spain left us half way across France on the way to Italy. Don't ask about our current road toll deficit. Damn commercial freeways. Anyway.

Avignon is grouse. Many, many , many gelaterias, creperys, kebabs and anything else which can be served with fries. Dim has been on a kebab kick since Granada and it may well continue to Italy. But do they really need to shove french fries in your kebab? The village centre is fully enclosed by a modest and scenic wall. The populace resides around 88,000. We lucked in on a music festival and somehow found a place to stay just outside the main gate. Yay for E-tap.

The city was in full swing, the whole population seemed to have arrived. With carrousels and balloons crammed into the cobbled streets. Very similar in nature to Granada, except the streets are wider. The music of the festival was abysmal. I have not heard such bad karaoke. Please no more Brian Adams!

The morning after we walked along the banks of the Rhone river which skirts the city wall. Very scenic and populated by enormous cruise barges. They stretch for almost a city block, but are relatively low, with only two decks. Their width is also narrow. What was most disturbing were the tourists themselves, who were all strutting their stuff on the fore deck wearing nothing much other than the regulation budgy smugglers. Have Europeans no shame?

Another early start ... ermm insert leave after lunch... and off to Italy. We will be returning to France for the Tour de France.

Spain

The Rock

We left Marrakech by train in a first class sleeper. An uneventful and comfortable journey to Tangier. The ferry from Tangier to Algeciras was also uneventful and speedy. They were using one of the Australian designed Devil cats. A highlight was the Rock of Gibralter (Dim still does not fully understand the strategic ramifications of any World War 2 game and "the Rock"). I was excited!

Note to overseas travellers! Do not under any circumstances let Dimitra organise train/bus/airplane departure times. Sure.. how was she to know about the daylight savings currently underway in Europe, or the two hour time differential between Morocco and Spain. At long last we got a bus to Malaga and our car hire awaited. A brand new Renault Megan, with a bare 40km on the ODO. Now we were free! Beware any one expecting tourists on the right side of the road.... what did that street sign mean anyway?

GRANADA

Soon we were in Granada, where Muslim Spain met its demise in the 14thC. Granada was great, although it is a nightmare to drive. The city is overlooked by the Alhambra. A red rock of a fortress encompassing the old Muslim fortress and the new European palaces which were built by their replacements.

Enough of that boring crap... Granada rocks! We stayed in the old city, a compact city of narrow coblestone laneways that pass themselves off as main roads. The city was spotless and popular. The oldies were out with their family right up till midnight, mixing with the crowds of younsters and tourists. All seemed very pleased to be out and sucking down a gelati or two. Puts our Australian civilisation to shame. We lock em all up in front of the telly. Which brings us to the main event in Granada and I am not talking about the footy.

Bull fight

Ole! the crowd yells, standing in their seats as yet another young bovine charges the matador. A series of close passes sees the young matador grab the bull in an embrace, much like a couple waltzing in time. Stepping away the matador bows whilst the bull comes to halt, having lost his target. But not all goes the matadors way. In the 4th match of 6 (just after half time) the young matador was tossed and gored, being flung by his ankle. Moments before he had performed a most daring maneuver. He got down on one knee before the bull with his back turned, and bowed to the crowd. This maneuver and the following misteps that lead to his injured leg had the crowd in rapture. But he went on to finish the fight. What a match! They even paraded the dead bull on a victory lap of the arena. I am sad to say that I was objectly horrified, yet inthralled by every maneuver. I loved the event. I could not tear my eyes away. If was a bull, and was set for slaughter, I think I would prefer this method of being sent off. Rather that than the slaughter house. I have heard that Barcelona has banned bull fights all together, but has had trouble convincing the population. I was not expecting the event to be enjoyable. I really am at an ethical empass.

Whilst in Granada we also visited the Sierra Nevada. An alpine mountain range popular with skiers and hikers. We climed a little further than the road would take us and found a little snow still remaining on the slopes, but unfortunately the view was blemished by thick cloud (note to self: Dim really, really does not like climbing mountains).

We also visited the Las Alpujarras, a series of small villages which border the southern edge of the Sierra Nevada. The towns themselves are dug into the steep hillsides, stacked one on top of the other, with narrow winding pathways leading between. At a place called Pampaneira we tasted the best water of our lives. Ice cold and fresh from the spring. Only down side was the miserably small bottle that we filled up. After the trip we returned to Granada for some Flamenco action. New ODO reading 450km.

Flamenco

Sitting in an theatre overlooking the Alhambra we were treated to a choreographical display of Flamenco dancing. Dim was thrilled, I was excited. My feet stomping with the dancers, All I wanted to do on the walk back was stomp and shout OLE! The dance troop included ages from 7 to 30. The younguns had Dim in stiches, whilst the solo performance of the lead stars was outsanding. The music was supplied by a 7 piece band including guitars, percussion, flute and a dead ringer for Mick Moloy.

and so onto "Alcala del Jucar"

New ODO reading of 999km.
On the edge of Castile, to the north of Valencia on the edge of "man of Lamancha" country we found the most stunning village of Alcala del Jucar. Nestled in a sheer gorge, it is an oasis nestled in the surrounding arid terrain. A cascade of terracotta rooved houses descend from the cliff top to the river floor. Looking over all is a castle perched at the sumit. Absolutely "gorgeous". Our arrival coincided with the Brazil game. So we drank the local beer, learnt some bad Spanish and cheered against the locals who all seemed to follow Brazil. Damn the result but a good game none the less.

We nursed our hangovers up the village the next day (again note to self: Dim really hates climbing things). But the view was spectacular, as was the fantastic sculpture park at its sumit. The rusted steel people were fantastic. Great photo oportunity all round.

Barcelona

ODO 1500km
And so we left the charming village and found the big bad city of Barcelona (pronounced with a good lisp by all Spaniards). I hated the stinky city but loved the amazing big fuck off Gaudi church. I can't believe they get away with calling it a church. We visited other sites but nothing compared. And it is still not finished! Made the whole trip worth while.

So long stinky city and onto France.

Last stop in Spain

ODO 1822km?
We stopped of at Figures to see Salvadore Dali's home town. He left a legacy called the "Theatre Musea" in which lie a large number of his works, many tricks and optical illusions. The central courtyard includes a black cadilac, reportedly once owned by Al Capone. Insert 1 euro in the slot and it rains inside the car. Very bizare. Dim kept saying... "How does anyone think up this stuff. It is amazing".

Will tell more later for it is on to France.

The road to Marrakech

The land to the south and west of the High Atlas is barren and arid, as one would expect land that lies next to the Sahara. But there are surprising oasis of green to be found. The river valleys that head southward create verdant stips that are intesively farmed. There is a stark contrast beween the arid hills above, and the thin narrow strip lying in the valley below. Date palms abound, as do the people. Their mud coloured houses cling to the edge of the farmland and valley sides. Intricate irrigation channels divert the water and it is used to farm dates, lucern (for the cows), wheat, maize, corn, apricots, poplars (for lumbar), the odd fig tree, apples, cabage and mint.

Only three colours prevail. The arid brown-red hues of the land and housing, the brilliant blue sky and the vibrant green of the date palms and fields. Other colours only exist in the clothes of the people. White is popular in one place, whilst blue or yellow can be found in another valley. In some areas all the women wear nothing but black. The vistas are spectacular.

From the Sahara we travelled eastward to stay amongst the Berbers in the Todgra gorge (deep, forboding, rocky and spectacular) then the Dades Valley (narrow farmland, with an impressive windy road), then the road of 1000 kasbars and finally Marrakech. The Berbers are all very friendly and rely on tourism for much of their living. Road side stall abound selling distinctive Berber goods. From beautiful plates in shades of rose, yellow, dark blue or emerald green, to jewelery and cloth. Each item bearing the marks/designs of its tribal origin. No longer do the Berbers tatoo their faces with tribal marks. Their craft lives on in their blankets, carpets and other wares. This is what makes them unusual in the Islamic world. No fit Muslim would pray on anything but a plain and undecorated rug.

3-1

We found out about the socceroos' victory whilst passing through the atlas mountains. The bus went wild and our local tour guide was left speachless. The sounds of "three one, three one, three one" was chanted for a good distance. Australian's prowress with the round ball has given us new respect amongst the footy mad Moroccans.

Marrakech

Marrakech is a large city, with surprising wealth and activity. The out skirts are populated with many gardens, including roses to rival those of Benalla. Hotel Ali was our destination. It had much to be raved about in terms of location, but little in luxury. Situated right on the edge of the main square, we were able to gaze out over the crowds from the balcony. The square itself is the highlight of Marrakech for some, whilst the frantic activity of the souk was a highlight for me.

The square itself varies in character during the day. From morning to dusk it is the realm of snake charmers, soothsayers and monkey trainers. The edge of the square is framed by ranks of wagons selling "freshly" squeezed orange juice, whilst the centre is occupied by ranks of food vendors. Sit down and instantly a varied assortment of delicacies will arrive. From olives to calamari, the food is fast and spectacular. Our guide Said prevailed upon us to avoid the salads, but few of the group remained without stomach cramps the next day. Dim's first aid kit of medical supplies proved to be worth its weight in gold. It seems that no one else thought to consult with a travel doctor and get stocked up with the right drugs before departure. I am pleased to say that our own bowels were unaffected.

By night the nature of the square has changed. Small rings of local men gather to listen to musicians. The sound of drums prevails till midnight. Street vendors still remain and beggars are plentiful through out the day.

The maze of markets is reminiscent of Fes, but not as twisty. The large number of stalls was overwhealming, but their produce was not. Available for purchase were slippers (so many slippers), colourful Moroccan dishes, wood work, leather goods, spices, lamps, metal works and bright shiny jewelery (very popular with the girls). We came through relatively unscathed, although I am now lumping several large plates and a complete leather poof for the rest of our journey (perhaps they may break by "accident" and we can leave them behind).

It has been a pleasure gettong to know our many guides. I think that the Moroccans are a very reserved people, slow to share their confidence. I find them to be honest, friendly and delightful, with a keen sense of humour. As the tour has progressed, we have learnt much on their inner characteristics. It is amazing that such disparet groups of origin can form a society with little tension between race or religion.

Time to go, my spelling checker is wearing out and she wishes to have more ice cream (they have Magnum lite here). We leave by train to Tangier this evening, then by ferry to Spain.

The maze of Fes

So much too see, so long between internet cafes. Our tour group of 11 Ausies and 4 kiwis is to be crammed into a mini bus for the 11 days. A continual banter involving rugby and the animal husbandry of sheep has kept us amused between stops.

Volubilus

On the way to Fes we encountered the Roman ruins of Volubilus. An impressive pile of rubble. The best preserved ruins in Morocco. The city was beautiful, once upon a time housing about 20,000 Romans and slaves. Over the years many parts have been restored, including several floor mosaics, a bath house and vomitorium (my kind of people), and a most impressive arch de triumph. From first glance it all looks like a pile of rubble, but it is a pile of rubble with many a story. Even Dim kept her interest going, and she hates the discovery channel.

Fes

You are in a maze of twisty passages that all look alike. Welcome to the medievall city of Fes. A large portion of the city is still as it was a 1000 years ago, with tiny narrow streets winding for kilometers. We did our best to get lost, the only contact with the outside world being the thin blue strip of sky above heads. Even that disapeared at times. Every where is busy, with all forms of human endevours acted out in compartment sized chunks. Here a street stall selling slippers/ silk/ sheep's heads/ olives. Mean while a human stream of life flows efficiently through the twisting maze. People live here...It's amazing. Step off the beaten path and you encounter tiny courtyards with many domiciles facing inwards, everything is at least two stories high.

Weaving in and through the maelstrome are the donkey taxis. Donkeys, mules and the odd hand cart carry every item imaginable from gas cylinders to raw brass and foam rubber. The hooves are shod with old tyres cut to fit. You better act fast to step out of the way before being run down. Without our local guide we may have been lost for ever.

Our guide was magnificent, leading us onward to exotic locations within the maze. Turning in seemingly random directions we would find ourselves in a Berber house selling rugs and blankets, sipping sweet mint tea and being treated like royalty. Other stops included weavers, tailors and the famed Fes tanneries. The tanners were a surprise, this edifice has been in production for uncounted years. Thank goodness for the mint leaves we were proffered. By grinding them into our nostrils we were spared the stink.

Gorges of Ziz

We were now in the back roads and heading towards the Algerian border. Soon we would be on the verge of the Sahara, and the fertile farmlands disappeared. The bus tour continued onwards to arid vistas of rock and dust, looking much like the North of Oman. But coursing through this country are the river valleys fed by the high atlas (mountains). Later we would stay in a few of the different valleys and meet the locals.

Sahara

Our group trekked out acrosss the desert sands of the Sahara in the fading light. An hour later we entered a Berber camp where we would spend the night. Our camp consisted of rugs laid out on the sand and tents made from more of the characteristic Berber blankets. We were treated to a feast of tangines and bread followed by fresh mellon. The weather being so good we slept outside beneath the full moon. Late morning brought a chill and we were forced to huddle under our camel rugs. Did I mention the huge desert spider that sent the girls screaming. It ripped a wave through our mist as the screams sent it sprinting straight for us. Our nimble guide recovered from early shock and killed the beastie. Dim held me particularly close that night.

Morning brought a magnificent sunrise, which we viewed from the crest of a neighboring dune. From there we could see the source of many sounds of the night. A group of nomads had also camped nearby, and seemed to be the source of the tame cats and loud roosters. Have I ever mentioned how much I hate roosters.

The setting was beautiful, as was the food and friendliness of the guides. Although I suspect that I will be getting no good loving untill Dim recovers from the camel ride.

I will write about our last days in Morocco and Marrakech soon.

Hotel Cassablanca

Arrived in Mohamad airport yesterday and took a "Grand" taxi (grand means an ageing white mercades with some windows still working) to Hotel Cassablanca. I kept expecting Manuel to make an appearance, or for John clease to come bursting through the door. Although they would all have to be conversing in bad french. Have yet to ask about the war.

The country side is very much like North East Victoria in December; complete with crops being harvested, bales being stacked, and gum tree plantations left right and center. The only differences being that the equipment being used is a little older, and the farmers are dressed in robes. Temperature is a relief after Dubai at only 28-30° C. (hows winter down under mwhahahah?)

Cassablanca

A city not much smaller than Melbourne, with strong art deco influence in its artchitecture. Aparently French rejuvanated the city after colonisation in 1920. Many parks and fountains (all dry) and tall palm lined boulevards. the Locals seem to love the outdoors, with every scap of lawn being taken up by familys enjoying the sun.

Although the population is mainly islamic, they practice all the good Muslim principles, and are mindfull of other religions. the five pointed star on the flag does not actualy refer to the 5 principles of Islam, it actualy is representive of the 5 tribes that live in Morrocco: Arabs, Berbers, Christians, Africans, and Jews. Outwardly they all seem to get along, I just can't get used to them all speaking French. The food is fantastic, but we have been forced to learn some french to get along.... the alternative is acidently ordering a plate of Liver!

Grand Mosque

An amazing building. built in about 1980 to enchourage tourism by King Hasan.. impessive feet as it took most of the wealth of the city to build, and that the populace will revolt if taxed to high, or if bread is too expensive, etc etc. It is the second biggest mosque in the world! Have since found out that it can't be used for serious worship as a building that fancy is totaly against Islamic egalitarianism. Took an impressive number of Photos. The mosque has manny stunning fountains, but again we found them all to be bone dry.

Menkes

We travelled to Menkes from via Rabat where we got ripped for lunch... bloody bus tour railroading. Dim and I have resolved to go by the lonely planet guide book next time. Every one of its eaterys has come up trumps and at the right price. Menkes is amazing, situated in the heart of fertile farmland, and being home to Berbers Jews and arabs in equal numbers. Of note this is the only place in the world where signs are written in Islamic, french, and Hebrew! Some very impresive sightseing.

King Ishmauel Set went to town on the place in the 3 centurys ago. Came in and knocked off the berbers (The Berbers are well renown warriors, and also have somewhat heathen views of of there adopted religion Islam), and set up the city as capital of Morrocco. He kicked out the portugese, made war on the spanish, defeated the otomans, and made fast friends of the French. He built a gargantuan palace here as a gift for King Louie's daughter, but of course this was refused, but the palace remains.... ermm... well there was an eart quqke in 1715 and every thing was leveled (palace included). This means that there are some spectacular ruins and a kasbar (central most protected part of city) that you can drive through.. no twisty streets. The city is undergoing restoration now that its tourism potential has been revealed.

Off to Fes tomorro. Spelling and grammer going to hell.. I blame these frenchie keyboards.. Damn frogs have moved all the keys around!

Fire & Ice

Dubai is a land of extremes. Let’s start with Friday. It’s the holy day for the locals, but that just means that its time to go to the mall, and by mall, I mean small city under glass. The Arabs understand two things very well: bigger and taller. There are already a dozen enormous malls in Dubai, and I hear the next mall on the building blocks will be the size of Lilydale. Our Local even has an indoor ski slope, chilled to negative four degrees.

ICE

Dim, Georgie, Dom and I spent the holy day together and took on these extremes starting at “Ski Dubai”. Two hours of swooshing down the mountain, drinking hot chocolate, and watching Georgie smear herself across the slope made for an unforgettable experience. Ermm…. By mountain I mean a 400m indoor slope, complete with chairlift and ski school, and an alpine lodge. The less adventurous locals gather at the bottom and pelt one another with snow balls.

FIRE

The step from freezing cold to the generous warmth of the car park (39 C in the shade) wasn’t enough. We needed more. The only answer….. QUAD BIKING! So it was off to the desert. In about the time it took for my frostbitten toes to recover, we were at Big Red. (Big Red is an enormous red dune that lies within easy striking distance from the city. 4wd driving is almost the national sport, and it can get kind of crowded in the desert.) 40 dirams later and we each had our own quad bike, and were racing pell-mell across the dunes. Hot dry sand spraying, the smell of two stroke acrid on the lips, and a grin that would split a watermelon.

DRIVERS BEWARE!

A few notes about Driving in Dubai, and in particular Indicators… firstly be aware that some drivers indicate left when they really intend to go right, especially likely if the vehicle is a bus. Up until this point I had not been aware how useful the hazard lights can be. They are regularly used on the freeways, and can mean any thing…. I mean anything. In general they mean: stand clear because I am about change lanes violently, but I am unsure as to which direction to choose. According to the local rag, there are 300 accidents daily. So far our taxi drivers have failed to hit a thing… but it has not been from lack of trying.

DRSC

I have been training the squad at the Dubai Rowing and Sculling Club. They are highly motivated rowers of varying experience, but are lacking in coaches. Hence I was very popular. Have been training the doubles mainly, and have been out with a one legged man from Copenhagen, a delightful Australian woman called Jeanette and her husband Fred. These are the founding members of the club, and are very motivated… as you must be when the weather is so hot. Fed and an Englishman named Ian were out in training this morning. I have been helping them prepare for a local race. They are to race 4 nautical miles in ocean going double sculls. Apparently the event will take one and a half hours. The row went swimmingly. (well they almost went swimming.) To great surprise I was presented with a club cap and t-shirt….. ermmm… plus they have now called one of the spits of land Nick point. The damage from that particular collision should be fixed by the time I arrive back in August.

Well off to Casablanca tomorrow morning. Gee… this hot weather is just miserable..