[amsterdam...]

[travelogs : a series of short, minimalist posts about places I've been and things I've seen...]

Amsterdam is well known for two things - weed and the red light district.  Lets be honest, these things aren't everyone's cup of tea (or piece of brownie), but I do think that Holland has a lot more to offer than just cannabis cafes and red lights.  The weather for the few days My Guy and I were in Amsterdam was gorgeous - sunny but with enough of a chill to remind us it was still winter.  Amsterdam, you may know, is built around a series of man made canals - and for me this was its redeeming feature.  Particularly at night it felt a little seedy to me, but the day time was very pretty along the water.

Memories.

Anne Frank's house was a bit of an eye-opener.  I was impressed by her as a young girl, and her drive and intelligence as they lived in hiding for two years.  //  The canal cruise was very pretty, and a nice way to see the main sights of Amsterdam from a different perspective.  //  Bike riding is a big deal in Holland - almost no one has cars - my fourth photo above is of one of the bike parks, which hold over 3000 bikes per day. // The peeps like to eat hot dogs from vending machines (munchies, anyone?!), and drink coffee in cafes on the many beautiful canals.  //  Public transport is awesome and super easy to use (although I did get on a tram the wrong way through the gate and wonder why My Guy got shut in the door and people were laughing at us.)

 Perhaps I was swayed by what I previously knew of Amsterdam (and my runaway imagination), but at night I thought some kind of deal was being made on every street corner.  I suspect summer is a better time to visit Holland - I'd love to have seen the tulips (my favourite flower!), the windmills and visit a cheese factory. Perhaps another trip is in order!

 

[iceland...]

[travelogs : a series of short, minimalist posts about places I've been and things I've seen...]

A few memories from a fabulous trip/road trip with a husband and two dear (girl) friends. //  One of us, I won't say who (its a boy), fell over on the ice three times in less than half an hour.  I'm talking full on, slice your hands open and crack your tail-bone skids.  //  The wind was ice cold and so so so so strong - not for the dogs though - they thrive in minus forty degrees (celsius) and they towed us all around the place, those clever mutts.  One of the dogs is famous - she was in a music video for David Guetta (as a wolf) .  // Aurora Borealis (the Northern Lights) was on holiday, so we missed her this time - better luck next time I hope!  //  I ate an amazing steak sandwich at the oldest cafe in Iceland.  It was very cute and had a funky toilet whose walls were completely covered in signatures, words of wisdom, letters from around the world.  //  We had a swim in the Blue Lagoon, silica masked our faces and after that ate an amazing lunch, in a fancy restaurant in our bathrobes (so stylish).

Iceland was one of my favourite places that I've been.  It was brisk and welcoming, it was stark and beautiful.  It was harsh and it was empty and it was wonderful.

[what the bus just happened?...]

Dear future car owner and driver,

Just writing to fill you in on a perfectly normal trip home on the bus today.  London transport can be quite iffy at times but in any case it (usually) gets you from A to B and that's the main thing.  Today was no exception.

Diary of a bus trip

(*times are estimated*)

(*pictures are from my archives*)

1745:  I am luck enough to step off my bus and straight onto the one behind it.  I call this 'the speedy interchange', and today I'm super grateful for it cos I just had to wait almost 2 1/2 hours for my ten minute appointment, we have dinner guests coming and I'm a little over it. 

1746:  Two dudes practically push me out of the way to get on the bus ahead of me.  I'm not sure what happened to chivalry but I don't intend to let it die so I give one of them the opportunity to be a real man and I forcefully let him go behind me.  I'm kind like that.

1747:  I'm standing up, now in between the two dudes, under one of their armpit with my... ahem... chest in the ladies face who is sitting down.  Sorry lady.

Bus driver is ranting about how we need to move down inside the bus and no one listens - it's only safety after all, and we all just want to get home.  Every man for himself.  So the driver kicks the front-est guy off the bus.  There's a lot of yelling.  There's a lot of 'is this not polite enough for you, sir'.  There's a lot of 'it was my bag, not me'.  The guy eventually gets off and we leave.

1750:  A baby is squealing.  You know the squeal, that one where it climbs inside your brain and hacks away at your sanity with a small, high pitched chisel.  I feel sorry for the Dad, who does nothing about it despite death ray looks from other passengers.  He has probably learned to tune it out I guess.

1753:  We stop the bus, and let a few people out the back door.  Still we don't move down the bus, we're just glad we've got more room.  No more pit in face or boobs in head situation.  I'm actually breathing in my own air instead of recycled air.  A couple ladies are waiting patiently at the front door for it to be opened for them when the driver pulls away.  He's still too full.  I couldn't hear over the chisel in my brain but I think I saw her mouth the words 'why didn't you buckets move down inside the bus?'

1758: At one of the main stops, a whole bunch of people get off and I manage to move up the back.  There are graduated steps up towards the back seat and I sit in the first one up the step.  I choose the right hand seat because there is something wet on the left hand seat - a lady with a baby (not the screamer, but another one) is sitting there and I can only assume it's wees from her baby, or perhaps breast milk.

1759:  The guy I sat next to wants to get off so I get up to let him off and get my foot stuck under a bar so I'm kind of half up and half down, but he still tries to climb over me.  I manage to get my foot out and he's on his way.  Lady with the wee wee/breast milk baby now has a muttering talking shouting screaming completely losing his rag baby on her hands.

1801:  A couple of steps on, a man waits to get off the bus and I scope him out from feet to head.  He's in sneakers and cargo pants.  No biggie.  Further up I notice a dark t-shirt with a leather bomber jacket over top.  Little bit rocker.  Then we reach the top and I notice a head of completely grey/white hair and... wait for it... a sweat band.  I surmise he's off to band practice and he likes to keep the sweat out of his eyes.  Rock on, Gramps.

The guy behind me, in the seat one further up the stairs (as in, his knees are at my head) starts to cut his fingernails on his lap.  It may be my imagination but I'm pretty sure my hair is now peppered with dirty fingernail clippings.  I'll find them later.

1803: The wees baby is interrupted from his screaming by a man bringing his double buggy in the back door.  He moves wees babies pram over to behind the pole and parks his extra wide load in the gap.

Here's the kicker.

1807:  Wees babies Mum must remember at the last minute that this is her stop.  So she gets up with the screamer under her arm, and heads for her pram which is somehow wedged in the corner with a double buggy and twenty-five people in front of it.  The on and off process for this stop is coming to an end fairly swiftly so she does what any normal mother would do when their buggy is stuck on a bus with not much sign of release in the near future.  She walks calmly off the bus, puts the now eerily quiet baby on the pavement in the pitch black on a busy London road and gets back on the bus.

Let me repeat - bus is packed, buggy is stuck, Mother is on bus, baby is standing in the middle of the pavement.  In London.  On his own.  In the dark.

Driver shuts the bus doors and engages the gears to drive away. 

I am looking out the window at the baby standing with a quivering lip on the dark sidewalk, his face lit up by passing cars.  I send up a quick prayer to the One who listens and I ring the stop bus bell fifteen hundred times until the doors open back up.  By now, double buggy guy has lifted wees Mum's buggy over top of his mobile and biffed it at her.  She calmly walks off the bus and proceeds to wrestle her baby into said buggy, and although he has made himself into some kind of toddler shaped ironing board and refuses to bend at the waist, she straps him in.   Doors close, end scene.

1810:  We have arrived at my stop and I disembark from this normal, everyday journey in the London Transport system.  Let me tell you, it's never boring.

Love, public transport user and appreciater.  xx

[essouaira...]

On the first day we arrived in Marrakech we hit 46 degrees.  

It was a nice break to pop over to the Moroccan coast - Essouaira to be precise.  It is about twenty degrees cooler at the coast.  We did a day tour with a local guide, who was lovely and knowlegeable.  He also had a very interesting playlist on his ipod which included Peter Andre's 'Mysterious Girl' and some arabic songs and even a bit of Shania Twain.

I'm afraid this post may be a little photo heavy and a little word light, but I wanted to get it up.  Hope you don't mind.

We came across these amazing goats who climb up into these trees and stay up there all day for the fun of it.  Believe it or not (not).  In true Moroccan fashion, some lovely men let us hold the baby goats that they happened to be holding at the base of tree...

... then charged us 100 dirham.  Oh.  If you look closely you'll see the little shelves made of branches, and up the road we saw some more guys giving the goats a... lets say... helping hand to get into the tree.  Funny thing.

The coast was considerably cooler and very interesting to visit.  We were significantly more conspicuous as tourists than when we were in Marrakech, but somehow that didn't feel uncomfortable or negative, quite the opposite in fact.  It felt like we had more of the culture to ourselves.

I particularly liked the seaside, with its wind and fish smell.  I guess it felt a little like home somehow - being able to smell the sea.

Each city in Morocco has a colour theme, and Essouaira's is blue.  

See?

Moroccan streets are lined with tall, coloured concrete buildings.  They boast shops selling oils and herbs, home made key rings, all manner of knick knacks.  They are also complete with a number of pets, which look like they need would love to be adopted.

As in Marrakech, Essouaira is hustling and bustling with markets, people who want to help (and take your money).  People who live from dirham to dirham, with children who need feeding and cats who need tending to, and whose entire living depends on tourism. 

People whose simplest pleasures in life are simpler than you and I could dream of - and they are richer for it.

[mad morrocco marketplace...]

In the middle of the city of Marrakech is the marketplace.  A giant open space surrounded by small stores and mosques.  And filled with people.  The people are the heart and soul of Marrakech, and I would challenge anyone who doesn't smile at the conversations and advances of the Morroccan people.

By day, the market houses souks (stalls) and juice stands, along with a few guys who own monkeys wearing pink shorts, some ladies who do fake henna tattoos and some snake charmers.  (Note:  There is no such thing as a free lunch photo taken of a snake/with a snake/of a monkey/with a monkey/henna tattoo/henna flower/tour guide/anything in Marrakech.  I recommend learning to say no in french - it will make life a lot more enjoyable and a lot less awkward...)

At dusk, setup begins for what will soon transform into the food markets.  What can only be described as a cacophony of sound and smells, of hustle and bustle emerges from the ground up.   Tourists from all walks of life are propositioned by men selling their wares - juice, scarves, herbs, hats.  They speak fabulous english and entice you with promises that their product is 'the best ever' and they are having a  'half price sale', or even a 'liquidation sale'!  

The food stalls are numbered - a vibrant man stops you to inform you 'Number 117, it will take you to heaven.'  A few steps on is 'Number 88, you just can't wait'.  The food is cheap and potentially cat related (there are a large number of stray cats for the taking), but it feels like just what you need after a 46 degree day browsing the souks and drinking lemonade in the (very warm) shade.

Somehow the market manages to feel inviting, welcoming and exciting while at the same time making one feel a little anxious, frightened and overwhelmed.  Marrakech is amazing and even life changing in its entirety.  The people and the culture make for an experience like no other - one to be absorbed by osmosis and processed when the time is right.

As the sun goes down over one of Africa's busiest and most lively open air markets, it is easy to believe that you have stepped into some kind of cultural show.  The square and its entertainment is certainly aimed at tourists (and their wallets), and the locals are most welcoming and attentive.

Marrakech, you crazy city you.  See you again soon.

[wordless wednesday]

This picture is from a while ago, but I think it encompasses the beauty and crispness of Austria.  We did a tour of six countries in eight days, and Austria was - in my opinion - the most scenic.

I  love how close these countries are to London.

[travel bug...]

Most amazing and potentially life changing experiences, I believe, cannot really be described to someone who was not there.  Not in such a way that they would understand intricately the emotions, the smells, the sounds, the thoughts. 

The tale of a travel bug can be summed up in a few short words, and after this left to the readers imagination.

Morocco, and more specifically, Marrakech is a world like no other.  Even the people that live there say so...  They said things like to me 'Marrakech, huh?', with a knowing smile on their faces.  They said 'So, how do you find Marrakech?"  My reply?  'Yeah.'  They looked at me with interest.  They have seen it before - tourists overwhelmed and overcome by the busy-ness of a cacoon of craziness.  

The day My Guy and I arrived in Marrakech, it reached 46 degrees celcius.  It was as if I had stepped into a rather large furnace - complete with sweat and dust.  Sweat and dust in every. single. orifice.  This traveller was not built for heat - no siree.  

When leaving the safety of the airport, I was quickly struck by the realisation that I had stepped off a cliff, and there was nothing for it but to hope Morocco would save me.  The heat was oppressive, but not only that -  I was assaulted by an insult of noise, of smells, of people. 

 And all the time a smile on my face.  What have I done.  Where am I? 

The traffic consists not only of cars, trucks and buses - you know, the usual methods of transport.  We also lurched violently past donkeys and horses with carriages and trailers. We danced past pushbikes and small motorbikes with whole families on them, or bags of flour so big the driver couldn't see over the top.  There are no markings on the roads, and yet there is no beeping save for the friendly toot which says 'look out, I'm about to pull in front of you so don't hit me.'

The buildings are large and yet the faded teracotta colours mean they blend into the background.  They are unassuming - no one separate from another, or more obvious.  Actually it's the people that stand out. They are the ones that catch your eye, that beckon you to look a little harder.

My Guy and I sat quietly in the backseat of our taxi (pre-booked - we'd been warned about local taxi drivers' tricks...).  There were no words to speak, as we reached silently across the seat and touched little fingers.  Just enough to remind us that we were here, together - that we would always have this moment.

geeksville... and proud...

See my other posts about our trip to Vancouver and Whistler here.

On our final day in Vancouver, we had a little extra time to kill, so in true geek fashion we headed to the local botanical gardens.  If you can't handle nerdiness, hit your escape key now (do people still use escape keys?)  If you want to see gorgeous plant life, and colours you couldn't make up in your wildest imagination - then hang in there.

 To add to the geek theme, we wore matching jackets.  Die hard geeks.

Heading into spring, all the flowers were in bloom, and there was every colour imaginable (and more.)

I felt like I appreciated the imagination and creativity of a God who wants us to enjoy life!

I revelled in the deliciousness that was around me...  (romantic gag)

I stopped a while to smell the... uh... red ones.

Hope you enjoyed this journey into dweebsville with me.

Thus ends the trilogy that was our trip to Canada - country of awesomeness.


* Originally written for www.kendylsplace.com