Morocco – The calm of Marrakech

February 21-24

Salam!

I'm led to believe that this is how you say 'hello' in Arabic, the language of our latest destination: Morocco. Most people actually say 'bonjour', but there is a valid reason for this which I will explain shortly. Hannah and I will be experiencing life in Northern Africa for the first time as adults, both of us having been to other countries on the southern side of the Mediterranean in our teenage years. Not that drinking alcohol or other adult things is on our agenda.

A brief information overload before we begin. Morocco is situated in the northwest corner of the African continent. It is home to snow-capped mountains, the Atlas range, and the world's most famous desert: the Sahara. Like most African countries, it was under the control of a European protectorate. The fact that many here will say 'bonjour' and 'au revoir' should enlighten you as to which country exerted heavy influence over Morocco in the first half of the 20^th Century.

If you have seen the classic film Casablanca – here's looking at you kid, if you haven't – you will be aware that Morocco was involved in the Second World War, supporting their French masters. Independence, and the establishment of the Kingdom of Morocco, was achieved in 1956. Their flag is a distinctive green star on a red background, and can be found proudly fluttering around the country.

Aside from Casablanca, couscous and the Sahara, you may know little of Morocco, its culture and history. A quick Wikipedia search led me to realise that famous Moroccans are few and far between (Adel Taarabt and one of the Sugagbabes, apparently). The capital, Rabat, though recently shortlisted as a top travel destination by CNN, is in reality seen as an administrative city. So what would bring a person to the Maghreb on their travels?

We'll start the adventure in Marrakech. Not that we really understood where we were, having spent the night trying and failing to sleep in Milan airport in order to catch a very early flight to the High Atlas region of Morocco. We were particularly puzzled trying to locate our riad, essentially a bed & breakfast. Unless you opt for the life of luxury in an extortionate five-star hotel, your accommodation in Marrakech will be hidden down a network of narrow alleys. Narrow doesn't do it justice, particularly when considering the number of people using this confusing myriad. Nonetheless, a few friendly locals managed to guide us to our riad. It's fair to say we would probably still be looking otherwise.

Marrakech is a low city. I don't mean low geographically – the vision of snow on the distant mountain ranges would make that a foolhardy statement – rather, the buildings rarely sprout above three floors, with the exception of the towering minarets dotted around this Muslim city. The combination of this and the arid climate results in all riads having beautiful, tranquil rooftop balconies. Even the fact that ours was being painted couldn't dampen the aura of calm we experienced.

Calm is a word that most tourists would certainly not use when describing Marrakech, but the reasons for that will become evident in the next blog. I was pleasantly surprised, however, by the opportunity provided for relaxation in a city stereotyped as being chaotic and cacophonic. Considering the dry climate, I was actually quite shocked to find the volume of lush green parks that are dotted around the outskirts of the old city walls.

One of the more famous gardens, the Majorelle, is a shrine to global flora. Of course, the lack of rain means that many of the plants on display are of the cacti variety. It is an exotic and eclectic array of greenery and shrub collected from lands as far away as Mexico and South Africa. The garden itself was bought by Yves-Saint Laurent in order to preserve it, which I imagine costs quite a few dirhams to do.

Even away from the parks and within the walls of Medina it is possible to find a silent alley, more so north of the main square, and meander along without seeing a soul. These pathways house lots of beautiful Islamic architecture and designs; the doors and arches being particular highlights.

The quietest place we have found so far is silent, but for a reason: it isn't finished yet. The National Theatre, located across the road from the train station, looks majestic from the outside. As you can see, however, the inside is very much a work in progress. It was thus surprising that the 'concierge', as he introduced himself, was keen to show us around. Not at all surprising when he asked for a tip at the end of our journey. I have a secret tactic for tips which I will share next time, but I thought the idea of seeing a building during its construction phase was worth a small fee. You wouldn't want to do that in Brazil at the moment, though...

At the beginning I mentioned that alcohol will, in all likelihood, not be consumed over the course of the next week. Though not a fully dry state, you would need to be a devout worshipper of beer or wine in order to find relevant watering holes in Morocco. The drink of choice out here seems to be either black coffee or a mint-infused tea. We have opted for the latter, and spent our afternoons sipping on this sweet drink whilst watching the world go by.

So Marrakech is a place where you can channel your inner calm and unwind in a peaceful, quiet and naturally green setting. Well, it can be. As you'll see from the next edition, however, you would be missing out on the wild side of Morocco's culture capital.

Love you all

Matt

Czech Republic – Skiing and sliding in Spindler

December 14-15

Hello everyone!

If I were to say ‘winter’ and ‘Europe’, most people would conjure up a vivid image of mulled wine, wooden markets and dustings of snow on famous, historical buildings in their imaginations. However, others may enter a more active world of whizzing down jagged, hellish mountains before suffering an inevitable bone-crunching fall. The crooked smirk on the faces of such people when they are dreaming of winter sports is a primary sign of madness within their souls.

Such is my view of all things cold, wintry and beginning with S – skiing, snowboarding and skating. As usual, I feel this way because I didn’t learn to master any of the aforementioned sports as a child, and consequently can’t do any of them with a remote degree of fluency. An infamous attempt to ski in Austria five years ago, where mountain rescue were almost called due to my inability to get down a slope without falling every five seconds and only just making the last bus back to Salzburg, hardened my opinion that skiing and snowboarding are for those with a large vacancy in the space where their brain should be. They seemed unsafe, expensive and, more than anything, cold.

Forgive me for the shoddy pun you are about to read, but of late I have warmed to the notion of being able to propel myself accurately down a large, snow-licked mountain. Having a skiing lesson in Kazakhstan not only made me accept the humiliating fact that children will get from top to bottom far quicker and more elegantly than I could, it also brought a realisation that it will take more than one hour of learning to actually get from top to bottom. In one piece, at least.

Skiing is a popular winter activity in many continental countries, and the Czech Republic is no different. There are resorts scattered around the country but the primary resort is in a town called Spindler in the northeast of the country, close to the Polish border. It is a two-hour drive or two-and-a-half hour bus journey from Prague, depending on the transport available to you. It’s a quiet village geared solely to the pursuit of enjoyment outdoors.

We arrived on a Saturday lunchtime, feeling jaded after a Christmas party the night before. Being the opening weekend of the season, it actually seemed quite quiet – people were perhaps waiting for an increase in snowfall before hitting the slopes. Mercifully, this meant that there was less traffic for amateurs such as myself to negotiate. I thus spent the afternoon honing my technique and getting increasingly arrogant with each attempt to go a little bit quicker down half of the bunny slope. My final attempt, which resulted in what could have been my audition for Total Wipeout, was the only time I face-planted into the soft, white powder.

We were in Spindler for two days, and had managed to acquire a lesson on the Sunday morning. It’s always good to discover that the skills you were honing the previous day were in fact what not to do on the slopes. The lesson, led by a young man who started learning when he was two years old, resulted in me being able to turn in both directions, which is always a good skill to have on the slopes. The 2 hour session flew by.

It was a flippant comment from the instructor which led to this day going downhill – sorry, I couldn’t resist. As we were finishing, he stated that, with one more lesson, I would be able to negotiate a ‘blue’ – the easiest of the slopes emanating from the peak. Having just had a good lesson, I naturally took this to mean something slightly different: you can do a ‘blue’. I thus had a quick drink (why you are allowed, nay encouraged, to drink and ski is still a complete mystery to me) and popped onto the chairlift going all the way up to the top.

On the way up I started chatting to an older man who was with his son. He explained to me, with great authority in his voice, that the slope recommended by my friends was ‘a bit too icy and dangerous’ for a beginner, and suggested a better alternative. I followed him off the chairlift down a gentle, well-protected and quiet slope. Bliss.

Approximately 200 metres down the track, the man stopped at a junction ahead of us and started conversing with a couple of men positioned at the fork in the snowy road. Straight ahead was a continuation of this path, which seemed potentially even gentler than what we had glided down thus far. To the left was…well, I couldn’t see anything, which suggested a steeper drop. The man skied back to us and stated that the straight path was closed. You know where this is going.

I edged nervously towards the precipice. Though nothing in comparison to the picture above, what I saw almost gave me a heart attack. Hannah instantly took off her skis and decided to walk down the slope. Hindsight will say that this was the sensible option. I have never been known for being particularly sensible, however, so gulped and stared down the steep, bobbly, bumpy slope in front of me.

Starting as tentatively as possible, I attempted to go across the slope to kill my speed. Unfortunately, this didn’t work, and then I made a fatal mistake of trying to turn without sufficient conviction. Almost instantaneously I was hurtling down the mountain, as if a cannonball just unleashed from a battleship. Cannon fodder.

I managed to make myself fall before my speed accelerated to dangerous levels. It was at this point, I learnt later, that the man turned to Hannah and said, “I think your boyfriend is going too fast.” Being aware of this is one thing: doing something about it, quite another. A few more tumbles got me close to the bottom of the slope, from which I was able to put my learning into practice and actually ski comfortably.

A slight aside; one of these falls resulted in me visiting the doctor when I returned back to the UK for Christmas, complaining of an issue with my jaw. His prognosis?

“You’re a rubbish skier.”

Cheers, Doc.

Did the man lie to us? Not really. At the bottom of this slope was a slope definitely designed for beginners, on which we slowly meandered down and grabbed the pole lifts back up a few times to rebuild fragile confidence. The only problem was that this slope was on the other side of the mountain to the town, and there was no way of getting back to Spindler itself in time for the bus back to Prague. We thus had to get all the way back up to the top and decide whether to ski down the original slope deemed ‘too hard’ for us, or to swallow pride and take the chairlift all the way down. We did the latter.

It was an eventful weekend; bruising physically and mentally, yet also incredibly enjoyable and exciting. Skiing is not an easy skill to master, but with each lesson, session and ungraceful fall I am becoming more competent. The joy of sites such as Spindler being relatively easy to reach means that there will be plenty of opportunity to ski and eventually tackle death slopes such as the one we inadvertently tried at the end of our weekend.

Love you all

Matt

Germany – Christmas time, sausages and wine

December 7

Hello everyone!

Prague is located at the heart of Europe, meaning that there are lots of travelling opportunities on our doorstep with no planes required. Wanting to settle in Prague and get used to this latest chapter in our lives has meant that Hannah and I have stuck to travelling around the Czech Republic thus far, but the opportunity to sample some traditional German markets in the big neighbour next door was too good a chance to turn down.

Germany is famous for its Christmas markets. What makes them so special? What makes them better than markets in Manchester or Milan? It was time to find out, so a group of six of us popped on a train which took us across the border to the city of Dresden.

Our driving adventure in the summer didn’t take us anywhere near what used to be known as East Germany. The little I knew about the city revolved around its near-demolition by British air forces in 1945. Some of the buildings seemed to be more than seventy years old, but you can see elements of reconstruction and modernity as you amble from the train station to the aldstadt.

Dresden wasn’t just chosen as our destination because of its close proximity to Prague, though a two-hour train ride meant that we could visit just for the day. It also hosts one of the oldest Christmas markets around, which started in 1434. Can you do the maths? Don’t worry, being a teacher I can help you with this, and inform you that it has been running for a whopping 579 years. This market was doing a roaring trade even before Columbus set sail.

This market thus has history and prestige in its favour, yet it has much more to offer a visitor. Tradition abounds here, with all generations slowly meandering along the wooden huts hunting for a special gift for a special someone. I find it charming and nostalgic that children are still given wooden toys rather than computer games (a fact which renders me a massive hypocrite as the one inedible and undrinkable purchase I made was a robot from a department store).

In addition to the 14-in-1 robot which didn’t work, most of my euros were spent on gigantic bratwurst and heart-warming drinks. Gluhwein and hot chocolate were the order of the day. Hot chocolate with amaretto may now be my favourite Christmas drink, even ahead of Baileys.

The warm drinks were necessary in sub-zero conditions such as these. What made Dresden’s market particularly special were the large snowflakes gently dropping onto the stalls and our coats. Walking around the large Christmas tree (admittedly I didn’t think it was as pretty as Prague’s) and absorbing the atmosphere was a very pleasant experience, and the snow seemed to add an extra element of magic.

So what makes a traditional German market special? I’m not sure if there is a defining statistic or factor. Based on our experience in Dresden, they’re expensive and very crowded. Based on our experience in Dresden, they’re charming, traditional and beautiful.

Love you all

Matt