Monkeying around in Marrakesh

Me and the boys hangin' in the 'Kesh: 10 euros please.

MARRAKESH, Morocco - After being delayed a week by some ungodly French virus that struck down both me and Savannah - and still being a bit hesitant to venture too close to places actively involved in social media-inspired uprisings - we headed to the mysterious city of Marrakesh. I say mysterious partly because where it is located - or even that it exists in anything other than a 70s song lyric to begin with - was a mystery to most of the people we told we were going (mainly our US friends, I have to admit). But also because it was our first venture as a family to the Dark Continent. The uprisings in many of the nearby places of the Arab world only added to the intrigue.

The old: Luggage transport into the old city

It was a wholly eye-opening but uneventful trip (in terms of civil unrest - the closest we came to a protest was our hot air balloon trip almost being canceled because the king was due to arrive in town that day).

The new: A surprisingly modern airport

Marrakesh is a city classically divided between old and new, and quite literally so, as became immediately evident when you enter the walls of the old city, the Medina. You can't help but notice because the taxi from the quite modern airport deposits you just outside one of the city gates, and from there you hoof it to your riad (small, elegantly adorned B&B style accommodations, of which there a hundreds). There are plenty of guides available to help you navigate the impossible maze of streets and alleys that make up the Medina and show you to your destination. They even wheel your luggage, and in our case, your youngest daughter, in their carts.

The Riad was our sanctuary from the chaos of the souks

Upon arrival at the riad we are greeted by Mohammed and Hamain, two local chaps who couldn't be more helpful and polite. As previously arranged, they have prepared a dinner for us (lamb and couscous - two staples that will fuel us the entire week). They first offer us drinks in one of the cozy little nooks on the riad's ground floor. Hamain politely lowers the techno-sounding Arabic music coming for a boom box in one of the other lobby rooms. The riad has just six sleeping rooms so it's kind of like being in someone's house.

I give you best price

Magic Potion Man

Marrakesh is really a different worlds in all senses. We spend some time the next day exploring the Medina and the souks (the local markets), which one can imagine are not much different than the days of Ali Babba. Naturally, we get ripped off within the first half hour of our bargain hunting by a tag-team of leather bag salesmen. We get suckered into a couple of handbags (but we do get a complementary drink of tea out of the deal). Our salesman/tea guy then leads us to one of many 'magic potion shops" (as Savannah coined them). They are like old world pharmacies with all sorts of concoctions in glass containers lining the walls, and barrels of other stuff like frankinsense and crystal chips, all holding mysterious secret remedies to any sort of ailment you might have. We bought Lindsey some powder to snort before bed that supposedly will cure her snoring problem.

Lindsey learns some local culture

Snake charmer

Call me Indiana Jones

We wandered through the souks for awhile, and ultimately ended up at the center of the Medina - the Djema el Fna, the legendary trading center made famous by the Berbers, the ancient civilization that settled this area. It's a bustling hive of activity all day and night, and plenty of people are waiting to separate you from your dirams (local currency). Upon entering the sprawling square, I was immediately approached by a couple of snake handlers, who felt compelled to adorn me with their pets. They then ushered me quickly to the center of a large crowd who had been attracted by the sound of iconic snake-charming music that permeates the entire square. I am in full Clark Griswald mode now. While juggling a couple of the smaller snakes who were crawling around my head and shoulders ("No worry - not poisonous" the handlers repeatedly assured me), I turned to find myself face to face with a very poisonous looking cobra, who as gently swaying to the rhythm of the horn-playing bedouin next to him. One of the robed dudes quickly grabbed by phone and snapped a bunch of pictures, demonstrating amazing technical dexterity with a Blackberry for someone who lives in the middle of the desert. It was all over in less than a minute and 200 dirams (the fee they collected as I worked my way way from the crowd).

By this time I had lost the girls, only to find them when an apparently bisexual Arab he-she person grabbed me and directed me to the three of them and another woman sitting calmly on the ground about 100 yards from my snake experience. They were getting henna applied to their hands and none of them looked too happy about it. They were even less happy when they were coerced into paying a 70 euro tab for the handy artwork.

We managed to collect ourselves and wander to the far side of the square that looked to be free from snakes. There, I quickly found myself in the possession of two monkeys. Don't ask me how, but they almost magically appeared in my arms, nearly as quickly as the owners held out their hats for the "picture fee" for this session of Wild Kingdom.

The great henna rip off scheme (note he-she in background)

OK, no more animal attractions. We agreed and moved on, with luckily no gift shop to pass through as we exited the square.

Truth be told Marrakesh is not as crazy a place as it appears at first glance. And we found it extremely safe. Once you get a sense of the pace, it's very manageable, although we never did quite figure out how to navigate the labyrinth of the souks (there's always a local guide lingering in the shadows who will get you from Point A to Point B). Like most of the Arab world, it's a nonstop haggle-fest in Marrakesh and everything is negotiable. It can be fun and tiring at the same time, but by the end we felt satisfied we weren't getting totally screwed on the tea pots and artwork we couldn't live without.

Savannah looks for magic slippers

The food was good but not totally as exotic as I had expected (probably a good thing with me coming off my killer stomach virus). We had a few nice dinners in the Medina, including an overpriced 'authentic' Moroccan dinner, complete with belly dancers (the multi-room, sub ground level restaurant itself was impressive). We got to explore the new city, too, and even enjoyed drinks at the Le Churchill Bar, one of the top 20 bars in the world as ranked by World's Best Bars (how do I get a job with that outfit?). It's inside the very posh  Mamounia Hotel, and is a dark-paneled lounge adorned with picture of jazz greats that describes itself as having an "atmosphere that is appealingly old world, a throw back to a more civilized time." The prices were a bit less than civilized as our afternoon drinks cost us almost as much as dinner with the belly dancers that night.

Deep in the souks

We found our Riad (Riad Dix-Neuf) to be a relaxing retreat from the chaos of the souks. The room was surprisingly spacious and comfortable, and the the service was excellent. Breakfast every morning on the roof top terrace was a highlight- fresh squeezed juices, strong coffee and just-baked breads. The staff was at our beck and call and it was really one of our more enjoyable hotel experiences ever.

The whole trip was a great experience for all of us, especially the kids who got to see a completely different culture. Being awakened at 5AM by the eerie call to prayer will stick in their minds for a long time. And, without getting too philosophical, they got to see first hand that even though people may look, dress and sound a while lot different than us, there is also a lot of common ground between us. Ground that unfortunately gets lost as we get older and "wiser."

View from our rooftop terrace

Marrakesh by Air

Marrakesh’s famed Medina is oddly quiet at 6AM, an hour after the first of the five daily ‘calls to prayer’ has been broadcast over hundreds of loudspeakers throughout the walled city. Most everyone seems to have gone back to bed after performing their obligations, and only a few scattered robed figures shuffle through the dark alley ways.  The hustle and bustle of the souks and the famed Djemaa el-Fna square is still hours away from springing to full chaotic vibrancy. 

We make our way to the nearest entry gate separating the walled city from the more modern Ville Nouvelle. It’s only about 500 meters from the entrance to our Riad (Raid Dix Neuf La Ksour), which is highly recommend both for its location and well as service and comfort) but the wall separates two different worlds. 

This where we are to meet Lina, who will transport us to the launch point for a sunrise balloon ride with her company, Marrakesh By Air. She arrives promptly with a cheery smile and a warm Japanese SUV, which we gratefully jump into to escape the early morning chill. Lina, a Moroccan by birth but raised in Belgium, navigates her way through the empty streets of the new city and we are quickly on a narrow highway that dissects the desert that begins on the outskirts of the town. We drive for about 45 minutes, learning a bit about the history of both her company and her country, as we speed in the general direction of the Atlas Mountains, the stunning snow capped natural backdrop to the centuries-old man made chaos of Marrakesh.

In the darkness Lina finds an unmarked dirt tack turnoff and exits the paved highway. We wind our way through barren desert and dried riverbeds until we come upon a lone earthen structure in complete darkness. The only sign of a connection to the modern world is a large propane gas tank, as various critters wander about the connected low rise buildings. It’s a Berber house, a residence of a family from one of the world’s oldest know civilizations.

Sunrise: Atlas Mountains

Lina backs up the SUV to a garage-like building and three figures quietly emerge from the shadows to quickly hitch the trailer to the back of the SUV. We pull away from the small compound and drive another ten minutes through the scrub just as the sun peaks over the peaks of the Atlas Range (which contains Africa’s second highest point at 4300 meters, after Mount Kilimanjaro). 

A small bonfire attracts us to an open area and Lina positions the trailer in the middle of it. Within minutes a worn Land Rover joins us, and the same crew that hitched the trailer begins busily unloading it, assembling our balloon for a sunrise departure. We join a few other guests who had arrived in the Land Rover, snacking on a light breakfast as we watch the balloon inflate in the disappearing darkness. Captain Hamid, the affable Belgian-trained pilot and owner of the operations (and Lina’s husband) introduces himself, and gives a quick overview of the flight plan.

The balloon fully inflated, we clamber into its four compartments, ten of us in total, plus the captain who gets his own compartment from which to operate the surprisingly simple-looking mechanisms which will guide our flight – a couple of handles and switches to regulate the helium and a few ropes, plus a hand held radio to guide the ground crew to our landing spot (which is apparently unknown even to the captain at this point).

Once Lina has taken the obligatory departure photos and Hamid has given us the briefest of safety instructions (a quick drill on the ‘crash’ position in the event of  a rough landing), we lift off quickly. The captain expertly controls the helium mechanism that not only gives us elevation but warms the basket each time he gives it a spurt. In short order we are at a couple thousand feet over the desert, giving us a dramatic view of the random patchwork of  multi-color earth tones, interrupted by irrigated stretches of green, various Berber houses, farms and animal pens, and all connected by a simple network of dirt tracks.

Captain Hamid

It’s eerily quiet as we glide over the sprawling landscape, the silence only interrupted by the occasional blast of helium and Captain’s Hamid’s witty commentary. He’s not just the captain, he’s the star of the show and keeps us entertained the entire 45 minute flight.

We can see the skyline of Marrakesh in the distance rising abruptly from the flatness of the desert, and dominated by the Koutoubia Minaret, the iconic mosque in the center of the old city. The captain advises us that today’s flight was in jeopardy because of a planned visit by King Mohammed VI, the ruler of Morocco. His presence would mean that all air traffic around the city is limited, and private craft – including balloons - are grounded for security reasons. But his majesty had graciously delayed his visit by a day, so our trip goes as scheduled, although Hamid will be grounded for the next several days while the King oversees the openings of a new hospital and roads. 

We glide along at a surprisingly brisk 45kilometers per hour ground speed, hardly the Marrakesh Express but at the brink of being almost too windy for an enjoyable trip, according to Hamid. For the most part weather conditions are ideal in this part of the world for ballooning for a good portion for year – the hot desert summers keep them grounded from June to September.  On this day, the trip will be shorter than normal because the wind pushes us along faster and we have to land within a designated area.

Our horizontal landing

The captain doesn't miss anything

Hamid prepares us for his signature ‘touch and go’ pre-landing routine, where he drops the balloon to just above ground level, scrapes it long the desert floor, then elevates again. As we recover from that act, we notice the two vehicles speeding toward us in the distance, two dust balls growing larger as we again descend to the agreed upon landing spot Hamid has radioed to them. The actual landing is a bit more gentle upon first touch, but steadying the balloon to a full stop proves to be a challenge we hadn’t considered. The crew tries to stabilize the basket as the wind tugs on the balloon above us. Hamid prepares us for the inevitable, invoking the crash command, and the basket rolls gently 90 degrees, leaving us all in a suspended horizontal position. We have to crawl and shimmy out of basket, but not before Hamid and Lina have collected all our cameras and joyfully snap pictures of us awkwardly squirming out on to the desert floor. “A Ryan Air landing,” Hamid declares. 

As the crew deflates and packs the balloon almost as quickly as they assembled it, Hamid signs our official flight certificates to great fanfare and applause. We load into vehicles, and this time we drive with Hamid in the Land Rover. He is dying to show me his other touch-and-go trick – while driving through an empty field, he jumps out of the moving Land Rover and runs alongside it while we continue bumping along, driverless, over the barren wheat fields. After a short run, he climbs back in to appreciative laughter, and a sign of relief from the two Japanese tourists in the back of the truck.

Certified fliers

We head back to the Berber house, with Hamid enjoying games of chicken on the narrow highways with each on-coming vehicle. He wins each time. Once at the house a generous spread of fresh baked breads and other simple local delicacies, fresh squeezed fruit juices, tea and fruits awaits us. They all hit the spot and we marvel to ourselves at what we have already achieved by 8AM. The Berber family that lives here have apparently struck something of a pot of gold with their arrangement with Hamid and Lina – they not only provide jobs for the three men who serve as the crew, but the company has helped spruce up their home a bit, including the addition of a new kitchen with gas powered oven and solar powered lights (no electricity in these parts). In exchange the women serve us breakfast, and allow us to tour their simple but comfortable dwelling. It’s an eye opening experience and a true insight into a whole other way of life.

A traditional Berber breakfast

The 'old' kitchen at the Berber house

Lina explains that the Berbers are very family-oriented and the sons, one of whom in our crew is soon to be married, will stay in the same house their whole lives, bringing their wives to the compound as they get married. In total 13 family members live in this particular home, with the matriarch being a gentle women of about 80 years. She has recently lost her husband, who died at close to 100, so Nina asks us to not interrupt he mourning by taking pictures of her. Nonetheless the woman greets us warmly, proudly shows us how her new lights work in the new kitchen, and caringly caresses Lindsey's cheek.

After breakfast and a tour of the compound, we pile in the vehicles and head back toward Marrakesh, but not before a stop just outside of the old town in the upscale Palmerie area (where many celebrities have homes and there are upscale hotels and golf courses). Here we will take a traditional camel ride.  We all mount the docile beasts, and get to meet three of the newest members of the clan who were born just three weeks ago. They tag along our walk through one of Marrakesh’s  several parks, in an enjoyable but unadventurous tour.

Savannah rode the Mom, with the kids in tow

Lindsey & Toni take the lead

Hamid and Lina pride themselves on the personal service and view into local life and culture that their operation provides. It is true – Marrakesh by Air is more than just about the balloon ride, although that certainly is the most memorable aspect of it. Back at our riad by 11AM we felt like we had put in a full day, and had gained a unique view into Berber life as much as we enjoyed the views from Hamid’s balloon.

Coquillage fest

Dave managed to avoid a trip to the emergency room,  which is more than we can say about the recent house move we did!

 

 

 

 

 

Technically, they are les huitres (oysters) and Dave and Audrey's former neighbors brought a few dozen over for us on a recent Sunday. Vallie, an experienced kitchen/food guy, even showed us the proper shucking technique. Very nice...

Does Groundhog Day apply in France?

White out conditions at Le Bergerie

We had thought we had survived our winter in France with a relative mild assortment of weather, at least comapred to the tales we had heard about the previous winter here. Note that after living in the Caribbean for the last 13 years, any temperature dip below 50 degrees sends us scrambling for sweaters and extra blankets. The generally inefficient French heating systems and insulation don't help matters much.

Nonetheless, I have to say this winter has not been that bad. In fact, we all greeted this morning's dusting of snow with a little bit of excitement. It wasn't a snowman caliber accumulation but it did add a nice touch to the Provence landscape.

Ok, now we are ready for Spring.

Football Americain en France

Super Bowl Sunday in France so what better way to celebrate than go the season opener of Les Argonautes d'Aix en Provence. Les Argo's are our home town team in the American Football league of France. The league consists of 8 teams mostly in the southern part of France. The players appear to be post-college age and are mainly French. There is a limit of 2 ex-pats per team.

There was a pretty good crowd at the stadium in Aix for today's opening game, which Lindsey and I attended (with me being saddled with a bit of a hangover from watching televised sports - beginning with France-Scotland rugby but carrying on after that -  with my Scottish pal Jason at a local pub the day before). Overall, it had the feel of a decent high school event in the US.

Despite being played literally in the shadows of historic Aix en Provence, much of the scene has a fairly familiar feel to it compared to a US football game. On the field the uniforms and equipment were contemporary, and the players could have easily been all Americans (but not All Americans, if you know what I mean). They were decent sized guys on both sides of the line and they executed most plays pretty well. Special teams was a bit of an adventure but the routine blocking and tackling was solid enough, and the were several top-notch highlights that showed real athleticism.

The Argos are quarterbacked by an American kid named Adam Kruse. A quick Google search shows that he played at Division 3 College of the Mary (no, not William & Mary - just Mary, a small school in North Dakota). He showed poise and finesse at the helm and stood out as the team leader for sure. Our other ex-pat player is a linebacker form Canada who performed well, too, with multiple QB pressures and sacks. They are two of the playmakers, but the wide receivers and running backs, who are French (according to the roster), made some big plays too.

Our man Kruse warms up before the game

The coach is an NFL veteran, sort of. He actually was a punter for one year with the KC Chiefs. His name is Stephen Cheek, and while the list of punters-turned-head coaches is probably a pretty short one, this guy seems to have his troops in order and ran well-organized offenses and defenses (his assistants are all French).

The Argos opened the 2011 campaign in grand style, pounding the visiting Black Panthers from Thenon les Bains by a score of 41-0. Our boys controlled both sides of the line of scrimmage, forced turnovers and showed a solid running and passing game.

I am not sure how much of the subtleties of the game that the largely French fan base picked up on, although they seemed entertained by it all. The game program handed out at the entry gate (5 euros for an adult ticket, kids free, and free parking, too - definitely not the NFL here!) includes a basic overview of the rules of  football  - as much as can be crammed into a half page of small-sized Xerox'ed game program. The PA announcer keeps up an almost non-stop banter, dividing his time between explaining the rules, calling out the result of each play, and leading the cheers. After each score, the fans break into a modified version of the Tomahawk Chop, complete with the FSU fight song, which would seem irrelevant for a team called the Argonautes but feels quite appropriate in this setting for some reason (the French love a lot of things that are just plain obviously American. You see kids in the street wearing sweatshirts with random American names and terms printed in big letters, for example). Loud heavy metal rock fills the occasional void in the announcer's rap.

The game had everything a US fan would expect, including souvenirs
(no big foam Number 1 fingers, though)

After the final whistle fans are allowed on the field to congratulate the players. It looks like a lot of friends and family support the Argos, who have been around for several years and apparently have developed something of a following (Toni's French tutor used to date an Argo back in the day). It's funny to see the traditional French two-cheeked kiss among two men, with one in a football uniform.

The after party is at an Irish Pub called Le Manoir in Aix, which is also showing the Super Bowl. Kick-off is at 12:30AM Monday local time, but with they way the Argos played today, the celebration will probably be still going on.

Sometimes you have to be specific

Lindsey was taking no chances on her recent request to the Tooth Fairy. Her note on the left tells the TF exactly where she lives now (Aix en Provence) and then she gets more specific with the note on the right, telling her where to find the tooth (and requesting that she leave her white board behind).

Australia Day in France

Like most places we go, it doesn't take much of an excuse to have a party

EIGUILLES - One of the nice things about living with in a place with a lot of ex-pat from different countries is you get to celebrate all the national holidays. Today is Australia Day so we of course had to partake in the pre-requisite 'barby.' Our friends the Campbells had us over for an Australia Day celebration, which as one would imagine features much red meat and beer.

He may be Irish, but Soup is Australian at heart, judging from the size of his barby

The ritual Xmas Tree burning

We used the occasion as a Christmas tree burning ceremony as well. The Campbells - Tom (Soupy), Paula, Meghan (Savannah's pal), and Ryan -  live on winery just outside the village of Eiguilles and have a lot of open space to roam around - and burn Christmas trees. They are from Brisbane, via Ireland originally, and are very familiar with the nuances of throwing a good barby.

It was an eclectic bunch of folks from all over the place, and I still don't know what we were actually celebrating. And naturally, in true Provo tradition, we were the last ones to leave.

But here's to Australia!

Eating grapes at midnight

Ready for the grape countdown to 2011

BARCELONA - It's fun to travel around to different countries in Europe and learn about their local traditions. On New Year's this year, we visited our friends Gary, Karen, Emma and Abby (and their new dog Sancho) in Barcelona. It seems in Spain, it's customary to eat one grape per second during the final countdown to the new year at midnight.

Blowing in the new year

So Karen dutifully stocked up on grapes and we popped them in our mouths as the TV anchor lady and the Spanish version of Dick Clark counted us into 2011. Afterward, fireworks lit up the sky and we watched the different neighborhoods celebrate from the top floor of our friend's apartment, while the kids ran around like crazy blowing horns. Staying up til midnight is one thing, but getting to scream your bloody head off, too, was just over the top for the four girls.

Chico escapes from his new Spanish pal

Chico and Sancho were not amused.

The trip to Barcelona was a great one. We had been there in August but the family had been less settled in then, having only moved in July. Now, they were much more familiar with the city and Barcelona was still in holiday mode so it was a lot of fun. And the girls got to compare notes on what their first few months of international school were like.

Picasso. For Free

We did some typically tourist things like a taking tour of the city, with an emphasis on Picasso. The great Pablo is like a god there even though he didn't live in Spain very much because of his opposition to Franco (ironically, despite his Spanish roots Picasso spent a lot time in our neck of the woods in and around Aix, and his final home is located here). We visited his museum in Barcelona and saw the only outside display (read: free) of his work, which is on the side of a school in the middle of the old city.

Picasso's watering hole: 4 Gats

We even had dinner at the famous 4 Gats bar, where Pablo hung out and got drunk from time to time.

Culture overload on New Year's Eve

Outside of the Palau de la Musica

After soaking up that bit of culture, you would have thought we would have had our fill. But, no, we took it up a notch on New Year's Eve with a bona fide classical music performance at the Palau de la Musica. It was an evening of Johan Strauss, the Waltz King, and to be honest my first real classical music performance. We had reserved a little box up in the balcony, which made me feel like the two old guys in the Muppets. But the views were great and the music was really enjoyable. The orchestra mixed it up with Strauss tunes -  fast and slow, waltzes and polka and marching songs -  and the big Russian soprano lady broke things up, too. Of course the only one I recognized was the Blue Danube, which apparently is a New Year's Eve tradition. I only recall it from the Caddy Shack sound track.

Cirque - sorry no cameras inside!

One of the other highlights of this trip was a chance to see the Cirque de Soleil performance that was touring through. We saw Varekai, which had the usual assortment of jaw dropping acts by the troupe's incredible performers. Fantastic light show and music, and really just amazing stunts and acrobatics. There was even a Turks & Caicos connection - the daughter of our friends the Balls (of North Caicos via Liverpool), is a trapeze artist in this show.

They eat alot of ham in Spain

We spent four great days in Barcelona catching up with our friends, seeing the Catalan sites, eating good food, decompressing from Christmas and ringing in the new year. It opened our eyes to the difference between European big city living and our more bucolic life in France. I have to say I like them both.