Seeing as the internet is increasingly list-based, I've jumped on the bandwagon and present here my trip to Morocco in 21 photos. It was an 11-day holiday at the end of September which took in Marrakech, Zagora (The Sahara), Essaouira, Oualidia and El Jadida.
It was a lot of fun, I'd recommend Morocco to anyone. Unless you're a nervous car passenger in which case the taxi drivers will give you a heart attack. Their method of overtaking and weaving through traffic owes a lot in its style to Formula One.
Morocco probably isn't for you if you like a holiday tipple either, it's an Islamic country so they're not big drinkers. However, any health benefits they gain from this, they eradicate by drinking a ton of sugary mint-tea and by smoking at every opportunity. I choose a land with beer and my own teeth when I'm 50.
Anyway, this is meant to be a photographic thing, so enough waffle.
A colourful light stall in the mazy souks of Marrakech. (Photo taken by my Hungarian friend Tomi)
Ali ben Youssef Medersa, Marrakech - was founded in the 14th century as a school for Islamic studies. No longer operating as a school.
A couple of hours south of Marrakech on the way to the Sahara.
Ait Benhaddou, an old Kasbah that has been preserved and proclaimed a UNESCO world heritage site. More importantly, they've filmed Gladiator, Lawrence of Arabia and Game of Thrones there, so you can run around and shout: "My name is Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions and loyal servant to the TRUE emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next."
Rug on a wall at Ait Benhaddou.
Camels in the Sahara. Luckily there is no photo of me actually riding the camel. They are not comfortable and I can see why cars were invented. Also, I got the angry camel that didn't want anyone riding it.
I travel light.
The Djemaa El Fnaa in Marrakech at night when all the food stands arrive and it fills up with people looking to eat various grilled meats on sticks.
I got a job on one of the food stands. I give you good price.
The first evening in Essaouira was an amazing sunset. The sea breeze of Essaouira was a welcome relief to the heat and madness of Marrakech.
One of the prettiest cinemas I've ever seen, in Essaouira. Price of a ticket included a meal and a drink too.
I was told this cat is called Fleabag by a drunk Scotsman in Essaouira who had a great singing voice and kept a bottle of whisky in his back pocket.
At the fish souq in Essaouira. Essentially a fish market used by the locals where you can pick a freshly caught fish, have it gutted in front of you and grilled in an oven in the corner of the market. Tasty.
Essaouira had good sunsets so I took some more photos...
Only one reason why I took this photo: cheap comic effect.
Moroccan pottery of assorted shapes, colours and sizes, Essaouira.
Dinner in Oualidia. Straight out of the sea, onto a barbecue, onto my plate, into my mouth.
The lagooon in Oualidia
This is the Portugese Cistern in El Jadida. Orson Welles filmed Othello here.
Luckily for the fishing boats below, this cannon in El Jadida's Cite Portugaise has not seen any action for a few years
Storks nesting on the walls of the Bahia Palace, Marrakech.
In July 2012, four of us took a man-trip to Berlin for 5 days. It was a lot of fun. In an attempt to be all clever and multimedia, I made a Tumblr about it. Click on the picture above to link to it.
In June 2012, myself and Tom decided to spend a romantic/manly weekend away in the Lake District, and climb Scafell Pike. This is the top of the highest peak in England. Foggy.
So, setting off from Chandlers Ford at about 9.30am on Sunday, the world was our oyster. Or at least Europe was. The channel tunnel to Calais was our first destination.
Having crossed into France and got to Belgium, we needed somewhere to stop for lunch. The choice was between a town called Diksmuide, and a town with a much less amusing name. An easy choice was made.
In the evening we stayed on a Botel (Boat-Hotel) in Maastricht, Holland, run by a man who kept a large basket of eggs on the reception desk. In case of some egg based emergency perhaps. Despite it being a Sunday night, we managed to find a blues bar that was populated mainly by chain smoking old men.
Day 2 – Luxembourg and France
Leaving the Botel behind and off to Luxembourg for lunch. And whilst there we picked up Alistair Gill, aka the International Gentleman Traveller. He's a man that the Horton clan like to meet up with in foreign lands. And it's a good job we did, because an unscheduled stop in Strasbourg was necessitated by a stone putting a bloody great crack in the windscreen of our chariot.
Happily, Strasbourg turned out to be a lovely place. We ate in a restaurant that had it's own microbrewery, with a Russian lady named Anya. Then we went to a bar and played pool. We left the bar when a small Algerian man started waving his pool cue at us in a suggestive way. I'll leave to your imagination.
Day 3 – Interlaken, Switzerland
This was the first time we noticed the decadent ways of Phil. Over lunch the next day, he ordered foie gras for lunch. It cost at least twice as much as what the rest of us had. And then he decided he didn't like foie gras. So he didn't even eat it. A quite awesome lesson in extravagance, from someone who has seemingly managed to leave the student lifestyle behind them with little regret.
After leaving Strasbourg and our hotel on the unfortunately named Rue de Bitche, it was off to the picturesque Interlaken in Switzerland. Where we were staying in a kind of semi-permanent tent. The first of two tent-type places that we stayed in on the trip. Quick word of advice: Tent hostels are not a good idea. Four walls and a ceiling is a much warmer and more sleep-conducive idea.
Whilst Nick and Chris went canyoning, Phil and myself took the novelty cave exploring option and were treated to a history lesson about a monk who defeated a dragon with only his walking staff. We also found some good animatronic puppets, which is always a joy.
Day 4 – Lauterbrunnen, Switzerland
The second time that Alistair came into his own as a renowned International Gentleman Traveller, was to suggest that we go join him in Lauterbrunnen, just half an hour outside Interlaken, up in the mountains. So we went to stay at the Matratzenlager Stocki, run by Frau Graff, a friendly old Swiss lady who has been taking care of patrons since 1966!
Now, Lauterbrunnen is quite literally one of the most picturesque places I have ever been to. In the middle of a grassy valley, there are mountains either side, with waterfalls cascading out of them and a bigger snow-capped mountain in the distance. It's like a giant orgasm for your eyes. Not that that bears thinking about.
Also in the same chalet as us were some Base-Jumpers. They are lunatics. If they see beautiful mountains, the first thought that goes through their head is whether there's a good place on it to hurl themselves off of. Different strokes for different folks I guess...
Day 5 – Breakfast in Switzerland, lunch in Lichtenstein, Dinner in Austria. And bed in Munich. Phew.
So, this was the day we visited Lichtenstein. I wouldn't call it a life-changing experience, but hey, when will I ever go to Lichtenstein again? Chris bought the most expensive fridge magnet of his ever-increasing collection; expensive because of the crazy exchange rate and relative wealth of the tiny principality. And we visited the Post Museum. Oh the dazzling array of letter openers they had. And that was Lichtenstein.
We weren't sure if we really had time to visit Innsbruck after our unscheduled stop in Strasbourg, but we had planned to have dinner in Austria from the beginning, so why not stop off in Austria en route to Munich? Seemed like a reasonable and in no way extravagant idea. So, we had dinner in Innsbruck, in the middle of some kind of Medieval festival while Innsbruck did it's best to convince us not to leave.
We arrived in Munich by 11pm, and were greeted by the sight of the second tent-hostel of the trip. This one was worse than the first. Imagine a giant refugee camp full of rickety bunk beds. It was essentially a massive tent that slept 160 in bunk beds.
The only saving grace was it only cost €10 for the night. But, cheap accommodation tends to attract the weirdos. Hence I heard one American ask a Dutch guy the following question, in all seriousness: “So, what is there to do in Amsterdam other than smoke weed and bang prostitutes?” Classy.
Day 6 – Munich
In Munich we managed to have one of the most German days you could have really. We had history with a walking tour of Munich about the beginnings of the Third Reich. We had food, eating more currywurst and bratwurst than you could shake a meaty stick at. We had fashion, in the form of trying on some rather fetching lederhosen.
And of course, in the country with the highest beer consumption per person in the world, we had beer. Would have been rude not to. Needless to say, the evening gets a bit hazy.
Day 7 – Heidelberg
After a slow (read: hungover) start to the day (entirely Munich's fault for selling beer by the litre!) we took a trip to the toy museum in Munich. Then, it was off to Heidelberg, a place we chose based on the advice of some of the locals we spoke during the previous night's festivities. Oh, and because it had a castle, and what could be manlier on a Euro Man Voyage than checking out a castle? Nothing.
We also took a moonlit walk along a bridge that had a lot of couples kissing on it. Possibly some kind of lovers bridge? Either way, it reminded me a bit of when myself and Nick accidentally walked through a gay cruising spot in Kuala Lumpur. These things happen. Honestly.
Day 8 – Trier and back home
Back in the old days, Trier was the Roman capital for Western Europe, so it's got a fair bit of history. The last destination on our trip, Trier saw the Euro Man Voyage winding to a gentle close, before we covered quite a few miles on the drive home. But we still had time to go to the Karl Marx museum, which was originally the house he grew up in, until the age of about 17, and we also squeezed in a cheeky Roman amphitheatre. We may or may not have pretended to be in the film Gladiator.
I didn't get a chance to write about this trip at the time, and it's too long ago to do so now, so I will just say Barcelona is absolutely fantastic and choose one picture from the trip to illustrate. That photo is Max looking uncomfortable on a cliff at Montserrat Monastery. He's not good with heights, bless him.
Well it’s been a fair old while since I last had some backpacking to blog about. But, it was bound to happen again eventually and so here it is, nine glorious days in Romania.
Weds 7th July
I arrived in Bucharest, to be greeted at the airport by the usual dishonest taxi drivers offering to scam me out of varying amounts of money for inflated taxi rides. So I took the bus to the train station, and remembered the joy of travelling on buses that play music. First music heard in Romania: The Winner Takes It All by Abba.
Thursday 8th July
Walking in the mountains of Sinaia is great, but when you are walking about 1500m up at cloud level, things can get a bit foggy. This is how I nearly became an episode of Ray Mears’ Survival. All the walking trails in The Bucegi Mountains are clearly marked with posts in the ground or painted stripes on rocks and walls. But when you can’t see more than 20 metres in any direction, finding your way from one to the next is a little more challenging! Anyway, I was only really lost for less than an hour and then found my way back.
Only other hairy moment up there was when something looking very large and wolf-like loomed out of the mist. Happily it turned out to just be a shepherd’s dog, just a slightly wolf-ish one. Phew.
Friday 9th July
Went to see PelesCastle and take a tour of one of the most ridiculously opulent buildings I have ever seen. As a rule of thumb, I think the interior designers back in 1883 were of the opinion ‘why have a simple wall when you can have a carved oak panel inlaid with a relief made from white stone?’
In the afternoon I took the train to Brasov, a medieval looking kind of city, with walls all the way around and its own Hollywood-style Brasov sign in the hills. Brasov also has am amazing town square, not only because it looks great, but because if you sit there for a while, things just happen around you. Whilst having an ice-cream I witnessed a procession of traditional guardsmen, then the bell tolled 6pm and trumpeters came out onto the balcony of the clock tower and played a mighty fanfare. Then an accordion player and his six piece male choir struck up with some Romanian folk/religious music. (I couldn’t really tell which, it was in Romanian).
Friday night was my first experience of Tuica, the local powerful liquor of choice. It is essentially a clear, plum brandy which is about 60% proof so it really does hit the back of your throat with a vengeance. This preceded me meeting some Romanian guys, having a couple of beers with them and then getting taken along to a drum n bass night in Brasov.
One thing noticeably different about pubs and clubs in Romania is that you can smoke inside. The club we were in was small and completely unventilated. I would say it made my eyes sting a bit. Is that what the Rhino used to be like, back in the Southampton days?
Saturday 10th July
Re-learnt the pain of booking yourself onto a tour at 9am, only to go out the previous night until the silly hours. It was a trip to BranCastle that was to be my slightly hung-over expedition. BranCastle is famous for being a temporary residence of Vlad Tepes, aka Vlad the Impaler aka, who Bram Stoker based Dracula on.
Vlad the Impaler earned his nickname by being something of a mad bloodthirsty bastard. When his armies won a battle, he would hold a feast. Which seems like a nice idea, a job well done to his troops and generals perhaps. Except surrounding the feast would be his vanquished and rather dead enemies all impaled on large wooden stakes. Lovely man that Vlad. He did have an impressive moustache though.
One thing I got used to in Romania is the service in restaurants. It can be slow, surly and smile-free. None of your customer is always right crap. The customer is a necessity but an annoyance, and shall be treated as such! This was not the case in all the places I ate, but on the whole this is not service-with-a-smile, hi there, how are you country.
Sunday 11th July
The thing about backpacking is, that if you go away on your own, you will only spend the whole time on your own if you want to. (Or if you are completely socially inept). So it was that I found myself playing frisbee in Sibiu with two Dutch guys shortly before the Holland versus Spain World Cup Final. I mentioned that I planned to try and hitch a lift along the Transfagaran Road, or rent conceivably hire a car if it was cheap.
Instead, they invited me along on their camping trip along the Transfagaran road and the surrounding areas. So, with no camping equipment whatsoever, (I only took a normal sized rucksack for the trip) the next day I went camping for two days in the Romanian mountains and countryside.
Unfortunately the football result did not go the right way. I even wore an orange hat for the entire match. That’s how dedicated I was.
Monday 12th July
So, a rented Ford Fiesta, two dutch guys called Hugo and Willem and a British guy that apparently sounds like Hugh Grant set off for the Transfagaran road and the Romanian wilderness. On the roads, people driving a horse and trap is a common sight. Unfortunately, trying to get a good photo of them from the window of a moving car is tricky and so I failed repeatedly. Not to worry though, you can enjoy a donkey poking it’s head through the open window instead.
As I’ve mentioned it about three times already, I should probably explain exactly what the Transfagaran Road is. It is a road. A road which navigates its way through mountains, over streams, through tunnels etc. It is only open for about 4-5 months of the year, because during the Romanian winter it gets completely covered in snow and is impassable. And public transport doesn’t use it, as it isn’t really the most direct route to anywhere at all. It was essentially built as a bit of a powertrip by the one time President (read: dictator) of Romania, Nicolae Ceauşescu.
Man versus nature and all that. Still it is an amazing road to drive along, you have to resist stopping the car around every bend to take another photo or you’d never make any progress.
After driving through the mountains we eventually found our camping spot, an idyllic location next to a mountain lake. Whilst gathering wood for a fire, we noticed that the two guys fishing a bit further along had decided to dispense with the drudgery of collecting wood and instead had brought a petrol-powered chainsaw, to chop down dead trees and cut into chunks as required. Obvious really, I don’t know why I’ve never gone camping with a chainsaw before.
Tuesday 13th July
Hugo and Willem had a two-man tent which three people could probably fit into, but seeing as they are both about 6”5 tall and make me look short, I slept in the Fiesta. And after a reasonable night’s sleep in said car, and another swim in the lake, we set off again to have a drive around before finding a camping spot for the second night.
We stopped at Curtea de Arges to take a look at what is a very impressive monastery there. If there’s one thing you can say for religion, it’s that without it, there definitely would not be as many amazing old churches, cathedrals and monasteries to gape at.
Then, for our second night camping we headed back north in the direction of Sibiu, and found another beautiful spot, next to a stream this time. A stream that I had a quick bath in. Not because it was warm, no it was absolutely freezing, hence the ‘quick bath’.
Wednesday 14th July
Bucharest is a hot place in July. I’d forgotten what it is like to sweat through your t-shirt with a backpack on, so that every time you take the backpack off, then put it back on you feel the damp re-clinging to your back. Lovely imagery there eh? But seriously, even at midnight Bucharest was 23 C, which is just a bit silly really.
Bucharest is home to the Palace of Parliament which is the second biggest building, in terms of landmass, after the Pentagon. Building it meant millions had to starve but needs must when you’re a megalomaniac dictator, and Ceauşescu was certainly that. It’s just an absolutely enormous concrete and marble monument to power and stupidity really. Although I think it’s put to good use now.
In the evening, my last in Romania, I tried a traditional Romanian dish called Ciorba de Burta. Which in English is tripe soup. Very garlicky tripe soup. Which, surprisingly was actually quite good. As long as you don’t think about what tripe actually is. Or look at it too much. Yum.
Thursday 15th July
My last day was a day of slowly wandering around Bucharest. Slowly is the only way you can do it really, when the temperature is in the mid-high 30s. Bucharest was much hotter than the Sinaia, Brasov, or Sibiu, but then I guess that’s because they all have a little more altitude. Anyway, I kind of felt like I’d seen Bucharest by mid-afternoon, or just couldn’t be bothered to keep walking, so I finished the trip off by visiting the cinema to see Predators in Bucharest’s oldest cinema. Nutshell review of Predators? Load of old bollocks. Ah well, the Dracula exhibition I’d been to earlier in the day more than made up for that.
And that was Romania. Highlights were too many to mention, although camping in the wilderness rates pretty highly. And I learnt what it felt like to be the shortest person, so I am probably a more rounded human being now for it.
So, I landed back in England almost two weeks ago, Wednesday 26th September, exactly 10 months after leaving. I just thought I should give the blog some kind of closure, rather than leaving it dangling helplessly somewhere in India. Now I shall be throwing myself back into the real world. But, more importantly it means that all those who were reading the inane babble at work will now actually have to go and do some of that work. So, go on, be off about your business and I'll let you know if I decide to skip the country again anytime soon.
Because, at the end of the day, you would think that a hefty stint as a dirty backpacker would get the travel bug out of my system. Not so. I think I can say with some certainty that there's more travelling to be done yet. I've seen a fraction of the world. When you start a book, you don't tend to stop after two pages do you?
