Banff and Calgary - Day 4 (Part 2)

After rolling into the Calgary Greyhound Station, we piled into a cab that took us to Hostelling International Calgary, where the Kiwis had their beds booked. It was a complex of two story green buildings with green wood sidings and slanted roofs. The complex gave off a rather "community in a wilderness" feel to it, but the illusion was shattered by the glass skyscrapers of downtown Calgary in the background and having the the complex being situated in a rather dodgy part of town.

After spending some time on the phones tracking down the Couchsurfer who was to host me, and and unsuccessful search for hostels to stay at by Kim, we decided to head out to the Calgary Stampede Grounds to look for some hockey tickets. The Kiwis decided that of course, their trip to Canada would be incomplete without attending a hockey game! After arriving at the Stampede Grounds, we wandered through the maze of hallways and corridors of this vast compound. We saw some kind of trade fair going on in some buildings, and many eclectic historical displays including a long hallway where each year's advertising poster for the Calgary Stampede was displayed. A few were missing from the collection, but I guess you can't blame them for not being able to find a copy of a poster from over a century ago.

Not having any success finding hockey tickets, Smitty and Kim decided to head off to spend some time alone. Darryl, Mark, and I continued the search through the rest of the compound. It was now early evening, and in the northern winter sun, everything was bathed in a soft golden glow. We travelled aimlessly from building to building, stumbling onto a gift shop, another trade show, and a dog show where we sat behind a window to watch while we rested with cup of hot chocolate. Eventually, we made our way to the Saddledome, where we were told the tickets for tonight's game were sold out, but if we come back an hour later, some tickets may be freed up.

Luckily, we didn't have to wait around for long as we stumbled upon a Chinese man standing outside the stadium with some tickets to sell. He claimed that he had driven to Calgary from Red Deer, but that his friend was not going to make it. He had some tickets that seemed too good to be true, and asked for a very reasonable price, still expensive, at over $100 each, but a good price for those seats. Although we were suspicious, we decided to play along. When we mentioned that we didn't have enough cash, he offered to drive us to an ATM, but wait! He just remembered that he had a baby seat in his car, so only one of us can go with him! Well, seeing that I wasn't planning on attending the game as I had to go meet my Couchsurfer soon, I watched as Darryl followed him and disappeared.

As we waited at a nearby Casino, I arranged for the Couchsurfer to pick us up. Although he had offered to host Kim as well, Kim declined, because of what I assume was her apprehension for staying at a stranger's place and her wanting to spend more time with Cameron. Just as we were starting to get worried, Darryl returned, and after getting lost and bumbling around for a bit, we met up with the Couchsurfer, Kevin. After driving in the wrong direction due to bad instructions caused by a mix-up of the streets in Calgary being divided up into different quadrant directions, we arrived at the hostel just as the evening was becoming night. I picked up my bag, gave the Kiwis $30 to give to Kim for the car, and left with Kevin, knowing that as with nearly all the other travellers I meet, I will never see or hear from them again.

Kevin was a Chinese Canadian about my age who had also lived in the Greater Toronto Area. He currently works as a pipeline risk consultant, and told me about his adventures a a kid travelling along with a family that worked on oil projects around the world, including in some relatively dangerous countries. At his apartment, he made me a wonderful steak dinner with some high quality Alberta beef. He even bought a steak for Kim, but unfortunately she decided not to come with me to Keven's place. It was still too early to head over to the Couchsurfing party, so we lounged around a bit. I tried playing Little Big Planet, which I found to be so unbearably cute so that I can't stop thinking about it. We also watched Kung Fu Panda.

When it was late enough, we walked down the street to an old, mysterious-looking house with a lawn surrounded by a thin decorative metal fence with a gate. We walked into the house, and met the resident Couchsurfers. They had plans of turning their house into a dedicated Couchsurfing house to give the Calgary community a place they can call home. The house itself was very interesting. It was very old and had strange and embellished decorative elements. The sinks in the washrooms were shaped like shells and reminded me of public washroom in the lobbies of very old and somewhat run-down theatres. As with most older houses, it had mysterious doors, passages, and small storage spaces and cubbyholes in the walls all over. Some of the walls and doors had lively drawings on them by some previous artist with a thick marker. There was a makeshift bedroom downstairs with a mattress on the floor, currently in use by a Couchsurfer who had been there for a month and a half. There were candles all over, a fireplace which we lit, and seating available in the form of pads on the floor, folding chairs, and a few sofas.

Only about half of the people were in pyjamas, but I met many interesting people throughout the night. One of the Couchsurfers that lived in the house showed us her pet lizard, which we took turns holding. She also showed us a collection of jewellery she made and claimed that we can purchase these from the Guggenheim museum for up to $400 a piece. There was a French Canadian living at the house who made us spiced hot chocolate with brandy from scratch, which he served out of an antique round long-necked glass jug which sitting in a frilly black metal holder over a lit caldle. He also made us vegan crêpes with a maple syrup and butter sauce. A guy from Montpelier made us some croissants from scratch, and there was beer, wine, and other delicious snacks such as chocolate covered rice crispie treats and banana bread. We talked throughout the night, and at one point a group of French Canadians broke out into traditional French Canadian songs and were teaching us to play the spoons. I also met a few of the Couchsurfers that I had requested a couch from but were unable to host me. It turns out that the Calgary Couchsurfing crowd was very tight-knit and quite political, as different people had differeing views on what Couchsurfing should be.

When the night was over, we walked back. I got some pointers from Keven as to where to go and what to see for the full day that I am in Clagary. I set up my sleeping bag and got ready for bed. I'm planning on waking up at a reasonable hour and talking an all-day walking tour of Calgary. I was looking forward to actually getting a good amount of sleep for the night so I am fully awake to enjoy my only day alone on this trip. As it was also my last day before flying back and going directly to work early in the morning, I decided to take it easy and just relax the next day.

Banff and Calgary - Day 4

We met in the lobby in the morning with no problems. We made a good decision last night to return the car today, as now we had a car that we can use to drive us and our luggage to the bus stop in town. As we tried to load all of our bags in the car, it became clear to us that we had to make two trip. Although we realized this pretty soon, we kept trying to stuff everything into the car for a while as we were all pretty groggy from partying last night and really didn't want to make two separate trips. In the end, we had to bite the bullet and decided that a single trip just wasn't possible.

With our luggage dropped off at the bus depot, Kim and I went to return the car. We also picked up breakfast for everyone, which consisted of nearly $40 worth of McDonald's as it was the fastest food we can find, and we were starting to run low on time. On the walk back to the bus depot, we came across two young deer or sheep grazing on a lawn. I was surprised that they barely took notice of us even as I walked up right behind them and stood close enough to touch them. I was tempted to reach out my arm and pet them or give them a nice back scratch as they looked so docile, but realizing that they were wild animals larger than me, I decided it was better just to leave them alone.

After getting our tickets and finishing off our meals by popping the perfectly sized straws for popping from McDonald's, we walked to the station where our bus was to pick us up. This was a typical small-town Greyhound station, a small simple building with some wood benches, some counters, an out-of-order drinking fountain and a large antique-looking scale. We chatted as we waited for our bus. The Kiwis told me a hilarious story about them getting completely drunk in town a few nights ago. Seeing that they didn't have a way to get back to the hostel, they "borrowed" a bicycle they found, piled onto it, and rode it reluctantly up the icy roads up the mountain back to the hostel. The next morning, they found that the bike they left outside had been "borrowed" by someone else. They were amused by images of Kiwis visiting Canada and stealing people's bikes at night.

Soon, we heard a bus stop outside. Some of the passengers getting off poked their head in and shouted to us that the bus was were. We each took a row in the bus as it was quite empty, and many of us decided to take a nap on the bus.

The drive from Banff to Calgary was much more scenic than the drive to Banff a few days ago, as it was daytime during this ride so that I can actually see the mountains instead of fuzzy shadows of hills outside the windows. The area around Canmore, one of the last stops before exiting the Bow Valley was exceedingly beautiful. Gazing north, one can see a perfectly U shaped valley with lush green vegetation cradled on the bottom of the U. On the higher portions of the U were dramatic rocky cliffs covered with snow and ice. On a clear day, one can see very far up the valley, all the way to where it is blocked off by tall peaks 25 kilometres to the north. The scale of this dramatic backdrop against the buildings of the town and the cars and trucks travelling on the highway was immense and humbling. As we exited the mountain range, the terrain quickly became flat, filled with pastures and wheat fields, what one would typically expect to find in the Canadian prairies. The formidable wall of snowy peaks behind us shrank with each passing moment, although it remained visible throughout the entire trip due to their sheer size.

Ouarzazate - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 4 (Part 6)

Arriving back at Mohammed's car, we noticed that he was nowhere to be found. After about five or ten minutes, Mohammed appeared and we were on our way back. I hope that we did not interrupt him if he was praying, as Southern Morocco is quite strict in its Islamic culture, with most of the people heeding the five calls to prayers each day.

On the way back, we stopped on a hill to watch the sunset in the barren rag desert. It was a beautiful sight. Below us were some scattered villages and green fields in a vast, brown rocky expanse. There were hills and mesas casting spectacular shadows across the landscape.

On the way back, Mohammed suddenly pulled over in a town and told us he will be back. After he left, the radio that he had on was suddenly interrupted, and the chanting of the calls to players were broadcast over the radio. All around us, we can hear the calls to prayers being broadcast through loudspeakers from the scattered minarets in the town. Hearing the calls to prayers for the first time is a powerful experience. It feels that all of society is united in the power of prayer, which is omnipresent in the towns and media outlets when the appropriate time comes. Soon after the calls to prayers ended, Mohammed returned, and we were on our way back again.

Passing through the main part of Ouarzazate, we had to take a bridge to the section of town our hotel is in. This bridge crossed a wide, but mostly dry riverbed. It was built as a raised dike, with stubby painted concrete pilings marking the road. A car could easily drive between them and off the bridge. We drove across it slowly, as this bridge was shared by many townspeople strolling around town. For some reason this bridge reminded me of some places in China I had been in, adding to the feel that we were very far away from home.

After being dropped off, we told Mohammed that we accept his offer of taking us to Merzouga for 2000 dirhams, and paid an additional 600 dirhams each for a one night trek and camping trip into the desert. Although we realize this price was probably a bit high, we didn't really feel like negotiating as we did not know what the fair price was, and we thought they needed the money more than we do anyway. We gave Mohammed a 50 dirham tip along with the payment, which he didn't look at and just stuffed into his pockets. Later on, Felix and I were talking about Mohammed. I wondered if Mohammed even know we tipped him, but Felix was sure he did, and that "he'll look at it tonight and smile a bit." I am always cautious and suspicious, so I thought Mohammed was definitely ripping us off. Felix had a much more positive view of Mohammed. Well, that was going to change drastically in the next few days.

That night, we had dinner at the hotel as it was already quite late and we just wanted to eat as soon as possible. We paid 100 dirham each for a full meal with tagine as the main dish. Although it was a reasonably priced compared to Europe, it was still overpriced, as can be expected in any hotel. During dinner in the courtyard, under palm fruit trees, I took the time to enjoy the stars in the cloudless sky above. There was little light pollution in Ouarzazate, and I had not see this many stars in the sky for a while now. I enjoyed seeing the Milky Way so visible, draped across the sky like silk. After dinner, we took a quick stroll in the streets. We were surprised to find that everyone in town seemed to be out. The streets were filled with people and activity. It turns out that in Morocco, most people come out after sunset because it is much too hot during the day. We had arrived at the airport at exactly the wrong time, during their long noon siesta when all the stores are closed because everyone is asleep at home.

The streets were dusty and the weather was still quite hot, but it had cooled to a bearable temperature. Southern Morocco is still surprisingly traditional. Nearly everyone was wearing the same outfit. The women had covered heads and wore long robes. The men wore flowing grey or light blue robes, sandals, and many of them sported long beards and the traditional Muslim caps. Walking down the street, I made a mental note of a bakery which I would stop at tomorrow morning for breakfast before heading off to Merzouga. I also bought a cheap nail clipper off a street vendor selling wares from a tarp for 3 dirhams. This was a horrible purchase as the nail clippers, which I would use for the rest of the trip, pinched my nails more often than clipping them.

After a cramped shower, we went to bed. From our window, we can still see people walking up and down the main street in this section of town. A Exxon Mobil gas station was also visible from our window. What I found amusing about this is that in English, the 'o' in Mobil is red with the rest of the word blue. Similarly, in Arabic, we noticed one connected letter was painted in red while the rest of the word was blue. I found it amusing they forced the same colour scheme into the Arabic version of their name and didn't spend the extra effort to come up with a more suitable logo.

Aït Benhaddou - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 4 (Part 5)

On our first drive through the South Moroccan countryside, we got a glimpse of the barren rocky desert. Mohamed informed us that there were two words for desert in Arabic, "rag," which is the rocky desert we are travelling through, and "erg," which is the sandy desert we plan on visiting. Along the way, we see small streams surrounded by green fields, trees, and small villages in an otherwise barren landscape. The terrain was a dull reddish brown colour, scattered with rocks. In the distance, one can see cliffs, hills, and mountains. Every so often, there would be a road marker that looked like a white tombstone on the side of the road with a coloured top below which is painted in black the number indicating the distance, and the Arabic and English names of the place it was indicating. These appeared regularly and seemed to alternate among the next few destinations on the highway.

We stopped once to look at a rock hill with three colours, which Mohamed explained to us was very rare and caused by the presence of three different minerals and metals. We passed many small villages and saw many mud buildings, some crumbled and abandoned, and some well maintained and new. At least a few times we passed small villages on hills which we thought might have been Aït Benhaddou.

Finally, we stopped in a small village, which we were told is the new village of Aït Benhaddou. Mohammed gave us directions on how to get to the old village, and said he was going to go spend the time at a friend's house. We told him that we would watch the sunset from the hill and agreed to meet later.

Walking through town and passing a few gift shops, we reached the banks of a dried up river. I had read that if there is water in the river, one must be very careful not to step in the water due to parasites that will burrow in you skin. Luckily for us, the river was completely dry, and to get to the old site of Aït Benhaddou, all we had to do was walk across the dried riverbed. The view from this side was breathtaking. Following the banks of the river, there were green fields, bushes, and date palms. Rising above it was a collection of majestic kasbahs forming a magnificent ksar that covers a quarter of a steep hill rising out of the rag desert. Near the top, there is a cliff and a crumbled wall following the upper lip of the rock face. At the very top of the hill was a badly crumbled tower which used to function as a granary.

After walking across the dried river, we entered the gates into old Aït Benhaddou. There are currently still ten families that call old Aït Benhaddou home. We spent our time exploring the village, climbing ups and down stairs, going from roof to roof via connected passageways, and exploring small nooks and crannies. We found a few donkey stables, a few family homes charging admission for a tour, and found that most of the families that still live there now also own small gift stores. We chose not to visit anyone's home since we were afraid that it would be too touristy, but in retrospect, it would have been interesting to see anyway. In any case, we were able to explore some abandoned kasbahs which used to serve as family homes. As forewarned, there were many childern acting as touts. We ignored them and decided not to have them show us around, but again, in retrospect, for a measly 10 dirhams, perhaps they would have show us some secrets of the ksar. However, that was not guaranteed, as we have had very varying experiences with official and unofficial guides in Morocco.

Following a path leading out of the upper side of the village, we came to the top of the cliff we saw from below. There were two boys drumming on tin cans, and as they were making quite a catchy beat, we were tempted to give them some money, but we were out of change. The view from the top was amazing. At this time, the sun was low in the sky, bathing everything in a reddish orange glow. It seemed very appropriate on the reddish brown earth and the similar coloured buildings that seemed to grow out of the earth full of life before ending its life cycle and crumbling back to dust. From the top of this hill, we can see that we were surrounded by vast stretches of rocky hills and plains, well weathered into repeating patters due to millenia of erosion, untouched by humans. We also climbed around to take a look into the collapsed granary, which by now is hardly recognizable. We noted that there were different compartments in the structure which was probably used to store different foodstuff or used by different families.

After sitting there for a while watching the colours change with the setting sun, we decided we should not keep Mohamed for too long, so we decided to head back. On our way down, I noticed clear water damage on the buildings, especially around the gutters. In some places the external mud covering was washed away to reveal the compacted straw and the mud bricks, which were also showing clear damage. I wonder how much longer Aït Benhaddou is going to last, seeing that no new residents are moving in to the old village, and the ksar will be slowly ground into mud and dust with each passing wind and rainstorm.

Tifoultout - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 4 (Part 4)

Mohammed came back at 4pm to pick us up. He had an old tan Mercedes, a car from a previous era. Scrambling into the car, we found some religious knick-knacks around the car and a covering that looked like a faded carpet on the dashboard. We had a full evening of exploring to do since Mohammed was going to take us to a few different sites in the area.

Our first stop was at the kasbah in Tifoultout, one of the residences of the famous Glaoui family, the head of the Glaoua tribe. Their power peaked in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when they were involved in the overthrow of at least two different Sultans of Morocco. Walking through the front gate, a man sitting on the side took 10 dirhams for admission in exchange for a ticket which says "tea included." It turns out that the Glaoui family had not held onto their power over the past few decades, and the occupants of this particular kasbah had been reduced to charging 10dh for tourists to wander through their home and to serve them tea.

The kasbah was painted pink as with all of the other buildings in the area. Many of the walls were worn and collapsing, while other walls had brand-new sections and decorative elements which seemed like they were already crumbling. We eventually found that all throughout southern Morocco, there are crumbling kasbahs like this one. Almost all of the buildings in the area are built using mud with straw. With each rain, the buildings get washed away a bit. As soon as a building is worn too much to maintain, the families just build a new house to live in. Luckily for them, it rains only about twice a year in the area so a house can last quite a long time with proper maintenance.

As the kasbah was built on a hill, the view from the roof terrace was spectacular. One can see the hills of the Atlas in the distance, and the town below, a cluster of mud buildings ranging from brown to pink. There were a few minarets of mosques breaking up away from the rest of the single and double storied buildings to form dramatic peaks in seemingly random parts of town. The town surrounded an oasis of lush green fields and full, healthy date palms in an otherwise dusty and barren landscape. From the top of the hill, we saw a few people going around town, and a caravan of donkeys carrying bales of hay passed below us. The top of the kasbah was home to many storks, each family with a giant nest of many sticks weaved together. As we walked up to them to observe them, they seemed just as curious of us as we were of them.

To commemorate our first main stop of the trip, we took a combined self portrait. We stood by each other and held our cameras out, taking our photos together at the same time. I'll have one version, and Felix will have the other. After that, we ducked indoors to their main lobby to have some tea. It was much cooler and darker inside. The floor and walls were covered with a patchwork of ornate cloths and rugs, many of them quite faded and worn. We sat on a couch in front of a table covered in what seems to be many layers of cloth. A man started making us some tea in an ornate silver pot. As we waited, Mohammed introduced to us the owner of the property, a member of the Glaoui family. We noticed that Mohammed appeared to know the man. We wondered if this was a tourist attraction at all, or if he was just trying to get our money somehow by showing us his friends home. Eventually, we found out that since Mohammed takes a lot of tourists around, he has gotten very familiar with many of the people these sites and had deals with them.

This would be our first taste of Moroccan mint tea, which would become the beverage of choice for every single meal we would have in Morocco. Morning, midday, and night, we, along with everyone around us, would drink mint tea. The connection between mint tea and Morocco became so strong in my mind that long after leaving Morocco, the taste of mint tea would immediately conjure up visions of sitting at small restaurants in the dusty streets in Moroccan towns, watching as people and donkeys walk past. Our driver told us that mint tea was known as "Berber whiskey" since the Berbers make it so strong that it packs the punch of whiskey in terms of taste. It also looks surprisingly like a shot of strong whiskey when sitting in the small glasses. Moroccan mint tea is made by boiling green gunpowder tea for a while and then adding mint and sugar near the end of the process to flavour the tea. The tea is then poured from a large distance above the glass to create a small foam head, although this isn't done as often in the cheaper restaurants we ate in. The tea is dense and strong in all flavours including sugar. I liked this very much as I usually enjoy my tea extra strong.

After tea, we set off in the direction of Aït Benhaddou. After a short drive, we made a quick stop at the Atlas Film Studios, the most famous of the numerous studios in the area. Films that have been filmed there include major Hollywood blockbusters such as Kundun and Gladiator. Seeing that the admission price was 60 dirhams, we decided not to take the tour and continued on our way. Once again, we noticed that Mohammed seemed to know the people at that tourist stop quite well.

Ouarzazate - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 4 (Part 3)

The ride in the old rickety turboprop was very different than the jet ride. As we travelled south, the terrain became drier, and the sky contained only a few scattered clouds. We could see dried riverbeds and shallow lakes below supporting clusters of small towns and fields in what was otherwise a flat expanse of dusty, yellow earth. After about an hour into the flight, the earth grew suddenly hilly and the High Atlas range loomed ahead. It was amazing to see a line of clouds in an otherwise clear sky against the northern edge of the Atlas Mountains. There were swirls and tendrils of clouds reaching into the range, but quickly trailed off and the sky because cloudless again. The haze that was visible since our take off from Madrid was still around, enshrouding the Atlas, obscuring the view into the valleys between the peaks.

As we crossed the mountains, we noticed that we were losing altitude and getting closer to the jagged peaks below with each passing minute. As we descended, we got a close view of the magnificent sweeping red cliffs and hills speckled with patches of snow and a few small, blue glacial lakes that stood in striking contrast with the dusty red terrain. After a few dramatic bumpy turns and close brushes with the cliffs below, a vast, flat landscape was revealed before us. The parched landscape was criss-crossed with dried river beds and patches of small, greenish brown plants. Immediately after the final cliffs, we passed over the Atlas Film Studios, which at first I thought was some kind of historical kasbah. Immediately after, we touched down in the small desert town of Ouarzazate. From the plane, the town looked empty and dusty, with many similar mud and concrete buildings, painted and otherwise, clustered together.

Jumping down from the plane, we were greeted by a blast of scorching dry air in a cloudless sky. I noted that the sun we almost directly overhead, so that I cast a very small shadow. I immediately took photos of me at the airport with the Moroccan flag and the signs in Arabic and French. As we walked in the door, we came across a small desk where most people were walking past. Seeing that the desk was marked "Customs," we decided to get stop there. It seems that we were the only people on the flight that are entering customs through Ouarzazate and not some other Moroccan city. The process was strict but relatively smooth except for one issue. Apparently the Moroccan customs needed a contact address of where we were staying before allowing us to pass. Luckily, Felix had a tour book with him which he had been flipping through, we so pointed to one of the listed accommodations we were planning on checking out. After some paperwork and receiving two stamps in our passport, we were finally let into the country.

Entering into the airport and picking up our bags, we found the airport deserted other than a floor sweeper and a security officer. I had counted on finding a tourist stall with maps at the airport from my previous backpacking trip experiences, but I suppose this isn't Europe, so a quick search through the airport yielded nothing. We also found what looked like a few stores and a currency exchange or bank, but they were all closed. Walking outside, we were greeted with the midday sun of an extremely hot and dry day, a few signs in Arabic and another officer talking with someone with a bicycle. At this time, we were at a loss for what to do. The airport was deserted, we didn't have any Moroccan money, and we couldn't understand anything around us. At this time, Felix and I discovered that we had very different travel preferences. Whereas I am most stimulated when I get into difficult situations and find creative ways to work myself out of them, Felix liked it when things are straightforward and all planned out. Felix was visibly distraught, and I was at a loss of ideas. After about ten minutes of wandering around, sitting around, and staring at each other, one of the police officers approached us, and in a combination of motioning and simple French, he told us he would call a cab for us. Although I am always a bit suspicious of strangers in unknown places, especially if they offer us a car which I'm sure we would not be able to identify as a taxi or not, we really didn't have an idea of what else we could do, so we agreed. We waited outside in the heat with the company of some Arabic elevator music until the car came for us.

The car that arrived was a bit beat up... well, nearly all cars in Morocco were pretty beat up compared to the cars in North America. We piled into the car, and after a few words between the driver and the officer in Arabic, pointing at the hotel listing we told the customs officer we were going to, and handing the driver on an agreed-upon ten Euro bill, we were off. Whatever relief we felt was soon gone however, as our driver suddenly pulled over on the side of the road after a few minutes of driving. We saw a beat-up red car, obviously not a cab, pull up right behind us, and our driver told us to get out. As we were removing our stuff from the car, the driver of our car and the driver of the other mysterious car exchanged greetings.

We were told to get into the other red car, and seeing no good alternatives, we decided to play along. After we got in, we discovered that this was a sales pitch. The new driver, who introduced himself as Mohammed, spoke English reasonably well and offered to drive us around. It turns out this is quite common in Morocco. If a foreigner gets in a taxi, at some point in the trip a salesman would appear. By the time we reached our hotel, we agreed to be picked up in a few hours for an evening tour of Aït Benhaddou that would cost us 300 dirhams. We couldn't resist, since Aït Benhaddou was the reason that I decided to extend my trip as south as Ouarzazate.

Our hotel was pretty good, with the exception of a tiny bathroom and shower. We were a bit sketched out by the driver walking us in, chatting with the receptionist, and telling us that we get a discount because he had taken us there. We eventually found out that it was very common in Morocco for people to receive commissions if they brought customers, although we were a bit worried about it at the beginning. In the hotel room, Felix discovered that he had lost his tour book. This was the most stressful moment of the trip for both of us, as we were in a strange land using an unfamiliar language without a guide of any form, not knowing how to get money and where to get food. Although we did get into similar situations in the future, we became more accustomed to it as the trip went on, and I became better at appearing confident in uncertain situations to comfort my travel mates. After a quick break, and getting some money exchanged from the hotel at a cost, we decided to head into town to get some lunch and to exchange some more money.

Standing on the street, we waved a cab down. When we went to enter, we were surprised to find two men already in the cab. After some looks of confusion and some motioning, we realized that we were supposed to get in with them, so we did. We just hoped that the driver wasn't lying when he nodded when we said "Ouarzazate centre-ville." After a short drive, we stopped, and surprisingly, two girls entered the car! There was a man and a girl in the front seat, and the other man and the girl in the back, with us squeezed in the middle. After starting up again, the girls said something in Arabic that sounded like they were dismayed and suggesting something obvious, which caused up to stop again. After some jostling, the two girls ended up in front, with us squeezed between the two other men in the back. We all exchanged awkward smiles as they spoke Arabic and we spoke English.

After crossing a mostly dried river and making a few drop-offs for the other passengers, we were dropped off in a wide, dusty street. The street was deserted and all the stores appeared to be closed. All the buildings were painted pink, which appeared to be the norm in southern Morocco. In town, we exchanged some money at the bank, bought some bottled water, and had our first meal in Morocco which consisted of some Berber and kofta tagine. We discovered that all meals in Morocco are served with this delicious flatbread which had the texture of a very dense loaf of bread. We also tried to rent a car to visit the desert to the south. However, the only cars we can find were stick-shifts. We made a mental note to learn how to drive stick-shifts when we return from the trip, and decided to shell out the money for a cab to take us to the desert. After all, if we were so close, we cannot skip an opportunity to visit a section of the world famous and very mystical sounding Sahara Desert.

After lunch, we returned to Ouarzazate to await Mohammed to take us to Aït Benhaddou. It took us quite a while to figure out how to return to our hotel, but we discovered that the Moroccans have the most ingenious system of mass transit. It turns out that for all travel within a town or city, you hail a petite taxi, which is extremely cheap. A ride in town will cost you only a few dirhams. To travel between towns, you go the grand taxi stop of the town, where taxis are awaiting departure for the surrounding towns as well as some farther cities. The only catch is that you pay for a seat out of a cramped five or six in the car. Departure times are completely unpredictable since the taxi waits until it is filled before leaving. Since we were in a hurry, we agreed to pay a bit extra and be driven back to our hotel in our own private grand taxi. On our way back, we made a stop at a street corner, where we were told we were picking up a "friend." The friend, after gathering that I was from Canada, showed us a Canada pin on his hat and told me he had friends in Canada. What followed was a sales pitch of a tour to the desert that lasted all the way back to the hotel.

Back at the hotel, the receptionist gave Felix his book back. He said that Mohammed had came back while we were out to return the book we had left in the first cab from the airport. Seeing that not everyone was there to take advantage of us, having just been fed, finally having some local currency we can spend, and feeling that we are starting to get a bearing on the area we are in, we started feeling better and finally started enjoying the trip again.

Morocco - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 4 (Part 2)

Getting on the plane, we heard announcement in English, Spanish, French, and Arabic, which got us quite excited. Taking off, we saw the farmland drop quickly below us. The view was not that exciting as it was hazy that day, giving everything below a dull, grey look. Eventually, I noticed were were over water... then land again. I was excited to think that this was the first time I was over African or Arabic airspace. At first, the landscape below looked green and hilly and I was somewhat disappointed at how similar this looked to Europe. However, as we descended into Mohammed V Airport in Casablanca, I noticed that the earth around us looked drier than when we took off, and had a brownish tinge to it. I could not see any cities, and only saw some farms and small buildings. I was also unable to see the coast. It turns out that the airport is quite a ways inland away from the city. I was also quite excited to fill out the Moroccan immigration cards, which were in French and Arabic. This was the first time I had to fill out any kind of paperwork written in Arabic or had seen Arabic being used as an official language.

As our plane had arrived a bit late we had to hurry to find our next plane. The airport felt large and efficient, but its age was obviously showing in its yellow walls and design. At one point Felix was certain that we were supposed to go through a gate, and just as we walked out the automatic door, I turned to go back in and dragged him with me. It was a good thing that I did since that was the door exiting the security area and if the door had closed behind us we would have had to go through security again. After some more searching and passing through yet another metal detector, we found our gate. Looking outside, the landscape looked dusty and the old bare yellow walls of the airport made me feel like I was in another time period. Still, there were some modern architectural elements to the airport which brought me back to reality. Seeing the red Moroccan star against a green background, the portraits of the King, and letters written in Arabic, I realize that I was in a very different part of the world.

Most of the passengers in the waiting room appeared to be foreign, some looking like businessmen in suits, some looked like travellers, and there was a Caucasian family who looked like they were on vacation. I had also wondered how many people were going to Ouarzazate because of the movie studios there. The Caucasian family looked so out of place I wondered if one of them was a famous actor I didn't know and was brining their family with them on an extended shoot in the area. Because of the people in the waiting room, this place did not feel exotic at all, and I was afraid that with the pace at which the homogeneous global culture seems to be spreading, Morocco would not be much different than any other country. Finding that our plane had been delayed, I took the opportunity to use the bathroom, which I thankfully found very clean for a developing country.

After what seemed to be a very long wait and delay, we were led down a dusty ramp and onto a bus. After a short drive around some large jet liners, we saw we were approaching a small turboprop with the old Royal Air Maroc insignia painted on it. Boarding the plane, we noticed that is was obviously old and had seen better days. Some panels seemed lose, with corners jutting out, the carpet and upholstery was old and peeling in areas. It gave a very cozy and adventurous feel to the plane. The door to the cockpit was open and through it we can see workers loading our bags into the forward cargo hold, down the middle of which was a path from the cockpit to the rest of the fuselage. We kept an eye on the bags being tossed in the cargo hold netting, and were relieved when we saw our bags being loaded.

The take off was one of the most violent and steep take offs I have ever experienced. The acceleration pushed me deep into my seat. I was surprised that such an old plan had such power in it as I had been in much newer turboprops and jets that had never demonstrated such power. Perhaps we had a short runway and needed a steep climb for whatever reason. The ground fell quickly below us and before we know it, we were high up in the sky again. Throughout the violent climb I was afraid that plane would disintegrate under all that pressure, especially after seeing the condition the plane was in. The rest of the flight was comfortable. The announcements were in Arabic and French, so I was able to understand them. We were served drinks in cups with the Royal Air Maroc insignia and some Arabic lettering imprinted in them. I had very much enjoyed seeing this exotic combination. The Royal Air Maroc insignia evoked old days when transportation was difficult and I couldn't help but think I was in one of those old adventure movies such as Indiana Jones.

Madrid - Mediterranean Backpacking Trip - Day 4 (Part 1)

I woke up at 6:20am. It was just before sunrise, and the sky was dark blue. When I looked over at Felix, he started to stir in his sleeping bag. We were both awake, before our alarms went off. We were excited and ready for the day. This will mark the true start of my adventure, the flight that will put me just south-west of the Mediterranean so that I can start my journey - my goal of a land crossing of Europe along the Mediterranean Ocean from west to east. We packed up quickly and quietly as to not disturb our hosts. After the usual morning routine, we were ready to leave. We left the key in our room and passed through the corridor were we can see the other Couchsurfer peacefully asleep on the couch. Heading out the door, after one last mental check, we pulled the door closed, which automatically locked itself behind us.

Exiting the building, we see that the action had already started in the streets. The day was reaching full brightness, some of the early commuters were heading to work, and some stores were opening up. The day was already warm and humid, and we can tell that it was going to be a full-blown summer day ahead. We found our way to the subway, already bustling but thankfully not crowded yet. After we arrived at the airport, we found that we needed to take another bus to an outlying terminal, T4. The bus drove on what looked like a deserted raised highway, with the surrounding land empty, dusty, and of a brownish-yellow colour. There were industrial-looking buildings once in a while. The bus was modern, air-conditioned, comfortable, and clean, a stark contrast to the landscape we saw outside. The bus took one last ramp curving right on a bridge, and we saw the terminal ahead of us. It was a large silver building with glass panes. It seemed new and looked like work was still being done on it.

Pulling up in front of the airport, we hopped off and went inside. It was a modern airport of a standard design. We looked for the Iberia Airlines section. The first leg, operated by Iberia Airlines will take us to Casablanca, where we will board a local turboprop plane to take us rest of the way to Ouarzazate. Seeing the exotic looking Iberia and Royal Air Maroc airline symbols, I felt that we were on the verge of a great adventure. Checking in at the counter, I was slightly dismayed that I had to check my bag. I was somewhat comforted by the fact that we were not in the US or on a flight operated by US Airlines, as I've had horrible experiences of lost luggage nearly every time I fly through Philadelphia. However, I was still nervous and skeptical since I wasn't sure how reliable Moroccan airports were.

Passing through security, with me holding the top detachable portion of my bag, we found that were were still quite early. The airport had a large multi-story shopping mall, and we found a small café to have breakfast at. I had an overpriced Spanish version of a panini. Nonetheless, it was a warm breakfast and a welcome start to what I'm sure will be a full day. Madrid had been an introduction, a staging area of sorts, and soon it would be the start of my long-awaited adventure.

After breakfast, we exited Spanish customs. I was thrilled to get another stamp in my passport. Similarly, I was looking forward to the stamps I would collect in the next few weeks passing through Morocco, Gibraltar, and back into the European Union. I have always found it thrilling to receive a stamp in my passport. It is tangible proof that I had been somewhere and that it was not just a beautiful dream. For the next ten to fifteen minutes, we followed signs and arrows toward our terminal. I found it cool that each sign had an electronic section displaying the estimated time until our destination in number of minutes which turned out to be surprisingly accurate. Arriving at our terminal, we sat and waited, watching the planes and rolling hills outside through the glass walls and chatted with each other.

The terminal was empty at first. There were rows of seats. We took turns going to the bathroom, taking a drink from the water fountain, and just walking around the area. We were restless. I noticed fun, complicated sign holders made up twisting tubes bolted together. I noticed there were many large bolts in the design of the airport, giving it an interesting, almost industrial, but clean and bright feel to it. Eventually, the waiting area gathered a small crowd. I was staring at the electronic boarding sign intensely as I saw the plane finally arrive and the passengers dismount.