Antonio and Elizabeth "kitting up" somewhere near Heaven - Marmolada Glacier 3342 mt above sea level

It feels like, unknown to us, we could be characters in a movie like the Truman Show.  It is hard to believe it’s this good, and it’s real!!

Spring sking in the Dolomites, Alta Badia, Italy!

Sunshine, no wind, excellent snow, thinly populated slopes ………..

Charming places to ski to ……..

Fantastic range of restaurants and menus, gourmet to rustic!

This is our third visit to the lovely hotel of Walter and Rosa Craffonara, Ciasa Lara www.ciasalara.it. We began our journey here just over 12 months ago and many of the same staff welcome us back and ask how our year has been.  Jaws usually drop as we answer, “Well, pretty good actually – 26 countries, 40,000 kms and a multitude of truly wonderful memories.”  Returning here near the end of our journey reinforces just how much we have seen and done in the last 12 months.

And Elizabeth has been able to join us again.  It’s such a contrast to when we last met.  I can still see her sitting on a camels back on a sunny beach in Morocco.  Now, she is just a blur zooming down a pristine white snow capped slope, or smiling, taking a break in a “snow chair!!”

Punctuating our travel with time in La Villa also reminds us that our journey is drawing to a close.  We will miss our sunkissed slopes, but in less than 8 weeks we will be home.  In the meantime, we will spend a month in Antonios home town of Maniago; we will have another week with Noah, in Maniago; we will sell our Cubby in Italy or Germany; and we will pamper ourselves for 6 days in Thailand to break the 24 hour travel home.  So hold on………… There are still, just a few more tales to be told!!

The European Union has a new member. Number 28 – Croatia.

Negotiations began 9 years ago in 2003 and last Sunday Croatia went to the polls to confirm the population still wanted to join.  In a lack lustre turn out, a majority affirmed the decision to become members of the EU and all will be finalised in 2013.  The outcome of the vote was not a given.  There has been concern in Croatia about the ramifications of the EU regulations on local industries and how the Euro will increase prices.  Also, the EU has not proven to be the “rich mans” club it appeared to be 9 years ago.  The attraction of being part of a 500 million person market and a couple of Billion EU Euro given to Croatia for development each year for the next few years won out. My question is where does an “instrife” EU actually find a couple of Billion each year for the next few years!!!  That’s another story!

For a 3 day visit in Croatia we chose the Istrian Peninsula. Croatia has a less developed feel than Slovenia.  A slow start to join the EU and a 4 year war in the The War of Independence of the 90′s, has taken its toll, but what remains is charming and has a feeling of the olden days! It’s cheap to travel here.  Still on the Kuna, petrol, accommodation and food is a 3rd of the price in Italy!  In summer it must be beautiful.  Its very cold now, -7 to 0.  Winter here is not the green countryside we see at home, but a frost coloured beige – frost that can sit stiffly all day in the shadows of the surrounding mountains.

The Dalmation coast was a republic of Venice for over 300 years and it clearly shows in the architecture of the lovely, walled, seaside village of Rovinj.  Elegant and well planned the city climbs from its seagulled bay to the classic church at the top, from where on a clear day, you imagine you could look across the Adriatic sea and glimpse the gondolas of Venice. Incredibly well maintained, cafes, artists shops and a harbour full of fishing boats and yachts make the village ideal for a tourist day out.  In summer it must be brilliant – the stone streets and rising landscape providing coolness and breeze.

With a recommendation from Ivano we headed off the Istrian coast into its hinterland and made our way to another historic walled village climbing 277 meters up a hill – to a castle!!!!  Motovun.

It was lunch time and we were excited as we had been told Motovun is not only picturesque and historic, but a gastronomic highlight of Europe!  Particularly in its truffle delicacies.  We climbed the wonderful maze of streets and eagerly looked in windows of some brilliant looking old and interesting tavernas and restaurants, unfortunately to no avail.  January is downtime and not expecting tourists, the locals try to take a holiday to the ski slopes or further afield to somewhere warm.  Everything was shut!

It’s a gorgeous village.  Peeking into houses and shops, many have been beautifully restored and look charming with an interesting and creative feel.  We did find staff to give us a tour of the closed for the season Hotel Kastel which sits at the top of the village in a Venetian Square and was of course, a castle before being restored into a hotel.  Hotel Kastel is a lovely hotel www.hotel-kastel-motovun.hr with incredibly reasonable room rates, and whilst everything else may be shut for vacation, not the hotel run campsite at the bottom of the village. One of our favourite camp sites so far it’s self serve and open 24-7-365!!!  It has all the facilities we needed, spotlessly clean, and in Summer, you can also use the spa facilities of the hotel.  A brilliant tip for campers.

There is something cosmopolitan about this antique village, an atmosphere that must really come to life when the avante-garde independent film devotees climb the hill from all over the world each July to participate in the highly regarded www.motovunfilmfestival.com. It’s intriguing to imagine the contrast of these centuries old steets inhabited by our modern film culture and we want to see that! Being so close to Antonios home town of Maniago, we know we will return.

Woops!!! Take Two.

This is Bled, village in the north westish of Slovinia. I am starting at the end of our Slovenian escapade as I loved this photo so much – loved this place – loved, actually Slovenia. One of Europes best kept secrets. Slovenia is our 26th country and we were both amazed at the beauty of the scenery and the towns.  Maybe it’s just because it’s the most recent in a long list of fabulous destinations.  None the less, I felt VERY privileged to take our morning walk 6kms around the Bled Lake on a well cared for gravel pathway.

These are more photos of Bled and another village on the way there!!

My early morning walking companion, Antonio - too cute huh?

We also fell in love with the capital. (Prizes for anyone who knows its name – I certainly didn’t. PS  We know you will know Douglas!!!) Ljubljana (meaning “the beloved!”) a European capital, sitting between Venice and Vienna, has all the culture, (apparently over 10,000 cultural events a year) glamour, wealth and history to measure any other.  With a population of under 300,000, it has a small town, almost country friendliness and ease of getting around.  Add to that just under a quarter of the population are students – its a vibrant mixture and a wonderful place to spend time in.  Classy, almost flashy in a fresh, shy way and was recently awarded the Readers Digest most honest city after 10 mobile phones were left lying around the city streets and all bar two were handed to police!!! The Franciscan Church is pink, interior domes are lined with uplifting cherub and angel frescos and the entrance is very cool – stone and timber.

 
The shops are Stylish with a capital “S.” The architecture, in the old city, a Viennese feel, commonly Baroque and Art Nouveau.  Ljubljana seems to have shrugged off past conflicts and wars with a positive youthfulness.  During the 2nd world war this lovely city was surrounded by a 33 kilometre barbed wire fence constructed by the Italian army. It stood for 3 years in a attempt by the occupying forces to keep the partisans at bay! Today a well maintained 33 km “Pot ob zici” or “path along the wire”, commemorates the liberation of Slovenia after the 2nd world war, and also the winning of independence from Yugoslavia after the 10 day war in 1991, in a lovely way and is used and loved by locals and tourists alike.

All together, Slovenia was all not what we expected.  Perhaps I thought Slovenia might be a little sad, ex socialist and war torn.  Instead we found a beautiful country with happy people, proudly members of the EU for the past 8 years.  Seemingly more closely related to its Austrian and Italian neighbours than the other Balkin states. Very much a world class European destination.

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It’s fresh and a cool, invigorating 0 – 6 degrees. The earth is covered – be it asphalt, concrete, tiles or grass – it’s covered. The Supermarkets are enormous with an incredible array of food choices, meats, cheeses, fresh food – hygiene is an art form, plastic gloves, white coats and hats, cleaning products!! Remnants of traditional Christmas lights still illuminate the plaza at Como and Santas’ are still coming down chimneys backwards! The amplified droll of the Islamic Call to Prayer is replaced by the pensive peeling of the hourly bells – the Catholic Call to Prayer.

It’s Italy – and we’re back!

Two full days and two full nights later we arrive on Italian soil from Morocco and, as described above, life could not be more different. We immediately head north to the Italian Lake district and base ourselves, in Cubby, on the lake out the front of the Yacht Club and Aeronautical Club of Como. Surprisingly we did not see George Clooney but satisfied ourselves with walks around the scenic city and lake and just took in all the wonderful facilities. We are eager though to head “home” to our Italian base for the next 3 months – Antonios home town – Maniago.

It’s an easy drive, across the Po Valley. The valley of the River Po is long, (about 650 kms), wide and flat. A huge expanse in the northern middle part of Italy, it stretches from one side of Italy to the other and is bordered by Alps and Apennines. An ancient geographical phenomenon, I read, caused by the tediously slow and gradual “filling in” of ancient canyons. Incredibly fertile soil results and this valley is known as the bread bowl of Italy.

We can tell we are getting closer to Maniago. There in the distance, across the flat, we think we can see crisp white clouds, or is that a snow covered mountain?

We are an instant fit back into the little community of relatives we said goodbye to a year ago, and that Antonio left behind 59 years ago. Literally, a draw of straws determined his future would be in Australia. 3 families, 17 people, lived together and worked the “sharefarm” for the Count of Maniago. There was not enough work or food to feed them all and someone had to immigrate. Straws were drawn and Antonios father, mother and two sisters embarked on a 4 week journey by ship to a new life, in a new country, Australia. Antonio had his 9th birthday on that ship. (There is more on this and Maniago in the Italy section of the Blog!)

Being with family again, in Maniago, is wonderful. Maniago, approx 11,000 population, is a prosperous Italian provincial centre. A heritage as the “Colteleria” centre of Italy, its economic base has been created from the artisan industry of knife making. It’s a clean easy town to get about in with a high standard of quality shops, restaurants and bars, a cinema, a library, an excellent laundrymat; everything we could ask for.

The “bars” and restaurants are run by the families who own them.  Husbands and wives, sons and mother in laws, sometimes second wives!  The owner of one of Antonios favourite restaurants that sells Baccala (Cod) every Friday, was born in his restaurant.  Sometimes he thinks about leaving and recently had a young chef ask to look around with a view to buying the restaurant.  Half way through the tour he began to cry and sorrowfully told the young chef, sorry – it’s not on the market!

A walk around the streets is to encounter many wonderful aromas. Coffee, freshly baked pastries or the tantalising aroma of something superbly cooked and ready to eat; rabbit, duck, chicken, ribs – from the Rotisserie.

Add to the mix Antonios food and Noreenas!!! Noreena is surrogate mother, sister and best friend. We live in Cubby at her place and its warm and wonderful. Most often Noreena does the cooking and the kitchen is her favourite domain. Lasagna filled with cheese and greens from the local field, risotto with mushrooms from the mountains, a specialty tripe (not for me!) and eggplant parmigiana.

Noreena and I outside the "Baccala every Friday" restaurant!

Fortunately there is an ideal morning walk to burn off the accumulating calories and often (or for Antonio, every day) we are a little gang, including Flavio my English/Italian co-student/teacher! The mornings and days are crisp and clear, later sunny. Our 90 minute routine takes us up the hill, past the old castle, up through the woods of the foothills, and down again to meet the plaza and pick from about 20 places for coffee.

Maniago is brilliantly situated. Taking advantage and sitting on the very last of the flat and fertile Po, literally on the foot hills of the pre alps of the Dolomites. 80 kms from Venice, 1/2 hour to a ski field, and only a 2 hour drive to Adriatic coast line and Slovenia. A little further to Croatia!

Mmmmm, Slovenia and Croatia ……………………

The Api – a favourite commuter for the industrious Italians. Named Api (bee) due to the noise they make, they usually sit only one person, two can be cramped in, and can carry all sorts of loads – I like to think of them as Italys version of the Moroccan donkey.

Antonio and I both suffered a brutal bout of some bug in Morocco and it changed the way we viewed things – we became a lot more cautious of what we were eating, and more critical of food hygiene standards!!! – lack of refrigeration and cleanliness. You cannot drink the water in Morocco. Even the locals warn the tourists against it! I had never noticed how easy it is to swallow some water in the shower until it was forbidden to do it! It is a hazard of travel in the country but not a problem for everyone. Fortunately the rest of the family had no issues in their 10 day stay in Essaouira.

Aside from that, Morocco will be a treasured memory and we are so glad it was a part of our 15 month journey.

A country full of small joys: To be brushed by the musky smell of the fleeting, flowing, colourful cloths draped round faceless women. To listen to the droll, amplified call to prayer, 5 times a day adding an atmosphere somehow thrilling and chilling. To see Souks, saturated with vibrant colour and buzz. Even with having to haggle it’s a shoppers paradise.

Tasting flavours of cumin tainted cous cous, freshly picked almonds, sweet as chocolate dates. In Morocco I discovered the red jewel seed of the pomegranate, perfect over our bananas for breakfast, followed by steaming hot peppermint tea.

Moroccan interiors have a style of their own. Sometimes borrowed from the 50′s or 70′s, often a clanging clash of colour, texture, tiles and fabric. Shapes are inspired from the beautiful curves of the mosque roof lines. Lanterns are metal and tin; timber boxes; woven cushions, all in all the colours of the Souk.  Life is a moving feast of colour.

Landscapes; striking, dramatic, prehistoric, jurassic formations; red, rust, chocolate, white, mustard, ochre, gold and occasionally, bright green. Stunning. Setting the backdrop for the struggle of human existence we saw living in poverty in the Draa valley, without the excesses of the west. Without even furniture or cutlery, but maybe with a TV and a mobile phone! It was amazing to see first hand how life will make do with what is surrounding it. Homes built from the mud on which they sit, roofed with the puny tree branches and palms fronds that make their neighbours. What humans have had to endure to exist, all through the Draa Valley. The immediate lushness of an oasis directly on the sometimes trickle of the Draa River, yet moving 20 feet away to find rock and sand, barren, and harsh, continuing for mile after mile after mile.

The people, colourful, fun, funny, friendly and kind. Accepting!

There is something exotic and mysterious about the “Arab!” Man, and the women who follow them, born of the desert and symbolised by free moving robes, caftans, turbans and veils. Beautiful Arabic script, curvaceous and fluid like the water they lack and the sand that is plentiful. Curvaceous and flowing like the spirit of their ancestors that drive in from the desert. The nomad, unbound, yet wanting to share the straight roads and rigidity of the west. Wanting to meld. Like our Arab desert guides, their second foot already lifted, straining against its tie to the past, first foot firmly planted in a modern Morocco and wanting more.

Morocco has been a challenge and a joy. I did not quite have the heartful of Sahara sanddunes I wanted. There is still much to see in the South. We may return!!!

Who knows when that might be! In Morocco, all is in the will of God.

Inshallah!

And so we have been indulging in 10 days with family.  We can hardly believe Elizabeth has been able to arrive from London and Adam, Freda, Zenya (4yrs) and Ryke (2yrs) endured about 44 hours total travel to be here from Australia.

Essaouria is a wonderful place for a family holiday.  Being an Islamic country there is very little evidence of Christmas, but we of course, have made it our own and opted for a roast – Aussie/London style.

Essaouira is as old as the Phoenicians that settled here as early as 700 BC.  Its life as a port and a city has ebbed and flowed over the centuries and been lorded over by Roman, Arab,  Portuguese and French – to name but a few!  One of its most famous landmarks are the Ramparts overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. French designed in the 18th century they are furnished with 20 Spanish brass cannons – a striking symbol of defence and reminder of the wealth that once needed protection here.

Previously called Mogador, Essaouira was renamed when redesigned after the conquest of the city by  Sultan Sidi Mohammed ben Abdallah in the 18th century.  The name means “well designed!” Today it could be described as “shabby chic!”  Just a lot more shabby than chic, with a bit of a “I’m still cool from the 50′s & 60′s” attitude.  Orsen Welles chose the city to film  his movie “Othello”. It is said, legend or myth, that Jimmi Hendrix spent time in the city and Yusuf Islam (Cat Stevens) still returns every summer.

We make an interesting group as we wander through the medina market streets. Antonio and I observe from behind. Heads turn as Elizabeth’s attractive dark looks stroll past and then there is the rest of the family. Adam (Australias 5 th strongest man), Freda (competition winning body builder ) and two munchkins who just smile and look and want to touch everything as they stare wide eyed at the multitude of street cats, spices, rare and unusual fruit, even the beggars.

Adam has collected a little fray of friends. In particular “quadbike” Rashid, who not only took him wild boar shooting, (an activity not on any brochure for tourists) but he also introduced them to Abdullah.  Here began a great association with an icon of the body building/weight lifting world such that exists in Essaouira. Abdullah has run his tiny, one room gym for 20 years with a passion understood by Freda and Adam and has been honoured to have them use his gym to train.

In between lounging In the 4 level, 4 bedroom, 4 bathroom, interior designed Riad, complete with the lovely Latiffa who comes every day to clean, sometimes cook, help us order firewood etc,  (see www.castlesinthesand.com) there is always plenty to do.

Shopping, camel riding, cooking classes, big boys toy rides, riding Barb stallions on the beach!!! (yes, I mean stallions!!!), carpet haggling, pancake or ice-cream eating, restaurant selecting or just walking around the block.

Our neighbourhood is residential mixed with little “hole in the wall” enterprises providing the locals their living – the tailor, the baker, the carpenter, the pastry chef. We try to buy pastries daily, freshly baked all through the day. Different specialities keep arriving on the counter and at one dirham (about 10 cents) a treat it’s madness to refuse.

A favourite of the boys – the local barber. The young man with a “haute coiffure” insignia on his white coat is a professional. Sterilising his razor and putting in a new blade for every customer he spends his day sometimes busy, sometimes not. If not he stands watching the world go by, jacket off and leaning in the doorway of his one chair salon.

There is of course, also pampering for women. A good Hamman is a good pamper, including a treatment that leaves you “squeaky clean” and is close to everymans fantasy!!!  Let’s just say, if you have ever been to one, you know what I mean – Wink Wink!  The Azur (www.azur-essaouira.com) was delux and the best 2 hr beauty treatment any of us had ever had. An interesting experience at any time and perhaps even more so when shared with, technically speaking, your fairly recently acquired step daughter and daughter in law!!

Still, its not all “squeaky clean” in Essaouira. What was new, French designed and chic in the 18th century, is now, of course, really old. Life is lived on the streets and it shows. Public hygiene and rubbish collection does not seem to be a local government platform.

If you have a squeamish stomach and are not too sure about seeing rubbish piling in streets due to lack of bins or cats eating fish bones underneath the coals that cooked them or meat that is never refrigerated or plumbing that never quite drains and always smells, Essaouira, even Morocco, may not be the place for you. If it’s possible to “turn a blind eye” you gain a deeper understanding of life in this part of Africa; the importance of spices; the benefit of strong scents of rose water, orange flower oil and a steaming, hot scrubbing clean at the local Hamman.

After tomorrow our little family peels off daily. Firstly Elizabeth, the next day the Adam Famdamily, and finally us.  We will cherish the memories.

Happy Christmas Everyone

We had expected crossing the pass in the High Atlas mountains to Marrakech to be treacherous and dangerous – the last of the Moroccan great adventures for us.  The route we selected through the Todra Gorge was one less travelled by the campervan brigade. It had only been paved in the past two years. Even the Lonely Planet still referred to it as 4WD only. Frontier work again!  It was superb.

The scenery again, did not disappoint.  Sometimes feeling jurassic and prehistoric. The Gorge itself was spectacular and looked as if the sides of the road would close in and pinch themselves.  Sheer cliffs with asphalt disappearing in-between. A drive more tedious than dangerous.

The villages enroute were not so used to tourists.  Especially impressive was the small village of Agoudal. Set beside a river, the fertile lands of this isolated village provide for subsistence living to a tee. Most families have up to 6 children. 300 attend the school in two shifts a day, catered to by just 9 teachers.

Moroccan children have learnt to ask tourists for “stilo” or biro’s.  Not wanting to give them to children on the street as they learn to prefer this to school, we had waited for a village such as this to donate a bag full of notebooks, biros and texta colors to the school. The gifts were gratefully received.

Our journey was made even more eventful by giving a few locals a lift.  We stopped to give one old man with a stick a lift to the next village and were convinced by 4 others that they also needed a ride along the way a bit – taxi Africa style!!!  We have met about 15 locals in this way and been given everything from turbans, to bananas, to huge smiles of gratitude, in return.  This was the first time we gathered a “collection” at one stop.  How can we say no?  Even without seatbelts we are far safer and more comfortable than most of the alternatives.

Finally arriving at Marrakech, we were happy to avail ourselves of the delightful Camping Real Palais, just a 6 euro taxi ride from the madness of the Marrakech Medina. A visit to the Medina in the day was a little disappointing. We did not see snake charmers or anything more exotic than this fellow in the funny hat!! Having visited so many untouristy villages the medina stalls, horse and carts, even the main square – Jemaa El Fna seemed fake and commercial.

The evening atmosphere was more “electric” and positioned at a cafe just to watch was most rewarding.  We ate at the food stalls, cooking on the street.  Antonio sampling an Arab stand and enjoying a stewed mixture of animals eyes, tongues and bits even he did not identify!  No knife or fork was offered on this stand!!  We then went across the isle to the tourist friendly kebabs and bread for me!

We were not too sad to be leaving Marrakech, especially as the next chapter in our adventure was to head to the coast to meet family for Christmas.  Elizabeth flying in from London and Antonios oldest son, Adam, his wife Freda and two children, Zenya and Ryke, were arriving from Australia.  We were very much looking forward to welcoming them to our Morocco and settling into the Riad we had organised, for 10 days to celebrate Christmas.

PS: Essaouira is Argan oil country and we had been advised to look out for goats in the trees, eating the Argan fruit. When returned to earth in ways I’m sure you can imagine, the pips are gathered and pestled into oil. This region is the only known place in the world that the Argan tree can grow and UNESCO has declared the region a Biosphere Reserve. Just as I was mentioning this to Antonio, there on the right was a tree, covered in goats.  Coincidentally (not!) 3 shepherds were on hand, ready to take our photo on a donkey conveniently staged beneath the goats!!!  We are not sure how they get the goats to stay in the tree but we had to award the shepherds for ingenuity!!

We were not embarking on a 7 day safari of Saharian golden dunes, but a 9 day hike of the Draa Valley. Camels were included, but primarily as carriers of supplies, not us! We were not beginning at M’Hmid, the doorway to the Sahara, but ending there!!!

Our journey was to be a 9 day odyssey. A pilgrimage of the Moroccan kind. A spiritual toil through sacred, ancient land, following burial grounds along the valley of the river Draa – a skinny, winding river that sits in lands as harsh as it can be lush. A river that has supported settlements and nomads for thousands of years.

The Lonely Planet succinctly describes The Draa as “so desolate, that until you see it, there is no other way to comprehend the amazing feat of Moroccan existence!”

This is where we were to spend the next 9 days!

Ground, Grounded, Gone to Ground. The first thing to notice is the ground. We live off the ground, sit and eat, off the ground. Everything we have, comes from the ground. Its a different perspective, down here on the ground. Thank goodness its not wet but it’s also dirty on the ground. Clean dirt – mostly sand and not as bad as soil, but it is earth, terra firma! The first day – this is what is most impressed upon me. Ground. A concern begins to emerge in my thoughts! How can food be hygienically prepared – on the ground! Without refrigeration or running water?

Our “caravan” consists of 6 human beings and 3 camels. (An extra camel to ride is ordered and joins us a few days later – hand delivered by a young Saiid who walked for 8 hours, from M’Hmid, to do so). Antonio and I are the guests. The staff include 4 Arab men we quickly form a friendship with. Saiid is our Guide, Alii our interpreter. Ibrahim our brilliant cook, and Mohammad the carer of the Camels.

Young Saiid who walked 8 hours to deliver us a camel.

Under sensible desert wear of caftan and turban, the Arabs wear sensible urban wear – track suits and runners. These men live life with a foot in each world. Surrounded by their desert and generations of tradition and belief, they also all have mobile phones, and unbelievably, reception for most of this trip.

There is a rhythm to our walk, biting off chunks of the day as we proceed at the slow, steady, soothing pace of the camel. Rising with dawn, breakfast, packing up camp, traveling for about 4 hours. (Happily me mostly on the camels back!) Walking single file through crackling river reeds or parched irrigation channels. Emerging into sparse wide country, spreading out, consumed with the gentle breeze on the hot day, in our own thoughts. Stopping for the day, eating lunch and trying to survive the heat. Its way too hot in the sun, and surprisingly, too cool in the shade!

As the sun begins to set, motion begins again around the camp. A fire is built and dinner is prepared, eaten and we go to bed!

At times this was a tough journey for me including a melt down, yes tears in the tent, about half way through as I was overwhelmed with the excruciating boredom of trying pass the hot hours of the afternoon; the dirt; the ground; the drying desert; the lack of fresh water, only a small basin of water morning and night to wash in – no showers! The wind – a mini sand storm set in one afternoon and all night the wind thrashed and roared like a storm at sea. Thankfully, all other days were calm. Just hot. Mind you, not the grilling, sizzling heat of the 50 – 55 degree summer days, but a slow tagine cooking kind of heat of at least 30 degrees.

We survived the journey and from the comfort of our now awarded 6 star Cubby (all things are relative), time has already distilled the harshest memories into jewels.

We have lived and discovered the realities of life as nomads. For thousands of years, nomads have traversed this desert. Trading salt, sugar or just looking for a better place to be.

A desolate, rocky country, we moved amongst the relics and burial grounds of ancient settlements; Jewish kingdoms over 1600 years old, before Islam was born, and Berber villages, Arab cities. Chunks of terracotta pots and plates, remains of houses. Burial mounds as far as the eye can see, a closer look and the fragments of human bone inside. All slowly eroding, disappearing with the coarse wind, sand and searing summer heat.

The modern, subsistence lives of the Draa still cling to the river, channelled now and allocated amongst the villages on its long course. We are never far from civilisation and infact pass through or around about 60 villages. Built from the very earth they sit upon, houses are made from mud bricks, rendered by mud, fences formed from slabs of mud and dried palm leaves. Most nights we can hear the faint and distant drone of the evening and morning call to prayers, amplified though villages, 5 times a day.

People appear from the desert as if conjured by the hands of sand, stone and wind. We had a surprising encounter with a young girl and her little brother. As we sat on a dune, seemingly in the middle of nowhere admiring a sunset, they arrived with veils to sell – the traditional hand embroidered Berber “Zief.” We begin to barter but she quietly and shyly stuck to her price of 150 dh (about 15 euro) for two. We stick to our price, 50 dh less, and unbelievably she bids us “aurevior” and begins to walk away. At first we are just astounded, then we call them back and make the purchase. She knows the value of her handiwork, and we are proud for her.

Saiid has arranged a number of interesting diversions to the rocky barren desert and we visit the homes of some locals. It’s an eye opener. If lucky, the mud brick house has a few cooler chambers inside and perhaps a concrete stair case to an upper level. No surfaces are treated – concrete and mud is left, raw, dry. Inside the living area the only covered surface is the floor – with rugs, or mats! There is no furniture. Mattresses and blankets for sleep are stacked along one wall. There may be signs of electricity and light fittings, but no globes. Men are sitting on cushions against the wall and the central feature, the only feature, is the tea making equipment.

The Moroccan tea ceremony is unbelievable. We are amazed how important and what a ritual it is. Every evening our Arab friends “do” tea around the fire before they eat. Every visit will be accompanied by tea. Most often the men make the tea. It’s made and served in 3 rounds. The first is bitter and strong – like life! The second to quench the thirst. The third is lighter and sweet – like love! And sweet it is. A lot of sugar goes into each pot. Our caravan carries a 4 kg solid chunk of sugar, big chips are broken off each night. The tea is poured with length. The tea MUST end up with a head – like a good beer. It is said that tea without a head is like a nomad without a turban. It cannot exist.

On one visit I am called, shyly, from the room by the young girl of the house. Islan is 20 and brings me into the womens only area. It’s just like the mens, but more rugs on the floor. We sit on cushions on the floor in front of an ancient television. She wants me to speak English so she can repeat the words. She has no idea what we are saying but is relishing just practicing the sounds.

We have learned a lot about the Muslim culture and are reminded that Islam is a religion of peace; education in Morocco is for men and women and the fundamental aims of education are anti-poverty and to strive for equality between men and women; young Arab men often choose their brides in the joyous 7 day, singing and hand clapping, celebrations of a friend or family wedding; the camel is a sacred animal as it is mentioned in the Koran 3 or 4 times, more than any other animal.

Certainly we depend upon our camels. These tall, docile, gangly creatures are ideal for this environment. The camel has an amazing foot. Not hard and noisy like the horse, but soft, quieter with a tough hide texture – just like the nomad. Surprisingly they are not sure on their feet. A rough, uneven or slippery surface is not easy for the camel. Their endurance comes from their self sufficiency for water. No other animal can last in a desert so long without water. Their practicality comes from their long legs – collapsing cleverly into 3 parts and tucking under their belly, ensures they are just the right height to pack and to mount. A good camel can cost around 1500 euro – a small fortune to most Moroccans. A donkey costs around 100 euro.

Life in this part of a modern Morocco is tough. It’s very hard for a young Moroccan man to improve his position. Employment is seasonal based on tourism or agriculture. Work is not available for 6 or 7 months of the year. Even if some money could be accumulated and saved, the obligation to help family is compelling. Those “with” cannot be seen not to help those “without.” Centuries of tribes have survived on this principle.

And we see dunes. Golden and sweeping in a blue sky. I cannot say I yet have the heartful of dunes that I’d desired. I may have to come back.

Our camel trek was more than we could have ever anticipated. Almost religious on a spiritual, cultural, human level – somehow purifying. I feel more inspired after this 9 days in the desert than I did in 5 weeks on the Camino de Santiago de Compostella.

And we have 4 new friends with 4 Arab men who kindly and happily supported and served us for the past 9 days. It is hard to say how important each person was but certainly a heartfelt thankyou to all, and especially Ibrahim! Every day, somehow out of the kitchen tent, he managed to serve us fresh salad, fish and a cooked interesting dish for lunch, tagine or cous cous for dinner. Always healthy, delicious and Moroccan. All without running water or refrigeration. Thankyou ………..

Ibrahim our talented cook!

Alii our Interpreter

Mohammad our Camel Carer

Saiid our Guru Guide

We travel on towards Fez and being in the Rif, (could read Kif) mountains, we are advised not to take a certain route. Morocco is the 2nd biggest producer of marijuana in the world and fellow travellers tell tales of being blocked on the road by young men on bikes and quad bikes, trying to sell marijuana. Twice already in the streets of Chefchaouen, Antonio is offered Hashish! No one I know would be more unlikely to buy it!

Heading south via Ouazzane, the scenery is still stunning and the theatre of life, roadside, amazing to see.

Women walk with the tools of their trade; a tarpaulin mat for catching olives and a 20 foot bamboo stick to thwack them from the trees. It’s a land that demands an immediate return. We see orange trees, we then see vendors on the side of the road selling bowls of oranges. The same goes for olives trees; a small olive press in action and jars of marinated olives ready to buy. Food miles – ZERO!

Fez is our destination and Tom Tom Roger, and a small man on a motor bike that won’t be refused, lead us to Camping International, a 20 minute taxi drive from the Medina of Fez.

Through the campground we book a taxi guide to take us to Fez for dinner and again to the Medina the next day. All for an almost unbelievable price of 200 DH. (About 20 Euro) Even though we have been taught to impress on him, “no shopping” in our tour, we know for that price, a Fez guide, Berber or Arab, will not able to resist – perhaps just one visit, for one moment, to see the artists with the loom, the artists with the leather, perhaps the artists with the copper!

Alas, with Rachid, we immerse ourselves in the Medina for almost 5 hours. It’s an incredible place. Dirty and ramshackle in parts, vibrant and enlightening in others. Life in all its glory! It is thought at least 1,000,000 people live within the Medina walls, although the “official” statistic is one million in all of Fes. Rachid says this is a political ploy to detract the figures from the high level of unemployment.

There seem to be a lot of young men, standing around or walking with little purpose, and for me there is always a sense of an element of danger. Just a donkey deciding to bolt with a full cart would easily crush us in the narrow streets. Today, we are caught in the crowds of men leaving the Kairaouine Mosque from Friday Prayer. (25,000 descend on the mosque via many different entrances.) They walk calmly enough but I have already seen expression of the hot headed, “craziness” of the Arabs and fear a calm procession could quickly turn into an angry mob!

Rachid took us to the famous Fez sights; the Medersa Bou Inania, a 14th century primary school, now mosque; the Kairaouine Mosque and University, claimed to be the oldest university in the world; the tomb of the founder of Fez, Moulay Idriss II and finally the infamous Fez tannery – the oldest and largest working tannery in Morocco. I had been warned about the smell and we were given fresh mint to hold as we entered. Not being the height of summer, the smell was not too bad. Another blessing for traveling off season. And, yes, we did see one or two “artists” but a firm resolve not to make too many purchases at this early stage of our trip kept us in good stead and we managed to move on without too much angst.

We also had an incredible surprise. Just as we were leaving Rachid suggested we visit a Riad we were passing as he thought it was owned by an Aussie guy. Well, not only is Max Rowe Aussie. He also lived around the corner from Antonio as a child AND even went to the same primary school in the same year!! They may have sat next to each other!!! While they caught up on their memories of the discipline served by Marist Brothers Theo and Christy, I ducked up and around the 3 floors of the Riad. A very nice option for accommodation in Fez in a brilliant location. If we return to Fez we will definitely spend a night at Dai Dar Imdman. www.fes-hostel.com

It was a stunning day in the medina and coming out to the “real world” I had to wonder which seemed more like a dream?

As we continue on our drive to Zagora the next day, I reflect to Antonio that I think I now know who the real hero of Moroccan infrastructure is. The Donkey! This hardy, strong, co-operative little creature is utilised here to the max. In the medina and country side alike, it is never long before you see a donkey burdened, ploughing or dressed, waiting to work. Morocco could not function as it does, without the donkey.

And so today, December 1st, we leave civilisation as we know it. A lift in a 4 WD takes us 90 km east to the desert outpost, M’Hmid, situated just 40 km west of the Algerian border!  We meet our camels and for 6 nights and 7 days will ride these humpbacked beasts in the wild, golden sands of the Sahara Desert.  Wish us luck!!!!!