I apologize for the hugely tardy nature of this blog – shit has been INTENSE on the MV in recent days since we sailed into off into the smog… I mean sunset of Casablanca. It’s been like a page out of some cheesy teen Euro trip novel with lying and intrigue and a ball! Yep, we have a ball. It’s called the Med-Summer Night’s Dream and it’s the final culmination of our two months of fun, friendship, poor academic habits, and questionable safety decisions in foreign countries. Yes we’ll be celebrating like royalty not only at a seated dinner of filet mignon but also with a grand total of two – count them – TWO drinks (beer and wine only, of course) for the entirety of the night. For you math whizzes out there, that averages out at a staggering one half drink per hour if you count the dinner and following dance. I suspect some rowdiness will be occurring on the 7th deck between the ping-pong table and baby pool if you know what I mean.
In other news, oh hey we went to Morocco. And it seems like an eternity ago, already. Once you set foot through the gangway on the last day in port, settle into your cozy cabin and unpack all of your goodies, the memories you made just moments ago seem to hurtle away like the wake following the MV. How can you be nostalgic for a chapter of your life that has literally just closed? It’s a strange feeling, but more than anything I feel like this summer has been a movie or a trip to a really authentic Mediterranean Epcot, or something I experienced through pictures or stories from a friend. I can’t believe it happened to me. And that it’s over. But I’ll leave the tears and waxing poetic for the next post. Now is the time to savor these last breaths of salty Atlantic air, pop a few more Meclizines for old times, and reflect on what incredible adventures we’ve had. Most recently, our trip into the strange and fantastical land of Morocco.
It was magical. In every way. There couldn’t have been a better way to bring this whirlwind to a close. When you picture foreign countries in your head, its natural to have a slightly romanticized image of what they might look like if you ever saw them before your own eyes. For instance, the whitewashed buildings set starkly against a perfectly cerulean sky I imagined of Greece were there, but not quite as striking as I’d hoped. But as I hopped out of the taxi in front of the main square in Marrakech, it felt like Morocco. Exactly as I imagined it to be. There really were dudes throwing monkeys on your head, snake charmers playing entrancing tunes on their flutes and women accosting your hands trying to give you cheap henna tattoos. The narrow streets around the main square were a labyrinth of sights and smells: the aroma of saffron swirling in from apartment windows and the sound of donkey-led wheelbarrows click-clacking with their daily deliveries.
I’ve begun to realize that most Mediterranean port cities are worthless after the unbeatable lineup of Civitavecchia, Athens (sorry), Alexandria and now Casablanca. So finally at the last port we learned from our mistakes and got out of Casablanca as quickly as possible, Marrakech or bust. Our mode of transportation had less character than the now-infamous Cairo station wagon road trip, but the decision to set up camp in Marrakech was a good one.
The recommended manner of accommodation in Morocco is the “riad,” which is essentially a small bed-and-breakfast with a few rooms that looks like nothing but a break in the stone wall from the outside. However, step inside and you’re transported to an opulent Arabic palace with a bright open-air quad packed with ornate tilework and lush greenery. I read somewhere that it’s customary for Muslim homes to be rudimentary from the outside as to not come off as ostentatious next to their neighbors’. However, all bets are off once within the four walls of the riad. Our beds were sprinkled with rose petals and rooms adorned with chandeliers, antique furniture and lush bathrobes. Not bad digs for around 25 Euro per night/per person. And we got to fill our bellies with a savory Moroccan breakfast served cheerily by a genuinely caring staff each day before whatever adventures awaited us.
And adventure we did. From popping bottles to scaling mountains, we conquered Morocco as only SASers can.
We shopped and shopped at the endless stalls of the souks that encircle the main square in the Old Town of Marrakech. Each turn of a corner and a new wonder awaited us. We brought silver snake bracelets, aromatic spices, hand-painted bowls, shimmering scarves, and even live animals (long story). And after a long day on the retail grind, we needed a little R&R. So seemingly all of the SASers in Marrakech flocked to the same local haunt to kick back. Oh it was casually the largest club in Africa – Pacha, a chain of nightclubs many of you might recognize from New York City. Although we’d been jaded from the endless scams and rip-offs of clubs we visited around the Mediterranean (cough Mykonos), this was our last chance to toast the summer. So we clenched our teeth through the expensive cover/cost of bottles and danced the night away at Africa’s largest club. L’chaim.
The remainder of days in Marrakech run together in my mind in a sea of bright colors, delicious earthy scents, and the melodic sounds that seem to fill every nook and cranny of Morocco. We took a full-day trip to the spectacular Atlas Mountains a few hours outside the city. Every minute of that van ride was worth the view we witnessed just steps from the parking lot. Some of the largest waterfalls in the area shimmer down into a canopy of fluffy greenery and rich red clay. And than we hiked. And hiked. And hiked. It was like nature’s StairMaster but with a sheer drop of hundreds of feet just beyond the tiny path. Our guide led us through slick rocky rivers and tiny slippery passages. After a mildly “Into The Wild”-eque experience where one friend and I got stranded on the side of a mountain (ask me personally for the full story – it’s quite dramatic), we reached the bottom. It seemed as though we’d tapped into the Rastafarian commune of North Africa. Eager young men danced and sang delightedly at the banks of the rapids that careen through the feet of the mountains. Marijuana leaves and the quintessential red/yellow/green/black color scheme adorned everything from tiny barges to tote tourists through the rapids and cozy restaurants tucked into the forests. We trotted across numerous rickety wooden bridges and peered up at the souring mountains and jungle-like scenery around us. It felt like Indonesia or Vietnam – worlds away from our friends haggling over jewelry and ashtrays in Marrakech.
I still don’t think I’ve gotten all of that Atlas Mountains mud off my shoes, but the experience was downright spiritual. We returned to humanity for a few more precious hours of freedom before setting off to sea the next day, for a blowout at our friends’ immense villa tucked somewhere in suburban Marrakech. The 10 or so SAS kids renting the place spared no expense to give us the best send-off party we ever could have dreamed of. Food and drink were plentiful, as were the stories traded and memories relived under the shimmering Moroccan stars. We didn’t even care when the power went out – Marrakech clearly couldn’t handle the wattage of our festivities. But we didn’t care. With our closest friends around, we shimmied with belly dancers, marveled at fire-blowers and celebrated the end of this insane ride.
What a unpleasant slap in the face to return to – final papers, exams, dragging ourselves away from the paradise known as the pool deck tanning area. We’d almost forgotten this was school. So we now put away our cameras and passport protectors for a few days and hunker down on academics. Talk has begun of first meals back, moving into new houses, and what fall semester has in store for us. To that I’d like to quote Jack Kerouac, whose generation-defining novel “On The Road” I finished just moments ago:
“What is the feeling when you’re driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? –it’s the too-huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-by. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.”
Monday, August 16, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
“i only travel to cairo by station wagon”
Thank you, Semester at Sea, I can now check something off my list of life goals to achieve before I die. I gazed at the Pyramids of Giza from atop a camel. I felt like I’d hopped into a cheesy Egypt postcard with my aviators and scarf around my head, and it was nothing short of spectacular.
But before and after my camel love fest, Egypt was a country full of surprises and will go down in history as one of the more unexpected and hilarious ports we’ve visited to date. I think all of us here on the MV shared the collective sentiment of indifference leading up to docking in Alexandria. I mean, what is there to do in Egypt other than see the Pyramids and buy some shit with hieroglyphics on it? Answer: a LOT more than I ignorantly thought. My mindset pre-port was basically, accomplish that huge bucket list element and leave the rest up to fate. Some of my friends took extravagant Semester at Sea-sponsored overnights to places with exotic names like Sharm el Sheikh and Abu Simbel, but considering I don’t particularly love being bossed around and kept on a tight schedule for five days while trekking through 120 degree heat, I opted to conquer Egypt on my own.
Well, that might have not been the greatest plan. Prior to beginning Semester at Sea, I decided to book very few pre-planned trips because I had no idea what my mood at the time would be and whom I’d want to travel with. (In other words, I love doing things sporadically and last-minute.) The two day-trips I did end up on (Montenegro and Delphi) were, in all honesty, a waste of time and money and painfully boring. So, up to this point, I was more than happy I didn’t get cornered into embarking on some $900 mammoth of a trip in any of the countries and getting separated from my friends and loosing out on sharing all those memories with them. But then as Greece and Turkey came and passed, it seemed like EVERYONE was abuzz about their upcoming Egyptian SAS journeys. “There is absolutely no way I’m taking those sketchy trains or that eating questionable food without professional supervision and guidance!” Shit.
Well, the four of us who did not haul ass onto buses at 8AM that first day in Alexandria embarked on probably the most hysterically poorly planned half-assed tour of Egypt that has ever occurred. But, it was also one of the most memorable and amusing times of my life. I could have had pre-planned buffet dinners and more miserable coach rides. Instead, I had Hard Rock Café and a nearly three-hour road trip from Alexandria to Cairo in a circa 1978 station wagon cab. Upgrade or downgrade? You decide.
Let’s start from the beginning. Alexandria is eh, basically a worthless city. Founded by the Alexander the Great, Alexandria used to be arguably the seat of humanity and learning, with its famous library and pretty much every scholastic discovery of the era (philosophy, astronomy, geometry, etc.) taking place within its city limits. Cleopatra, the original bad bitch, also chose Alexandria to be the seat of her throne. Unfortunately, today Alex exists as a crowded poverty-ridden shadow of its former glory, with much of its ancient beauty destroyed and left in tattered ruins. Hence, we saw the library and got the hell out of there. And in style, I may add…
So, Cairo is around a 2 ½ hour train ride from Alexandria. In any Western city in the world we’d have made our way to the station, bought an overpriced ticket, hopped on, fallen asleep and woken up in Cairo.
But this is Africa.
And when you pay more than 6 American dollars total for a cab pretty much ANYWHERE you’re getting ripped off. So we’re hustling out of the port late for our train (the lure of 7th deck breakfast burritos over some creepy Egyptian variety too intoxicating to ignore) when a cab driver approaches us. After around three minutes of bargaining, we got him down to 15 bucks per person to take us ALL the way to Cairo. 15 bucks for three hours. I love Egypt? Not to mention his whip was the majestic aforementioned station wagon – so we all piled in for a good ole Egyptian family road trip. Without a doubt one of the best rides of my life. Peering out the window at the desert flying by, Drake’s new album in my ears (unrelated side note: if you haven’t listened to “Thank Me Later” at least eight times through yet I don’t want to know you), snuggling with my friend Meredith in the way-back, suddenly the Pyramids are visible in the distance over the right shoulder of the highway. So surreal.
We decided to settle in the heart of it all. A historic hotel in Giza called the Mena House that’s pretty much the Pyramids' next-door neighbor. It’s overwhelming in its Moorish opulence; it felt like sneaking a tour of some rich Arab dude’s palace. And then laying your head down to sleep in his luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets. Hence, we took full advantage of hotel food whose health code status we didn’t have to worry about, and a decadent pool with the Pyramids looming just feet away.
After getting over playing American dignitaries in the lobby of the Mena House, we finally got around to the obligatory reasons why were in Egypt. We saw a light show on the Pyramids at night, which was amazing for the first 15 minutes, and then provided the perfect soundtrack for a nap for the last 45 with its dry creepy 1950s history lecture. But the next day made up for any bad feelings as we headed out on our camelback journey.
Despite the seedy nature of the tour guides and stable-owners, we had more or less the time of our lives prancing around the Pyramids and the Sphinx held aloft by our furry friends. Seeing the Pyramids for the first time up-close in real life is truly an indescribable experience. Nothing, not even a Midtown Manhattan skyscraper, can make you feel as small as one of those three famed monstrosities. And camels are probably my new favorite animal – they are so adorably tall and awkward and don’t really know what to do with their limbs (flashback Katey circa 5th grade?) and run in the most hilariously weird way I’ve ever seen from an animal. And they’re surprisingly friendly and kind and let us love on them all day long (refer to my current Facebook default for pictorial evidence). Our camels’ names were Mickey Mouse, (which I changed to Flower) Mike Tyson (which I changed to Kush and then Camellionaire) and Moses (which stayed Moses).
That night we ventured into Cairo to sample a traditional Egyptian dinner. We ended up at the Hard Rock Café Cairo. Close enough? I have never been happier to eat chicken fingers and potato skins in my entire life. To my friends back home, be jealous of the food I ate in Italy. Do not be jealous of pretty much anything else from this summer (it’s less exciting and more horrifying when you find a piece of surprise meat in your rice in Egypt, believe me), and savor each and every normal sandwich or salad you put in your mouth in my honor please. After we finished basking in the glory of American food, we headed out to the city. Cairo is a surprisingly chic cosmopolitan destination, and we had fun traipsing through the lobbies of the Four Seasons and the Hyatt that line the shores of the famed Nile. After realizing we weren’t going to get much further than peering at the décor of those lobbies (bars/drinking in general are really just not part of Egyptian culture) we headed home. Content to play with giggly Egyptian kids in the back alleys of Giza and speak with some of the sweetest locals we’ve met, rather than hit a club for once.
Our time in Egypt was dwindling and we had to fit in the famous Egyptian Museum in Cairo before heading back to the MV. Can you say: second biggest letdown of the trip? It’s worth going for King Tut and the amazing creepiness of the mummy room where you can look at dudes like Ramses II preserved down to hair and eyelashes intact. But the other thousand or so square feet of the museum seriously sucks. I feel like everyone had a heavy dose of Ancient Egyptian history sometime in elementary school, and combined with that and seeing “The Mummy” a few times it’s hard not to be fascinated by this ancient culture. And I was so ready to delve into that museum in all of my nerdy glory. Such a disappointment. I felt like I was in a warehouse or some packrat’s garage sale. No air conditioning. Typewriter exhibit descriptions that haven’t been updated since ’38. Everything is just kind of arbitrarily shoved in with no rhyme or reason and absolutely nothing inspires you to daydream about the gods or pyramid builders or cool makeup. Whatever. I’ll live.
As fast as it began we were back on the MV. And Egypt was just a dusty sandy dream we re-lived when dumping out our shoes we wore to the Pyramids. It’s a place you have to see before you die. And, despite hitting the must-sees, I barely skimmed the surface. So I cannot wait to go back someday and see the side of Egypt the travel books overlook.
Can you believe it? The next port (Morocco) is our last and then after what promises to be around ten days of hell and finals at sea, I’ll be home to most of you (hi Mom) in Miami. It’s been a surreal ride. One last breath of snake charmers and monkeys and then back to reality.
But before and after my camel love fest, Egypt was a country full of surprises and will go down in history as one of the more unexpected and hilarious ports we’ve visited to date. I think all of us here on the MV shared the collective sentiment of indifference leading up to docking in Alexandria. I mean, what is there to do in Egypt other than see the Pyramids and buy some shit with hieroglyphics on it? Answer: a LOT more than I ignorantly thought. My mindset pre-port was basically, accomplish that huge bucket list element and leave the rest up to fate. Some of my friends took extravagant Semester at Sea-sponsored overnights to places with exotic names like Sharm el Sheikh and Abu Simbel, but considering I don’t particularly love being bossed around and kept on a tight schedule for five days while trekking through 120 degree heat, I opted to conquer Egypt on my own.
Well, that might have not been the greatest plan. Prior to beginning Semester at Sea, I decided to book very few pre-planned trips because I had no idea what my mood at the time would be and whom I’d want to travel with. (In other words, I love doing things sporadically and last-minute.) The two day-trips I did end up on (Montenegro and Delphi) were, in all honesty, a waste of time and money and painfully boring. So, up to this point, I was more than happy I didn’t get cornered into embarking on some $900 mammoth of a trip in any of the countries and getting separated from my friends and loosing out on sharing all those memories with them. But then as Greece and Turkey came and passed, it seemed like EVERYONE was abuzz about their upcoming Egyptian SAS journeys. “There is absolutely no way I’m taking those sketchy trains or that eating questionable food without professional supervision and guidance!” Shit.
Well, the four of us who did not haul ass onto buses at 8AM that first day in Alexandria embarked on probably the most hysterically poorly planned half-assed tour of Egypt that has ever occurred. But, it was also one of the most memorable and amusing times of my life. I could have had pre-planned buffet dinners and more miserable coach rides. Instead, I had Hard Rock Café and a nearly three-hour road trip from Alexandria to Cairo in a circa 1978 station wagon cab. Upgrade or downgrade? You decide.
Let’s start from the beginning. Alexandria is eh, basically a worthless city. Founded by the Alexander the Great, Alexandria used to be arguably the seat of humanity and learning, with its famous library and pretty much every scholastic discovery of the era (philosophy, astronomy, geometry, etc.) taking place within its city limits. Cleopatra, the original bad bitch, also chose Alexandria to be the seat of her throne. Unfortunately, today Alex exists as a crowded poverty-ridden shadow of its former glory, with much of its ancient beauty destroyed and left in tattered ruins. Hence, we saw the library and got the hell out of there. And in style, I may add…
So, Cairo is around a 2 ½ hour train ride from Alexandria. In any Western city in the world we’d have made our way to the station, bought an overpriced ticket, hopped on, fallen asleep and woken up in Cairo.
But this is Africa.
And when you pay more than 6 American dollars total for a cab pretty much ANYWHERE you’re getting ripped off. So we’re hustling out of the port late for our train (the lure of 7th deck breakfast burritos over some creepy Egyptian variety too intoxicating to ignore) when a cab driver approaches us. After around three minutes of bargaining, we got him down to 15 bucks per person to take us ALL the way to Cairo. 15 bucks for three hours. I love Egypt? Not to mention his whip was the majestic aforementioned station wagon – so we all piled in for a good ole Egyptian family road trip. Without a doubt one of the best rides of my life. Peering out the window at the desert flying by, Drake’s new album in my ears (unrelated side note: if you haven’t listened to “Thank Me Later” at least eight times through yet I don’t want to know you), snuggling with my friend Meredith in the way-back, suddenly the Pyramids are visible in the distance over the right shoulder of the highway. So surreal.
We decided to settle in the heart of it all. A historic hotel in Giza called the Mena House that’s pretty much the Pyramids' next-door neighbor. It’s overwhelming in its Moorish opulence; it felt like sneaking a tour of some rich Arab dude’s palace. And then laying your head down to sleep in his luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets. Hence, we took full advantage of hotel food whose health code status we didn’t have to worry about, and a decadent pool with the Pyramids looming just feet away.
After getting over playing American dignitaries in the lobby of the Mena House, we finally got around to the obligatory reasons why were in Egypt. We saw a light show on the Pyramids at night, which was amazing for the first 15 minutes, and then provided the perfect soundtrack for a nap for the last 45 with its dry creepy 1950s history lecture. But the next day made up for any bad feelings as we headed out on our camelback journey.
Despite the seedy nature of the tour guides and stable-owners, we had more or less the time of our lives prancing around the Pyramids and the Sphinx held aloft by our furry friends. Seeing the Pyramids for the first time up-close in real life is truly an indescribable experience. Nothing, not even a Midtown Manhattan skyscraper, can make you feel as small as one of those three famed monstrosities. And camels are probably my new favorite animal – they are so adorably tall and awkward and don’t really know what to do with their limbs (flashback Katey circa 5th grade?) and run in the most hilariously weird way I’ve ever seen from an animal. And they’re surprisingly friendly and kind and let us love on them all day long (refer to my current Facebook default for pictorial evidence). Our camels’ names were Mickey Mouse, (which I changed to Flower) Mike Tyson (which I changed to Kush and then Camellionaire) and Moses (which stayed Moses).
That night we ventured into Cairo to sample a traditional Egyptian dinner. We ended up at the Hard Rock Café Cairo. Close enough? I have never been happier to eat chicken fingers and potato skins in my entire life. To my friends back home, be jealous of the food I ate in Italy. Do not be jealous of pretty much anything else from this summer (it’s less exciting and more horrifying when you find a piece of surprise meat in your rice in Egypt, believe me), and savor each and every normal sandwich or salad you put in your mouth in my honor please. After we finished basking in the glory of American food, we headed out to the city. Cairo is a surprisingly chic cosmopolitan destination, and we had fun traipsing through the lobbies of the Four Seasons and the Hyatt that line the shores of the famed Nile. After realizing we weren’t going to get much further than peering at the décor of those lobbies (bars/drinking in general are really just not part of Egyptian culture) we headed home. Content to play with giggly Egyptian kids in the back alleys of Giza and speak with some of the sweetest locals we’ve met, rather than hit a club for once.
Our time in Egypt was dwindling and we had to fit in the famous Egyptian Museum in Cairo before heading back to the MV. Can you say: second biggest letdown of the trip? It’s worth going for King Tut and the amazing creepiness of the mummy room where you can look at dudes like Ramses II preserved down to hair and eyelashes intact. But the other thousand or so square feet of the museum seriously sucks. I feel like everyone had a heavy dose of Ancient Egyptian history sometime in elementary school, and combined with that and seeing “The Mummy” a few times it’s hard not to be fascinated by this ancient culture. And I was so ready to delve into that museum in all of my nerdy glory. Such a disappointment. I felt like I was in a warehouse or some packrat’s garage sale. No air conditioning. Typewriter exhibit descriptions that haven’t been updated since ’38. Everything is just kind of arbitrarily shoved in with no rhyme or reason and absolutely nothing inspires you to daydream about the gods or pyramid builders or cool makeup. Whatever. I’ll live.
As fast as it began we were back on the MV. And Egypt was just a dusty sandy dream we re-lived when dumping out our shoes we wore to the Pyramids. It’s a place you have to see before you die. And, despite hitting the must-sees, I barely skimmed the surface. So I cannot wait to go back someday and see the side of Egypt the travel books overlook.
Can you believe it? The next port (Morocco) is our last and then after what promises to be around ten days of hell and finals at sea, I’ll be home to most of you (hi Mom) in Miami. It’s been a surreal ride. One last breath of snake charmers and monkeys and then back to reality.
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