lists from (Morocco)

First list
The two most nerve-wracking experiences of my time in Morocco - and my imagined worst-case scenario reactions for each (this post is for the rents):

I. Trek up to the summit of Sfiha Telj in the Rif mountains outside of Chefchaouen. Companions were a German sea captain (sails LPG boats around the world when not travelling) and a Californian studying in Granada (really a year off before med school). First 3 hours of hike were steady scenic climb up 4WD mountain road. Last 45 minutes were scramble up steep gravelly mountainside with two short fully veritcal climbs. Fear of falling enormous.

Scenarios - to calm my nerves I convuluted most imagined falls into the following sequence of events - a) rocks give way/pine needles slide down/i lose grip of rock, b) i quickly take stock of trajectory, push off the first rock i pass while falling and lunge for nearby pine tree, c) said pine tree acts like soft velcro, cushioning my descent, as i cling to branches, d) disaster averted i climb down pine tree to find small lemonade stand at its base and a taxi waiting to return me to my hotel.

Only peer pressure compelled me forward. It was worth it though - the horizontal summit was sublime. Delicious snacks and views. Then similarly frightening descent. Breathed enormous sigh of relief when back on main road.


II. Grand Taxi (fancy term for collective taxi service between cities) ride from Ouezzane to Fez. Ouezzane was a stopover between two cities. We had to switch taxis. Busy crowded smelly carpark field. Serious language barriers. Pigeon french/english/spanish/german while trying to negotiate second leg of trip. I was convinced to place my backpack in trunk of rusting mercedes. Lots of haggling over prices. I see two others enter car. What if they just drive off?

Scenarios - as the rickety mercedes lunges forward I quickly jump on to the back clutching the roof frame from both sides. the car, constrained by the traffic, moves slowly as i pound on the windows until the bewildered driver pulls to a halt. i retrieve bag and..., hmm, I didn't imagine much beyond this part

Of course, this situation instead ended with us agreeing on a reasonable price, my boarding the taxi, and an uneventful trip to Fes. Was I a bit paranoid? I prefer to see it as prepared.


Second list
Foods that I tried for the first time. As in really actually ate on their own and not mixed in with something else or as a Jolly Rancher flavor:
Fig
Prune
Date
Apricot
Pomegranate
Olives
Sardines
Anchovies
Avocado

I enjoyed all of them. One benefit of growing up an extremely picky eater (really - I didn't eat chicken until the end of high school) is the vast number of simple and delicious foods I have yet to taste.

snippets from (work)

Cubicles are the ubiquitous and oft-maligned staple of the corporate office. Current client site has a new twist on this old theme - the 6-sided cubicle, or hexicle if I may. Might this present a daring break from the normal workplace? Hexicles do proffer the benefit of greater space and fewer right angles while maintaining efficiency. However, their none-too-subtle evocation of a bee colony (busy with buzzing drones) firmly shackles them within the confines of a traditional office space. Maybe a floating dodecahedricle...

Flash Forward

Version 1: Francais. English. Businesspeak.

Version 2: Montpellier. Paris. Fair Haven. Beach Haven. New York. Fair Haven. Philadelphia. Fair Haven. New York. Tarrytown. Fair Haven. New York.

Version 3: French University Dorm. Hilton Paris Hotel. Irv&Iris' Apt. Home bedroom. 12th Street. Alex's couch. Home. Nathan's couch. Home. Dan's couch. Tarrytown Estate Hotel Room. Home. Sublet #1. Sublet #2. Air mattress on the floor of my East Village apt.

From a life of motion through limbo to a new routine.

Less meandering, more musing?

Fire at Night

I spent three weeks studying French in the city of Montpellier, located on the southwest coast of France. Days were spent in arduous, arduous study. Nights were spent exploring the winding medieval lanes of the old city. On one such hazy evening we were meandering back from "Irish Bar" (It is a rule of travel that every city has an Irish pub, popular among the expats.) when beneath the soaring portico of an abbey was a small cadre of fire-wielders (-dancers, -players, -performers?). Some juggled, others twirled, and still others simply breathed fire in massive spurts. To see such a performance on stage, or in the middle of a crowded tourist square would have been impressive. Stumbling across it underneath a massive gothic abbey at 3am made it truly remarkable. We stood transfixed for thirty minutes admiring the performance that existed but for its own sake. I snapped some discrete photos. A friend, however, took some less candid shots and one thing led to another before we quickly walked away (ok, we kinda fled, I mean they had fire). Below are the fruits of my candor.

The Scene

Dragon

Flamedancer

Stanza D'Attesa

The low point of my travels last summer was missing my flight from Milan to Helsinki; it was wasted time and money, unnecessary stress and frustration. This summer Milan struck again. What should have been a 10-hour journey by train from Milan to Montpelier lasted 22-hours. Without detailing the infuriating bureaucracies that resulted in this mishap, I'll simply say that the benches in the Milano Centrale's waiting room are immaculately uncomfortable. The Stanza D'Attesa (waiting room) is the only place to pass the hours from 1am - 6am in the station. The police roundup up the station's homeless, beggars, tramps, and ignorant tourists and herd them into the room. It's only furniture are massive wooden benches, short in width, and with ungainly armrests bisecting their length. People employed varying strategies to surmount this ergonomic nightmare in a futile bid for sleep. Many took their shoes off. Socks are smelly. Those who did succeed in sleeping tended to snore.

I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my brave Ipod for lasting through the night.

Italian Food

...is really, really good. Paparadelle, prosciutto, pecorino, parmigiana, pomodora, porcini, etc. That's just one letter of the alphabet. Check out this blog for a much better written account of Italy's epicurean delights.

On Albania

I spent six days in Albania. It was the least developed, least comfortable, and strangest country I visited; for all of these reasons it was also the most interesting. A few thoughts from my travels.

Tirana
The capital of Albania, a jumble of traffic-choked roads, amicable cafes, pastel-colored concrete apartments, steel & glass corporate towers, and a bewildering lack of street signs. The power went off for six to eight hours throughout the day. This included the traffic lights. The hostel I stayed at used an electric water pump. It was around 100°F most days. Still, the hostel's basement provided some refuge. The staff was disarmingly friendly and sincere. The other travelers were good-natured, always willing to share their rakia. After two days in Tirana I went along with them to a music festival in...

Durres
One of the larger coastal towns, and the site of this year's Mjaft! music festival. The decision to go to this festival was governed by the infallible logic of why not? So I went. One minor event of note was our entrance into the concert area. I was with one other American and a Macedonian. We had some bottles of wine in our backpacks. Normally, backpacks are checked for this. As we approached, the Macedonian noticed this, and quickly explained in English that we were all Americans. They let us walk right by. Go figure.

Jal Plazh
Two exhausting days later we left the music festival on a quest to reach Jal Plazh. We heard of this tiny 'student beach' from some Albanians at the festival. They described cheap camping grounds, communal dining, abundant nightlife, and unspoilt beach. We were sold. Getting there was another matter. We hailed down a passing bus to get to Vlore. There, we relaxed, went swimming at a tiny cliffside beach, ate lamb, and then hailed a furghon (minibus) to Orikum. Orikuum is not a large town. We were sitting around kind of stumped, when a private taxi with a passenger speaking American english asked us if we needed a ride. We reluctantly agreed, and despite protestations never agreed to a price. The passenger was the driver's cousin; he operates a pizza parlor near Madison, Wisconsin, but often visits family in Albania. We chatted during the hour ride to the remote beach, which was much farther than anticipated. Did you know Albania produces excellent honey, but is not allowed to export it? Finally we arrived at the nearly deserted beach, were asked to pay an exorbitant sum for the taxi, haggled down to an acceptable price, and set off. The beach wasn't the student paradise we expected, but was blissful in its own, more relaxed way. We evern managed to borrow a tent from an Albanian family and 'lodged' for free.

Our Beach

The Crew (Aleksandar, Matt, Me)

The beach from above (just before dawn)

Over the River and Through the Woods

Today, on my journey into Albania I saw...

...Two bored guards working the border crossing
...A castle on a hill
...A donkey cart piled with the jumbled heap of a broken car
...A rusted railway bridge enjungled by monkeying youths
...Ten watermelon vendors on a single stretch of highway
...An old woman setting off on a long dusty road
...Hundreds of concrete bunkers rotting in the countryside
...A blazing red Vodafone billboard
...A dry riverbed filled with refuse
...Checkpoints manned by police officers in well-starched uniforms
...A rickety one-lane bridge for two-way traffic
...Countless donkeys tethered in the fields
...A boy clutching 2 white wreaths followed by a small procession
...Towering power lines strung across the agrarian plains
...A road construction sign translated into flawless English
...A tapestry of colorfully painted apartment buildings
...A student learning to drive (Autoshkolle)
...A bright yellow hummer
...A sign proclaiming "Welcome President Bush"
...The tangled traffic of Tirana's central square

Sorry Warwick

I have a new favorite castle - the Fortress town of Kotor, Montenegro. Lying on the base of Southern Europe's largest fjord, this majestic walled town has ramparts that crisscross the mountain rising behind it. A rugged Balkan Gondor (are the words rugged and Balkan redundant?). I can see how Montenegro held out against the Ottoman Empire for so long. The battlements were built up over the course of many centuries, and their haphazard and semi-ruined state made for perfect adventuring.

After spending seven grueling days on the beaches of Croatia, I was ready for some hiking. I paid the nominal entry fee, received a map detailing the various paths (coded for danger levels: "safe", "hazardous", "highly dangerous"), and set off. I suppose I should have prepared a bit more as I ran out of water after the first 20 mintues (did Chamutal teach me nothing?). Still, I kept climbing, eventually reaching the summit of the 1500 or so steps. The mountaintop breezes were reinvigorating. The views were magnificent. I understand why man constructed the tower of Babel. Or maybe I just like scenic vistas. I somehow strayed off the "highly dangerous" path during my descent. I think I found a goat path though, based on some pebbly clues. I brushed nettles aside and steppled carefully down the crumbling stone stairways. It was fun. Just as dusk was approaching I reached the walled town and returned triumphantly to my hotel for a much needed shower.

A Day in Dalmatia

Hvar, Croatia
9:30 am - Leisurely wake-up at sobe (private rooms rented by empty-nest Croatian women during the tourist season)
10:00 am - Depart for town center, store bags, purchase snacks for picnic, and rent scooters.
11:00 am - Scooter on windy roads out of town, up the mountain, along the cliffside perched over the sea, past the cool ocean breezes, through the chilly tunnel, beyond small towns, cars passing by, blazing along straightaways, finally arriving halfway across the island at Jelsa.
12:30 am - Cappuccino at a local cafe. Picnic of bread, cheese, prosciutto, nutella and bananas. Lounge at shady pebble beach. Swim in the sheltered bay, practicing underwater flips. More lounging. Listen to Ipod. Shift into the sunlight.
2:30 pm - Return by scooter to Hvar town, gliding faster with growing comfort, thinking into turns, motion almost as real as a video game, Cassady, wind-watered eyes and ocean breezes, gas station refuel then return.
5:00 pm - Retrieve luggage and proceed to bus station. Endure 20 inexplicably torturous minutes waiting in jumbled crowd to board one bus (essential to catch ferry to next destination) as the driver slowly sells each ticket and the sun bears down and people are cutting in line and there is hardly enough space on the bus though finally we make it on standing in the crowded aisle.
6:00 pm - Board ferry to Split. Take seats on shady benches. Journalling, reading, music, and watching the islands pass by.
8:30 pm - Arrive Split, bargain on price for a sobe for the night, then accept and follow middle-aged woman to her apartment.
8:45 pm - Drop off bags, shower, decompress, then head out for dinner
9:15 pm - Dinner at Black Cat Bistro. Wonderful change of pace from relentlessly Italian options of pizza, pasta, seafood available elsewhere in Dalmatia - balsamic curry pork chop with grilled vegetables and delicious wine. A fortunate discovery though there is little doubt it will show up in the next edition of Lonely Planet Croatia.
11:00 pm - Wander the labyrinthine streets of Split's Old Town the former retirement palace of Roman emperor Diocletian. Pockets of bustling nightlife are connected by the impossibly narrow and quiet alleyways that pass for streets.
12:30 am - Return to sobe and retire for the evening.