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Published: October 31st 2008
Traveling with my creative friends from home, Chelsey, Teagan, Lindsay and Mike who I all met serving at the Spaghetti Factory, inspired me to buy a new journal in Portugal and use it often...for the past 6 weeks we have been traveling around Ireland, Spain, Portugal, France and Morocco taking the occasional wave, living as cheap as possible renting a car everywhere but Morocco and having a wicked time...
Here are some of my journal entries to illustrate the journey of a zillion adventures...Ireland insights are yet to come...
A postcard by my beloved friend Chelsey to her Dad which portrays our Ireland, Spain, Portugal, and France adventures in the car, perfectly...
"Our vessel of travel, our car, has become our zone of comfort, our writing room, our storage, our kitchen table, our fighting ring, our disco bar, out hostel, our king size bed, our garbage, our seat of debate and game play, our sound booth, our classroom, our counsellors couch, our protection from the elements, our clothesline...it has become our embracing home and has taken us on amazing adventures. It has seen our excitement, anger, amazement, indecision, frustration, compromise, happiness and love...it has seen us dance and heard us sing, and unfortunately smelled us 5 beautiful travelers who see dollar signs in showers and fun in the dirt."
Oct 10
Courtyard, Oasis hostel, sunny afternoon, Lisbon, Portugal...An ode to new friends...
The night air is cool and the wind chills my body. We move in a staggered line through the busy streets, always wondering if we may have left someone behind. The streets are lined with people and full of foreign, beautiful languages, whistling men, laughter and music. We're in Portugal, I am with new friends, and life is beautiful. Shots of yager, beers, amaretto, smokes, stories of romance, drama and passion. I do my best to offer her advice. We walk to a Brazillian club where she points out her current lover, the hottie with the guitar who has the place jiving with locals vying for his attention...While she's drunk, she tells me, 'You're amazing!' I dance with Jacob and we watch everyone's hips move with the practiced rhythm only the Brazillians have perfected. Jacob and I leave her with the man every woman in the club lusts after, and head back to our Oasis looking forward to dreams of guitars and a good serenade. We find it in one more bottle of wine, learning Portugese from the night cleaner until the sun rises...
Oct 13
Alfanzia, Portugal, random parking lot, 11pm, in sleeping bag in front seat with 2 sleeping beauties, Lindsay and Teagan snoring around me, listening to the surf pulse outside my window, and hoping neither of the girls fart while I am still concious...An ode to all those who have written me goodbye letters...
It's the words...the words they write but most often do not say, which i cherish most. I extend the invitation, ask the question, and if motivation and time arise I am left with golden, priceless, sparkling pieces of my newly polished self esteem... "Don't read it until you're gone..." When these phrases are uttered I feel rich with happiness and anicipation. I suppose there is a major lesson to be learned from every person I leave behind, especially those who leave me with writing...my new Aussie mate Jacob taught me in Lisbon that it's ok to love your decsions and yourself, no matter what. Follow your own instincts, don't be misled. He taught me to make a strawberry mojito and promised me one every day for the rest of my days if I stayed to work the bar...He taught me to smile at every opportunity, learn everyone's name and use them often, and always offer free shots as a bartender to get people drinking...oh, and dance with your whole body, eat lots of Portugese pastries, and love all things funk.
October 14, Chefchaouen, Morocco, Chelsey and I get in after the rest are in bed...She heads to her and Mike's room and I don my headlamp for some writing in our hotel room of 3 single beds...
My bed is too small, my feet bend, my bones are achey from the days hike...sunset today, "Salaam" to everyone...'Hamad' pulls us into his beautiful mirror and teapot filled store, talks of religion, "I am a nonpracticing Muslim...I do not run to the mosque to pray five times a day, I just believe in energy, love, healing, God...You have no religion? Hmmm...who do you think controls the universe?" Well, not a god in my opinion, but if it is true, I will one day find out, I'm sure...We say goodbye and enjoy being lost in the tangle of doorways arched over bending stairs, awash with the colours of blue clouds and skies on brilliant, sunny days, full of children who give an 'hola, bonjour' combo, women with painted eyes and shy smiles...In the square we see our 14 year old waiter friend, high voice, big eyes, who assures me he goes to school but whose boss tells me otherwise...we chat in French, he shakes my hand, cracks my knuckles "...see you later, alligator!" We sit on the stairs as a cat looking for food appears and finds solace and his quiet purr in my lap...we wonder if he is loved as much as we love his company, his presence...
This language allows me the power to interact in incredible, magical ways...the language of French, of respect, of kindness...
There may or may not be bedbugs in this bed...
October 15
We're in Meknes, about to catch a train to the coast...Teagan and Chelsey hop aboard the train, Lindsay, Mike and I follow...I'm carrying Mike's surfboard, just climbed the steps, when the conductor comes at me, "Non, non, Vous ne pouvez pas entre avec la planche..." No surfboards allowed...he ushers me off and in my scattered French try and explain to him that
it will be fine and that we'll put it somewhere and that my friends are already on and that we HAVE TO GET ON THE TRAIN...Chelsey notices we're not there and as the train rolls away she leans out and screams, "meet you at the next stop!!" Mike, Lindsay, surfboard and I head to the other train station and put our board on a bus to meet us on the coast...we board another train and meet up with the rest in Marrakesh the next day...I wrote this on the train...
Train - Meknes, Rabat, Cassablanca, Marrakesh...
Despite the reason I'm here right now, I'm glad the route has turned this way. Early along the tracks, we secure a first class seat in a small air conditioned box, 6 seats. Alone with our bags, our feet on opposite seats, our random food of oranges, flatbread and avocado...alone with eachother. They enter and leave our home, staying only for a brief time, each offering us a different glimpse into the lives they lead. Fiercly proud of their country, fasting for religion, adoring parents, beloved friends. The boy, sitting quietly chatting with the adults, plays cards with us, politely refusing at first yet accepting at second offer. The little girl, 4, sits quietly in her mothers lap throughout the journey, playing slightly, always polite. Outside we pass donkeys hauling village men, towns with Cinderella like horse drawn carriages, bicycle and motorcycle transportation the most prevalent. Fields strewn with garbage, sheep, goats, women and men alike walking through what seems like nowhere, and still we sit, questioning why we're here, who's got it better or worse, and what's truly the most important thing...the experience of it all, the kindness in an offer of a last cookie, a blanket, an orange...
October 19th, after a wicked day wandering the coastal town of Essouaria and riding horses on the beach...
The Moroccans are religious about prayer...apparently I am religious about writing in my journal, writing home to friends, family. Today we sit, eating with a new friend, and I realize the beauty of the moment, of accepting difference, the excitement of the unknown, the kindness of a stranger, the pleasure of not being in control...he laughs at us, with us, 'Youbi', with his gangster walk, obsession with NIKE, ADIDAS, rasta women, our western culture...he raps for us in Arabic, drums on the table, helps us buy fish and veg, buys us forks for our BBQ picnic meal, treats us well...we are shown 3 BBQ markets by him where they will cook our fresh fish for us, cut our veg from the market into salads, bring us tea...we want somewhere more posh but end up at the 1st place he showed us...we spend about 40 DH each (4 CDN), on the meal and the experience of it all is priceless...a meal shared with a stranger who calls Teagan 'Chicken', wants a Canadian girlfriend, and "came out for cigarettes and ended up buying a fish."
In the fish market, children run by, see our in process sale, try and sell us black plastic bags for our fish for a fee...I watch as they chat together, are turned down or just given money by annoyed locals, their eyes give way to the shame they must feel for their position...this job forced upon them by parents...we see them, these and many other Moroccan children - fighting in Meknes, our waiter having to break it up... bullying in Essouaria, his head being knocked at from all angles....they treat friends as I'm sure they are treated at home...in
Marakesh, they ask for water..."Open your mouth," I say and pour some in to fits of giggles...I let them kiss me goodbye on the cheek - a traditional gesture - shake my hand, chat awhile...give me a smile and it will mean the world...turn off your pleading eyes if only for a moment...
October 22, On a bus, Agadir to Marakesh, 2nd bus of a 3 bus day trying to get to the desert for a camel trek...like my bum needs more sitting...
Travel days hunt us down, do nothing to please us, delight in our sore bums, tired eyes, aching joints, lost days. On the bus, he holds his rosary loosely. It hangs, wrapped twice around his wrist. He sits across from me and reads 2 papers; one in Arabic, the other in French. His age shows as he accepts my offer for chips, hands shaking, many thanks...
We pick up 2 women at a rainy, flooded stop. A boy approaches me outside with a request for money, shaking with cold in the wet...I cover his head with my scarf, bring a smie and a quick laugh, a small step backwards...he follows the mass heading back onto the bus, begging once again. The man with the rosary speaks to him in a serious tone, offers change, a pat on the head, a knowing smile. The women who join us are stunning; one wears a jewlbub, raincoat and pants, the other jeans and a wool coat. Their skin vibrant, eyes painted with long lucious lashes, lips rouge. I envy their thick black hair, natural features, their easy Arabic chatter with the men around them; think of how my friends at home would be as impressed and marvel as much at their beauty...
I meet an Aussie couple sipping tea in a small spice shop...they tell me they find this country beautiful...absolutely beautiful. I want to sit with them all day and contemplate this...Beautiful mountains, views, wildlife, people, markets, carpets, scarves, silver, food, ocean, sea, kindness, family, generosity, architecture, weather, culture, love...but there are so many things I find beautiful and at the same time otherwise so...garbage everywhere, the constant smell of sewer and rotting fish, stray animals at every turn, dead cats, kittens who chase me on their last legs, children men and women begging on every street corner, rotting missing teeth in every other smile, smelly god
awful disgusting toilets, hotels and rooms with with peeling paint, soggy dusty beds, 20 year old busses seemingly let loose on by a team of hungry dogs or teething pupies...plastic bags cling to trees as we cruise by and wonder, how has it come to this and what will it be like in 10 years, 20, 30...the pollution much like that in Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos and Indonesia put together...in the streets the ground is covered with trash, we watch things tossed from buses, passerbyers, street vendors...watch the street workers pick it up late at night, their workload multiplied by a countrys' lack of education: engrained ideals about waste management, an outrage to our western eyes. The poor pick through the discarded fare, and I think 'One man's trash is another man's treasure...' I hear children laugh and watch as they chase seagulls, are swooped up by adoring parents...see old men walking hand in hand smiling, laughing...see women walk to market, 3 generations of beauties with love and happiness in their eyes...
I feel rejuvinated, at ease, having been taught, once again, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and that all is not lost...this country is stunning,
beautiful, original, and proud. Morocco makes me weaker, stronger, happy, sad, but above all, thankful.
October 24, random bus writing post camel trip to Marakesh via Zagora...
Our camels are led through the desert and allow us time to think...a welcome break, albeit a bit bumpy, from our usual modes of transportation...I sit on this bus late at night and also, reflections gather in my mind...
In the desert, slowly we rode through time, each graceful step of my camel bringing a new colour to the bruises on my bum, new footprints to the unmarked terrain, a new thought about the past, present, future...we chat atop our present day dinos about careers, travel experiences, childhood memories, lost loves...we sing disney songs, our favourite oldies, made up banter...we muse about mutual friends, share recipies, advice, wordly facts...wonder where we'll be on Hallowe'en...all the while our guides trudge on confidently leading our camels through the hot sand...they chat in Arabic, sing, smoke, both wear blue Jelabas, turbans, smile up to me from time to time, "Ca va?" They help us speak to our camels, who still don't understand our commands, and to our nomad dog, Cornofou, whose age is evident by his tiny build, constant nipping, habit of pouncing us awake at sunrise, and sandal stealing midnight thefts. Throughout the days, the wind howls, sand is tosses mid sentence into my ears, eyes, mouth...eventually my sunglasses are the only thing on my face visible under my scarf, wrapped around my face and head like a devout Muslim or an Arabian princess...we sleep under the stars, early to bed each night, awake to discover tracks in the sand of nocturnal desert creatures we are unable to classify...we scamper up and tumble down sand dunes, delight in the forms our pee makes in the sand and see how many different positions we can sit or lie in while riding atop a camel. As I feel the wind on my skin, the confident body under mine, the heat of the day, I'm amazed at the diversity of adventure...we are young, happy, joined by thrill, frienship, generosity, the hard work that brought us together and paid, (for some of us), our way here...we are filled with the anticipation children on Christmas day...I love the future, never knowing what's to come...like a camel, unsure of its next move once I hop off..."Do I eat,
sleep or hit the road?"
Our poem, to the Spaghetti Factory where we all work, (or have worked), at home...A readers warning; inside jokes are in abundance, but I find they are funny even if you weren't there and don't understand them...(Discretion is advised...)
Ode to Eau de Smelly Jacket Potato Fart
Increase they do, pooholes and highway tolls, as our need for speed and consumption grows.
Stinky feet, bodies and hair, get out of our home, Mike farted in there!
The car is our solace with its 5 seats, fall asleep in the front seat and get ready for beats!
The windows reveal dirty, bare asses, fingerprints, toeprints, dead bugs in masses.
In our house on 4 wheels we sleep in 2 rooms. When our Mike, he ain't sick, to his tent he will fume!
Our stench fills the plane, eau de jacket potato, please close your legs, we can see your alfredo.
We prefer our cake with canned whip and beard. When he shaved it all off, for our husband we cheered!
Here, hold my bag cause I just lost a bet, Lindsay ran the street naked, never to regret.
We live beside castles with cheap wine in hand, our camp stove works wonders, our food's never bland.
From oatmeal to curries, stif fries and pasta, the couple kicks ass, Chef Melsey's the masta!
Kelly Slater we saw in our jaunt into France. Now Chelsey is pregnant, she can't keep up her pants!
We sleep in close quarters, know who each sound is from, snorts and lip smacking and the gas from Mike's bum.
Lip smacking is Teagan's forte with Norweigan boys, while Lindz and Erin attract creepers with bed stealing joys.
We drive down long streets all through the night, wake up tired and hazy to an incredible sight.
We make food beside highways, airports and beaches. In hostels they stare and drool like big leeches.
Erin wants a guitar, Lindsay some soccer, Teagan her tap shoes and Melsey eachother.
We float between countries from shore to shore. Slothed in between seats, we drool on the floor.
With his shoes being polished and coffee in hand, the guard let us in to Morocco, no mind to our band.
In Morocco we find new sights smells and tastes. Lindsay snaps photos of toilets with haste.
"Chefchaoen! Chefchaoen!" Our bus driver barked, and at 4am
out we were thrown in the dark.
In the park we sleep, in a fishbowl to locals. Just take a picture or I'll steal your bifocals!
3 buses a day keep the camels away. Goats scamper up trees as the donkeys bray.
Mangy cats roam the beach and we feed them our nuts. Bob Barker would go crazy, these cats are all sluts!
Our bus tailgates semi trucks loaded with hay, as the men beside us count beads and pray.
A bread at each meal, mint tea twice a day, you'd think that our stool would be solid, eh?
She barfs on the bus and shits in her pants, and still Lindsay gets hassled by Moroccan mans.
Teagan's named Chicken, Mike is called Johnny, Lindsay the Gazelle, Chels and Erin, "Oh Hunny!"
From the Spag to the desert, we roam with no tray. When asked where we met, an Italian restaurant, we say.
"To the Spag!" Bellowed Teagan as she boarded her plane. "Hell, no!" We replied, she must be insane!
I'm currently stationed in London, at Jon's, working on getting in shape for all the dancing I will be learning in Africa...I am 'stuck' here while
I wait for my African visa. And I must say it's a pretty posh place to be 'stuck'...no complaints here...Jon and I are jogging everyday, have made some serious Moroccan and Indian dishes in the past 48 hours I've been 'home', have friends' parties, plays, hikes, movies, teach Erin to cook lessons, footie games and dinner parties filling our calendar for the next month...busy busy!
"Salam a la kum"...Peace be with you...
Erin
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