Peace in the Middle East - Dubai and Lebanon

My next destination was to the middle of the Middle East, Dubai.  One of my best friend’s from university, Gus, had moved there a few years back to be closer to his family in Lebanon.  A few other college buddies and I decided it was a good time to meet up there.

I had wanted to keep my journey on the ground or sea as much as possible and had contemplated crossing the Sahara Desert in a camel caravan or something to that effect, at least in my head.  However, the realities of the situation were much different and somewhat of a hindrance to my vague plans.  The Moroccan border with Algeria had been closed for years due to a rift between the two countries over oil rights.  Libya was blowing itself up from the inside and Egypt was stoning people in Tahrir Square.  To save my parents some grief and myself a sore ass from the camel ride, I decided to take the more traditional route and fly, but that doesn't mean there was nothing to write about.

Qatar Air was the cheapest option out of Casablanca and when I purchased my ticket on their website I was given a list of options for my name prefix such as Mr., Mrs., Miss, Doctor, Captain, Priest, Rabbi, Infidel, etc.… Well ‘Captain’ had a nice ring to it and since I had just recently sailed across an ocean, I felt like the title suited me quite well.  Plus, there were no questions asking to verify my identity so what could it hurt.

My plane was severely delayed leaving Casablanca.  After a few hours of reading all the leftover newspapers others had left behind while boarding their planes and being on a first name basis with all the saleswomen in the duty free liquor store, I finally asked an agent what the exact problem was and when we might actually leave.  She said, rather casually, they were still looking for a pilot.  At first I was quite disconcerted and normally would have had a few follow up questions like, "Well have you checked the pilot schedule I assume most airlines have?" or "Have you tried his cellphone?  It was invented in the 1980's and most, if not all people, carry one on their person in modern times."  However on this occasion before being asked who I was, or who my ticket said I was, I made haste back to the friendly women of the whiskey aisle. 

Finally onboard, our first of three legs was a short two-hour flight to Tunisia to pick up a few more passengers and I am guessing to also test the flight skills of whatever pilot they quickly recruited.  After a safe landing, while waiting for the new passengers to board, I wanted to check with a flight attendant if I would still be able to make my next connection in Doha.  She asked to see my ticket and the conversation went on like this:

Flight Attendant:  (After looking at my ticket.)  Oh, so you’re the Captain!  We knew we had a captain on board but weren’t sure where he was sitting. 

Me:  (After a slight stutter.)  Why yes, that is me.  You found him. 

FA:  Whom do you fly for?

(Now this is where tough decisions must be made and you have to commit to the role or bail out.  I committed.)

Me:  Well I am between airlines right now.  Looking for a change.

FA:  Well you should fly for us.  How many hours do you have?

Me:  That’s a very good question.  How many do I need?

FA:  You have to have 200 to apply to be a pilot with us.

Me:  Oh, I am just shy of 200.

FA:  Well get some more hours and send in your application.  This is a great airline to work for.

Me:  So I have heard.  Ok, I’ll look into it when I get the hours.  (Now to change the subject.)  So will I make my connection?

FA:  Oh yeah, let me check and I will get back to you after theses passengers finish boarding and we are set for takeoff.

(When everyone had boarded the stewardess came back and knelt beside my seat.)

FA:  Captain Berger, I'm sorry but we won’t make it in time for your original connection but there is a flight leaving one hour later you can catch.  Would you like me to set you up on that one?

Me:  Yes please.

FA:  Also, we have a few seats open in First Class if you would like to sit up there.

Me:  Hmmm, sure.  Why not.  It’s so stuffy back here with all these common folk.  Also can you get me into First Class on my connection out of Doha?

FA:  Sure.  No problem.

Before I even had my seat belt on in my new First Class seat, my first glass of champagne appeared and I was promptly asked what type of wine I would like to accompany my steak for dinner.  After I had the flight attendant explain the pros and cons of the two red wines on board, I told her to just bring me one before the meal and one during. That way I wouldn’t have to make another tough decision. 

Moral of the story:  If we ever meet in an airport, please refer to me as ‘Captain’ because that is what will be on my ticket from now on.

Dubai

A small family that struck oil and became rich beyond their wildest dreams and moved to the big city sounds like a good idea for a sitcom in the 60’s.  Instead of moving to the big city, the Emirates built the big city where they lived, in the desert.  Let’s call this show “The Desert Hillbillies”.  The Emirates transformed this sand swept region into one of the financial centers of the world and a tourist mecca of their own to rival their neighbor’s in Saudi Arabia.  Using the motto, “If you build it, they will come,” from one of their favorite Kevin Costner movies, ‘Field of Dreams’ (Luckily they haven't seen "Waterworld" or Kevin may have dropped a few spots.), they built one of the most grandiose cities in one of the world’s most barren places attracting visitors from all over the world to see their man-made marvels.  Using cheap labor from Ethiopia and the Philippines along with shrewd business sense, they turned Dubai into a regional powerhouse in less than a decade.  

The Burj Khalifa

~ The city currently boasts the world’s tallest building, the Burj Khalifa, standing at 2,722 ft (829.8 m) tall.  This trumps the previous record holder by an astounding 700 ft (200 m).

~ It’s home to the largest mall in the world, which out-built the old record holder that was also in Dubai.  The current record holder has a Red Lobster.  The previous record holder has an indoor ski slope where you can meet and greet penguins.

~ They have the world’s only 7 star hotel, the Burj Al Arab, which has a helipad that doubles as the world’s highest tennis court.

~ And since every rich person’s dream is to have their own island and there were none in the vicinity of the Persian Gulf, the Emirates again built their own and of course not just any island.  Known as Palm Jumeirah, it was built in the shape of a palm tree, it is the largest artificial archipelago in the world .  It is home to 60 luxury hotels, 4,000 residential villas, 1,000 water homes, 5,000 shoreline apartments, and multiple marinas, restaurants, and shopping malls to satisfy the masses.  Two more palm islands are underway and an island map of the world consisting of 300 smaller islands all of which can be owned.  I put a down payment on Fiji.  Thought it would be cool to say I owned Fiji even if it is the one off the coast of Dubai.  

The Burj al Arab

Tennis court / Helipad

(I couldn't afford stepping foot in this hotel much less renting the helicopter for these photos.

Image compliments to Google.)

Aquarium in Dubai Mall:  Another world record for largest acrylic panel.

World record as the only seafood restaurant to offer endless snow crab legs in 2003 
almost causing the franchise to go bankrupt.  It's true.  Look it up.  

Cooling costs for a ski slope in the desert:
Sky high  
Ski outfits leftover from the Dream Team:
Dirt cheap

This was as close as they allowed Frank
to the actual penguins.

 The Palm Jumeirah:  Required 65 million pounds of sand and rock.  
(Again image compliments to Google.)

A view of the skyline shows nothing but skyscrapers and cranes building more skyscrapers pushing farther and farther out into the open expanse of desert with nothing to stop it.  It is a city built on opulence and decadence where you wouldn’t question if the streets were paved of gold.  

If it’s not obvious by now, Dubai is a place meant for spending money and for a guy traveling with just a pair of flip-flops and a few swimming trunks, this wouldn’t be my first choice for travel destinations but I had friends to meet.  And usually when I meet with these friends, we tend to do more drinking and partying than sightseeing.  Good thing for us the main attractions in Dubai are drinking and partying.

Although Islam is the state religion, things are kept pretty relaxed to keep the international clientele coming in especially compared to its neighbors:  Saudi Arabia, Oman, and Iran, and thank Allah for that.  The one exception are the "sex police".  No, these guys don't barge into your room at inappropriate times to critique your bedroom swagger but they do lurk in the corners of most bars and night clubs to make sure no "inappropriate" behavior takes place.  This would include any public displays of affection, dancing too provocatively, or in Frank's case, dancing by yourself on your back in a seizure type fit on the dance floor.  Luckily they weren't sure what to do with Frank and he was just given a stern warning after first checking if he needed medical attention.... multiple times.  However things can get quite serious and the jails are filled with Brits who had a night on the piss and if at home would have just been laughed at by their friends for pulling their pants down, but here they are thrown in jail and deported. 

Frank using a choke hold on me and himself to get us "dancing".
And no, I don't know what I was drinking.  It was very, very late.

Lebanon

For all of Dubai’s newfound glitz and glam, Lebanon still holds sway over most Europeans and Middle Easterners as the vacation capital of the region where the attention is focused in and around Beirut.  The city is one of the most cosmopolitan and religiously diverse cities in all the Middle East holding onto a complex network of nine major religions:  Maronite Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Greek Catholic, Armenian Apostolic, Armenian Catholic, Protestant, Sunni Muslim, Shia Muslim, and Druze.  However, just because they are all living together in the same city doesn’t mean they have always gotten along.

Lebanon had a brutal civil war beginning in the 1970’s and lasting until the early 1990’s mostly between the Christian and Muslim majorities leaving scars that are still visible today including a tattered power infrastructure causing ill-scheduled blackouts all day and night.  Even though Beirut has cooled over the years, their neighbors to the north and south still keep things lively.  Syrian rebels use the north as a retreat and safe haven from the Syrian army who unpredictably lob bombs across the border in retaliation for harboring the rebels.  To the south lies Israel/Palestine where Hezbollah forces amass to defend their land from the Israelis since the Lebanese army is little to non-existent.

If Lebanon's current political situation is intriguing, its ancient history and natural landscape go far beyond that.  It is home to Byblos, the oldest inhabited city in the world just north of Beirut dating back to 8800 B.C.  The country's coast line is littered with remains from Phoenician, Hellenistic, Roman, Byzantine, Arab, Crusader and Ottoman civilizations.  The interior is filled with magnificent cedar forests which are the symbol of the country and a cave system that is on the short-list as a new wonder of the world.

Of course Gus wanted us to see as many of these sites as possible.  He also wanted to take us to the best night clubs and beach bars which ended in some very late nights getting home.  This sometimes made for difficult mornings lacking the motivation to get up and see a very old building that will most likely be there for years to come while still seeing double and wondering why my shirt is on inside out and the shoes I have on aren't mine and don't match.

Once we got going, the sites were incredible but getting there and back was usually half the fun since Gus's sense of direction is on par with an Asian woman who has blonde hair.  Getting lost and asking locals for directions is never a big deal, however making a wrong turn or bad exit and ending up in Hezbollah territory can lead to some site-seeing that none of us were too keen on seeing.  We were actually told by many people that it would be quite safe and interesting to have someone drive us through for a tour of a Hezbollah neighborhood but we could never find anyone to volunteer.... intentionally.

Driving around the country is one thing but driving in Beirut is another.  It has the worst traffic I have ever seen or could fathom.  On an 8-lane road, with 4-lanes for each direction, traffic starts to build up a few miles before an intersection coming into town.  The cars going one direction, the direction we are headed, are completely stopped so the people start using the other 4 lanes heading the wrong way to bypass the traffic.  Soon all 8 lanes are jammed with cars trying to go one direction while coming from the intersection 8 lanes are jammed coming the other way with no room to pass.  It seems infuriating and mind-boggling that this can actually happen and it can take 2 hours to go 2 miles but yes it does.  After having some time while sitting in the aforementioned traffic to reflect upon how people can drive like this, I came to the conclusion that after living through years of civil war and complete devastation, driving the wrong way down a street really isn’t that big a deal.  You could always handle it like these guys who kept the traffic and themselves entertained for most of the time:

But this tends to be the attitude of the people.  To make the best out of whatever situation they are in.  To enjoy yourself when you can because tomorrow things may change.  It is a country of contrast with a five-star hotel built next to a blown out building, a luxurious home rebuilt next to a neighbor’s still pock-marked with bullet holes, a Vegas style pool bar next to a mosque, a concert venue hosting the most current performers in one of the oldest cities in the world, bombs dropping in the north while tourists party on the beach in the south.  It is a country of resilience and great pride trying to lead the way as the multi-cultural example of the Middle East.

View from Byblos looking south to the beach clubs and coastal neighborhoods.

A day at the beach turns into an evening for dinner on the coast. 

A model posted on a wrecked building winks at drivers as they sit in Beirut traffic. 

The Lebanese flag during sunset on the Mediterranean Sea.

All in all we somehow managed to see most of the sites as well as make the most of our nights.  If I remember correctly, and I probably don’t, I think we were only kicked out of 2 places (Once for flirting with Disaster, the club owner’s wife, and once for starting and being the only participants in a ‘Dance-Off, Pants-Off’ contest.  Luckily we weren’t in Dubai.)  And that ain’t bad for a bunch of guys named Bay Jerger, Mother Goose, O-train, and Dirty Frank.

Cheers,

Jb

Rock the Casbah - Morocco

Preface:  A couple of paragraphs may require a rating of PG-13 so for any parents who let their kids read this, God help you.  If you are reading this at work, please read it out loud.  Also, I have uploaded many more photos for Morocco at the link on the right.

It's amazing how two points of land separated by a sliver of water can be worlds apart, yet this is what happens while on the ferry crossing the Straight of Gibraltar.  To the north lies Spain where, aside from speaking Spanish with a severe lisp and bulls occasionally chasing you through the streets, most things seem normal to the Western eye.  To the south lies Tangier, Morocco's northern most city and the gateway to North Africa where the cities are composed of labyrinth like medinas filled with artisans, tribesmen, shopkeepers, and lost tourists all surrounded by the grand Atlas Mountains which are in turn  surrounded by the vast Sahara Desert.  These are my favorite places, where civilizations collide, and I was looking forward to getting off the ferry and stepping foot on the African continent.

Below is the route I traveled through Morocco, starting as mentioned in the northern most city of Tangier, then headed south to Fes, then to the desert outside of Merzouga, then through Marrakesh before ending up in Casablanca.

Journey through Morocco:  Tangiers, Fes, Merzouga, Marrakesh, and Casablanca.

Tangiers is undoubtedly the most touristy city in Morocco due to its proximity and ease of access to Europe allowing many day trippers to take the short ferry ride across the Straight and be back before sunset.  Tangier is a beautiful seaside town with camels lazing on the beach hoping no one wants to go for a ride while women covered in head-to-toe black burkas go swimming in the ocean and once submerged immediately turn into something resembling a huge black jellyfish.  The white-washed walls of the city rise from the beach protecting the homes and medina inside and extend upwards to the old casbah or fort that safeguarded the city in days gone by but still stands as one its main attractions.

Morning view from my hotel roof top as the sun begins to bathe the city.

Tourists consider if they want a ride and camels consider if they want to give one.

Locals enjoy the evening view from the battlements left in place on the casbah with Spain in the distance.

Being that there are many tourists means that there are equally as many touts trying to sell you anything you could possibly imagine and many things you don't want to imagine.  Most of the time you almost expect them to pay you for taking this crap off their hands.  As a 35 year old male, I am just not in the market for a pinwheel that lights up or a spinning top that makes a very annoying noise no matter how many times you shove it in front of my face.  On the other hand, my cousin's child has a birthday coming up.  I'll take the annoying noise making spinning top.  Do you gift wrap and ship?

To say the least, eyeing up their customers is not their specialty.  They go for quantity not quality.  However there was one gentleman who must have taken a 2 week online business course because either he could tell by my posture and jaw line that I was a sucker for subtle humor or because I was the only obvious foreigner gathered in a crowd to watch a local children's acrobat performance.  He approached quickly with a monkey in tow and got right to the point, "My monkey likes penis."  Well I appreciate the valuable insight and will make sure to avoid you in the future but monkeys aren't really my thing.  I am more into quality than quantity my friend.  "You pay for penis."  At this point I was unsure of whose penis we were now talking about but was still pretty adamant about not paying for any type of transaction involving this man and his monkey.  Being unsatisfied with my unyielding answer of "No, please go away.  We are at a children's performance and this seems quite inappropriate", he then stuck his hand in his pants.  I thought if this was happening back home I am pretty sure myself, this man, and Bobo Jenkins the monkey would end up sharing a small cell but luckily here, the nearest police were bickering over which way was up on a fallen stop sign.  Luckily also when the man pulled his hand out of his pants he had a handful of peanuts.  A big smile appeared on my face which my friend assumed was just because I was happy to see peanuts but also because, due to my esteemed colleague's accent probably since he was taught English by the British, I now understood that he pronounced peanuts like penis.  Well in that case, how many can I buy.  I'll even help you find more tourists as long as you keep the peanuts hidden and say 'penis' to them until they are about to hit you.  Let's go.

These are the young acrobats.  I thought it better not to show a photo of the tout, his monkey, and the 'penis'.

Shark:  the other white meat.

Tangiers is a great introduction to Morocco.  The medina is just large enough not to get too lost in and it is always easy to find your way since the sea is right beside you as your guide.  Also, the Moroccan seafood is fantastic.  One evening I made my way to a recommended local spot that is somewhat hidden but well known for its seafood.  There wasn't really a menu.  You were just told to sit down and a 5 course meal started showing up consisting of  whatever they had caught and prepared that day which at least meant it was fresh.  Everything from the seafood soup, to the spicy shark, to the whole fish kebabs, to the strawberries and almonds covered in honey for dessert was delicious.  After eating most of the seafood that was available in town I decided it was a good time to head out and take the 6 hour train ride south to Fez.

Fez is one of the oldest trading cities in the world and its medina is world renown packed with homes, hotels, shops, restaurants, butchers, tanneries, bath houses, and everything else that is needed to make a city tick.  New comers who want to explore the shops, or souks, become lost after just a few turns as there are no signs and small corridors lead to large passage-ways to small single-file alleys to old wooden doors to main thoroughfares.  Touts are posted up like vultures to immediately prey on those who are obviously lost and charge them a small fee to lead them out but the entire point of going to Fez is to get lost in the medina and as long as you keep heading in one direction you will come out somewhere.  

Just a portion of the vast medina that is Fez.

My luxurious riad and enthusiastic bellboy.

As usual, I adhered to my strict practice of waiting to think about accommodations until I am enroute to my next destination.  I met a fellow on the train who assured me of the most luxurious accommodations at his friend's new hotel in Fez for a fair price.  After the 'fair price' was negotiated and my train arrived in Fez, I was led through a maze of alleyways before surprisingly ending up at an extremely nice riad, or hotel.  The manager wasn't too happy with the price his friend agreed upon and I wasn't too happy with trying to remember where my hotel was located but after a couple days I had my route to the hotel down and figured the best way to explain it is by video.  After watching this myself it is apparent I am not cut out for making documentaries and will stick to photography but it gets the point across none the less:

Getting up the next morning and seeing my 'friend' from the train in the lobby I knew there was more to it than helping me find nice accommodations.  He told me he was going to buy some carpets to send to his other home in Switzerland and I could come along if I wanted to at least have breakfast there.  Sure breakfast at a carpet shop sounds fantastic.  Of course I knew what I was getting into but I did want to see a carpet shop since they are supposedly some of the best in the world plus it would be entertaining to see how good these guys are.

On the way through the medina to the shop, my 'friend' is telling me that the annual art expo just finished up and now all the artisens, including carpet makers, are selling everything that didn't sell at extremely cheap prices.  That is why he is here and I should feel lucky.  Lucky indeed.  I sent out a Tweet as soon as I could.  We walked into the carpet shop and before my eyes could adjust from the bright sun to the shaded interior I was lead to a comfortable side room where a full breakfast was laid out and told to just relax and enjoy the food.  After breakfast, the pleasantries were over, the gloves came off, and it was time for business.  Here is the cliff note version of how things went:

-----------------------------------------------------

Salesman:  Which one do you like?

Me:  Well they are all very beautiful and it is difficult to decide.

SM:  That is ok you can buy many.

Me:  Actually I don't want to buy any.  I just wanted to have a look.

SM:  Which color do you like?

Me:  I guess the blue-green is really nice.

-The salesman claps his hands and barks a few commands at 4 old seemingly crippled men who painstakingly unroll 6 more rugs in front of me.-  

SM:  Which one of these do you like?

Me:  They are all nice but I am really not going to buy any.  And I understand you are using these old men to make me feel sorry for them so please stop asking them to unroll your entire inventory of carpets for me.

SM:  Ok, well just take off your shoes and walk on this.  They are double sided.  This side is for the summer and this side is for the winter.  

Me:  Well I am from Texas and we don't really have winter.  Do you have a side for really hot and really humid?

SM:  Look at the stitching on this one.  Three women went blind while making it.  If you buy it you will support them and their families for 6 months.

Me:  That is unfortunate.  Can I just donate some money to them.  I can't fit a 12 ft x 6 ft rug in backpack.

SM:  That is no problem we can ship it very cheaply.

Me:  More importantly I just do not want to buy one and have no need for it.

SM:  So you can't use it.

Me:  Exactly.  Hence I don't want one.

SM:  Well perfect.  You can sell it when you get back to America and pay for your trip with the profit.  Look at this book signed by previous customers.  Daren and Kate from Australia wrote, "We bought 8 carpets and sold them when we got back home.  It paid for our entire trip and we also had enough extra money to pay off our student loans, buy the Outback Steakhouse franchise, start a koala/kangaroo breeding foundation (how cute would their babies be), fund a new Australian Space Agency, buy our own airplane to fly back, buy more carpets, and sign this book to tell everyone about this amazing deal.”

----------------------------------------------------

I will say being able to start my own space agency and breed kangoalas was intriguing but I had had enough and was ready to leave.  Plus after refusing to buy a carpet so many times, I got kicked out and never saw my 'friend' again. 

Elbow-to-elbow traffic in the Fez medina.

After getting kicked out, I was left to roam the crowded medina on my own and in no time had another tout at my hip.  This one wanted to show me a leather shop/tannery.  Sure why not.  It's still the morning and I was hoping to get kicked out of three shops by midday.

Once inside the shop, I was handed over to the proprietor who seemed more perturbed that I interrupted  his black and white soap opera re-run of 'Esek, the Donkey that Always Sleeps' than interested in making a sale.  He haphazardly lead me through four stories of hand crafted leather goods which were all actually very nice but out of walls and walls of women's brightly colored slippers, they didn't have any in my size and if I couldn't get the slippers, why would I buy a matching handbag.

After we finished the fourth floor he asked if I would like to see the terrace and before I could answer he handed me two small mint leaves and began leading the way.  As soon as we stepped foot on the terrace there was a foul odor in the air.  He looked back and could see the disapproving look on my face and the mint leaves still in my hand as I was unsure what they were for.  He motioned to roll them up and place them in my nose to help mask the stench.  I wished I would have had these when I was strolling through the meat market.

We walked to the edge of the roof top and below at ground level to my surprise was a vast open area of small pits filled with different colored water with some men running back and forth carefully between them.

The old-fashioned tanneries of Fez.

This was a sight I had seen before in travel magazines and on tv but never thought I would stumble upon it here in Fez.  These are the oldest tanneries in the world and they have been operating in the same way for centuries turning animal hide into workable leather using techniques founded during the medieval period.  I immediately had to get down there although once in the tannery it was quickly apparent that flip flops weren't ideal foot apparel for the ground level tour with buckets of lye, vats of pigeon dung, and all states of animal hide spread about.  I gingerly made my way through.

The process:
They bring in stacks of animal pelt on the backs of donkeys through the narrow and packed alleyways of the medina.  Once unloaded, lye is applied to help remove any of the fur or hair left after shearing.  Then the hides are put in pits of water and pigeon dung where the workers stand waste deep and work on the hides like grape crushers at a vineyard to soften them up.  They are left to soak for a few days, then taken out and washed in a gigantic manual tumbler before being dyed and set out to dry.  It is quite an amazing process to behold and every chemical they use is natural from the lye to the pigeon dung to the dyes:  saffron for yellow, henna or madder root for red, indigo for blue, cutch from the acacia tree for brown.

Esek the donkey ready for his rest.

Applying lye with a smile.

Vats for dye.

The large wooden tumbler to wash the leather.

Yellow leather soaked in saffron set out to dry on the roof tops.

The final product - shoes to decorate your shop walls.

This was a live falcon.
Didn't ask what it cured.

After the rug shop and the tannery I was done with guides and spent the next couple days just getting lost and finding something interesting around every corner.  The local Berber pharmacies were always a favorite and interesting to walk into never knowing what you would find.  They had a plethora of different mostly dead animals to choose from and shelves of twisted twigs and roots soaking in some type of odorous fluid.  While doing a bit of online research on Fez I came across one man's comments on a pharmacy item:  "Don't eat the seed-pod like things the proprietor offers you. Although he's eating them also, they are very high in estrogen and can cause a man's nipples to be sore for several days afterwards."
(Note to self :  Next time at the pharmacy, find medicine for sore nipples.)

This is what they wanted me to wear.
I stuck with my own traditional garb.

Fez is remarkable but after so many days exploring the medina It gets a bit suffocating.  Luckily the Sahara Desert is just down the street.  I took a 12 hour bus ride over the Atlas Mountains to the ends of the earth in Merzouga for a camel trip into the desert.  It wasn’t really high season so I was the only participant in the camel caravan.  My guide walked in front of me sometimes talking on his cell phone but after 15 minutes we were past the first dune and surrounded by endless desert.  We rode about 2.5 hours to a site of Berber camps and a little oasis tucked below a mountainous sand dune.  It was definitely peaceful and relaxing sleeping in the open on a mat with just the stars overhead.  My guide told me next time I came I should come with him to where he is from.  It is only 5 days more by camel into the desert.  I told him that just after 2 hours on that camel my ass was pretty sore but I knew a monkey in Tangiers that might make a good travel companion.

A one-camel caravan.

My Berber guide pretending to sooth his camel.  They are one of the most ornery creatures I have ever met.
I guess I would be in a foul mood as well if I was the beast of choice to carry people
and their belongings through the desert.

Our camp for the night.  I slept in the middle on a very nice carpet with just the stars overhead.

After this I headed back into the thick of things to Marrakesh.  If Fez is the heart of Morocco then Marrakesh is its cultural capital.  Home to the busiest square in all of Africa, Jemaa el-Fnaa, which means 'Assembly of Trespassers'.  It is still filled every night as it has been for years with snake charmers, fortune tellers, Berber musicians, magicians, baboons, and all those that come to witness the spectacle.  The only thing that probably hasn't been here for centuries is the 'ring around the coke bottle' game:

Locals can't get enough of trying to put a ring around a bottle of coke.

Snake charmers aren't that charming.

Lights at night in Jemaa el-Fnaa Square.

What's for dinner - the entire sheep's head or just the brain?  Kids eat free.

Aside from Jemaa el-Fnaa, Marrakesh is filled with the grandest palaces, tombs, gardens, medinas, and people watching Morocco has to offer.  The main medina in Marrakesh isn't as lived in as the one in Fez and is set up more for tourist shopping resembling something akin to Aladdin's Cave when you enter.

There are plenty of restauranteurs vying for your appetite and money as you walk the streets especially around Jemaa el-Fnaa but it offers the best people watching.  One day during a lunch time stroll a friendly lad presented me with an overly adequate menu so I decided to have  a seat and watch the crowd meander by.  After taking some time to finally decide what I wanted from the exhaustive choices, I called the waiter over and pointed to my first pick.  The waiter then told me they were out of that.  I pointed to my second item.  That is not good.  I pointed to my third item.  We don't make that any more.  Ok, just tell me what I can get.  Kebab.  Ok give me that.  So the waiter went and pulled a few kebabs out of the warmer that were probably made yesterday and I gnawed at them for a while at least enjoying the parade of people passing by.  Luckily there was a cheap ice cream place just next door.  The ice cream was delicious but as a piece of advice make sure to have it finished before the sand storm roles in or it gets a bit gritty.

After my travels through Morocco with just one more short stop to go before leaving the country I decided to indulge myself and relax in a hamam or traditional bath house.  There are separate hamams for men and women of course and it's basically a sauna/bath/massage place where you can get bathed and massaged by a full grown man for a small fee.  Who could pass that up?  The description calls it a relaxing massage and bath but it seems more akin to some practices during the Salem witch trials with the amount of contortions they put you in and scrubbing they do.  I definitely admitted I was a witch more than once but that didn't seem to be enough to make it stop.  I will say that they thoroughly scrub every inch of whatever is exposed.  I had on my swimming trunks but the local attire seemed to be a just a pair of tighty whities. You might think it a bad idea to go into a hot bath house in a town that is situated in the desert however it is so hot inside that the 100 F degree temps outside seem relatively cool afterwards.

Once I was thoroughly satisfied with my time in Marrakesh, I left one day for Casablanca before I flew out.  For all it's fame and lore, there really isn't much to see in Casablanca even though it is Morocco's largest city and is home to the largest mosque in North Africa.  Even the famed Rick's Cafe was just recently built a few years ago to satisfy tourists.  Of course I went.   

Rick's Cafe - Best meal I had eaten in a long time accompanied with Casablanca Beer.

The inner courtyard of the massive Hassan II Mosque.
Third largest mosque in the world.  Tallest minarets in the world.
Capacity of 25,000 worshippers inside, 80,000 outside.

I know that was a long read and if you made it this far, thanks.
Hope everyone is doing well and always great to hear from everyone or anyone.
Only one more entry until I am caught up to my current location.  Five points for anyone who knows where I am now.

Cheers,

JB

Self-portrait:  Here's lookin' at me.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Unpaid Advertisement:

I have no idea what it tightens but he guaranteed results.

My buddy with the monkey from Tangier asked me to advertise some of his other products and in return he would give me a cut in any new sales.  So the next time you are in Tangier please stop in at his shop and make sure to mention my name;)

Crossing the Pond - Part 3

After spending four days exploring the solid ground of Faial we decided it was time to pull anchor and start again before we lost our sea legs.  Plus, the boys had somehow managed to both get into trouble so it was none too soon to depart.  William had a bounty on his head after knocking over a light post in the city park during one late night of drunken amusement.  It may have been me but we all agreed to blame William.  And Filip was blamed for impregnating 2 women, a goat (male), and a post office box all in the same night.  Aside from the seemingly scientific marvel he had pulled off, we found it best to leave at once.

We left the cramped docks of Horta on June 1, 2012 just around noon with about a weeks worth and 1,300 nm of sailing ahead of us which felt like a mere day trip after the 2+ weeks it took to get to the Azores.  Our sail back to the open ocean started under blue skies as we passed Pico, the island just east of Horta and probably the most picturesque with its perfectly conically shaped peak and just a feathering of clouds drifting lightly across its top.  Below is a short video proving our whereabouts, that being the ocean, and that I was allowed to helm the boat as long as Paul's watchful eye was nearby;)

The sail east kept the wind to our backs but it was still shifty both in speed and direction forcing us off the rum line and to run the motor more than we would have liked.  Both before the Azores and after we were accompanied by large pods of dolphin which was always a delight and got everyone up on deck.  They played in front of the bow teasing the boat onward as we looked them in the eye letting them know we were happy for the visit.  Once they had had enough, they were gone just as fast as they arrived.  One day instead of a pod of dolphins, we were surrounded by a pod of massive tuna, almost the size of dolphins.  Obviously not as playful as the dolphins but they stayed with the boat for a good while however not long enough to catch one.

Probably the most memorable encounter, for Paul at least, occurred one early morning just as the sun was rising and he was alone towards the end of his shift.  A hump back whale came up just meters from the side of the boat unnoticed until it exhaled from its blow-hole giving Paul quite the wake up call before it dove back down to the depths below.

With time on our hands during slow days I wrote a message in a bottle and tossed it overboard about 32  N, 61 W so if you are in the area keep on the alert.  There may be a reward if found and by 'may' I mean there isn't.

Unfortunately there is no audio but we were playing 'Message in a Bottle' by Sting.
At least I was in my head while trying to not fall overboard.

At times there was no wind at all and Paul cut the engine so we could have a dip and say we had swum in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with thousands of feet of water below us.  The 18 C (64 F) water temp was a big difference from the 28 C (84 F) water temp we last enjoyed in St Martin so we didn't stay in for too long.

Filip holding on to the boat since he can't swim.  The swim mask is for his sensitive eyes.

We all felt like old hands on the boat and everyone knew their part well.  However a story about crossing the ocean wouldn't be a good story without at least one problem.  Our's turned out to be the forward toilet.  For a few days we had noticed it wasn't flushing correctly and actually backfilling.  Luckily we were on downwind with the boat flat.  Had we been on upwind heeled over even the slightest it would have made quite the mess.  We began to trouble shoot the problem and to my great fortune all the plumbing for the forward toilet lies behind the panels in the v-berth, where I had taken up residence.  There had been a slightly foul odor I had noticed on occasion but Filip and William were both in the small room next to mine so I figured it was just from them.  However, after taking apart most of the v-berth we found our problem.  The overboard pipe had a small outflow of black water at one of its fittings which meant we had a clog somewhere in the system.

On a side note, whoever designed a boat to have so many small screws holding on so many large panels obviously never intended for them to be taken off, much less while at sea.  This should have been our first sign of what was in store.

Well after we banged on every pipe, fitting, and tank in sight we also realized that the clog had been there for some time because the holding tank was also filled to the gills hence the leakage from the fitting and the back flow into the toilet.  We all stared at the pipes for a good while hoping they would say something like, "Well boys, we can see you have put in a good effort already to find the problem so we will go ahead and fix ourselves otherwise it's going to get really messy."  Unfortunately not a word from the pipes was to be heard.

Once realization struck us as to what had to be done, we looked around for any volunteers.  None were to be found.  Fixing this on solid ground would have been a job in itself but on the forward end of sailboat while underway in the middle of the ocean added an entirely new level of consternation.  So Filip and I donned gloves, masks, life jackets, and any other protective wear we could find while Paul oversaw the operation and William was at the helm all the happier to extend his shift while we did the dirty work down below.  To do this we had to disconnect a meter long hose which had one end connected to the holding tank that was full and the other end that went overboard through a hole in the floor well below the water line.  Both ends posed severe problems.  The end connected to the holding tank we knew was back filled and would be extruding extremely black water as soon as we disconnected it.  The other end we had to make sure wasn’t damaged as it was below the water line and we would have had a 6 foot high water spout inside the boat.  In case you aren’t aware, any type of water spout is bad inside a boat while at sea or otherwise.  The only things that should have water spouts are narwhales and hot thermal geysers, neither of which should be inside a boat.

At this point, I think everyone gets the picture so I'll leave out all the gruesome details.  We managed to get the hose off, get the clog out, get the hose back on, empty the holding tank, and restore the toilet to its nominal working condition without sinking the boat or turning the v-berth into a sewage treatment facility.  Luckily we had filmed the entirety of our operation and sent it off to Phoenix College online where Filip and I were awarded honorary degrees in plumbing at sea.  Definitely going on my resume.  Now all that was left to do was sail the boat to Gibraltar and not clog any more toilets.

As we drew closer to the Straight the ship traffic picked up immensely and the sailing became a bit rough but soon enough land was in sight.  The tide and wind were both with us as we sailed on through the Straight of Gibraltar with Europe to our north and Africa to our south.  For the ancient Mediterranean sea-farers sailing west, this straight marked the end of the world and was known as the Pillars of Hercules marking the farthest west Hercules traveled to perform his twelve labors.  For us it marked the completion of our eastward journey across the Atlantic Ocean.  We hugged the Spanish coastline and soon had the Rock of Gibraltar in our sights standing alone like a welcoming centurion.  We arrived safely in the calm waters below Gibraltar on the morning of June 9, 2012.  Twenty-seven days and 3000 nm after leaving St. Martin our transatlantic crossing was an unforgettable success.

Cheers to Filip, William,  and Paul for an amazing journey.

Both local and foreign boats fill the docks under the protection of Gibraltar.

Unfortunately this was the getting off point for William and myself but not the final resting spot for New Dawn.  We said our goodbyes knowing we had made the trip of a lifetime together.  William went to catch a plane while Filip stayed on for a few more days and helped Paul get the boat to Mallorca and then he had to jump ship as well.  The only one who had time and leisure enough to sail New Dawn to her final destination in the South of France was her owner and skipper, Paul.  After spending some time in Mallorca getting a few things fixed up, he made the final few day-sails alone in somewhat rough conditions until both boat and captain were settled in at their home port.

Back at Gibraltar, the timing also worked out well as Crystal was en route to Nigeria to start her Doctors Without Borders work and was able to stop in Spain on her way there.  Somehow with just the not so accurate gps location from my Spot Tracker she was able to locate where our boat was anchored and was waiting on shore all smiles when our dinghy pulled in.  It was great to see a welcoming face and warm smile on the other side of the pond.

Crystal and I just a had a few days together in the area before she departed so we spent most of the time exploring Gibraltar.  You would think that it wouldn't take that long to explore a large rock but to our pleasant surprise there was much more to see there than expected.  Those are my favorite kind of places.

The Rock of Gibraltar is a pinnacle of limestone that juts 1,400 ft above the sea below it.  As one would assume it gave a mighty advantage for military dominance to whomever commanded its precipice being that it guarded the entrance to the Mediterranean and has changed hands countless times throughout history.  The final country to lay claim to it  was Britain in 1704 although their authority over the Rock was not without contest.  During the 18th century both French and Spanish forces tried unsuccessfully to reclaim Gibraltar as their own with their 14th and final attempt known as the Great Siege lasting from July 1779 to February 1783.  The tunneling and vantage point of the British forces were too much for any imposing force to overcome.

This was not the last of the tunnels to be carved through the Rock.  At the peak of World War 2, in preparation to defend Gibraltar from a German invasion that never happened, enough space was carved out to hold 16,000 men.  The British military brought in Canadian miners who specialized in removing limestone to dig out close to 36 miles of tunnels most of which are abandoned and off limits today but nonetheless an amazing feet in size and scope.

Just the beginning of endless tunnels some large enough to fit easily fit an 18-wheeler.

Crystal saluting her fellow country men who were really good at digging holes into rocks.

While these tunnels were being dug out, the miners stumbled upon a vast natural cave system that became known as St Michael's Cave.  So large and beautiful that a full concert theatre has been built in one of its chambers that holds the annual Miss Gibraltar Beauty Pageant along with weddings, concerts, parties, and in the past duels.  Reservations must be made years in advance to book this one of a kind venue.  No refunds on duels no matter the outcome.

The amphitheater of St. Michael's Cave.  I am somewhere in this picture .... I think.

No matter how one gets to the top of Gibraltar, whether it is by car, foot, tram, of hot air balloon, you are immediately greeted by a welcoming troop of Barbary Macaques.  These are the only primates that are known to reside in Europe.  (I could insert a joke here about the French or Italians but I will refrain.)  Their numbers have fluctuated drastically over the years however thanks to a legend that reads if the Macaques should ever die out completely, whoever controls Gibraltar shall lose it, Winston Churchill set up a nature reserve in 1942 on top of the Rock to ensure the declining population again proliferated.  Now the Macaques are so thick and have become so accustomed to tourists that the later are used as playground equipment when the monkeys are playing about.    

The British Flag, Gibraltar Flag, and Barbary Macaques greet you at the top.

The primates - takes one to know one.

Pondering the swim back home to Africa in the distance.

Two tourists take advantage of the view from up top with Spain spanning the horizon to the north.

Once we had our fill of monkeys, caves, and breathtaking 360 views, we headed back down into town where there was even more going on.  Apparently it was the Queen's Diamond Jubilee year.  I'm not really sure what that meant but it seemed to have thrown the citizens of Gibraltar into quite a frenzy.  They were quite keen on having the town decorated in so much British decor that it appeared the buildings had vomited a flag, banner, or anything with blue and red on it, underwear included, out of every high-rise window and taped on every store front.  We weren't getting a visit from the royal highness herself but from what I understood the just slightly less royal Earl and Countess of Wessex were coming in her place.  Once they arrived and toured the narrow streets, the town went off in a crescendo of excitement only to be compared to something one would see at a monster truck rally championship in America.  It also seemed to give the local Brits a reason to dress their children up and wear even odder clothes than usual.

I assumed their was somebody famous in this photo.

 Hopefully it's obvious who dressed for the occasion. 

One-sies are acceptable in wrestling, figure skating, KISS,
and apparently if royalty is in town.

After these few days, we felt we had conquered most of Gibraltar including a fantastic meat pie and were both ready to begin the next leg of our journey into Africa.  Crystal to Nigeria and myself to Morocco.

Cheers,
JB

Looking across the Straight to our next destination, Africa.

Post-Script:  Here is the proper way to wear a one-sie if dressing up as KISS for Halloween or any other festive occasion including trips to the grocery store for doughnuts and sun tan lotion.