Ready. Take a deep breath. No a deep breath, go on… suck in that fresh, relaxing air. You will literally be a changed person…. In SPAIN! I loved everything Spanish, in fact Spain quickly became my favourite country (so far). I believe this has a lot to do with the culture (which I’ll get to) but also it stems from having been on the road for 4.5 months and slowly realizing where I fit into this travel game. And it is a game. The budgets, itineraries, to plan or not to plan, socializing, to be a tourist or not to be a tourist, restaurant with local cuisine or cheapie take out or grocery store.
If you’ve traveled you may understand what I mean. But you may not. Traveling is a DEEPLY personal experience. Even Ken and I have vastly different ideas about how it should be done and if there is one thing that will be strong in our marriage, it will be our ability to compromise, because we’ve already had a lot of practice- ok, he has had a lot of practice (kidding!). One of the deepest revelations I’ve had about traveling is to NOT LET ANYONE dictate your experience. And they will try. Ken and I got scoffed at a lot about some of our choices. I had an entire argument with a man about how I was not a real traveler because I was doing it without a sleeping bag. Well guess what buddy, at the time of this reflection I’ve been to 12 countries over 7months, most of which I stayed with locals visited 3 or more cities in each. So I guess that I would be defined as a... yup I thought you might say traveler.
Ken and I needed this phase in our lives for very different reasons and we’ve had very different opinions about what may happen/ has happened to us out here. I know I was expecting to change and I had some ideas of the things that I wanted to change about myself; but you can’t force these things. You can try. Believe me I’ve tried. I would just like to state for the record that I don’t believe you need to travel around the world in an escapist type philosophy to compel change, what I realized somewhere in Spain is that you need to allow yourself freedom and time. I think the reason so many people find change within themselves through travel is that they have so much time, and almost daily you are introducing yourself to someone new where you realize you have the freedom to be whoever you want to be. You stop forcing things, because who are you forcing them for? Nobody knows you. You are, as the name of the blog so prophetically calls out, Brand New.
So we arrive in Malaga after a really long day of travel which involved a bus, a boat, another bus, a long walk, a city bus, a cab, one hostel with no vacancies and one with 2 beds (finally!) in different rooms. The first day in Spain might sound like a complete bust to most of you but in fact it was such a great adventure. I’m not perfect in situations like this, but just like the epic train trip from a few posts back, I kept my cool (ok admittedly alcohol can play a vital role in situation like this but I’m 26 and traveling around Europe so, lay off!) I just let the world roll by with an audio recording of Little Women, some Duty Free Vodka, a bag o’ potato chips and the love of my life by the next day.
We woke up the next day… (Ken knocking on my door bright and early) feeling really refreshed. We decided we needed a place where we could stay put for awhile and just let things happen so we booked ourselves into a really cool beach side hostel for 4 nights and went for a nice long walk along the beach. Ken and I LOVE long walks and talks. We can talk about anything. And we both have the habit of finding the answers to questions while talking them out. I think that first day in Malaga was full of deep, deep contemplative breaths and an exhaustion so deep my defenses gave in and I finally started to just shrug. (Shrug is a metaphor I use to describe the feeling of deep indifference that comes when you know that whatever is decided, you’ll be happy to just go with it). All of a sudden people were really interested in talking to us, we met tons and tons of interesting travelers we had people to join us for various sight seeing opportunities. Ken and I settled into a rhythm. A rhythm which I think is actually changing my life. One hilarious example of this was our adventure attempting to go to a night club in Malaga. Apparently Malaga has an EXTREMELY posh night club style and the group we were with, a group of rugged travelers in trainers, jeans and maybe a swipe of mascara were not exactly confident in passing dress code rules. But we trekked downtown anyway hoping for a dj who would at least make us laugh. What we got was 19 year old bimbos lying around on the sidewalk puking, and clubs which hadn’t opened their doors yet (I did eventually get used to this, but in Spain bars close around 12 or 1 and clubs open their doors around then. Things don’t get going until 3am or so.) So where did we end up? At a kebab shop eating olives and hummous and drinking cheap draft. And you know what? I just shrugged.
One magical moment
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Yallah Yallah Habibi
Ok. Where to be begin. To finish the Moroccan jaunt I’ll just say that it was in Fez that we learned the best way to get people to do what you want them to. Play dumb. I mean literally we would stop moving and stop speaking and just stare at each other until they got bored and walked away. I found this to be the least offensive way to get them to stop without letting it get too far.
Most people we talked to about Morocco said Fez was their favourite city. So, we were excited to see it for ourselves but other than a few exciting walks exploring the area outside the medina and discovering a graveyard where locals picnic, it was not a place I would recommend. The medina is really crowded and confusing and I found the treatment of tourists the worst of any place we visited. The last city on our Moroccan adventure was Tangier. It rained non stop in Tangier and so we have very little to report about it. The shops didn’t even bother to open in the rain because people just didn’t wander the medina as much. So, all in all, boring 2 days.
I, Kalene enjoyed Morocco the country. The camels, the amazing kasbahs, the mint tea, the food, getting lost in the goods offered in the souks. I cannot even describe the sight of the stars in the middle of the Sahara Desert. And watching the sunrise over the sand dunes and the sunset in the Atlas mountains was absolutely breathtaking.
I agree with Ken that the people got very overwhelming. I just felt torn about how to feel about them. I have never known true poverty, so it’s hard for me to grasp the whole picture really. I got very sad realizing the ignorance of the local mentality that all visitors must be rich. You want to help the local community and the craftsmen and use your good fortune to help the impoverished. It’s all a sham though, the people we dealt with most were not those living in poverty, so you’re not really helping the situation anyway…. Here I am getting things for great prices, which I love, but not as good prices as I know I should get, which I hate. Then feeling guilty thinking that just because I can get better deals, should I?
The other thing that smacked me across the face was the treatment of women. I am very, very humbled as a woman. I constantly felt at a loss for how to ‘act.’ Ken got addressed anytime we dealt with money, and I got berated anytime I spoke back. And I mean spoke. Just opened my mouth to offer a suggestion or ask a question. The thing is, in the western world, we can actually make a difference in the way women are treated but here, I hated accepting that I was a second class citizen because then I’m perpetuating this belief. But, if I spoke back to them, I’m perpetuated the belief that women in the western world are running amok and thus perpetuating the belief that here in Morocco, the reins must be kept in tight to prevent their women from such ‘outbursts’. It goes a lot deeper than this of course and I have many more conflicted emotions about the injustice. I mean, I chose to go to their country after all. It’s not even my place to try to change things.
In terms of the bartering system. It has a lot of charm and it can actually be a lot of fun to barter. We definitely have some funny stories of epic fails, and some triumphs on our part, but having to barter for EVERYTHING is just exhausting. I mean arriving in a town and having to walk down the street with your mental list of questions for each hostel and then trying to get the best price from them… gah. It’s a lot to take in. Good thing there was no alcohol- a much quieter nightlife, I was pooped by 8pm.
On the positive- I have to mention the famous ‘Berber hospitality’ you get offered mint tea everywhere you go. And, if you are interested in their herbal remedies (nothing illegal dad don’t worry… at least I don’t think so?) you’re in luck because they would love to share their spices and herbs and teas and stones with you.
One famous story… So I get a cold (probably from sleeping in the dessert in 0°C weather) so we decide instead of trying to read the Arabic labels in the pharmacy, let’s go get me some herbal remedies. So we go to this store and describe this stone we were shown back in Marrakech. The man claims not to have any of that stone in Essaouira but he can help me. He gets some seed looking things, little black ones and puts them in a pouch which he rubs against his palm to warm it up. He grabs my face, plugs one nostral, shoves the pouch up the other one and says ‘breathe deep.’ Um, ok. Not normal in my world but hey- my sinuses are open! We pay and go get some tea because apparently the vapours will help me too. So we’re in the tea shop and I’m putting some of the seeds in my little pot and what do I find crawling around in my ‘medicine’ MAGGOTS! Yup. Seriously. I show the tea shop owner and ask him… is this normal? He waves his arms furiously showing me that NO! It’s not normal, and starts picking through the pouch for me to throw the maggots away. I went back to the shop owner who Ken had to deal with while I translated in French because dealing with me directly- nope! He sheepishly apologized and gave us a whole bunch of free tea. And yes, just to make you all laugh, I did keep using the ‘maggot’ seeds and got over my cold in a jiff. Hey, sometimes you gotta just go with it.
Well we left Morocco in a violent rain storm and rocked and swayed our way across the Strait of Gibralter to Algeciras, Spain, then bused immediately over to Malaga. Ahhh, the beach. I needed a few quieter days to contemplate my experience in Morocco.
So, we find ourselves in Malaga Spain on the beach and breathing sigh after sigh of deep relaxed air. Quite the contrast to the busy, often uptight attitudes in Morocco. It took some time to really understand the schedule of the siesta. Wait, you mean I can’t look at your shop because it’s 2pm and you want a nap!?! Whoa whoa, don’t you care that I can bring you money… nope ok then. Let’s grab a beer instead? Perfect.
I have so much to say about Morocco but I think the biggest thing to note is that I just didn’t ‘get’ it. I’d really like to go back because I think a second turn would be much more informative and allow me to relax more into the beauty of the culture and fuss less with the rules it follows. But as a girl who wanted adventure and exploration, I sure got it and I finally feel like I can go new places and try to jump in head first. I may land in the shallow end, but as least I jumped.
Most people we talked to about Morocco said Fez was their favourite city. So, we were excited to see it for ourselves but other than a few exciting walks exploring the area outside the medina and discovering a graveyard where locals picnic, it was not a place I would recommend. The medina is really crowded and confusing and I found the treatment of tourists the worst of any place we visited. The last city on our Moroccan adventure was Tangier. It rained non stop in Tangier and so we have very little to report about it. The shops didn’t even bother to open in the rain because people just didn’t wander the medina as much. So, all in all, boring 2 days.
I, Kalene enjoyed Morocco the country. The camels, the amazing kasbahs, the mint tea, the food, getting lost in the goods offered in the souks. I cannot even describe the sight of the stars in the middle of the Sahara Desert. And watching the sunrise over the sand dunes and the sunset in the Atlas mountains was absolutely breathtaking.
I agree with Ken that the people got very overwhelming. I just felt torn about how to feel about them. I have never known true poverty, so it’s hard for me to grasp the whole picture really. I got very sad realizing the ignorance of the local mentality that all visitors must be rich. You want to help the local community and the craftsmen and use your good fortune to help the impoverished. It’s all a sham though, the people we dealt with most were not those living in poverty, so you’re not really helping the situation anyway…. Here I am getting things for great prices, which I love, but not as good prices as I know I should get, which I hate. Then feeling guilty thinking that just because I can get better deals, should I?
The other thing that smacked me across the face was the treatment of women. I am very, very humbled as a woman. I constantly felt at a loss for how to ‘act.’ Ken got addressed anytime we dealt with money, and I got berated anytime I spoke back. And I mean spoke. Just opened my mouth to offer a suggestion or ask a question. The thing is, in the western world, we can actually make a difference in the way women are treated but here, I hated accepting that I was a second class citizen because then I’m perpetuating this belief. But, if I spoke back to them, I’m perpetuated the belief that women in the western world are running amok and thus perpetuating the belief that here in Morocco, the reins must be kept in tight to prevent their women from such ‘outbursts’. It goes a lot deeper than this of course and I have many more conflicted emotions about the injustice. I mean, I chose to go to their country after all. It’s not even my place to try to change things.
In terms of the bartering system. It has a lot of charm and it can actually be a lot of fun to barter. We definitely have some funny stories of epic fails, and some triumphs on our part, but having to barter for EVERYTHING is just exhausting. I mean arriving in a town and having to walk down the street with your mental list of questions for each hostel and then trying to get the best price from them… gah. It’s a lot to take in. Good thing there was no alcohol- a much quieter nightlife, I was pooped by 8pm.
On the positive- I have to mention the famous ‘Berber hospitality’ you get offered mint tea everywhere you go. And, if you are interested in their herbal remedies (nothing illegal dad don’t worry… at least I don’t think so?) you’re in luck because they would love to share their spices and herbs and teas and stones with you.
One famous story… So I get a cold (probably from sleeping in the dessert in 0°C weather) so we decide instead of trying to read the Arabic labels in the pharmacy, let’s go get me some herbal remedies. So we go to this store and describe this stone we were shown back in Marrakech. The man claims not to have any of that stone in Essaouira but he can help me. He gets some seed looking things, little black ones and puts them in a pouch which he rubs against his palm to warm it up. He grabs my face, plugs one nostral, shoves the pouch up the other one and says ‘breathe deep.’ Um, ok. Not normal in my world but hey- my sinuses are open! We pay and go get some tea because apparently the vapours will help me too. So we’re in the tea shop and I’m putting some of the seeds in my little pot and what do I find crawling around in my ‘medicine’ MAGGOTS! Yup. Seriously. I show the tea shop owner and ask him… is this normal? He waves his arms furiously showing me that NO! It’s not normal, and starts picking through the pouch for me to throw the maggots away. I went back to the shop owner who Ken had to deal with while I translated in French because dealing with me directly- nope! He sheepishly apologized and gave us a whole bunch of free tea. And yes, just to make you all laugh, I did keep using the ‘maggot’ seeds and got over my cold in a jiff. Hey, sometimes you gotta just go with it.
Well we left Morocco in a violent rain storm and rocked and swayed our way across the Strait of Gibralter to Algeciras, Spain, then bused immediately over to Malaga. Ahhh, the beach. I needed a few quieter days to contemplate my experience in Morocco.
So, we find ourselves in Malaga Spain on the beach and breathing sigh after sigh of deep relaxed air. Quite the contrast to the busy, often uptight attitudes in Morocco. It took some time to really understand the schedule of the siesta. Wait, you mean I can’t look at your shop because it’s 2pm and you want a nap!?! Whoa whoa, don’t you care that I can bring you money… nope ok then. Let’s grab a beer instead? Perfect.
I have so much to say about Morocco but I think the biggest thing to note is that I just didn’t ‘get’ it. I’d really like to go back because I think a second turn would be much more informative and allow me to relax more into the beauty of the culture and fuss less with the rules it follows. But as a girl who wanted adventure and exploration, I sure got it and I finally feel like I can go new places and try to jump in head first. I may land in the shallow end, but as least I jumped.
Money Makes The World Go Round.
February first, two thousand eleven. Phase one of our adventure is over and phase two is just beginning. We flew directly from Edinburgh, Scotland, to Marrakech, Morocco using Ryanair. The flight was reasonably short and quite inexpensive. I forget the exact details.
From this point on everything stated here should not be necessarily understood as “we” but instead as My (Ken’s) experience in Morocco. I was super excited to go, I did not know what to expect, I did some research, and I did have an overall good time, but on a few occasions the experience was not exactly positive, thus, the need to separate my opinions from Kalene’s. If you wanna know what she thought of Morocco…ask her.
Morocco is in Africa. It is second world, muslim, and quite poor. I knew all that. I had been advised that it is necessary to haggle on prices for your goods. It is a community based on us versus them. Tourist versus local. There are local prices and tourist prices. And there is never a price advertised….never. We began our African jaunt in Marrakech.
Marrakech seems overwhelming. And it is. All Moroccan cities are built on what is called a Medina. A walled fortress surrounding the whole city. Inside are all the good, shops, cheap accommodations, tourist traps, beggars, motorbikes…a lot of motorbikes, mosques, lower income locals, and tourists. Since I am white and they are not- I stick out. And I am viewed as a tourist. A tourist who has money. Morocco uses the currency of dirham (1$ CDN = 8Dh, 10 Dh = 1 Euro). It is quite cheap.
We arrived at the airport and were greeted by our very late shuttle driver who worked for our hostel to take us from the airport to the hostel. He made it 95% of the way then told us “a man will walk you the rest of the way, my van can’t fit”. Red flags instantly went up. We paid him and then we met this man. And by ‘man’ I mean seven year old boy. He greeted us and offered us a “big welcome” as is customary by them. Arabic is their national language along with French. English is developing. He lead us through the tiny, winding streets, giving us tips, and directions, nice kid. I felt good except for the kids posse of slightly older, yet still adolescent friends following us. We arrived and thanked him. Moroccan currency used to be closed to the rest of the world, only recently could you find it anywhere outside of Morocco. We found some. 1000 Dh’s which is the legal limit in denominations of 200 and 100 notes. We knew this would be a problem.
The kid expected a tip and we were happy to offer him one…just not 100Dh’s, the smallest notes we had at the time. We said let us check in, we will get change and get you in a minute. Kalene repeated in French. The posse didn’t like that. Long story short, they demanded 50Dh’s, we politely told them to fuck off, they followed us into the hostel and kept at it for several minutes before finally we refused to tip them anything at all and they left. It was not a positive way to begin in a new city. Now, I am about 190Ibs of solid steel sex appeal but I am not one for confrontation. I’ll admit that situation rattled me. I had no intention of tipping this young man anymore after his behavior and I also have no intention of getting physical with locals. All in all the situation ceased and nothing came of it but a little rough start. We talked to other tourists in our hostel who all had similar experiences. This began the overall theme of my visit to Morocco. It’s called money. Everytime we went anywhere, did anything, asked anything, or trusted anyone, it was about money. The most common spoken word in the English language is “the”. The most common spoken sentences by myself in Morocco were different versions of “no thank you, I do not want to buy that”.
We had a big double bed to ourselves in a room with four other people. English students. That night we met a good man named Ian Mallory. He has a website called Mallory on travel.com. He gets a commission if you visit so go ahead….I’ll wait. We had dinner with him and he told us some useful things and we became friends. The food in Morocco is awesome. Lots of vegetables, plenty of bread, cheap, mint tea, and no alcohol. I wanted to embrace the culture of the country I was in as much as I could. And in Morocco alcohol is not part of their lives so I wanted to abstain for the most part. Obviously on a few nights we found a bottle of wine and some local plants.
Marrakech was great because it was busy, the weather was nice, and we found the most excellent side stands for good, cheap, and highly questionable food. Marrakech also runs excursions into the desert. We wanted to do one and we did. We bargained that price down as well. We went for three days, two nights through the Atlas mountains to a hotel in a gorge and met authentic Berber people (Morocco is 80% Berber, 20% Muslim/Jewish). We associate Muslim with Morocco because they live in the most touristy places. Hence, it is mostly what you see. The second day we rode camels for 90 minutes into the desert and slept in a tent. It was freezing cold. Four months on this trip through the winter in Germany but the coldest nights were in Morocco. Why? I am glad you asked. Their building interiors are designed to keep in cool in the summer, so it keeps it cool in the winter too. It is basically bathroom tiles everywhere. Camels are very uncomfortable as well. The sunset was beautiful and the stars were unreal. Not as nice as Tobermory but still glorious.
From Marrakech we headed for the coast. I wanted water. Essaouria is a coastal hippie town. Much like many southern Ontario high schools claim to have the highest teen pregnancy rate every small Moroccan town claims to be where Jimi Hendrix hung out in the 60’s. And since the information is from a Moroccan person I instantly discredit them.
Essaouria was very nice. We got in some epic jogs on the Atlantic Ocean (from the Eastern shore!). Our accommodation there was very nice full of very nice people, great internet, free breakfast, roof terrace all for 6 euros per night. We realized soon after that we should have stayed there longer and not stuck to our original plan to keep moving. Lesson learned: when you are having fun, stay put!
The overnight from Essaouria to Fez. Would not recommend this for anyone. Pretty much the sketchiest thing we did on this trip. We boarded a bus around 830pm, scheduled to arrive in Fez early the next morning. They wanted to keep our backpacks underneath the bus but we absolutely refused. No way was this thing getting out of my sight. Not a single other tourist was on this bus and it didn’t seem to have any form of organization. Our bathroom break at about 3am was an adventure. Kalene left the bus and headed for the station/rundown cement building/homeless shelter from what it looked like. I quickly realized it was not safe and ran after her. She was safely inside the bathroom and I went too. She reached the bus before me and it began to leave. I will never forget the sight of leaving this shit hole at 3am to see my bus pulling away. I ran after it and fought my way on. Kalene had reminded them that I was coming so maybe the driver let up on the gas just a little bit.
We arrived in Fez around 8am or so. We each had not gotten a lot of sleep. For the first time on the trip we showed up without a hostel booked. Figured we find one when we got here. We were greeted by a young Moroccan student who offered us his hostel, which we knew was good and thought of it. We left our things, had breakfast, and made our way to see if any others were around and were better. Oh, and internet in Fez and Tangier does not exist in hostels. The student followed offering us a tour. We didn’t want it but he wouldn’t shut up. He would show us around and for a reasonable price. No thanks. But he kept pressing. Finally, Kalene got pissed and told him no, very sternly, maybe swore a little and left. I was very proud of my KK. Moroccan men are used to being in control and most have never been spoken to by a woman like that before. He didn’t like what Kalene said to him at all. So what, Canadian woman are free, always have been, always will be, and they have the right to speak their mind when provoked. This is what I said to him when he tried to level with me man to man.
From that moment on I was unable to trust another Moroccan person again. Everytime, and I mean everytime they tell you they don’t want money, or you can look for free, or they do this to practice English, or they will show you where something is, or that a certain item is handmade, or it is made of a unique substance, or it is a good deal, or they are the only shop that has this item, it is always a crock of shit. We let our guard down, we followed a man who would show us a great view of the city where we can get pictures. We were on the roof for twenty minutes and when we came down he was waiting for us? Why? Only one reason he wants money.
(Ken hasn't finished this post so please read mine for the rest of Morocco/ a WAY MORE positive view on it.)
From this point on everything stated here should not be necessarily understood as “we” but instead as My (Ken’s) experience in Morocco. I was super excited to go, I did not know what to expect, I did some research, and I did have an overall good time, but on a few occasions the experience was not exactly positive, thus, the need to separate my opinions from Kalene’s. If you wanna know what she thought of Morocco…ask her.
Morocco is in Africa. It is second world, muslim, and quite poor. I knew all that. I had been advised that it is necessary to haggle on prices for your goods. It is a community based on us versus them. Tourist versus local. There are local prices and tourist prices. And there is never a price advertised….never. We began our African jaunt in Marrakech.
Marrakech seems overwhelming. And it is. All Moroccan cities are built on what is called a Medina. A walled fortress surrounding the whole city. Inside are all the good, shops, cheap accommodations, tourist traps, beggars, motorbikes…a lot of motorbikes, mosques, lower income locals, and tourists. Since I am white and they are not- I stick out. And I am viewed as a tourist. A tourist who has money. Morocco uses the currency of dirham (1$ CDN = 8Dh, 10 Dh = 1 Euro). It is quite cheap.
We arrived at the airport and were greeted by our very late shuttle driver who worked for our hostel to take us from the airport to the hostel. He made it 95% of the way then told us “a man will walk you the rest of the way, my van can’t fit”. Red flags instantly went up. We paid him and then we met this man. And by ‘man’ I mean seven year old boy. He greeted us and offered us a “big welcome” as is customary by them. Arabic is their national language along with French. English is developing. He lead us through the tiny, winding streets, giving us tips, and directions, nice kid. I felt good except for the kids posse of slightly older, yet still adolescent friends following us. We arrived and thanked him. Moroccan currency used to be closed to the rest of the world, only recently could you find it anywhere outside of Morocco. We found some. 1000 Dh’s which is the legal limit in denominations of 200 and 100 notes. We knew this would be a problem.
The kid expected a tip and we were happy to offer him one…just not 100Dh’s, the smallest notes we had at the time. We said let us check in, we will get change and get you in a minute. Kalene repeated in French. The posse didn’t like that. Long story short, they demanded 50Dh’s, we politely told them to fuck off, they followed us into the hostel and kept at it for several minutes before finally we refused to tip them anything at all and they left. It was not a positive way to begin in a new city. Now, I am about 190Ibs of solid steel sex appeal but I am not one for confrontation. I’ll admit that situation rattled me. I had no intention of tipping this young man anymore after his behavior and I also have no intention of getting physical with locals. All in all the situation ceased and nothing came of it but a little rough start. We talked to other tourists in our hostel who all had similar experiences. This began the overall theme of my visit to Morocco. It’s called money. Everytime we went anywhere, did anything, asked anything, or trusted anyone, it was about money. The most common spoken word in the English language is “the”. The most common spoken sentences by myself in Morocco were different versions of “no thank you, I do not want to buy that”.
We had a big double bed to ourselves in a room with four other people. English students. That night we met a good man named Ian Mallory. He has a website called Mallory on travel.com. He gets a commission if you visit so go ahead….I’ll wait. We had dinner with him and he told us some useful things and we became friends. The food in Morocco is awesome. Lots of vegetables, plenty of bread, cheap, mint tea, and no alcohol. I wanted to embrace the culture of the country I was in as much as I could. And in Morocco alcohol is not part of their lives so I wanted to abstain for the most part. Obviously on a few nights we found a bottle of wine and some local plants.
Marrakech was great because it was busy, the weather was nice, and we found the most excellent side stands for good, cheap, and highly questionable food. Marrakech also runs excursions into the desert. We wanted to do one and we did. We bargained that price down as well. We went for three days, two nights through the Atlas mountains to a hotel in a gorge and met authentic Berber people (Morocco is 80% Berber, 20% Muslim/Jewish). We associate Muslim with Morocco because they live in the most touristy places. Hence, it is mostly what you see. The second day we rode camels for 90 minutes into the desert and slept in a tent. It was freezing cold. Four months on this trip through the winter in Germany but the coldest nights were in Morocco. Why? I am glad you asked. Their building interiors are designed to keep in cool in the summer, so it keeps it cool in the winter too. It is basically bathroom tiles everywhere. Camels are very uncomfortable as well. The sunset was beautiful and the stars were unreal. Not as nice as Tobermory but still glorious.
From Marrakech we headed for the coast. I wanted water. Essaouria is a coastal hippie town. Much like many southern Ontario high schools claim to have the highest teen pregnancy rate every small Moroccan town claims to be where Jimi Hendrix hung out in the 60’s. And since the information is from a Moroccan person I instantly discredit them.
Essaouria was very nice. We got in some epic jogs on the Atlantic Ocean (from the Eastern shore!). Our accommodation there was very nice full of very nice people, great internet, free breakfast, roof terrace all for 6 euros per night. We realized soon after that we should have stayed there longer and not stuck to our original plan to keep moving. Lesson learned: when you are having fun, stay put!
The overnight from Essaouria to Fez. Would not recommend this for anyone. Pretty much the sketchiest thing we did on this trip. We boarded a bus around 830pm, scheduled to arrive in Fez early the next morning. They wanted to keep our backpacks underneath the bus but we absolutely refused. No way was this thing getting out of my sight. Not a single other tourist was on this bus and it didn’t seem to have any form of organization. Our bathroom break at about 3am was an adventure. Kalene left the bus and headed for the station/rundown cement building/homeless shelter from what it looked like. I quickly realized it was not safe and ran after her. She was safely inside the bathroom and I went too. She reached the bus before me and it began to leave. I will never forget the sight of leaving this shit hole at 3am to see my bus pulling away. I ran after it and fought my way on. Kalene had reminded them that I was coming so maybe the driver let up on the gas just a little bit.
We arrived in Fez around 8am or so. We each had not gotten a lot of sleep. For the first time on the trip we showed up without a hostel booked. Figured we find one when we got here. We were greeted by a young Moroccan student who offered us his hostel, which we knew was good and thought of it. We left our things, had breakfast, and made our way to see if any others were around and were better. Oh, and internet in Fez and Tangier does not exist in hostels. The student followed offering us a tour. We didn’t want it but he wouldn’t shut up. He would show us around and for a reasonable price. No thanks. But he kept pressing. Finally, Kalene got pissed and told him no, very sternly, maybe swore a little and left. I was very proud of my KK. Moroccan men are used to being in control and most have never been spoken to by a woman like that before. He didn’t like what Kalene said to him at all. So what, Canadian woman are free, always have been, always will be, and they have the right to speak their mind when provoked. This is what I said to him when he tried to level with me man to man.
From that moment on I was unable to trust another Moroccan person again. Everytime, and I mean everytime they tell you they don’t want money, or you can look for free, or they do this to practice English, or they will show you where something is, or that a certain item is handmade, or it is made of a unique substance, or it is a good deal, or they are the only shop that has this item, it is always a crock of shit. We let our guard down, we followed a man who would show us a great view of the city where we can get pictures. We were on the roof for twenty minutes and when we came down he was waiting for us? Why? Only one reason he wants money.
(Ken hasn't finished this post so please read mine for the rest of Morocco/ a WAY MORE positive view on it.)
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Cracks in the Ice
The remainder of Edinburgh ended up being a strange mixture of waiting and hoping. Ken and I decided that if we could get a 3 week gig to carry us through the dreary month of January, we would have all the annoying paperwork completed and we could pursue the next phase of vacation with ease. I could not have guessed how much this 3 week stop would influence our trip or our lives. For one thing, it has affirmed for me how much I need to live my life with positive mantras. I believe I’m a relatively positive person, I am able to see the silver lining in most situations, and I have ALWAYS believed that the struggles I’ve faced have all served the greater purpose of making me a smarter, sharper witted and tough girl. I’m not the girl who is always smiling by any means, I have my lows just like everyone else, but I live them with the knowledge that when I make it though to the other side, I’ll be better for it. This being said, I do have tendencies to allow what I call ‘the injustices of the world’ weigh on me from time to time and I forget to believe that if I believe strongly enough in getting something, I can make it happen. The power of persuasion. Hmmm.
On Gumtree, the UK equivalent to craigslist, we found a posting looking for some people to help spring-clean and do some general maintenance around a group of guest chalets near Stirling. I pretty much jumped for joy, because the thought of earning a little money while living in 4 star accommadation sounded pretty appealing. Besides which, the craving for some quiet countryside made me sigh.
We spent a quiet 2 days with a sweet couchsurfer named Jason who selflessly gave up his room for us and slept on the couch waiting in anticipation of the news. In retrospect I kind of harassed the owner of the chalets, Victoria, pleading our case and telling her how PERFECT we fit the opportunity. The posting made it sound like travelers were the ideal candidates. And couples were preferred too. Putting positive thoughts out into the universe does seem to work. We were offered the job. It could not have worked out any better. Now, we both have bank accounts, National Insurance numbers, and a few extra pounds (the money not the fat).
It was a Sunday when we got the job. We were to meet a ride towards Stirling on Monday and start work on Tuesday morning. Now more moving around for at least three weeks. We arrived Sunday night with groceries and met our co-workes. 1 New Zealand, 1 Dutch, 1 Romanian, 1 Bulgarian, and 2 Polish. Our large chalet was well equipped, modern, and beautiful. Internet access, cable TV, and a large DVD collection. We had our own room with private bath.
The work was blah. Spring cleaning wooden chalets. We came to appreciate tea time much more literally. At night, we relaxed, ate well, lazed around and did not think too far ahead regarding our travel. We knew the next step would be the southern countries and hopefully Morocco and Egypt. (At this point Egypt was not in turmoil).
The first 2 weeks we all lived in one large house called the coach house, we learned it had once been the stables. 8 people, (3 couples) and two friends who all converged together with the common goal of making some money, and the individual goals of solitude, or new friendships, or both. In time it became known as the ‘Big Brother’ house. The sharing of the kitchen, cleaning up after yourself, sharing the common space etc.
The day to day mundane isn’t worth explanation, the truth is, while we were in Lochend, there wasn’t much that seemed to happen to us. However, now that we’ve moved on the 3 weeks spent standing still were some of the most informative in terms of self-reflection of the trip.
There was something very special about walking out onto a lake, 100 metres or so from the shore, frozen and thawed multiple times throughout the winter listening to the groans and cracks in the ice, watching the kids and adults skate (or try to, I mean they are Scottish after all, not Canadian), and walking towards the centre to stare up at Ben Lohman. I felt insignificant and peaceful. Suddenly, the portion of the trip which was at least somewhat planned due to a pre-paid rail pass is over. Now we have options a plenty and yet we’re shrugging. Maybe Prague? Maybe Egypt? It strikes me how odd it is to be asking myself such questions. It used to feel like such a challenge to decide where to go dancing on a Saturday night, or what to make for dinner. Now, not only do I realize how silly this is, I am beginning to realize what I’m capable of. It’s something I only glimpse so far. Like a shadow up ahead that seems to move before I can catch it, but when I do sneak a peak it sends goose bumps up my shoulders and tears spring to my eyes which I blink away furiously. How do I make the most of this? Am I doing this opportunity justice? Will I ever catch the shadow and all of my small realizations will explode in a shower of greatness. Oh please I hope so! I will do my best to mantra it into being.
On Gumtree, the UK equivalent to craigslist, we found a posting looking for some people to help spring-clean and do some general maintenance around a group of guest chalets near Stirling. I pretty much jumped for joy, because the thought of earning a little money while living in 4 star accommadation sounded pretty appealing. Besides which, the craving for some quiet countryside made me sigh.
We spent a quiet 2 days with a sweet couchsurfer named Jason who selflessly gave up his room for us and slept on the couch waiting in anticipation of the news. In retrospect I kind of harassed the owner of the chalets, Victoria, pleading our case and telling her how PERFECT we fit the opportunity. The posting made it sound like travelers were the ideal candidates. And couples were preferred too. Putting positive thoughts out into the universe does seem to work. We were offered the job. It could not have worked out any better. Now, we both have bank accounts, National Insurance numbers, and a few extra pounds (the money not the fat).
It was a Sunday when we got the job. We were to meet a ride towards Stirling on Monday and start work on Tuesday morning. Now more moving around for at least three weeks. We arrived Sunday night with groceries and met our co-workes. 1 New Zealand, 1 Dutch, 1 Romanian, 1 Bulgarian, and 2 Polish. Our large chalet was well equipped, modern, and beautiful. Internet access, cable TV, and a large DVD collection. We had our own room with private bath.
The work was blah. Spring cleaning wooden chalets. We came to appreciate tea time much more literally. At night, we relaxed, ate well, lazed around and did not think too far ahead regarding our travel. We knew the next step would be the southern countries and hopefully Morocco and Egypt. (At this point Egypt was not in turmoil).
The first 2 weeks we all lived in one large house called the coach house, we learned it had once been the stables. 8 people, (3 couples) and two friends who all converged together with the common goal of making some money, and the individual goals of solitude, or new friendships, or both. In time it became known as the ‘Big Brother’ house. The sharing of the kitchen, cleaning up after yourself, sharing the common space etc.
The day to day mundane isn’t worth explanation, the truth is, while we were in Lochend, there wasn’t much that seemed to happen to us. However, now that we’ve moved on the 3 weeks spent standing still were some of the most informative in terms of self-reflection of the trip.
There was something very special about walking out onto a lake, 100 metres or so from the shore, frozen and thawed multiple times throughout the winter listening to the groans and cracks in the ice, watching the kids and adults skate (or try to, I mean they are Scottish after all, not Canadian), and walking towards the centre to stare up at Ben Lohman. I felt insignificant and peaceful. Suddenly, the portion of the trip which was at least somewhat planned due to a pre-paid rail pass is over. Now we have options a plenty and yet we’re shrugging. Maybe Prague? Maybe Egypt? It strikes me how odd it is to be asking myself such questions. It used to feel like such a challenge to decide where to go dancing on a Saturday night, or what to make for dinner. Now, not only do I realize how silly this is, I am beginning to realize what I’m capable of. It’s something I only glimpse so far. Like a shadow up ahead that seems to move before I can catch it, but when I do sneak a peak it sends goose bumps up my shoulders and tears spring to my eyes which I blink away furiously. How do I make the most of this? Am I doing this opportunity justice? Will I ever catch the shadow and all of my small realizations will explode in a shower of greatness. Oh please I hope so! I will do my best to mantra it into being.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
I'll take a cup of kindness yet.
After Christmas was a blur of museums, cafes, dreary weather, and spreading the news to family and friends. It was a wonderful haze of romance. We went back to Montmartre to see it the right way, discovering all the sweet little alley ways, savouring the crepes and gazing down on the city from the steps of the Sacre Coeur. We agreed not to make wedding plans until we returned to Canada, but little snip-its of ideas popped into conversation on a regular basis. As much as Paris had redeemed itself in our eyes, we were ready to take off and make our way to the party of our lives (besides the up coming wedding of course.)
New Year’s Eve in Edinburgh! Now there’s a party. We arrived in the evening a few days before the big night and made our way to a funny Hostel called Castle Rock. Nice room, 16 beds (oi!), a kitchen, free coffee and tea anytime, but shit internet. That’s the thing with Scotland, everything is old so that new technologies don’t quite work right.
New Year is Edinburgh is called Hogmonay. The Scots also invented the song “Auld Lang Syne”. The whole main street and garden overlooking the castle turn into a MASSIVE street party. I read that over 100 000 people poured into the streets to party this year. We met four great people from Manchester who took us in and we partied with them for the night. Normally, our New Year celebration involved a group of friends, a few bottles of cheap champagne and a pretty subdued party. This year was different. I personally was very happy because never having been to Scotland, I had no expectations so all I could do was join the enthusiasm of the group! We were as dressed up as we could be while comfortable, not that anyone could see it, winter coats still rule the wardrobe. Although of course, just like anywhere you get the girls in stilettos, mini-skirts and tube tops.
We rode carnival rides, drank whisky in the streets, watched a random UK band (THE CORAL!!!!), danced, sang, ate street vendor supper, and watched a beautiful, albeit short, fireworks display over top the castle. Mostly though, we laughed and cuddled as only 2 people in love can do. After the street party dissolved we ended up at a bar making our entrance no earlier than 2am. Yes ENTRANCE at 2am. At this moment, we LOVE Scotland. Never could you go to a bar at this time in Canada and gain admittance. Walking home was a haze of dancing and yelling (WE LOVE THE CORAL!!!!) I don’t remember much except for the outrageous amount of girls walking home barefoot in streets covered in filth. (It took a good week to get Edinburgh totally cleaned up and hosed off, but they got the major stuff done by early next morning.)
New Year’s day was lazy and quiet. We did however make our way out for a big brunch, which was greasy and gross. Haggis has officially been tried. The verdict is not good. The evening consisted of no fewer than 2 ghost tours with some great stories that took us trotting up Carlton Hill in the pitch black. The hostel has turned out to be fun because we could cook (yay!) and we went running 3 times. The funniest part is that we spent 2 months traveling trying to figure out how we were going to survive the cold in Scotland. Meanwhile, it was above freezing every day and New Years itself was 7°C.
Sunday January 2nd I FINALLY made it too my first rugby match. Live scrums. Two rival Scottish teams and a bitter battle right to the last second. Nuff said. (At this point dad would call me a basher smasher and do a funny little snarl, and he would be right, I screamed myself hoarse cheering for Edinbrugh!)
After the hostel, we moved to a couchsurfers for 3 days. It was a really sweet middle-aged couple who took great care of us. They served tea and coffee all the time, and left breakfast out for us. We enjoyed sleeping in, (I had a raging cold by this time) and quiet nights by the wood stove.
One night I streamed the gold medal world junior hockey championships. I am Canadian after all. I went to bed after the second period. I figured a 3-0 lead was a pretty safe bet that we had won gold. It was after all almost 2am by this point. Boy, was I in for a surprise next morning when I got online!
Ken and I had decided somewhere between castles, cider and kilts that we would try to stay in Edinburgh for awhile and get some paperwork sorted, maybe even find some short term work and settle our brains a little before the next adventure. So, the goal was set that as soon as the Scots went back to work (they didn’t start until January 4th) we would start hitting the pavement. However, this still left us with a couple days to enjoy the vacation, so we took the opportunity to hike Arthur’s Seat. This little mountain seems quite innocent but you can get a few steep stretches and the view from the top is so worth it! Although windy as all get out. We spent a good couple hours roaming around the Hollyrood Park which encompasses the famous seat then hit up a café.
Ken and I are loving our late afternoon cappuccino breaks. And now, we use them to talk wedding wedding wedding! I know we said we’d wait until we were back in Canada but you cannot tame the thoughts of a bride-to-be… and apparently those of a groom-to-be either. So as we enjoyed the lazy, care free afternoons or strolls around Edinburgh, colour schemes, guest lists, party favours, menus and questions of to cake or not to cake are common conversation. (Insert girly shriek here).
Oh Kalene, the walking contradiction. Rugby and wedding dresses. Cappucinos and £2 pints of cidar. Happy First Footing friends.
New Year’s Eve in Edinburgh! Now there’s a party. We arrived in the evening a few days before the big night and made our way to a funny Hostel called Castle Rock. Nice room, 16 beds (oi!), a kitchen, free coffee and tea anytime, but shit internet. That’s the thing with Scotland, everything is old so that new technologies don’t quite work right.
New Year is Edinburgh is called Hogmonay. The Scots also invented the song “Auld Lang Syne”. The whole main street and garden overlooking the castle turn into a MASSIVE street party. I read that over 100 000 people poured into the streets to party this year. We met four great people from Manchester who took us in and we partied with them for the night. Normally, our New Year celebration involved a group of friends, a few bottles of cheap champagne and a pretty subdued party. This year was different. I personally was very happy because never having been to Scotland, I had no expectations so all I could do was join the enthusiasm of the group! We were as dressed up as we could be while comfortable, not that anyone could see it, winter coats still rule the wardrobe. Although of course, just like anywhere you get the girls in stilettos, mini-skirts and tube tops.
We rode carnival rides, drank whisky in the streets, watched a random UK band (THE CORAL!!!!), danced, sang, ate street vendor supper, and watched a beautiful, albeit short, fireworks display over top the castle. Mostly though, we laughed and cuddled as only 2 people in love can do. After the street party dissolved we ended up at a bar making our entrance no earlier than 2am. Yes ENTRANCE at 2am. At this moment, we LOVE Scotland. Never could you go to a bar at this time in Canada and gain admittance. Walking home was a haze of dancing and yelling (WE LOVE THE CORAL!!!!) I don’t remember much except for the outrageous amount of girls walking home barefoot in streets covered in filth. (It took a good week to get Edinburgh totally cleaned up and hosed off, but they got the major stuff done by early next morning.)
New Year’s day was lazy and quiet. We did however make our way out for a big brunch, which was greasy and gross. Haggis has officially been tried. The verdict is not good. The evening consisted of no fewer than 2 ghost tours with some great stories that took us trotting up Carlton Hill in the pitch black. The hostel has turned out to be fun because we could cook (yay!) and we went running 3 times. The funniest part is that we spent 2 months traveling trying to figure out how we were going to survive the cold in Scotland. Meanwhile, it was above freezing every day and New Years itself was 7°C.
Sunday January 2nd I FINALLY made it too my first rugby match. Live scrums. Two rival Scottish teams and a bitter battle right to the last second. Nuff said. (At this point dad would call me a basher smasher and do a funny little snarl, and he would be right, I screamed myself hoarse cheering for Edinbrugh!)
After the hostel, we moved to a couchsurfers for 3 days. It was a really sweet middle-aged couple who took great care of us. They served tea and coffee all the time, and left breakfast out for us. We enjoyed sleeping in, (I had a raging cold by this time) and quiet nights by the wood stove.
One night I streamed the gold medal world junior hockey championships. I am Canadian after all. I went to bed after the second period. I figured a 3-0 lead was a pretty safe bet that we had won gold. It was after all almost 2am by this point. Boy, was I in for a surprise next morning when I got online!
Ken and I had decided somewhere between castles, cider and kilts that we would try to stay in Edinburgh for awhile and get some paperwork sorted, maybe even find some short term work and settle our brains a little before the next adventure. So, the goal was set that as soon as the Scots went back to work (they didn’t start until January 4th) we would start hitting the pavement. However, this still left us with a couple days to enjoy the vacation, so we took the opportunity to hike Arthur’s Seat. This little mountain seems quite innocent but you can get a few steep stretches and the view from the top is so worth it! Although windy as all get out. We spent a good couple hours roaming around the Hollyrood Park which encompasses the famous seat then hit up a café.
Ken and I are loving our late afternoon cappuccino breaks. And now, we use them to talk wedding wedding wedding! I know we said we’d wait until we were back in Canada but you cannot tame the thoughts of a bride-to-be… and apparently those of a groom-to-be either. So as we enjoyed the lazy, care free afternoons or strolls around Edinburgh, colour schemes, guest lists, party favours, menus and questions of to cake or not to cake are common conversation. (Insert girly shriek here).
Oh Kalene, the walking contradiction. Rugby and wedding dresses. Cappucinos and £2 pints of cidar. Happy First Footing friends.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
The Beginning our OUR story
Paris. La ville d’amour. Well, yes. That’s true but it’s so much more really. It’s big, scary, beautiful, magical; and full of Parisians. We arrived on December 19th with a full 10 days to explore this magical place. It didn’t go quite as we had planned.
Day one was a mixture of wet feet, bad maps, a way bigger city than we were used to, exciting landmarks (eek! Eiffel tower! The Louvre!), some mild Christmas shopping, overpriced cafes and a fight that goes down in history. We won’t bore you with the gorey details. We have both expressed that we want this blog to be a brutally honest and real account of our travels, however, the transformation that occurred on that street (literally a sidewalk) in a Parisian suburb cannot really be explained. It was overdue and had little to do with each other and everything to do with ourselves. (Does that even make sense?) All I know is that I (Kalene) could actually feel myself in the present moment, come into myself in a way I’ve never experienced. Things became clearer about what I needed to do, what I wanted to do and what crap I was no longer willing to put up with. And I figured it all out with a 3$ bottle of vodka straight up and a really long cry, which turned to uncontrollable laughter and back to sobs a good six times.
We sat and cried uncontrollably (yes we). Strangers were looking at us but we didn’t care. We were having a moment--together. We realized we were being too influenced by others opinions and our own fears. We were stretching ourselves too thin. We decided that “From now on we buy what we need when we need it; no more compromising on our adventure”. Yet, we still planned to stick to a secure budget. I (Ken) threw my piece of shit boots in a nearby trash can and wore Kalene’s socks in my runners until we got to an overpriced hostel. It was great though because we left a lot of emotional baggage on the curb.
The next phase of Paris involved preparation for the Christmas we’d been dreaming about for the past 6 months. Buying proper clothes for the weather, Christmas music, shopping (separately on a few occasions), a free walking tour of Paris, the Louvre, and a fabulous night at a sold out theatre. We were still trying to eat on a budget and decide when we needed something (like Ken’s new boots) or just wanted something (like Kalene’s Starbucks). We had after all sprung for the piece de resistance, a hotel for Christmas for 3 nights. Tres chic.
December 23rd we checked into the Hotel Design de la Sorbonne and hit up Monmartre. It’s a pretty calm, artsy and cheap neighbourhood. We were enjoying some sushi for lunch but our hearts weren’t into the tourist thing. We wanted to be home with carols on the radio and Christmas cookies in hand. So we headed back to the hotel to cuddle in bed and try to get in the spirit. I (Kalene) ended up finding Majic 100 the Ottawa radio station which plays Christmas tunes all day. We streamed it on the iMac provided by the hotel and poured some rum and cokes. We were trying to pump ourselves up but somehow we were getting more and more lonely. We felt trapped. It occurred to us that Crhistmas is about family and friends. Paris felt cold and was full of strangers. Finally Ken suggested we get out of the hotel room and take a walk. So, we bundled up good and stepped outside. It was snowing. In Paris. The day before Christmas. I (Kalene) would get my white Christmas after all.
Magic ensued. We walked all the way from Sorbonne to the Eiffel tower. It wasn’t even on purpose at first, we were peeking in store windows and reminiscing about Christmases past. The snow was falling around us with a deafening silence and for once, the streets of Paris were quiet. After about 20 minutes, we could see the beacon of romance shining ahead of us. The Eiffel tower in all her glory. We walked for over five hours that night. We had FINALLY had the moment of magic we wanted in Paris, and there were many more to come.
There’s this weird balance you have to find while traveling, that of letting the moments happen naturally, and putting in the effort to make the adventure come to life. It’s a ying and yang of having goals and dreams and not allowing the things that don’t meet your dreams ruin the journey. It’s really hard! I mean really really hard. I think we both have the goal of learning to live in the moment, something I (Kalene) have always struggled with. This trip is making that struggle glaringly obvious. I see myself wanting the adventure to be bigger, more unbelievable, more exciting. And thus, I forget to enjoy the excitement I am fortunate enough to get.
The Story of the Ring. By Ken. So, during our colossal meltdown on the streets of Paris we were getting ourselves together I then knew that I was with the one person I wanted to have all my colossal meltdowns with and that I would forever want to be cold, wet, hungry, lost, and crying with that same lady…Kalene Cherisse Tilson. For the days leading up to Christmas we agreed to split up and Christmas shop for each other. We each needed to have something to open on the morning of the 25th. But, every time we did so, I used the time exploring jewelry shops. I knew what I wanted because I knew what Kalene wanted; more than that, I knew what Kalene liked. She is not a typical material driven girl; I knew that the ring I give to her in proposal of marriage she would consider the perfect one.
After seeing many options from many stores and many well-dressed Parisian men and women, I finally found it. A sparkling diamond surrounded by smaller sparkling diamonds. Perfect. I bought, paid, returned, paid more, and left….with the ring. One cannot really explain that exhilarating yet scary as ever feeling. My mind was racing and my heart was pounding. I also remembered that I still had no Christmas gift for her. Yeah, I have a diamond ring but it wasn’t for Christmas. I went over and over in my mind how and when I would do this. I could be truly unoriginal and unimaginative and surprise her at the Eiffel Tower. I knew that with her and I the moment would present itself naturally so I held out for it…or at least until she found the ring in my bag and asked a silly question like “What’s this?”
I carried the ring with me everywhere I went from that moment on. I couldn’t risk losing it or having her find it. We were backpacking together and our areas of personal space were pretty much restricted to our own bodies. Everything else was “our” space. And by that I mean Kalene’s space and Ken’s stuff will go “wherever”. In order for this momentous moment to be special I wanted the ring to be in the case so I could show to her in all its glory. Problem is, the box was quite big and I often looked like I was smuggling something or shoplifting. The giant bulge in my jacket pocket was about as conspicuous as using a dumptruck for a paper route.
Chrismas eve came. Could’ve been a good idea to do it then. We had plans to go to Notre Dame Cathedral that night for midnight mass. I thought I had better take it with me just in case. Our hotel was within walking distance to the cathedral. It was a bit cold, we both dressed up as best as two backpackers can; Kalene looked especially scrumptious. We arrived at about ten p.m. We found an allright seat and enjoyed a documentary film on the cathedral itself. I criticized it as my duty as a film scholar…it was done well. The Notre Dame choir was fantastic. Very moving and inspiring classical music. At midnight mass began. People were everywhere, packed into every isle in the place. We listened, sat, stood, and sang. Two young girls near us were not partaking in the festivities they were fumbling with their ipod and baguette!? They were at least nineteen and should have known better that this was a special occasion for those around them and to shut the hell up. Kalene was sitting to my right. The giant ring box was in my left pocket. I couldn’t get comfortable. My arm was lying on the box itself on my lap. It was stupid problem to have but it was a problem nonetheless. I am sure Kalene knew. I wanted to surprise her so the idea of it happening that night was scary. We were also very tired. I was up late the night before Skyping people. Mass ended and we left. Kalene was very cold and very tired. It was not fair of me to spring this moment on her. I figured, instead of proposing to her that night I would just get us lost on the way home…so I did.
Christmas morning. It was very sunny. The sun came into our room and woke us up quite early. We went to breakfast and ate like royalty. I forgot to mention that first thing Christmas morning, which was a Saturday too mind you, a garbage truck went by. There are too many reasons to list why that would not have happened in Canada. A Christmas on a Saturday in Canada?...your clocks don’t report to work on time.
We had arrangements to Skype both our families that afternoon so we can see them during their Christmas morning. Kalene had surprised me by digitally renting National Lampoon’s Christmas vacation. The greatest Christmas movie ever. We lay in our bed and watched. It was very majestic. This film has taken on an almost euphoric status for us both, representing family, Christmas, and everything we both hold dear. As much as it was funny it was quite sad. I remember the exact scene where it happened. Clark is standing looking out his window wearing a Chicago blackhawks jersey. He is fantasizing about his pool ideas. It was there that I paused it. I needed a break and Kalene had to pee. We had a quick chat about how much we missed home and we both decided that we would never be away from home for another Christmas again…ever. Kalene got up and entered the very crampt toilet (which is what Europeans call a washroom/bathroom). I sprang up immediately and grabbed my coat. I ripped it from the hanger, grabbed the box and opened it. It looked stunning. I licked the top of the ring to remove any dust or dirt and make it shine even more. I had no thoughts other than what I was about to do. It just felt right. This was the moment I was waiting for…we were planning our lives together in Paris on our most favourite day. I wedged myself between the wall and the bed outside the toilet door and got down on one knee. Our room was small. I was literally wedged. I heard a flush then a faucet. Wholy shit this is going to happen. I had no qualms about if she would say yes or not or if she would think this is how she imagined it or not or if the ring was perfect or not…I knew she would love the whole thing. The door opened and she saw me. Her face was in complete shock. She put her hands on her chest.
We disagree slightly about what I actually said but it went something like this. I told her I loved her, I wanted to be with her forever, I wanted a house, kids, a vegetable garden, to compost, and finally to get a dog. I took her right hand to simply hold as I spoke to her. She took this as me not knowing which hand the ring went on but trust me I knew what I was doing. I don’t think I actually said will you marry me, I asked her to be my wife. I took the ring from its place and slid it on her left hand finger. She said of course I will. Not yes, of course I will. Go Ken. She studied the ring, we were both crying, we kissed, and I got up. I asked her if she liked it and she said it was perfect…but that it was too big. Ah, pooh!
I, the bride-to-be couldn’t be happier. The moment was perfect for me, very romantic, and very real. Also, telling my family, though nerve-racking was great. They all congratulated us, I cried, and no one seemed concerned. Telling my grandparents, who are well into their 80’s over Skype video-chat, now, there’s moment I’ll never forget. It took a good five minutes to quiet everyone down and for my grandparents to get over the shock of being able to see us and talk to us in real time. If I couldn’t tell everyone is person, at least I could clearly see their reactions. It was awesome.
I know that this will go down as the most memorable Christmas is our arsenal so far. Raw and emotional, we realized that if there’s one lesson in all of this it is that we love certain traditions, and we’ll try anything once, but Christmas away from home it probably one thing we will NEVER repeat.
Day one was a mixture of wet feet, bad maps, a way bigger city than we were used to, exciting landmarks (eek! Eiffel tower! The Louvre!), some mild Christmas shopping, overpriced cafes and a fight that goes down in history. We won’t bore you with the gorey details. We have both expressed that we want this blog to be a brutally honest and real account of our travels, however, the transformation that occurred on that street (literally a sidewalk) in a Parisian suburb cannot really be explained. It was overdue and had little to do with each other and everything to do with ourselves. (Does that even make sense?) All I know is that I (Kalene) could actually feel myself in the present moment, come into myself in a way I’ve never experienced. Things became clearer about what I needed to do, what I wanted to do and what crap I was no longer willing to put up with. And I figured it all out with a 3$ bottle of vodka straight up and a really long cry, which turned to uncontrollable laughter and back to sobs a good six times.
We sat and cried uncontrollably (yes we). Strangers were looking at us but we didn’t care. We were having a moment--together. We realized we were being too influenced by others opinions and our own fears. We were stretching ourselves too thin. We decided that “From now on we buy what we need when we need it; no more compromising on our adventure”. Yet, we still planned to stick to a secure budget. I (Ken) threw my piece of shit boots in a nearby trash can and wore Kalene’s socks in my runners until we got to an overpriced hostel. It was great though because we left a lot of emotional baggage on the curb.
The next phase of Paris involved preparation for the Christmas we’d been dreaming about for the past 6 months. Buying proper clothes for the weather, Christmas music, shopping (separately on a few occasions), a free walking tour of Paris, the Louvre, and a fabulous night at a sold out theatre. We were still trying to eat on a budget and decide when we needed something (like Ken’s new boots) or just wanted something (like Kalene’s Starbucks). We had after all sprung for the piece de resistance, a hotel for Christmas for 3 nights. Tres chic.
December 23rd we checked into the Hotel Design de la Sorbonne and hit up Monmartre. It’s a pretty calm, artsy and cheap neighbourhood. We were enjoying some sushi for lunch but our hearts weren’t into the tourist thing. We wanted to be home with carols on the radio and Christmas cookies in hand. So we headed back to the hotel to cuddle in bed and try to get in the spirit. I (Kalene) ended up finding Majic 100 the Ottawa radio station which plays Christmas tunes all day. We streamed it on the iMac provided by the hotel and poured some rum and cokes. We were trying to pump ourselves up but somehow we were getting more and more lonely. We felt trapped. It occurred to us that Crhistmas is about family and friends. Paris felt cold and was full of strangers. Finally Ken suggested we get out of the hotel room and take a walk. So, we bundled up good and stepped outside. It was snowing. In Paris. The day before Christmas. I (Kalene) would get my white Christmas after all.
Magic ensued. We walked all the way from Sorbonne to the Eiffel tower. It wasn’t even on purpose at first, we were peeking in store windows and reminiscing about Christmases past. The snow was falling around us with a deafening silence and for once, the streets of Paris were quiet. After about 20 minutes, we could see the beacon of romance shining ahead of us. The Eiffel tower in all her glory. We walked for over five hours that night. We had FINALLY had the moment of magic we wanted in Paris, and there were many more to come.
There’s this weird balance you have to find while traveling, that of letting the moments happen naturally, and putting in the effort to make the adventure come to life. It’s a ying and yang of having goals and dreams and not allowing the things that don’t meet your dreams ruin the journey. It’s really hard! I mean really really hard. I think we both have the goal of learning to live in the moment, something I (Kalene) have always struggled with. This trip is making that struggle glaringly obvious. I see myself wanting the adventure to be bigger, more unbelievable, more exciting. And thus, I forget to enjoy the excitement I am fortunate enough to get.
The Story of the Ring. By Ken. So, during our colossal meltdown on the streets of Paris we were getting ourselves together I then knew that I was with the one person I wanted to have all my colossal meltdowns with and that I would forever want to be cold, wet, hungry, lost, and crying with that same lady…Kalene Cherisse Tilson. For the days leading up to Christmas we agreed to split up and Christmas shop for each other. We each needed to have something to open on the morning of the 25th. But, every time we did so, I used the time exploring jewelry shops. I knew what I wanted because I knew what Kalene wanted; more than that, I knew what Kalene liked. She is not a typical material driven girl; I knew that the ring I give to her in proposal of marriage she would consider the perfect one.
After seeing many options from many stores and many well-dressed Parisian men and women, I finally found it. A sparkling diamond surrounded by smaller sparkling diamonds. Perfect. I bought, paid, returned, paid more, and left….with the ring. One cannot really explain that exhilarating yet scary as ever feeling. My mind was racing and my heart was pounding. I also remembered that I still had no Christmas gift for her. Yeah, I have a diamond ring but it wasn’t for Christmas. I went over and over in my mind how and when I would do this. I could be truly unoriginal and unimaginative and surprise her at the Eiffel Tower. I knew that with her and I the moment would present itself naturally so I held out for it…or at least until she found the ring in my bag and asked a silly question like “What’s this?”
I carried the ring with me everywhere I went from that moment on. I couldn’t risk losing it or having her find it. We were backpacking together and our areas of personal space were pretty much restricted to our own bodies. Everything else was “our” space. And by that I mean Kalene’s space and Ken’s stuff will go “wherever”. In order for this momentous moment to be special I wanted the ring to be in the case so I could show to her in all its glory. Problem is, the box was quite big and I often looked like I was smuggling something or shoplifting. The giant bulge in my jacket pocket was about as conspicuous as using a dumptruck for a paper route.
Chrismas eve came. Could’ve been a good idea to do it then. We had plans to go to Notre Dame Cathedral that night for midnight mass. I thought I had better take it with me just in case. Our hotel was within walking distance to the cathedral. It was a bit cold, we both dressed up as best as two backpackers can; Kalene looked especially scrumptious. We arrived at about ten p.m. We found an allright seat and enjoyed a documentary film on the cathedral itself. I criticized it as my duty as a film scholar…it was done well. The Notre Dame choir was fantastic. Very moving and inspiring classical music. At midnight mass began. People were everywhere, packed into every isle in the place. We listened, sat, stood, and sang. Two young girls near us were not partaking in the festivities they were fumbling with their ipod and baguette!? They were at least nineteen and should have known better that this was a special occasion for those around them and to shut the hell up. Kalene was sitting to my right. The giant ring box was in my left pocket. I couldn’t get comfortable. My arm was lying on the box itself on my lap. It was stupid problem to have but it was a problem nonetheless. I am sure Kalene knew. I wanted to surprise her so the idea of it happening that night was scary. We were also very tired. I was up late the night before Skyping people. Mass ended and we left. Kalene was very cold and very tired. It was not fair of me to spring this moment on her. I figured, instead of proposing to her that night I would just get us lost on the way home…so I did.
Christmas morning. It was very sunny. The sun came into our room and woke us up quite early. We went to breakfast and ate like royalty. I forgot to mention that first thing Christmas morning, which was a Saturday too mind you, a garbage truck went by. There are too many reasons to list why that would not have happened in Canada. A Christmas on a Saturday in Canada?...your clocks don’t report to work on time.
We had arrangements to Skype both our families that afternoon so we can see them during their Christmas morning. Kalene had surprised me by digitally renting National Lampoon’s Christmas vacation. The greatest Christmas movie ever. We lay in our bed and watched. It was very majestic. This film has taken on an almost euphoric status for us both, representing family, Christmas, and everything we both hold dear. As much as it was funny it was quite sad. I remember the exact scene where it happened. Clark is standing looking out his window wearing a Chicago blackhawks jersey. He is fantasizing about his pool ideas. It was there that I paused it. I needed a break and Kalene had to pee. We had a quick chat about how much we missed home and we both decided that we would never be away from home for another Christmas again…ever. Kalene got up and entered the very crampt toilet (which is what Europeans call a washroom/bathroom). I sprang up immediately and grabbed my coat. I ripped it from the hanger, grabbed the box and opened it. It looked stunning. I licked the top of the ring to remove any dust or dirt and make it shine even more. I had no thoughts other than what I was about to do. It just felt right. This was the moment I was waiting for…we were planning our lives together in Paris on our most favourite day. I wedged myself between the wall and the bed outside the toilet door and got down on one knee. Our room was small. I was literally wedged. I heard a flush then a faucet. Wholy shit this is going to happen. I had no qualms about if she would say yes or not or if she would think this is how she imagined it or not or if the ring was perfect or not…I knew she would love the whole thing. The door opened and she saw me. Her face was in complete shock. She put her hands on her chest.
We disagree slightly about what I actually said but it went something like this. I told her I loved her, I wanted to be with her forever, I wanted a house, kids, a vegetable garden, to compost, and finally to get a dog. I took her right hand to simply hold as I spoke to her. She took this as me not knowing which hand the ring went on but trust me I knew what I was doing. I don’t think I actually said will you marry me, I asked her to be my wife. I took the ring from its place and slid it on her left hand finger. She said of course I will. Not yes, of course I will. Go Ken. She studied the ring, we were both crying, we kissed, and I got up. I asked her if she liked it and she said it was perfect…but that it was too big. Ah, pooh!
I, the bride-to-be couldn’t be happier. The moment was perfect for me, very romantic, and very real. Also, telling my family, though nerve-racking was great. They all congratulated us, I cried, and no one seemed concerned. Telling my grandparents, who are well into their 80’s over Skype video-chat, now, there’s moment I’ll never forget. It took a good five minutes to quiet everyone down and for my grandparents to get over the shock of being able to see us and talk to us in real time. If I couldn’t tell everyone is person, at least I could clearly see their reactions. It was awesome.
I know that this will go down as the most memorable Christmas is our arsenal so far. Raw and emotional, we realized that if there’s one lesson in all of this it is that we love certain traditions, and we’ll try anything once, but Christmas away from home it probably one thing we will NEVER repeat.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Big things. Dirty things. French things.
Kalene’s blog: January 3rd, 2011. Big things are happening here. We’ve been on the road for exactly 2 months and 2 days and it feels like a lifetime and a snap of the fingers all in one breath. People kept warning me I wouldn’t be the same person when I returned, and well I’m not back yet, but I’m also DEFINITELY not the same person.
This trip isn’t always roses the way it may have seemed in my last post. Of course there are snags and homesickness, and colds and rain and gloom. And DIRT. I’m not a prissy girl, not even close, I like to sweat, like the best of em, I can handle multiple days in a row without a shower, I can deal with poopy dipers and vomit when I need to. But the place we stayed in Strasburg France was absolutely disgusting. Vile. Putrid…. Why didn’t I leave after one night? Because I’m Canadian, and that would have been rude. I know Ken mentioned this but really, they had a ‘pet’ rat that I’m pretty sure just came and went on his own schedule. Shudder.
I must mention one HILARIOUS night we had in Strasbourg. Ken’s friend from high school invited us to come to the ‘chateau’ where he was living. I was totally confused and thought this was popular boy-speak for the flatshare he lived in. Nope, turns out it was actually a chateau. Big, beautiful and nice and warm. We got soaked getting to the castle, but upon arrival threw our stuff in the dryer and ate Mexican and drank beer. It was a FABULOUS night in amidst CANADIANS! YAY HOME! A special shout out to a drinking game much like horse racing. Too many beers later and an early morning train we headed out with big smiles on our faces, back to the filth and grime. Yup, I was cinda-fucking-rella for a night, back to a pumpkin at midnight.
Luxembourg was a lot of fun with Kasia. We made a snowman, toured the winding streets and quiet paths, went to the Grund, had a great night listening to some instrumental bands at a little bar in the downtown and then a nice night sitting around drinking too much and talking with some great jazz playing in the background. Luxembourg, was great fun. Again, THANK YOU KASIA!!!
Ken mentioned Nice and Monaco but he neglected to tell you that while in Nice we took our first afternoon apart. This was a much needed break from each other. Don’t get me wrong, we’re in love, but it was 6 weeks at this point with no more than 30 minutes apart. A girl needs to be one with her thoughts every now and again. I went to this little town called Eze Village where they make perfume and spent some nice solitary hours wandering around the tiniest streets you’ve ever seen and then hiking down to the port to catch the bus back. It’s funny but when we met that night and actually had something new to talk about. We were tripping on each other trying to get tell the details our of adventures. That night we sat on some rocks and had a bottle of Champagne and ate yummy pastries from a local pattiserie watching the sunset. The view was stellar. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Ken mentioned Marseille and I have to give a quick comment to our first hosts. Alex and Deb were really fun. They told us about this area called ‘Les Calanques’ we hiked around these limestone cliffs. Gorgeous. Also, the meals we shared were positively decadent. And Blokus.
As Ken mentioned again, the second host was a nightmare. This man is not mean or anything he just lives a completely different life than I’m used to. He smokes like a chimney. Indoors. I smelled like a tobacco plant by the time I left. And, yes he was completely irresponsible. He left us alone on the side of a road at midnight for 40 minutes and never turned up. WHO DOES THIS!?! Not Canadians. It baffled me. Then, we got tortured all night by a mouse running around our bags. Then, The 2nd night of our stay he just never came home at all. His roommates did though. They partied downstairs and got so drunk that one of them puked their guts out for hours, then clogged the toilet and flooded the flat. Awesome.
I actually kept my cool pretty well while it was all happening but this lead to a breakdown of magnanimous proportions later on. I got on the train to Paris, the leg of the trip I was looking forward to the most and started listening to the Vinyl Café Christmas special podcast. I looked out the window and cried almost the whole way to Paris. I was homesick, no denying.
As I said, I know I’m not the same person I was when I left. I think in some ways I can handle much more stress, but in other ways I am also figuring out my limits. Hell, I can laugh when my watch gets launched under a bus (yes, this did actually happen to me), but I CANNOT handle rotten food lying around and mice nibbling my toes. I can handle little sleep on lumpy beds, with not enough blankets, but I cannot handle being hungry. I’m very cranky on an empty stomach. I’m constantly playing with the balance of the image I have in my head for how this trip is ‘supposed’ to go. I try not to have pre-conceived ideas, but of course I do. I love to notice the little details of the people we meet and the places we see so I’m appreciating where I come from A LOT more. Anyway, I’ll leave it here but stay tuned. Paris was an adventure to say the least.
This trip isn’t always roses the way it may have seemed in my last post. Of course there are snags and homesickness, and colds and rain and gloom. And DIRT. I’m not a prissy girl, not even close, I like to sweat, like the best of em, I can handle multiple days in a row without a shower, I can deal with poopy dipers and vomit when I need to. But the place we stayed in Strasburg France was absolutely disgusting. Vile. Putrid…. Why didn’t I leave after one night? Because I’m Canadian, and that would have been rude. I know Ken mentioned this but really, they had a ‘pet’ rat that I’m pretty sure just came and went on his own schedule. Shudder.
I must mention one HILARIOUS night we had in Strasbourg. Ken’s friend from high school invited us to come to the ‘chateau’ where he was living. I was totally confused and thought this was popular boy-speak for the flatshare he lived in. Nope, turns out it was actually a chateau. Big, beautiful and nice and warm. We got soaked getting to the castle, but upon arrival threw our stuff in the dryer and ate Mexican and drank beer. It was a FABULOUS night in amidst CANADIANS! YAY HOME! A special shout out to a drinking game much like horse racing. Too many beers later and an early morning train we headed out with big smiles on our faces, back to the filth and grime. Yup, I was cinda-fucking-rella for a night, back to a pumpkin at midnight.
Luxembourg was a lot of fun with Kasia. We made a snowman, toured the winding streets and quiet paths, went to the Grund, had a great night listening to some instrumental bands at a little bar in the downtown and then a nice night sitting around drinking too much and talking with some great jazz playing in the background. Luxembourg, was great fun. Again, THANK YOU KASIA!!!
Ken mentioned Nice and Monaco but he neglected to tell you that while in Nice we took our first afternoon apart. This was a much needed break from each other. Don’t get me wrong, we’re in love, but it was 6 weeks at this point with no more than 30 minutes apart. A girl needs to be one with her thoughts every now and again. I went to this little town called Eze Village where they make perfume and spent some nice solitary hours wandering around the tiniest streets you’ve ever seen and then hiking down to the port to catch the bus back. It’s funny but when we met that night and actually had something new to talk about. We were tripping on each other trying to get tell the details our of adventures. That night we sat on some rocks and had a bottle of Champagne and ate yummy pastries from a local pattiserie watching the sunset. The view was stellar. I’ve never seen anything like it.
Ken mentioned Marseille and I have to give a quick comment to our first hosts. Alex and Deb were really fun. They told us about this area called ‘Les Calanques’ we hiked around these limestone cliffs. Gorgeous. Also, the meals we shared were positively decadent. And Blokus.
As Ken mentioned again, the second host was a nightmare. This man is not mean or anything he just lives a completely different life than I’m used to. He smokes like a chimney. Indoors. I smelled like a tobacco plant by the time I left. And, yes he was completely irresponsible. He left us alone on the side of a road at midnight for 40 minutes and never turned up. WHO DOES THIS!?! Not Canadians. It baffled me. Then, we got tortured all night by a mouse running around our bags. Then, The 2nd night of our stay he just never came home at all. His roommates did though. They partied downstairs and got so drunk that one of them puked their guts out for hours, then clogged the toilet and flooded the flat. Awesome.
I actually kept my cool pretty well while it was all happening but this lead to a breakdown of magnanimous proportions later on. I got on the train to Paris, the leg of the trip I was looking forward to the most and started listening to the Vinyl Café Christmas special podcast. I looked out the window and cried almost the whole way to Paris. I was homesick, no denying.
As I said, I know I’m not the same person I was when I left. I think in some ways I can handle much more stress, but in other ways I am also figuring out my limits. Hell, I can laugh when my watch gets launched under a bus (yes, this did actually happen to me), but I CANNOT handle rotten food lying around and mice nibbling my toes. I can handle little sleep on lumpy beds, with not enough blankets, but I cannot handle being hungry. I’m very cranky on an empty stomach. I’m constantly playing with the balance of the image I have in my head for how this trip is ‘supposed’ to go. I try not to have pre-conceived ideas, but of course I do. I love to notice the little details of the people we meet and the places we see so I’m appreciating where I come from A LOT more. Anyway, I’ll leave it here but stay tuned. Paris was an adventure to say the least.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)