domingo, 15 de novembro de 2009
terça-feira, 10 de março de 2009
segunda-feira, 15 de setembro de 2008
quarta-feira, 30 de julho de 2008
domingo, 6 de janeiro de 2008
Kassel, Deutchland
I am back in cold grey Germany..... but here's my last blog entry on my xmas escapade. I had left off after arriving in Tarifa, Spain.
I liked Tarifa a lot. It was a really beautiful city, the word "quaint" comes to mind. On my second night there, I went to a bar with a girl from Holland to see some local band play. The band was very good, kind of a cross between Joaquin Sabina, and Pearl Jam. After the show we found some wine and stayed up too late talking with other folks at the hostel. But I spent most of my time wandering around this historic city, enjoying the ocean breeze and fantastic weather (SUN!!) and gazing across the Straight of Gibraltar at the rolling hills of Africa, from an ancient castle built on the cliffs of the edge of Europe – All in a city that some say is the namesake of the word Tariff. Makes sense, consider the commerce this port used to do. (now it just takes in windsurfers and travelers like me). Tarifa was truly beautiful though, and it makes my short list of places I could retire. Not a place a could live, it's a bit too small, but I could retire there and learn to paint or something....
Eventually I took a bus to Cádiz (No. I did not coger a bus to Cádiz. I refuse to coger a bus here, even though everyone else does it.... I just tomar them.)
Anyway, I should say how pleasant it is, how easy it is, how amazing it is to find out where the bus station is, when the bus is leaving, etc. etc. when you actually speak the same language everyone else does!!! This is idea may sound marvel, but I hadn't experienced it in months. Anyway, the short and cheap bus ride to Cádiz took me through some rolling Andalucian hills, and along the edge of the continent to this ancient peninsula of Spain. I walked through the city along the waterfront from the bus station to the train station, and jumped on a train to head up to Jerez de la Frontera, where I was spending the night. My main reason for heading there was that they had a Hammam (Turkish bath popular in most Arab countries). Oh, I forgot to mention that I went to a Hammam in Morocco and loved it, and needed one more hammam before heading back to Germany. This one was amazing. All done up in true style, but with a nice little Spanish touch. Here's a link:
http://www.hammamandalusi.com/
Click on it, at least to see the pictures of where I was.... I can't even begin to describe it. After about 2 hours there, I emerged refreshed and cleaner than I've been since my last Hammam on this trip, to wander the streets of Jerez and get lost.
I stumbled onto a giant plaza with a makeshift ice skating rink in the center. Now, not to make a generalization.... no, I will. Spaniards, at least based on my first hand observation that day, have no idea how to ice skate. I watched young and old fall all over each other for about 15 minutes. After a while I looked up, and noticed the entire plaza was surrounded by 19th century buildings with banners draped from the balconies and red and black flags waving from the windows.... where was I? If it hadn't been for the ice skaters, it might have felt like I was in Spain in 1937 instead of 2007.
The CGT, the UGT, CC.OO., and the CNT (mi favorito) all had their offices here in the plaza with the ice rink (these are all Spanish trade unions). There was nobody there, but the next day, I went back and spoke with the secretary of the CNT about some of their recent struggles, got a ton of stickers and paraphernalia, and left a hearty donation.
The next morning I wandered around the streets I knew so well by now, ate some churros and chocolate while sitting in the sun, reading "El Pa's" (the first time I've sat and read a paper in months.... something I miss) then headed back to Cádiz for new years eve....
In Cádiz, I had arranged to stay with someone I met through "couchsurfing.com", an interesting facebook style webpage, designed to facilitate travelers looking for a place to sleep. I stayed with a few young college students there, but went to a traditional new years eve party at the house of someone else I met. At the stroke of midnight, while watching the TV with images of drunk people in Madrid, I ate 12 grapes in 12 seconds (well, I tried to, as the tradition goes). Next time I'll take the skin off.
After that, I went north to Sevilla. I only had 2 nights to see this southern capital, and I knew I wouldn't do it justice, but I tried.
Actually, compared to the quieter, smaller, andalucian towns I had seen, Sevilla kind of… sucked? I mean, parts of it were great. It was pretty. But it was so touristy, and so different than – take Jerez de la frontera, or Tarifa…. Even Cádiz. Compared to the three other cities I had visited, it kind of… just sucked.
OH, but it was better than flying back to Germany and returning to the cold, institutional science experiment I called a home in Kassel. But the truth was, I missed everyone there…. My fellow unionist comrades from all over the world. And I only have a few weeks left with them before leaving for Brazil! I can't believe how quick this time went by.
I liked Tarifa a lot. It was a really beautiful city, the word "quaint" comes to mind. On my second night there, I went to a bar with a girl from Holland to see some local band play. The band was very good, kind of a cross between Joaquin Sabina, and Pearl Jam. After the show we found some wine and stayed up too late talking with other folks at the hostel. But I spent most of my time wandering around this historic city, enjoying the ocean breeze and fantastic weather (SUN!!) and gazing across the Straight of Gibraltar at the rolling hills of Africa, from an ancient castle built on the cliffs of the edge of Europe – All in a city that some say is the namesake of the word Tariff. Makes sense, consider the commerce this port used to do. (now it just takes in windsurfers and travelers like me). Tarifa was truly beautiful though, and it makes my short list of places I could retire. Not a place a could live, it's a bit too small, but I could retire there and learn to paint or something....
Eventually I took a bus to Cádiz (No. I did not coger a bus to Cádiz. I refuse to coger a bus here, even though everyone else does it.... I just tomar them.)
Anyway, I should say how pleasant it is, how easy it is, how amazing it is to find out where the bus station is, when the bus is leaving, etc. etc. when you actually speak the same language everyone else does!!! This is idea may sound marvel, but I hadn't experienced it in months. Anyway, the short and cheap bus ride to Cádiz took me through some rolling Andalucian hills, and along the edge of the continent to this ancient peninsula of Spain. I walked through the city along the waterfront from the bus station to the train station, and jumped on a train to head up to Jerez de la Frontera, where I was spending the night. My main reason for heading there was that they had a Hammam (Turkish bath popular in most Arab countries). Oh, I forgot to mention that I went to a Hammam in Morocco and loved it, and needed one more hammam before heading back to Germany. This one was amazing. All done up in true style, but with a nice little Spanish touch. Here's a link:
http://www.hammamandalusi.com/
Click on it, at least to see the pictures of where I was.... I can't even begin to describe it. After about 2 hours there, I emerged refreshed and cleaner than I've been since my last Hammam on this trip, to wander the streets of Jerez and get lost.
I stumbled onto a giant plaza with a makeshift ice skating rink in the center. Now, not to make a generalization.... no, I will. Spaniards, at least based on my first hand observation that day, have no idea how to ice skate. I watched young and old fall all over each other for about 15 minutes. After a while I looked up, and noticed the entire plaza was surrounded by 19th century buildings with banners draped from the balconies and red and black flags waving from the windows.... where was I? If it hadn't been for the ice skaters, it might have felt like I was in Spain in 1937 instead of 2007.
The CGT, the UGT, CC.OO., and the CNT (mi favorito) all had their offices here in the plaza with the ice rink (these are all Spanish trade unions). There was nobody there, but the next day, I went back and spoke with the secretary of the CNT about some of their recent struggles, got a ton of stickers and paraphernalia, and left a hearty donation.
The next morning I wandered around the streets I knew so well by now, ate some churros and chocolate while sitting in the sun, reading "El Pa's" (the first time I've sat and read a paper in months.... something I miss) then headed back to Cádiz for new years eve....
In Cádiz, I had arranged to stay with someone I met through "couchsurfing.com", an interesting facebook style webpage, designed to facilitate travelers looking for a place to sleep. I stayed with a few young college students there, but went to a traditional new years eve party at the house of someone else I met. At the stroke of midnight, while watching the TV with images of drunk people in Madrid, I ate 12 grapes in 12 seconds (well, I tried to, as the tradition goes). Next time I'll take the skin off.
After that, I went north to Sevilla. I only had 2 nights to see this southern capital, and I knew I wouldn't do it justice, but I tried.
Actually, compared to the quieter, smaller, andalucian towns I had seen, Sevilla kind of… sucked? I mean, parts of it were great. It was pretty. But it was so touristy, and so different than – take Jerez de la frontera, or Tarifa…. Even Cádiz. Compared to the three other cities I had visited, it kind of… just sucked.
OH, but it was better than flying back to Germany and returning to the cold, institutional science experiment I called a home in Kassel. But the truth was, I missed everyone there…. My fellow unionist comrades from all over the world. And I only have a few weeks left with them before leaving for Brazil! I can't believe how quick this time went by.
sábado, 29 de dezembro de 2007
Estar jodiendo es mejor k estar jodido
donde estabamos....
right, in Marrakech.
So on the way out of town, I stopped in Djemaa el-Fna, the main square again, where I had eaten so many plates of cous-cous and chicken. I decided to have my fortune read. Aware of the language barriers, I proceeded to the first woman I found available, who spoke no english or spanish. After explaining this (about a minute into my fortune), she switched to French, which I think she hadn´t quite mastered either. Beyond something about continuing my travels, I really didn´t understand much. There was also something about the end of the world, or perhaps she meant geographically, which would be appropriate, since I plan to go to Tierra del Fuego in Argentina (often called, el fin del mundo). I should also note that the men in the square playing little flute/horn instruments were snake charmers and you can add about 100 snakes to the list of things one can find in Djemaa el-Fna.
I took the train from Marrakech to Casablanca, then onwards through Rabat to Fès. The man sitting across from me for the first few hours spoke no english, and almost no spanish, yet insisted on having a conversation anyway. Smiling for most of it, and nodding my head like an idiot (perhaps agreeing to all sorts of outlandish things...) I did manage to successfully convey that I am a trade unionist and I hate Bush. With that, he took off his left shoe, and placed some almonds and nuts from his pocket on the table in front of us. "America!" he exclaimed and pointed to the shoe in his hand. Then "ah....." (something in Arabic that we can probably guess). Then he proceeded to smash the nuts with his shoe yelling in Arabic with a bit of french mixed in (I heard the word "merd e"). The poor woman next to him looked afraid for her life. She was dressed in a full hijab, so I could see nothing but her eyes, but her eyes said fear. He laughed a bit and almost returned his shoe to his foot before beginning an encore version of the same demonstration, but this time the shoe was "Blair" or "Sarkozy" or perhaps both of them.... I should say that he may have been stoned. There were a bunch of teenagers smoking hashish right behind us between the carriages, and the contact high was strong enough to give me a bit of a buzz. Later on, he reached through the slit in his jellaba (big overcoat with a hood everyone in Morocco wears) and into his pocket to offer me a handful of nuts. I said "shukran bezzef" (thank you), and begrudgedly placed my hand under his to receive a pile of nuts, pocket lint, and a few crumpled up receipts. He smiled, a bit embarrassed by all the trash that unintentionally came with his gift, but t hen proceeded to watch me eat like a hawk. I got the impression it was some sort of test in the faith of our new international friendship, so I ate a few nuts slowly, while carefully sliding the rest up my sleeve, pocket lint and all. We exchanged emails and he made me promise to come stay with him if I ever visit Rabat. Who knows?
In Fès, I stayed at one of the worst hotels I've ever been to. I got the distinct impression that besides myself, everyone else there was a prostitute or their client (this impression is based on hard empirical evidence in the form of paper thin walls and passionate screams that even I don't need an arabic translator to interpret). The other thing that kept me awake most of the night, was their unique pillows. They were like rocks. Actually, they were rocks. Seriously. Rocks wrapped in thin fabric. My hotel was in the Ville Noulle, the modern french part, because I wanted to stay close to the train station. Most cities in Morocco have 2 parts. The old part, and the new french part. This meant I had to take the local bus to get to the medina where all the souks and interesting things were. I'd been riding the local buses for a few days now. Pretty much on par with a local bus in Mexico, or even areas of the US with no funding for public transit, and more or less as crowded as the 38 Geary in San Francisco, or the number 6 subway line through Manhattan at rush hour.... so these bus rides for 20 cents were pretty uneventful. That day, a man who had sniffed so much glue, that I was getting high from standing next to him, was sandwiched between myself and a few kids. All of the sudden, he started staring at me. I pretended not to notice. Then he moved on the stare at the man next to me, and then began screaming (in arabic) for a minute or two. Keep in mind, he is about 5 centimeters from my face, and although the bus was loud, t here was no need to scream. Eventually he moved on to screaming at the kids, then the man collecting money at the back of the bus (why they collect the money at the back of the bus is beyond me). After that, they booted him off at the next stop. Yeah, a bit like riding the 38 Geary during rush hour I suppose. Maybe more like the 22 Filmore. (sorry for the San Francisco public transit references for those of you who have never been there....) A few seedy bars later (it can be hard to find a drink in a muslim country where alcohol is haram (forbidden), but not that hard luckily), and I was back in the hotel for one last night before heading to Tangers. I only saw Tangers through the window of a petit taxi, but it looked a bit like Tijuana.... actually, it is a lot like Tijuana from what I understand.
After that, it was just a 35 minute ferry ride to Tarifa, España. Of course, with immigration to pass through on both sides of this historic straight of water, the 35 minute trip took nearly 6 hours, but rather than bore you with why (I could never match the level of boredom I felt anyway), I'll leave that story for another day. Around 11pm, I found my hostel, some fantastic italian food and wine, and even a bit of Fernet Branca to wash it all down. I slept like a baby, woke up and showered with hot water, and spent the day exploring this amazing city, walking along the edge of Europe, and staring across the blue waters at the hills of Africa. More to come, hope everyone had a great xmas, Eid al-Adha, Hannukah, or Kwanzaa. And have a happy new year! -Steve PS - one last thing... for those of you who don't want to be bothered in the streets of Morocco, when they try to speak to you in english, french, spanish, or italian, just answer with "u minia ruskia crove" then look them square in the eye and say "jopa".
So on the way out of town, I stopped in Djemaa el-Fna, the main square again, where I had eaten so many plates of cous-cous and chicken. I decided to have my fortune read. Aware of the language barriers, I proceeded to the first woman I found available, who spoke no english or spanish. After explaining this (about a minute into my fortune), she switched to French, which I think she hadn´t quite mastered either. Beyond something about continuing my travels, I really didn´t understand much. There was also something about the end of the world, or perhaps she meant geographically, which would be appropriate, since I plan to go to Tierra del Fuego in Argentina (often called, el fin del mundo). I should also note that the men in the square playing little flute/horn instruments were snake charmers and you can add about 100 snakes to the list of things one can find in Djemaa el-Fna.
I took the train from Marrakech to Casablanca, then onwards through Rabat to Fès. The man sitting across from me for the first few hours spoke no english, and almost no spanish, yet insisted on having a conversation anyway. Smiling for most of it, and nodding my head like an idiot (perhaps agreeing to all sorts of outlandish things...) I did manage to successfully convey that I am a trade unionist and I hate Bush. With that, he took off his left shoe, and placed some almonds and nuts from his pocket on the table in front of us. "America!" he exclaimed and pointed to the shoe in his hand. Then "ah....." (something in Arabic that we can probably guess). Then he proceeded to smash the nuts with his shoe yelling in Arabic with a bit of french mixed in (I heard the word "merd e"). The poor woman next to him looked afraid for her life. She was dressed in a full hijab, so I could see nothing but her eyes, but her eyes said fear. He laughed a bit and almost returned his shoe to his foot before beginning an encore version of the same demonstration, but this time the shoe was "Blair" or "Sarkozy" or perhaps both of them.... I should say that he may have been stoned. There were a bunch of teenagers smoking hashish right behind us between the carriages, and the contact high was strong enough to give me a bit of a buzz. Later on, he reached through the slit in his jellaba (big overcoat with a hood everyone in Morocco wears) and into his pocket to offer me a handful of nuts. I said "shukran bezzef" (thank you), and begrudgedly placed my hand under his to receive a pile of nuts, pocket lint, and a few crumpled up receipts. He smiled, a bit embarrassed by all the trash that unintentionally came with his gift, but t hen proceeded to watch me eat like a hawk. I got the impression it was some sort of test in the faith of our new international friendship, so I ate a few nuts slowly, while carefully sliding the rest up my sleeve, pocket lint and all. We exchanged emails and he made me promise to come stay with him if I ever visit Rabat. Who knows?
In Fès, I stayed at one of the worst hotels I've ever been to. I got the distinct impression that besides myself, everyone else there was a prostitute or their client (this impression is based on hard empirical evidence in the form of paper thin walls and passionate screams that even I don't need an arabic translator to interpret). The other thing that kept me awake most of the night, was their unique pillows. They were like rocks. Actually, they were rocks. Seriously. Rocks wrapped in thin fabric. My hotel was in the Ville Noulle, the modern french part, because I wanted to stay close to the train station. Most cities in Morocco have 2 parts. The old part, and the new french part. This meant I had to take the local bus to get to the medina where all the souks and interesting things were. I'd been riding the local buses for a few days now. Pretty much on par with a local bus in Mexico, or even areas of the US with no funding for public transit, and more or less as crowded as the 38 Geary in San Francisco, or the number 6 subway line through Manhattan at rush hour.... so these bus rides for 20 cents were pretty uneventful. That day, a man who had sniffed so much glue, that I was getting high from standing next to him, was sandwiched between myself and a few kids. All of the sudden, he started staring at me. I pretended not to notice. Then he moved on the stare at the man next to me, and then began screaming (in arabic) for a minute or two. Keep in mind, he is about 5 centimeters from my face, and although the bus was loud, t here was no need to scream. Eventually he moved on to screaming at the kids, then the man collecting money at the back of the bus (why they collect the money at the back of the bus is beyond me). After that, they booted him off at the next stop. Yeah, a bit like riding the 38 Geary during rush hour I suppose. Maybe more like the 22 Filmore. (sorry for the San Francisco public transit references for those of you who have never been there....) A few seedy bars later (it can be hard to find a drink in a muslim country where alcohol is haram (forbidden), but not that hard luckily), and I was back in the hotel for one last night before heading to Tangers. I only saw Tangers through the window of a petit taxi, but it looked a bit like Tijuana.... actually, it is a lot like Tijuana from what I understand.
After that, it was just a 35 minute ferry ride to Tarifa, España. Of course, with immigration to pass through on both sides of this historic straight of water, the 35 minute trip took nearly 6 hours, but rather than bore you with why (I could never match the level of boredom I felt anyway), I'll leave that story for another day. Around 11pm, I found my hostel, some fantastic italian food and wine, and even a bit of Fernet Branca to wash it all down. I slept like a baby, woke up and showered with hot water, and spent the day exploring this amazing city, walking along the edge of Europe, and staring across the blue waters at the hills of Africa. More to come, hope everyone had a great xmas, Eid al-Adha, Hannukah, or Kwanzaa. And have a happy new year! -Steve PS - one last thing... for those of you who don't want to be bothered in the streets of Morocco, when they try to speak to you in english, french, spanish, or italian, just answer with "u minia ruskia crove" then look them square in the eye and say "jopa".
K Viva España
Tarifa, España
Lots to say... but no time. Its so sunny out, I want to go back outside.
I´m in Spain, in Tarifa, which is a beautiful city.
I´ll write more soon, about the rest of Morocco, charmed snakes, my french fortune, gardens, crazy guys on the bus high from sniffing glue, immigration coming back into Europe....
in anycase, I´m alive and well, and wish everyone a happy new year until I have time to write a proper email.
Lots to say... but no time. Its so sunny out, I want to go back outside.
I´m in Spain, in Tarifa, which is a beautiful city.
I´ll write more soon, about the rest of Morocco, charmed snakes, my french fortune, gardens, crazy guys on the bus high from sniffing glue, immigration coming back into Europe....
in anycase, I´m alive and well, and wish everyone a happy new year until I have time to write a proper email.
Assinar:
Postagens (Atom)