Marvelous,magical, mindblowing Morocco!!!!!!

Before I set off, my knowledge of this exotic, fascinating country was quite limited... I'd been told by many trusted seasoned travellers, that it was one of their travel highlights, one of my favourite places to gorge on good food in Melbourne is the Moroccon Soup Kitchen, and I'd been advised not to travel to this elusive country alone.

So, after a drunken, excited conversation,which thankfully soon became cemented as a real life plan,I found myself at Marakesh airport waiting to meet up with my dear friend Boomer (aka-James, he he...)

We caught a cab to our hostel, which I'd randomly selected off a site which I should really be getting commision from by now- Hostelworld. And this time, it truly delivered what it promised. After being safely escorted right to the front door by an eager little local boy, keen to practise his English ('gday mate,skippy'), we arrived and both stopped still in amazement. It felt as if we had just jumped on a magic carpet and sailed right onto the set of Aladdin or Arabian nights. Exotic, colourful carpets lined the walls, colourful stained glass lamps glowed and polished silver teapots winked at us invitingly. Grinning, not quite believing our luck, I suddenly forgot how tired I'd been earlier, and we ventured out into the streets to explore.

Having travelled to Asia, I was marginally prepared for the roaring motorbikes carrying whole families, the streetstalls boasting every treat imaginable and the all encompassing atmosphere that seeps into your veins. Even though we only had the energy for a short stroll, already this felt like the perfect mix of Asia, Africa and Europe all crazily rolled into one! We loved it ...

We awoke to a home cooked meal of Morrocon pancakes dripping with thick cinnamony honey and the local tea which is sweet and pepperminty and delicious. For lunch we stumbled across a gem of a local cafe; Seated on a balcony overlooking the whole city, we feasted on Morrocon style tapas, rich flavoursome eggplant, crusty bread and crushed carrot dip, mmm. That night we hunted out a Lonely Planet reommendation, which soon become our 'local.' Surrounded by draped silks and swinging lanterns; we sipped strawberry cocktails and watched the stunning sunset, as the amplified prayer chants rang out over the whole city. Then to the glorious , exciting, overwhelming markets, which we visited and went a little crazy at for the next few nights. Unable to resist the rows of stunning silver jewellery and bright fabrics, we bought gifts and treats, got dragged into a family's personal silk factory, and drank fresh o.j packed in amongst the locals- Wonderful.

Before we knew it, our time in this crazy, addictive town was up and it was time for the next adventure... the Sahara!

We were up early and rearing to go . Packed into a bus, with a group of Spanish, French, Dutch and our local driver, it made for an entertaining ride! Everything the bus driver said, was then translated into French (the second language in Morocco after Arabic, is French) , then English - then Spanish! My many years of charades practice sure came in handy...

We drove for a whole day, stopping off to expore sandstone ruins, eat a feast at a local cafe and stop at a family business which hand wove rugs. I couldnt resist and bought a small one for Brad and I; its bright red and made from Poppies and Camel hair and signifies love and good luck and... fertility (!?)

That night we stayed in yet another amazing Aladdin-esque place where they loaded us up with a feast of chicken and chickpea tagine and fresh melon for dessert. Unfortunately Boomer developed 'Moroccon belly' that night, but managed to still make it for the next leg. More driving , we visited our bus driver's family home and were served tea and home made Moroccon sweets and then finally we saw them- stretching out infront of us, the huge ,rolling, peaked sand dunes...with lines of blinking camels patiently waiting.

Without any hesitation, we were loaded onto these gentle giants and before we knew it we were off. It was the most surreal, amazing experience. On top of these incredible creatures, bobbing up and down; through endless sand, watching the sun set over the plains. Incredible. It was dark by the time we arrived at the ready made camp. Before long we were sitting on cushions in the sand, festing on yet another delicious tagine, playing bongo drums and smoking some sneaky Morrocon hash (strong stuff!) Just as we were all getting ready to pass out, our guides suggested a walk up the dunes. Unable to resist we did and my god... I thought I was pretty fit! But woah... By the time we reached the top our legs were aching and we had well and truly worked off the tagine! But the view.. wow, that was worth it. We were literally sitting on the peak of this gigantic sand dune looking out over the lights of far off towns, surrounded by a sea of stars ...magic!

On the walk back a mini sanstorm started up and it was pretty painful and made us wonder how the hell people ever trekked through the whole Sahara..amazing...

That night we slept outside under the stars on thin matresses in the Sahara sand.

(Thought that deserved a line of its own!)

Amongst the perfectness,unfortunately I too developed this so called 'Morrocon belly', which is not the nicest thing to have in the middle of the desert! After many a tummy pill though, we were up before sunrise , on our trusty camels again and back to the bus.

We drove with the others to a small town, where upon bidding them goodbye,we were stuck in a dirty,smelly station , with our dodgy bellies, feeling sorry for ourselves because we'd be misinformed and had just found out we would have to wait 14 hours for a bus! Thankfully an extremely helpful policeman took pity on us and somehow organised his ' mate' to sort it out! Which is how we found ourselves being shoved onto the back of a small , VERY hot mini bus, jampacked with noisy locals, whose kids stared unabashedly at us-the weird looking ' whities!'
They dumped us on the side of a road, where a guy picked us up in his ' private taxi', who then took us to a ' secret' meeting place where he met his other mate in his 'private' taxi. We guessed some sly money had exchanged hands, but went along with it, as the price was reasonable, and we were now facing an 8 hour trip in airconditioned, private comfort( instead of a sweaty, noisy, squashed public bus.)
The driver took us to a little local town on the way, where all our fragile bellies could stomach was a banana and a plain cracker or two. But that didnt stop our guide, whilst he plyed us with sweet traditional mint tea, he howed down on fresh goat and bread. This was slightly disconcerting to see, because right next to our table hung three freshly skinned goat carcesses, with furry heads intact and dripping blood. eeewww.. if our tummies weren't already a bit off, well this sealed the deal!
Many hours and snoozes later, we arrived in the bustling, humid Fez, and by god we were glad we had decided to lash out and spoil ourselves.
After the amazing, but slightly sweaty and gastro-ey desert, it was bliss to arrive at a slightly swanky,(but still so Moroccon) clean hotel room, with a strong hot shower and a view over a mammoth pool.
We stomached plainish but delish hotel food and slept like babies in the freshly made beds that night...
The next morning we both woke up grinning at the fact that we were hungry and starting to feel normal in the tummy region again. Hurrah!
We feasted on the free hotel brekkie and set off to explore. Hitching a ride in the back of a hilariously dodgy trailor attached to a motorbike, we arrived in the medina ( centre of town.)
Yet another mindblowing Aladdin-esque treasure trove, where we went a little crazy on well priced gifts and were befriended by a little local boy who insisted on giving us a 'free' tour of the sights. He took us to his father's business, the 'tannery' where we saw how they make all their leather goods, then to his 'uncle's' restaurant, where we feasted on delicious Moroccon salads, and then were dragged to his ' other uncle's' rug making shop. I proceeded to be railroaded ( not entirely unintentionally into buying a stunning raw silk bed spread made with camel hair and natural poppy dyes. It looks like a Moroccon sunset and I AM slightly in love with it.
We then were guilted into tipping our 'free' little boy tourguide. ( when we first gave him a few coins he glared at us and wailed , " But this is NOTHING!" Remembering he SWORE to us, his company was FREE....freely conned! ah well : )
That night we ate fresh pasta at a lovely little Italian place(go figure!) and relished drinking alcohol on our newly mended bellies.
The next day we experience THE HOTTEST, SWEATIEST trainride in THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD! We arrived after 4 hours, dripping, exhausted, but excited to be there....in Casablanca!
Frankly my dear.. I DO give a damn!
Our hotel room was bright and carpeted and lovely, and we freshened up before walking through the local haunts , to a roadside stall selling fresh pita bread stuffed with freshly grilled green peppers and potato patties( me) and spicy ,tasty meat(Booms.)
We took these and cold drinks back to the top outdoor terrace of the hotel and ate them overlooking the nightlights of Casablanca reminiscing about all of our shared adventures.
The next morning, we didnt need to bother setting our alarms..the loud, city- wide , projected prayer calls woke us. A fitting end to an amazing cultural experience.
We packed up our bags, went downstairs for a complimentary brekkie of fresh bread and mint tea, and were on our way to the airport.
A quick squeeze and a fond farewell, and there we both were again...lone Aussie travellers....with VERY special shared memories and many more special solo adventures in store... For me...back to sunny ol' Spain! OLE! xooooox

Portugal with me , myself and I...

Lisbon, Portugal. I arrived in the early eve, and yes, as promised my hotel was close to the airport, but this also meant it was wayyy out of town. No biggie, I was being a bit extravagant staying in a hotel ( without the s ) anyway. So, that night, instead of exploring these slighty seedy outskirts, I loaded up on goodies at the local store and had myself a little solo hotel picnic, complete with wine out of the toothbrush cup! all class...
The next morning, I transferred to a funky little hostel in the heart of Lisbon. It was run by an effusive, loud , fabulous portugese woman- Tatiana who was young and inviting ´my home is your home!' ( despite it not actually being her home!) The window next to my bed looked out directly onto the cobblestone alleyway below and by day, it was fascinating, but by night it was all mood lighting and accordian players and chinking of wine glasses- so European!!

For the next few days, I soaked up the atmosphere of the endless alleyways, frequented the beach and took myself on a few very enjoyable dinner dates...I discovered I´m quite a good conversationlist- hah!
Despite loving the vibe, and relishing yet another fascinating culture, some of the men made me feel a little uncomfortable.. whether it was because it was my first real time solo, or whether Portugese men ( as a gross generalisation) are simply more out there, I´m not sure...
Mostly it was harmless, a waiter giving me the bill and proclaiming, ' my table has been so much more beautiful with you sitting at it!' ha!, but sometimes it felt a bit more threatening.
One time I was sunbaking solo on a fairly busy ( but still very roomy!)beach , just out of Lisbon, when a middle aged man came and put his stuff down RIGHT next to me. He then proceeded to stare... and stare .... and yep.. still staring! Everytime I glanced his way, he smiled sleazily and slowly winked...ewww! I fantisised about knowing enough Portugese to verbally SLAP HIM IN THE FACE, but seeing as I was limited to very basic spanish, I simply gathered my things and settled on the opposite end of the beach. No biggie in the scheme of things, but a moment that has stuck with me, despite thankfully being overridden by all of the other wonderful Portugese moments.

A few days later, I caught a bus for hours to a little beach town called Portimao. And I instantly fell in love. The hostel was waaay out of town, but I felt like I was on a combination of the best school camp ever and one of my treasured family beach holidays!
I whiled away my nights, cooking up big summer salads in the shared kitchen and drinking wine by the pool or on the balcony overlooking the town. And spent my days, going for big walks and laps in the pool, then bus-ing it to the beach. Here the ocean was literally as aqua as can be and silky smooth, the beach was bordered by picturesque cliff faces and despite being sardined between a million locals, I loved it. I browned up and ate the local salads overlooking the water and just generally loved life.

As a side note.. I may very well have been Portugese OR Spanish in a former life... tourists AND locals stopped me and asked questions/ directions soo often. As soon as I opened my mouth the gig was up, but until then, it was lovely to role play!

After a few days of this rather delicious routine, I snapped myself back into ´on the move´mode and made my way on the early morning bus back to the Lisbon Airport. Next stop .. Morocco!! yeeehaahhhhh!!! xx

wayyy overdue...Sweet paree and rock en seine...woop woop!

Let me start by saying, that I have not been slack with updating this blog because of lack of wonderful things to talk about.. quite the opposite infact. I've just been TOO damn busy having amazing , AMAZING adventures. So please excuse me my dear readers ( bahaha! thanks ma and pa!)

Now, thank god I take after my dear dad and keep a diary, or else there's no way I´d be able to remember all these incredible experiences. And they are WELL worth remembering. So..here goes...Beginning with Paris...ahhhh

I have my first experience of the atypical ´smooth´french man, when i first arrive in Pareee and am waiting for Boxy. After stopping myself from squealing everytime i remember, I'm actually IN FRANCE, I use my schoolgirl french to clumsily order a cappucino.
The waiter is an old french dude, who is just a regular old dude till he opens his mouth and ... that accent!! And then, he cups my face in his hand and says in stilted english..'Perfect, simply perfect!' SWOOOOON!!
I soon snap out of it however when i see my dear old friend Boxy, who is less inclined to shower me with cliches and more inclined to tell me to ´ fuck off ´ ( in a totally loving, brotherly way!)
That night I´m highly amused ( and secretly impressed) to see just how much Boxy has embraced and flourished in this foreign , foodie culture. He insists on taking me , 2 canadian girls and an irish couple, who he´d befriended earlier, to an amazing Moroccon (?? go figure) restaurant he´d discovered.
It was fantastic- huge vego meals, delicious french wine and literally to die for,death by chocolate cake to share.... mmmmm. Back to the hostel with cheap French cask wine in hand and in true hostel style, we proceeded to get pissed and laugh together till the sun came up.
The next day we sipped coffee at a verrryyy Parisin little sidewalk cafe, ate tomato and mozarella salad ( my favourite) and went on a bit of a sight see.
The overly confident 'irish' as they were now labelled got us a bit lost, but on the way i was suitably blown away by the Arc de Triumph ( oh god,please excuse that dodgy spelling?!) and the spectacular Eiffel tower( it really is like the pictures, and there it was, RIGHT THERE!!)
We finally made it to the Musee d´Orsay which was quite amazing and then back to the hostel...
I wont bore you by detailing EVERY meal, but this next one will go down in history...
Again, a little gem that Boxy insisted on showing me. We took the Canadian girls too and all I can say is wow...
It was soOOO french. The waitress was divine, we all fell in love with her( so sexy parisian!) and the food was rich and decadant and amazing!!!) as was the wine , AND the dessert. Oh god...
When we finally rolled out on to the pavement , it had begun to rain and it was perfect. Boxy led us up a steep cobble stone alleyway by streetlight until we reached the top of the hill. And wow.. in one direction was the spectacular Sacre Couer church ( who's lights switched off just as we got there--magic!) and on the other side, an incredible birds' eye view of Paris at night, with the lit up Eiffel Tower front and centre. We drank some more cheap wine, drank in the view and shivered with the magic of it all. The next day we visited the same view in daylight and you could barely move it was so crowded, but that night, we had it nearly COMPLETELY to ourselves...a real night to remember!
The next day we met up with the third member of our little parisian possey..Boomer!
It was so good to see him, especially after all of our friends back home had pitched in to get him back over here...the best!
That arvo we relocated to the hotel near the festival . Boxy and I didnt have a ticket for that night to the festival and we were honestly pretty relieved. A yummy japanese dinner( sooo multicultural!) and then after 3 nights of 5am drinking sessions, we were exhausted and hit the sack. ( not before boxy was sure to call Brad and tease him with the fact that he was 'sleeping' with his mrs! boys will be boys ; ) )

The next morning brought perfect blue skies and brilliant sunshine, and we were refreshed and ready to rock!
We banged down Boomers hotel room door and started the drinking, then trekked off to get some french festival on!
And woweee, its a big call, but this was perhaps one of THE BEST festivals Ive ever been to. Maybe it was the fact that it was IN PARIS,maybe it was the special company, maybe it was the rather lovely 'erbal capsules we were given, or maybe it was the tunes, but god it was GOOD!
Queens of the Stone Age were out of this world. Ive never seen the boys ( or me for that matter) rock out or laugh harder...fantastic! Two door cinema club were also great as were 2 many djs( what a show!)
Boxy and I were not meant to have tickets for the Sunday either, but Boomer and his lovely London mates were adamant we were coming anyway. After an elaborate entering, then squeezing off of wristbands, then re- entering after learning our friend´s personal details incase asked, we were in!
I cant remeber alot of the earlier stuff because the ABSOLUTE higlight was the last act. Arcade Fire. It hadn't rained the whole festival, then just as they were finishing up, it started to pour. And i mean bucket down! They stopped playing for a while because of electrical risk but then decided to do one last number anyway! feck it! So , it was pouring, we were soaked to the core, but yelling and laughing and dripping and hugging. I will never forget it.Ridiculous amounts of fun.
Then we were starving.. we ate delecious burrito things, then Boxy insisted on gettting churros( spanish donuts), with his very own jar of nutella ( which i may or may not have eaten straight out of the jar with my finger!)
Then it was over.. I squeezed Boxy goodbye early the next morning, on his way to Canada and Booma and i checked back into the other hostel, closer to town. I believe Boomer's direct quote was, ' Luce, I dont think I´ve ever felt this hungover...arrghhh´
We slept for the day, then met up the following morning to discuss a plan that we'd hatched when drunk on the music....' How bout we both go to Morocco together? '
In the harsh , squinty daylight, it still seemed like a brilliant idea, so we put the wheels in motion.
Then Booma headed off to Spain and I to Portugal! Ah the life of a traveller eh? I think i was made for this....love it!
So for the next very belated edition stay posted! Won´t be long this time...until then... Au revoir mon amis xoxooxo