Magnetic Marrakesh

In any journey there is that one particular place that pulls you toward it. Marrakesh keeps coming up in magazines, movies, cafés and conversations. In Casablanca it was less than 200km’s from us and yet still proved elusive. So, we agree, this pilgrimage will not be complete without experiencing Marrakesh. We will sacrifice multiple other destinations in the exit strategy to make this happen. Why?Frank imagines the setting from Arabian nights; Sam liked the feel of the Morocco Mall (thankfully not in Marrakesh); Rocco wants to play soccer in the square; for me – in the cultural melting pot that is the world, I imagine it as somewhere especially unique and adventurous.Ryan Air has an extensive article on Marrakesh in their inflight magazine which I digest voraciously. It almost feels like I know the place such is my imagining. But we don’t know Marrakesh as we soon discover.

In the inflight magazine we like Riad Tchaikana (a riad is accommodation with a central courtyard and there are many, many riads in Marrakesh). Frank arranges for a driver to pick us up at the airport. We shed our winter gear for the sun of Marrakesh and our luggage appears to double.We are met at the airport and driven into the heart of Marrakesh. Things that would normally ring alarm bells for me I notice but am not alarmed by. For example, the guy we met at the airport had about ten sheets of photocopied paper with different names of accommodation on them. When Frank approached him he seemed a bit surprised – the lucky sheet of paper perhaps. We are then driven into a small square in the heart of the Medina. Our driver gets out and seems to have an argument with another guy. Frank says, ‘there is something wrong here’. I shrug. A guy with a trolley then transfers our luggage to his cart and puts the boys on top of the luggage.

We follow him as he weaves and dodges traffic (pedestrians, motorbikes and donkeys) down narrow, dark alley ways. He is fast and we nearly have to run to keep up with him.

Finally he stops at a non-descript door and knocks on it.

We look at each other concerned. A Spanish man answers the door and welcomes us in perfect English. He is the owner of the Riad and it is an oasis in the medina.

The following morning I venture out on my own – I have a shop (from that magazine article) to find. I’m a little afraid in a way I haven’t been for a long time; I have no experience to compare this to. I head in the compass direction of the shop but dead ends and distractions mean I am soon hopelessly lost.

Men call, ‘Madame see my shop’

‘Where you go?’ ‘Do you want to see the Mosque?’

The medina is a hectic crammed with small alleys, dead ends and shops that all look alike. It is impossible to trace your steps because dead ends mean lots of back tracking and there are constant distractions. I trust my instincts and head north east. A happy, young guy sees me looking at the map and I trust him to lead me where I am heading. The shop is not as I imagined; it's the right shop - Lalla - but it is a tiny souk within a group of souks rather than an emporium. It is not open yet so I have a mint tea at Café Peace, around the corner, while waiting.

The owner and I start chatting. He was born in Morocco but lived in New York for 24 years. His cafe is 'a marriage of American and Morrocan culture'. He tells me that 50% of the locals can be trusted but to be wary. Great! The tea is very sweet and when I comment on this the staff bring me another, less sweet, pot. The owner says that Morrocan's like sweet things and diabetes is a big problem here.The shop opens and there is not much range at very expensive prices. I take a quick look and head back to the Riad. Now, where was that riad again? I find it, with a little help and a not so happy encounter with a local who tries to charge me ten times the going rate for directions. I hand him a note (the going rate) and say 'Where are the police?' He quickly disappears. On returning to the riad I tell Frank the story and he says, 'you should never have gone out there alone'.Hmmm...it is a different world outside the riad and one I have yet to feel comfortable in.The four of us head from the riad into Jemaa El Fna, the square. On the way, in a narrow alley way, we walk into a group of men arguing passionately. I duck into shop and drag the boys with me, yelling at Frank to come with us. I can see it is about to break into a brawl. The shop owner says, and Frank agrees, that it is best to just go straight past. 'They won't touch you', says the shop owner. What then follows is an arguement between us as to whether or not it is safe to pass. This isn't the only time we experience fighting in the street.The square is crazy; filled with story tellers, snake charmers, monkeys in nappies and salesmen of all kinds.

It can feel overwhelming and after a short time we head back to the riad where we have a wonderful chicken tangine with lemon and olives (a traditional dish) for dinner. The lovely lady who serves us dinner, Bouchra, plays soccer with the boys in the courtyard after they have finished eating.It is magical!

Our ventures away from the riad are brief; we go to La Mamounia Hotel, which Winston Churchill apparently described as the best place on earth (to each his own) for a drink.

On our second night we get back to the riad a little late to organise dinner and riad owner Barbara, a lovely Franch woman, suggests we eat at La Foundouk. The restaurant doesn't open until 7:30pm and Barbara says Bouchra will take us there as it is hard to find. Following Bouchra in her long dark cape with a hood, through the narrow, dimmly lit winding alley ways is quite an adventure. I wonder how on earth we will find our way back to the riad. Finally Bouchra knocks on a large wooden door (naturally with no signage) and it opens to reveal a vibrant, stunning restaurant; Marrakesh continues to surprise us.

We never would have found the place. For dinner we have another chicken tangine and despite the setting it can't compete with the tangine at the riad. After dinner we find our way back to the riad but I've no idea how.We have dinner ar the riad on our last night there and it is with sadness that we say farwell to Barbara, Bouchra and the wonderful staff.

On leaving the riad, we head with our luggage to Al Fassia, recommended in guide books as the place to eat tangine in Morocco. Despite the fact we have eaten tangine twice a day in Morocco our love for it has only grown. This is the dish I will make for my wonderful book club friends at home.Al Fassia is owned and operated solely by women and something of a legend. One taste of the food and we understand why. It is incredible - especially the chicken pastilla (we aren't 'game' enough to try the pigeon option).

After lunch, we are picked up and taken to Kasbah Agafay...

Florence

The snow covered country side on the one hour and forty minute train ride between Milan and Florence is straight out of a fairy tale.

More than once during the journey it brings tears to my eyes. No one else on the train seems to notice, or maybe they have just seen it all before.

Our apartment is by the river about 250 metres south of the Ponte Vecchio, a famous pedestrian bridge. It has a cute little bed on a mezzanine for the boys. In our room is a grand piano which we figure is only in the room because there is no way to get it out without taking a wall out.

We drop off our bags and head straight there. I don’t remember the expensive jewellery stores that line the bridge and wonder if they were here 25 years ago. It is bitterly cold and even though it’s snowing it seems much colder than in Milan. Frank comments on it too. Although I am wearing gloves my fingers feel stiff and raw. The guy that met us at the apartment recommended a place for lunch and we head there, our eyes and noses running.The boys order Pizza (of course), Frank has spaghetti bolognaise and I order spaghetti with clams. The spaghetti is al dente and fabulous. After lunch we walk to the Statue of David (one of the fake ones in the square, not the real one in the Museum).

There are hundreds of statues and I say to Frank, ‘Do you think these are statues or have some of the locals just frozen?’ On that note it is time to take the boys back to the warmth of the apartment. Frank says he’ll pick some stuff up at the Supermarket and meet us back there.Now, when we walked out the apartment we passed a bridge and I think we could see the Ponte Vecchio. It is getting dark and I try my ‘CISA’ key in the ‘CISA’ lock that I imagine to be our apartment. It doesn’t work. Sam says, ‘No Mum, it’s further up that way’, pointing south. Rocco says, ‘No go that way, back the way we came’, pointing north. I say, ‘Shh, let me think’.We go further south and I say, ‘it’s not that far I don’t remember passing this shop’.Sam says, ‘I remember passing it.’Rocco says, ‘Go back the way we came’.I try our key in every ‘CISA’ lock and that is just about all of them but every door looks the same. I start to panic, soon it will be dark, it is freezing cold and I don’t have the details of the apartment; they are in Frank’s pocket.Sam urges us to keep heading south. I say, ‘It’s not this far’. But Sam is insistent. I try another lock – no. Sam walks ahead and says, ‘Here it is’. I try the lock and we’re in. Sam says, ‘You should trust me with more things’. I agree, ‘Yes Sam, you’re totally right’. How will Frank find the apartment? He has no key and a limited sense of direction (forgive me). The boys snuggle up and I head out to find him on the street. On meeting him I say dramatically, ‘I had to come and get you, you’ll never find the apartment.’He looks at me quizzically, ‘Yes I will it’s number 8.'

On our second day in Florence it is minus ten degrees. We catch a tour bus to see Florence frm the lookout (needless to say we sit down the bottom where it is warmer).

As part of the tour we go to a little village out of Florence, Fiesole, which is lovely but especially cold.

Even the dogs head inside to do a spot of shopping to keep out of the cold.

Our three days in Florence are very special but the sun is calling to us so we head to Pisa which is our exit point to the next leg of our journey.

We walk up the leaning tower and Sam gains an extra year (you have to be 8 to climb it). For lunch we have a nice Italian meal near the leaning tower; interestingly even the water bottle at lunch is leaning.

Six things we didn’t know about snow

Barcelona was a hiatus on the road; a pilgrim’s pit stop. It seems to end quickly and ten days later it is time to go and we are on the move again. We catch an early plane with Ryan Air and head for Milan. It was an eventful flight but I won’t go into the details. On landing at our destination a tune is played, ‘da, da, da, da dah…Congratulations, you are on one of the over ninety per cent of Ryan Air flights that arrives on time’. Cool. It is 11am and we experience full snow. Not the pitter, patter of snow- the light, dancing sprinkle like in Kiev-but snowing cats and dogs. In Japan they have a saying, ‘only children and dogs like snow’ and for the four of us our inner children are quick to emerge.

Between snowball ball fights we discover these six things we didn’t know about snow: 1. Experience an Igloo – Why go to the South Pole to experience an igloo when you can do so by simply hiring a car. Just rent it, park it in a snow storm and then bunk in for the night (no guarantees you’ll wake up).

2. Slip, sliding away – Snow can be very slippery, especially on roads and footpaths.

The kerbs are high and we all have many near falls. On the way to dinner I find myself slipping down a bicycle ramp toward a large puddle, Rocco tries to help by grabbing my hand and then we are both sliding…Frank saves us just in time. 3. Random snow balls – While walking to the train station in the morning we are hit by random snow balls and it’s not from each other. It’s not some clown having a laugh at tourists either. Snow clumps fall from trees and light poles etc. with random regularity.

4. Freezing your butt off – Bike riding is good exercise and so is extracting your bottom from the bike seat as the hapless owner of this bike may have to do.

Touché for motor bike riders.

5. Heavy snow is really, really cold and wet(well this shouldn’t be a surprise should it). 6. There is nothing quite so beautiful – a building or landscape draped in snow is magical; A coating of fairy powder can transform what might otherwise be ordinary into the spell binding.

We have two nights in Milan and have a sleep in after the first night. After a quick breakfast in the hotel we catch the Metro into the Duomo, in the City Centre. Emerging from the subway we are struck by the unexpectedly spectacular sight of the Milan Cathedral.

Pigeons flock around us as locals place popcorn on the boys’ heads and arms.

Milan is the fashion capital

and Rocco is ready for it.

We decide to take a look in the boutiques. I admire a top and the shop assistant, also Angela, insists I try it on with the pants, jacket, belt etc. to see the full ensemble. I do so and feel ridiculous. Just to make sure I ask Frank what he thinks. ‘You could wear that to the Melbourne Cup’, says Frank.

I say, ‘You really think so?’ He says, ‘If you’re riding a horse’. Hmm This shopping thing is boring for the boys so they go to McDonalds and I head to Rinascente Department Store. I notice a nice handbag; it’s 12 000 Euro (About $15000 AUD, I just want to put stuff in it, not drive it across America). Maybe a few Dubai Nationals could justify the cost.

I am looking at an eye shadow pallet and a young Italian man offers to do my make-up (it’s okay he works there). Well why not. It is quite fun and I buy a couple of things I’m running out of. Later in the day the four of us head to the seventh floor of the Department store for something to eat. There is a lovely view of the Cathedral from where we sit. As night falls we go into the Cathedral and it is very special. The boys are surprised to see there the mummified bodies of deceased Cardinals. Their hands are all shrivelled up but their shoes are in mint condition (Louis Vuitton perhaps?).

For dinner we go to a little restaurant near our hotel and sit next to a family of Australians for the second night in a row (different family each night). It is great to compare notes and chat about home. Tomorrow we are off to, what I remember as, one of my favourite cities in the world – Firenze.