Laundry - Lavarie - Lavandaria

In prepartion for this trip Tom and I visited the Monet's Garden exhibition in Melbourne in August. After enjoying the exhibition we sat in a Southbank bar over looking the Yarra sipping a beverage and chatting excitedly about the upcoming trip.  Tom looked at me earnestly and expressed his concern with our trip planning, saying that he was worried that in our schedule we had not left enough time for ...  Oh no, thought I.  What is coming ?  We already had a very tight schedule of sights - what could he possibly be thinking at this very late time that we should add to our trip.  So he went on to explain his concern - ... we have not left enough time to do any laundry.  For a moment, just a moment, I shared his concern before laughing hysterically and assuring him that we would be sure to find time to launder our clothes.

I apologise to those of you who have already heard that story, but I know that many of you who have will want to know how we have fared and be reassured that Tom has not spent too much holiday time worrying about the laundry.  Firstly, our thanks to our friend Robyn who sent along some White King stain removal wipes for us to bring on this trip.  They have proved very helpful - and have the dual purpose of helping remove the red stain my feet acquire when it rains, and my red leather shoes leach dye onto my skin.

Paris

We had a washing machine in the apartment so laundry here was easy.  Especialy after we learned to remove the toaster from the top of the machine in the spin cycle - it only had to fly off once and land on the floor we us to make that minor modification.  Luckily, it was only as we were leaving this accommodation that I read the notice that said the washing machine was not for use by the guests.

Brittany

Our Breton gites was in a holiday resort which had a good laundry with coin operated machines.  It even had coin operated dryers, and after I lost several Euros on the dryers I got chatting to a nice English guest who explained to me what I was doing wrong.  And once she showed me how to use the ON button it was all good.

Spain

In southern Spain no coin laundromats are to be found, so we located one of those lovely places that washes, dries and folds a load of washing, all on the same day, for some ridiculously low price.  We dispensed with the idea of having clothes washed in Marrakech and waited until we got to our apartment here in the marina on the north coast, as we have a machine the apartment.  Terrific.  It had been a few days so I had a big load to put on.  The machine looked simple enough - just a choice of program and an on-off button.  Yes, I was concerned when after two hours it still had not moved from the wash cycle to rinse/spin, but hey these European machines are slow.  After three hours washing, and lots more button pushing it was still washing, but I was exhausted and went to bed.  By two in the morning I was getting worried the clothes would be torn to shreds and I gave Google a try to see if I could find any manuals.  No manuals - but I found some interesting user reviews, the first three of which informed me that the machine was a lemon and the worst washing machine they had ever owned.  Bugger !  I managed to turn the machine off and thought I would try another program,  After setting this off I went back to bed.  8.00am the next morning - yes, still on the wash cycle !  In the end we restorted to manually resetting the machine through rinse and spin, which I believe is how semi-automatic washing machines worked when I was a little girl.  And, after almost 12 hours of washing, Tom and I have really, really clean jeans !

A Parisian Laundromat

Cruising The Costa Brava

Feeling oh so Jackie Onassis!

It started when the flight landed at Girona airport and we alighted the airplane steps onto the tarmac.  I just love tarmac boarding - so 1960's jet set.  I always want to stop on the stairs and give a little wave.

We drove up the Spanish north coast to the massive Empuriabrava marina where Jan & Dave have their boat, Arion, moored. Arion was the son of Poisiden and he enjoyed the finer things in life, good food, clothes and music.  He incurred the wrath of a sea captain who threatened to throw him into the sea.  Arion convinced the evil sea captain to let him jump into the sea instead, and when he did so the dolphins sprang from the water and rescued him.

So now we are on the boat, nestled in a little cove and I feel that all I need is the Hermes scarf and the big glasses and I would be Jackie.

Costa Brava is Spanish for rugged coast, and parts of the coast are indeed very rugged, which means that the area is full of remote coves and isolated beaches.  The Mediterranean is still pleasant and the water was a swimmable 21 degrees, mild enough for a swim and snorkel off the boat, followed up by picnic lunch onboard.  

Bananas

Jan & Dave do not follow what I had thought was a universal nautical rule of banning bananas on boats.  In fact, they had never heard of this fisherman's superstition, and they often enjoy a banana on their boat.  Fishermen hold the belief that bananas on boats are bad luck and no fish will be caught if a banana is present on board.  I have heard of some who go so far as to ban Banana Boat sunscreen. Where does this strange superstition stem from ? There are many stories, but the most credible is that in the 1700s the boats bringing bananas to market had to travel very fast, before the cargo deteriorated.  The crew threw lines overboard but the boats were travelling too fast to catch any fish - hence the belief that the bananas brought bad luck. And by the way, Dave reports he never catches any fish - time to ban the bananas ?

The Yves Saint Laurent Connection

With only the morning to spend in Marrakech before our afternoon flight we decided to visit the Majorellle Gardens. We headed out with lowish expectations as an earlier expedition to the supposedly splendid Menara Gardens turned out to be a visit to some gardens that are now just a shadow of their previous glory.  However the Majorelle Gardens did not disappoint, and these gardens turned out to be an oasis in the bustling city.  Tom claimed that he had carefully planned these visits, saving the best for last and building up our expectations slowly.

Lily pads in the Majorelle Garden

The gardens are the work of the early twenty century painter after which they are named.  He opened them to the public in 1947 and in the 1980's the property was purchased by Yves Saint Laurent, hence the link to YSL. Saint Laurent was born in Algeria to French parents and retained a connection to north Africa throughout his life.  He restored the property and gardens and spent much time there finding solace and inspiration.  Before his death YSL established a trust with the aim of preserving cultural heritage and this trust runs the gardens today and the museum displaying Berber culture which is open in the gardens.  YSL's ashes are spread in the garden where I noticed the French tourists in particular are very respectful at the memorial. I paid suitable homage.

The YSL Memorial

Berbers

The Berbers are the original inhabitants of the north Africa area and the museum informed us that the Berbers were democratic, yet warmongering.  The Berbers have mixed with the Arabs since the Arabs arrived in this part of the world, and have been both Jewish and then later Muslims. They are found mostly in the Atlas Mountains, the divide that runs north to south down the middle of Morocco, and the Sahara desert is found east beyond the range.  

The Berber Museum in the garden

Every encounter is an opportunity

The Moroccans maximise the opportunity to earn a quid. Take the taxi driver today who agreed to our one stop fare, but then began adding sights he could take us to (including a good shop) and then refused our fare when we would not agree.

Modernisation has helped created wealth but it is still a desperately poor country, with young children on the streets selling anything, tissues, water, and cigarettes, which can be purchased by the single cigarette - in a poor country that is probably all some people can afford.  It is very tempting to purchase from the small children, but to do so only encourages the practice and the ongoing temptation to take them out of school to earn.

My venture into a jewellery stall started out innocently enough with the standard 'where are you from', and the stall holder began telling us of his Berber origins and his village in the mountains.  We showed genuine interest as he launched into his spiel and began showing us a coffee table book with panoramic photographs of the Atlases. As our interest peeked he launched with his punch line, and I do tours to my village madam.  But he was harmless, and extremely charming - so what could I do but purchase the torquise necklace I had been admiring.  Really, it would have been rude not to.

Mosque to Mosque

There are maps of Marrakesh but beyond the lovely wide boulevards that the French colonialists laid out for themselves in the early 20th century in the ville nouveau, they are useless is the narrow, labyrinthine alleyways of the medina.  And as we are staying in the medina, and this is also where most of the sights are, we are constantly lost.  Our beacons are the mosques.  Tom strategically plots out the route each time we venture out, using the mosques as a guide.  When we get lost coming home we keep a lookout for the tall minaret of 'our mosque', the one nearest our riad, and we head that way.

Our local Mosque

Last night we headed toward the very elegantly tiled Koutoubia mosque minaret, which marked the way to our destination, the lively Jemma El Fna square.  And lively it was.  Hordes of people with impromptu musical bands playing Arabic music.  Just an aside about music in Europe - Gotye's Somebody That I Used To Know is everywhere and we saw an advertisement in the Paris metro for an upcoming tour by The Cat Empire. The most fascinating thing about Jemma El Fna square is the pop-up restaurants.  There are no restaurants in the square during the day.  At night they wheel in tables, chairs and kitchens and set up restaurants offering full menus and full service - and there are dozens of them.  All with eager touts trying to drag you into their establishment, so walking through to get to the souks is like trying to navigate down Lygon St.

The Medina

Tagines

Eating here has been a delight, and incredibly healthy, helped along by the limited amount of alcohol we have consumed.  Big hotels serve alcohol, but for most meals we have eaten in cafes and restaurant that only serve soft drinks and juices.  The variety of juices available is enticing and it is all freshly squeezed - I enjoyed a street stall grapefruit juice today. I order it when I can, just because I love to use the engagingly charming French word for grapefruit - pamplemouse.

The tagines have been the standout attraction, either chicken, lamb, veal of beef, but never pork of course, and often cooked with an appetising assortment of fruits - prunes, figs, peaches, citrus - and nuts.  

The souks

How hard could it be ?  I have been to the Stanley markets in Hong Kong, the markets in Cairo, the fish market in Split - the David Jones Boxing Day sales !  Hey, we lived in India for two years, and our travelling companions have also spent time in Bombay, with Jan being a regular visitor to the Chor Bazaar in Bombay.  But the Marrakech souks are not for the feint hearted.  This tangled confusion of the narrowest alleys bursting with stock (all the best quality madam) was made all the more chaotic by the inability to stop and look for the merest fraction of a second before being bombarded with offers to look, touch, try.  As someone who barely tolerates a slightly pushy sales attendant in the calm of a Melbourne boutique store, the souk for me was a place to be visited quickly, marked off the bucket list and exited.  

Your intrepid correspondent in the souk

Shopping nirvana was found for us just outside the souks in the street stalls and craft shops.  However this is still an area that requires bargaining, a skill I have never mastered.  I am like Brian buying the gord in the Monty Python film of the same name - I would happily pay the first asking price and still feel I had acquired a bargain.  I spied some little bowls I liked and was ready to part with the 50 Dirham asking price for one until my shocked companion David pulled me up and negotiated away on my behalf and I ended up with two bowls for 60 Dirhams. David's job for the rest of the day was to be my designated negotiator.  

Tomorrow we leave Marrakech for Barcelona, and I am the happy owner of three new handbags !  Oh, and two 50 Dirham bowls!

Tom is Allergic to Marrakesh

It started in the riad - a small courtyard hotel of the type that are popular in Morocco.  Tom began sneezing badly and two anti-histamines later he is still sniffly.  My guess is the diesel fumes from the heavy traffic set him of: it happened in France as well, but not as pronounced.  I certainly hope he is not allergic to Marrakesh or we may be stuck in the riad for three days, though being stuck in the riad would be no burden.

Our room in the Riad

If I have overused the word gorgeous in these blogs I am sorry, I should have saved it for here.  We were taken as far as the medina outskirts by our driver, as cars do not come into the medina, the old city.  Our riad host collected us and walked us in, I was lost after the first turn, but Tom managed to remain focussed and take some bearings.  It was very early in the morning - an hour earlier than we expected because apparently the Moroccan government decided last minute to alter the time zone from 1 October.  A fact that had our Ryanair flight attendant very confused when she was trying to give  us the local time.  This was our first Ryanair flight, and I wish I could say it was our last.  Ryanair is the cheap Irish outfit that is much used by Brits holidaying at spots in the Mediterranean sun.  I recall the hue and cry when their CEO suggested a charge for inflight toilet use.  I do not know if it applies, I did not test it on our flight.  We had decent seats in row 5, but I could not understand the melee with all the other passengers until I realised that most of them do not have reserved seats.  The system involves getting on board and sitting in any available seat - just like the Belgrave train.  I guess it keeps the costs down.  I should not complain - they got us here. 

Anyway - back to the riad.  We were terribly early so we had hoped to just dump our bags and head out to breakfast.  We had not accounted for the legendary Muslim hospitality.  We we ushered into an ornate and cool vestibule and invited to take a seat on the comfy, many cushioned couch. Tea then came along, in the pewter pot and poured into the coloured glasses. The tea is poured from a great height, more for the theatre I think than any other reason. I  Tom does not like tea, and I was wondering how he would cope with the sweet, mint tea.  He not only managed to be polite and drink it, I think he actually enjoyed it.  Of course the experience was greatly enhanced by the accompanying pastries.  You certainly could not be nut intolerant here.  

Jo relaxing on the terrace

So refreshed we headed out.  My first impression was how very like Bombay it is - hot, crowded, busy, but not as dirty.  Today is Friday and while the morning was busy, when prayers started at lunch things became much quieter, but hotter.  We had two encounters with locals, and I was wary as the local trick is to get chatty with the tourist and then lure them along to the 'only craft shop open madam'.  But the first gentleman who spoke to us could not have been nicer, he only wanted to help us find our way, which he did first in French, and after assessing my appalling French he reverted to perfect English.  Unfortunately, Abdul who latched onto us 20 minutes later, was not so nice and despite trying at first to shake him we found ourselves following him, you guessed it, to the only craft shop open madam.  Abdul was full of praise for Australians as we traipsed along behind him getting further and further into the crowded souk, until my aching feet steeled me to action and I refused to go a step further and fared Abdul well and headed off in the opposite direction.  I speak no Arabic, but I deduced that Abdul's tirade was a curse on me, my children and my childrens' children and probably all Australians. 

My first day of shopping yielded two more pairs of shoes, but sadly, again not for me.  My first Moroccan purpose are little slippers are for Siena and Jack. 

Our travelling companions arrived later in the evening.  Jan & Dave, old friends from the Bombay days, are joining us for the next 10 days and we enjoyed a tasty Moroccan dinner in the riad courtyard.  Dave  had the foresight to bring a couple of bottles of red from Spain which we enjoyed with dinner, because, although the riads will not serve alcohol, t
hey do not mind you drinking.  

OUr local Mosque from the terrace

The Rain in Spain

We spent our last day in Spain in Cadiz, and Cadiz is very nice with pleasant weather, when it stops raining. 

Every guide book tells you how hot the south of Spain is, hinting that tourist regularly wilt under the sun.  Tom had one bad day in Cordoba when he got drenched, I was sensibly in the Arab baths all morning so I was fine, and apart from that the weather has been pleasant and not too hot.  The day trip to Cadiz may have been a little ambitious - two hours there and two hours back on the train.  Think of doing a day trip by train from Melbourne to Bendigo.  As the train pulled into Cadiz station so did the rain.  And not just rain, it bucketed so hard that the station staff closed most of the doors to limit the rain coming in.  Not a good start to our plan to promenade around the foreshore to the old town.  A quick change of plan had us in a taxi to the museo where we spent a pleasant hour or so taking in the antiquities.  The museo also housed an art collection, with a lovely Rubens and some weird modern stuff - I am going to have to learn something about modern art before we hit Barcelona.  

The markets

We came out of the museo to glorious sunlight and a lovely warm day which we spent wandering this old port city.  Loved the market - fresh fish and plump, ripe fruit, but with no kitchen to cook in I was reduced to window shopping.  I did find some lovely scarves (the best polyester that three euros can buy) and went wild.  After I have worn them all on the rest I of this trip I will decide which to keep and which to give away as gifts !   Tom found a tower to climb while I roamed the market. 

A typical Analusian sreet where modernity meets Islamic & Gothic

So after a lovely week we farewell Andalucia in southern Spain.  We now head to Morocco before returning to Spain to visit Barcelona.  Andalucia has been exotic and gorgeous, and of course the food has been exceptionally good.  Ok, flamenco was a bit lost on me, but as Tom pointed out I am not really made for culture and I should just stick to sports.  And I was fulfilled on our last night in Seville when our taxi driver had the radio on full bore listening to what was obviously a soccer match.  Even with no Spanish I could tell one of the contenders was Sevilla FC and that it was exciting.  The taxi driver and I got excited together, even though we could not understand each other.  Later that night the streets were full of happy Sevilla supporters following their 2-0 defeat of German side Frieburg in the Europa competition match.  Viva Sevilla!

The food ...

Cordoba Is Closed On Mondays

Why do I find train travel so stressful ?  Finding the platform, then the carriage and the right seats.  And putting the cases somewhere, why is there never enough room for everyone's case ?  But once we are settled I love the train, and Granada to Cordoba is our first train trip in Spain.

We arrive in Cordoba early Sunday afternoon for a two night stay.  I find it strange that our tour planner has not organised anything for Cordoba, until I start reading the guidebooks on the train.  Cordoba is closed on Mondays.  So we head out straight away when we arrive on Sunday to check out whatever is open and we manage two museums before they close for the day.  The archeology museum is very good, and only 1.50 euro for non EU citizen (free to EU citizens). But we were waved through without paying, thinking perhaps it is free on Sundays.  It was not until later that it dawned on us that the lady must have through we said Austrian, not Australian.

Not only is Monday quiet in Cordoba, it is pissing rain.  So what to do in Cordoba on wet day when most sites are shut - how about the arab baths !!!

Hamman

The hamman is traditionally a place where people gathered to meet, chat and relax.  The Romans were keen on the communal bath houses and the Muslims adopted this very civilised custom.  In Cordoba the original Moorish bath houses have been recovered and now offer a modern version on the ancient bath and massage routine.  I am relived to find that unlike the ancient days, the sessions are now mixed gender, meaning that bathing suits are compulsory.

Tom of course cannot be convinced to join me so he heads off into the pouring rain with his camera while I step inside the bathhouse for my hedonistic pleasure.  Not having done this before I have little idea of what to expect.  I am issued an A4 page of rules, a towel and some plastic slippers for my feet. Despite assuring the attendant I understood fully, si,si, I have no idea when I am supposed to wear the plastic slippers.  The first room is the warm bath room, a large pool under a tiled domed roof with a classic Arabic atmosphere.  There are also hot water pools, cold water pools and a steam room so think with steam, which is pleasantly scented with musk, that you cannot see on first entering.

An Arab bath house (Joanne's was a little more modern.}

I have opted for the package with massage and I am summoned from the pool by the masseuse.  It just adds to the whole atmosphere and mystery that she has very little English.  She points to the hexagonal marble table and I realise I am to climb on (I am think Mid Summer sacrifices again). Not very elegant scrambling onto the marble with my wet body, but I am getting into the swing of it now. Rather than being sacrificed as I feared I am doused in warm water and then scrubbed with a gritty soap.  After this I am covered in a foam, and feeling like an oyster on a Shannon Bennett menu (for not Australian readers think Gordon Ramsey, but pleasant).  This is washed off with the lightest sprinkling of rose scented water which is only just tepid, but somehow seems the exact right temperature.  The whole experience would have been very sensual if I had not been thinking about what a great blog post it would make.

Next to the massage table for a sooting rub down in lavender oil.  The attendant pulls my one piece suit down and by this stage the modest Joanne who walked in the door is not at all concerned at this exposure - by this time I am so Zen she could strip me naked and parade up and down the bathing pools.  After the massage I spend more time between the steam and hot and cold pools, enjoying cups of mint tea in between.  That sweet, thick mint tea that I first enjoyed in Beirut but would never think of drinking at home.  Two hours the experience is over and I leave the baths feeling cleansed and relaxed, but I never did work out when I was supposed to use the plastic slippers.

Thanks to Nicole, Drew, Siena and Jack for this birthday treat.  I know you sent the Euros for use in a tapas bar you recommended, but I think you will agree the bath was worth it.

Mezquita

The Mezquita. 

The Mezquita is the reason for visiting Cordoba, and luckily it is one of the few places open on Mondays.  Mezquita is Spanish for mosque and this one was the biggest and most spectacular outside of Medina during the medieval period.  So we popped in - and wow !  The mosque began as a modest house of prayer for 5000 Muslims, but as the population grew it was expanded over time to hold 40,000 worshipers.  That is more than you get at a Saints game nowadays

After the 'liberation' of Cordoba by Alphonso the Wise the Catholics moved in and built a cathedral smack bang in the middle of it.  Shame.