blog (April, 2003)
bobbin' and weavin'
Fes was quite a trip. Arrived in the middle of the night. Rob's friends didn't have room to squeeze one more in the room so we agreed to meet late morning the next day and I rode off in the unofficial taxi Rob and I picked up at the bus station. We flew down the streets from hotel to hotel looking for one to suit my budget, my driver and diplomat knocking on windows to wake weary managers that shook my hand but, one after another, informed us that c'est complet and we moved on to the next.
Discovered a $4-per-night gem right inside the old city walls: checked for large rodents, wore all my valuables in bed with me, looped my bag strap around my leg, and fell asleep.
The following day proved Fes, (though not as sketchy,) no less tiring than Tangier. Money rules here: tourists have it, and the majority of the population don't, but to understand this fact is much easier than to keep one's cool in the face of all the salesmen, would-be guides, beggars, and overly-curious children.
Many hours getting lost weaving the market streets of the old city, but a good sleep, crashing in the free bed in Rob's 4-star hotel before moving on to Casablanca.
bus stop: Tangier-Fes
I got off and browsed the assortment of food stands, the robes and brown faces and lit up behind them by open fires of grills or incandescent reflections on rows of candies. I settled on a large, round loaf of bread from a small house-shop selling a bit of everything. I lifted the top roll from the pile and waved it, signalling I wished to purchase it. The old man told me the price, in French I think, and I handed over a coin to his young apprentice.
The boy's nervous smile and the man's mixed expression told me my coin didn't match up with the quoted price. I shifted a bit and stood dumbly, wondering how to ask for more. Seeing my equivocation, the man produced a napkin for me, which I took and walked off, a bit confused.
I chose a seat against the outside wall of the café facing the bus, to enjoy my 10 cent bread and napkin amidst stares and chuckles and chatter directed my way. A filthy boy paced about with a small wooden box, but chose only some to offer its contents. The man at the next table invited me to sit with him; I declined. He offered me a small, wrapped cheese for my bread; I declined again, sliding it back across the table to him. Tangier had already scarred me. I finally caved to a cup of his tea, and pulled up a chair to join him and his companion.
His companion asked if I spoke French, I if he spoke Spanish; we settled on his broken French-English. The atay was minty, hot and excellent, and Khalid told me where to go after visiting Fes, and gave me his address and phone, should I pass back through this town. I felt a bit ashamed not sharing my own info when asked for it, offering the half-truth that I move about, working on farms around Spain.
The driver honked his horn and Khalid, his friend and I gestured and spoke our partings. As I drew round the corner of the bus, I spied the boy again, his wooden box situated under the man's shoe he was polishing with brush and towel.
if you see her, say hello
Tangier is making my head spin. Rob, (the Aussie I met on the boatride over,) and I were lucky enough upon disembarking to gain the undivided attention of one of the impromptu tourguides the city and its port area are so famous for. This walking encyclopedia of knowledge of Tangier didn't leave us alone 'til we had changed our money, visited the bus station, and enterred the city.
Don't worry, be happy. I am here to help you, because this is my country and I want you to feel safe here.
This city is shady as hell. Tonight to Fes.
mas lluvia
Something about Málaga and rain for me. Decided to leave the farm this afternoon as I had a ride into the city. Hoping to jet early tomorrow to make my way to the Morocco. From here to Algerciras by bus, then to Ceuta (Spanish port in Africa) by boat, then across the border to Tangier by bus.
For now, me and the one pair of pants (not to mention shoes and socks) I've brought along for this trip are soaked to the bone. Forget living-on-the-street smarts, I haven't even gotten ahold of travel smarts. Postponed tonight's accomodation issue, thinking I wouldn't have a problem getting a room at the city's youth hostel, instead spending the evening reading Morocco guidebooks at the store. The hostel was booked by the time I arrived, and that's when the rain began. About 15 phone calls and lots of walking/swimming later, I landed a moderately priced (15 euro) pension for the night, dumped my stuff, and made my way back out into the cats and dogs to find my friend the web.
Now it's pouring like mad, and I've got a long way home. But I'm wasting time and space here.
Wish me luck in my travels tomorrow.
mainly on the plain?
I made my way back into Málaga yesterday to the bullring for the Corrida del Toros. Watched six beautiful bulls suffer deaths of varying artistry.
This time I did decide to stay in town and sleep on the beach, as the bus schedule again didn't convenience my return by night. Waves crashing onto the shore have always been a comfort to me, but they surely don't keep one from the cold or wet. I thought I was prepared, wearing extra layers of clothes, hat, gloves, scarf, etc., but spent a long night freezing, then hiding out from the pouring rain that began at 5am.
Less than comfortable. I changed places a few times, from sand to park bench, to the patio of a small beach restaurant. I never learned the tricks of the trade for living on the streets...
chispa
Those who are fruitive laborers and philosophical speculators from time immemorial are constantly going and coming. Actually they do not attain ultimate salvation, for they do not surrender to Krsna.
-- Srila Prabhupada, Bhagavad Gita As It Is (8.26; purport)
For now I'm content playing the muse juggling for the king; tears and smile both painted on my face, but sparkle always in my eye.
Just outside my door, Surabhi the cow is grazing. Her bell jingles all night, and every so often she utters the word Om. I'm halfway through the Gita, my resting pulse is down to 41, and I've begun planning a software project to commence upon my return to the new world in late may.
Morocco, I think, on Wednesday.A person who is not disturbed by the incessant flow of desires -- that enter like rivers into the ocean, which is ever being filled but is always still -- can alone achieve peace, and not the man who strives to satisfy such desires.
-- Srila Prabhupada, Bhagavad Gita As It Is (2.70; translation)
day off, II
Wednesday is el dia libre here at Bala Gopal, (the farm I'm currently working at.) I've ventured into Málaga to sightsee. Today is a big day in the Semana Santa celebrations, but the activities are mostly limited to the evening and late-nighttime, and the last bus back to the town I'm working near is at 8pm. I've been debating missing the bus to watch the ceremonies, and spending the remainder of the night walking the beaches, but returning on the 7am bus, walking an hour back to the farm, and then beginning work isn't really appealing to me at the moment. I've done a fair amount of walking around the city today and seen quite a bit - the Alcazaba, the beach, Picasso's birthhouse, the Cathedral, a small museum, and have caught the beginnings of the big processions. I think that's enough, right? I don't want to be completely worn out in the next few days.
Always indecision. I think I'm going to return tonight, unless I miss the bus. Are you satisfied? That makes one of us.
Diet news? Only water, juice and tea today. (Starting small on fasting practice.)
no pasa nada
moving southwest as usual, (drawing closer and closer to Morocco,) I'm working on a farm an hour outside Málaga. A bit larger, this one, and more impersonal. I'm living the new volunteer workers' house, and share my time with the two other long-term guys that are taking care of the farm. The Spanish man who owns the place and his Indian wife and her large extended family keep relatively separate from us workers/wwoofers. I don't eat with them, and have little interaction, so a bit different situation.
I'm back to cooked foods, but, as Hindus don't eat animals or eggs, and I've kicked milk and dairy products for now, I'm a vegan for a couple weeks.
Work, running, reading the Bhagavad Gita. That's about it. Lacking a bit of action, but I should be able to catch a bit of the Easter Semana Santa festival this week in Málaga, and, well... Morocco is calling...
day off
Just left the playa desnuda in Almuñecar. My first (skinny) dip in the Mediterranean was short as the water is still quite cold, but all in all quite a tranquilo day. Lots of fun and relaxation. We passed innumerable tourist-oriented restaurants on the walk from the beach back into town and I tried to take in all of the smells and sights I could. I'm still unsure how much I'm going to stick to this mode of eating (100% raw) when I leave this place. I am quite convinced of many of its merits and benefits, but I'm not sure how much I'll be able to give up, and that the life I want to lead (socially, etc,) fits well. Dishes of ice cream, beautifully designed plates of rice and steamed vegetables, cervezas, coffees -- even signs with the word pizza -- made me a little bit forlorn.
I wish I had the time and inclination to talk more about the diet; it's consuming me as much as I, it, right now. I have the same kinds of regrets as after reading The Good Life; that there's a way of life I should be following, but know I won't be able to (ignorance is bliss.) I have to remind myself that I'm only better off for knowing more, and with the knowledge I will only improve my situation...
que sueño
I had a dream -- my mother was driving, with me sitting passenger. We pulled into our driveway and lost the brakes of the car. I yelled to pull the emergency brake, but she didn't and we crashed through the garage door and into the basement wall.
The same night, Paco dreamt he was going down a hill and lost the brakes on his car, and pulled the emergency brake, but doesn't remember more.
The same night, Piotr dreamt Paco was in his car, but couldn't pull out of a parking space because he was blocked by other cars.
Surprised and a bit wary after finding this, we agreed none of us were doing any car riding that day.
Later in the morning the truck that delivers materials for our house-building endeavors came with a load of rocks. It unloaded the rocks, and, turning around to leave, lost it's brakes and came a few inches from tumbling down the mountain. It was stuck for the afternoon.
Yikes is an understatement.