Marrakech and life's contradictions

Who could ever describe Marrakech.

Historic: Once a fortified city The Medina (the old city) has surrounding walls dating back to the 12th century with thousands of holes which look like places to poke a rifle. In fact the holes are left by the scaffolding used during construction. Beautiful at any time of day, we found that both sunset and evening are quite spectacular with the light and shadow play.

Frantic: The absolute chaos of the Souk deserves its own chapter. Known as the busiest square in Africa, it is both beautiful and abrupt. We saw a true variety: from sellers of tires to scarves to ceramics. Men who pull teeth,  painlessly they say, without anesthetic or any particular disinfectant. The tannery, so huge it apparently requires a guide. Snake charmers who along with their snake held loosely in hand may brush up against you as you pass. Guys placing monkeys on your back. Literally. Like I need another monkey on my back.  Spices and nuts and dried fruit with tantalizing scents. Nearly toothless sellers of beautiful pashminas, (maybe they visited the tooth pullers?) willing to bargain with a smile. Everything seems to be negotiable.

Confused: Our visit did not start well, with a taxi driver who took us to the Souk and dropped us at the automotive supplies area for some strange reason. He then reappeared and drove us in the exact opposite direction. Then dropped us back at the automotive section when my friend threatened or perhaps attempted to leave the moving vehicle.


Calm: Our crazy visit to the Souk was followed by the utter peace of the hotel Mammounia. A palace. A casino. An oasis.





Average: Dinner Saturday was at Le grand Café de la Poste. Very cool atmosphere. Good service. The mostly French food looked very good, but our tagine was barely average; pretty sure it was never actually baked, just some fish and shrimp stirred into some tomatoes. I have to say the very good local Sauvignon was the best part of the meal.

Over the top beautiful: Les Jardins de Majorelle: oh my! Beautiful warm colors all the way to vibrant blues (oh the blues) yellows and reds.

More fun when shared

In what feels like a jungle
the beautiful cacti

Insulting the cactus
who refuses to be wounded

Bougainvillea

Inspiration for Yves Saint Laurent

Fascinating: Sunday after our visit to Les Jardins de Majorelle we re-entered The Medina, first passing a very poor cluster of dwellings each with a satellite dish, then walked a long way though the neighborhoods in all their diversity. Our second experience with the Souk was much more successful, and we wondered if it was actually different or if only we had changed. A very special walk around the Medina walls in the cold ended briefly at The Red House, a beautiful hotel and restaurant, worth seeing but not in line with our wants for the finale. We went back to The Hotel Mammounia for a delicious cocktail in a beautiful setting surrounded by beautiful people and warm smiles.

Unpredictable: All set against a backdrop of surprising weather: 20 and sunny on Saturday, and actually sunburn inducing. Cool and rainy on Sunday, requiring us to bundle up. Didn't see that coming.

Maddening: Just a mention that a step back in time may sound charming in a brochure but may not feel so good in reality. Skinny old donkeys hauling heavy loads. Men who would as soon walk over top of you as step aside. Men on motorcycles and women walking. And of course you know about the attire for women, no matter the weather.

Incomprehensible: A man taking a photo of his wife in full burqa. I wonder if either of them will recognize her in the picture. Perhaps he is delighted by her beauty as long as no other man looks upon her.

The Criminal Element

I recently broke the law.

Although I have been known to bend a few rules, I do not typically run into the true criminal element. In Switzerland, known for its - shall we call it orderliness- it is apparently easy to break a law, especially if you do not know it exists.

My recent business trip to Zurich was the setting for this adventure. As is so often the case I was at the airport, going through security, which is sometimes problematic for me. See Bullies not Welcome Here. This time though I was feeling confident. My liquids were in their 1 litre see through zip lock bag. My laptop and iPad were exposed in their individual bins. Shoes and belt off. What could go wrong?

Something. That's what could go wrong.

My computer bag was shuffled off to THE OTHER BELT.
You know the one they reserve for BAGS WITH SUSPICIOUS ARTICLES INSIDE.

Security Person: Do you have a laser pointer in your bag?
Me: Yes
Security Person: Please open your bag.

From this point on things got weird. They took my laser pointer and pointed it  various things. Then a supervisor appeared and took my laser pointer away. He returned and asked for my passport, which he also took away. The next person to approach me was a police officer.

Officer: Is this your laser pointer?
Me: Yes I believe it is. Is there a problem?
Officer; Yes why did you want to carry it on the plane?
Me: No reason. It was in my computer bag. I was using it this week during some training sessions.
Officer: Do you know the level of this laser pointer?
Me: No
Officer: Laser pointers are illegal in Switzerland, so I must confiscate this.
Me: Or we could just put it in my checked luggage since it is not illegal in any other country.
Officer: Please come with me.

For the next hour at the police station I was challenged by a very unpleasant police officer who asked me questions about passport stamps, dates of arrival, and then told me if I was unable to speak German it was not his fault if I did not understand everything he asked. Okay, no argument at all coming from me, which seemed to infuriate him even more. He then said sarcastically that if I could not speak German perhaps I would prefer French. I answered him in French that that would be perfectly acceptable as a compromise.

Get this: he rolled down his jacket sleeves, turned and walked away, tossing a casual a casual "Let her go" over his shoulder to a colleague.

I was free.

What did I learn?
Stay calm. Know your rights. Try not to piss of the Swiss police by questioning their questions about a trainer carrying a laser pointer.
Or maybe in this case I learned nothing at all. But he turned me loose!

The Book That Stole My Heart

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The Book That Stole My Heart

Some books stay with you; others take up residence inside you.
The Book Thief did both.

From the first pages, I wasn’t sure what to make of it. Its format felt strange — scene settings that interrupted the flow, chapters that told me what was coming, even warnings of what I might rather not know.
At first, I was irritated.
Eventually, I was grateful.

Even with every forewarning, I kept hoping for a reprieve, a different ending, some act of grace. But the author would whisper a warning, then deliver the blow. Each time I thought I was ready. Each time I wasn’t.

This story broke my heart open — quietly, deliberately, completely.

I began reading as though my presence might somehow help the characters endure. I rationed the chapters as they rationed their food — one more page, one more day together — trying to make each moment last, knowing that when it was gone, I would hunger for more.

And now, as if after a powerful and impossible love, I find myself unwilling to move on.
Just not ready

Today, I Was Lost

Today I Was Lost

A blind woman, a guide dog, and a reminder that none of us really know the way.

I was in a hurry — late, nervous, and already half lost before I’d even left the house. I had an appointment with a cardiologist in a neighborhood called Bagnolet. I didn’t know exactly where I was going or how to get there, and I was dreading what the doctor might say.

Bus.
Metro.
Another metro.
Another bus.
My route looked like a knot I’d have to untangle before I could even worry about my heart.

In one of the metro stations, I heard a voice calling out:

“S’il vous plaît! S’il vous plaît!”

A blind woman stood there, her guide dog shifting nervously at her side. She knew where she wanted to go, but not how to get there.

I’ve done this before. I walked up and asked — in my best, not-quite-fluent French — if I could help. She was upset, probably lost for some time already; her dog was tense. She took my arm. Together we found the right corridor, climbed two flights of stairs, and I left her waiting safely for her train.

And just like that, my own panic about being lost disappeared.

You might think I felt grateful for my situation compared to hers.
Nope.
Or maybe newly inspired by my little adventure into unfamiliar territory.
Also nope.

Instead, I started thinking about what it really means to be lost —
not knowing where I want to go,
not knowing how to get there,
and wondering if I’d even recognize “there” when I arrive.

Somewhere deep in the Paris metro,
a blind woman continued on her way with a little help.

This morning, I was in a hurry — lost and anxious.
It took a blind woman and her dog to remind me
that none of us really know where we’re going.

Porto Post

Port cities hold a special place in my soul. The history is long, fascinating and often hard. Porto hit it on all counts. The battles of religion, royalty, and other bad guys created a fiercely independent people who knew how to disguise whichever historical element might do them harm on a given day.

Two religious orders were forced to build side by side
to be permitted at the gates of the city

Porto history includes a period of dictatorship during which this staue of Justice was created, without blindfold or scales for example. The rigidity of the dictator rule is strikingly at odds with the splashes of joyful color elsewhere throughout the city.

Each tree in the garden
represents a different
human emotion.

In fact the diversity is woven into the very fabric of the city, with the former Crystal palace replaced by what locals refer to as the UFO, a rather unattractive sphere used for sports, but leaving behind the Garden of Emotions. 

A view over the world
from a window of the former
Crystal Palace

There are beautiful tiles everywhere, usually found where the money is. One exception here is a home where tiles were hidden during a long siege. Post-siege the owners found the tiles and applied them to the exterior walls. Of course the rightful owners claimed and tried to remove the tiles to relocate them to a more deserving manor, but gave up when they realized the tiles would not survive the removal.

Humble home, beautifully tiled.

Tiles everywhere - look up!

Tiles by Dutch artists

 We of course had many enjoyable meals, but none better than lunch cooked by "Mama" at this little abode. Entréés, mains, shared dessert, a bottle of wine, all for 10€ a person. Great food at an excellent price, and we felt like we were in someone's welcoming home.

Highlight was a walking tour Porto free walking tour with guide André da Silva. Knowledgeable, kind and helpful, we all saw some behind the scenes we would have otherwise missed. At one point we came upon The Garden of Virtues. I felt a stong presence of an older hiistorical, perhaps biblical people. In fact this was once a Jewish cemetery, then  a private garden attached to a mansion, it is now available to rich and poor.

There were a few stairs...

Having walked a million miles
we came to a gate, closed and locked.
So we climbed over it.

The Garden of Virtues

Memorable Sunday morning moment. Fifty or so brides parading sdown the street, one just a little different from the others.

Lello Bookstore

This beautiful bookstore was the inspiration fr J K Rowling's staircase in the Harry Potter series. For some reason you are not allowed to take photos, so don't tell on me.

Of course no trip to Porto would be complete without lunch at Taylors (best view in town), and a little tasting session.

The view from the terrace at Taylors

My actual tasting was much more modest than this photo suggests

Walking along the river a still typical scene of a porto boat. Tradition meets modern engineering.

Mozart En Plein Air: The Magic Flute

Sometimes it is good to push your luck.

Last month it was a chance to see cinema en plein air. Imagine a huge screen and thousands of well behaved people gathered in a big park in Paris. Everyone has a picnic supper including wine. For 7 euros you also get a nice folding deck chair and a warm fleece blanket. The opening short film is truly bizarre, and the feature film is set in Buenos Aires. I say that to let you know it was not a happy film. Come on have you ever seen a happy film set in Buenos Aires?

The picnic was good, the park nice and the company excellent. The air was chilly but the fleece blanket took care of that.

Fast forward to Friday Sept 13, La Flute Enchantee, again in plein air, this time at Les Invalides. My friend Carole called during the day to see if it would be cancelled due to the rain. The lady assured her that it would stop raining at 5PM. She was so convincing we headed out to the opera.

Hotel des Invalides

During the first song it started to rain, just a little bit. Before the planned intermission they had to stop the show to let the rain have its moment on stage. We all huddled under the beautiful arches while we waited for better weather.

Don't be fooled by the glamour - Parisiens are tough
No matter the downpour, we all waited out the rain..

During the second act the leading lady, Pamina slipped on the rain-wet steps. I know it hurt. She jumped back up and sang her heart out.
In fact the entire cast, wet and cold as they were, continued to traipse around the slippery stage and sing like the professionals they are. We huddled miserably in our seats, unable to open our umbrellas for fear of blocking our neighbours' view. But we stayed and were rewarded handsomely with beautiful voices, lighting and scenery. Not for those sensitive to Mother Nature's whims, but really worth seeing.

L'enfer

Au naturel

Notice Napoleon watching over it all.

Flying High

Saturday morning I got the call at 7:15 "all clear to fly". Good. I was already up, showered and dressed. Managed to run into Simon as he was boarding the metro mostly by good luck after having missed the agreed upon metro by one minute, and headed to Boulogne to meet our friend and pilot, Arnaud.

A nice drive to Etampes and we were at the airport. Lots of friendly rabbits hanging out and also a hangar full of planes.

Lots of planes

Not ours thank heavens

Also not ours but rather nice

I think I am bigger than the plane!

I have been speaking happily and confidently about our upcoming adventure. Now I realize how small our plane is.










Okay no worries, we'll just put a little leash on it to take it to the runway, top up the gas, do a thorough check, turn the propeller until the engine catches, and get ready to go.

Last chance to change my mind

During the pre-flight briefing Arnaud gives the following instructions:

1. Please don't vomit all over the plane
2. Please do not touch the joy stick or put your feet on the pedals
3. Please do not talk to me when I am talking to the control tower
4. Please do not pull the cord that releases the parachute. There is only one parachute. It is for the plane not you.

Okay. Got it. It must take a lot of trust to believe the average passenger won't do something stupid, like pull the parachute release.

Do I want to drive? No thanks you are doing just fine..

No auto pilot here. The real pilot has work to do.

Lots and lots of farms

A surprising number of chateaux

Looking at all the farms surrounding the chateaux makes me believe I have stepped back in time. People really still live this way? In a real chateau? And they are not even royalty. I hear that a chateau can support a whole village of people.

What a great way to spend a Saturday morning! I am very lucky tobe living this amazing life.