It’s time for a little bit of interactivity! In the era of quarantine, I’ve had plenty of moments to assess and reassess where I’d like to put my creative energy. Thankfully, the ideas have blossomed into multiple forms. The tricky bit is, I’m having trouble deciding where to start.
This is where you come in. I promise it will be a significantly more enjoyable and simple process than actually going to the polls and waiting ages to cast your ballot for a subpar candidate.
If you fancy a particular concept below, feel free to submit your tally and help direct me toward my next endeavor.
These days, you might be feeling a little cooped up. In need of a break from the inside of your home. Longing for a trip to the beach, the mountains, or a distant city full of fun and culture.
Fear not. I have good news for you! Now, you can bring the journey to you.
I’ve added a photo store to the site for those interested in purchasing prints, canvases, and other such goodies! There’s a nice variety of options to be fulfilled by Pixieset.
So now every time you sit on your couch or walk down your stairs, you can lose yourself deeply in a photo from a foreign land. Like, if that’s the sort of thing you’re into.
Below is a quick demo of how to navigate through the store.
Should you have any specific requests, feel free to contact me via Facebook, Instagram, or email: info@burningthemap.com.
You’re the rabbit; we’re the hat. Live your own prestige. Experience something extraordinary. Disappear from the normal everyday. Reappear in the splendor here. Discover our secrets. It’s your turn. Our logo is a pinwheel.
That is not a random poem. Taken individually, each line represents a possible slogan for the Pueblos Mágicos (Magic Towns) in Mexico. This was an initiative started in 2001 by the country’s board of tourism to enchant certain towns. Or something to that effect. Is it a clever branding scheme to elicit extra money and dump it into otherwise ho-hum economies? Perhaps. But there’s actually some value there.
While the program has designated 121 Pueblos Mágicos scattered across Mexico, not every one is a home run. Obviously. I’m looking at you Jalpan de Serra. [Never been there.] However, there is a list of criteria a town must meet in order to qualify for the elite club. For starters, each village needs to have some sort of historical significance or folklore. Additionally, it must offer either important festivals, traditions, handcrafts, cuisine, art, or nature element. Per the ever-important numbers aspect, each place must have a population of at least 5,000, host more than 20,000 tourists each weekend, and be less than a 3 hour drive from a “well-resourced” city.
Before doing any research, I thought I had visited 4. That number is accurate but for different reasons than I initially understood. Teotihuacan is part of the group, which added an unexpected +1 in the “been there” column, but I had a -1 for something else.
San Miguel de Allende
It had my vote for the best PM so far, but was actually removed from the list in 2008 because it became an UNESCO World Heritage site. Still, it’s a rad place so it deserves some praise.
Centered around La Parroquia, an epic cathedral, the town square and surrounding streets feature an array of oranges, accented by building walls and items for sale in various shops. Flower crowns have surpassed the declaration of novelty accessory, though they continue to enhance the style of the ladies wearing them.
By far the most impressive attributes of the city are the 120+ art galleries and 160+ restaurants/cantinas — basically between every crack in the cobblestones. You can walk down a seemingly pointless path to end up admiring a slew of sculptures or paintings. Even though it’s possible to thoroughly traverse the main downtown area in a few hours, you’ll need a few days to scratch the surface of the dining and art gazing opportunities. There might even be a minute gallery under your pillow if you look close enough.
Each street provides a warm vibe that encourages wandering. Things will come to you as well. After Michelle and I enjoyed the elevated scenic view, we were enveloped by a mariachi wedding procession. It was a partying parade, complete with donkey and mojigangas (larger than life, paper mache versions of the bride and groom). I guess we could have pretended we belonged and followed them to the reception. Next time.
That might be the only negative (or positive depending on how you look at it). People are aware of San Miguel’s grandeur so I imagine the crowds are stifling during peak times. I recently saw an acquaintance from high school got married there. Also, it’s apparently a John Mayer concert destination. That one was a little confusing. Regardless of the popularity, it’s a must see.
Cholula
Next, in order of visitation. It was just a few days before Christmas, but plenty warm enough for a t-shirt. Once more, the main focus was a church. Santuario de la Virgen de los Remedios is perched atop a hill as well as a pyramid, somehow hidden from Spanish conquerors, if memory serves. Facts I wish I knew when I was there: it is the largest known pyramid that exists today. Yet it was hidden from invaders? Well played, you guys.
One spectacular thing about the cathedral is the view of the surrounding area, including Popocatépetl, the active volcano nearby. Of course, the pictures advertised were epic and showcased both in breathtaking fashion. It required a drone. There was disappointment.
Just below Our Lady of Remedies was an artisan market and a square of cafes and street vendors. Two different ceremonies were happening simultaneously. I think one was some kind of Aztec sacrifice. I’m not even sure how to describe it. There was a fire, massive feathered headdresses, and a circle of white-cloaked swordsmen. I kept a safe distance amidst my curiosity.
The other was the dance of the flyers. It’s a ritual that was created to ask the ancient Gods to end droughts. I have a feeling nowadays it is performed strictly as a money maker, but it was still cool to watch. Four people climbed a 100ft pole and then jumped off the top, spinning and dancing as they returned to the ground. Their costumes kind of looked like acrobatic pirates if that does anything for you.
Atlixco
Again, it was just before Christmas and it was night time. The key attraction was the Illuminated Village. Think of a tacky lights tour, concentrated mostly in one avenue but with a sliver more taste. I don’t know how many bulbs were used in total. We can just call it a fuck ton. What I do know is that the streets were shoulder to shoulder.
There were various sections of the town that had slightly unique decorations, primarily to keep the attention of smaller kids. There was a stretch that gave me the spirit for a very brief 5 seconds before 12 drunk people dominated everything.
The highlight: 2 cool staircases.
I think it’s a pass from me, unfortunately. But perhaps it is better during non-holiday times.
Tepoztlan
Our most recent trip brought us to the birthplace of the feathered serpent. Legend says that the people worshipped the Gods of wind, rain, and pulque until they stopped responding. The village elders went to consult the mountain and decided it was time to exchange those Gods for the Christian one. The moment they converted to Catholicism.
I guess.
There is a steep, 1.25 mile trail leading to a clifftop where an Aztec pyramid remains. Michelle and I had every intention of making the hour and half climb up to catch that view. The thing is, it was so damn hot the day we went. Plus, it was the middle of the day. So, you know…that plan transformed into street mojitos.
It gave us time to comb through the extensive tianguis, which was basically the entire town? I mean, the market hugged both sides of practically every street. For sure, the rustic vendor stands complimented the mountain backdrop quite well.
Contrary to the YouTube travel vlogs we watched before the trip, the vibe of the town was exceptional. It’s definitely small and wouldn’t require more than 1 or 2 nights to explore to your heart’s content, but worth a go. The mixture of history, handcrafts, and nature makes for a satisfying excursion.
So, at a measly 3% completion rate, I have a decent task of creating a respectable record of Pueblos Mágicos visits. At least now I know what to look out for. And though it’s far from comprehensive, now you have an idea as well.
Normal life. Or the semblance of one. What does it involve? How does it function?
It was time to remember.
From the moment I landed in Mexico in November, I had already begun transitioning out of the nomadic lifestyle I was accustomed to. Now, I had to get adventurous in a different way: returning to the familiarity of a steady routine, a consistent bed, and the possibility of an expanded wardrobe.
Michelle and I were renting a room in a house together. Within a few days, I had keys and a public transportation card. I went grocery shopping at Walmart. I moved my clothes into drawers and a closet. Normal life.
Did I experience anxiety about relinquishing travel-filled days for a more settled space? No. Even though I was reencountering facets of ordinary life, there was still plenty to explore in the way of Mexico City.
My discovery process of this expansive place has been slow but continuous. “Poco a poco” as they would say. With a dozen popular neighborhoods, over 150 museums and parks, and an increasing landscape of restaurants, markets, and monuments, it’s a matter of years, not days. Museo de Antropologia, Bosque de Chapultepec, and Zócalo are a few obvious picks for top attractions. Though I imagine a lifelong resident still discovering lesser known gems well into old age.
Speaking of age, you will find plenty of history in and around the city as well. Whether it be Mesoamerican cities and pyramids, Aztec temples, or ruins unearthed during new metro line construction, there’s plenty of fascinating relics from bygone times. You know, like when human sacrifice and the worshiping of a feathered serpent deity were all the rage.
Nowadays, weekly feminism protests, tortillas with every meal, and bluetooth headphones are more commonplace.
The regularity of protests or marches are necessary since the machismo mindset is rampant. The fight is about general safety and respect, let alone equal treatment. Kidnappings and murders are still a frequent occurrence countrywide that the government neglects. While Mexico City is one of the more progressive locales, the large liberal population continue to have trouble making a noticeable impact. Hopefully there is a breakthrough soon.
On a lighter note: street vendors everywhere. What do you want? You can find it just a few paces away. There are mobile carts making sweets, juices, or tortas; bikes selling basket tacos, corn snacks, or accessories; stands (or the hoods of cars) for bootlegged DVDs, tchotchkes, and clothing. But don’t worry. If that’s not enough, the hustlers will come to you. On the subway, people will go train to train selling miscellaneous gum, charging cables or Jesus. Miscellaneous Jesus, everybody.
Combine all of these things into one and you’ve got a tianguis — a street market that happens weekly in each community. It’s a great place to buy your produce, eat a delectable al pastor pambazo, or find those random cleaning supplies you forgot you needed. The first time I went, my head was on a swivel because there were too many things to observe. The same can be said for the vibrant artisanal markets scattered throughout CDMX. My favorite is La Ciudadela because it’s a labyrinth, jam-packed with colorful handcrafts. Hot tip: it’s the perfect place to knock out all of your Christmas shopping. Next on the list would be La Lagunilla, which is more of an unspoken fiesta of alcohol and food. You know people can crush an unwind sesh when it’s 2pm on a Sunday and you have to weave through a sea of drunkards and heavy waft of weed every 5 minutes. Hey, I don’t have the self-control to deny a 2×1 michelada special either.
Another rich sensory experience are all of the sounds of the city. The base layer, is of course, construction. A soft hum. On top of that, every few hours a car will drive by blaring a recorded message about buying your broken shit. The melody is permanently etched in my brain. I’m also familiar with the bell for trash pickup. The most grating though, is a two-phase, extremely high pitched whistle made by the exhausted steam from the caramelized bananas dessert guy. In addition, you can enjoy an impromptu three-song concert while eating lunch on a patio. It’s a diverse soundscape with so much character.
To try to better understand it all (and improve myself), I started taking Spanish classes at the beginning of the year. I knew nothing apart from random idioms (mi casa es su casa) and a Duolingo stint that barely scratched the surface. But the prospect of having a second language was and is exciting. I heard somewhere that if you know English and Spanish, you can communicate with like 80% of the world. That’s solid. Still, it’s a process. After 8 weeks and several mind explosions, I’m…somewhere. Further along than I was, definitely. I had an awesome teacher and group of fellow students. However, speaking and listening are everyday hurdles. Puedo entender más, pero necesito años para comunicar una idea. The concept of rapid immersion learning baffles me. Can I blame it on me being past my prime? A possible excuse. Really, I just need more time to absorb and discover.
If you ask me to pick my favorite memory from my adventure through Europe, I would stare at you as if defective. I was there for almost 6 months. That period of time exists in my mind as a blurred frenzy of history, Flixbus, walking tours, water, Oktoberfest, and, strangely (but deliciously) kebabs. Add them all together and I think I had a relatively well-balanced tour of customs and shenanigans.
The amount of Europe I traversed would maybe cover approximately one third of the US. But within that space, each country basically has their own distinct language and culture. I spent the majority of my days between The Netherlands, Germany, and Poland — I’ll expand a bit on those.
The Dutch lead a very free spirit existence, obviously, but it’s not just because they’re high everyday. They like to go about life in an uncomplicated way. Plus, they’re fit because of all the biking they do. In additional to the ample cycle paths, the canals also create a beautiful layout to the city. Each street seems to have a unique character based on either the length, width, or bridges that surround the water.
There’s more nature to enjoy in the many parks scattered throughout. Lying in a green space soaking up the sun is a super chill way to spend an afternoon. Obligatory mention of weed again. If art is more your speed, you’ll be spoiled for choice in terms of museums; you can visit Rijks, Van Gogh, and Rembrandt. I was in a period of adjusting to the Euro so I didn’t partake myself, which is an unfortunate fact of life. It just means there’s a plethora of fresh activities waiting for me when I return. Amsterdam tops my list of cities I would most like to live if I ever move to Europe.
With all of that being said, I found the German culture the easiest to acclimate to. Even though you can find more structure and efficiency in the mundane — the checkout line in the grocery store for example — the charms of the cities and neighborhoods reminded me more of home. I settled into a routine there quite quickly. It was comfortable to hang out in the “alternative” areas of St. Paul in Hamburg or Kreuzberg in Berlin. The street murals and dive bars were a welcome reflection of the artistic vibe I’m used to.
Maybe my affinity for beer is to blame, but to me, one of the best features is the ability to drink publicly in open spaces while enjoying the company of friends. The beer prices are pretty absurd too. I mean, you can get a .5L can for around €.30 and recycle it for a €.25 refund. So…you’re just about breaking even. It was a different story at Oktoberfest, however, where a stein was almost €13. For more on that drunken carnival, you can read this post.
Onto Polska, the land of gołąbki and pierogi. The history of this place is a vicious rollercoaster of invasion, brief independence, and occupation once again. Thus, resilience is a common characteristic of the people. I’ll add resourcefulness and tenacity to the mix as well. I’m pretty sure every Polish grandmother has a hardy exterior with a compassionate interior. One thing is for sure: they want you to be well-fed. I volunteered at a language camp in the countryside for a week and the 3 ladies in the kitchen were constantly plopping an extra portion on my plate. I tried to convince them I was a little fat with a complete absence of muscle but, you know, the language barrier and such.
On top of teaching English to the intelligent and charismatic youth of the country, I also worked at a hostel for a month in Krakow.
What a city.
I have trouble expressing the feeling of walking among the cobbled streets and stone walls of the old town. Suffice to say I was excited to just meander. It was like wandering through history with the amenities of the future. I don’t think you can find that combination anywhere in the U.S. Krakow might seem like kind of a hipster pick of European cities to visit, but it’s starting to make some lists. I can’t help but recommend it as well.
Another very on-the-grid tourist hot spot I visited was Prague. It has been widely discussed as a popular destination for good reason. Besides the architecture and vibe, which parallel Krakow somewhat, there are various unique attractions. I found the bridges and Prague castle mesmerizing. Six hours of exploring and taking pictures evaporated in a flash there.
The same can be said for Zadar and Split, a pair of Croatian coastal towns on the Adriatic Sea. The old forums and slender network of streets in the historic centers boasted a Romanic feel. And romantic. I’ll say it. Unfortunately, I was a little late for sailing season, but sunsets from shore were still absolute perfection.
Even though the sun has now set (for now) on my expedition through the Old Continent, I think my favorite memory is that I have so many to reminisce on: the weight of my backpack changing as I took out my camera; the way a group of fellow hostel-stayers assembled to enjoy a night out; the realization that I was standing atop historical significance; the subtle burn on my forehead as the sun reflected off the water; the atmosphere of a specific location that swept me away. This period of my life will always be marked by the liberation and influence of these experiences. That is the essence of travel.
By the Numbers
Days in Europe: 169 Countries Visited: 7 Cities Visited: 15 Days at Workaways: 58 Days Housesitting: 17 Social Network Meetups: 9 Euros Spent: ~€4476.02 USD Spent: ~$5016.70
Here’s the map of things I did in Germany, as it was the most extensive: (click the top left button of the map to expand the list view)
Favorite Cities: 1. Amsterdam 2. Krakow 3. Prague 4. Ghent 5. Berlin 6. Split 7. Hamburg 8. Brussels 9. Zagreb 10. Sarajevo
Favorite Attractions: 1. Oktoberfest, Munich 2. Brown Bars of Brussels 3. Main Square, Krakow 4. Prague Castle, Prague 5. Vondelpark, Amsterdam 6. The Metronome, Prague 7. Old Town, Mostar 8. Plitvice Lakes, Croatia 9. East Side Gallery, Berlin 10. Elbphilharmonie, Hamburg
I’m not sure what was more uncomfortable, standing there knowing I was being scammed (twice) or peeing out of my butt for two days in a row. Either way, it was all happening in Morocco.
Distilling the essence of “The Western Kingdom” is difficult since I had such a mixed experience, not to mention I was only there for 12 days. My exposure to the country was limited to the specific cities and activities I did.
To start with, I was inundated with shades of orange among the dirt roads and walls of the old cities. That ever-present color palette created the perception of sandy air. It’s like there was a desert nearby or something.
Even though I didn’t have enough time for a proper trip out to the Sahara, I saw a decent amount of barren landscapes on day excursions and train rides. Side note: public transportation a la buses and trains was surprisingly simple and reliable. However, certain passenger trains had small cabins with two rows of seats facing each other. That was quite crammed, when you factor in that many people ignore their ticketed seat assignment and sit wherever they feel like. That being said, my trips were more or less on time and adhered to the estimated duration.
Back to the architecture. The construction of the medinas seemed drab at first, but unique patterns started to reveal themselves upon closer look. The sophisticated detail of mosques and palaces was a joy to admire. Small elements showcased the French, Spanish and Portuguese influences. Outside the kasbahs, modern museums, apartments, and sport complexes were sprouting up in the larger cities. The contrast must be confusing for birds flying overhead.
Apart from the buildings, the souks are a congested tapestry of handmade figurines, colorful spices, knockoff apparel, and…well, tapestries. Though these markets are oft crowded and a risk for pickpockets, each walk through provides an opportunity to see, hear, or smell something new. Continually discovering new stalls, listening to painful negotiations, and inhaling the scent of freshly blended citrus was like being part of a complex ecosystem. I can’t count how many times I was called “Ali Baba” either. Apparently it means “strong man” or something in that ball park. But the definition was given to me by a guy running a scam, so I’m not sure he was a reliable source. Besides the flattering nickname, I was called Spanish, Italian, German, and even Chinese at one point. There’s a first time for everything, I guess.
Speaking of the people, this is another area where I’m hot and cold. The proprietors of the hostel I stayed in were incredibly generous, intelligent and interesting. Their easygoing vibe set a good standard at the beginning of my time in Marrakech.
From there, my impression began to deteriorate. In the streets and souks, I feel like they saw foreigners as walking dirham. While one vendor could be aggressive about getting your business, another would stand firm on an outlandish price. If it wasn’t someone trying to sell you something, it was a deceitful “friend” attempting, and sometimes succeeding, at wrapping you up in an elaborate con.
One contingency of people that were completely pleasant were the ex-pats. In every city I visited, there seemed to be a healthy community of middle-aged French or Spanish couples. Perhaps they’re content with life because they moved to a place where their retirement money will have a longer runway. Regardless, both groups are navigating the mixture of cultures with class.
*Mint tea photo courtesy of Jud Mason
To end on a high note, I have to mention the cuisine. I’m talking about tajine. I’m talking about cous cous. I’m talking about mint tea. I was either unfamiliar or uninterested in all of those things before my visit. Now, I’m an avid fan. It doesn’t get much better than spiced meat and vegetables slow-cooked in a special clay pot. As a shocking revelation, mint tea was the preferred beverage of choice between my friend Jud and I. Not beer. Somehow not beer. I can’t forget about the abundance of shawarma as well. Always delicious, occasionally detrimental to the digestive tract. It was a staple meal for us, while also being ridiculously affordable.
The cost of food and beverage in Morocco is actually an interesting topic — there was an incredible range in price depending on the establishment. It’s not groundbreaking that street meat was cheap, around $2.50 USD for a wrap with fries and tea. Alternatively, a meal at a nicer restaurant was closer to $15-$20. Still a reasonable price when you compare that to an outing back home, but it’s expensive when you’re on a traveler’s budget. Lastly, a liter of beer was over $10. Hey, I never said I didn’t have any beer. That’s almost an Oktoberfest rate and I found it absurd. It went down easy though.
So, now you might be asking yourself if I would recommend a trip to Morocco. Honestly, it’s difficult to say. Just because I had a mediocre experience doesn’t mean everyone will. I know people that have thoroughly enjoyed themselves. I will say this: my next jaunt to Africa will be elsewhere. Maybe I would have a different opinion if I had more beer and less diarrhea.
By the Numbers
Days in Morocco: 12 AirBnBs: 3 Public Transportation Rides: 10 Camel Rides: 1 Medinas Visited: 4 Barbershops Seen: Infinite MAD Spent: ~$3,889.71 USD Spent: ~$403.24 (Conversion rate of 9.646)
For those interested in visiting one day, here’s a list of where I went and how I ranked stuff: (click the top left button of the map to expand the list view)
It’s a 1980s song where the lyrics are often mistaken. It’s a 2010s film I’ve never seen. In 2019, I did my own rocking in Morocco. The first time I’d set foot on African soil. Will it be the last? Keep reading.
My friend Jud and I decided that we wanted to link up and explore the wonders of this North African country. I’d heard friends rave about it. Contrarily, while in Europe, I’d heard incredibly poor reviews. Still, it seemed like it was worth taking the chance.
I landed in Marrakech about 3 days ahead of Jud, so I had a chance to familiarize myself with the customs and surroundings. As with many, if not all, of the poorer countries in the world, cash is king. When I arrived, I planned to get some in the airport. I retrieved my bag and noticed just about everyone exchanging money at a single, very central currency counter. I searched for an ATM without any luck and decided to follow suit with the rest of the crowd. FYI – brutal conversion and service fees. There are plenty of cash machines in the city, which I’m sure charge far less per withdrawal. Since my goal was to take a local bus into downtown, I needed it right away, unfortunately.
That plan was a somewhat wild ordeal. No surprise, even in early November, Morocco is hot. I walked about 15 minutes in the baking sun to the bus stop. I was trusting Google Maps even though it had a warning about uncertain schedules. The warning was accurate. I waited there for what seemed like over an hour. Many, many other buses came and went. Just when I was going to surrender for a taxi, the L20 arrived. I was without question the only white person on board. I ignored and/or smiled politely to the onslaught of stares.
A mere 30 minutes later, I was dropped off outside the southern wall of the medina. That’s what a “kasbah” (“casbah” in English) is by the way — an old city or fortress.
I walked among the cramped, often dead-end streets before I found my hostel for the next few nights. The check-in process was interesting as there was no formal reception and no one to greet me for several minutes. That being said, there was a cool vibe with 3 floors surrounding an open-air courtyard with rooftop hangout areas as well. The 2 proprietors took time to sit down and chat with me about life as well as some pointers about the main attractions.
After a shower to wash the 20+ hours of travel off, I did a cursory walk around the main square. It was a blistering cacophony of…just about everything.
Motorbikes weaving around cars that barely had enough space to traverse the streets.
Mosques.
Walls within walls.
Snake charmers.
Juice vendors.
Handcraft stalls and pushy shirt-sellers.
Plenty of barber shops.
And let’s not forget shawarma.
I was mainly prepared for orange facades and the mix of French and Arabic culture. It was a lot more than that. I grabbed some food from a small eatery and headed back to the hostel to digest this first impression.
There wasn’t enough time to take a 2-3 day excursion out into the Sahara, so I booked a day trip to the Ourika Valley instead. The itinerary was super appealing on paper, so I had decent expectations. It promised a visit to a Berber village, a look at how Argan oil and handcrafts are made, as well as a trek to a waterfall and a camel ride.
It was mostly a let down. Everything was a crowded tourist trap, nature walk included. The camel ride especially was disappointing. The boys were lasso’d to one another, and it was just a 10-15 minute walk next to a main road. The village built into the mountain was sweet to gaze at from afar, but I’m not sure it was enough to save the day. Still, it was $45 USD (including tip for the guide) so at least it was affordable.
That basically brings us to Jud’s arrival. Our Moroccan adventure was essentially split into four parts based on where we spent our time.
MARRAKECH (PT. II)
Jud was more or less my sugar daddy on this trip — covering the AirBnBs and some other transportation costs.
We met up at the first accommodation in the north medina, which was somewhat difficult to find even with a map and specific instructions. Thank the lord for their very specific blue front door.
Even though he had been traveling for 20+ hrs with no sleep, we decided to go for a wander. I was familiar with some of the souks and the main square but that’s about it.
After some time weaving through the maze, we were approached by a “friend” who “just wanted to practice his English.” Many of the vendors and street goers are aggressive in getting your attention. It wasn’t a surprise. But this guy implanted himself into our walk, since “his house was the same way we were going.” Once he brought up taking us to a tannery, I knew it was a scam. An elaborate one.
The thing is, a tannery at its peak definitely looks worth a visit. I’ve seen some enticing photos, this dude even showed us one. The reality was not the same.
I tried explaining what would happen to Jud since I was almost wrapped up in the same scam a few days before. I thought we would arrive and be able to leave at the entrance. Our guy was in the midst of handing us off to his pal, the friendly tannery tour guide, when I asked how much it would cost. “Don’t worry about price,” he said (as if it was a dumb question). Jud and the guide continued ahead as I walked dejected, 30ft behind. It was a very uncomfortable feeling.
The place was in absolute shambles. It was apparently the last day of its operation for the next while. But we “had to see it” because “the Berber people are down from the mountains” and “only for today.”
The shallow pools used to color animal hides, normally filled with a beautiful array of bright tones, were completely brown and smelly. The dredges of mud and pigeon shit used to seal the stain. It was abysmal.
A 5 minute spiel ended and we were shepherded to a shop that sold the completed goods. Yet another handoff, this time to a salesperson. After we clearly weren’t interested in buying anything they let us leave. The first two guys magically appeared a few steps away from the shop and asked us to pay them for their services. An argument ensued from my end since I was never told the price. It wasn’t a good look, but I was careful not to be taken advantage of. Since Jud is a stand up guy, he paid them something to leave us alone.
Be warned: if you’re ever in Marrakech, don’t accept a tannery tour from anyone other than an agency or your accommodation.
On our walk back to the AirBnB we had to fend off another guy pining for money for trying to show us the way even though we didn’t need him and he didn’t know where he was going. That left me with a sour impression of Marrakech. I mean, I guess you can’t blame them for trying to make money, but honesty when prompted is kind of the decent thing to do.
The next day we made our own tour of some main attractions. First we visited a very disappointing tomb. It was a 40 minute line to see an intricately tiled room for a handful of seconds. Then, we went to a place called Bahia Palace which was built in the 19th century by the head of government. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the main courtyard was surrounded by 12 rooms, used by his 24 concubines. An incredibly detailed place, with carved molding and ceramic designs aplenty. Afterward, we checked out the highly regarded Secret Garden. It was nicely manicured, though I couldn’t help but think that it was only championed because it was a refuge of greenery in the middle of the desert.
So 1 success out of 3 made for an unimpressive day out. However, we finished it off with a rooftop sunset, a liter of beer and some shawarma.
A mistake was made somewhere along the way in terms of street meats eaten because that night was the beginning of a few rough days for the butthole. Another lesson learned.
Personally, I was happy to bid farewell to the hectic ambush of Marrakech for something more relaxed. The following day, Jud and I boarded a bus bound for “the blue city.”
ESSOUIRA
We enjoyed a pleasant yet windy walk along the coast to reach the medina. There was significantly less people and a lot more open space. Our AirBnB host walked us up a few flights of narrow stairs to reach his flat. He showed us our room and the excellent rooftop eating area where we would later watch the sunset.
It was early evening, so we got a restaurant recommendation and took a casual stroll. The wind was bitter after the sun was too low to pierce the slender streets. Jud and I made a wildly unnecessary, in-person reservation considering we were the only people in the place for the first 20 minutes of our meal. A pair of girls (Dutch and American) were eventually seated with us and we chatted for over an hour. I was continually distracted by what was going on with my insides that I didn’t eat or contribute much.
We parted company somewhere in the chilly avenues of the old city and returned to our a accommodation. That night, I nearly oozed the bed, which I’m assuming is a brand new sentence. I roughed it through until morning and turned to a medicinal solution.
It was a low-key start to the day. Breakfast overlooking the sea, no big deal. Afterward we strolled around the port which was bustling with vendors and gulls hoping for fish scraps. We were walking along the top of the sea wall when a rogue wave crashed over the rocks, completely soaking Jud. It was possibly the most direct hit the ocean has ever made. Somehow, I was lucky and only got a little salt water mist on my camera.
Once Jud changed into dryer clothes, we explored more of the city streets and gates. We saw the 18th century cannons and people making handcrafts.
We roamed the beachside path outside the medina for quite a while. There were kitesurfers, ATVs, and camel rides happening even though it was largely deserted. I wondered how different the vibe would be if it was more lively. Perhaps the wind was a deterrent. Strong gales whipped us back from time to time, took my hat for a ride once, and created an invisible sheet of sand that peppered our faces. We took refuge on a tree-lined cafe patio to have lunch.
That evening, after soaking in the sunset, we tried a traditional Moroccan restaurant. It looked upscale based on the fancy table dressings and golden wall decor. However, the entrance was awkward considering basically everyone looked up from their dishes to stare at us. We had the good fortune of sitting side by side facing them, so that was fun. The food was solid though, so we left happy despite having spectators for every bite.
The remainder of the evening was uneventful. We woke up for another rooftop breakfast and then caught a bus back to Marrakech to snag a train to Casablanca.
CASABLANCA
It seemed like nobody had anything good to say about Casablanca. “It’s a very industrial place.” “There’s nothing interesting to do there.” “Meh.”
I guess we should have listened.
The AirBnB was super nice, with lovely hosts, but the city left something to be desired. It was the most sprawling, but the least interesting in terms of visuals. There were some newer buildings under construction, but no consistent theme.
Apologies for this unimaginative section. The absence of descriptive writing reflects the blandness of the location.
We made our own walking tour to look at the purported interesting architecture. An old post office and bank, several hotels, and then some more banks. It didn’t offer enough to get my camera out of the backpack. “Meh.”
Even the medina was dull. Maybe it was the path we took, but there seemed to be very few remnants of history and alluring sights. We followed a boring street for a while until we got to Rick’s Cafe. Again, my expectations were different from reality. It was sandwiched between two other buildings and had a security guard out front. It appeared rather new and lacked any sort of unique 1940s vibe. I mean, the design was inspired by the movie, but that was difficult to ascertain from the exterior. The interior probably did a better job but since we didn’t want to get gouged by steep beer prices we passed.
Instead, we made our way along the water to check out the world’s third biggest mosque — Hassan II — an ominous sight, with a low layer of fog hugging the building. The minaret is the second largest in the world, so that had no problem sticking out of the translucent white blanket. Unfortunately, we were there at a weird time so we missed out on taking a tour of the inside. It was still by far the most interesting attraction we saw on our journey around the city.
(As a caveat, we didn’t visit La Corniche, which is apparently the beachy area where “the golden youth” hangs out. The nightlife was supposed to be decent there, but I’ll have to give that a shot on another trip.)
RABAT
Since we were unimpressed with Casablanca, we spontaneously decided to take a day trip to Rabat, which was a short train ride up the coast. It turned into a very worthwhile audible because it was easily the coolest place we encountered across our entire Moroccan adventure.
The main city had a slightly modern European vibe in terms of the layout and architecture. We made our way through the medina quickly until we reached the kasbah nestled on the mouth of an inlet. Inside, there were beautiful alleys of white and blue houses from around the 12th century. It would have been an awesome place to get lost in for a few hours. However, some guy took us on an unwanted 20 minute tour, whisking us through the place before requesting a ridiculous amount of money. A 2 hour walking tour in any major European city has more information and costs a quarter of what this guy was trying to charge. It was the only downside to the entire excursion.
Once we left his company, we found a free art museum inside a gorgeous palace courtyard. Then, we took a jaunt by the water and had lunch on a nice cafe patio.
From there, we made a gigantic loop around the freshly constructed part of the city until we wound up back at the train station.
Rabat had the potential to be a great 2-3 day destination, if only we had known beforehand.
On our last day, we took a train back to Marrakech and then a taxi to the airport. Jud disappeared through security in the early afternoon but my flight didn’t depart until around 7am the next morning. I made a quick trip back into the city to spend the rest of my dirham on some decent Christmas gifts. I rearranged my luggage for another 20+ hours of travel and stayed up chatting with friends until I was able to go to my gate.
Due to the lack of sleep and new destination excitement, I left my laptop smushed between bins at the security checkpoint. Surprisingly, I didn’t panic when I noticed hours later.
Thanks to a random travel mate connection, I was able to get it recovered. It was a painful and expensive process receiving it in Mexico, but now it’s back in my possession. Hooray! I’m going to blame that ordeal for the tiny abyss between posts.
Next I’ll have a summary of Morocco as well as a big look at my European leg. Hopefully sooner than later. Stay tuned!
Everybody said that once you’d seen the bridge, you’d seen Mostar. But were they considering all the different angles you could find? Unsure.
It’s true that you can walk through the old town in around 15 minutes. However, there are a myriad of terraces and miscellaneous paths you can wander down. Like 7.
By the way, I’m talking about Bosnia & Herzegovina.
Ok. So, you can see Mostar in pretty much a day. If that’s the plan, you have to make Sheva’s walking tour a mandatory activity at some point on that day. It’s the only one that exists, presumably because it’s such a small town, but it’s also amazing. My group consisted of 4 people in total (low season). That was the perfect size to get in-depth on certain topics and make it more of a discourse. It seemed like every resident knew him, and in turn he knew everything about Mostar.
We started in the center of the old town and learned about the ancient history. The Muslim influence of the Ottoman Empire explained the plethora of minarets among the skyline. The name ‘Mostar’ means bridge-keeper, so…it makes sense that the thing is such a staple there.
Apparently it’s a rite of passage for every man to jump off the bridge into the river below. It’s a distance of 22 meters aka about 70 feet. They have their own method and everything. In the summer, there’s an entire diving competition. Even being in the middle of autumn, with the water temperature at 9º Celsius, there were still daily jumps. I witnessed one. Sheva told us that anybody could jump if they wanted, they just had to pass a test run of 16m. My interested was piqued.
That’s where it remained. Should I have done it? Perhaps. But I also enjoy being conscious and having my faculties, as dim as they may seem sometimes.
Once the foundational history was established, Sheva began to describe the more recent and difficult past surrounding the Bosnian war that spanned 1992-1995.
As Bosnia & Herzegovina is home to 3 different cultures of people (Bosnians, Croatians, and Serbians), it was complicated when Yugoslavia began to disband in 1991. Once the conflict really broke out, Mostar was divided into two halves: Croatians to the west and Bosnians to the east — the line of demarcation being the main road. We stood on a spot that was in the middle of two buildings that were still devastated.
From that point, he showed us an old bank building on the Croatian side of town that was used as a sniper tower. To this day, some 20 years later, it still sits there abandoned and a symbol of the death and destruction that occurred. A day later, I went and “snuck in” to take a closer look. Nowadays, it’s just a few stories of graffitied concrete and errant weeds. But if those walls could talk.
From Mostar, I took a bus to the capital of Sarajevo. Much more sprawling. The city center had clear influences of the two ruling powers. In fact, there was an actual line separating the Ottoman Empire section from the Austro-Hungarian side. The former featured short stone buildings, fountains and, of course, an important mosque; the latter had square, colored architecture with intricate detail. A relic of that era that I completely spaced on was the assassination site of Arch Duke Franz Ferdinand and his wife. I stood where Gavrilo Princip pulled the trigger and ignited World War I. Pretty wild to think about.
My favorite spot was an alley full of shops that offered hand-chiseled copper goods — an array of coffee sets, jewelry, and ornamental plates. Taking a stroll down this tiny avenue came with a soundtrack of ticking and tacking. It’s a shame I don’t enjoy coffee. Blasphemous in this region.
During my other exploring, I took a cable car up to the top of the nearby mountain and walked down. This gave me the opportunity to become an honorary olympian, albeit sledless. As Sarajevo hosted the 1984 Winter Olympic Games, there was an entire bobsled track up there…also abandoned and graffitied. It was a unique attraction, but I think it actually sounds cooler than it was.
The last major thing I did was tour the City Hall. It was originally the National and University Library of Bosnia. During the war, it was shelled so bad that almost all of the 1.5+ million books and rare manuscripts were damaged/burned beyond saving. The building was renovated over the course of almost 20 years and reopened in 2014 as a national monument. The interior molding, paintings, and sculptures are quite stunning.
As a special exhibit, they were screening a film called “Scream For Me Sarajevo” that documented a concert Iron Maiden played in the city while it was under siege in 1994. It was a well-crafted narrative from members of the band and citizens that attended the show. They gave their accounts of what life was like during the war and how they were willing to risk their lives to see Bruce Dickinson sing. The amount of influence and inspiration that one band and one gig had over the morale of a city’s population is astounding. I’m not sure it gets any better than that from a musician’s standpoint. The most meaningful show they’ll ever play I’m sure.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gYuNEF7Snok
Ending on a high note, I departed Sarajevo just as the consistent rain was rolling in. It was one more European bus journey before flying to Morocco to meet up with ole pal Judson. Onto a new continent, climate, and culture.
It’s the Croatian coastal term for “the art of doing nothing.” I got into it. I got used it to. I enjoyed the hell out of it.
Croatia was runner-up at the most recent World Cup, as all the football/soccer fans out there would know. For those unaware, maybe you’re familiar with Yacht Week and all the glorious sailing? Still no? How about the birth place of the cravat? Ok, surely you knew that many Games of Thrones scenes were filmed in Dubrovnik then? I knew about 3 of the 4. As a frequent cravat wearer, I had no clue about Games of Thrones, obviously. What even is that?
While I didn’t make it down to Dubrovnik to experience the majesty of the King’s Landing set, I visited 3 other major cities throughout the country.
ZAGREB
I started in the capital city of Zagreb, not far from the Slovenian border. As I was recovering from Oktoberfest, I laid low for a few days. I literally only left the hostel to find food. I was also catching up on some freelance work and overall life admin.
Eventually, I decided to go on the free walking tour to learn about my surroundings. This revealed two legends: one about the checkerboard design used on the flag (a chess victory over the Italian King) and the origin of the city’s name (a love story of a girl grabbing water for a military general). Let’s not forget the gem about the cravat either.
We entered through the stone gate, visited St. Mark’s church, and watched the traditional firing of the canon at noon. While there was no canon ball projectile, there was a legit sound of the blast. Incredibly loud and unexpected.
Another notable thing I did was visit The Museum if Broken Relationships, which was started by a former Croatian couple. It is what it sounds like: a collection of items and first-hand accounts that tell the story of breakups from all over the world. Some were humorous, some were tragic, and some were unquestioningly odd. Like the 27 year old scab that someone’s partner saved. Love really knows no bounds.
ZADAR
My next stop was a few hours due south to the coastal settlement of Zadar. While the old town was very compact, it can best be described by one of my favorite adjectives — cozy.
It was a collection of narrow pathways and alleys that created a maze. Think Venice without the canals. That’s actually an accurate example since it was under Venetian rule several times throughout history.
There was an ancient forum in the center of town, circa 48 BC, that was mostly in ruins. Still, there were plenty of churches and old stone buildings to be amazed by. In addition to the historical landmarks, there were also two modern installations by the water. One was a series of tubes and steps built out into the Adriatic Sea that made music based on the waves.
Just a few feet away was a big digital sun set into the ground. It played a light show to keep everyone entertained after the incredible sunset had finished. On that subject, Alfred Hitchcock is on record saying that Zadar has the most beautiful sunsets in the world. Thanks for the tip, man. I did partake in viewing my fair share. No complaints.
For a one day excursion, I took a trip out to Plitvice National Park to see some nature. I didn’t even consider that the autumn colors would be in full effect. It was a gorgeous day to soak in the vibrant array of greens and oranges. Walking next to calm, reflective lakes and intricately shaped waterfalls was a pleasant way to spend a few hours walking.
SPLIT
I kept the coastal vibes flowing by continuing my tour down to Split. This was a more popular destination for tourist as it’s bigger and more of a hub for cruise ships and various island hopping.
The old town here was larger and impressive, the main palace dating back to the 4th century before the Christians came and gave it an update in the 1300s.
There were still tight winding avenues to get lost in, but also bigger promenades to accommodate the influx of people during peak season.
Split was established on a peninsula that has a modest hill you can quickly hike to enjoy a panoramic view of the landscape. I was too late to catch the literal sun setting thanks to daylight savings throwing me off, but that didn’t take away from the spectacle. I saw orange bouncing off the inland mountain range that hugs the city. A soft gradient of yellow outlined the peaks and gradually transitioned to blue. Opposite that, layers of pink and purple hovered above the water and blanketed the islands. Noice.
This is where I embraced fjaka. I went to the beach and just existed for a while. The beaches here are beds of small stones. At first I was skeptical, but I must say it gets my vote above sand. I wasn’t toting 10,000 grains with me for days after I left. Sure, it was a bit less comfortable to lay on, but with a proper towel or blanket it’s all good. I thought I’d missed out on swimming since it was deep into fall. On the contrary. Plenty of locals were taking refreshing dips so I did as well. While the water was by no means warm, it was totally manageable in the Mediterranean sun. Clear and salty. The fish were curious but seemed fine sharing.
After the much appreciated relaxation and vitamin D top up, I made arrangements to travel to Bosnia & Herzegovina. I wasn’t really aware of it as an option months ago, but fellow backpackers had good things to say. Might as well.
A mind is like a parachute. It doesn’t work if it’s not open.
Frank Zappa
That was randomly pulled from the internet. Sounds good though.
Meat and potatoes. Pierogi. Sometimes cabbage when it’s wrapped around meat.
Ok, there’s a little more to the Polish cuisine than that, but it’s still very hearty, which is also a pretty good description of the people. Direct, organized and hard working. Over the month+ I spent in the country, I met a decent amount of natives. They all seemed highly motivated with busy schedules. Unless they were a żul — a homeless person that drinks in the park. I got called that one night, so that’s a nice look at the current trajectory of my life.
My introduction to Poland came via a moderate-sized city called Szczecin, two hours east of Berlin. Yes, it’s just as difficult to pronounce as it is to spell (a general rule of thumb you can apply to the entire language). In Szczecin, I joined up with the people involved in my week-long Workaway at an English language camp. Sascha, the coordinator, was from the US but living in Poland for the past 7 years and my fellow volunteers were from Australia, New Zealand, India, Hong Kong, and various parts of the UK. We were given an informal tour of the city, which gave us a chance to get to know each other a bit. The next day, we left for camp.
NativesWorld 2019 took place at a “palace” near a lake in a small village. There were a little over 30 kids, ranging from 10-17 years old. Our days consisted of one-on-one conversations, group meals, games/activities, and differing night entertainment. It was actually a lot more exhausting than it sounds. If the English-speaking volunteers were tired at the end of each day, I can’t imagine how the Polish kids felt. For the most part, they all had a solid grasp on the language and were excited to communicate about any random topic. It was fun getting to connect with the youngsters and the staff throughout the week. At the end of each day, the volunteers went down to the dock and chatted while the sun finished setting. That gave me an opportunity to “stitch up” one of my roommates, Tim, who was from New Zealand and taught me that term. I still don’t think I’m using it correctly. Anyway, once the week was over, the group of mentors had a very aggressive night out back in Szczecin, as if the 7 days of not drinking at camp was the longest drought we could endure. Good times.
In addition to the teaching responsibilities, I was also shooting photos and video as a freelance gig for Sascha. Freelance has been creeping up recently, which is a minor, but incredibly helpful income stream that replenishes my coffers to keep me traveling.
My next endeavor was a month-long Workaway at a very well-located hostel in Kraków. It was a 32-bed accommodation with a small but social kitchen and common room. The shifts were in super manageable 3-hour increments; either putting out breakfast, mid-day cleaning, or night watch. While I was there, there was at least 4 other Workawayers at a time. Since our work was low-key, we had plenty of time to hang around and chat about random topics. I got into a few one-sided, yet hilarious conversations with an intelligent mid-20s Scotsman named Jack. His smarts also helped us to 2 pub quiz victories, a valuable pathway to free beer and food.
Other than that, I kept a relatively chill profile over the month. There was a 24-hour convenient store directly under the hostel which made things a little too easy. I was based in the Old Town (Stare Miasto in Polish) so everything was in walking distance. Hence, most of my outings involved walking around and enjoying the city. And what a city. Kraków is the second biggest in Poland, but notably amazing because the medieval center has remained largely intact. There’s an impressive city gate, a castle on a river, a cloth trading hall and several cathedrals. On top of the old buildings, there’s also a ton of history in the Jewish quarter and areas surrounding the city, mainly because of the German takeover at the beginning of WWII. The Oskar Schindler Factory Museum (one of the best museums I’ve ever been to), gives a comprehensive account of the German occupation. As you move through the exhibits, it really takes you on a journey from 1939-1945.
The Auschwitz camps are also an hour’s drive away. The museum site tells the story of how the concentration and extermination camps were formed. You can walk into several buildings to see the confiscated belongings, cells of the first gassed prisoners, and most disturbingly, something like one ton of leftover human hair. If that doesn’t make you shudder, there is an abyss occupying the space where your heart should be. Next, you can go to Auschwitz II-Birkenau and be in awe of the sheer scale of the place. The expansive camp was home to 174 barracks and 4 crematoria. Trains brought people straight to the “death platform,” where approximately 80% were immediately sent to the gas chamber. I was there on a hot day where there is no cover of shade. I can only imagine how awful it was for the prisoners to have to work in those conditions, with such little water and food rations, and then have to sleep 4 to a tiny bed in a building of over 700. Not to mention the winter months, having to strip naked and wait outside the shower building for up to 5 hours. It’s astounding to imagine the level of evil required to put other humans through that.
On a lighter subject, there’s also a salt mine within a short public transit ride. Jack and I went one day to see the underground, unexpected amazement. We went on a 2 hour tour and only saw 1% of the mine. The thing must be absolutely massive. At our deepest point, we were over 400m (~1300ft) below the surface. There was a full blown cathedral in there as well. I didn’t lick the walls, but I did taste some random liquid runoff. In retrospect, that was probably the more risky maneuver.
Another memorable event was attending an experimental music festival in Katowice. I went with my friend Magda, who I’d been messaging for months before getting to Kraków. We didn’t know what “experimental” meant, so it was a toss up. Up until a few days before, I thought it was a day time thing in a field. Come to find out it started at 9pm and was mostly inside at a former industrial space. We had 3:15am bus tickets back, but were hoping it was going to be good enough to revise those arrangements. Indeed it was. On the whole, the music was electronic, sometimes a bit too house/trance, but that didn’t stop us from dancing for 5 hours straight. We eventually got back to Kraków at 8am.
One short week later and I was on another bus leaving the city. My time there was simultaneously fast and slow. I sort of got lulled into the idea that I didn’t have to rush through doing things because I had a whole month. Of course now that I look back on it, I could have accomplished more. How often is that my refrain? Just about always. Granted, I did a decent amount of freelance work during my down time at the hostel. The good news is, I tackled the top 3 things that were on my list. Everything after that can be considered a bonus.
