It doesn't seem like two minutes ago that I flew back from Malaga, but time marches on and early tomorrow afternoon our mooting team is flying out to Washington DC to take part in the finals of the Jessup Mooting Competition.
I'm quite exicted by this. No, I'm very excited by this. We're not quire sure of our schedule yet as it depends on how well we do in the preliminary rounds on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. If we don't make it through, then it all ends there and we have some free time in Washington. If we do make it through, then it turns into a knock-out competition that runs until the final on Saturday. There are around 90 teams competing and the last time Utrecht was represented they finished about 75th, so we're aiming for anywhere higher than that.
The University has actually been very accommodating about the whole trip and have agreed to delay my return flight by a week after the end of the competition, so on the Sunday after the competition I'm getting on a three-day cross-continental train that'll take me all the way from Washington DC, via Chicago (hello again), to San Francisco! I'll have three days there before having to fly back to Washington and then back to Amsterdam, via Paris, within 24 hours. So I'm quite looking forward to seeing just how zombie-like I am when I get back to Utrecht on the 9th.
At the moment the trip is looking set to present me a few firsts:
1. My longest ever flight.
2. My first cross-continental trip.
3. My first time spending 72 hours sat in the same seat.
4. My first view of the Pacific Ocean.
5. My first overnight stay in an airport.
6. My first transfer in an airport.
I can't say that I'm necessarily looking forward to them in that order though!
Just a shame that I have to give the US authorities about every single piece of information about my life before they'll even let me into the country.
23/03/2007
21/03/2007
Larks in the Dark
Spring is on the way. The nights are drawing out and the clocks are going forward soon, but yesterday that didn't stop us from going night canoeing. Avid and attentive readers will remember that I've done this before, but that was in balmy September.
It sounded like quite a good idea when Chloe proposed it a few weeks ago and the weather was on the up, but that was before it started snowing and being generally cold and rather miserable. Nonetheless, yesterday evening a group of 16 of us (including 8 intrepid visitors from the UK) found ourselves huddling on the banks of the Oudegracht waiting to spend three hours canoeing around Utrecht's canals. As the gentleman said when we paddled off, "You're mad". We followed a different route to last time and, sadly avoiding the low bridges of last time, actually canoed up through the main canal which was quite a cool thing to do. I didn't realise quite how many restaurants there are nestling into the banks of the canal, nor quite how appealing cosy-looking front rooms seem when it's freezing, raining, and you're canoeing on the water in the dark.
But that's all very negative for what was actually a really fun evening. Utrecht really does look quite different from the canal level and with all the physical exertion we soon warmed up (a little). The best bit came at the end though when, while getting out of the canoe, my sodden and freezing knees refused to do their job and wouldn't bend. My trousers and shoes were still wet this morning.
My thanks have to go to Tineke who I've not only stolen the photo below from, but who provided the canoeing experience that actually got our canoe moving places:
Quote of the evening though has to go to Chloe, who, while shouting to me in the darkness pronounced that, "Jack, I can only see your teeth!", which I took to be a compliment, and one that makes me less concerned about the fact that my bike lights stopped working two months ago.
The whole thing was run out of perhaps the most Dutch, Dutch pub I've come across since I arrived. When the 16 of us traipsed in everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at us like aliens. But when we returned I think we were more of a humorous curiosity, all being huddled around our warme chocolademelks. And they gave us some free bittebollen too, so what more could we ask for?
In other news, I was thoroughly trounced again at badminton this evening, 3 games to nil. I don't think I've actually won a game since I got back after Christmas. This could be because (a) I'm a bit rubbish, (b) my doubles partners are a bit rubbish, or (c) I'm playing people who are rather better than me. I'd like to say (b) or (c), but that would be to lie. I can't help but think that the fact that I'm about to miss three consecutive lessons isn't going to help matters.
It sounded like quite a good idea when Chloe proposed it a few weeks ago and the weather was on the up, but that was before it started snowing and being generally cold and rather miserable. Nonetheless, yesterday evening a group of 16 of us (including 8 intrepid visitors from the UK) found ourselves huddling on the banks of the Oudegracht waiting to spend three hours canoeing around Utrecht's canals. As the gentleman said when we paddled off, "You're mad". We followed a different route to last time and, sadly avoiding the low bridges of last time, actually canoed up through the main canal which was quite a cool thing to do. I didn't realise quite how many restaurants there are nestling into the banks of the canal, nor quite how appealing cosy-looking front rooms seem when it's freezing, raining, and you're canoeing on the water in the dark.
But that's all very negative for what was actually a really fun evening. Utrecht really does look quite different from the canal level and with all the physical exertion we soon warmed up (a little). The best bit came at the end though when, while getting out of the canoe, my sodden and freezing knees refused to do their job and wouldn't bend. My trousers and shoes were still wet this morning.
My thanks have to go to Tineke who I've not only stolen the photo below from, but who provided the canoeing experience that actually got our canoe moving places:
Quote of the evening though has to go to Chloe, who, while shouting to me in the darkness pronounced that, "Jack, I can only see your teeth!", which I took to be a compliment, and one that makes me less concerned about the fact that my bike lights stopped working two months ago.
The whole thing was run out of perhaps the most Dutch, Dutch pub I've come across since I arrived. When the 16 of us traipsed in everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at us like aliens. But when we returned I think we were more of a humorous curiosity, all being huddled around our warme chocolademelks. And they gave us some free bittebollen too, so what more could we ask for?
In other news, I was thoroughly trounced again at badminton this evening, 3 games to nil. I don't think I've actually won a game since I got back after Christmas. This could be because (a) I'm a bit rubbish, (b) my doubles partners are a bit rubbish, or (c) I'm playing people who are rather better than me. I'd like to say (b) or (c), but that would be to lie. I can't help but think that the fact that I'm about to miss three consecutive lessons isn't going to help matters.
18/03/2007
Sporting Sunday
Last night, before I called it a night, I moved my bed, put my TV on standby, and set my alarm for 3:45am. Yes, I was going to wake up in the middle of the night to watch the Australian Grand Prix from the comfort of my bed.
This morning, I woke up at 10am. Now what happened there? The TV was still on standby, the remote hadn't moved, and my alarm showed little signs of life. I've absolutely no recollection of waking up at 3:45am, so either my alarm didn't go off, or my 3:45am sleep deprived-self decided there were better things to be doing than watching the Formula One. So upon having breakfast I decided to bake some cookies to console myself.
This afternoon, the suspicions of my 3:45am self were affirmed. Having spent just over three hours watching a repeat of the race this afternoon I'm rather glad something did go wrong at 3:45am, for it wasn't exactly thrilling entertainment and I doubt I'd have stayed awake through it all. In fact, I rather more enjoyed the one-hour pre-race build up, even though it was in Dutch.
This evening, I had a rather amusing introduction to American basketball. Those on Facebook will probably have noticed the basketball related features that mean absolutely nothing to most outside the USA, but I have the pleasure of living with an American flatmate who very much does know what they mean, and now, so do I. Almost. He's a Wisconsin supporter and this evening they were playing Nevada. However, being devoid of any TV showing or Internet broadcast we had to content ourselves with a time-delayed text comment service. Probably not the best introduction to the sport, but it was more fun than the Formula One. Wisconsin lost, something I found myself quite disappointed about, but I now know more about basketball than I do football, which isn't saying much.
Last week, when I was on the train back from Schipol to Utrecht, the train passed Amsterdam Ajax's football stadium, and I caught myself thinking that I should probably try and watch them play while I'm here. A sign advertising Utrecht FC triggered a similar reaction the other day. But why? Back home I've never been to see a football match, a cricket game, or even a rugby match, and I haven't really been inclined to do so despite it presumably being easier to do so. In fact, even badminton, the only sport I do actually play, doesn't register on my sport-awareness radar.
Last Summer (see what I'm doing here?), when I was in the States, we sought out every type of sport we could, regardless of whether we knew anything about it, and although we got to see two thoroughly confusing baseball games, I'm still disappointed not to have caught an American football match, and after this evening I'm wanting to see a basketball game. All this despite the fact that I don't follow any of these sports.
Perhaps the grass really is greener, but either way, it's all very odd.
This morning, I woke up at 10am. Now what happened there? The TV was still on standby, the remote hadn't moved, and my alarm showed little signs of life. I've absolutely no recollection of waking up at 3:45am, so either my alarm didn't go off, or my 3:45am sleep deprived-self decided there were better things to be doing than watching the Formula One. So upon having breakfast I decided to bake some cookies to console myself.
This afternoon, the suspicions of my 3:45am self were affirmed. Having spent just over three hours watching a repeat of the race this afternoon I'm rather glad something did go wrong at 3:45am, for it wasn't exactly thrilling entertainment and I doubt I'd have stayed awake through it all. In fact, I rather more enjoyed the one-hour pre-race build up, even though it was in Dutch.
This evening, I had a rather amusing introduction to American basketball. Those on Facebook will probably have noticed the basketball related features that mean absolutely nothing to most outside the USA, but I have the pleasure of living with an American flatmate who very much does know what they mean, and now, so do I. Almost. He's a Wisconsin supporter and this evening they were playing Nevada. However, being devoid of any TV showing or Internet broadcast we had to content ourselves with a time-delayed text comment service. Probably not the best introduction to the sport, but it was more fun than the Formula One. Wisconsin lost, something I found myself quite disappointed about, but I now know more about basketball than I do football, which isn't saying much.
Last week, when I was on the train back from Schipol to Utrecht, the train passed Amsterdam Ajax's football stadium, and I caught myself thinking that I should probably try and watch them play while I'm here. A sign advertising Utrecht FC triggered a similar reaction the other day. But why? Back home I've never been to see a football match, a cricket game, or even a rugby match, and I haven't really been inclined to do so despite it presumably being easier to do so. In fact, even badminton, the only sport I do actually play, doesn't register on my sport-awareness radar.
Last Summer (see what I'm doing here?), when I was in the States, we sought out every type of sport we could, regardless of whether we knew anything about it, and although we got to see two thoroughly confusing baseball games, I'm still disappointed not to have caught an American football match, and after this evening I'm wanting to see a basketball game. All this despite the fact that I don't follow any of these sports.
Perhaps the grass really is greener, but either way, it's all very odd.
17/03/2007
Surprise Surprise
I've been here for over 7 months now, but still Utrecht manages to surprise me. This afternoon I went out for a walk and to do some shopping at the market. On my way into town I passed a number of large posters advertising something called TweeTakt. Like most of the things I see advertised here, I had no idea what this. When I got to the Neude Square I was presented by a very strange sight. There's often something going on there, but today there was a little conurbation of six or so glass rooms (a bakery, a butchers, a souvenir shop, a cafe, a restaurant and a couple of others) surrounding a stage on which one person was playing a mouth organ and the other being a human beat box, with people just milling around. I stayed for quite a while being oblivious as to the occasion but having an oddly good time nonetheless. Having come back here the wonders of the Internet have suggested that it's a week long festival of arts and music. But it's just sprung up out of nowhere. Will have to go back methinks.
Utrecht's market is a curious thing. It's there on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays, but it's fundamentally different each day. Wednesdays seem to usually be focused on crafts, Friday seems to be a farmer's market and Saturdays seem to be everything. But no matter which day I go on (usually all three) there's always something that wasn't there before, and I guess that means something that's disapeared as well, but it's always good for a wander around. I impressed myself in doing said shopping at the market today, as I managed to do it all in Dutch. I've been making a concerted effort to actually understand the words for Dutch numbers so I can get rid of the mounting pile of change that's taking up residence in my pockets. Although, having spent a week in countries where I understood nothing I almost feel fluent with my limited amount of Dutch!
I also discovered another market that I never knew existed down a side street. It resembled a spontaneous car-boot sale, but with proper stalls, and was actually quite charming. In the spirit of this, let me introduce you to Queens Day. On the 30th April the Netherlands celebrates Queen's Day, a day when everyone takes to the streets in orange to have a good time. Apparently the suspend all trading laws and people just put out stalls all over the place. I'm seriously tempted to join in - "Jack's English Cakes" has a particular ring to it.
And Utrecht's premier ice-cream parlour, Venezia, has finally reopened, and the F1 season has finally started. Summer must be just around the corner.
Utrecht's market is a curious thing. It's there on Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays, but it's fundamentally different each day. Wednesdays seem to usually be focused on crafts, Friday seems to be a farmer's market and Saturdays seem to be everything. But no matter which day I go on (usually all three) there's always something that wasn't there before, and I guess that means something that's disapeared as well, but it's always good for a wander around. I impressed myself in doing said shopping at the market today, as I managed to do it all in Dutch. I've been making a concerted effort to actually understand the words for Dutch numbers so I can get rid of the mounting pile of change that's taking up residence in my pockets. Although, having spent a week in countries where I understood nothing I almost feel fluent with my limited amount of Dutch!
I also discovered another market that I never knew existed down a side street. It resembled a spontaneous car-boot sale, but with proper stalls, and was actually quite charming. In the spirit of this, let me introduce you to Queens Day. On the 30th April the Netherlands celebrates Queen's Day, a day when everyone takes to the streets in orange to have a good time. Apparently the suspend all trading laws and people just put out stalls all over the place. I'm seriously tempted to join in - "Jack's English Cakes" has a particular ring to it.
And Utrecht's premier ice-cream parlour, Venezia, has finally reopened, and the F1 season has finally started. Summer must be just around the corner.
15/03/2007
An Iberian Experience
So that was my primary school essay on my holiday past. As you may have gathered, I had a lovely time, but it worked out well in that it wasn't for so long that I thought I should have come back beforehand, but neither was it too short such that I wanted to stay for longer. I flew out of Malaga feeling like I was ready to come back to Utrecht and get on with things here, albeit newly refreshed and relaxed.
Perhaps next time I'd try and familiarise myself with the language a little more before venturing out. Any number of times I had to resort to using brand names to order something as I didn't know the words to order what I really wanted, which was frustrating, but entirely my own fault.
I think though I've decided that while holidaying alone is fine, travelling is probably something best done with someone else or in a small group. By the end of the trip I was beginning to feel that it would have been nice to have shared the experience with someone else and to have had someone to talk to about what had gone on. But still, it didn't detract from a great time. I've also picked up a suntan which has been described by two people as (a) being somewhat reminiscent of a tea stain, and (b) making me look live David Dickinson. So mixed feelings on that one!
But I've just managed to spend most of the afternoon procrastinating by regaling my holiday experiences on here - so the benefits are still continuing!
Perhaps next time I'd try and familiarise myself with the language a little more before venturing out. Any number of times I had to resort to using brand names to order something as I didn't know the words to order what I really wanted, which was frustrating, but entirely my own fault.
I think though I've decided that while holidaying alone is fine, travelling is probably something best done with someone else or in a small group. By the end of the trip I was beginning to feel that it would have been nice to have shared the experience with someone else and to have had someone to talk to about what had gone on. But still, it didn't detract from a great time. I've also picked up a suntan which has been described by two people as (a) being somewhat reminiscent of a tea stain, and (b) making me look live David Dickinson. So mixed feelings on that one!
But I've just managed to spend most of the afternoon procrastinating by regaling my holiday experiences on here - so the benefits are still continuing!
An Iberian Experience - Gibraltar
I think it might be impossible to express in words just how much I loved Gibraltar. Perhaps it was to do with coming from Tangier the day before, or perhaps it was due to the fact that everywhere looked like Cornwall (it even had pasty shops), but whatever it was, I felt an immediate affinity with the place and I'm smiling just now thinking about it!
The first thing I was greeted by were good-old English policemen, Marks & Spencer, red double-decker buses and familiar road markings (but on the wrong side of the road), oh, and a rather English parade (no child soldiers here).
The main street was weird. It was just like any other English highstreet, but it was populated by people speaking Spanish and the whole thing about being on the Meditterean and being towered over by a whacking great block of limestone made it all feel completely surreal.
After having a thoroughly disappointing cream tea - whipped cream I ask you, I decided to climb the Rock and see what it had to offer. The climb up was steep, but the views offered were fantastic, and the monkeys that populate the Rock were worth the climb alone. They're so human in their mannerisms, and they're so placid. I didn't see any evidence of them being aggressive or steeling people's lunches.
After I'd clambered back down, I had an oddly life-affirming experience walking around their Safeways! There must have been something about the nostalgia of them still having a Safeways alongside seeing all the familiar products again that triggered some sort of British pride inside me. I don't often say it, but I really did feel proud to be British walking around. I even took it so far as visiting the oldest pub on the Rock for a drink that evening.
The next day I decided to circumnavigate the peninsular, something that I only discovered was impossible when I got about half way around to be stopped in my tracks by a rather inconveniently placed military installation. It's quite odd, the Rock is so huge, that for half the day, one half of the peninsular is in shadow while the other seems to be covered by an almost semi-permanent dark cloud which I guess is caused by the air coming in off the sea suddenly being forced up and over the Rock. It looks like its wearing a hat from a distance, but it means if you're walking to the other side, you may well need to add (or remove) several layers of clothing!
The most southerly point couldn't have been any less like Tarifa, and was deserted aside from a solitary ice-cream van (there's that British feeling again).
I did though realise there how bad English food generally is. The multitude of signs offering fish & chips, fry ups, curries, burgers etc was such a contrast to what was available in Spain and Portugal (although I think Spanish churros run the fry up close for the lest healthy breakfast award). I had hoped to sample some fish & chips while there, but at the end of the day, it just didn't appeal at all. Could it really be that I'm going off English food having been away for seven months?!
I almost considered cancelling my stopover in Malaga and staying an extra night in Gibraltar, but in the end seeing as Malaga was actually quite nice, I'm glad I didn't. But Gibraltar was that sort of place, it was small, but I felt like I could stay for ages. I even met a lawyer over breakfast who'd moved there from practising in London - so perhaps I might go back eventually after all!
It feels rather like a cop-out to declare that Gibraltar was my favourite place out of those that I visited, but I can't deny that it was. The people, the atmosphere, the place, everything was just great and I guess it all felt rather snug and comfy!
Long live Gibraltar, as they don't say in Spain.
The first thing I was greeted by were good-old English policemen, Marks & Spencer, red double-decker buses and familiar road markings (but on the wrong side of the road), oh, and a rather English parade (no child soldiers here).
The main street was weird. It was just like any other English highstreet, but it was populated by people speaking Spanish and the whole thing about being on the Meditterean and being towered over by a whacking great block of limestone made it all feel completely surreal.
After having a thoroughly disappointing cream tea - whipped cream I ask you, I decided to climb the Rock and see what it had to offer. The climb up was steep, but the views offered were fantastic, and the monkeys that populate the Rock were worth the climb alone. They're so human in their mannerisms, and they're so placid. I didn't see any evidence of them being aggressive or steeling people's lunches.
After I'd clambered back down, I had an oddly life-affirming experience walking around their Safeways! There must have been something about the nostalgia of them still having a Safeways alongside seeing all the familiar products again that triggered some sort of British pride inside me. I don't often say it, but I really did feel proud to be British walking around. I even took it so far as visiting the oldest pub on the Rock for a drink that evening.
The next day I decided to circumnavigate the peninsular, something that I only discovered was impossible when I got about half way around to be stopped in my tracks by a rather inconveniently placed military installation. It's quite odd, the Rock is so huge, that for half the day, one half of the peninsular is in shadow while the other seems to be covered by an almost semi-permanent dark cloud which I guess is caused by the air coming in off the sea suddenly being forced up and over the Rock. It looks like its wearing a hat from a distance, but it means if you're walking to the other side, you may well need to add (or remove) several layers of clothing!
The most southerly point couldn't have been any less like Tarifa, and was deserted aside from a solitary ice-cream van (there's that British feeling again).
I did though realise there how bad English food generally is. The multitude of signs offering fish & chips, fry ups, curries, burgers etc was such a contrast to what was available in Spain and Portugal (although I think Spanish churros run the fry up close for the lest healthy breakfast award). I had hoped to sample some fish & chips while there, but at the end of the day, it just didn't appeal at all. Could it really be that I'm going off English food having been away for seven months?!
I almost considered cancelling my stopover in Malaga and staying an extra night in Gibraltar, but in the end seeing as Malaga was actually quite nice, I'm glad I didn't. But Gibraltar was that sort of place, it was small, but I felt like I could stay for ages. I even met a lawyer over breakfast who'd moved there from practising in London - so perhaps I might go back eventually after all!
It feels rather like a cop-out to declare that Gibraltar was my favourite place out of those that I visited, but I can't deny that it was. The people, the atmosphere, the place, everything was just great and I guess it all felt rather snug and comfy!
Long live Gibraltar, as they don't say in Spain.
An Iberian Experience - Morocco
Out of all the places I went, Tangier is the one that really deserves the title 'experience'. Things began to go awry before I'd even left Spain when my water bottle decided to empty its contents all over the contents of my bag. Things didn't get any better on the ferry when I latched onto by a somewhat lecherous American who seemed rather too pleased to air his (numerous) prejudices and who sought me out twice. Needless to say, I was glad he was on an organised tour and hence would not have to try and lose him during disembarkation!
I was quite unprepared for Morocco. My guidebook didn't extend across the Mediterranean, I had no map, and the only things I knew had been gleaned from a quick Internet session in Seville and had been scrawled down in my notepad. So lesson one, if going to Tangier - be better prepared. I'd read about the problem tourists faced being hustled and followed around, so I was quite cautious in my approach and I wore subdued clothes to try and not stand out. Nonetheless within thirty minutes of getting off the ferry I was approached by a Moroccan man who 'only wanted to say hello'. Based on what I'd read, I thought I'd be a little unresponsive and so I pretended to be Dutch thinking that would be the end of it. Alas, out of all the people I could have bumped into, I bumped into someone who had worked in Amsterdam for eight years and spoke better Dutch than I did! Typical, and rather awkward from that point on. Anyway, the whole thing culminated in him offering to take me to the market, me politely declining, and them him spitting right in my face. So an inauspicious start to the day! After that I pretended to be German.
Undeterred I carried on, but after walking through the Medina spending the entire time dodging hustlers, declining offers of drugs, being followed by shop owners urging me to buy and being asked for money I adopted the policy of keeping my head down, hardly taking and photos, and walking purposefully. Unfortunately this resulted in me getting lost and missing an awful lot of what Morocco undoubtedly had to offer. In the end I got a taxi to the central square to get my bearings and spent most of the day on cafe terraces people watching. I stumbled across an Anglican church, so popped into the gardens to have some lunch, and had my spirits raised by a conversation I had with a genuinely friendly man who showed me around the church and the grounds and introduced me to the warden who seemed delighted to meet someone from England.
After that I spent the rest of the afternoon just wandering quite quickly around the old town. I came across a spectacular scene from the Kasbah looking across the Atlantic to Spain, but I also became aware of how different Morocco is to Europe and the poverty that some of the people there live in.
I have never been somewhere that different to what I'm familiar with, for all their differences, most European countries are essentially similar. From that perspective, Morocco was somewhat out of my comfort zone, but I'm so glad I went to see it for myself.
Unfortunately the biggest problem I faced was knowing who you could talk to. As the spitting incident demonstrated, it's really hard to know who is genuine and who isn't. Towards the end of the day I was trying to kill some time before going for dinner and got talking to a man who claimed to be the gatekeeper of the Kasbah and thought he looked like Sammy Davis Jr (he didn't). After the earlier incident I thought I'd trust this guy as I was beginning to think that the earlier guy had just wanted to take me the market out of interest, so I let him guide me around the Medina. Of course, things took a turn for the worst, the streets got narrower and he made the rather disquieting comment that he wasn't going to put a knife to my neck and demand all my money. Needless to say, that was enough for me to end the tour there and after a brief verbal altercation I ended up giving him the sum total of my Euro change that I'd thankfully left in my pocket from earlier in the day before we drifted apart in a busy street. I was rather less inclined to stay much longer after that, and so just went and got a ferry back to Spain.
Morocco was a fabulous experience, but the experience wasn't so great! It was just so hard to do what I love doing when I go to a new place - wander around, take in the sights and my own pace, sit and soak up the atmosphere etc. Instead, I found myself trying to blend in, not spending any time in any one place and never being sure of who I could talk to without being hustled. It was just hard to enjoy myself. But I did meet some lovely people, from the guy from the church, to the cab driver who put up with my appalling French to discuss English football with me, and I'd go back again tomorrow. I don't really like going round in guided tours, but if I were to go back, I think I'd probably go that route next time, if only to be with someone who knew the score more than I did. At the very least, I'd go with someone else.
So despite the bad incidents, Morocco was incredibly eye-opening and I'm so glad that I took the opportunity to see it for myself. Apparently it applied for EU membership but was denied outright, quite rightly in my opinion. Not only is Morocco nowhere near ready for the EU, membership would undoubtedly destroy a part of what makes Morocco, Morocco. The fact that it is different is what makes it such a draw. I can't deny that when I next saw the coastline of Africa from Europe it didn't have the same appeal as it did from Tarifa, but I'm determined not to let an experience in one place put me off an entire continent. Nonetheless, I was quite content to be sitting on the ferry back to Spain at the end of the day.
I was quite unprepared for Morocco. My guidebook didn't extend across the Mediterranean, I had no map, and the only things I knew had been gleaned from a quick Internet session in Seville and had been scrawled down in my notepad. So lesson one, if going to Tangier - be better prepared. I'd read about the problem tourists faced being hustled and followed around, so I was quite cautious in my approach and I wore subdued clothes to try and not stand out. Nonetheless within thirty minutes of getting off the ferry I was approached by a Moroccan man who 'only wanted to say hello'. Based on what I'd read, I thought I'd be a little unresponsive and so I pretended to be Dutch thinking that would be the end of it. Alas, out of all the people I could have bumped into, I bumped into someone who had worked in Amsterdam for eight years and spoke better Dutch than I did! Typical, and rather awkward from that point on. Anyway, the whole thing culminated in him offering to take me to the market, me politely declining, and them him spitting right in my face. So an inauspicious start to the day! After that I pretended to be German.
Undeterred I carried on, but after walking through the Medina spending the entire time dodging hustlers, declining offers of drugs, being followed by shop owners urging me to buy and being asked for money I adopted the policy of keeping my head down, hardly taking and photos, and walking purposefully. Unfortunately this resulted in me getting lost and missing an awful lot of what Morocco undoubtedly had to offer. In the end I got a taxi to the central square to get my bearings and spent most of the day on cafe terraces people watching. I stumbled across an Anglican church, so popped into the gardens to have some lunch, and had my spirits raised by a conversation I had with a genuinely friendly man who showed me around the church and the grounds and introduced me to the warden who seemed delighted to meet someone from England.
After that I spent the rest of the afternoon just wandering quite quickly around the old town. I came across a spectacular scene from the Kasbah looking across the Atlantic to Spain, but I also became aware of how different Morocco is to Europe and the poverty that some of the people there live in.
I have never been somewhere that different to what I'm familiar with, for all their differences, most European countries are essentially similar. From that perspective, Morocco was somewhat out of my comfort zone, but I'm so glad I went to see it for myself.
Unfortunately the biggest problem I faced was knowing who you could talk to. As the spitting incident demonstrated, it's really hard to know who is genuine and who isn't. Towards the end of the day I was trying to kill some time before going for dinner and got talking to a man who claimed to be the gatekeeper of the Kasbah and thought he looked like Sammy Davis Jr (he didn't). After the earlier incident I thought I'd trust this guy as I was beginning to think that the earlier guy had just wanted to take me the market out of interest, so I let him guide me around the Medina. Of course, things took a turn for the worst, the streets got narrower and he made the rather disquieting comment that he wasn't going to put a knife to my neck and demand all my money. Needless to say, that was enough for me to end the tour there and after a brief verbal altercation I ended up giving him the sum total of my Euro change that I'd thankfully left in my pocket from earlier in the day before we drifted apart in a busy street. I was rather less inclined to stay much longer after that, and so just went and got a ferry back to Spain.
Morocco was a fabulous experience, but the experience wasn't so great! It was just so hard to do what I love doing when I go to a new place - wander around, take in the sights and my own pace, sit and soak up the atmosphere etc. Instead, I found myself trying to blend in, not spending any time in any one place and never being sure of who I could talk to without being hustled. It was just hard to enjoy myself. But I did meet some lovely people, from the guy from the church, to the cab driver who put up with my appalling French to discuss English football with me, and I'd go back again tomorrow. I don't really like going round in guided tours, but if I were to go back, I think I'd probably go that route next time, if only to be with someone who knew the score more than I did. At the very least, I'd go with someone else.
So despite the bad incidents, Morocco was incredibly eye-opening and I'm so glad that I took the opportunity to see it for myself. Apparently it applied for EU membership but was denied outright, quite rightly in my opinion. Not only is Morocco nowhere near ready for the EU, membership would undoubtedly destroy a part of what makes Morocco, Morocco. The fact that it is different is what makes it such a draw. I can't deny that when I next saw the coastline of Africa from Europe it didn't have the same appeal as it did from Tarifa, but I'm determined not to let an experience in one place put me off an entire continent. Nonetheless, I was quite content to be sitting on the ferry back to Spain at the end of the day.
An Iberian Experience - Spain
I enjoyed Spain immensely. As with Portugal, I'd never been before, but I think Seville was an ideal place to start. The coach journey from Lisbon was eight hours long and seemed to be populated by people like myself clutching their guides to Europe. I had a bit of time on arriving to explore Seville at night and get my bearings before doing it properly the next day.
Seville is lovely, and it's dominated by its huge Cathedral right in the centre. Unfortunately they were digging up quite a few roads for a tramway, but it didn't detract from the ambience of the place - it was just buzzing. It's hard to describe, but the place just felt alive, whereas Lisbon didn't. I stayed in a rather lovely Hostel as well, right in the centre and was fortunate enough to have the room to myself one night after spending the previous night trying to drown out the snores of my bunkbed mate. Seville proved itself to just be a lovely city to walk around and get lost in.
The central Alcazar was quite a surprise. It's an Islamic building that contains Seville's walled garden, and it's so tranquil, yet right in the centre of the city next to the Cathedral.
I visited the bullring as well out of curiosity and was left rather unimpressed with the whole thing. The arena was impressive, but the whole idea of the sport left me cold and struck me as rather pointless. I guess the sides are more even than they are in fox hunting, but still.
So, yes, Seville was lovely and on the second day I made a mistake in leaving it to visit Cordoba which I'd been assured was worth a visit. I'm not quite sure it was. It was certainly pretty and full of little winding streets, and the Cathedral, being a converted Mosque was architecturally curious, but the place felt a little dead and the dearth of tourist shops in the centre spoilt the feel of the place.
Maybe if it hadn't been a one-and-a-half hour train journey away it would have been worth the detour, but Sintra it wasn't. It did though have the only 'We Speak Dutch' sign that I saw on my trip.
After two days in Seville I caught a bus to Tarifa which I slightly worried, being the most southerly town in continental Europe and being a mecca for windsurfing, would turn out to be like Newquay. Fortunately my fears were misplaced and it actually turned out to be a charming town much more like St. Ives (and we all knows that St. Ives > Newquay by a long way). On one side it touches the Atlantic and on the other the Mediterranean, so I was quite excited about seeing the latter for the first time.
But that wasn't quite the most exiting thing. Hopefully in the photo above you can make out an African mountain range in the background. Being able to see Africa was incredible. It's always been this place that I've read about and seen pictures of, but being able to see it myself was quite something. Of course, it was still 15mks away, but I was in Tarifa to catch a ferry to Tangier in Morocco (see next instalment), so I was full of anticipation going into the next day.
After spending the day in Morocco it was time to head to Gibraltar before finally heading to Malaga for the night to fly back to Amsterdam. Malaga is not a place that I ever imagined I would go to. Its associations with sun, sea, sex and sangria had never really appealed and I was curious as to what I'd find, but not for the first time, my expectations were misplaced. Regardless of how you feel about the four S's, Malaga is actually a city that's worth visiting for the sake of seeing the city itself. It's in a wonderful position on the Mediterranean flanked by hills and an old fort.
Again, all the beaches were deserted despite it being 28C and, if you ask me, distinctly inseason. I think that actually applies for everywhere I went - if you're going to go, go at this time of year as hot enough to have a lovely time, but not packed with people.
So Spain was indeed fantastic, and I'd be happy to go back at any point. I made good use of the opportunity to try out numerous tortilla's and other Spanish produce, and was even invited to a tapas party yesterday evening which was great fun, so perhaps, I haven't really left!
Seville is lovely, and it's dominated by its huge Cathedral right in the centre. Unfortunately they were digging up quite a few roads for a tramway, but it didn't detract from the ambience of the place - it was just buzzing. It's hard to describe, but the place just felt alive, whereas Lisbon didn't. I stayed in a rather lovely Hostel as well, right in the centre and was fortunate enough to have the room to myself one night after spending the previous night trying to drown out the snores of my bunkbed mate. Seville proved itself to just be a lovely city to walk around and get lost in.
The central Alcazar was quite a surprise. It's an Islamic building that contains Seville's walled garden, and it's so tranquil, yet right in the centre of the city next to the Cathedral.
I visited the bullring as well out of curiosity and was left rather unimpressed with the whole thing. The arena was impressive, but the whole idea of the sport left me cold and struck me as rather pointless. I guess the sides are more even than they are in fox hunting, but still.
So, yes, Seville was lovely and on the second day I made a mistake in leaving it to visit Cordoba which I'd been assured was worth a visit. I'm not quite sure it was. It was certainly pretty and full of little winding streets, and the Cathedral, being a converted Mosque was architecturally curious, but the place felt a little dead and the dearth of tourist shops in the centre spoilt the feel of the place.
Maybe if it hadn't been a one-and-a-half hour train journey away it would have been worth the detour, but Sintra it wasn't. It did though have the only 'We Speak Dutch' sign that I saw on my trip.
After two days in Seville I caught a bus to Tarifa which I slightly worried, being the most southerly town in continental Europe and being a mecca for windsurfing, would turn out to be like Newquay. Fortunately my fears were misplaced and it actually turned out to be a charming town much more like St. Ives (and we all knows that St. Ives > Newquay by a long way). On one side it touches the Atlantic and on the other the Mediterranean, so I was quite excited about seeing the latter for the first time.
But that wasn't quite the most exiting thing. Hopefully in the photo above you can make out an African mountain range in the background. Being able to see Africa was incredible. It's always been this place that I've read about and seen pictures of, but being able to see it myself was quite something. Of course, it was still 15mks away, but I was in Tarifa to catch a ferry to Tangier in Morocco (see next instalment), so I was full of anticipation going into the next day.
After spending the day in Morocco it was time to head to Gibraltar before finally heading to Malaga for the night to fly back to Amsterdam. Malaga is not a place that I ever imagined I would go to. Its associations with sun, sea, sex and sangria had never really appealed and I was curious as to what I'd find, but not for the first time, my expectations were misplaced. Regardless of how you feel about the four S's, Malaga is actually a city that's worth visiting for the sake of seeing the city itself. It's in a wonderful position on the Mediterranean flanked by hills and an old fort.
Again, all the beaches were deserted despite it being 28C and, if you ask me, distinctly inseason. I think that actually applies for everywhere I went - if you're going to go, go at this time of year as hot enough to have a lovely time, but not packed with people.
So Spain was indeed fantastic, and I'd be happy to go back at any point. I made good use of the opportunity to try out numerous tortilla's and other Spanish produce, and was even invited to a tapas party yesterday evening which was great fun, so perhaps, I haven't really left!
An Iberian Experience - Portugal
I am officially awful at recounting holiday experiences. I'm always reminded of those start-of-term assignments you used to get in primary school where you had to write about what you did on holiday, and now, just as then, any attempt I make to write such a thing descends into little more than a blow by blow account of what I did. Which is hardly any fun for anyone. But it's not going to stop me, and at least with the magic of Blogger I can add photos.
On Monday evening I got back to Utrecht after spending ten days travelling around the Iberian peninsular, taking in Portugal, Spain, Morocco and Gibraltar. In now time-honoured fashion, here's a little Google Maps summary of where I got to:
By way of a summary, I think I can quite accurately compress ten days into twelve words: Portugal was good. Spain was fantastic. Morocco was bad. Gibraltar was amazing.
I started off by flying to Faro in the Algarve. It's an odd place, it felt like a holiday resort town with no-one making their holidays there. That was actually quite a recurring theme. Temperatures everywhere I went average about 22C, but to the people living there, it's still out of season, so there's apparently nothing odd about walking around in ski-jackets and scarves. I felt decidedly out of place in my t-shirts just about everywhere I went. But, despite this oddity it was a pretty little town, and the relative lack of tourists probably helped.
After only five hours there though it was time to catch a train to Lisbon, which was uneventful enough, aside from being evicted from my seat, and the scenery was pretty amazing having never been that far south before - I can't say I'm accustomed to seeing fields of orange trees. I got into Lisbon quite late, and decided to leave exploring until the next day.
Either I missed something with Lisbon, or it was missing something itself - things just never really clicked, and by 2pm on the first afternoon I felt like I'd seen everything it had to offer, which shouldn't be the case in a capital city. I spent the day just walking around the city, and climbed up to the old castle ruins which provided an oddly underwhelming view across the whole city and the river.
I did though get the chance to witness a rather spectacular, and quite unexplained, military parade by what appeared to be (worryingly) child soliders. So that was nice.
So as result of feeling I'd exhausted central Lisbon, at 3pm I decided to walk to the little district of Belem, 6kms away, and I'm so glad that I did. Walking along the river was just lovely and Belem itself so such a contrast to Lisbon proper, it just seemed much more full of life and laid back. the fact that it has what is reputed to be Portugal's best custard tarts was naturally quite a draw as well.
The next day (after stopping by Belem for more custard tarts), I decamped to the nearby hill-top town of Sintra which Lonely Planet listed as the 'star' place in Portugal. It was raining, and I didn't really know what to expect, but as impulse decisions go, it has to be one of the best I've made. It was spectacular. The town is loomed over by a Palace and a ruined castle high up on the hill tops and I immediately resolved to climb up there, and equally quickly found myself sitting on a bus up instead. The town itself was pretty, but from at the top of the castle, it was stunning.
On the one side you could see Lisbon, and on the other you could see over the town all the way to the Atlantic. It was terribly windy, but that just added to everything. I had a lovely walk down through the forests at sunset before making my way back to Lisbon ready to move onto Spain the next day.
I now have to go and tend to some bread that I'm baking, but I will be back at some point with the Spanish instalment.
On Monday evening I got back to Utrecht after spending ten days travelling around the Iberian peninsular, taking in Portugal, Spain, Morocco and Gibraltar. In now time-honoured fashion, here's a little Google Maps summary of where I got to:
By way of a summary, I think I can quite accurately compress ten days into twelve words: Portugal was good. Spain was fantastic. Morocco was bad. Gibraltar was amazing.
I started off by flying to Faro in the Algarve. It's an odd place, it felt like a holiday resort town with no-one making their holidays there. That was actually quite a recurring theme. Temperatures everywhere I went average about 22C, but to the people living there, it's still out of season, so there's apparently nothing odd about walking around in ski-jackets and scarves. I felt decidedly out of place in my t-shirts just about everywhere I went. But, despite this oddity it was a pretty little town, and the relative lack of tourists probably helped.
After only five hours there though it was time to catch a train to Lisbon, which was uneventful enough, aside from being evicted from my seat, and the scenery was pretty amazing having never been that far south before - I can't say I'm accustomed to seeing fields of orange trees. I got into Lisbon quite late, and decided to leave exploring until the next day.
Either I missed something with Lisbon, or it was missing something itself - things just never really clicked, and by 2pm on the first afternoon I felt like I'd seen everything it had to offer, which shouldn't be the case in a capital city. I spent the day just walking around the city, and climbed up to the old castle ruins which provided an oddly underwhelming view across the whole city and the river.
I did though get the chance to witness a rather spectacular, and quite unexplained, military parade by what appeared to be (worryingly) child soliders. So that was nice.
So as result of feeling I'd exhausted central Lisbon, at 3pm I decided to walk to the little district of Belem, 6kms away, and I'm so glad that I did. Walking along the river was just lovely and Belem itself so such a contrast to Lisbon proper, it just seemed much more full of life and laid back. the fact that it has what is reputed to be Portugal's best custard tarts was naturally quite a draw as well.
The next day (after stopping by Belem for more custard tarts), I decamped to the nearby hill-top town of Sintra which Lonely Planet listed as the 'star' place in Portugal. It was raining, and I didn't really know what to expect, but as impulse decisions go, it has to be one of the best I've made. It was spectacular. The town is loomed over by a Palace and a ruined castle high up on the hill tops and I immediately resolved to climb up there, and equally quickly found myself sitting on a bus up instead. The town itself was pretty, but from at the top of the castle, it was stunning.
On the one side you could see Lisbon, and on the other you could see over the town all the way to the Atlantic. It was terribly windy, but that just added to everything. I had a lovely walk down through the forests at sunset before making my way back to Lisbon ready to move onto Spain the next day.
I now have to go and tend to some bread that I'm baking, but I will be back at some point with the Spanish instalment.
01/03/2007
An Iberian Impulse
Having only got back to Utrecht six days ago I'm now off again. What started out in my mind as a small trip to Gibraltar has expanded somewhat (mainly under the bad influence of Lonely Planet's guide to Western Europe!) to become a ten-day holiday to Portugal, Spain, Morocco and Gibraltar.
Early tomorrow morning I'm flying out to Faro in Portugal and spending the day there before heading up to Lisbon for two days. I'm then moving into Spain to spend two days in Seville from where I'm going to Tarifa to catch a ferry to Tangier in Morocco. From there I'm going to Gibraltar for two days before ending up in Malaga and flying back to Amsterdam a week on Monday. Or rather, I should say, that's the plan. I have a page of scrawled notes with possible bus and train times, but they're all based on Babelfish translations, and refer to local services that I can't book ahead. I don't speak any Portuguese, Spanish or Moroccan either.
So, here's hoping that it all comes together and I end up where I expect to!
Early tomorrow morning I'm flying out to Faro in Portugal and spending the day there before heading up to Lisbon for two days. I'm then moving into Spain to spend two days in Seville from where I'm going to Tarifa to catch a ferry to Tangier in Morocco. From there I'm going to Gibraltar for two days before ending up in Malaga and flying back to Amsterdam a week on Monday. Or rather, I should say, that's the plan. I have a page of scrawled notes with possible bus and train times, but they're all based on Babelfish translations, and refer to local services that I can't book ahead. I don't speak any Portuguese, Spanish or Moroccan either.
So, here's hoping that it all comes together and I end up where I expect to!
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