TRAVELING: Holy Cow!

While writing on a recent post on driving a motorbike around India (here you go if you missed it: MOTORBIKE: The Indian Experience), I felt that this topic deserved a side post.

Sacred cows blocking traffic are as much an Indian cliché as curry, the Bindi (red dot on forehead) and plotless Bollywood movies. And every cliché is based on a more or less distant fact.

With the cows, the cliché and the fact are so close that I don’t know where the cliché came in. They are everywhere. At the beach, in the toilet, blocking the entrance to a business, and, of course, on the road. Everywhere but on some nice piece of grassland, where cows actually would belong.

Why, you might ask. Well, I shouted the same question many times while hitting the breaks and making a circle around the holy beasts, till across this explanation in a guidebook:

Apparently several factors are important.
First, Hindus don’t eat beef. In fact, most of them are vegetarians. At the same time, however, they consume a lot of dairy products (most famous, my beloved mango lassi), hence the need for milk cows. These cows are therefore held to a big part in private homes to satisfy the need for milk, until the cow stops producing milk due to her age. At this point, keeping (and feeding) the cow becomes a ruinous business. Killing the sacred animal, of course, is off the table, and to make matters worse, a cow dying in a house is considered bad luck and if it happens, the owner of the home should visit temples all over the country and then feed all the beggar monks of his village to undo the spell.

The simple solution: Set the cows free and let mother nature take care of them.

But why the hell do they linger on the roads and not on lush greens India has to offer. According to the guidebook, 1) the feed of garbage (fruit and vegetable peelings etc.), 2) the carbon emissions from traffic keeps away flies, and 3) wait for it… the cows get high from the fumes. Yes, high! So next time you hit the breaks it might as well be because of a holy cow having chosen the main road intersection for her next trip. Only in India.

cows of a holy tree

charity customs

the white ones are the holiest, but they don’t wanna be blessed

mysterious purple cow

blocking the entrance

MOTORBIKE: The Indian Experience

It so happened that I would find myself in India, the worlds largest democracy, land of spices and 33 million gods. More precisely in Goa on the subcontinent’s West coast, where the main language is Russian, and red skinned expats will tell you how they found the meaning of life through a mixture of meditation, narcotic drugs and tattooing sanskrit symbols on their bodies (ask about the Swastika to trigger the default response on how the Nazis hijacked the symbol).

Having paid tribute to the Gods of cynicism, let us embark on a journey through this very colourful (and hot) part of the world.

First lets get a vehicle.

Among the lose cannon scooters I was surprised to find an excellent quality, Austrian made DUKE 200 KTM street (naked) bike (after research back home, KTM has a factory in India, which produces for this market). Not the best choice for the bumpy roads, but it would proof very reliable. Also, the rent of about 150 Dollars a month added to greatly to its value.

Now lets talk about the route. To be honest, I drove the bike, but other than that I didn’t do much of the planning and left that to my better side who has been dealing with this country for some months.
So we went South to some more pristine beaches, then East for some picturesque waterfalls and a marvellous ruin city of past Hindu grandeur. Then back again. Took about three weeks to explore this tiny fraction of the country.

So lets drive! This is my favourite way to explore a new culture.

First, lets get away with the clichés: Cows on the road
Yes, there are cows on the road. Yes, there are many. Yes, they stand in the most impossibly stupid location and block traffic. Yes, they are sacred and tampering with them is a (criminal?) offence. Wanna know more? Check out this little side post here.

Sacred Traffic.

Now lets talk about driving customs. Yeah, yeah, relax, I will tell you that driving in India is crazy. Like any other place in the world that features a lot of motorised people and is not Europe or North America. And for us mainland Europeans, yes they do drive on the left.

Is it impossibly crazy to drive in India?

Nope, unless you are deadly allergic to traffic jams or honking horns.

Also, some kind advice. India does issue driving license, however, the odds that they are checked by the authorities are rather slim, with the result that ownership of a vehicle basically becomes your driving permit.

That said, it is probably a bad idea to follow this rule as a tourist, and drive a vehicle that you would not be allowed to at home. But go ahead and try it out and join all my fellow acquaintances with bandages over their knees, elbows, fingers, toes who still believe firmly that a midsize motorbike is equivalent to fast bicycle.

Rule of thumb for driving in India: Do what everybody else does (with few exceptions).

1. Drive on the left. höö höö höö, I have my funny moments. 😀

2. Honk the horn! At every corner. For every vehicle you pass. Seriously honk! One “beep” is enough. While in Europe the horn usually means something like “get your motherfucking ass out of the motherfucking intersection you motherfucking piece of shit!”, in India it is common practice and means something like: “Sir, I intend to pass your vehicle shortly, just in case you have not noticed me at this point, please do not engage in any passing manoeuvre yourself in order to avoid collision.”

“Blow OK Horn”

3. Avoid the police. These are rumours, and we were never stopped at any checkpoint. Indians, so it is known, get beaten by the police with sticks for no apparent reason. Tourists, on the other hand, get fined for the same (nonexistent reason) and will have to bribe themselves out of the situation. Apparently this is the proper way to address this nuisance on a motorbike: Drive a half circle around the policemen who signals you to stop, while your passenger waves his hands and shouts “No photo, please!”. I gonna try this at home.

4. Hit the break for speed bumps. They are nasty and are in the most impossible locations. At the entrance of a village. I get it. In front of a school. Makes sense. At a crosswalk. Fair enough. Miles of nothingness and empty road, slight turn, BAMM! speed bump. The plague on the moron who poured the line of concrete there!

Its not so hard. Malinka stunning the locals. For her impressions on driving in India, read here and here.

Now are some issues I couldn’t get myself to understand the point of view of the locals (and some fellow tourists):

1. Protection. Yeah, I get it. Its hot. Its very hot. You need to go to the market or wanna jump in the ocean to cool off and in either occasion a full on motorbike armoury seems like a pleasant idea. Well, alright, go get your scooter, just drive carefully. At least wear shoes…no flip-flops are not shoes. Whatever, you know what? Don’t wear shoes. Then slam the breaks at 40 km/h because of some high cow in the middle of the road, realise that you need your foot to avoid tipping over, burn and break everything that can be burned or broken, go to the hospital, cure it out and show off your badass bandage. Then wear shoes.

As much as I like to excuse small distant scooter travellers for their lack of enthusiasm to wear protection, if your motorbike has a serious engine and you are driving around 100 km/h on the freeway, seeing you in swim shorts/bikini/sari paired with flip-flops (or bare footed!) makes cringe in pain! Fall once and the asphalt will do to your skin what the cheese grater does to cheese. You don’t need to go fast. Just depends on how much grated cheese you need.

Dude, I got it if you don’t want to buy expensive stuff. But don’t tell me you bought a bike and still don’t own a pair of jeans, sneakers and a jacket.

Helmet, Jacket, Pants and Shoes. Didn’t have to take any up a loan for this.

As of helmets. I get it, its a developing country and people might not want to invest in a helmet (btw for 10 bucks its sent to your Indian home, just google it). Also, its hot. And its uncomfortable. All good, still I wear my helmet, but I understand.
What was that? The law requires the driver to wear a helmet and the police will fine you if you don’t, which is why you are carrying a helmet with you to put on just in case you are stopped and even installed a mount on your motorbike where you can attach this helmet so you don’t have to hold it? You are a very, very, special kind of stupid.

2. Alcohol and narcotics. Goa is famous for it. And if you decided to drive under influence, go for it, nobody is gonna stop you. If you end up in a tree, I’m pretty sure you knew about the risk. That would be, if you are the only one affected of course. I swear if you are taking someone with you (pedestrian, passenger or other driver) there is no mercy for you whether you continue on this or the other side.

3. Driving with high beams at night. This I just don’t get. During the day, I usually drive with the standard lights (as it is required pretty much all over Europe) and everybody signals me that my light is on. At night, I have the same lights on, and everybody else decides to use their high beams as soon as the sun sets. Why? No idea. It doesn’t help much as for visibility — you wanna check the road in front of you for potholes, not the tree 100m down the road for monkeys, and its gonna shine into the face of every oncoming vehicle. I had cars shinning into my face with four lights. Two high beams and two fog lights. Fog lights. On the Goan beach. I’m pretty sure you have no clue what their acutal purpose are.
I’m usually a patient driver but this pisses me off. So if in recent time, you saw a guy on a motorbike in the Goa area, driving around flashing the light and aggressively honking the horn and flipping people off, that was me. Sorry. Idiots.

So that was it for driving so far. The different places and particularities will come in different posts. India features some beautiful open roads if you go inland a bit and some are very well maintained (while others should not be called roads).

Drive safe and be patient. Its worth it!

PS: On the last day we got the motorbike down to the beach to cruse where the sand meets the water. At speeds up to 60 km/h, alternatively hoping over small dunes and hitting the end of a wave, this was long on the list and a certain favourite. 

TRAVELING: The Jerusalem Syndrome

So I finally made up on my promise to take my mum to a city trip for her 50th birthday and as she happens to chose Jerusalem to be our destination, this would almost count as a pilgrimage if we were to care about established religion. Nevertheless, the holy sites are a must.

And they attract the nutters as light does the mosquitos!

First of, an elderly French-German couple at the Basel airport with the same destination. Crucified Jesus around the neck. The smalltalk the rhetoric equivalent of valium, mixed with paternal nativity, and bad breath. A good heart for sure, but just not my cup of tea. Later in Israel, while taking up the offer to share a cab ride with three Palestinian businessmen we met on the plane, the excitement based on our inevitable prejudice is rather refreshing.

Second day hostel breakfast: Middle aged American woman. Crucified Jesus around the neck. Has been in volunteering in Israel for 10+ years. Found Jesus. Super happy. It seems their default setting that those people just won’t shut up about it. Nothing against getting to know people or a good story but if for the last hour of breakfast you narrated an autobiography in three volumes while I tried to escape by plundering the buffet maybe make a period.

The advantage of the next group is, they won’t talk to you. At all. And they are even more easily recognised. Black hat and suit, white shirt, a big beard,  and of course the long threads of (braided?) hair from the temples.

Ultra-Orthodox Jews are quite a character!

And they are everywhere! Very present in the streets of New Jerusalem and they multiply as we approach the old city. The walk on the historic wall leads us to the first main religious site: The Wailing Wall.

The deal with this Western part of the Temple Mount (we will come to that) is that it is allegedly (quite surely actually) the only remaining part of the Jewish Temple that once dominated the city of Jerusalem in Biblical times. For Jews around the world it is the number one spiritual place and you can find little pieces of papers (prayers?) between its stones.

The Western Wall

So security checkpoint (think airport), men and women separated. I approach the wall, a white   “Kippa” on my head (baby pancake shaped hat). Something heavy lies on it, especially when reciting the fate of these people during the last two millennia.

Now black and white dominates. The “men’s wall” extends into a cave where believer pray and read from the Torah. Leader bands around their arms, mumbling and rock back and forth a chair or walking through the room. I just sit down and watch. The ambience surely is something special but dead serious. Some Arab workers are repairing the wooden library.

Then my little saviours. A young father of about 30 had taken his son (about 5) to the place and in a whispering tone explains him the meaning of this place. The kid is quite curious to look down to the old fundaments through a glass floor. As I walk by, the father looks up quite embarrassed because conversation is forbidden on this spiritual site. I look at him and at the kid and smile and as he recognises me as a tourist and that I find his son’s curiosity more important than the religious rules he smiles back. This was the first and so far only integration with these very particular group of people.

Next of: The Muslims of the Temple Mount

The Temple Mount hosting the Dome of the Rock (the place where the Prophet supposedly ascended to heaven) and the al-Aqsa Mosque is probably the hardest place to get to in Jerusalem, at least if you are not Muslim. Two Intifadas, changing administration and public admission has left this in my opinion most beautiful site with an imperfect compromise when it comes to visitor’s admission. Two and a half lonely hours, one in the morning and one at noon has hundreds of tourists line up at the security checkpoint at the wooden bridge, a separate improvised entrance away from the Muslim believers.

Dome of the Rock on the Temple Mount

It’s defiantly worth the wait though. The golden dome of the shrine over the rock, according to Jewish tradition where Abraham intended to sacrifice his son, is breathtaking and the gardens around invite for leisure. Unfortunately, non-Muslims are not allowed inside. Ask politely at the entrance. I witnessed in other holy Muslim sites that a friendly guard or religious authority might take you inside if you show genuine interest and respect.

The hour passes quickly and the guards are eager to kick us out again. Leaving the picnicking Muslim families, school classes and Japanese tourist groups behind we end up in the busy streets of the Muslim Quarter.

After trying the “best Falafel of the city, we are off to the only religious site, which remains in protestant hands:

The Garden Tomb

Historically it is quite doubtful that this tomb actually served as Jesus’ grave, but this doesn’t bare busloads of American tourists in their 70ties to flood the place following their pastor and holding mass in the simple and quite pretty garden. Bible Belt par excellence. I don’t want to judge. Well alright fuck it, I cannot not write that; all due respect to religiosity but on the extreme end you always find a bunch of morons. Same crap, different outfit, different story and its always a lucky bet if they take the road into nativity instead of violent extremism.

Let me get out of here before I go into tactless religious jokes. I was at the brink at walking up to a group of about 30 Americans to tell that that I am in fact the saviour who has come back for the final judgement.

 

Its time for the Jerusalem Syndrome!

With great amusement I read about this recognised medical condition in our guidebook where visitors of Jerusalem, overwhelmed by the spirituality of the place, start to identify as biblical characters. From the “mother” who tried to walk over to Palestinian Bethlehem to take care after baby Jesus, over…., to the guy who was “told by God” to prepare for Jesus’s return by ridding the Temple Mount of all non-Christian monument and setting fire to the Dome of the Rocks.  Jerusalem has a special mental institution to treat these guys; namely send them home after determining they are harmless. Apparently, the illness wears of after a couple of weeks at home and is a very embarrassing incident for the patients which they are not to eager to talk about. While in their character, however, it is impossible to reason them back out of their vision.

Last stop is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

We are tired and every Christian sect that has a say in the church tells their monks, priests, and pastors to burn as much scent as possible. Apparently, its build on the site of Christ’s crucifixion and you can follow the last four steps of the Via Dolorosa (the Passion). Even better: Standing in line at the wooden centrepiece I ask my very excited neighbour whats inside. “Jesus’ tomb!” he exclaims. Ignorance is bliss. My mum skipped it entirely because she got a headache.

Jesus’ Tomb: The important thing is that he is not in there.

 

I decide not to play Jesus. In the end, some fanatics will nail me up and debate which tradition we they should follow for the suffering.

Jerusalem surely is a spiritual place, but I rather leave the praying, bowing, and crying to others while enjoying the sunset atmosphere from labyrinth-like roofs of this Oriental City.

 

Rooftops: Good Night Jerusalem

Our Little Guesthouse: Fiverr Logo

After using it now and there and being positively surprised when traveling myself, I decided to refurnish my more or less empty room of my childhood home and post it on AirBnB in May 2015.

Not going too much into details – its going unexpectedly well, guests keep coming and after paying off the investments, add some small sums to mine and my dad’s pay check. Its fun!

Then, after expanding our facilities a bit, we decided to make a logo for our humble guesthouse.

Not not very artistic with brush, colours and the like, I thought it might be better to leave the creative process to others. Now brainstorming sessions with family and friends follow.

Here some first concept art by very talented artist Veronika:)

If you wonder what the deal with the flower is. Its an “Edelweiss”, sort of the national flower of Switzerland. “Edelweiss” among many other names made it to the finals.

The only one rolling his eyes over the name decision is my brother who worked for “Edelweiss Airlines”, the Swiss holiday airlines. The running gag now is the complain that they stole our logo whenever he pulls out a red-white gadget with the flower.

Anyway, the concept art needed to be turned into a readable logo.

Here is how far my rudimentary photoshop skills got me:

 

Not far. Asking my other brother who had worked in web design for help, he forwarded to it to one of his former colleagues. Some weeks passed.

Instead of a logo, I got the recommendation to try out “Fiverr”.

Never heard of it. Interesting though! For five dollars the internet pretty much does whatever you want, provided it can be sent by email. Text editing, a business plan, some rap verses, business card designs, your name replacing the Hollywood sign, and… BAMM! A business logo.

Actually there are hundreds of guys telling me they will make an amazing logo for five bucks. As any lazy guy, lets get the one with the top rating. He promises two logos for the price. Nice. His profile says he’s from India. Lets try.

Now here starts the fun part. This is what I wrote with my order:

         I’m looking the create a logo for our AirBnB/Guesthouse/Bed & Breakfast in Switzerland. Its quite              small.

         We want to call it “edelweiss guesthouse” (or just “edelweiss”?), is a swiss flower
         a friend of mine drew [the logos above, I sent a dropbox link]

         personally i like the flower over the swiss map (swiss flower 1+2), main colors red and white but you          are the expert so work freely! 🙂
         thanks

 

Tadda! Some 12-20 hours later, first results follow.

Uhm.. yeah well.
At now point in this Blog I want to appear ungrateful. I kinda expected the perfect logo out of now where. Looks like a beer brand. And the colour has to change. Red, brown and green? Really. To be fair, these colours were in the drawings.

Lets send it back and give some additional instructions

      Hi there,

      that was fast, thank you! I like “39829_edelweiss_Logo_AV_MOCKUP1” especially your concept of           the flower.

      A few things changed if you dont mind:
      – I’m not to fond of the colors. I want to capitalize on the “Switzerland” brand, so the main colors                 should  be red and white. maybe black for outlines and yellow for details but there i’m not sure how it         would look.

      – the “edelweiss guesthouse” without capital letters.

       – can you put a hint/concept of the map of switzerland in the back, like my friend did with the logo?            mb simplyfied with sharp edges… doesnt have to be 1to1 but that customers get the hint that we are a        Swiss guesthouse

       the file attached shows the original idea… just it should be more abstract

       thanks, great work!

Waiting 12-20 hours:

Yeah. Not quite. You googled Switzerland and put the map in the background. How do I get this guy to consider all the points I write? Back to India it goes.

     Hi there,

      thank you! i think we are getting there step by step.

       a few things though:

      – drop the green and brown with the letters.. i think its to heavy. also might try a cursive font?

      – also the map of switzerland is to heavy/bold.. i think it might look better if its just the outline of the          map as i wrote in my previous mail. maybe in red and simplfied edges and then the flower as a                    contrast.

     – also the interaction between text and image should be more dynamic… we are a young and casual            enterprise, it is a bit too formal now

      thanks a lot! looking forward to see the changes!

Again some 12-20 hours later (its the automatic reply message from the guy saying he will make the changes within 12-20 hours).

 

Dude seriously. Do you even read my mail. There is like five points, why do you think I’m happy if you just change one? and still green and brown! Lets numerate the points, maybe then they will be considered.

Made the guy a scetch too (sorry for the bad quality)

Hi there,

      hmm the logo is not bad but I saw you did not yet implement the changes, just the outline of the map…

      i made a scetch of what i have in my mind, please take a look.

      1. the map should be red and simplified to a edgy shape which is still the map of switzerland but more       artistic.

      2. the flower in contrasting colors to the map (black, white, yellow)

      3. the text:
      – change the colors so they match the logo, brown and green doesnt work
      – make it interact with the logo, for example if the map is bigger, part of the name could be in the map       and the map will be “broken”

      thanks a lot, looking forward to the changes

 

Now lets see if it worked:

Hey not bad at all! Numerating the desired changes worked. Now I somehow need to get the guy to depart from the default map. Then its just gonna be some minor adjustments. Here we go.

      Hi there,

      thank you, it looks a lot better!

      so few more things:

      1. in the last mail i asked if you can re-draw the map of switzerland. now it is the accurate and actual         map of switzerland. that is god for geography and stuff but i want a more futuristic logo. So just                 imagine you are Picasso and draw the map with straight lines and very sharp edges. Kind of like in           the scetch that I sent you last time. Can you do that? I think it would look great.

      2. the flower is good like this. Just a little bit bigger and a tiny bit higher up in the map.

      3. i also think the map of Switzerland should be interupted for the letters and the flower

      thanks a lot! I’m looking forward to see the changes!!

 

Another estimate of 12-20 hours:

Yes! He did it! Thats about what I had in mind. Now just some minor adjustments (am I being to picky? I mean what you expect for 5 Dollars, but it was still a purchase). So….

     Hey cool!

     thats exactly how I imagined!

     okay one more little change if I may ask:

     in the bottom left corner of the map, the edges do not seem clean. Can you straighten that up?
     also on the right side, that one part is round, can you make it with corners?

     thats it i think… also can you send me one version where the writing stays like this and one where both      parts (edelweiss and guesthouse) are in black?

     i think afterwards we have a super cool logo 🙂

     thanks a lot!

And here we go!

I think we that we can be happy, what do you think?

I guess it took some mutual patience, but at last we have our logo. Definitely a recommend for Fiverr.

TRAVELING: The Business with Business Class

I had my first flight when I was about five years old to Lanzarote with my father and two younger brothers. What I remember of this is continuously leaving my seat and getting to the back of the plane because apparently the stewardess had an unlimited supply of sodas stored back there.

My first flight alone was to the United States 14 years later. Clicking the confirmation button for the 20 hour flight on the booking site gave me an adrenaline kick as if I was about to bungee-jump.

I started to count the flights I made on this trip. Each leg, and then to Central America. A couple of years later, as flights added up, I lost track. It must be around 100 take-offs and landings. Ryanair & Co. made it possible.

But yet never ever have I flown in Business Class.

There are tales of free upgrades on overbooked flights. I got my hopes up in Salt Lake City in 2010, when the connection to Portland was overbooked. But all what the staff was looking for were passengers who would yield their seats for a compensation in about 500$ in airline credit. After a missed connection in New York and 48+ hours on the road I was not in the mood.

Alternatively, of course a Business upgrade can be booked and paid for. As a budged traveler this never crossed my mind. 4000$+ for the flight on review. I live have a year for that money!

The third option is, well, you work in the branch or know someone who does. My brother did an internship at  Edelweiss Air, a small upper class holiday airlines , and he has flown “stand-by” all around the world for mostly just the airport taxes. Often with Business upgrade.

I’m not to familiar with the rules, but apparently sometimes an extra passenger can be take on the trip. He took me to Fuerteventura and Sri Lanka this way a couple of years ago for some rad surfing vacation.

The flight last week from Zurich to Tampa, Florida was a similar arrangement. My brother paid the few bucks extra on his standby to get to and almost empty Business Class. I got Economy Max. More leg space. I’m not complaining. The price was a bargain.

The more the surprise when just after boarding he came back to my seat, told me to hush and said his friend (the head flight attendant) said I could join the Business Class club.

Hell yeah! So lets see what all the tales are about!

First, infinite space. Your neck hurts when sleeping with the cheeks on the wall or the chin in your hand? Worry no more! The cushion business seat has three modes: Take-off/Landing (normal seat), Lounge, and full on Bed. Fully automatic of course and I felt stupid looking for these primitive knobs that let you adjust the seat in the peasant rows (and which Ryanair abandoned completely).

Did I mention the seat also has a “Massage” button?

The culinary part starts with a glass of champagne and a glass absinthe wormwood almonds.

Even before take off, a menu is handed out to choose the main, which was served right after take off. I chose the beef steak with assorted vegetables and Caprese salad, which came after a starter of salmon on horseradish foam. Wine flew freely, of course, and by the way,please forget the plastic cutlery.

Not big fans, me and my brother skipped the cheese course, on this particular flight served by former Mister Switzerland Renzo Blumental, now a manufacturer of organic cheese. We almost lost it!

The desert was more like it. Pie, mousse au chocolate and sweet wine.

Massage lounge cushion seat and Champagne.

The ten-hour flight passed comparably fast. I switched to “lounge” position and chose to watch Shaun the Sheep on the entertainment system. Then, I fully reclined and slept for the rest of the flight, only waking up for a cup of tea and smoked roast beef shortly before landing in Tampa.

King in the Castle. Very Nice! 😀

Thanks brother!

TRAVELING: Montezuma’s Revenge

“ALLAHU AKBAR!”

Its dark, about 4am. In one hand I’m holding my cellphone for some light, with the other I push against the wall so I don’t fall over while squatting over the hole in the ground.

You guessed it. Back to the toilet, Arab style. For about the fifth time this night.

“ALLAHUUUUUUUU AKBAR!” it calls again from the nearby mosque. Time for prayer? Well, if we are at it can this annoying case of food poisoning miraculously leave then?

I’m lucky though. My friend is off way worse. To me it makes a lot of difference if you got to vomit, too, or not. This time, I don’t.

But let us start at the beginning.

The previous day started quite normal, considering we are on the road in Morocco (it could be any country for that matter though). Getting up early, packing up the tent in the desert. Then a way to long drive to the mountains. Getting some breakfast on the way as soon as the floor becomes less sandy and solid again. Some tea and an omelet like it seems to be the standard sample in this country.

Oh but that goddamn bloody omelet!

About 18 hours it punches its way back out through my body. I manage to keep my mouth shut. My friend is less lucky. But it blows over. This one was quick, just a night (and a day for my friend).

I remember way worse episodes.

Well, its part of it, isn’t it? I bet any traveler to a foreign country tries to suppress that one or the other memory of a night spent in the bathroom because there was too much confidence put in his or her stomach on how it would handle the local cuisine.

Bogotá 2011, I remember buying some meatballs off the streets and then lying for day. Still cringe at the thought of these bastards! Family holiday 2009 in Sharm-es-Sheik was worse. My stomach knew nothing back then and the resort’s fish restaurant did quite a good job pointing that out. Ever felt challenged on how quick you can turn on a toilet bowl depending on which way dinner forces its way out? Then totter back to bed wrung out like a sponge, trying the impossible of getting some sleep over the stinging stomach pain, only to run back to the bathroom the next minute?

Yeah, we’ve all been there.

But whats it to do then? As with almost any for of inconvenience there are always two remedies: prevention and reducing the damage. Each method on one side of the little unwelcome episode.

With the traveler’s disease this is effectively reduced to watching out on what you eat (and drink!) and carrying some basic meds.

My advice, which might not fit you, is not to overdo either of them.

I know friends who spent months of traveling surviving on soda cans and cereal bars from home. Really? You are willing to miss out of all the amazing local food because of the chance of an extended bathroom trip?

Be careful alright. If “fresh” meat has been carried around the beach all day till it finds a buyer, maybe go for a banana instead. Take a look around the restaurant before you sit down. Is the food you are going to eat on display for an unknown time already? A chef once told me that a trip to the bathroom reveals the sanitary condition of the kitchen, too.

With water is easy and cheap to stay on the safe side and just go for the bottled option. If you are paranoid enough, check if the lid is still sealed as some street crocks try to make easy money by refilling used bottles (Paris, Montmartre 2013).

Usually there is nothing wrong with tap water though. Check a guidebook, they will know. As a rule of thumb, mountain regions are usually with cleaner water than coastal areas. Moroccans drink from the tap, Cubans boil it first and put it in the fridge and Mexicans (and even more so American tourists) make a big circle around anything coming out of the rotten pipe system. Just copy what the locals do. It won’t kill you

Oh and all the fuss about not buying ice for your drink. I think its crap, but then again I’m not too fond about the rocks in my water, either. That’s up to you.

Mediation is also the key with medications.

Going to Mexico, I once got the advice to take a daily antibiotic to get the extra internal fauna out of my system and keep the ghost of the last Aztec king at bay . Antibiotics! Just in case…I’m convinced that this actually damages your body more than a whole week of extended bathroom activity does.

Something to calm you stomach is more than enough. Maybe store some emergency antibiotics if you get a really serious case. But then again I’m not your doctor. Go ask him. Just don’t make it the center of your travels. And if you are not complete away from civilization, you will be amazed how ill-guided your views on foreign health system have been.

In the Moroccan episode I tied taking activated carbon the first time. All the crunchy black thing does is binding liquids in your stomach and intestines, which means you can dig in at the next meal already without fearing to loose it all to the porcelain bowl minutes after. The only side effect: a lot of  gas in your system.

With the third “ALLAHU AKBAR!” I’m going back to bed trying to get some sleep… my stomach will be fine tomorrow.

Safe travels.

 

Picture Credit: URL: http://tmblr.co/Zpt8dn1MUTh8I

FOOD & DRINK: Moroccan Mint Tea

Never really falling for the black caffeine shots, my interests have naturally developed an affection for the alternative world of teas. Some influence from the British Isles then have left a good brew of Earl Grey with milk and one spoon of sugar as a standard (I don’t give a damn if the milk goes in before or after the tea, I’m happy if I manage to boil the water early morning).

A kettle of less strong variety (usually green) in the afternoon or evening then completes the daily routine. Open leaves, of course, since the investment in a proper pot who has proven worth every cent.

Sometimes, however, I feel very adventurous and try out something exotic.

Well, I admit, Moroccan mint tea is not that exotic and a trip to the supermarket will get you a pack of Lipton with the exact three words printed on.

In the country that claims origin, however, things are a bit different.

Tea is everywhere. A typical Moroccan breakfast consists of bread, honey butter and – you guessed it – tea.

When you first take a seat in one of the many of the country’s cafés and ordering “thé à la menthe” you might be all but disappointed and that’s not because of the missing teabag.

The presentation is lovely, nothing to complain there. A little steaming hot tin kettle, a three-sip glass cup in the color of the day, saucer, spoon and extra sugar.

A simpler variation but with view!

That was the upper end. Some brasseries will just serve you the plain glass filled with tea and various amounts of green stuff inside.

A sip of either of them leaves you with a minor sugar shock and a sudden need for water. For someone who never artificially sweetens green tea, this tastes just like a bad sirupy joke.

The presumably street smart tourist will then proceed to ask for “sans sucre” (without sugar) or “sucre separé” (sugar aside). This in turn will reveal you how hopelessly overbrewed the whole mixture is and leaves you with a very bitter taste in your mouth. That lump of sugar on the saucer suddenly becomes very attractive again. Go ahead, I dumped it in, too. I mean we paid for it right?

So I keep ordering tea in hope for a good sample. And I keep getting disappointed.

I’m upset. This is a land of tea and I’m constantly served some hardly drinkable sugar broth. I tried many places, believe me and I was as much delighted every time I saw the cliche teapot with the cups on the silver plate as I was disappointed when I took the first sip.

The exceptions were rare but are worth mentioning. If you are lucky and get invited to a family home in the more traditional mountain and desert regions of the country, you are very likely to be served an excellent taste. Some small scale coffee places might surprise you as well. Just steer clear of the big barrels where the tea sits on low fire all day.

One of the better samples in Essouira

The question rises why a good cup is so rare in a country, where tea belongs to the image as much as camels and carpets. An explanation I was given is that the sweet mixture is the outcome of the traditional preparation ritual. I won’t argue with traditions and I just couldn’t help wondering if such a daily sugar overdose does anything good.

The other explanation: Moroccans like it this way. Really? Well, I won’t argue about this either..

My solution? I ended up making it myself.

Here is the traditional way of preparation a friend shared with me:

Boil water. Keep the green tea in a different pot. Pure boiling water over the green tea and keep cooking till the leaves open. This washes the tea and gets out the bitterness (yes, some good thinking there). Throw the water out and repeat several times.

Once washed, cook the green on low fire for a longer period of time. Then add sugar and the mint or whatever herb you prefer. This doesn’t cook long anymore and the mixture can be filled in a kettle soon.

After staying in the pot for a bit, the procedure of pouring tea into a cup and then back into the kettle is repeated several times. Whether this is mixing the tea, adding oxygen, or merely providing the waiter/host an opportunity to show off  how high he can pour the tea without spilling it, I leave to your judgement.

To complicated?

Get some green tea and mint leaves, put it in a kettle that you rinsed with boiling water, then pour the hot water from the cooker (about 80 degrees with green tea, never boiling, almost and but black gets bitter). Let stay about five minutes till the leaves open.

Enjoy!

HOW TO: Haggle in an Arab Souk

The art of haggling belongs to the streets of any Arab market (souk) as the camel does into the desert (on review, such a lame comparison… suggest something in the comments and I will change it). For Morocco as well, guidebooks and travel agencies will advertise the experience of negotiating a price as one of the perks of traveling to the African Orient.

A few points ahead before I share my first hardcore haggling experience:

The rule of thumb that you should finally pay about a third of the initial quoted price is crap. First, this might work exactly as long as only Western tourists know about this “rule” and none of the local shopkeepers — basically you assume being ahead of their livelong business experience while in vacation mode.

Second, if you walk into a food market in your board shorts and try to pay 30 cents for a 1€ water bottle you either be the laughing stock of the street or the shopkeeper will more or less polite advise you to get your water elsewhere.

Another thing is to view the whole process as a way to make both parties happy with the transaction. That means, you should more or less have an idea how much you want to pay for that wooden camel/water pipe/carpet. The friendly fellow having said item on display will try to sell as high as possible, however, will be happy if the wooden camel/water pipe/carpet goes on a lower price. Never ever(!) will he sell under the value he purchased. Guaranteed. So don’t feel bad, even if you think you are the caliph of the souk, you will not rip him off.

On the other hand, don’t feel bad if you find that your buddy just bought the same item for half the price somewhat down the street. No, nobody cheated you. You were happy with your purchase and willing to pay the price you paid, remember? Seller and buyer were happy with the transaction. That was the point of the whole haggling and you might have even been offered a cup of tea to keep energized until you meet in the middle of your price ideas. The situation of your friend somewhat down the street was a completely different play. So instead of trying to get everything as cheap as possible, know what you want to pay and otherwise leave it. Do you really need a third pair of Berber moccasins?

These things said, let me take you to Marrakech, home to one of the most vibrant souks in the Arab world and known for quite persistent shopkeepers.

The day I decided to go souvenir shopping, I first bought a leather notebook for 7€ to write down what happens. He wanted 12€, I wanted 5€. I was happy, he was happy. Equipped and matured in experience I launched myself into the jewellery district. My travel companion’s birthday was coming up and a pair of earrings or a bracelet seemed a suitable present as well as easy to pack and transport instead of lets say a full on Moroccan tea set.

So, first task: Don’t buy crap.

I’m not very good with shiny things as I lack them in my own wardrobe, however, if something is falling apart when you touch it and the initial price is 10€, its probably not worth 1€ or even the space it will take in your bag. No thanks.

Lets us look at pieces behind glass. The additional security — necessary or not — make them seem more expensive. As usual, the shopkeeper assures me I’m looking at top quality, i.e. silver and emeralds. Could I tell if something is made of silver and emeralds? Not really (shouldn’t there be a stamp or something?). Would I recognize a blunt iron or tin piece? Yes. Perfect.

So now we got all that. I have two or three pairs of earrings in my hand that look nice and are probably of decent quality. Nothing fancy or too precious, but still a nice gift and pretty to wear.

Your typical shop in the Souk.

Now comes the hardest part: The price!

Should I ask or suggest a price? I ask. 380Dhs (38€). And of course he will make a special price for “mon ami” (my friend): 10Dhs (1€) less. Uhm nope.

I know that’s not a real price. Think. Would you pay half? Now much would you pay at home if no haggling was involved. I decide that its about 100Dhs (10€) worth to me.

He asks me to make a counteroffer. I just ignore it and look at some other pieces. Was that rude? I bet he has seen it all. I tell him its far too much.

“Tell me a fair price!” he says.

Dont’t. He will come down on his own if I let him hang for a bit and maybe talk a little about silver and the future purpose of the piece as a present. As it ought to be the perfect gift, of course, I assure him that I took a whole day off and intend to visit every shop in Marrakech to find the perfect piece and compare over and over again.

Surprisingly, I just happen to stumble into the shop with “the finest jewellery in the whole town”, one thing our friend (I should have asked his name) is damn sure about.

“Give me a price.” he insists.

Nope. We are not going to play your game. I will have to say my price of 10€ vs. 38€ and after a while we would meet in the middle. 24€ for a piece where I cannot verify its quality? No way. 10€ it is. But lets not tell him yet.

At this point, any other conversation (all in French) is impossible as it is steadily interrupted more and more desperate (and loud) “Donne-moi un prix!” (Give me a price!) or “Combien tu veux payer?” (How much do you want to pay?).
No answer.

Really? You lose your ground that easily? Or have you seen this a million times already and just let me believe I got you? I should have taken some psychology classes. My strategy of silence seems to be working. After about 20mins of talking, he has still no clue how much I would be willing to pay, just that 38€ is “far too much”.

I’m starting to enjoy this!

I tell him that I would go look around and compare some other places and think about it. I’m sure he heard that one before. Still, there is plenty of completion and chance are that I find something similar.

“Give me a price for buying now!”

His fine French changes into broken English from time to time. Most can shop owners can speak a basic German, Spanish or Italian, too. Sometimes even Russian or Japanese. And they are quite good at spotting languages and shout their phrases to the surprised tourists.

Alright, the price. He still doesn’t know how much I would actually pay. The thing is, if I want to meet at 10€ I would have to offer him close to nothing. He wouldn’t take me serious or even feel insulted. I want to remain friendly.

I tell him I thought about spending between 80Dhs and 120 Dhs (8€-12€), but that it would be okay if this price doesn’t work with him and I will just keep looking.

He laughs. I say nothing. Silence means serious. Lets just let him punch in the air a little.

“Donne-moi un prix serieux!” (Give me a real price).

“Not 380 (38€) and not 120 (12€). A fair price.”

Didn’t I say between 80Dhs and 120 Dhs? Did I ever believe he would settle in the middle of my price range? Not really, but it felt less bold putting it this way. Did it work? Lets see.

It follows a series of counter offers. First small, then pretty drastic. We are now at at about 200Dhs (20€).
I nod and answer something not related to the price. Then tell him I would think it over.

“Tell me a priece to buy it now!”

Well don’t you know that already? I just told you. So lets try this:

Me: I think about it a little.

Him: No, give me a price for now!

Me: What do you mean?
(I think we are getting to the final stage of the battle).

Him (louder): A price without thinking it over. To buy it right here.

Me (louder): What? Right here?

Him (louder): Yes, right here, right now!

Me: 120 (12€) and I will buy it right here and right now!

I either expected this to go on like this for another while or me leaving the shop and go look elsewhere. However, I hardly finished my thought when, without hesitation, he goes “waha!” (okay, deal) and shakes my hand.

I admit he got me fairly surprised.

We walk to the cashier and I pay the price agreed. Take the earnings out of the bag again. Did he switch them? No, he wants to sell at the highest possible margin, he is no thief and quite proud of his business.

Still the quick end made me suspicious. Is it fake jewellery in the end? Did I still fall for it after 45mins of haggling? I know he wouldn’t sell if he didn’t make a profit?

I walk back to the hotel, anxious I bought some crap. As I arrive I hit up the receptionist and ask him what he thinks about my purchase. As the owner of the Riad, a lady of about 50 years, is right behind we proceed to ask her to take a look:

“Yes, its silver.” she says.

I ask her what it was worth.

“How much did you pay?”

Damnit. I wanted her opinion but I don’t succeed in making her name an independent price. Is she afraid I would be put off if I figure out I paid too much or is the piece fake after all?

She stays polite and asks again how much I paid.

Well Iguess there is no point.  “120Dhs”, I say.

“100Dhs?”

“No, 120Dhs.”

“Oui, c’est un bon prix.” (Yes, thats a good price).

In retrospective I would probably have behaved the same way.

So did I win then? I have no idea, but I’m happy and that was the goal in the beginning remember?

And my dear Marrakech shop owner: If I find a blog of yours on how you sold that one tourist some overpriced jewelery and still let him believe he struck a bargain, I will pay you the double price for the story to go on this page!

FOOD & DRINK: Winner Winner Chicken Dinner

First things first: If you are a hardcore vegetarian/vegan activist or got a weak stomach, go back to Facebook.

Still here? Alright, let me then walk you through a perfectly normal everyday procedure, which — if you grew up in a Western ivory tower like me — you probably have never seen with your own eyes.

The story begins with the decision to have dinner. Tajine it should be, the Moroccan clay dish that looks like a Chinese hat on a plate and is filled with the usual samples: Vegetables, spices, an optional couscous and your choice of meat: Beef, fish, seafood or, most common, chicken.

Tonight, our host’s mother will cook one with chicken. Well, chicken it is. Let us get some… oh we are not going to the supermarket?

Entering the local market of Midelt, a small town in the mountains of the Middle Atlas, we find ourselves in a building about the size of a doctor’s office’ waiting room. Chairs are lined up with men and women chatting and waiting for their call.

The end of the room there is a guy behind a counter. It seems like he is the one who had the say in this place of about half-a-dozen workers. He owns the scale and the register.

Right behind him is what he sells: Chicken.

1. The nursery: It guarantees a steady fowl-flow, displays quality and gives the customer the option of  choice.

For a moment if forgot what we came here for.

“Shush.” “Two”, my friend says. Yeah right, dinner. As he is not picky, the two feathery friends fool enough to stand closest to the counter are picked up and put into the scale. Some disturbed  “putputput” indicate the instant regret of their mistake.

2. The scale: The brave jump and the run for the light (the door) this fighter performed would only delay his inevitable fate.

A price is agreed. 90 DHs (9€) for two chickens. Fair enough.

Now if you are reading here, I agree that one logical conclusion would be that we took the two chickens back home and hand it to my friends mother to magically turn it into dinner. Well, you haven’t had the  chance to pass the other “departments” when walking into the place.

After the scale, Tthings go fast, not to sell scarred meat. The time in the “waiting-line cage” therefor is only a formality.

3. Our dinner heroes in the waiting cage.

Then, a quick grab by the man with the blades, some “putputput”, a quick move with the heavy scissors to the white-feathered neck and the “putput” stops. From the point of view of the conscious mind of the two chickens, the story ends here.

From the point of view of “dinner”, it just started. Our headless friends (thanks God, I don’t want to know how many mass producers skip this step), get thrown into a pit with boiling water.

What I wasn’t prepared for is that the temperature shock can make the muscles move and more than once it seems like the boiling chicken would try to climb out again.

4. The boiling pit: The moving legs (bottom left) were the most disturbing part of the whole thing.

Lets keep it professional here. They are boiled because it makes it easier to take the feathers off, which will be the next step.

By the way you don’t have read to the end, I’m ok if you quit here. But then again you came this far.

Sooo… right, de-feathering. Let me show you the tool:

5. The de-featherer: The beheaded and boiled chicken is held against a spiked turning wheel that rips its feathers out.

Writing this, it feels like describing a medical torture cell. Lets just remember that the chickens had a quick and fairly painless death. Did you know that the Guillotine was invented to provide “less cruel” forms of executions? Here you go, back to the topic.

Ah yes, since you clearly developed a fetish by now, let me show you a picture of the de-feathered chickens lying around on the bloody floor:

6. Featherless: The remaining plumes and the intriguing amount of  blood will be washed off in a second hot bath.

It crosses my mind that I should develop and appetite again at some point in order not to rebuff our kind hosts. Lets try again later.

At one point I was wondering why I was actually watching this. My traveling companion waited outside and believe it or not, I usually have a quite weak stomach when it comes to things like this.

Is it wrong to watch an animal being torn apart like this only to fill my stomach? Obviously, I’m not vegetarian and I don’t plan to become one in the near future.

I’m not gonna argue. This two chickens died as a direct consequence of us being hungry. Since I got in, about 15 more chickens had been processed. But then again, not seeing how they are killed, does not change the fact that animals make a detour to the slaughterhouse before ending up on a plate.

The discussion if its right or wrong to kill an animal for food aside, I’m convinced that I witnessed one of the best ways to buy meat. A lifelong open-air roaming in the Atlas and a quick death has become a luxury you might confirm when you look for the “organic” version in your supermarket.

Don’t believe that there is a difference? Go ahead and watch the documentary about McDonald’s “chicken” nuggets. You will be running back to this goodnight story.

Talking about story. Our “heroes” are in their second bath now:

7. The final bath: This form is what I could actually turn into food, save taking the intestines out without ruining the whole thing (or are they out already?).

From here its into a plastic bag and back to the register. An another hour to the table. Want to know how to make chicken Tajine? Coming soon…

Bon appétit!

 

Bonus: The “by-products” of the whole enterprise are sold at the exit:

PLACES: Paradise Valley

Agadir surely has surfing, but on a low day its definitely worth venturing inland and see what the back country has to offer. A lot I would say. About half an hour bus drive from the beach, a small creek formed what is known as the “Paradise Valley”. With a busload of sore surfers we went to see if the place would live up to its name.

Guess what? It did!

Don’t shy away from the half an hour hike when the bus arrives at the gorge. It is more than worth it. I recommend at least to walk up to the first natural pool. Some cliff-jumping locals will indicate the spot.

Now I don’t need to tell you everything. Just relax. Take a dive into the turquoise waters of the river. Explore the valley. Brought some food or found a rare Moroccan wine? Even better.

Still want to be held by the hand? Well here’s a little challenge:

The first pool has a cliff where you can jump from about 3-4 meters.

Here a friend of mine in action!

I know a hardcore adventurer like you is hardly impressed by such performance, though you gotta admit there is some elegance in this one.

Well then… You see its a crack in the cliff that he jumped off. Not the top. A little climbing (you will find your way I’m sure) gets you to the top with an amazing view over the valley and a daring 12-15 meter jump in the same pool.

Two pieces of advice:

First, it looks a lot less high from below.

Second, the water is deepest close to the rock you jump from.

Here some impressions:

My strategy: Walk up, estimate risk, decide and jump, before fear does the better of your mind.

Our elegant friend from above minus elegance plus a sweaty face. His strategy: Face the fear. Doing good buddy! (He jumped in the end to be fair)

Last not least our lady.
Her strategy: Walk up and and stand there for a good half an hour till she has the full attention of every tourist and local on the spot filming with their smartphones and then proceed to perform what our guide called the “first jump by a lady” from the top of the cliff. Respect!

The whole cliff jumping is not so your thing? You are there with your better half and wanna get away from the hassle. Just walk and swim up the creek till you lose the last local scout and find one beautiful natural pool after another.

Did I mention to go early morning to avoid the tourist bus crowds?

Have fun and be safe!