Instead of reading about Sweden’s history or culture, I read the first of Stieg Larsson’s series, “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.” And by read, I mean listen because of Kinsey the Kindle’s tragic death not too long ago. Thus, while flying in planes and riding in trains, I listened to the epic tale of Mikael Blomkvist and Lisbeth Salander. And afterwards, I visited several of the sites featured in Stieg’s books.
Simple. Small. Quiet. Vaxholm is a small island located in the Stockholm archipelago, and its main attraction is the Vaxholm Kastell, a fortress designed for defending Stockholm. Highlights of the day include ferrying to the island, finding a small art gallery, taking a nap on a seaside bench, and visiting the before-mentioned castle. I was in need of a relaxation day, and this exceeded that goal.
I’m walking down the street in Stockholm when I hear a loud beat and screaming. Everyone turns to look. The large open-aired truck with probably close to 40 people on it drives past smelling strongly of beer. That may be partly because the beer is being sprayed off the side. The passengers are dressed in bathing suits plus accessories. Within just a couple days, this very site becomes a regular appearance. I cannot read the banners hung on the side of the truck and eventually remember to ask someone what is happening, and apparently, high school seniors celebrate their graduation in the above fashion. Not bad.
At first impression, Stockholm is clean, almost unnaturally clean. I am never more than fifty meters away from a public trash can. That means if I grab a snack on the go and need to find a place to dispose the wrapper, it’s going to be easy. Compounding the cleanliness, I arrive after a rain and everything seems to sparkle. The paint on the buildings all seems to be retouched yesterday, and this is made more impressive by diversity of pastel paints.
During my time in Stockholm, while based at Skanstulls Vandrarhem Hostel in the Sodermalm district, I try to make it around to many of the city’s highlights. I enjoy walking along the narrow, crowded alleys of Gamla Stan, the old part of Stockholm. The city has been lucky in dodging at-home fighting during most of Sweden’s wars; therefore, its old charm persists. A couple kilometers from Gamla Stan, I venture to the Skansen Open-Air Museum, which contains houses and buildings as they look in other parts of the country and in other times. My camera loved photographing these picturesque buildings. Also in the city, I time it correctly to witness a changing of the guards at Kungliga Slottet (Royal Palace), and one evening I venture to the SkyView Globe, which is essentially a gondola ride to the top of a globe shaped stadium on the edge of the city. The only limiting factor of the view from the top is the curvature of the earth; otherwise, I may have been able to see forever. If I was forced however to choose one site in Stockholm, it may have been the Vasamuseet. The Vasamuseet contains a fully reconstructed 17th century 64-gun warship that sank within minutes of its first voyage in 1628 during the Thirty Years Way. Learning the story of this ship and its resurrection captured my attention more than any other single site in Stockholm.
Finally, to get a little farther outside the city one afternoon, I venture to Drottningholm Palace, the private residences of the Swedish Royal Family and I lose myself in the far-reaching surrounding gardens. The day is sunny, the water fountains all running, and people lounging around the gardens soaking up the warmth, something that cannot always be taken for granted in Sweden.
Sweden is a beautiful city that during my stay gets light around 4am and dark around 10:30 or 11pm. The cleanliness of the city is almost overwhelming, but understandable after learning their taxes are some of the highest in the world. I believe Sweden currently is only second to Denmark in the high taxes category. And finally, if the city, its architecture, and its diverse landscape isn’t beautiful enough, most of its citizens embody the classic Hollywood attractiveness that magazines, movies and advertisements have come to love.
Shah’s book helped me understand some of the culture that was surrounding me. It demonstrated the religious and often superstitious nature of the Moroccan people, and it highlighted the importance that all of the artistic disciplines played in their society. Shah explained much about ridding a house of Jinns and bringing in baraka. Jinns are the spirits mentioned in the Qur’an and created by God from fire. They inhabit houses that have been abandoned and cause considerable trouble for their new human dwellers.
A couple pearls of wisdom that I enjoyed while reading through this novel were the following. First, when it comes to bargaining, Shah provided the following insight:
“In the East, the tradition of bargaining is an honorable one, and Moroccan society has one of the most developed bartering economies I have come across. I am usually satisfied with chipping in a few cents more if it saves time and secures the purchase. But to a native Moroccan, shirking on the bargaining front is seen as falling short of responsibility. There is honor at stake. Forget the bargaining and you are bringing shame on the shop.
“The guidebooks always say it’s best to take a local person with you when you go shopping in Morocco. But they don’t tell you that the local is likely to veto all purchases, and even liable to get you into a fistfight with the shopkeeper as he strives to protect your honor.”
In addition, near the end of the book, Tahir nicely describes his experience settling into a new country and new culture and specially with his family.
“Live in a new country and you find yourself making compromises. Make them, and you are rewarded many times over. Morocco has an antique culture, one that’s still intact, with the family at the core. For me, the greatest thing about living here has been that Ariane and Timur [Tahir’s two children] can play against an inspiring backdrop, teeming with a full spectrum of life…. I encourage Ariane and Timur to be loud, to shout, to dance in the streets, to be themselves.”
This traditional and authentic-feeling Riad set near the edge of the Fez Old Medina was as welcoming as any hostel I’ve stayed at yet. When I arrive to the front door after a bit of wandering, I am immediately greeted by name from an individual standing outside. This first impression sets the mood and I am ready for a great (even if short) time at the Riad Verus. The other travelers are very nice and all had unique and entertaining stories to share, but the staff’s friendliness and openness is what set this Riad apart.
On the first evening here, I listen to the beating of drums coming from the roof terrace and am drawn to them. I venture my way up to the roof and find a staff member and several travelers playing while watching the sun set over the Medina. Eventually a drum rotates around the circle to me and I start cautiously joining the group’s beat. Noor, one of the Riad’s staff members, is leading the session and I try to match some of his beats. After starting to feel more comfortable and gaining a little confidence, I step up to many of Noor’s challenges as he plays harder beats, and I eventually am able to find most of them if given enough time. The session then moves from a copy-follow format to trying to play complementary rhythms. With my hands unused to the drums wrath, they begin to glow red, but not red enough to make me stop as I am starting to really enjoy my lesson. We continue to groove for about two hours before eventually disbanding.
Sitting on the terrace with the sky casting new colors across its few clouds, playing these Moroccan drums made me feel right at home in Morocco.
Although Fez’ Old Medina shares many similarities with that of Marrakech, there were still differences of note. The initial and most obvious was that Fez had a much larger Medina with its over 1000 winding alleys and streets. If I didn’t get lost at least once or twice on very journey out of my Riad, I wasn’t exploring far enough. In addition, the alleys were a bit smaller and the stalls a bit more diverse.
One morning, I woke up early to make it to the tannery while they were still working and while the stench hovering around it still hadn’t a chance to reach full force from the day’s heat. Even still, I had to walk around with a handful of mint leaves in my hand for me to bury my nose in when the smell reached uncomfortable levels. Pigeon poo is one of the chemical agents used and it makes make many a nose cringe, especially those that aren’t used to it. The processes at the tannery are elaborate eventually ending up in dyes such as henna, saffron, and mint that add a natural coloring to the leather.
After the tannery, I took a quick tour of a weaving factory. I learned of some of the techniques used to make the famous rugs as well as how to differentiate between rugs made by women and by men, as well as rugs made by hand and by machine. Men use a horizontal loom while women use a vertical loom. This, in turn, affects how the carpets start and end. The tightness of the stitch reflects whether it is done by hand or by machine with the tighter stitches usually being performed by hand.
Finally, to round off my artisan tour of Fez, I visited a ceramics studio, where along with watching the formation of bowls, cups, etc, I also watched the formation of the famous mosaics that I’ve seen in and around Fez. With only a simple seemingly imprecise hammer, these artisans were able to chisel away at tiles to create shapes that perfectly fit into one another.
Learning of the craft being created around Fez with its ancient techniques that have survived for centuries was an eye-opening and educational experience.
While still in Istanbul, Adam and I heard stories from other travelers of the various treks in southern Morocco, and soon after entering our Riad, we found a poster with photos of camels, sand dunes, and Berber villages. Convincing us to go may have been one of the easiest sells that the Riad had to do.
Our route took us from Ait Benhaddou to Ouarzazate to La Vallee des Roses to Les Gorges de Dades, where we spent the first night. The second day we traveled to Les Gorges de Todra, then to Merzouga, and finally took camels to the middle of the desert in Bivouac, where we spent the second night. The final day we had a long journey back to Marrakech.
In the Berber village, we all received the hard sell in a traditional home for a handmade rugs. After a couple rounds of tea, getting to know the Berber family, and eventually being shown many colorful rugs, I found one that I liked, bargained the price down, and made a semi-impulsive buy.
Later in the journey, the western Sahara lived up to expectations. The sand dunes looked like ocean waves, except that they begged to be climbed. And with one high-reaching dune next to our camp site tempting the group to climb it, we couldn’t resist. About half way up the dune, we realized that this was going to be more difficult that we originally assessed. For each step upward, we slipped slightly downwards as well. And as I eventually starting crawling up the mountain because of its increasing slope, each planted claw would cause a miniature land slide just around it. Eventually, one of the group members, a physically fit individual from Argentina reached the top of the hill giving me a clear target to reach. I summit the hill while I am well out of breath and inspired by the surrounding sand in every direction.
The night ends with me on a thin mattress covered by a blanket staring up at constellations unfaded by street lights or even by the moon. The slight breeze against my face felt perfect as I drifted off to sleep.
The Big Dipper puts me to sleep in the Western Sahara.
Our time in Marrakech begins at the Amour de Riad located on Derb Jamaa near Derb Debachi. The Riad (hostel) staff is very welcoming as they give us a quick tour, show us our room, and provide us with some helpful recommendations. Riad technically means garden, but it also signifies a Moroccan house with an interior garden or courtyard, and although I have little to compare it to, I feel that our Riad has an authentic feel with many stories and rooms surrounding a central common area. In addition, the derb of our riad is relatively quiet and clean compared to much of the Old Medina. This is a welcome change compared to the hustle of the main square and its immediate branching derbs.
After changing into clothes to better prepare ourselves for the desert heat, we head out to find some food and to see the sites. I eat some delicious chicken tajine and set out with Adam to the Bahia Palace and Dar Si Said only to find them both closed. So, before getting our third strike, we decide to wander through the Old Medina and enjoy the Jemaa el Fna, its central square, and we save the other sites for the next day, both of which end up being a great way to see Moroccan architecture with their elaborate woodwork and mosaics. In addition, we end up going to a photography museum that has great old photos of what Marrakesh, the Old Medina, and Moroccans looked like in years past.
Tea has become an unplanned theme of my trip, so I might as well continue to weave this theme into my Moroccan experience. Requesting tea in Morocco always means requesting sweet mint tea, and labeling this tea sweet is an understatement. Sugar is easily the primary ingredient, but having the sweet tooth that I do, I never refuse a refill. Staying in the Riad de Amour in the Old Medina of Marrakech, Adam and I are offered tea one evening, and I use the opportunity to learn the intricacies of sweet mint tea preparation.
Predictably, the process begins by boiling water. A small amount of green tea is the steeped in a little tea pot. Meanwhile, mint leaves are crushed and washed. The steeped tea from the small pot is stylistically poured into a cup from an unnecessary height before returning it back to the small pot. The other rational reason I can produce is that a cooling process aids in something. Afterwards, the mint leaves are added into the small pot along with more boiling water to fill the pot to the top. The most critical ingredient ingredient, sugar, is then added by the cube full. In a pot that may have held about 200 to 300 ml, about 10 sizable sugar cubes are added. The small pot is then placed on the stove until the water comes to a simmer and threatens to spill over. After a little more fancy height pouring, some tasting, and adding more sugar, the tea is ready to be served. But just in case the tea is not sweet enough, it is served with more sugar alongside. My question, however, is given that the sugar can no longer stay in solution at the present moment, how is adding sugar going to do anything except to contribute to the bottom sugar collection.
The strong religious, Islamic culture in Morocco results in limited availability of alcohol. After all, one cannot drink alcohol while in eyesight of a mosque, and the country is not short on mosques. One evening, Adam and I try to find a local beer, and everyone we ask in the Marrakech Old Medina points us to Gueliz. The vagueness that is Guilez was a bit frustrating because it only signifies the new area of Marrakech, and we ask the cab to take us there, we end up in front of a McDonald’s. We complain and say we want to go to an area with bars, and we are soon dropped off at a building with the word “Bar” inscribed in bright red lights at the top, where we eventually find a Casablanca brew. More typically, in the evening, instead of seeing a group huddled around a bar, many locals relax at a cafe, sip tea and cafe noir. At the end of meals, tea is served. When negotiating in a rug shop, tea is present. After entering a home, tea is offered. When planning our southern Morocco excursion, we all sip tea. Tea is ubiquitous, delicious, the beverage of choice here in Morocco.
