Tag Archives: arab

Dubai – New Years Eve on the beach

10 June 2020 My Beautiful Places 2 Comments

The great journey of 2019 has arrived to its last steps. A year that turned many of my bucket list wishes into great memories: 13 countries, 9 for the first time, 2 visits in my beloved Paris, my first African safari. 32 flights above the clouds. My all time record year as a wanderer was beyond expectations. And the last 45 minutes of 2019 didn’t disappoint as well: in a taxi, running on Sheikh Zayed Road, the 14 lanes highway, leaving behind Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world and heading to Burj Al Arab, known as world’s only 7 stars hotel. I was excited, in Dubai. The very place where I wanted to be. The silhouette of the famous hotel was puncturing the dark horizon like an arrow.

As we got closer, I was too charmed by the white architecture of Burj Al Arab to observe we were driving now in a sea of people, all heading to Jumeirah Beach. The last 20 minutes of 2019: I decided to become a drop in that see of people dressed in white that will finally led me to another dream come true: New Years Eve fireworks in Dubai.

The rush from the hours before, when I landed in Dubai that evening, got me starving and thirsty. A few Indian samosas sold at a stall on the beach saved the night and a mango ice cream added the summer mood in December: it was my hottest NYE: 25C.

00:00 2020

The fireworks were as promised: opulent, breathtaking and… long. Dubai, baby! A riot of colours surrounded Burj Khalifa, in the back but still visible from that distance, joined by the ones at The Atlantis, in the front, on the sea and in the middle, Burj Al Arab, right in front of me, became an explosion of lights and colours. The fireworks turned the sky into a paint contouring shapes of hearts and planets like Saturn. And down to Earth, for more then 10 minutes, thousands of heads were beating unanimously towards the sky and hands holding phones were turning the moment into memories and posts for family and friends. The last minutes of the show turned the night into day. A day of colours, sang the thousands with a loud whisper: Awww…. And this is how the first 10′ of 2020 had passed, vibrating of light and joy.

As the sky became dark and silent again, that massive crowd instantly broke into pieces that had spread everywhere in just minutes. Indian families with 10-12 members were continuing their NYE picnic on the grass in the park near by. A group of men were now opening bottles of champagne. Others were sending NYE wishes on the phone. Toddlers were suddenly too tired to walk. The party on the beach was over. After the Emirati people, the Indian families were coming second in therms of numbers. The rest, Europeans, Americans just a few of them, many single.

It was too nice to waste the night and just take a taxi and go to sleep at the hotel. I wanted a long walk on the seafront. The beach was hidden by darkness but even though I felt the sea was there, so close, blowing its warm breeze towards the busy road. I checked Google Maps and it looked encouraging, I thought that at the end of one hour walk I will get close to my hotel maybe. Poor me!

An hour later, the cars and the people became more and more rare. It was even better, I thought. Beautiful white villas with large balconies and tall gates covered in Bougainvillea flowers were so quiet. Some tourists at a crossroads were trying to get one of the taxis that now were very rare.

30 minutes later I checked again Google Maps. It wasn’t my poor signal’s fault then: after 1h and a half it looked as if I walked for 10 minutes. I decided to walk towards the closest metro station. Close on the map… In reality, after another 45 minutes I ended up on an empty street where only a few Indian people were heading God knows where. I could see the suspended metro line, which seemed a good sign. But when I reached a complicated passage with no sidewalk I realised Dubai was not a city made for walking. On the contrary, it was made for cars.

I had no idea where I was and it was too far to get back from where I came. I asked a few guys, Indian as well, for directions. One of them explained, very polite and nice. Then he wanted to take a photo with me. Burj Khalifa’s silhouette was contouring in the front, probably very far away considering its height of 800m. At one point I became exhausted, walking like running by some sort of factory, the kind of area where no one walks ever even during midday. And I was thinking at my grandmother’s superstition: “What you do on NYE, you’ll do the whole year.” For me that would mean walk till you drop and get lost.

At one point in the front I saw the first signs that I was somehow getting close to the downtown and walkable areas. And people. And as sent from heavens, I saw a taxi, I raised a desperate hand and he stopped. I was saved! Thank God!

So I’ve learned, the hard way, my first lesson about Dubai. It’s not a walkable city. The distances are a killer!

The next episode of my fancy NYE in Dubai was one hour being trapped on the great 14 lanes highway, Sheikh Zayed Road, the road that crosses Dubai from one end to its other, as long as the coast takes you. That was really smth: 14 lines of absolute and stand still traffic jam. “What you do on NYE, you’ll do the whole year….” was the mantra that kept playing in my head, accompanied by the cries of my taxi driver who was cursing the madness of that night, swearing that he won’t ever work for another NYE and concluding:

– People are crazy!

The second miracle that night happened just out of the dark. The car started to move and just minutes after I was getting close to my hotel, in . I felt like home!

At almost 5am I entered one of the restaurants opened, the one with the largest terrace. I had a great welcome. I needed a fish to secure my luck in the new year.

– Is it fresh? I asked inside, where I was invited to choose the fish that was going to become by early dinner.

The long minutes of wait and a confusion (I asked for a salad and I received a bowl of veggies and yoghurt) let to a fabulous meal: the fish was spicy, as asked, fresh, crunchy and it worked perfectly with my mistake salad.

At 6:30am my night was done and my day was beginning with a deep long sleep. I had to get back my forces to see for myself what was all the fuss about Dubai, so far the city that wasn’t made for walking.

Next: best of Dubai

Morocco, Spain

Morocco: The Blue Pearl of Chefchaouen

7 April 2019 My Beautiful Places Leave a comment

I got there right in time, after a race on the blue streets, among colorful shops, locals inviting me in their stores, tourists wandering too slow or photographers trying to get the best shot. I was only hoping that was the right direction to the best panoramic view of what is called the Blue Pearl of Morocco, Chefchaouen. I got to the river, crossed the bridge and followed the stairs up. The scent of oranges from the stalls around, selling fresh juice, gave me a boost of energy. Behind a bush of cactuses I saw the sun saying goodbye to that day as its orange light was pouring down on the blue houses of Chaouen, as locals call their home. Ras Elma offered wat was promised: a perfect panoramic view for a gorgeous sunset.

The way to Chefchaouen

I had a blue obsession for a couple of years already: The blue city of Morocco, Chefchaouen. A name I even had difficulties to spell at first. Like many other beautiful places I was, at one point, dreaming about, as Petra or The Great Pyramids, this too seem so complicated to get to. But when there’s a will there’s always a way and so that day came and my plan was done: flying to Madrid, the next day to Tanger, Morocco, both low cost flights and get a cab from there to Chefchaouen. Voila!

Madrid

I love Spain and Madrid makes no exception. Being in its capital for the second time was a joy. And another happy occasion to taste the best ham in the world: Bellota jamon.

I already knew how to get to Sol, the city centre. It was almost midnight when I arrived in Plaza de Cibeles, but the city was so alive. It’s one of the reasons I love it so, for its constant fiesta vibe. I followed the boulevard and then the little cobbled streets where people were partying in small pubs, with tapas and cerveza con limon (beer and lemon juice), towards my hotel in Sol area. As I passed a corned and found the place, I stopped in a Awww moment. The best surprise for that time of the year! After months of cold winter, on March the 7th, Madrid welcomed me with a street full of cherry trees in bloom. Plaza del Angel was truly a corner of heaven. So spring was coming…

The plan was to wake up very early the next morning, to see a little of Madrid before leaving to Morocco. I precisely wanted to get to the very 2 gems I so mistakenly missed during my previous visit. I don’t usually follow the plans when they evolve me being an early bird, still at 9am, my small yellow backpack and I left the hotel and head to that very one spot famous for the best top view of the city: Circulo de Bellas Artes. And so it did, the view was fabulous as the city was waking up in a morning rush, below by eyes, below the clear blue sky of March.

My next wish was Palacio de Cristal, in the middle of Retiro park. I was so close to give up since I didn’t have so much time left. I give it a try, hurried my steps and follow the alleys until I got to this wonderful building, a palace made entirely of glass, mirroring its shapes in the lake in front, where ducks and swans and turtles were enjoying the spring sun. And so I declare this my most favourite place in Madrid.

Hello, Morocco

Lesson learned: never leave without a pen, mostly to countries when you need to complete a visa form. It’s about time I keep this in mind.

Happy Women’s Day, a boy said to me, handing a pink rose. A lady invited me to have some sweets. And so I was beautifully welcomed to Morocco.

Since it took me longer to complete that visa form, because of the missing pen and I was among the last to leave the airport of Tanger, I missed my change to find a big yellow taxi, a shared one. So I start the negotiations in my not so perfect French with the only one left, a 70 years old taxi driver, stubborn as a mule. After 15 minutes I got nowhere so I accepted its price: 60 euro to Chaouen.

I jumped, pretty disappointed, in its old cream Mercedes and so we left to Chaouen, as he called it.

Welcome to Morocco, he said, just like the taxi driver in Egypt, after he scammed me of an extra 5 euro.

I was expecting to see a lot of vast dry lands, instead Morocco, this part of it, was incredibly green, with billions of colorful tiny flowers covering the ground. The air blowing from the open window, messing up my hair, brought scents of grass and early spring. We stopped at one point as the taxi driver wanted me to get a look at what was a beautiful valley between three green hills and a dark lake among them. If seen in a photo, without knowing where it was, I could have place this spot anywhere, but never in Morocco.

We talked about his family, his life in Tanger, his favourite places in Morocco, how Casablanca was not so nice but Marrakesh was great, about Sahara and the Morrocan food.

After 2h of speed driving among green lands, passing through the beautiful white Tetouan and a few other small villages where locals, mostly women, were selling products in small markets and men were hurry to get to the afternoon prayers to the mosques, I started to see the first signs of blue. My excitement was on the rise… Soon after we were in Chefchaouen city centre, a part which looked modern, with new buildings, with cars and people wandering around and most of all, not so blue as expected.

Since my taxi driver didn’t trusted my Google Maps, we wandered around in vain, sent to different hotels by locals that didn’t actually understood where I needed to get to. I soon understood what was happening, meaning I was losing time, and insisted that we follow only my directions. In a few minutes we were close to my hotel, right in front of the entrance gate to the medina, the old town, as they call it.

He pretended he didn’t had any change and I won’t find a place to change money there, thought I insisted we find a money change office since we left Tanger and he kept promising we’ll do that in Chefchaouen. I got really mad for this new scam that cost me an extra 10 euro but all I wanted was to leave this taxi driver for good and go see the blue city I was dreaming about.

Another lesson learned: always change money

My yellow backpack and I were now in the middle of a busy street with not so clear idea where to head to. I was in a very bad mood after that scam. I had to find my hotel in a labyrinth of small streets, according to the map and I already knew Google Maps is not helping in places like this. I tried my chances entering what seem to be a gate, like an arch opening in a stone wall, following many locals and 2-3 tourists. This was like stepping into another world, the blue world of Chefchaouen. In a second, all was blue, all shades of blue. Literally all, wherever I was looking. The old medina blued my mind on the spot, surpassing instantly all what I have previously ever seen in all the photos of this corner of the world. The bad mood was now forgotten as I was getting more and more charmed with every step.

– Where are you from? An old beggar dressed in old grey rags asked me as I arrived in front of him, catching my breath and all smiling. He was sitting at the end of a street made of big cobbled steps, a crossroads of three blue streets, with his back against an old wall, also blue, of course. As the sun rays reached his face half covered in a white beard, lighting the marks left by all the years he had lived, he looked like someone in a Pulitzer awarded photo. He smiled when I told him I have just arrived.

I stopped in admiration for a gorgeous tall blue door, sculpted in a wall and happily, right next to it, I saw the name of the hotel I was looking for. The small square interior yard, with a few round tables and chairs and a little round fountain in the middle, offered, from inside, the perfect view to this old building. It was three levels high, the 4th was the blue sky. Each floor had a surrounding terrace with white columns and a blue door on every side, painted by hand with colorful drawings, a technique that I later found out was specific to this place.

I met my host, Ahmed, who spoke almost 0 English and French. With the 3 words I know in Spanish and many sight we understand each other perfectly.

I wandered the blue streets and it was so incredibly beautiful, I thought I was dreaming. Every corner was a blue little story, with small windows carved in the walls or the beautiful blue doors in all the forms and sometimes even the steps were painted in blue. The only color non matching that blue everywhere were the cats and the kids playing around. I took photo after photo and I couldn’t get enough of this blue everywhere.

I really needed to change some local money to buy some delicious looking desserts I saw, so I left the old town and went to the city centre, where the taxi driver dropped me earlier that day. After 10 minutes of wandering and asking people, I found the exchange. It was just a few meters from where my taxi driver said there’s no exchange in the area. God damn scam.

Now that I had some dirhams in my pocket I realised I really needed to eat and drink something. The tiny slice of pizza from Madrid was long gone and I was very dehydrated too. I follow a small crowded street with a few fast foods and local restaurants. I saw one serving fish. It didn’t look promising but I trusted the TripAdvisor stitcher on its door. I felt a little adventurous to eat fish there but I was starving. I ordered using mostly signs since the owner spoke Arabic only. And I waited for what seemed to me an eternity. I was the only person in the restaurant, so another good sign. Not. I was melting of hunger with little energy left but I almost exclaimed when the owner came back with two big plates, one with rice and fries and another, much bigger, with a large fish, a lot of fried calamaries and 5 little fish. A mountain of food was in front of me! The calamaries was just as delicious and soft as those I had in Vernazza, in Cinque Terre, the best I had in my life and the fish had that sweetness that only fresh and wild fish has, something so rare these days. All seasoned with fresh lime zest. Unbelievable good and I finished all.

I was afraid now that maybe I didn’t understood the price when I ordered. But nop, all that and a big bottle of water was less than 5 euro. I loved Morocco on the spot!

As round as I was, after that huge meal, I wanted to catch the sunset. And I did. I reached the panoramic view point at Ras Elma and caught the sky on fire above the blue city of Chefchaouen. I so wanted to come here and now I couldn’t believe it.

I bought lots of deserts on my way back, home made cakes. At dark the medina was not so spectacular, that blue needed light. I ended up a perfect day with a 10h sleep. I needed it badly.

Next: making friends in Chaouen

Egypt

Egypt: December Summer in Hurghada

15 January 2019 My Beautiful Places 2 Comments

Day 1

Old buildings of limestone, square simple shapes, dusty streets, more cars than one can imagine. A general rumour, car horns, constructions noises, traffic jam reached my ears. It was the most dense, vibrant and mindblowing top view of a city. It was so big and so alive as if it was breathing beneath my eyes. This is how the home of more than 23M people looks like. This is Cairo. And from the top, the tall wall of The Saladin Citadel, I saw for the first time, in the horizon, in a cloud of dust, two pyramids.

Hurghada

After 16 hours spent beautifully on the streets of Prague and a night spent in the plane, I landed in Hurghada, on the coast of the Red Sea. Second time this year at the Red Sea, first time in Egypt, first time in Africa.

The first challenge: finding a pen to complete my visa paper. It took me 15 minutes for that. Everybody seemed to be awaited by a tourism agency that was taking care of all. Everybody except me. So I was among the last to leave the airport and one of the few with no transport arrangements.

At 6am there were not so many options to take me to my hotel. I started regretting not taking the offer from the hotel when I couldn’t negotiate for less than 15$ with a taxi driver. He quickly placed me and my luggage to another taxi driver in the front and they started a minutes long fight in Arabic, not at all disturbed by me standing there and looking tired and pissed off. I guessed he wanted more money. We finally left in his very old car, with stickers in Arabic everywhere. In a few metres he takes a ticket from a machine and says, in a poor English, that will cost me 5 more euro. Snap! If 30 minutes ago I landed being quite frightened by the news I got from my mom the night before, while in Prague, about the bomb attack the day before, that had killed 4 in Gyza, close to Cairo, and I was promising myself I will be quiet, let it go, never start a contradiction with anyone, now I was ready to fight this guy who was rubbing me of my 5$. So all fear was gone and I raised my tone telling him to stop this price raising or I will leave the car immediately. I agree to pay the damn 5$ more, highlighting it’s just because I’m too nice to him. He ended this tourist scam wishing me Merry Christmas and welcome to Hurghada. Such a welcome! And anyway Christmas was ended two days before.

As we were driving, I didn’t like what I saw from the taxi window. At all. I was expecting the exotic images from the brochures, with posh pink large hotels, palm trees, vegetation, white beaches and turquoise waters. No sight of that. All looked under construction and never to be finished, with deserted streets where rare old cars, looking too old to be used were driving to fast. Small stores looking dusty and unwelcoming. The green tall palm trees of my imagination were small, looking dusty and dying. I was hoping this was probably outside the city. Nop, that was it. The so called centre looked just as bad.

With one last small hope I arrived in front of the hotel. And so this has vanished too. Golden Rose deserved a more suited name: Dusty Rose. It was surrounded also by buildings under construction. This seemed to be a pattern of the area. I descended the taxi in my winter coat and a cloud of dust made by the taxi wheels on something that looked like sand and small stones mixing the ground in front of the entrance. The only nice thing was a beautiful pink bougainvillea covering a corner of the green tall fence whose leaves were all yellow from the dust. When I approached the door, the scanning machine in front, which I first believed was deactivated, started an alarm that seemed at least to have woken up the guy at the reception. I entered a mall like this but never a hotel. I was never before in Egypt, true. A terribly looking Christmas tree in a corner, all covered in dust too, was trying in vain to charm up the place. I needed a deep breath. I got more cheered up by the hospitality of the guy at the reception. Happily my room was ready. Large and clean, with a nice balcony facing the sea, through some palm trees, dusty too. If I looked down, the view was bad.

I was so tired and wanted to sleep like a bear in winter but hunger and thirst were way stronger. And even stronger was my ambition to prove myself this trip was a good decision, that this was better than just another New Years Eve at home, in a restaurant of a nice hotel, a nice club or bar, with family and friends. But most of all I was keen to change the terrible impression this place have left me so far. I had a positive feeling in spite all of there.

Was anyway too late to catch one of the tours I was interested in, involving snorkeling, the no 1 reason that brought me in Hurghada, since all were leaving around 8:30. And seemed anyway too cold to such an activity. Where is the so praised summer in winter in Egypt, I was wondering, hoping that it was still to early in the morning. I forced myself to wear shorts and sandals and went out of the hotel to hunt something to eat. At first I was freezing. The second, I felt too naked for a place where I could see only men and literally no women. At least I had a wind jacket on that brought some confidence too. I went to see the beach next to the hotel. Close to the water was nice, with umbrellas made of palm tree leaves. In the back though, there was a bunch of broken beach chairs and God knows what else, left there for no reason but to spoil the image of the place. But there is no beach front I wouldn’t like. I left promising the guy at the entrance to come back later. The main street was getting more alive now compared to when I arrived, with shops selling golden jewelries, tons of them, or clothes, all too flashy and nothing of my taste, but I wasn’t there for shopping anyway and taste is not to be commented on. Still it had this feel of slum, of street that we see in the bad areas of a city everywhere in this world, except here with old commercials written in Arabic to remind one which part of the world it was.

One more last hope took me to Hurghada bay, where the port and the promenade were. On the way there I stopped and buy a pack of Cheerios with cheese and water. That’s what hunger and thirst does to me: reducing pretentions. I had to wipe off the dust on the pack of Cheerios with my hand before opening it. I was already getting used to this and find it funny. Not so funny was stepping accidently in a puddle of slimy water, while as has distracted with killing my hunger. Yeap, I was wearing sandals and was gross.

I saw a guy calling me and waving his hands to me from the entrance, he did not insist too much so I continued walking. Later I saw there the security check machine and I understand what he wanted from me, as from everyone else entering the area: to do the security check. He wasn’t insisting since I really looked like a lunatic tourist, nothing to represent a potential danger.

The promenade was beautiful, the first place I saw in this country that looked more taken care of, I thought then. In a few days after I was going to change my view and appreciate more quite the opposite of this, but more about that as my days in Egypt developed. If beautiful means nice restaurants, terraces, palm trees and spaces with vegetation, no dust here and the most perfect crystal clear turquoise water, with fancy white boats floating and colorful fish that could pe spotter in the water, than this was a beautiful place. Add a gorgeous limestone huge mosque a bit further and it’s a view impossible to criticise. It was empty still, no people.

At one of the two stalls there selling tours I meet Nura. There is no happier face than hers. She is a petite woman with nice forms and a robust and always allert body. Her face, framed by a black hijab was wearing all the freckles it could accommodate. It was that type of meet that transforms people into friends immediately. Her 4 years old daughter was like quicksilver. She offering me, out of the blue, her entire chocolate bar she was chewing, was the sweetest moment of a day with a crazy start.

Thanks to Nura I had a better deal than the one from the hotel for the last tour that day: 2h in a boat with glass bottom. Since I had nothing better to do, I took this.

I still had one hour left to kill. I spent it fully on the terrace of L’Imperatore, an Italian-Egyptian restaurant, conveniently placed in front of the boat for the tour, who’s owner was so nice to offer me a salad and a mango smoothie though the place was not open yet. More about the hospitality of Egyptians I was going to find out on many occasions the next days. In this country, this corner of the world that frightens the tourists, I was treated more as a queen or as a family member than as a customer.

Happily the sun was stronger now and was not so cold anymore so the boat tour was great. Seeing the shore from the distance was even more beautiful. Now it looked like the brochures images in my head. On the other side, a vast island, Giftun, was stretching like a yellow line in the turquoise waters, among darker spots of coral reefs. We saw plenty of fish and corals but I was expecting more from the famous Red Sea.

When I got back to the hotel I lost more than one hour in the lobby, the only place with wifi, searching on the net and trying to decide what to do next. Makadi Bay tempted me the most from the start, but Nura was saying there are only resorts there and nothing to see, she tried to convince me to arrange a taxi to take me to El Gouna, but the guys at the reception were saying there’s only beach and was too far away, they were suggesting Dream Beach instead. They made me crazy, all my initial plans of snorkeling in Makadi were not possible since it was too cold for me to jump in the water. I only had 3h of sun left and I decided I wanna spend them on the beach, any beach.

The closest beach, the previous one was the winning option. It was beautiful but windy and so cold. Still there were people in the water. 2. And 8 on the entire beach, with me included. I don’t need 30’ to convince me to go for a swim, but when a young blonde woman looking scandinavian came, dropped her clothes and in 1min she was swimming, while I was in a jacket and all covered in beach towels, I thought something’s not right. How warm that water could be? I had some conversation with one of the guys there which I wanted to be short to have a quiet moment.

I left the beach little before the sunset, I was literally frozen. I was in despair thinking at the possibility of being close of this underwater paradise and still not be able to take a swim. I decided I will take that swim no matter what the next days.

I wrote Nura on WhatsApp. She came with Jackie, her daughter and took me to a tour of the city as they were heading home. Jackie was on the back seat, her hands full of money and for the entire trip she talked to me in Arabic and a few words in English. She is adorable. We arrived in El Dahar Square right before getting dark. It was like madness, a crazy traffic, cars and people going everywhere. No rules, no lanes, no traffic signs, no crossing marks. Nothing. Only lots of cars, all sort and sizes and all looking really old (except Nura’s car) and lots and lots of people. All were crossing as they pleased, through the middle of the square, among the cars. But one thing mattered here, in this pure chaos: the car horn. This is how they are doing all the moves, outrunning another car, changing the direction or touring. That’s why it’s a madness of car horns.

I was still the frightened tourist, thinking about bomb attacks, stabbings and kidnappings, when Nura left me on the side of the square, promising to come back in 2 hours in the same place. The idea of getting lost there was a nightmare. I was comforting myself thinking Nura wouldn’t have left me there if it would have been dangerous. Many crazy paranoid thoughts were messing with my head.

She left and I was now all alone, trying to cross the large street full of cars driving chaotically. I got to the other side with all 2 legs and 2 hands. There were stores everywhere selling everything. I headed towards the most lighted street I saw there. I was aware, at first walking fast, trying to keep distance from every person. And there were lots of people but no tourists. I barely saw 1-2 couples of tourists, that’s all. This is what mass media stories do to us: scare us. I was alone, at dark, in the night bazar in central Hurghada. I bet on all the money in the world none of my friends would do it. But that’s why I was there alone.

With every step I was more confident. No one was staring, calling names or cat calling me. I actually got more of these in my own country. Sure, many were looking but just as people in my hometown would look to a woman wearing: because it’s different. Instead many were smiling friendly as an encouragement. It was an amazing vibe, so alive, so real, so natural, so true life.

A funny thing happened. I was invited in a shop with beautiful Egyptian pieces made of stone. I knew it’s a custom. Then I was invited in a small space in the back. At this point I became a bit stressed. The owner wanted me to write something about his store in my language. He saw I was standing there without moving and assure me nothing will happen if I sit a moment so I can write my message. A small table with small glasses of tea on it and colorful carpets on the chairs around. I wrote, in my language: welcome to the most beautiful store in Hurghada and teach him how to say it. Latin languages are so different from Arabic so this was so funny. Then I stand up preparing to leave when my heart stopped. They have closed all the lights. I thought that was it, I was looking for it since I came here and made a sudden move to try to jump and run outside, like a last desperate try to save my life. So help me God I thought. And then I heard the men around, about three of them: no, no, look, is shines. I thought: What the hell shines, as I was coming to realise I was a bit weird and maybe was not the case to be scared. I could hear my heart beating as my eyes were getting used to the dark and I finally could see the phosphor marks in the large statues in the store. Hieroglyphs and ancient Egyptian signs were so bright and incredibly beautiful. How stupid I was, I thought, trying to look as natural and relaxed as one close to have a heart attack could fake it. I just hope for them was not so obvious how I felt in what I thought to be my last moments in Cleopatra store. Before leaving, I told the owner the next day I will head to Luxor. He was from Luxor and was thrilled to tell me a little about his hometown. He taught me before leaving the magic sentence for a foreigner to say in Egypt, in case of trouble: ‘iinaa min huna (I am from here), he gave me a present, the Egyptian symbol for good luck, a scarabee bracelet I still have on my wrist when I write this and showed me where to eat good, right in the middle of that street. He put me to promise him I will go back in two days, on Dec 31, to tell him how it was in Luxor. I didn’t promise but I so regret I wasn’t able to go back and do so.

The place I was recommended to eat was a place I was just stepping by before and it shocked and amused me how incredibly dirty it was. A small room in white old tiles, with tall glass windows looking really oily, with small metal or wood stars, too dirty to tell, going upstairs, two huge pans outside with hot oil where a boy was frying something from time to time. Inside a man was grabbing food from the tins around him using only his hands, other two were bringing new tins full of all sorts of food. One was pouring something that looked really gross from a big basin, that looked as if no water and detergent have touched it for years. I do not exaggerate, the place looked terrible, rather suit for those missing a few days of food poisoning. I had no idea what to take, no one spoke a word of English. So I took what I saw. Someone before had a plate full of a few meals looking very good and fresh. But seeing the meat storage there, I thought I should better not go for meat in such a fancy place if I wanna leave the toilet the next day. But the place was full of locals buying food as takeaway. I said to myself: now or never and took a soup and some pasta in front, only because I could point them. I was shown to take a sit to the only table. Was smelling like food inside as if they were cooking for an army. The food was quite delicious. The next days I had many times that type of soup, called lisan asfour, or bird tongue soup, but that was the best. I ate my dinner under the surprised looks of people entering the place and seeing me there, eating. Their first surprise was immediately replaced by smiles. Two little girls watched me constantly while their mother, who was wearing al-amira, the two pieces of black veil leaving only the eyes visible, was in vain trying to stop them from staring. She also turned, I saw the smile on her eyes and I smiled back with a hand gesture and a blink instead of it’s ok, are kids. And like that, we understand each other. I paid and right before living a saw many people buying something then the window. I used the excuse I needed something for breakfast, on the way to Luxor. I aswed that were some small balls and I was immediately hand one, by hand, from inside. OMG. It was falafel, which of course I know, I had it in good restaurants, I had it in Israel, in Jordan but this was the king of falafel. The best I ever tasted. I took some fried spicy eggplants. Also delicious. I left and took a photo of the place from outside. I will never forget it as the place I was laughing about considering it too dirty and where I actually have such a good and authentic food experience. And the next morning I was in perfect health.

I walked among people, thousands of people on those little streets as if I really meant ‘iinaa min huna, I was from there. Men wearing taqyia, headscarves and long camel thobes with large scarves hanging down their neck, woman with their faces covered with al-amira or wearing only a hijab, holding grocery stores in one hand and the hand of a child in the other. And I felt secure. I thought it was the place to take amazing shots for a photographer which I am not but I did took some photos: with a store called ISIS, the name of an ancient goddess, with a spices store with tens of spices in colorful bags outside, with a stall where a woman was baking corn, waving her hand with an old newspaper as sparkles of fire were filling the air above her head, with the boy selling fruits in the market that wanted me to take his photo smiling, with the merchant who sold the first raw dates I ever had, with the cages full of hundreds of live chickens or the huge pieces of meat hanging outside, in front of the meat stores.

I bought a bracelet, a bag of tea and fresh dates, I was invited in more than 10 stores, I was asked where was I from and if I liked Egypt. I said yes and it was pure true. Those two hours showed me so much and turned upside down many of the perceptions I had before. I am definitely not someone who gets scared easily, but of Egypt, I was afraid.

Nura came for me as planned. She found me smiling with my entire body and carrying many bags with the things I have bought. I told her all, in one sentence: Nura, this is incredible I think I’m starting to love your country.

Wait to see Luxor and Cairo she said. And I couldn’t wait for more!

Jordan

Jordan: Bedouins, Traditions & Wonders

6 October 2018 My Beautiful Places Leave a comment

First day in Jordan

I had to stop to catch my breath. We did it! We climbed all the 800 steps carved into the rainbow colored rocks of the canyon, all the way up to the Monastery. I wasn’t dreaming. I was in Petra. “You can’t say you saw Petra if you don’t see the Monastery”. I heard this too many times the night before, in the restaurant, from the Jordanian guy who was trying to convince me and a couple of Americans to pay more to a Bedouin guide who could get us there. And now, Christine and her husband, they had made it too. Instead of a guide they opted for two donkeys to carry them for most of the way up. I waved my hand towards them, from the top of the rock facing the Monastery, as they were resting in the shade of one of the two large stone walls guarding the ancient monument. And I got back two thumbs up as an answer.

The view was unbelievable. I must have turned in circle a few times. The canyon where we came from in the front, hidden behind the rocks, the vast plateau with the Monastery facade in the left, where a donkey was trying in vain to get a few centimetres of shade from a pillar, a few kids were following a herd of goats with long years and two Asian girls were taking selfies. In the entire side in the back and the right were deep valleys with rocky mountains and sharp cliffs of dark green, contrasting the reddish shades of the so dry canyon. And they were reaching as far as you could see.

At 5am the day before I left Jerusalem. I was even more grumpy than the hostel host that was already awake and come barefoot to open the large entrance door for me, wearing only his shirt and looking like a cricket with his naked skinny legs. Who cared after a night when I couldn’t shout an eye… Maybe it was the too sweet black tea’s fault, the one offered by my Palestinian new friend or the stories about his life, which triggered a storm of thoughts in my head. The morning sky in Jerusalem was divine. The sun was coming out from a huge puffy cloud, spreading orange-pink shades and a multitude of rays of light so amazingly well defined, like in those old paintings depicting God. If you don’t believe in anything, Jerusalem will raise some questions to you and if you believe, probably some answers.

I was in no mood of socialising with the rest of the group. We drove by a wire gate with surveillance cameras for many km before finally reaching the border with Jordan.

Hello Jordan

The first impression of Jordan, right after crossing the border, was of that of a country facing strong economic difficulties, to say it gently. I’m not coming from a rich country myself, poverty and hardship is not something never seen before for me, but life there seemed tougher. It was the middle of the Ramadan month. Small towns with dusty streets, tiny shops with little to offer, mini eateries with almost no food and barely one two clients, simple buildings with 2-3 floors and old commercials in Arabic, small square houses with small windows. Only one color: limestone. From buildings to the streets, people’s clothes and the dust all around, all was matching that same color – limestone. I thought Israel landscapes were arid, but Jordan looked like a desert and the towns we drove by looked almost deserted. Rarely I could spot silhouettes of men wearing grey or beige thobe, touching the ground, or women covered in black niqab. All were moving slowly. A group of kids started running towards our bus, waving their hands. As kids everywhere, they were full of joy. Days after I realised I had no photo taken with the places I first saw in Jordan. I was completely absorbed.

As we were leaving little towns behind, an open plateau was stretching far away in that burning sun. Because of the heat, the distant areas seemed covered in mist. The road was just a line between two identical sides. And right there, where almost nothing grew and water exists only when brought by rain, a large black tent was rising sometimes out of nowhere. More like a large blanket suspended on a few wooden posts, with nothing else around on sides, just a few carpets covering the soil. A few goats around, surrounded by a fence or usually free. Always a blue water storage tank near. Never many people around. Sometimes only a woman in black niqab with a child following a herd of goats, other times two young men doing something around the tent, often 3-4 people sitting under the tent. All men wearing shemagh to cover their heads. Those were the Bedouins, the so called pure blooded people of Jordan, the first to live on these dry lands. For the next days their simple lifestyle in the middle of the digital age and comfort will not cease to amaze me. These people are the first to see the sun in the morning and the last to watch it in the evening. They don’t live in the wild cause they are often close to the cities and what we call civilisation, turning heads away from the comfort as we know it and living a different way, their own way. Closer to nature, in harmony with nature. For the Bedouins outside means home. These people of the desert, nomadic populations living in regions of North Africa and the Arabian peninsula, are free people.

We stopped in Jerash. The Pompeii of the Middle East. Except here, sand was preserving the ancient treasure of the city built by the Romans. Majestuous gates, colonnaded avenues, temples and theatres, all speak of times of fame and glory of the ancient city, once an important imperial centre. It was so beautiful and so terribly hot, I was using a scarf to cover my hands. My head was burning and the hat I forgot home was now becoming a basic need.

We passed through a small bazar. I talked to a vendor about my country and his. He sold me a pomegranate juice. I felt I was alive again. And we left.

The places and people I saw when we first entered Jordan had nothing in common with the capital Amman. Beautiful buildings, large streets, residential areas, nice stores, parks and a crazy traffic. Basically the description that could suit any other capital. Only one thing in common: the limestone color. The city was proudly wearing an all limestone shade.The cooler breeze and the panoramic view of the Promised Land on top of Mount Nebo were another treat to be spoiled with by Jordan. The place where Moses looked down in the past to what we call now the Dead Sea, Israel and the Palestinian Territories. And where now, Steve, an american born and raised in US, with old Jew origins, whom I’ve talked a little before about accents in US, asked rhetorically how come the Muslims admit the existence of Moses but without accepting the legitimate right of Jews to live in those lands. It was passed afternoon and my last meal was more than 20h before. Others in our group of about 15 people were in the same boat. First we started joking about it and teasing Wael, our Jordanian guide who was really trying to find a place selling food. But in Jordan they take the Ramadan very seriously. Most of the people fast until sunset. This means almost no one sels food, as this is considered a temptation for those who fast. All the small restaurants he knew were closed. Every time we stopped and Wael went out of the bus in search of food, coming back empty hands there was a general AAAA to be heard. First we joked about it and so we started talking to one another. As only a few places in the bus were occupied, since we were a small group, everyone had empty seats around. Now hunger crossed these barriers. Finally Wael came back successfully with two bags of some pastries. I wasn’t so happy when I got mine. But one first bite and I was the happiest. It was delicious, still warm and all filled with dates cream and some sort of spices. I still have gourmand fantasies with that.

The sun was burning less strong when we arrived in Madaba. In that place I got the chance to watch the making of two of the most amazing handcrafts: the handmade natural stone mosaics inspired by centuries of mosaic making tradition in Jordan and sand drawing inside bottles. The last one is something you can’t believe if you don’t see it: in a bottle with many layers of colored sand, a woman using only a stick was moving rapidly the sand inside and the results were camels, palm trees, mountains and whatever the client wanted. All in a few minutes. Here masterpieces are created every day. We tried local products in a store, delicious dates, walk a few streets and finally, after a long search, found my hat for the next days, with a nice discount offered by the owner of the shop: a beautiful white and red shemagh.

It was dark when we arrived in Petra. After the AirBnb in Tel Aviv and the poor hostel in Jerusalem, a four stars hotel felt soo good. The view was unreal, as the hotel was on a cliff above the canyon. We had an amazing dinner, I talked a lot with my new friend from Australia, Illa and finally went to sleep exhausted but happy to be in a country that was slowly revealing its wonders. And ready to add something new to those I called my beautiful places.

Next: Petra and Wadi Rum