of red cliffs and black sand.

From my journal, on the twenty eighth of June...

As all of you at home plunge deeper into the dark days of winter (which, from what I hear, can only be described as Arctic), we are sitting on the grass of our hotel, under a frangipani tree, the monsoonal waves of the Arabian sea crashing onto the sand 10 metres away from us. We are lolling, relaxing off a huge morning beach walk and subsequent feast of a lunch. We are listening to the waves, the urgent whistle of the lifeguard in the background. It actually doesn't sound so urgent anymore. It is so frequent- sounding as soon as anyone gets their shins wet- that after a few days it becomes merely irritatingly insistent. 

We have made friends with a dog. She sleeps on our balcony and we feed her our leftovers. She is with us now but she won't sit on the grass because it is too prickly. Her favourite time- apart from leftover o'clock- is when the cleaners leave the cushions and sheets to air on the grass. Her name is Ana.

The ladies who work here have just, in a sudden burst of activity, gathered all the coconut halves that have been baking in the afternoon sun into baskets on their heads. It smells faintly of sewage, but only faintly and we are too relaxed to move. The breeze above our heads is tickling the palm fronds but failing to reach us We are waiting for a skype call. There's that whistle again. 

We are at Varkala, of the red cliffs, black sands and strong waves, and we leave to tonight on a train.

So it seems I wanted to paint a picture for you all, as I sat with my journal and reminisced on our week that was Varkala.

We walked, sometimes, past fishermen and grazing buffalo and boys collecting coconuts. We ate breakfast with our hands to the sound of fire crackers exploding respectfully at the temple across the road. We tried to sneak past the lifeguards who weren't letting anybody swim.

We enjoyed the quiet heavy stillness that is Varkala in the monsoon season- shops boarded, restaurants dismantled and people who would rather have a midday nap than harrass tourists- as we wandered those red clifftops and looked out to the rough Arabian Sea.

At Varkala time is different...you spend your days doing nothing (or maybe you intersperse the nothing with a little walk, a bit of reading, a game of cards and a beer) but you don't get bored. Time seems to stand still but then you look up from your beer/book/nap and realise that a week has gone by and you really don't mind. 

 

 

 

all the way from morocco to portugal.

Some more much anticipated (I'm sure) photos. So have a wander down memory lane with us, from Morocco to southern Portugal...

The city of blue. Chefchaouen, inland Morocco.

Kasbah walls, Chefchaouen. 

The big sandwich. A highlight of Fes.

Essaouira- Will's first Atlantic dip and my first waves ridden

Wicked graf, Essaouira.

The fattest cat, lives in Rabat. 

A church in Portugal.

Anchor graveyard, Tavira, just over the border in Portugal.

Just before the storm breaks in Tavira.

After the storm.

A piggyback through puddles.

We had just bought a new umbrella. It was very exciting...

Love in Lagos.

Lagos. Jealous?

Europe's southwestern most point. I just had to dangle it...

Yellow and blue; the colours of Lisbon.

Love those tiles. 

Number 22. A Lisbon classic.

A sunset in Belem, home of the pastel de nata.

A castle in the Portuguese hills. 

And here we'll take a break from our gallivanting, but in a minute we'll continue up from Lisbon to France.

can we just get two of the custard tarts please...

Our journey to Portugal was, to borrow from Enid Blyton, perfectly horrid. It involved two sleepless nights, sleeping on the cold ground, and various forms of transport, all public, all slow. By the time we arrived in Tavira, our first stop, I was literally shaking with exhaustion and cold. Luckily our time in this small land of bacalhau and pastel de nata (that's salted cod and Portuguese tarts) has been a perfect delight.

To save money (mostly) we decided to couchsurf all the way through Portugal- and we managed to, save two nights- and as a result, I think it is all the people we have met that will stay with us more than the places we have been.

Our first host was in Tavira, a little village on the ocean where we saw wild flamingoes feeding in the salt lakes. His name was Paulo and he welcomed us into his little home with open arms, a very comfortable couch and a chicken dinner. He was a lifeguard who loved the ocean and his town and he made us little maps and itineraries of places to visit and things to see. One day we walked six kilometres along a long deserted beach, from an anchor graveyard in the sand to Paulo's little life-guard hut; it's a fantasically exhilirating and anticipatory feeling swimming on an empty beach with storm clouds gathering in the distance. Unfortunately those storm clouds then broke and the next few days were flood-like.

Then the weather cleared, we said goodbye to our life-saving friend and tried to hitch-hike to Lagos, a town at the other end of the Algarve. We made it as far as Faro, then decided to catch the train and therefore made it to Lagos before nightfall. Lagos is an extremely touristy place but for good reason- the beaches are amazing.We were lucky enough to have one last day of "summer", and spent it swimming in crystal clear water on tiny little beaches surrounded by huge orange cliffs. Then we watched the sun go down over the Atlantic, atop a cliff. We stayed in a hostel in Lagos, our couch requests bearing no fruit, but it was definitely worth the expense. After our summery swimmy day at the beach we caught the bus out to the town of Sagres, from which it is a 6km walk to the desolately, breathtakingly windswept southwestern-most point of Europe. Atlantic waves crashing into rocks a hundred metres below you, insane fishermen perched on the very edge of the cliff hunting for the catch of the day, huge sea birds gliding on updraughts all around, and wide flat blue for miles. And Europe's most southwestern hotdog stand...
Not feeling extremely enthusiastic about a return 6km walk we tried our luck sticking out our thumbs and were surprised and delighted when, after four or 5 cars drove past, one stopped and took us all the way back to Lagos. From where we caught an afternoon bus to...

Lisbon! A picture perfect city; all cobbled lanes, old yellow trams, pastel pink and yellow and blue houses and a huge square opening out onto a harbour, from where we could see the "Golden Gate Bridge" and Rio's "big hilltop Jesus". Despite all this, and despite the abundance of pastel de natas all over the city, it wasn't a place that I wanted to live in (and this is how I determine a good city). I think this may have had something to do with the people we were couchsurfing with though, or if not the people, definitely the house. I say house...I mean tiny little bottom floor apartment with 3 tiny bedrooms and smaller kitchen and no living area that was home to seven people...and then couchsurfers. We found it a bit odd that these people hosted couchsurfers at all, what with all their minus space and all, and it wasn't until we were leaving and the man asked us for eighty euro for the 4 nights that we understood...scoundrels.
Rather than spending any more time than we had to in the apartment, we spent hours wandering around Lisbon. Up and down the hilly streets, overdosing on charm in tiny little tiled gardens, eating pastel de nata in Belem, the home of said delicious, finding aqauducts, a castle and hordes of tourists...not a bad city, not a favourite city.

After handing over 80 of our precious euros to our landlord (ahem, "host"), we sat fuming at the train station waiting for our train to the inland university town of Coimbra. We were heading into Harry Potter territory now...did you know old J.K. taught English in Porto (the 'capital of the north') and gained inspiration from a lot of the surrounding places. Like the university in Coimbra, a beautiful old stone complex on a hill above the city where tradition has students going about in black capes...sounding familiar?
Uni means students and students mean parties and our host in Coimbra was a very friendly, happy, enormous Bulgarian who loved to go out and party. So we met lots of people in Coimbra, stayed up way past our bedtimes and slept all through the mornings. To get out of the house one afternoon, after a long hard day of sleeping, we duck-spotted along an autumnal river with a Venezuelan chap called Jeremia.
We ended our time in Coimbra with a huge codfish dinner at a Portuguese house (an eternally tardy friend of our host's mother cooked), another late night that included Jenga and an impromptou oboe performance and a warm, fuzzy feeling inside from the extent of Bulgarian and Portuguese hospitality. And a vow to visit Bulgaria and all our new friends there.

In Porto, the place from which we reluctantly farewelled this lovely little country, we stayed with another Bulgarian who we met in Coimbra. Dilyana is in Porto on exchange, studying fine arts and living with another arts student from Slovenia and a plaster artist from Porto itself. So we were feeling very arty...even though the only thing we created while we were there was a chicken soup "surprise" and a chocolate fondue.
We had far too short a time in Porto, it's an exceedingly picturesque city perfect for exploring. On our first morning Dilyana and Helena took us on an impromptu little tour of the backstreets, to opshops and fabric stores, past cheap bars and cafes (students area of expertise). Past a little park that was to us a point of orientation and was to the elderly, the arts students and the local prostitutes a meeting place. Then they left us and we climbed a big tower for a panoramic view of all the red rooves, the river and the vine covered walls of the city. We dove back into Harry Potter in the Livraria Lello, an amazing bookshop that has been in business for over 100 years, has been voted one of the most beautiful bookshops in the world and was, reputatedly, inspiration for the library in Harry Potter. It's walls are lined in very old books encased in glass-faced panels and the staircase to the second floor is an Alice in Wonderland wonder...google it.
We saw the city from both sides of the river, climbed over the bridge designed by Gustav Eiffel (there is a resemblance, indeed) and were treated to another impromptu performance at another dinner we were invited to- this time it was fado, the traditional, melancholic music of Portugal. Our performer (one of the girls we were having dinner with) was a little audience shy so she turned off all the lights and sang to the open window...she was quite incredible.

And with these delicious memories we snuck onto the metro (since we were leaving we felt we need not buy a ticket...) and settled into our uber cheap, ad-riddled plane, ready to fly to Bordeaux.

the city of vowels and marrakech.

From Rabat we had a very long bus ride down to Morocco's "windy city", Essaouira. The city of vowels. Unfortunately it was the week of the sheep slaughter and subsequent feast, which meant several sheep were also on the bus, in the luggage hold, which meant when we arrived in Essaouira our bags smelt like sheep wee. Which is exactly what you don't want the really heavy thing you have to strap to your back to smell like...roses or vanilla or something is far more preferable. Bit of backpacking trivia for you there.

Anyway, the point is, we arrived in Essaouira. The same deal as all the other cities, a medina and a ville nouvelle, but a wander out of the medina walls here brought you to a very long, sandy beach, perfect for swimming and windsurfing, kite surfing and regular surfing...the windy city. This was also the town where the tout at the bus station begged us to let him lead us to a hotel then demanded a tip, which is how we ended up with our wicked penthouse suite. Complete with a balcony perfect for yahtzee games and airing out our urine soaked backpacks.

The first two days we were here everyone was gearing up for the sheep slaughter feast (it is obvious now that I have no idea what the actual holiday is called), so the main shopping street in the medina was packed, constantly. Trying to merge onto it from a side alley- keep in mind it is a pedestrian, and occasional bike, thoroughfare only- was a matter of inserting yourself into whatever tiny space you could and waiting for the crowd to slowly project you forward. It took about 1/2 an hour to get from one end of the street to the other (when the festival was in full swing and everyone was home, we managed it in under 10 minutes). It was full on. Luckily there were only 2 days of this and then it magically changed into a christmas morning town...silent, empty streets bar a few families on their way to parties, laden with food, or boys running to and fro with little trailers filled with sheep skins. A happy, festive air without anyhting really going on. Still and quiet, in a good way. Just hordes of tourists wandering around, disconcerted because no shops were open and they didn't know where to get breakfast from.

When we weren't battling the crowds and refusing touts who offered us drugs, merchandise or restaurants, we spent a bit of time wandering along the old city walls, around the harbour and up along the beach. Will practised his backflips on the sand and instantly became a camel enthusiast when we spotted some further up the beach. (Plans are in motion...if anyone knows how big a camel exercise yard should be, get in touch).

We also spent a few hours one morning surfing. My very first time ever, so I was looking very cool stumbling down  the beach with my enormous foam longboard...Will is getting better now, he had the grown-up's neat little fibreglass number. (And he also now has the bragging rights of having surfed on 4 different continents). But once we were in the water the conditions were perfect for learning. I was right near a group who were having a lesson, so I didn't have to worry about looking spastic in front of them, and it was so bizarrely foggy that I was invisible to all of the real surfers further out in the big terrifying waves. And so, I managed to stand up! Several times! And made it nearly to shore without falling off! It was a big moment for me. After our morning of exertion, we spent the rest of the day resting and drinking coffee.

We left the lovely little town of Essaouira rather reluctantly, but short of more surfing we had done all we could think of doing there. So onward and upward, to Marrakech.

Marrakech, where we had planned to couchsurf, found a host and had even talked to him over the phone. Marrakech, where we ended up staying in probably the fanciest hotel we have yet stayed in, on this trip (not that I was complaining). The couchsurfing fell through and by this time it was about 10pm, we had no map and this hotel was open and had a room free (a scarcity in Marrakech, the most popular city in Morroco), so we collapsed on the king-sized bed with relief.

Marrakech is like the other places we went, amped up. The medina is huge, the souk is an insane maze of piles of shiny things just begging to be bought...filigree and glass lamps shimmering from floor to ceiling, racks and racks of sparkly bags and shoes, little counters piled high with sticky, colourful apples, oranges and all made out of marzipan, and clothes and souvenirs and leather-work and wood-work...and touts just begging you to buy them. A very interesting little square was home to the herbists, who had discovered that putting cages with turtles, chameleons and salamanders in front of their stores was the perfect tourist lure. It makes for very innocuous opening conversation. We met one fellow who had a very curious chameleon, it only changed colour when it was in his shop, surrounded by things we could buy...but ignoring all this, it was interesting to find out what all the mountains of spices and colours were for. Did you know khol comes from a really heavy, silver rock? And that when you rub nigella seeds together they smell like eucalypt? And musk comes in small chunks, like soap, that you rub on your wrists to impress the ladies? All very interesting. And the shops that sold jars upon jars of coloured powders...I have no idea what it was but looking at the shelves filled with jars brought to mind a very colourful apothecary.

The other big focal point in this medina was the massive square in the middle. During the day it is home to dozens of fresh orange juice men and dried fruite vendors and snake charmers who grab unsuspecting tourists, coerce them into taking pictures, then charge (we heard) $80AU for the pleasure! But at night (when it cools down) the sqaure becomes a huge open air restaurant, performance area and meeting place. It fills up with hundreds of people, buskers, "side-show" games and rows of little stalls selling fried meat, stew, soup...lots. We spread dinner between three stalls, with soup and some kind of deep-fried sugar snack (every culture has a version of deep-fried sugar, it would seem) first, a delicious, melty lamb stew and bread second and some kind of cinnamon flavoured something with strong ginger tea for dessert. Then a coffee and some people watching.

We did a few tourist things here. Visited a museum in an old riad with beautiful tile work and orange trees, visited a palace with similar attributes, only grander, visited the tombs of Saadian princes. The thing I remember most though is when we were sitting in horse and carriage square, having a bit of a rest, and a man clutching a plastic bottle of moonshine and a frame made out of old tyres, swayed over to us, told us he had several shops ad tried to sell us carpets, spices and tyre frames. A successful business man, for one who appeared to be a very drunk homeless man.

And with that memory, we left Marrakech, and Morocco, and after several days of travel flund ourselves in Tavira, southern Portugal.

round two.

These photos will about bring you up to speed with where we are...from India, via Sri Lanka, and onto Spain. 

This is the huge temple that dominated the Indian town that, if anyone can remember my post, I was very sick in and quite frankly, didn't enjoy at all. I do like this photo though.

This is from that same town; while I was sick in bed Will went to conquer the big hill, as is his way, and found these monkeys at the top.

Pondicherry...the first time we've had cheese since Nepal and the first time we've had jam that didn't make us feel ill from chemicals since we left home...we are understandably excited about our picnic (even if we did have to have it on a hill to avoid all the poop on the grass...ahhh, India).

The town policemen doing the town policemen dance in Mamallapuram, the town we spent our last week of India in. P.s. they aren't really dancing, Will just happened to catch them in this hilarious pose.

The big rock! We summited this in Sigirya, Sri Lanka. There were some ruins on top and an excellent view.

Also at the big rock. Apparently there were hornets- we didn't see any but this sign is hilarious.

The tea fields of Sri Lanka- this is where your morning cuppa comes from (most probably).

Will dangling precariously on the edge of another big rock we climbed. This one was called Ella's Rock in the town of, strangely enough, Ella.

Tropical paradise. I think that is all that needs to be said.

Learning to surf in Basque Country. One half of the couple that were our first wwoofing hosts in Spain was a very keen surfer and Will took every opportunity to practise, even though the water was freezing (I know, I swum without a wetsuit...I'm real tough).

Tourists in San Sebastian. As well as taking this very posed photo we also paid way too much for some tapas, before finding the much cheaper and more delicious tapas laden bar in some side street. This city is also home to the most crowded beach I have ever seen. Ever. We considered ourselves lucky to find one square metre of human-free sand.

The Casa de Paja; our first wwoofing project in Spain, helping some hippies build a house of straw. See that smooth, smooth concrete? Smoothing that onto the wall was basically our job for the whole two weeks...we became very, very good. 

The morning view of the village we stayed in while wwoofing...there was no more than a couple of bars and a squash court. Very Spanish country-side.

Back into the city now. This is one of the sculptures outside the Guggenheim Museum in Bilbao, which we visited on our very rainy last day in the city before heading south. The sack underneath the spider's belly is full of eggs; it is a sculpture to celebrate motherhood.

And this is the river-side facade of the Guggenheim. I like it because you can admire- for free- the sculptures and building itself without needing to part with hard-earned cash to go inside...it's bringing art to the people.

A big, building-side gecko made out of CDs in Madrid.

So that ends the photo journal post. Stay tuned for a Barcelona (aka coolest city we've all ever been to) update. 

I know you've all been waiting with baited breath...

Finally, some photos! Here is a small selection of India, starting from Fort Cochin. Enjoy!


 This is a very cool old tree we saw in Fort Cochin that has been graffitied into various animals. Not sure what this animal is but I like it...

 Some storm clouds rolling in over the cliffs of Varkala, the beach town we lazed away a whole week in. A few minutes after this was taken we were both drenched, having failed to seek shelter fast enough.

Varkala, again.

 An extremely full train. Will and I and all of our luggage were crammed onto this tiny bunk.

A crazy, colourful Mysore temple.

A photo-souvenire from the railway museum we visited in Mysore...it is an old Aston Martin that was converted by a train enthusiast so it could run on tracks; it was used to take the inspectors around to stations!

Welcome to Hampi! Temples. Lots of temples.

Apart from temples we also bore witness to this in Hampi...as far as we could make out it was some kind of Hindu exorcism/demonstration for the gods. Lots of shouting and making weird noises and falling about the place.

Temples and rocks.

Temples and monkeys.

And we saved the most Indian til last...an overfull ute/bus was struggling up the hill so out the men hop to push. (They made it to the top.)

So there is a small selection. There will be some more soon, but only for as long as I can use Isabelle's computer because, as we figured out, it is my crappy piece of technology that wont let us upload.