From Meknes to the Coast and Onwards to Marrakesh: a Month in Morocco

by annie

Meknes
Meknes is an hour bus ride east from Fes, and is also one of Morocco's five imperial cities. We planned to stay for a couple of days to check out the city and the nearby Roman ruins, Vouloubilis. We ended up staying much longer because I suffered from intense heat exhaustion, fevers, chills and travelers illness. We finally made it out to Vouloubilis and nearby Moulay Idriss, a white-washed town housing the only cylindrical minaret in all of Morocco.

Meknes felt more mellow than Fes, with fewer people hankering for our cash. We met an interesting fellow named Mohamed over some harira (soup) and sandwiches. He invited us to watch a football (soccer) game in a salon de the (tea shop). The place was full to the brim with game enthusiasts. I was the only woman there, and I'm starting to get used to the feeling. Men in Morocco spend a lot of time together without women, sitting for coffee and tea for hours. They are also very affectionate with each other, oftentimes holding hands in the streets, kissing both cheeks several times upon greeting, and patting each other on the back in jest. Mohamed also happens to be very affectionate towards women, as we soon noticed. He spoke often and lovingly of women. When I asked him about his job, he told me that he doesn't work and that his money comes from God. Later, he confided to Brian that his money comes from women (aka, he's a hustler!).

Cascades d'Ouzoud
It's unclear what time our bus leaves or when it arrives in Beni Mellal, our stop-over before Ouzoud. We sit on the bus while men and boys roam the aisles selling cookies, snacks and sodas. It rains, and for the first time in 5 years, I welcome it. There always tends to be an argument before departure, and this was no exception. As the bus rolls forward, men hop on and off through the back door yelling at a passengers in Arabic for several minutes until finally the argument seems to resolve.

Cascades d'Ouzoud is a magical place with mud-red falls, shops and cafes lining the paved path down to the river and a charming boat to row us to the other side, where we camp for three nights in a traditional Berber tent. We spend our time playing cards, eating good food and exploring the river, either by brave dips in the water or walks along side it. We enjoy the break from all the people in cities and we easily relax into the nature around us.

We leave Cascades d'Ouzoud in a jam-packed Mercedes Benz. We sit in the front seat together, beside the driver with four other passengers crammed in back. We definitely got the best seat for the hour-plus ride into Azilal, our next stop-over.

Agouti and the Atlas Mountains
From Azilal, we planned to take another grand taxi to Agouti, a remote village in the Atlas Mountains. After a breakfast of bread and olive oil, we made our way to the taxi station. We were the first passengers to go to Agouti, which meant that we would either need to wait for four more passengers, or pay for the empty seats. Each seat cost about $5, so we elected to wait in the nearby cafe. Four hours passed and two seats still remained empty, so we swallowed the cost of two extra seats and savored the extra leg and arm room.

Our driver sucked his teeth, spit out the window frequently and played the same tape over and over again. During silent times, he would either sing a Berber song or speak with the other Moroccan passengers. He had a fur cloth covering the dash and I helped him tuck it under the windshield from time to time, although I didn't like touching it. He honked his horn whenever he encountered a person by the street, a curve in the road or oncoming traffic.

In the back seat, Brian sat next to Lahcen, a man who lives in a small village near Agouti. He convinced us to stay with his family and let him guide us around the area. The driver dropped us off at a foot path, and we followed it to Lahcen's home constructed of earth and cement. In addition to his family, it houses chickens, cows, sheep and a mule. Our room was on the top floor with easy access to a covered balcony where we sipped many cups of tea.

On our first afternoon, Lahcen took us along the main road and then up a big ridge so that we could see two valleys below. The lush green farmland of the valley starkly contrasted the brown and red mountains rising above it. Most of the homes were built with earth and blended into the landscape.

On our second day, we ate a breakfast of bread and warm, sweetened milk from their cow. Lahcen took us on a long hike around the valley and eventually to the site of some fossilized dinosaur prints. They weren't as big as we'd imagined, but were said to be 185 million years old! Next we bought supplies for a picnic and hiked to the top of a hill called Sidi Moussa for lunch and tea with the groundskeeper. Local folklore claims that a 2-night stay at the top of this hill will cure infertility (as long as you don't mind Allah being the father). We also visited a woman's cooperative founded and run by teenage pioneers of the local business/food movement. They followed their dream despite the protests of their mothers. Later, we relaxed over cards and couscous, retiring early for a 7am taxi ride back to Azilal.

Essaouria
By the time we had traveled from Agouti to Azilal and through Marrakesh to Essaouria, it was late. A guide charged us 50 dirhams ($6.25) to take us to a cheap hotel. We grudgingly obliged because the coinciding World Music Festival meant full hotels and guesthouses. Our room was conveniently located in the medina- old city- and we easily accessed the beach for walks, camel rides(!!) and sun bathing. There, we met Emma and Yousef who were in from Sweden visiting Yousef's family. We had a blast with them sipping tea, eating pizza and dancing to world music on the beach. We hope to cross paths with them again.

Being so close to the beach, we couldn't resist indulging in fresh-caught fish. We made our way to the fish grills on the dock where we picked out whole red snapper, calamari and shrimp to weigh and take straight to the grill. We waited at a picnic table , munching on fresh salad, olives and bread (Yes, Brian actually likes olives now!!!). The fish was delicious although not cleaned or de-boned. Essaouria has a more modern feel than most of the places we had visited so far, but I can't say we minded. It was nice to see a western toilet again!

Mirleft
We hated to leave Essaouira, but moved our beach time further south to the small village of Mirleft. After two bus rides, we hiked down to the secluded beach cove of Aftas Beach, where we settled into a brightly painted room overlooking the beach. We spent the evening on the balcony, sipping tea and watching the fiery moon dip below the sea. There were only two other guests staying there, Moroccan guys named Kamal and Said. They were there visiting Kamal's brother, who runs the place. They were so generous, always inviting us to meals of fish they had caught in the morning, grilled sardines or couscous that took the local fisherman over 3 hours to prepare (it's quite different than the quick-couscous we know in the States. The process involves several rounds of rolling the couscous by hand with water, steaming and fluffing. The result comes out truly amazing, so fluffy and moist. They eat it with their hands, by rolling it into small balls). In between catching sunrays and playing in the waves, we hung out with them a lot. They gave us Moroccan names- Brahim for Brian and Amina for me. From what I can gather, Amina means sweet and/or trustworthy. They taught us card games and with their friend Hassan, took us to another nearby beach where we met a cave dweller in his dark, cool cave. On the way, we walked along the steep, rocky cliff of the sea, noticing fisherman somehow (and dangerously) perched on the slopes of the cliffs. It's hard to imagine how they got there, let alone how they managed to stay there.

On our last day, we took a day trip to Legzira, where certainly pictures say more than words.

It was easy enough to take a taxi there, but tricky getting back. We sat on the side of the road, waiting for either a vacant taxi or willing driver to accept the plea I made with my outstretched thumb. In the end, it was a taxi driver that picked us up. We ate dinner in town before making our way back to the guesthouse by the light of the moon.

Marrakesh
After saying goodbye to our friends in Mirleft, we awoke insanely early to catch the 7am bus to Marrakesh. This involved hiking out of the cove with our packs in the dark. The ride took 7 hours; luckily we both had seats and could sit next to each other.

Marrakesh is Morocco's hip, posh town striking a nice balance between modern and traditional. We stayed in the medina, close to the popular Djeema al Fna Square. The square comes alive at night with people eating at food stalls and watching the many forms of entertainment: fortune telling, street theater, drum circles, live music, snake "charming" and monkeys on leashes. I adamantly oppose the later two as snake charmers often sew the mouths shut of their snakes, causing infection and/or death (not to mention, oww!). The monkeys clearly did not enjoy their job, they constantly tugged at their leashes and tried to get away. I don't blame them.

We spent a little time in a bookshop in the ville nouville (new city) and had a dinner of delicious pizza. On our walk back to the medina, we passed horse-drawn carriages, gardens smelling of urine and a beautiful minaret.

The next morning I left for a writing workshop in London. Brian stayed in Morocco for a few extra days before heading up to southern France to visit our good friends Christine and Jonathan.

For all the relevant photos, please click here:

Morocco

For our adventures in Fes, click here: Fes

Fes, Plunging Head-First into Moroccan Culture

by annie

Every Thursday night, single and divorced women gather on the bridge near the watermill to throw food into the stream below. They believe a genie lives under the bridge and make offerings so she will grant their wishes, usually involving a husband in the future. They burn candles and dried flowers in a corner and Adil scoffs at their beliefs. He believes in God, he tells me, but not genies.

Adil is the super-entrepreneur that owns the guest house we stayed in. He also runs a desert excursion business, a carpet shop, a pottery shop and a jewlery shop. He's encouraged us to take up various business schemes, go on one of his desert treks or sell his carpets for profit in the States. We soon tired of his propositions. At 27, he appears to be the primary earner for his large family, including two sisters, 3 brothers and his parents at the very least. Little kids and other family members are always around. Six or seven of them sleep in one room of the guesthouse and Adil's father has three wives.

Although one million people live in Fes, we continue to run into familiar faces. A carpet salesman who interpreted my henna design one day, showed up to harass the owner of a restaurant near our guesthouse the next day. The spice shop owner who gave us whiffs of amber, musk, Moroccan patchouli, orange blossom water and anise turned up at our favorite harira stall later that afternoon. A clothing salesman we had encountered one day guided me towards the w.c. the following day. People here are kind and warm-hearted, oftentimes stopping us in the street to welcome us, showing us the way when we are lost, shouting "Obama!!" when they learn we're American, buying us fresh mint tea and sharing blankets on the bus. It has been extremely easy to meet people and share a conversation over a bowl of harira, a cup of Moroccan tea, or a walk in the streets. A lot of people speak English, in addition to 4 or 5 other languages. Some people want compensation for their kindness, and it's hard to know the difference. In the medina, unofficial tour guides, as young as six or seven descended upon us on our first day in the medina and we found it difficult to say no or convince them to leave our side. We succumbed to significant frustration and I surprised myself on a few ocassions by my own reactions to difficult situations. Needless to say, it was an expensive day.

It's hard to describe the culture shock that ensued upon arriving in Fes, and especially in the medina. Nothing could have prepared us for it, and the first day was a difficult one. It was hard to accept that to many people, we looked like walking dollar signs. And even harder to then trust a kind gesture, as many turned out to be for money. Eventually, we were able to reconcile the two, business and kindness, as part of the culture here. Sometimes they coincide, sometimes not. It took an entire day of medina madness to adjust, but once we did, we were happy. Over the subsequent days, we developed more confidence and relaxed into the flow of the souqs and people and energy filling the narrow streets. We encountered far fewer guides and hassles, although people continued to call out to us- "Ali Baba" to Brian, because of his sideburns, and "hola" to me, thinking I'm Spanish. Several people have also told me that I look Moroccan.

Walking through the medina, we encountered donkeys carrying heavy loads, scrawny stray cats sleeping everywhere (including in a basket of onions!!), fruit and veggie stands, colorful carpets, clothes and art, Berber handicrafts, loud arguments, the erie call to prayer, women in long robes and scarves bustling to and fro, shop owners sitting in the streets, and aromatic food carts selling warm bread, sweets, meats and snacks. In the shops, we tried our hand at bargaining with mixed results.

We've eaten fantastic food, including the best couscous dish I've ever eaten. For under two US dollars, we've eaten bowls of piping hot harira, sandwiches stuffed full of salad goodies, rice, potatoes and hard-boiled eggs, flat, spongy cornbread filled with avocado and honey, sweet pastries, mint tea and more. We try to stick to fresh fruit from the open markets and snacks from nomad vendors roaming the streets. If we eat in a restaurant, we share a mezza salad and entree of vegetable tajine (stew) or vegetable couscous. The salad usually includes 6 or 7 different tiny salads that could consist of beets, carrots, potatoes, rice, creamy eggplant, tomatoes and onions, cucumbers, lettuce, cabbage, etc. Moroccans eat with their hands and they eat a lot of food, so one portion is more than enough for us to share. We enjoyed eating breakfast with Adil's family; they bring out one big dish that everyone dips their bread into.

Unfortunately, the heat, tap water and change in food has affected us both. We are on the mend. Inshallah we'll both fully recover soon!


For pics, see the last post: Photo Journal

Photo Journal- Nador and Fes

by annie

We arrived in Morocco after a long border crossing in Melilla. Since then, we have been completely overwhelmed by the culture, the sights, the sounds, the tastes, the smells, the people, the heat, and Moroccan life. Every little experience seems worth posting and I need to sift through hundreds of meaningful moments before posting a coherent update. In the meantime, I posted some pictures below with little descriptions to give you a taste of what we are experiencing. The first two are from Nador, close to the Spanish border, and the others are from Fes. We will most likely move on to Meknes tomorrow.

Pictures

1. Mosque in Nador

2. Brian buying cherries from a donkey-drawn fruit cart in Nador

3. Entering the Fes Medina- "the old city" and the largest urban car-free center in the world.

4. Another Medina entrance

5. Medersa Bou Inania, an Arabic theological school and mosque- courtyard

6. Medersa Bou Inania- mosque

7. Medersa Bou Inania- doorway

8. Medersa Bou Inania- detail work (amazing!!)

9. Brian filling up water from one of the many public fountains in the Fes Medina. Most mosques have a nearby fountain (and there are over 350 mosques in the Medina).

10. Relaxing on the guesthouse terrace

11. Brian in our room

12. Our guesthouse sleeping room

13. Guesthouse breakfast of lentil soup, bread, eggs and mint tea

14. One of many medina bathrooms- squat toilets in individual stalls, 1 dirham usage fee. I have never seen such a beautiful bathroom!

15. Horse eating in the Medina

16. Brian walking in the Medina

17. Medina street

18. Spice stall where we were given a mixture of ground cumin, oregano, caraway and corriander to eat and chase with water for upset stomach.

19. Chicken stall

20. Sitting with our favorite harira stall owner (harira is a yummy soup of tomato base, onion, cilantro & spices, garbanzos and tiny little pasta bits). He gave us his address so we can mail him the pic.

21. Friends of the harira stall. They also want a copy of the pic.

22. Example of the amazing doorways, tile work and architecture of the medina

23. Women making Argan oil. Argan is a nut that is collected from the poo of goats who eat them off trees and whose digestion softens the nutshell. The oil can be used for cooking or cosmetics. It has really helped my sunburn and is said to have strong antioxidant properties, lower cholesterol and fight wrinkles, acne, and more. It is also used for massage in the hammams- traditional Moroccan bath houses (more on these later!).

24. View from a terrace in the tanneries

25. Tannery dye vats. From the terrace, we could see all stages of leather making- removing the wool, processing it in chemicals, dying it, drying it, etc. Young children and adults alike climb in the vats of chemicals and dyes. The dyes are reportedly from natural sources- saffron, wild mint, henna, poppies and indigo.

26. A sample of lunch from a stall- beans and a sandwich of eggplant, fried fish, potatoes and sauce. If we eat in the tiny stalls, we get full of yummy food for 75 cents to $3. For instance, last night we ate fresh baguettes off the street filled with potatoes, saffron rice, hard boiled eggs, salad and sauce for about $1. Bread is baked fresh each day in communal oven rooms.

27. Mustafa, the carpet salesman, showing us many different carpets. They are handmade in Berber villages with cactus silk, wool and camel hair. Each piece is one of a kind and absolutely amazing. We enjoyed the show, but decided to pass on their offer to make us carpetsalesman (it would require that we purchase many carpets from him and sell them for big profit in Europe or the States).

28. Henna artist working her magic.

29. Final design. I scraped off the henna paste the morning afterwards to find a beautiful orange design underneath.

Vomitous Voyage: the Midnight Ferry to Morocco

by annie

*Disclaimer: This is one of those gnarly, only-funny-after-the-fact stories that I chose to include because it was part of our journey and now laugh about. If you don't like gruesome stories regarding bodily functions, this one's not for you.

I suddenly felt as if we were no longer in Spain as soon as we stepped in line to check in for our ferry to Morocco. The lines were stuffed with Moroccan men and a sprinkling of women wearing headscarfs and long dresses. We stuck out like a sore thumb and received many stares. The surreal bit started when boarding began. These people had obviously made this voyage before, and shoved and shouted their way to the front of the line, presumably to take first pick of prime realestate- floor space. While we made our way to the seating decks, we observed several shouting matches and found several people spread out on blankets on the floor, already asleep. We found some seats and settled in for an 8-hour journey across the Mediterranean. About 30 minutes into the ride, the boat encountered massive waves that crashed on the top of the four or five story commercial ferry. We rode the waves like a roller coaster, diving down and then climbing back up. It was about this time that I began to feel sick. I stepped on deck for some fresh air, passing a young, canoodling couple before planting my feet beside the railing. I stood there, practicing what I had learned in the movie, "the Secret." The basic principles claim that one can attain their heart's desire by putting it out into the universe through visualization and positive afirmation. So there I was, desperate, repeating things to myself about my body's stability and wellness and envisioning a pleasant ferry ride. After 20 minutes or so, I thought it might be working and decided to make my way back to my seat. I let go of the railing...and promptly threw up on the deck. The wind blew opposite me, so bits ended up on my face and other undesirable places. Gruesome.

I felt bad for ruining the couple's romantic evening and took a moment to brace myself before making my way back inside to the bathroom. I felt dizzy and queasy and I couldn't walk without stumbling. A man opened the door for me and spoke in a foreign language, yelling after me as I burst into the W.C. I plunged my face into the dirty sink before noticing a man walk out of a stall behind me. I thought it curious to find a man in the women's room, but I kept on washing. Then another man came out of another stall and both chuckled. I knew I had been here before, surrounded by women, but somehow it must have transformed into the men's room. I felt too sick to care.

I made my way back to my seat so I could employ Brian's help. On my way through the cafeteria, an old man stared intently at me as he approached, talking loudly in Spanish. He blocked my precious path, and so I yelled "No habla" (meaning s/he doesn't speak- not exactly relevant) and scampered around him, tripping over sleeping feet and legs in the cabin. Brian brought me a large plastic bag and offered to help me find the ladies room. I cried, telling him how I puked on the deck. He assured me that, surely, I wasn't the only sick one on board, despite having no evidence of such. Yet.

Just then, I was sick again, and triggered the most regrettable chain reaction I've ever witnessed. Throughout the dark cabin, one after the other, we heard the wretching of others, some without the fortune of having a bag. As I continued on, Brian rubbed my back, reminding me of the humor of it all ("hey, that guy behind us just puked on the floor!!!"). And so it was for the next six hours. I could see the moon outside tipping up and down as if I were on a giant see-saw. I closed my eyes, gripped my chair and my trusty bag, and plugged my ears to avoid the sounds of the cabin. Moving at all made me puke.

Brian had to leave the cabin to avoid succumbing to the stench and sounds of our surrounding sick passengers. He suggested I do the same, but I feared moving. I cannot describe the despair I felt upon realizing that I had 6 hours of turbulent sea sickness ahead of me. I felt queasy and exhausted, yet my belly never seemed to settle, despite emptying completely. A woman directly across the aisle from me snored throughout my entire episode. Lucky lady. Brian came back to check on me periodically, reporting on all the barf everywhere: barf that he had seen, barf that he had slipped on, barf that he had smelled, barf that filled the bathroom stalls, and more. The crew had disappeared, he said, and the bathrooms no longer functioned. We both managed to fall in and out of sleep around 6am. When the ferry finally, finally reached shore, passengers literally ran off the boat, laughing in relief. I for one, don't plan to go near another ferry for a long, long time.

San Pedro- an Oasis

by annie

From Purchena, we took a bus to Almeria and then another bus to Las Negras. We had to stock up on food, because the beach of San Pedro is only accessible by boat or long hike. We waited out the siesta until the stores opened back up and were pleased to find.... peanut butter!!!! It's really hard to find in Spain and normally expensive when you do, so I was happy to find it affordable. After packing the food, we heaved our heavy packs or 40 or 50 pounds on to our backs for a hike that would last over an hour. Brian was generous enough to carry the food bag as we made our way up into the hills along the coast for a gorgeous and strenuous hike. We arrived in San Pedro long before the sun went down and found the water spring, a place to camp and the beach of course!

San Pedro is a tucked away cove of quiet and beauty. For such an amazing place, we found surprisingly few people, mostly hippies, all enjoying themselves on the beach. Some people camped right on the beach, but we opted for a small cubbie in the valley where we improvised with dried grass to serve as bedding. We don't have a tent, so we slept under the stars on the hard earth, waking early with the sun.

It's clothing optional at San Pedro, so we exposed our parts that haven't seen the sun in quiet some time. Although we've developed nice tans over the last two months in all the usual places, the underexposed bits burned quickly and quietly. We are hurting for it now (when you burn your butt, it's kind of hard to sit down anywhere). Nevertheless, we soaked up the sun, played and laughed in the wondrous waves and lunched in the cave of an ancient ruined castle. Red rocks dotted the blue, blue water, and at times the undertow tried to keep us in the sea. At one point, Brian kept falling back in the water, unable to get out, until finally the waves pushed him, sideways, to shore.
We stayed two nights and didn't want to leave, but we had to catch an early bus on Saturday back to Almeria. We lost our alarm clock, and felt wary of hiking back to Las Negras before the sun, so we opted to stay the night in Las Negras instead of hiking back early morning. On our return hike, we faced incredible winds, pushing us backwards and sideways, but never forwards. The winds pummeled us the entire way, throwing pieces and pebbles powerfully towards our pinkest parts. At times I had to hunker down so as not to be blown over or off a cliff. The wind also had quite the sense of humor, evidenced by the many times that it blew the drool out of my mouth and onto my face. Back in Las Negras, we were able to score a reasonable deal on an apartment for the night- the first night so far that we have paid for accommodation. It felt luxurious to have a shower, a kitchen, electrical plugs and our own space for the night. We used ¨fairy¨brand dish detergent as shampoo, because that's all there was. The basics two months ago have become the luxuries today. We made a stew of garbanzos, pasta bits, tomato frito, mushrooms, onions and beets and stored the leftovers for the next day, when we travel to a new continent. Tonight, it's a midnight ferry ride and tomorrow we'll be in Morocco!

a week in Purchena

by annie

We took a 2 and a half hour bus ride from Valor to Almeria, where we would finally meet our British hosts Sandy and Phil. It was about 7pm when we arrived and were approached by Sandy, a self-described hippy. She's a lovely lady who loves living in nature and has done quite a bit of traveling herself- taking along two of her children when they were young. She's been living in Spain for 9 years, and she and Phil just in March bought a new property. Her youngest children, Rosie and Marley live there with her, while Phil is still living and running his solar/wind power business out of their old house. Everyone is anxious for him to move to the new place and we were sorry not to get to spend more time with him.

The drive from Almeria took over an hour and we were grateful to have dinner waiting for us, prepared by Bobby and Becca, a sibling helper duo from Scotland. We stayed in a lovely caravan and felt lucky that our legs could stretch out all the way! Phil and Sandy's home is always full of people, whether it's neighbors, family or friends visiting. Bobby and Becca were their first helpers, so they haven't established many systems for helpers, yet we felt extremely welcome and comfortable. Their property spans many hectares and overlooks a serene valley and surrounding mountains. The land is home to many fruit trees, including a fruit I've never heard of. They call it "nipolese" fruits. They are small orange fruits, with a juicy, tangy flavor. The texture is similar to a nectarine with thicker skin. Truly delicious. I saved some of the seeds to plant after travel. They also have almond, olive, fig, pear and apple trees and are starting on their garden. They plan to harvest the wild oats and wheat that grow around. The hope is that they will be able to eat mostly off the land. The water comes from a natural spring, flowing at about 1 litre per minute. It has a distinct taste and must be collected frequently because the water held in big barrels tends to attract mosquito larvae. We used this water for washing up rather than drinking. During our stay, we enjoyed oil from olives that their family picked and pressed at a local co-op (it's very common in Spain for even the tiniest of towns to have olive and grape co-ops where locals can turn their grapes into wine and their olives into oil). Meals were communal affairs, sometimes with 12 or 13 people present. We ate a lot of fresh veggies, olive oil and traditional Spanish bread. I was introduced to my first barley cup- a dissoluble cereal mixture that kind of tastes like coffee. We all drank loads of tea and played cards almost every day. One night, the weather treated us to a fantastic thunder and lightening storm. We could see the lightening all across the valley and surrounding hills. Unfortunately, we woke the next morning to see a fire on the neighbor's property, started by the lightening. The local fire crew promptly extinguished the fire, to the relief of everyone.

We helped on various projects such as painting the caravans, varnishing wood, digging, raking, etc. Brian designed a "piss catcher" for the compost toilet so that the urine can be used to feed the trees and won't interfere with the composting poo. The design process included a one-hour consult with the local hardware store owner. The final product turned out quite nice and can be moved from one toilet to the other. The compost toilet will have two stalls: one for pee and one for poo. Becca and I made signs to indicate which is which. After two years, the stalls will switch so that the poo can compost for two years prior to use. At that point, it should be safe for growing food.

We would wake around 8am (inevitably due to a persistent fly continually landing on our faces) and the heat would have us sweating by 9am. We'd work until it got too hot and then we'd lounge around, swing on the swings, or hide inside until it cooled off. We'd do a bit more work and then have dinner.

Brian hasn't had a haircut in a while, so I took his beard trimmer and made him a Mohawk with it. The six year old neighbor, Alejandro, told him he looks like a rooster. Point taken. But I still think it's quite charming.

The shower provided some hilarity for us- it's a metal bucket strung in a tree. One must boil water, mix with cold water, pour in the bucket above head-level, and stand underneath in a larger metal bucket. The bottom of the water bucket has little holes, like a shower head and the water comes out when the lever is pulled (and sometimes the water keeps flowing even when you stop pulling the lever). We had to help each other with the shower, and it started to rain mid-way through. We laughed the whole time and decided that it would be our only shower that week. We didn't mind because showers on fincas feel nice, but don't last. Dirt is everywhere.

They had two kittens scampering around, that Bobby and Becca named Bob and Bob ("the Bob sisters"). Sandy's 14 year old daughter, Rosie, was fighting against the rest of us for different names, but in the end, the kittens come when called "bobobobobobobobob" in a high-pitched voice.














We really enjoyed our time in Purchena, with so many lovely people. We might have stayed longer, but we needed to keep moving onwards towards the beach.


The neighbor's baby wild boar: