Fes - 'A man in a hurry is already dead!'

Fes (Morocco)
18 JUL

The old imperial capital of Morocco, Fes or Fez (1912-1956), is a 7hr train raid north-east of Marrakech. It's very much a different place from the hustle and bustle of it's big southern brother, but very much unique in it's own way. On my last visit to Fez back in 2008 I was told that the people of this city view themselves very much as intellectuals, they are the bright sparks of Morocco, or perhaps even the 'upper class' of a rich and diverse country.

On this day my parents, JJ and I, took a ride on the local Moroccan rail line and headed out on a new bearing. Whilst 7 hrs in confined quarters sounds like it may be a drag in all truth it past by relatively quickly. The air conditioning worked intermittently and the cabin that we were in never cooled down to anything that couldn't be regarded as warm but the ever changing landscape outside the window more than made up for that. Moving north from Marrakech you pass through a sparse and relatively arid country for something close to three hours before hitting the coastal city of Casablanca. Just for the record, for anyone that may have romantic notions about what Casablanca offers, recalibrate those thoughts. This city is the business and commercial centre of Morocco and other than a mighty huge mosque that juts out into the Atlantic, it's as boring as batshit. With all due respect, I'm sure it has it's high points, I mean every place in the world has something to offer, but relative to the rest of Morocco, well this is a piece of tofu in comparison to the exotic tagines of Marrakech or Fes.

Hitting Casablanca and heading in a more easterly direction rather than north we pass through the capital of Rabat, then through the town of Sale, and then some other smaller towns where the stops seem to be a little erratic, and then 'IT' happens!

A tallish Moroccan looking man then walks into our cabin, we've just stopped at a place called Sale. He takes the only seat vacant in this six seater cabin and looks around. He chats a little to the Moroccan girl that's sitting next to JJ and then engages us in some good natured banter. He tells us that he's been working in whatever town we've just stopped in and that now he's going back to Fes in order to see his wife and two children. All that this guy is carrying is a large folder which looks as though it's filled with errant pieces of paper, brochures and other paraphenalia. This strikes me as a little odd and immediately I put my 'game face on'. I disengage from the cconversation that he's having with JJ and my parents andstare aimlessly out the window.

The conversation conitunes for a little while and JJ notices that I've shut this guy down, although for the moment she doesn't know why. When the guy gets up and steps out of the cabin for a moment I tell JJ 'I'm not going to be buying anything from this guy', I'm not sure if at that moment she quite knew why I said that. The guys steps back in and then asks us casually, 'So, do you have a taxi from the station'....and now BINGO, his game has commenced. I respond by saying, 'All good mate, our riad has that covered'. He then launches into the facts and figures of Fes, something akin to the Fes Wikipedia lesson,  he then asks if we have a guide for Fes and I respond that the riad has organised that also. This guy then pulls out brochures, timetables, tells us how is parents own a riad in the medina and how one day he will inherit it and how sometime in the not too distant past Bono had stayed there. He tells us that his cousin's grandfather is a guide and he can organise us a good tour - dude, not this time, I know your scam and this 'my brother' is not your day. The deal with these guys is usually this, they earn your trust and hook you up with overpriced 'everything', ripping you off from pillar to post. This method of searching out foreignors on trains is a well known scam and something that I'd read about before my last trip. A few minutes later the guy who had 'apparently purchased a first class seat' gets up and leaves - we don't see him again.

Just after Meknes, a place about 40 mins from Fes, another guy gets on, quickly scans our cabin and checks in. He sits next to JJ and whisper, 'Here we go again'. She responds by saying 'Surely not', but yes, another man and another attempt to dupe the tourist. This time a team of four who are alert to his deeds railroad the guy in an instant and he walks away with his tail between his legs. He makes the briefest of returns a little later only to be sent packing by another shady character who I think was trying was the 'good guy' in this 'good cop,bad cop' routine.

Finally after 7hrs we reach our destination of Fes. The searing sun and the accompanying heat are putting us through our own personal trials and tribulations, it had to have been somewhere in the mid 40's, easily. We make our way into the station and then a little while later into taxi's and onto our accommodation, Riad Zamane.

Riad Zamane - Fes - Morocco

Riad Zamane - Fes - Morocco

When we arrive at the riad we're met at the door by a man named Abdul. In the days to come he was to become known as either 'the man' or 'the Moroccan Manuel'. This guy was awesome, nothing was too much trouble, he could organise anything that you required in an instance but strangely also had identical mannerisms to Manuel, the butler in the TV show Faulty Towers. In any case, whichever way he did things it was always 100% on the money. In much the same manner, the riad that we had just walked into was actually better then the one that we stayed in whilst in Marrakech, I knew at that point that our stay here was just going to be a 'hell of a struggle'!

Fes from the roof of Riad Zamane

Sunset from the riad

Marrakech - Kechscape

Marrakech (Morocco)

16 JUL - 17 JUL

Kechscape is what you get when you combine the melting pot of North African cultures with a healthy dose of chaos and a designated design of sensual bombardment that means your sight, smell and hearing takes you to all parts of this magical city, all the time, all at once!

The living and beating heart of Marrakech is Djemaa El Fna, a massive square in the centre of the medina that during the day demands nothing more than a glance of courtesy from a passing tourist but at night transforms into a violent whirlpoolof sights, sounds, colours and smells. To someone that isn't accustomed to the way the square moves and operates, it's truly and eye opening experience. Having only experienced this a few times previously, this to me is still very much an eye opener, and what's more, whatever happens in the square each evening does so again the night after, and the night after that. This Easter show on steriods goes on 365 days a year. When you witness the events of each evening it's hard to imagine that the very next evening, all that you see going on around you will be kicking off once again once the sun chooses to drop behind the Atlas mountains and take rest for the night.

Depending on how you approach the square the first thing that comes to your attention are the sounds. It's either the calls from the various market stalls that flank the square or the calls out from the spruikers in their orange carts asking you to come in and grab a glass of ice cold orange juice for the huge sum of 3 dirhams (40 cents) - (also let me say, guaranteed to be the best glass of OJ that you'll ever have!). After a couple of days you get accustomed to their calls, 'Hey, where you from?, Spain?, France? England? Germany?'... 'Come and have a look, it's free to look'...'Is this your first time in Morocco? Big Welcome'. Whilst you field answers from these guys and kind of joust and parry your way around them, you then have to be wary of the henna artists that may be sitting within your designated path, or perhaps some strange salesman that may or may not be selling pigeons who are incidentally aimlessly walking around in front of him, or perhaps some dude that may have jumped straight out of a Danoz direct commercial but instead of selling you an ab roller or a 'Sham Wow', is professing the potency of orange blossom oil. Everything in this square is good for the libido....didn't you know?....'make you strong, like an ox!'.

Djemaa El Fna - Marrakech - Morocco

JJ out in the square

Comtemplating the orange blossom for a moment and then deciding that your time for strange sexual potency assistance may not be required quite just yet, you call on your skills of dexterity and anticipation to jump out of the way of the snake charmers that dot the pheriphery of the square. There's also the odd man that has monkeys dressed in strange clown costumes and one poor soul that looks to be wearing a tutu. What the hell is that about you wonder? Perhaps it's better not to ask.

Food central - Djemaa El Fna - Marrakech - Morocco

The major drawcard to the square are the food carts that set up every evening. You can see the smoke billowing from their grills for hundreds of meters away but it's only when you get closer that the smells of what they have going become more and more intoxicating. These guys are 'the money!'. They have any type of Moroccan food that your heart desires and then some. Walking through the throng of people checking out their wares and looking at the people already seated and intotheir meals, you start hearing calls from the assistanta at each cart trying to pull you in. Some aren't too ingenious, 'Hola', (I'm not Spanish dude, try again), 'Hey, where you from man?'.....but as we progress through the numbered carts, which don't seem to be numbered in any particular order, we hear a couple of gems. 'Hey man, this is freakin' AWESOME' - kind of amusing when it comes out of a mouth of a young Moroccan man that pulls it off with nearly a perfect American accent. Then you get, 'This is pucka tucka, lovely jubbly', or even 'Easy peasy lemon squeezy'...??? What the hell? Mate, I'd nearly eat at your cart just for ripping that line out!

So, after walking around and thinking that all the food looks and smells so great, you decide that maybe now, on this occassion you'll go for a left field choice. Those sheeps' heads sitting out there on the top of this fine man's cart looks mighty appealing. The way he's been cutting that tongue, ripping off the skin from it's cheeks, that lovely looking cooked brain - yeah, I'll deal with the food poisoning tomorrow.....and so you barter with your own destiny. This is what I chose to do, and I kind of pushed JJ into doing the same thing. As we sat down to our plate of mystery sheep head meat with a side of bread and an ice cold coke, we looked around at the billowing smoke and the bright lights that made up these alleys of nightly food service and production. It's truly more than just a sight, it's an experience! It's a touch of insanity along with some good humour and even better food, although with the later you sometimes need to play a little Russian roulette, on this evening we spin the barrell and draw a blank!

Sheeps' head for dinner - 'loving it!'

Anything you need - anything you could think of

Finishing off our meal of sheeps head, which was mighty tasty (even in the books of an ex-vegetarian, or so JJ says), we made our way into the crowded mass of people that are permanently parked in front of the food carts. Within these masses you find groups of people gathered to watch either musicians getting their rythym on, Arabic story tellers delivering mystical tales of the desert and caravans crossing timeless dunes, or even strange oddball events like kiddie boxing or night fishing. This place is like warped type of carnival that is so atmospheric and intruiging that you can't help but be suckered into its mysterious clutches.

Whilst standing in a tight circle and straining to see what's going on at its centre, you need to be wary of those subtle brush pasts, or those innocuous touches to your back pockets, for where there smoke, there's fire. These crowds are absolutely infested with  pick-pockets and what you need to know is that if you're ignorant or forgetful, well, then you might also be a few dirham lighter for the mental slip. Standing in one of the circles I felt a gentle touch on my back pocket and quickly turned to see a 40 something Moroccan man, arms folded, looking off into the distance. He turns to me, catches my glare and gives me a wink as if to say 'Yep, you got me, points to you'. I laugh straight at him and he kind of grins - don't worry, there are plenty more tourists that he'll nail down this evening

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Crowd in the square

Storyteller in the square

At the end of the night, if you've played it right, you'll walk away from Djemma El Fna being absolutely entranced by what it has to offer, with your stomach full of strange and wonderful delicacies, and with your money in the hands of it's rightful owners. For JJ and myself, well, I have to say that Djemma El Fna treated us very well. It's truly amazing, all the time!

In very much the same manner, but off on a little bit of a tangent, the Riad Boussa, our place of residence for the last few days,is also an experience. The movement and chaos outside of its walls are completely shut out when you walk through its understatedcedar door. Walking into the central court and looking up at the sky above you, you're able to almost forget about the the buzzing city that practically encloses your space. The riad is our own little karmic oasis, away from the peddlars, hawkers, thieves and ruffians of the night. It's a place where you can relax with a mint and sage tea, sit back and reflect on everything that has gone on around you.

Riad Boussa - Marrakech - Morocco

Riad Boussa - Marrakech - Morocco

On most days we found ourselves either up on the open terrace or in the court of the riad, sitting on blood red cushions, dealing with the dry heat and accepting that this place is very, very different to the place that we come from - which in itself makes Marrakech more than just unique, and maybe just a little special.

The High Atlas

Marrakech (Morocco)

14 - 15 JUL

I remember as a kid, sitting in my mum's family house in Belgrade and there being one specific conversation relating to African geography. In particular there was discussion that mentioned a mountain range called the Atlas, some far flung place in a corner of Africa that I knew nothing about other than the fact that it occasionally snowed there, well, so it was mentioned in that discussion.

For years the Atlas mountains had always been a type of mystical place that I'd always wanted to see, for no particular reason other than the fact that it had remained in my consciousness for so long...and the fact that it either may or may not snow on the mountain range, that was something that was yet to be determined. Oh, and by the way, this was still my thinking even prior to the time that internet searches could have resolved my curiosity within 5 seconds.

A couple of years ago I sat on the terrace of Cafe de France, watched the sun set over Djema El Fna during the call to prayer and marvelled at the Atlas mountains which provided a stunning backdrop to a city full of mystique, on that is completely chaotic, vibrant and attacks all your senses at once. I watched the sun settle behind this mountain range and whilst their darkened outlined peaks stared at me from about 30kms away they still did their darndest to hide their secrets from me. I promised myself that time that if I ever had the opportunity to make my way back here again that I'd go on a little journey and find out what they had hidden from me for so long.

With the assistance of the owner of Riad Boussa, Brigitte, we were able to organise a day trip to the High Atlas on the 15th of July. For this day however, the day after Marrakech did a 'hit and run' on our senses, we stepped out into the scorching Marrakechi alleyways and went wondering through the medina of the old town. Just to qualify, when I say 'scorching', we were advised by the owner of the riad that two days prior to arriving in Marrakech the square of Djema El Fna had a recorded temperature of somewhere a little over 50 degrees. Nice and balmy for your average Australian tourists hey!? On this day however we only breached the 40 degree mark, so really, how bad was it going to be wondering the main square and through the markets that was teaming with pedestrian traffic and had absolutely no ventilation?

Our bravdo lasted a couple of hours, driven by the 'female component' of our party running on that 'bargain hunting' endorphin high, and I guess it's true, if you want to get a cheap deal on 'something' then the Marrakechi markets are the place to do your deal of the decade. Fortunately or unfortunately, the heat caught up with us all and we high tailed it back to the riad for the afternoon, although JJ and I did sneak off for a couple of hours and downed a few beers at Cosybar, a great place close to the Jewish quarters where the water spray on the terrace counts for absolutely everything even the devil stops in for an afternoon siesta on days such as these.

That evening the crew stopped in at La Tanjia, a great restaurant, again located close to the Jewish quarters, and one that has an outstanding view of the Koutaiba mosque and the sunset over the Atlas mountains....how I love a damn good sunset....Marrakech did not let me down!

Kotouiba Mosque from Cosybar - Marrakech - Morocco

Kotouiba Mosque from Cosybar - Marrakech - Morocco

'Baby got back' - La Tanjia - Marrakech - Maroc

15 JUL - into the High Atlas

A full day after arriving in Marrakech and carting a travelling crew still coming to terms with the Marrakechi onslaught a couple of nights earlier, we decided to spend a day in the High Atlas. The intention being to discover it's secrets, of kasbahs crumbling, of mountains coloured in red, green, yellow and blue, of fertile valleys and of hidden hillside villages.

We struck out from Marrakech at just after 8am and headed south-east generally for approximately 50-60kms. It was at that point that we started the climb into the mountains, and also at that point that I discovered exactly why the mystique and mysterious place that this mountain range had held in my mind for so long was warranted. Climbing up alongside mountain villages that were centuries old and marvelling at the skill and ingenuity of the people to work with the simple materials they had available, I was also caught off guard by how beautiful the landscape was. The place was absolutely engaging, the mountains were colours of red, green, yellow and blue, all indicating how mineral rich the area actually is.

On the way up to Tizin Tichka pass - Atlas Mountains - Morocco

Climbing higher into the mountains we transitioned through the highest pass in Morocco, the Tizin tichka Pass at 2260 meters. How disappointing for our little pansy Mt.Kosciousko, to be topped out at 2228, the highest point in Australia, comparatively only being regarded as a 'quaint terrace' in these parts.

Dad on Tizin Tichka pass - Atlas Mountains - Morocco

First stop of the morning was the Telouet Kasbah, a place now owned by the Pacha of Marrakech but one that had also fallen into ruin and disrepair for either lack of money or consideration. From what we were told the kasbah had been around for something like 300 years. Despite its neglect there were some rooms that were well preserved and had that typical style of Muslim design that always leaves you in awe at the intricacy, craftsmanship and levels of detail in the work. The several rooms that we walked through took almost 80 years in their own right to complete and from what we saw none of us would challenge the fact that the time had actually been put to good use, they were marvels in their own right.

Telouet Kasbah - Atlas Mountains - Maroc

Telouet Kasbah - Atlas Mountains - Maroc

Telouet Kasbah

Telouet Kasbah

Pushing on into the Dades Valley ,(The Valley of 1000 Kasbahs), after visiting the Kasbah we were treated to stunning sights nearly at every turn. A river runs through the bottom of the valley meaning that on either side of the river there are distinct strips of green which standout distinctly and in stark contrast to the barren but beautiful mountains that surround it. What's more, with each turn there was a new villages that we encountered, built into the side of the mountains with materials common to the valley. They blended in perfectly with the landscape and had distinct Berber features which were totally foreign to my eyes. It really felt like you were stepping onto a movie set, and if we were to work the six degrees angle on that theory then I'd have to add that we were also driving on a road that Brad Pitt paid to have built, or rather 'reworked' - or so our driver Asiz told us.

The Dades Valley - Atlas Mountains - Morocco

The Dades Valley - Atlas Mountains - Morocco

The Dades Valley - Atlas Mountains - Morocco

Our final stop of the day was the Kasbah of Ait Benhaddoud. A four century old fortress that had been as a backdrop in many a movie, it's most recent being the Prince of Persia. By the time we arrived the sun had obviously become a little angry and was hitting somewhere around the 45 degree mark. Strangely, unlike at home, the heat here is a little easier to accept as it doesn't have it's sidekick, 'humidity', to back up its potetency.

Ait Benhaddoud - Atlas Mountains - Morocco

Realising their own limitations, mum and dad camped out in the cool of an air conditioned cafe for a while whilst JJ and I crossed the bone dry wadi, searing with African heat, to get to the main walls of the Kasbah...and true enough, the place was breathtaking. Another one of those strikingly unique buildings that you find difficult to comprehend, not just for it's size and scope but also for it's location, age, and the manpower it would have taken to construct it. No wonder that it's a World Heritage listed structure.

Ait Benhaddoud - Atlas Mountains - Morocco

Ait Benhaddoud - Atlas Mountains - Morocco

Making our way back to the cafe, my parents questioned JJ and I on our sanity - but at the end of the day, getting out on a 45 degree day is just what 'hard people' like us do, 'soft people' could never understand that sort of mentality! Crashing back into our van and blasting the AC for a while both JJ and I quickly realised that sometimes being soft also = being smart!

A little while after visiting Ait Benhaddoud we exited the valley and made a right hand turn onto bitumen about 20kms NE of Ourazazate (a place that is called the ' Gateway to the Sahara'). Cutting through the High Atlas once again, I kind of daydreamed my way back to Marrakech, waking up to catch snippets of brazenly coloured mountains, sheer cliff drops and strangely built villages hanging precariously on mountain slopes. It had taken me 35 years to make my way to the Atlas mountains and I have to say, the mystery and mystique that had been built up over the years in my head until now more than just survives intact, it feels as though it's been amplified by what I had been fortunate enough to see on this day....so until we meet on another day High Atlas,farewell.

Marrakech - Crash tackled by Marrakechi madness

Marrakech (Morocco)

13th of July

It's amazing to think that Africa is only 12kms away from Europe at its shortest point but in many ways it's more than just another world away. Making our way from Barcelona to Marrakech via Madrid took up the greater part of a day, but landing onto a continent that was foreign to most of us of course had us anticipating what it had to offer. As we disembarked from our 2hr flight from Madrid my Dad made the observation that this airport was somewhat different to the other more 'familiar' European airports that he was accumstomed to, there were no planes here - well ofcourse, other than the EasyJet flight that we had just jumped off.

The mini van had dropped us off at the top end of Djema El Fna, a square that in the early and late evening is completety filled with people watching the nightly entertainment, made up of acrobots, storytellers, snake charmers, musicians,henna artists, weird and wonderful eccentric types...and much...much more...then there's the food stands, set up right behind them, providing a backdrop to the artists of the square. A smoke filled area filled with bright lights and diners enjoying a whole range of Moroccan delicacies. The cacophany of sounds, smells and sights was a huge wall of senses that was just about to smack all four of us squarely in the face, but not just yet. As our luggage was transferred from the mini-van to a middle aged Moroccan man standing behind a very large metal wheel barrow I could see the comfort factor on my parents face shift from mild anticipation and excitement to anxiety. Everything that was familiar, all things that they could hang a hat of reality and recognition on was just about to be taken away. Just to top things off, I had warned them sometime agothat the square was also notorious for pick pockets and theives, now we were going to be walking right through its pulsating heart,the good, bad and ugly, warts and all.

Djemaa El Fna in full swing  - Marrakech - Morocco

Djemma El Fna - Marrakech - Morocco

As for JJ, little A.D.D. meerkat, I saw her eyes just light up with expectation and excitement. If a person had ever wanted to be transplanted into a place that was completely foreign and different to anything that they had experienced before, well, this was their chance - for JJ, her opportunity had arrived, go nuts girl!

Our thickly moustached Moroccan wheelbarrow porter and his support man stacked their transporting vehicle and than bounded out in front of us, heading down ....ave and skirting the edge of Djema El Fna. My Yugoslav parents looked like they had just 'checked out' for the moment. Not quite comprehending what was going on but still holding their bags tightly to their bodies whilst being accosted by then ongoings surrounding them. JJ's head was spinning from one smell, to a some type of new and strange sound, to bits and pieces of activity that were going on around her, and me, well I was mentally checking their capacity to take this all in and cool with it - I looked like my mum in particular was on the verge of hitting panic stations.

Rounding the outside of the square and dodging the majority of the 'people trafffic', we made our way up to Derb Dabachi.which is the road that our riad is located off. For some reason, which I'm still yet to discover, the pedestrian traffic on this thoroughfare is the equivalent to fighting your way to the bar on NYE in Sydney, a lesson in patience, dexterity and force. All of a sudden our personal space vanished, the 'road' closed in around us and our porters were reinforcing the warning that I had put to everyone 10 mins earlier, 'be very wary of your personal belongings!'.

Battling our way through the hordes of people wasn't our only point of conflict at this point, also attempting to fight their way through the tight crowd were motorbikes, donkeys pulling carts, horse drawn carriages and small taxis. Not only were my travelling crew having to check in with their own psyches in an attempt to rationalise the WTF scenario that was going on in their heads but they also needed to make sure that they were able follow the porters who were themselves battling to move through the mass of people and commotion whilst at the same time checking in on their personal belongings every 2 seconds.

Derb Dabachi and arrival madness - Marrakech - Morocco

As we moved down this glorified alley, men with promotional items for restaurants, hammam's, shops and all else were flinging flyers into our path and asking in that typically demanding Moroccan way to spend some time in establishments NOW - 'it's free to look - as they say.

For me personally, I was ok with my surroundings and I could see JJ was more than cool with it also but where I encountered my own personal flip out was for the well being off my parents, my mum in particular. Right at this point I could tell that her anxiety levels were through the roof and aside from teletransportation there was nothing I could do to correct the problem. Mental note - never travel with parents outside the safety of Europe again!!

After what felt like an eternity but in actual fact was probably less then twenty minutes, we turned right into a small, darkened alleyway. Immediately the anxiety that I owned on behalf of everyone else up until this point dissipated and I knew we were within striking distance of our accommodation. It was only later that I found out that the turn onto these very 'dodgy' looking back streets is where everyone else in the group went mental. Thoughts of Marrakechi madmen attacking us under the cloak of darkness and the misguided thoughts that nothing good or credible could ever exist within these crime riddled streets were apparently the pervading thoughts of everyone else. I recall mum asking in that more than concerned voice, 'Oh God, where are they taking us', and me saying, 'We're close now, it'll be fine, don't worry'...like my reassuring words were going to have any affect against the chaos and now impending danger that we now apparently faced.

Knocking on the door at #192 Derb Jdid, the lovely Briggite welcomed us in her typically French accent. As we walked into the central court of our riad all of us had to do a double take. The madness of the Moroccan streets had been totally shut out and we now found ourselves in a completely glorious and serene surrounding. Taking stock on the Morroccan lounges in the central court we all tried to settle our nerves and anxieties for whatever reason they had manifested. The smell of musk now filled the space around us and the vibes of some type of 'chilled desert lounge' music substituted the drums, horns and yelling that we had been in 2 minutes earlier.

Laying on the plush dark red and orange cushions, quietly sipping on the mint and sage tea that Briggite had prepared, staring at the candlelit lanters that surrounded us, the intensity of the prior 30mins was starting to feel like some type of lucid dream.



As Briggite took us around the riad, showed us our rooms and finally the stunning top floor terrace, we all took time to adjust, breathe and recalibrate.

Riad Boussa - Marrakech

Later in the evening we congregated on the terrace and lounged on the red and orange cushioned day beds located under a white canvas canopy. Appreciating the coolness of the evening and the soft breeze that made its way over the stone and concrete rooftops that surrounded us, we all looked up into the dark African night and chuckled at the collectiveexperience that we had just had. It had been a complete attack on our senses, uncomfortable for some, astounding for others. Now we sat in the middle of Marrakech on the first night of our visit to this North African country - welcome to Morocco my friends!

Barcelona - Iniesta...Goooooooaaaaalllllll!!!!!!!!!

Barcelona (Spain)

Campeones!

8th - 12th July

Spain have had their fair share of opportunities but Holland  definitely had the most clear cut chance in the game with Robben breaking through one one one with Casillas and attempting to place the ball just on his right. Casillas takes an even money bet by diving one way and stretching out his legs, the ball clips his boots and goes sailing out over the goal line. If ever there was a turning point in a game then from what I know, that would have been it. The Temple Stone bar breathes a sigh of relief, their heroes live to fight in a debutant's title fight.

[Robben miss - 'THE' Dutch chance] 

As the game ticks on past the standard 90 mins and heads into extra time the eyes of Spaniards and ring-ins alike are glued to all available TV's. The Spanish have had the greater proportion of the possession, have had the fairer share of the play and have not taken to chopping down their opponents the way the Dutch have. Conversely the Dutch appear to be just hanging on in a game which they feel that they have a divine right to win after being denied in two previous attempts,(West Germany '74) and (Argentina '78). Ticking over the 100 min mark and with the referee being yellow card trigger happy in a game that I think was officiated in a very average manner, Dutch left back Jonhnny Heitinger collects his second yellow of the match and gets marched. He'll more than likely get to watch the rest of the match later in retirement when he shows his grand children that he did actually play in a World Cup final  and also shows them that he was one of a small band of brothers that also got sent off.
[Heitinga foul - second yellow]

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At the Temple Stone bar JJ and I are intently staring at the screen. My dad is chatting tactics with me and saying that whilst he thinks the Spanish deserve the win the Dutch will more than likely take it out if match goes to penalties. My mum is watching the game through Heinekin filled eyes, chatting with our Israeli and Swedish friends who are also barracking for Spain as much as we are. The seconds role on, each Spanish chance getting met with screams, hands on heads and large cries of 'Ooooh'.

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Fernando Torres, having been a little out of form in coming back from injury gets the ball on the left hand wing in the 117th minute. He places a ball into Cesc Fabregas, another player that had been out of favour with the coach but has made an appearance in this final, his duty now to become either a goal scorer or provider. Accepting the ball from Torres on the edge of the box he looks left and sees Iniesta open. A diagonal pass to Iniesta just inside the box puts the crowd in Temple Stone onto their feet again. Iniesta beats his man with a run that may have had a touch of offside about it (but on review I've founded it to be perfectly timed), the crowd in the bar start screaming for a shot and Iniesta swings his right foot at the ball. It flies diagonally across the penalty box beating the Dutch keeper and hitting the back of the net on the right side.

[The WINNER] 

[Stadium view] 

All of Spain screams in unison!!!

Temple Stone Bar - Barri Gotic - Barcelona

JJ in support of the Spanish - Temple Stone Bar - Barri Gotic - Barcelona

After 117 minutes of tension and stress the relief and joy expressed at that moment is something to behold. Being a bandwagon Spanish supporter for this World Cup I'm up with them, screaming my lungs out and enjoying the moment in the type of way that only a native could truly understand. I mean I get it though, back in 2005 when I was at the game where Aloisi hit the back of the net in that fateful penalty shoot out the emotion that was released in that single instant was 32 years of dreams, broken hearts and hope. This for Spain was 80 years of under achievement, of having the game, having the players, and just not delivering when it mattered. It was all that and it was a hell of a lot more for the Spanish, and to experience that, to be part of it when they also became a World Cup winner for the first time, one of only 7 others, was an experience that I had hoped for and one now that I'll now never forget.

High fives, 'Espana chants', 'Campeones chants', waving of scarves, flags, shirts, and this was only the bar. My parents, JJ and myself hung around to watch Spain lift the trophy and then had to get out amongst the Barcelona home town crowd in order to experience one of the best nights of their lives.

 

Walking up Las Ramblas, fighting our way up slowly to Plaza Catalunya, there was red and yellow everywhere. At one intersection their were people on lamp posts, bus stops, magazine stores, whatever the hell they could do in order to get elevated and wave their flag. Standing on the corner of Las Ramblas and another street all you could hear were vuvuzuelas and the cry of 'Campeones'. I managed to stand on a bin and lent up against a traffic post in order to swing around my newly purchased Espana scarf. Whilst I was 'giving it some' in honour and in aid of the Spanish victory the crowd spread out before more  and in front of me. Barcelona was already a 'good vibe' city but now it had reached 'beserker city limits'.

JJ and I walked up to Plaza Catalunya via Las Ramblas, people weaving in and out of each other, kind of in half amazement and shock. Finally getting up to the Plaza and taking a look around, it was literally people, flags and scarves for as far as you could see.The area around the Plaza which at anytime of day and night was normally filled with all sorts of traffic was now a swarm of Spaniards celebrating an epic moment in their sporting history. To witness the people, their good spirit and vibes was something that I'll always remember, it was an absolutely fantastic experience.

Victory celebrations - Plaza Catalunya - Barcelona

Fountain Climbers - Plaza Catalunya - Barcelona

Victory celebrations - Plaza Catalunya - Barcelona

JJ with Prancing Pedro - Plaza Catalunya - Barcelona



Prancing Pedro doing his thang - Plaza Catalunya

The days leading up to July 11th...

In the few days prior to the World Cup final JJ had made her way via a flight that had taken her from Sydney to Shangai, Paris and then finally to Barcelona on somewhat of an epic 37hr journey. Waiting at Barcelona airport for JJ to arrive I witness a somewhat tired and mentally challenged girl make her first tentative steps into a vibrant city.

That evening the plan was to keep JJ up and about for as long as possible so we could get her into the swing of the timezone. This planned involved a wonderful evening view of the city of Barcelona and a cocktail or several to accompany the brutal jet lag hangover. I think for the most part our plan worked a treat, keeping JJ swinging until about midnight at which point her batteries gave the big FU signal and termination of all life seemed imminent. Round one, JJ vs. Barcelona nightlife went to Barcelona, but that was OK, this wasn't going to be a sprint my friends.

The next day JJ and I made our way down to the beach at Barcelonetta, (San Sebastian), had ourselves a few drinks and  checked out the beach talent, which in some areas made for some amusing viewing, especially the guys that were 'on display' trying to get their 'massive on' to a viewing audience that comprised mainly of old times, grandma's and youngish mothers who may have been wondering where their better days were. Either way, it wasn't the style of audience that they were particularly seeking.

A little further down the beach was the Port Olympico, full of bars and restaurants which were kind of cool but unfortunately didn't have the exact vibe that it could have had without the car park fronting one side of the bar front. Never the less, cocktails in the Mediterranean sun was too good an offer to pass up and settled the afternoon account for us perfectly.

Waking up in Barcelona...

...has been an experience that we've become accustomed to, but seeing it through the eyes of a newbie reminded me of how I viewed the place just a couple of weeks ago. Having a coffee, watching the wondering crowds meander in the little corner of the world we inhabited was just the tonic for starting up the engines. On this day JJ and I kicked off proceedings by making our way up to Montjuic, a hill/mountain on the south side of the city that has absolutely stunning views. We then proceeded to jump the cable car across the Port and then wondered back through the Gothic area for a few hours, quite an easy thing to do when you have bar, after bar, after bar that are all brilliant and enticing.

View of Barcelona from Port cable car

Flamenco - Barcelona

.....Which brings us up to World Cup day, and the Spanish date with destiny. Wondering the Gothic quarter and watching all the people prepare themselves for what was possibly going to be a mammoth evening was simply exciting in itself. Watching Spaniards and foreigners alike pick up supporters gear for the 'roja' kind of put us in a position where we felt obligated to join in on the action. Without a lot of prompting JJ and I picked up a Spanish flag and scarf , then set out for some alcoholic amusement before game time.

....and so it was, on the 11th of July at sometime approaching midnight a little Spaniard swung his right foot at a ball and cracked a goal on a Johannesburg field that sent a nation into raptures, Iniesta...goooooaaaallllllll!!!!!

 

Spain: Campeones futball mundial 2010 - Vamos Espana!

Lounging at Port Olympico - Barcelona

Face the sun

Giving it some in honour of the Spanish cause

Las Ramblas - Barcelona

Victory celebrations on Las Ramblas - Barcelona

Victory celebrations on Las Ramblas - Barcelona

Victory celebrations on Las Ramblas - Barcelona