14.1.2013 Day 1: Giza - The Pyramids
When I first set my travel dreams in motion in 2001, I had charted my initial course to be the viewing and discovering of all seven of the world’s wonders. Like many, I believed there to be seven ancient wonders, seven modern, and seven natural. I had been, at the time, convinced by many that I had likely seen at least one of the seven natural wonders, and one of the modern wonders. Imagine my dismay then, when I discovered that not only was there only an official list for the ancient wonders, but that they were all gone save one, and the other “wonders” I had supposedly visited weren't anything more than glorified tourist attractions, these being Niagara Falls, and the Eiffel Tower. Since there was not an official list celebrating achievements in architecture, or natural design a group called The New7wonders Foundation  set about trying to preserve Global Memory. Global memory is seven things that everyone can remember. The project was started in 2001 by Swiss born Canadian Bernard Weber. A global vote on a set number of sites that people around the world considered to be wonders were on the list, the top seven vote-getters would be the new wonders. The project has been discredited by UNESCO, but I think its heart is in the right place. Further details about the project can be found on their site http://world.new7wonders.com. Nevertheless, in 2007  this group has anointed seven new modern wonders, and in 2011 seven new natural wonders. Sadly, neither of the two wonders I had thought were wonders at the outset made the list, nor did Stonehenge, which had been in the running (and more importantly visited by me in 2001).

There was one of the ancients still around, and it was perhaps the most impressive of all: The Great Pyramid, at Giza. It is the oldest of all of the ancient wonders the others being: the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, Colossus of Rhodes, Lighthouse at Alexandria, Statue of Zeus, Mausoleum of Halicarnassus, and the Temple of Artemis. All of these though, had been destroyed, and one (the Hanging Gardens)may not have even existed. As such, my ultimate travel goal was thwarted.

The pyramids though, became even more legendary in my eyes as a result of all of this new information. The other six wonders had perished as far back as 226 BCE (Colossus) and the longest surviving outside of the pyramids was the Mausoleum of Halicarnassus in 1494 CE. What made the pyramids mythical for me was their incredible age, construction began 4687 years ago in 2584 BCE! Even if the other wonders had survived, none of them would be older than the pyramids. To know that I was about to set foot in a place that was almost 5000 years old was mind boggling!

We did not waste any time in getting this major trip out of the way with. After arriving in Egypt on the 17th of January, we left our hotel in Giza for the Pyramids the following morning. Our driver Ahmed our driver was a friendly sort, though he spoke to us mostly through Hamdi, our official tour guide, as his English was not very strong. These two would be our guides through Egypt for our full stay here, and because they sat up front and we in the back, it felt a lot less personal than the week we had just spent in Morocco. That said, both Ahmed and Hamdi were exceptionally nice, and Hamdi was very knowledgable about Egyptology.

We arrived at the Pyramid site around 10am, and I was amazed by several things. The fog/smog was horrible, the pyramid building blocks were enormous, and there were no tourists! This last one astonished me the most. I understood that people were more leery of visiting Egypt, and it was the off season, but I still thought that we would find hordes of tourists crowding the area. Not so.  In light of the relative absence of people I was able to get a lot of what would  be stunning photos of the pyramids (devoid of people were it not for the smog. The smog did lessen throughout our four hours there, but never truly offered a clear view of anything, despite the fact that it was around 20°C and not a cloud in sight. I therefore concluded that postcard images of the pyramids must all be photo-shopped, which was a bit disappointing. Aside from the lack of people, and absence of a halcyonian visage, the sheer magnitude of the pyramids up close and personal was awe inspiring. Until the construction of the Eiffel Tower in 1889 the Great Pyramid  was the world’s tallest man-made structure in the world, barring a brief reign of Lincoln Cathedral in England before its tallest spire collapsed and was not replaced. In addition to its impressive summative height, it the sheer size of each of large limestone concrete block, which weighed between 1-7 metric tonnes each. The base blocks were above my head by a good half a meter, and approximately 2.5 million blocks were used in its construction, which took place over a period of twenty years.

Aside from the sheer size of the blocks, the physics of building such a structure 5000 years ago was equally impressive. I will not bore you with details of how this was accomplished, but will dispel one rumour about the pyramids. Contrary to popular belief, the pyramids were not built with slave labour, but rather by paid skilled labourers, out tour guide revealed that archaeologists uncovered  tablets, with pay schedules on them as proof of this fact.

Continuing in the genre of awe, the base of the pyramid, some 250m2 is solid, and remains solid throughout the whole construction save for  a narrow corridor leading down in to the tomb of the pharaoh. This is the case in all seven pyramids at the site, the three largest pyramids belonging to Pharaoh Khufu his son Khafre and his grandson Menkaure. The other four belong to various wives of the pharaohs. Millions of kilograms of rock were used over a combined century of construction, all for the creation of rooms that were roughly the size of a small high school gymnasium, and in most cases, not as tall. It seemed such an extravagant waste. However, the undertaking truly is something to behold, and the pyramids I had long thought the interior of the pyramids to be maze of corridors and shrines ornately decorated, but such is not the case.

We did not go into the great pyramid, only 200 people a day have this honour, and you must get up really early to do so. We settled for the second largest. The entrance to the pyramids today, is not the original entrance, it i the one fashioned by grave-robbers over the years. Everything has been stolen from inside of the tomb, and all that remains is the casket that once held the mummified pharaohs remains. We took turns going into the tomb, which was about 150m down through the stone and into the earth below, Stephanie and Aurora first, and then myself. Brynn did not go, as to get her down the tiny corridor, would have been quite the task. The corridor was narrow, steep dimly lit and quite musty. I would like to say that the reward at the end was worth it, and I suppose it was but it was just an empty room, very well preserved as it had been constructed far away from the sunlight, but also devoid of any significant artefacts, or information. Nothing had been set up by the tourism industry. You came down saw the casket and then went back up into the light. Such journeys are not for the claustrophobic, nor the tall. My back was left with several cuts and gashes to prove it. The corridor itself is probably only about five feet tall, and there are no stairs only a sloped series of wooden planks, broken up every meter with a shallow ridged foothold. Despite the bland appearance of the interior, the true experience was realising that you were walking inside a man made structure that had remained relatively unchanged for 5000 years, not something that you can do every day.

Guarding the Pyramids was the sphinx. It too was an impressive construction, though in actual fact quite a bit newer than the oldest of the pyramids. The sphinx is famous for not having its nose but being otherwise intact. The popular story about how it lost its nose was first told to me by my sixth grade teacher, Mr. Taylor. He had informed us that Napoleon Bonaparte’s soldiers had used it as target practice during his conquest of Egypt in the early 1900’s, I had since heard this version several times since and thought that it must be true. Not so. It turned out the sphinx was only uncovered about 500 years ago after having been completely enveloped  in sand brought in by sandstorms. Its head was partially uncovered by an Islamic cleric who initially thought it to be a pagan symbol of sorts, and set about destroying it as a blasphemy to Allah. It was not until much later that the rest of the body was excavated and its full reality was discovered.

Due to the unrest in Egypt there were next to no tourists in the area. As a result, I was able to get unimpeded pictures of both the pyramids, and the sphinx.  The unfortunate elements of our day revolved around the atmosphere outside of the pyramid site. There were impoverished camels, horses and donkeys all over the place, as well as pushy con-artist salesmen. The greasiest of who would offer to take your picture on top of a camel, then get the camel to stand up and not let you down until you paid whatever price they demanded. The pushy salesmen were not unlike those found in other tourist sites around the world, but what was difficult to take was the obvious mistreatment of animals, and the exploitation of children  who in turn attempted to exploit tourists. For being a world heritage site the filth was suprising. Garbage, and animal feces everywhere. The definite low-light came at lunch when we stopped at the Pizza Hut overlooking the whole complex, and while gazing out the second story window we were witness to a horrifying case of equine abuse. For about half an hour we watched as a severely malnourished horse was whipped, scolded and beaten for reasons that were not readily clear. The horse, barely able to stand up was eventually roped to the wall of the pyramid complex, and presumably left to die. Other animals within eyesight looked as though they were not much better off. As we left the pyramids for the papyrus museum, I was grateful that neither Aurora nor Brynn would likely associate their visit to the pyramids with animal abuse and filth, and that for Aurora at least she should be left with fond memories of her visit to the “Golden Pyramid”!

Morocco: Chapter 2

7.1.2013 Day 1: London - Marrakech

From the air, Morocco looks nothing like anywhere I have been before. It seems to be surprisingly populated, though if I had done my research this should have come as no surprise. The country has as many inhabitants as Canada, in about 1/8th the land area, much of it mountain and desert. The roads all spiral out in a series of pinwheels from various townships dotted throughout the mountainous countryside, which from the air, has a uniform brown tinge to it. I still cannot get over the fact that we are about to land in Africa, the fourth continent in my travels, and third for my young family on this trip alone. By the time we get to New Zealand, Aurora and Brynn will have seen four continents, and eight countries. Not a bad haul for children aged four and one respectively.


For a Canadian in January, the weather in Morocco is glorious: 20°C and sunshine! Our first taste of how different things are going to be here, is at the baggage claim. There are baggage handlers, though I am not convinced any of them actually work for the airport. About five of them come up to me and offer me help, I try to refuse, but eventually one just starts loading my luggage as I am off looking for a cart on my own ( turns out they were at the far end of the terminal away from the baggage claim, strategic placement for the tip seeking baggage guys, inconvenient for the weary traveller. I am mostly leery because all I have are Euros, in large denominations, and I really don’t want to be paying €50 for baggage transport.


We finally get sorted and our taxi driver takes us through Marrakech to our hostel, Laila Rose, just off of the central market square in the medina, which is the old walled section of Marrakech. The scents of Morocco start making themselves clear, and from the airport in, it is mostly stale exhaust and diesel fumes from cars, trucks, and mopeds in serious need of a tune-up. Despite all of this pollution, Marrakech seems to be relatively smog free.


Driving in Morocco is something to behold, though our travels in Egypt will later make the roads of Morocco seem like a spacious playground. Tailgating seems an unwritten rule of the road, painted lines indicate where your car should straddle, and horn usage is strongly encouraged. Space between pedestrians and other motorists is meant to be kept to one foot or less (especially while in motion). Speeds shall not be less than 50 km/h in heavily congested areas, and the usage of helmets on two wheeled transport seems to be forbidden. If there is space on the road, it needs to be taken up. The roads must retain the semblance of mobile parking lots as much as possible. Donkeys, pedestrians and cyclists do not have any special assurances of safety afforded them. If they are on the road, they will be not be yielded to purposely. To each their own method of transport. Survival of the fittest, May the odds be ever in your favour!


Once to our hostel, a new scent dominates: hooka pipes, mint tea, and Moroccan incense. It is intoxicating, and really adds to the charm of this place. But the getting there was half the fun! Our driver let us out in the square, and since we were enroute to New Zealand, we were a fairly heavy bunch, so we hail a rickshaw to take us down the narrow alleyways the rest of the journey to the hostel, the whole experience was straight out of Aladdin. We must have looked quite a sight, four white westerners, with an overloaded rickshaw of backpacks suitcases, and carseats. Aurora meets the first of her many admirers here as a group of women maul her and stroke her hair. She has already had her picture taken once by a random stranger in the airport en route at this point, apparently little white blonde girls are a big hit over here. It was in no way creepy, and I was actually less worried about random Moroccans coming up to my girls and pinching their cheeks than I would have been back home in Edmonton, where I would likely have been looking for a nearby inanimate object to ward off attention from creepy strangers.


Anyway, our rickshaw journey takes us through a series of narrow alleys lined with market style shops that carry everything from trinkety tourist driven gifts to more traditional market goods such as nuts, fruit, and dead lamb carcasses hanging from hooks. It is really an oversized sidewalk, crammed with people, mopeds, scooters, bicycles, and donkeys. And there we are, with our mountain of western wear, utterly defenceless with two young children in tow through unnamed and confusing alleyways. No one knows we are here, and we, aren’t quite sure where here, is. If anyone wanted to knock over the cart and make off with our stuff we would have been powerless to do anything. Kill and dismember, same same. It was around this time that Stephanie mentioned that she was glad we weren’t making this trek at nighttime, which ended up as a true statement of irony  in hindsight, because later that night we did do that exact thing, without luggage, as we got hopelessly lost trying to find our way back from the market at night.


Back to the hostel, it was an old building built into the side of an alley wall and quite inconspicuous looking from the outside, but inside it had a fully vaulted open air ceiling, and was a myriad of tapestries, and Bedouin decor. The stone steps wound all the way around the outside of the central courtyard to where we found our room at the top of the whole place. A tapestry tent overlooking all of Marrakech. The view was stunning, and we arrived just in time to hear the call to the sunset prayer, which is a bunch of chanting in Arabic over loudspeaker that resonates throughout the entire city, and happens five times a day. We had some mint tea (to which I am now addicted) as is the custom here, and began our adventure in Morocco.


After getting settled we ventured to the market place, which had the atmosphere of the fringe festival, complete with street performers, snake charmers, and hundreds of merchants selling their goods well past sundown. We had some food, toured around for a bit, and then, as I mentioned, got hopelessly lost trying to find our way back to the hostel. It is truly amazing how buildings made of mud look the same in the dark. And also how dodgy the alleys we wandered earlier in the day look when the shops are closed up and the area is devoid of people, save the homeless. As it turns out, even though we got lost, we actually navigated our way down the correct alleyway about five times, each time turning back too soon, because it didn’t look the same at night as it did during the day. And of course, street signs are not a luxury afforded to Marrakech. At about 11pm we decided we better enlist some help, and ended up getting a young teenage boy to lead us through a “short cut” through even smaller alleys, that twisted and turned so many times, I wasn’t sure we were still in Marrakech by the time we finished. We survived though, and learnt that day that we would probably be ok, and the people of Morocco were not to be feared, and were actually well beyond friendly.

http://www.laylarouge.com/index.html

’m selfish. Sometimes in life you need a challenge. After eight years of challenges, poverty, debt, and stress, I am finally living comfortably. With my family I might add, something that really has never happened before. I am no longer forced to count every penny as it comes into the house, live paycheque to paycheque, or stay up until 2am making sure I was ready for work the next day. There is money in my bank account, and I have lunches that do not consist of, tubs of yoghurt, or toast with jam. So, the only sensible thing to do is throw it all away.


Perhaps it is too simple to live a challenge free existence, or perhaps I am fated to live a life that is never free from challenge, and in this case to drag my wife Stephanie, and daughters Aurora and Brynn along with me. So with all that is going well, low cost of living expenses, a network of friends and family, disposable income... moving to the other side of the planet seems the logical next step.


But even this is too straightforward. So first we will take the scenic route, via the third world. Morocco is lovely in January, and the fact that I am travelling with three blonde white girls should not attract any attention. This still does not feel quite right... what about Egypt, the Pyramids are the only surviving official ancient wonder, plus we could see the Sphinx! And, this just in, we will also be able to witness, first hand, a violent uprising in favour of democracy in Egypt, complete with demonstrations, gunfire, rubber bullets, bombing, tear gas, and protests. I can think of no better first hand education of have/have-not for my daughters. Also, they will now be able to understand the term civil disobedience with matching first hand experience. Luckily I have a visa all sorted out for New Zealand!


...almost. That is I have the forms, and have applied for jobs to get the ball rolling


Before the third world, and the underside of the world, comes the UK. A nice relaxing family vacation for Christmas. The first one with my mom since 2000 (she flew over a few days ahead of us). We have grown accustomed to living in suitcases this year, and this reality will continue into the foreseeable future. We are also accustomed to living in tight quarters, and Wales is no different this time round. My great Aunt Olive has graciously offered to put us up (as she always does truly a family legend!). it She, having just recovered from her latest bout with throat cancer, and a move in the dead of winter at 85 years of age, shows no signs of slowing down. Quite literally. She drives like a demon possessed down the center of the very narrow roads here. Though in fairness to choose a side of these country roads, is to choose death. Driving an automatic, for her has proven to be a bit of an adjustment, having driven standard most of her life. Several times at about 70mph she slammed on the brake thinking it the clutch therebyintroducing my face to the dashboard  for an uncomfortably  close inspection. But, we are happy for her hospitality, and she is a character to say the least. You have to speak with mentality of a defensive linebacker to get a word in edgewise, in that you must overcome whatever she is saying by speaking louder and with little to...., no, no pause. As soon as you pause in speech, you are finished in the conversation. 


The aforementioned move, has brought her to the town of Caerestyn from Colwyn Bay, and her new dwelling is somewhat less spacious, but all she needs really, a tad cramped for a family of four and another full grown adult however, but we are happy to be with family for Christmas and the New year. Most appreciative of Aunty O particularly. For as long as I can remember she has been fighting tirelessly fighting to keep the family connected with each other, Jones, Hughes, Larges and all. For her to put the five of us up the way she did this time was not different than countless times before. She always made sure we had everything we needed, and I think seeing the family socialising is all she ever really hopes for.

After a flurry of activity relating to meeting relatives new and old (again facilitated by Aunt O), we felt it was time to do some actual sightseeing. We opt for Northern Ireland for several reasons: mom has never been, Stephanie has never been, nor the girls, nor me. For me, it is an opportunity to check another country off on my quest for 100 countries and seven continents before death separts me. Northern Ireland makes 18. Plus, Belfast looks like an interesting spot to ring in the new year, which will make my second on the island of Ireland, and my fourth country for a New Year’s celebration. On top of all of this N. Ireland is currently in a state of unrest over the Union Jack, and there has been serious rioting and a car bomb there within days of our arrival, what better experience for my four and one year old daughters, start the new year off with a bang.


So the violence, it turned out, was over hyped. Belfast was a crazy new year mad city, and we were in the party district to be sure. But no riots, no gunfire, all around I was a bit disappointed by all of the hype my cousins had fed me before going. We had a pretty stale NYE in our hotel rooms, watched the celebration in London, and then got up early for a bus trip to the Giant’s Causeway, which so far has been one of the highlights of the trip! Google pictures of it until I have time to post some, it looks like pavement cobblestones, but 10-20 feet high, and rising out of the ocean like a 3D, and very uneven, backyard patio. This coupled with some of the strongest wind I have ever experienced, and breathtaking views of the North eastern Irish coastline, made for a truly memorable day.


Definitely disappointed that we only had time to visit for three days. I have now been to Ireland three times and still have not really seen Ireland. Dunluce castle, which we stopped off at briefly looked amazing silhouetted against the sunset, like some haunted fortress that belonged in a Tim Burton movie.


Our UK visit was dominated by family visits, and we are now in Andover, after a rushed trip to Stonehenge and Salisbury today. We fly to Morocco tomorrow, and should be arriving by the time everyone back home starts work.