Promise–Not Another Rug!

by Donna on November 16, 2011

Moroccan entrance

Moroccan entrance

I promised I wouldn’t buy another rug. Promised everyone who knows me and my expensive-habit weakness. Rugs were not even on my mind for several days. After Rabat, our little group explored Meknes, considered the Versailles of Morocco with its spectacular royal palaces,

Royal Granaries

Royal Granaries

the huge Royal Granaries with walls thick enough to withstand even the devastating 1755 earthquake and rooms big enough to feed all of Meknes for 20 years.

Meknes Medina

Meknes Medina

The Meknes Medina is reasonable, smaller and easier to navigate than the overwhelming maze of Fes or Marrakesh.

At Ruins of Volubilis

At Ruins of Volubilis

I certainly wasn’t thinking of rugs while we tromped over the ruins of Roman Volubilis. The site of Rome’s most southwestern push into North Africa, the remaining mosaics are stunning.

Roman Mosaics

Roman Mosaics

Volubilis’ urban planning could be the envy of many modern cities. Given the fierce sun, I thought it was too bad none of the ceilings had survived the centuries. I expect the baths were very popular.

Fez Medina

Fez Medina


It was in Fez my resolve started to weaken. The Fez el-Bali, the ancient medina, is reputed to have about 1,000 derbs or dead-end alleys, each with its own little hole-in-the-wall shop. In the 9th honeycomb of alleyways barely wide enough for people, I dodged donkeys and heavily laden carts by clinging to the walls and in some cases pushed into a little stall, a sight that generally had the shopkeepers laughing.

Shopkeeper's Stall

Shopkeeper's Stall

Our little group had Jamal to guide us through the maze. Otherwise I would have engaged one of the many offers for a “guide”, just to keep the touts at bay. The close quarters, the heat, the press of bodies and animals, made our guided tour seem endless. A quick stop to look into the Kairaouine Mosque was a bit of a break, but after several hours I started longing for some space and a little Western air-conditioning.

Moroccan Mosque

Moroccan Mosque

Just when we were all about to collapse, our Jamal, who always seemed impervious to the heat, led us into the rug and carpet shop. Best one in Fez, of course. Certainly one very used to tour groups. The building was spacious, as necessary to properly display Morocco’s most famous souvenirs, the mint tea refreshing, and the sales display entertaining. After enough rug shops in enough countries, I know what I like, an I swore to myself nothing they were going to show me would matter. Besides, I have accumulated more than enough rugs to fill my house. So I sat with my hands clenched at my sides while beauty after beauty was rolled out. Didn’t dare even touch anything. My blood pressure was rising from the strain of restraint, but I remained in control.

Until….a member of our group, little Lana, whose small stature and pleasant demeanor belied the years of dealing with untold numbers of shopkeepers, came out from a side room followed by the salesman carrying a very large, and beautiful, rug. They had been bargaining hard, but Lana insisted she couldn’t possibly take it as it was too large for her new apartment. She wanted something smaller. He couldn’t believe she wouldn’t take it. Sales were slow with our group, so the price kept dropping. Realizing the sale to Lana really was lost, he halved his price. I knew it was hopeless. The rug was beautiful—I’d seen it earlier. It would go perfectly in my living room. I tried to fight the impulses, but my legs carried me over to the rug, my feet felt the soft cashmere wool, my eyes registered all the intricate designs. All that remained was to dig out the credit card. Some promises were meant to be broken.

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Welcome to the Casbah

by Donna on October 30, 2011

The first thing I notice about a country is its smell.  Stepping out of the airport the nose registers someplace foreign immediately, even before the eyes.  Get off the plane in Delhi and you smell curry.  Fiji was fresh air and fish.  Mali was dust (yes, I think dust does have its own smell.)  Arriving in Casablanca, waiting an inordinate amount of time for luggage, the first smell was of a bit of old decay, intriguing if not very enticing.  Sort of a weary, time-worn smell reminiscent of slightly over-ripe vegetables.

Morocco is also country on its own time.   My adjustable alarm clock, veteran of numerous time zones changes, does not have a setting for the Moroccan hour.  There are settings for London or Paris or most of the Middle East, but not Morocco.  Somehow this seems appropriate—Morocco has probably always been on its own time.  The country is located on the African continent, but its roots are in the Middle East.  Its people are a mixture of physical types.  The original Moroccans were Berbers, related to the Tuarag of the Sahara and places like Mali.  It has been part of the Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire, and a French protectorate.  The faces of Moroccans reflect their multi-cultural status.

Moroccan Musicians

Moroccan Musicians

Casablanca is the entry and exit point for all international travelers, and the least interesting city in Morocco.  Romantic tales, like Rick’s cafe, are either invented or belong to history.  There is a boardwalk along the ocean, lined with tour buses and cafes that could be anywhere.  There is the Hassan II mosque, second largest in the world after Mecca.  Built by the late King, it is imposing for the tiles and the setting, but the building lacks the  charm of older sites.

Hassan II mosque--the second largest in the world

Hassan II mosque--the second largest in the world

Other than connecting on flights, there is not much reason to stay in Casablanca, so like most travelers, the first stop is Rabat, a charming city about a 2-hour drive away.  It’s low-key Morocco.  The vendors haven’t been trained in high-pressure sales tactics, the Medina isn’t quite as busy.  There is a pleasant “second-city” feel to it, as if history has passed over and left it lolling in the sunshine.  After a long, uncomfortable flight, and longer than expected bus ride, that suits me just fine.

Rabat, Morocco

Rabat, Morocco

Rabat’s claim to fame lies in the remnants of the never-completed great mosque and Hassan Tower (a 12th century Hassan, not the father of the current king.  Moroccan royalty has a habit of recycling names).  The adjacent Mohammd V Mausoleum is a 20th century jewel of beautiful tiles and a welcome break from the fierce sun.

Guarding the Mausoleum

Guarding the Mausoleum

Inside the Mausoleum

Inside the Mausoleum


Rabat, as one of the Imperial Cities, has one of the royal palaces dotting the country.  I never did get straight which ones the king lives in and which ones are for state functions and business.  At any rate, driving past the ramparts and walls that encompass the royal palace, it was clear his digs are a tad better than our hotel.  The Golden Tulip does have a great view, overlooking the Hassan Tower on one side and the Medina on the other.  The staff is generally very nice.  My request for Tabasco to perk up the bland dinner (easier to communicate a brand name than the idea of hot sauce) resulted in three people conferring, several trips to the kitchen, and a triumphant waiter bringing the precious little bottle on a platter.  By that time we were finishing off our bottle of Moroccan wine so the effort was properly applauded.

Between jet lag and exhaustion, after wine and Tabasco, it was collapse time.  Even the barely functioning air-conditioning couldn’t keep me up.  There was hot water in the shower, a bed with clean sheets, and my room was away from the call to prayer.  Time to sleep after my first day in Morocco.

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Adventurous Shopping in the Aleppo Souk

by Donna on October 16, 2011

Inside the Aleppo Souk

It was not clear if the ancient souq was meant to intimidate or entice. The maze of intertwining little alleys lined with merchant stalls seemed ready to defeat the most determined shopper. After all, this is Aleppo, the second largest city in Syria. The great Citadel of Aleppo, Saladin’s castle that withstood the Crusader invasion, towers over the souq. The curved, winding ramps are just one of the brilliant designs that guaranteed the invaders, weighted down by their armor, could never succeed. Standing at the entrance to the souq, armed with only a headscarf and an Arabic phrasebook, I thought about those failed attacks.

The souq, or souk or bazaar of Aleppo, Syria, is often considered the largest in the Middle East. What the experts are counting to determine this is a mystery—the stalls and shops are adjoined like a condominium complex. Young boys balancing heavy brass trays filled with little cups of sweet tea roam from vendor to vendor, sometimes dodging donkeys or wheelbarrows. It’s a sort of organized chaos and everyone seems to know the rules except me and my equally bewildered fellow travelers.

But this was no ordinary trip. Our leader, Rita, is very used to simultaneously ordering locals in Arabic, and herding Americans in English. And teaching everyone the rules. An hour later I knew the pattern—textiles and fabrics near the entrance, gold and pretty baubles to the right and then left. Down another aisle (it is hard to call the passage ways streets) were the rug merchants. Pots and pans and other household utensils are in another section. Men’s clothing, women’s dresses, children’s outfits, blankets, toys, underwear, herbs—everything has its own section.

It’s hard for a group of 20 Americans not to be noticed in Aleppo, or anywhere in Syria, so three of us—myself, another middle aged woman and my young roommate—decided to tackle the souk the next day. Incognito. Just random tourists. For experienced travelers, we were pretty naïve. Every shopkeeper knew who we were, whose group we belonged to, when we arrived and when we were supposed to depart. They also knew who were the other members in our group and what had been purchased or admired. Hours later, laden with purchases, our last stop was a stall of silk scarves. I almost never leave a country without buying at least one scarf. This time I left with about a dozen—including a few given as gifts for the rest of our group. From the wonderful merchants of Aleppo.

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Russia- The Land of Nyet Bureacracy

by Donna on September 30, 2011

Russia_2938

Getting ready for Timbuktu was less trouble than preparing for a week in Russia. Someone forgot to tell the Russian travel bureaus the Cold War ended years ago. Getting a visa was never a big deal before. I have passports full of visas—it’s always been a matter of a short form and a lot of cash. Not this time. I hate official forms to begin with, but this time the visa applications took two days to fill out.

It went on and on. How many countries have you been to? When did you travel? List every country visited in the last ten years, with dates! Have you ever visited Russia before? When? What was your visa number? I traveled to Russia 25 years ago—how do I know what my visa number was? Filling out these forms was after we had our official invitation and permission. There was no place to put on the form that it was just a group tour—we weren’t going to wander around the interior taking photos of secret missile sights.

The scheduled trip was for only seven nights. So I wanted to fly in a day early, just in case. With three flights anything could happen. NYET! These are the dates of the authorized tour. Those are the dates you will be here. Nothing sooner, nothing later. No deviations. Arrive earlier and you will not be admitted! Filling out the forms reminded me that Russians don’t smile. Excessive smiling is taken as a sign of lunacy. Which is about how I felt until our passports were returned, with pretty, shiny new visas.

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Dealing with Bedbugs: Your How-To Travel Guide

by Donna on September 15, 2011

Adult male of the common bed bug, Cimex lectularius L

Uninvited guests can really spoil the party—and the trip.

Planning on bringing home some extra long-term house guests from your travels? Interested in waking up to itchy red welts? Bedbugs have become a problem everywhere and not just confined to the hotel room. They can hitch a ride home on your clothes or in your suitcase, resulting in major eradication expenses not to mention the discomfort. Don’t think this is just a problem for cheap no-star hotels. In New York Victoria’s Secret was forced to close temporarily for eradication, and the Waldorf Astoria was sued for bedbug contamination.

So what can a traveler do? There is no foolproof solution, but there are some precautions you can take.

1. Inspect your hotel room before unpacking.
Bedbugs leave tell-tail traces. Lift up the bottom of the mattress and look for brown spots that could mean dried blood from previous victims. Pull the sheets back if you are at all concerned.

2. NEVER put your suitcase on the floor.
Request a suitcase rack or put it on a table. Clear off the desk if necessary and use the laptop elsewhere. If possible, keep the suitcase away from the bed. If you are not in the room, and not using your suitcase, zip it up.

3. Remove that bedspread.
They wash the sheets, but who knows when was the last time that bedspread or pillow sham was cleaned? Remove it and stash it in the closet.

4. Plastic.
Plastic bags just might be your best friend while traveling. I can’t imagine leaving home without them. Use the gallon zipper bags from the grocery store, or whatever size works best for you. They help protect your stuff against whatever you may encounter. Little critters are looking for an easy soft nest and are not interested in burrowing through plastic. It also helps when your bag gets “randomly selected” for extra screening and someone else’s paws are going through your things.

5. Careful when you get home.
Unload the plastic bags. Clean or wash everything. Check shoes and extra purses, Wipe out the suitcase. Then share your photos with family and friends and remember a wonderful trip.

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10 Tips to Keep Your Caribbean Vacation FUN

by Donna on August 30, 2011

Caribbean Beach in Yucatan
A favorite destination for many, especially those of us living in Northeast Ohio, is a sunny island in the Caribbean.  Your vacation should be carefree, and a little advance preparation will make sure it is.

  1. Pack the sunscreen and the hat and use them! The Caribbean sun is strong.  Red is for lobsters, not humans.
  2. Pack some bug spray. That lovely beachfront restaurant is open to all comers and you do not want to be the main course.
  3. Take small American bills. Even at an all-inclusive there may be the occasion for a tip or a trinket to buy.  Dollars are accepted, but don’t expect anyone to make change.
  4. Pack light. It is hot and humid and you are going for the sun and sand.  However, many restaurants, especially at the fancier resorts, require men to wear long pants, closed shoes and long sleeves at dinner.  The long sleeves may be negotiable as long as the shirt has a collar.
  5. If bringing a laptop, check the hotel’s internet connection before you leave. Not all hotels are wireless, and you may need to bring that old cable from home.  (Or buy an overpriced one from the desk as I had to do.)  Regardless of type of connection, expect to pay a fee for using your laptop from the room.
  6. Check out the water. A lot of hotels filter their water, but it’s best to play it safe with bottled water.  Be sure to drink lots of it.
  7. Try not to overindulge right away. Sun and fun will make you thirsty and those Bahama Mama’s go down very easily.  But you could ruin the rest of your trip.
  8. Make a copy of your passport. Tuck the copy, a passport-sized photo (get cheap ones at CVS or Walgreen’s), and some emergency cash in a plastic zip-type bag.  Put it someplace separate from your actual documents.  This makes it a lot easier to replace stolen or lost documents.
  9. Take all your medications and absolute essentials of life in your carry-on. For me that is my passport, money, medicine bag, a change of clothes (at least underwear), a small bottle of my favorite shampoo, and my makeup bag.  Make your own list and double check.
  10. Relax and Enjoy!

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Battle of the Bulge: Packing

by Donna on August 18, 2011

KEEP CALM AND CARRY ONThere is a reason, actually a lot of reasons, why most travel logs or blogs are written by men.   Having just packed for a week in Russia, I realize again how easy they (men) have it.  Just a spare pair of pants, a couple of shirts, some underwear in a bag.  Ten minutes to put toiletries together—toothpaste, toothbrush, shampoo, comb, maybe dental floss and Tylenol.  I try to use a small bag when traveling, but that doesn’t’ mean light.  My bag is more like solid concrete.  No way I’m going without my makeup, my facial creams, hair gel, and special shampoo for color-treated hair.  Clothes aren’t the problem–I can get by on a few changes of clothes as long as I have a bunch of scarves, a few glitzy baubles, and at least one shawl.  It is all the rest of the stuff that separates the women from the men.

Then there is the issue of shoes.  He gets by on one pair—no one complains about his footwear in the fancy restaurant as long as the pants aren’t too dirty and the shirt has a collar.  But I have to carry a pair of heels as well as trusty walking shoes.  And stockings to make the little black dress looks acceptable.  Forget telling me it doesn’t matter—it does.  When we go to a restaurant or business meeting, I am the one scrutinized.

Still, at this point, after years of figuring out how to take everything I want in a small carryon, I wouldn’t want it any other way.  (Well, I would like to fly business class.)  It’s that eye contact with other women when the long flight finally lands, when the makeup is mostly worn off, and the once-combed curls resemble a hairdo from Night of the Living Dead.  We have arrived, we are going places, and we will do it our way.

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Let’s Go Somewhere

by Donna on August 2, 2011

Many believe there are only two kinds of people in the world: those who travel and those who do not. I think it is a little more complicated. There are also those who want to travel, but find dire warnings from family and friends intimidating. Yep, travel gets a little more interesting with each birthday. So does everything else. Age, gender, or the occasional physical problem is not going to keep me home.

I consider myself a travel addict. Are you? The signs and symptoms are well known and easily identified. They include:

  • Planning another trip as soon as one is booked and organized
  • Keeping the toiletry bag packed and ready to go
  • Smart phone apps are all travel related
  • Moodiness and depression if home for three months
  • Bookshelves filled with travel guides
  • Little rolls of toilet paper in baggies ready to throw into a suitcase
  • Stealing the Sunday New York Times travel section from the library
  • Everything in RSS feeds is related to travel
  • Home improvements are valued in terms of potential travel
  • Knowing the walking distance between concourses at multiple airports

On these pages I will be sharing my addictive passion with anyone who will listen. From Australia to Zimbabwe, and in our own backyard, I’ve found there are people to meet and stories to tell. Along the way I’ve also picked up a few tips learned from experience and mistakes. Now is the time to explore where to go, why to go there, how to get there, and what to do while there. Join me in meeting the natives and having some fun along the way.

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