Shevil Israel, Day 3

Al fresco gaming outside Zikhron Ya'akov.

Only eighteen miles today, but after yesterday I feel rather broken and resolve to take things slowly.  At least the going seems easier.  The history of this land is now showing, I pass Herodian and Byzantine ruins, then a small aqueduct which impressively is still running with water.  Then I reach, and walk along a much larger Roman aqueduct, which once fed the town of Caesarea.

Caesarea amphitheatre.

After eating my lunch on the beach, and dipping my toes in the Mediterranean, it's not far to Caesarea itself.  It is certainly well worth the trip, I marvel at the Crusader fortifications, the Byzantine palace, and the still functional amphitheatre.

From here it is a short schlep to Hadera, where after the 30 Shekel (£6) beers yesterday, I worry I don't have enough cash.  A helpful young man lets me get some money through his till - as it turns out I don't need it of course.  Food comes from a fast food style place where despite limited English they supply a tasty kebab with many pickles.  And next door a 'bar' will sell me a bottle of local Goldstar beer for 12 Shekels, provided I sit outside to drink it...

Carmel cliffs.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Shevil Israel, Day 2

Slopes of Mount Carmel.

The first real day of walking, and certainly a full one with twenty-five miles to do.  After an hour climbing through the desirable districts of Haifa I reach the Mount Carmel National Park, and immediately decide it was a good idea to come here.  The view is glorious, spring has come and the hillsides are covered in wild flowers.  Funny to think it was snowing on me yesterday morning.  The paths are well maintained, and I'm sorry to leave the park, not least as I now have several miles of busy road before joining the INT.

The trail makes itself felt with a steep climb, interestingly there are no signs, rather there are orange, blue and white 'blazes' painted on rocks every fifty yards or so.  Soon I'm in Ein Hod, an artists community charmingly decked out with examples of the residents' work.  Better yet it has a store where I buy cheese, biscuits, beer and chocolate...

With an INT blaze.

Sadly after lunch things go downhill.  Basically my route is South along the coast, but perversely the INT regularly detours off to find a rocky scramble halfway up a hill.  The blazes are little help, I rely on my GPS and still keep going wrong - a couple of times I find myself on a nice flat track alongside the banana plantations at the foot of the hill, not sure why the INT couldn't follow these.  Progress is slow, and when the sun sets I still have a long way to go.

At least now the route is along dirt roads through forest, easy enough going... The trees mean that the full moon isn't much use, but my head torch works well, even when I'm faced with a sudden mad scramble up a cliff, in the dark.  On all sides I can hear the howling of what I assume are dogs, in these darkened woods though they sound very like wolves.  Finally I reach Zikhron Ya'akov, a nice little place.  I get food from of all things a Domino's Pizza, and a few pints of Guiness from an Irish pub which is having a fancy dress disco - the Israelis do seem to love their fancy dress.  Refreshed, I walk back to the trail and pitch my tent.  The wolves are still howling...

Stone age habitations.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Shevil Israel, Day 1

A new adventure then, this time a long distance walk in the holy land.  Well, I was feeling in need of exercise after Christmas, and getting away from freezing London sounded good too.  The plan then is to hit the Israel National Trail, or Shevil Israel, a six hundred mile long distance path inspired by the Appalachian Trail.  I'll be doing a 150 mile section between Haifa and Jerusalem over the course of a week.

Hotel Marom.

So, a four and a half hour flight from Luton, and I'm facing Israeli border control.  I'd read stories of single male travellers, particularly those with passport stamps from arab countries, being detained for hours... I worry a bit about my stamp from Morocco, but in the event it is like any European airport.  Next, a train to Haifa, where I head to a mall to buy gas for cooking.  After getting through the mall security, I struggle a bit finding the store, it is only signed in Hebrew, but succeed in the end.  Now I just need to get to my hotel...

Of course this is not simple.  It is around four miles away up Mount Carmel, and I am at sea level.... still, it is only a thousand feet or so, can't be too bad even at night.  And indeed the first mile is fine, turns out to be a gently sloping dirt bike track, well lit by the full moon.  But then I go the wrong way, and soon am fighting through thorny thickets on a steep hillside... doh.  I manage to backtrack, and after ten minutes or so of steep ascent I reach a road.  There is even time for a beer or two before heading to the hotel, how civilised. Although it has been a while since I had my bag searched before getting into a pub... mind you I probably do look a bit rough after scrambling up here.

View across Haifa from the hotel.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Skiing in Slovenia

Another year, another ski trip to a new country, this time Slovenia.  I've always been a bit annoyed by the time it takes to get to the slopes from London, particularly by air - yes, the hour and a half flying time to, say, Geneva is good, but then you have a two hour drive to the resort, meaning you tend to get there just as the sun goes down.  So, on discovering that Slovenia has an airport just fifteen minutes away from the Kravec ski centre, I had to give it a try.

The English side of the journey doesn't go terribly well mind you.  Freezing temperatures in London mean my bike refuses to start, even when I spend an hour pushing it up and down.  Not feeling particularly happy I take the train into work along with my bag full of ski gear, I now have to get the train to the airport as well of course.  Which is where things really go downhill, in my idiocy I go to Luton rather than Stansted.  After much messing around going from the rail station to the airport and back, then back again, I find a coach to take me - very slowly - to the right airport, my expected relaxing evening with numerous beers and dinner at the Holiday Inn having turned into a bit of a nightmare, ending up with a single pint and a packet of crisps.  Ho hum.

Plenty of space on the pistes.

Up early next morning, and things start going to plan - flying out at 7.45am, I soon get back to sleep and before I know it I'm in Slovenia, at 11am local time.  Getting into my hire car doesn't take long, and it really is a short, and well signposted, drive to Kravec.  Park up, change and I'm at the top of the gondola before midday, with a full afternoon of skiing in prospect.  It's a nice little area too - somewhere around thirteen runs served by nine or so lifts, ranging from a creaky old single seater to a modern clutched express chairlift running up to the summit of Krvavec the mountain.  I'd rate most of the runs as reds, the piste map sees things a little differently, claiming twenty-three runs evenly split between blue, red and black.  It achieves this by somewhat dubiously marking each of the wider pistes with two or three lines, often of different colours...

Sausage, cabbage, beer.

Fun is had anyway, and also sausage - stopping for lunch, I find the menu rather incomprehensible, but the waitress speaks good English (as do pretty much all the locals, it seems) - beer and a large amount of 'Kranjska' follow.  The resort shuts up at four, and by five I'm in the capital, driving into Ljubljana proving pretty easy.  Park up, check in and it is time for a little wander about.  The city is certainly scenic, the Ljubljanica river is lined with impressive architecture and criss-crossed by bridges, the whole overlooked by the medieval castle on the hill above.  There are also a fair number of bars, I enjoy a pint of three or the local 'Union'.  Still full of sausage though, I opt for a bit of tapas rather than a full meal.

The lone gondola, leading down the mountain to the car parks.

Back to the slopes for a full day on the Saturday, and while there is a fair bit of cloud up on the mountain, and a lot more people, I still have fun bombing down the now familiar runs, as well as finding a few new ones, and even a snow park.  There is a bit of hassle getting to and from the resort, more people means I have to park well down the mountain and get a bus, still it is all efficiently organised, and free.  Think I earned some dinner today, even with more sausage at lunch, so, back in the capital I find a restaurant, the charming 'Das ist Valter' - named in tribute to the 1972 film 'Valter brani Sarajevo' - 'Walter defends Sarajevo'.  It was the most popular foreign film in China during the '70s you know...  They supply me with, surprise, sausage - six of the things, plus some sort of burger, half a chopped onion and a kind of flatbread.  All good, if heavy... I grab a few more beers and then sleep.  Then it's back to the airport, a short flight, then oops, snow in England.  So it takes four hours to get back home from Stansted.  Ho, once again, hum.

The Dragon Bridge in Ljubljana.

On balance though this worked very well, I can see myself going again.  This time my flights were with Easyjet, but I see Wizz fly there too (from Luton, haha) - their schedule would allow a trip from Saturday to Tuesday, the return flight leaving at 7.30pm.  That would give you three full days skiing with just two days off work, and no sleeping on a coach.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Morocco, Part 5

Tannery in Fes.

Friday morning then - and just for a change, I'm woken up at dawn by the amplified call to prayer from the various Mosques.  Again, I stifle the urge to yell back at them, 'no, god is not great, he probably doesn't even exist'.  Might go down badly, especially on the holy day.  Well, back to sleep for a bit, then breakfast and out for a wander about.  The medina feels different to Marrakech, it is rather smaller, and built on a hill, mainly though an awful lot of the little booths are shut up so that the owner can spend all day either in, or hanging around one of the Mosques.  In theory this should make it quieter, but I suspect that with the adults off praying (or in the case of the women, shut up at home), the result is that the teenage boys run free.  We are dogged at every step by offers to take us to one thing or another, but the worst is that whenever we try to head out of the medina we find some youth following us, repeatedly telling us 'not that way', 'just houses', and 'closed'.  No mate, it is not closed, a moped just came out of it for crying out loud.  We emerge briefly to look at the ramparts, plus a large crowd of young men apparently selling caged birds to each other, as you do.  Diving back in, we do the tourist thing and accept an offer to be taken up to a gallery to view the tannery, where traditional methods are used to turn goat, sheep, cow and camel hides into leather.  Apparently pigeon droppings are involved, from the smell I can well believe it... on the way down I'm persuaded to buy a camel leather belt, and even manage to haggle.  A bit.

Remains of the baths at Chellah.

Can't say I am that impressed by Fes though, although the modern city a mile or so away is pleasant enough, and furnishes us with some lunch that is not a three course meal, which is good - specifically, shwarma and chips.  From here it's a couple of hours' (motorway!) drive to Rabat, the capital of the country and not really rated as a tourist destination.  Well, I would certainly rate the place... we park up by the Hassan Tower and take a look at the nearby Mosque (of course).  Then a short drive takes us to the Chellah, a walled in area of gardens and amazing ruins, some dating back to Roman times, others from the middle ages including a mausoleum complex and various baths.  What is more there are storks nesting throughout the site, giving Chris a chance to get some use out his DSLR.  It's a pity we didn't get here until late in the afternoon, I could spend a day in this place but as it is the sun is going down and the gardiens are starting to urge people towards the exit.  Back onto the motorway and on to Casablanca then.  Motorway driving certainly is easier than the twisty mountain roads, or the craziness of the desert towns, but we still have some surprises - people herd sheep along the central reservation and sometimes wander into the carriageway, and as we approach Casablanca the traffic is heavier, and there is a fair bit of tailgating and undertaking going on.  Actually it isn't that different to the M25...

Of all the gin joints in all the world...

Casablanca then - a different atmosphere here, this is the business center of Morocco and we find ourselves at an anonymous commercial hotel.  There are actual bars here, we have a choice of them!  First one we walk into is full, the next nearly so but we huddle by the wall with some beer, and goggle somewhat as the barman brings us bowl after bowl of olives, salad, cucumber and so on.  Shame we already have dinner booked and need to head off... on the plus side, it is at Rick's Café.  Now I know, it isn't the real thing - the film wasn't even shot in this country - but, whatever, there certainly is a real atmosphere about the place with the piano playing and the fez-clad waiters.  We consume cocktails and some thoroughly excellent food before heading back across town, where we experience new heights of touting and aggressive begging.  Not sure if it is the readier availability of alchohol here, but these guys just won't leave us alone, actually grabbing my sleeve on a few occasions.  We hide in a bar, which is an odd place in itself.  The TV shows a group of women in a cheap studio, wearing slightly immodest clothing - leggings, a small amount of cleavage - either sat on sofas or dancing, while a lot of Arabic text scrolls along.  Is this the Morrocan version of babestation?  Can't say it holds my interest anyway, time for bed.

The next morning we hit the other 'worth a visit' spot in Casablanca - yes, there are two.  This is the Hassan II Mosque, the third biggest in the world and the only one we're allowed into.  It isn't a historic piece of architecture, this was built between 1987 and 1993, however it is certainly impressive, both in terms of size but also the ornate detail of carving, tiling, plasterwork and so forth.  I can't help but feel a little depressed though to see this country which as we have seen is not short of poverty, and which lets its history wash away like sandcastles in the tide, spend so much on monumental religious architecture.  Neither am I terribly impressed when the guide points out the 'womens gallery' - far fewer women than men are allowed in, and they're stuck up on the first floor where nobody can see them.  Ah well, their country and I am just a tourist I suppose, still I am starting to look forward to getting back to London tomorrow, cold though it will doubtless be.  Mind you, we seem to be bringing British weather to us today, barrelling along the motorway towards Marrakech the rain descends in biblical proportions, I even lose traction a few times, there is so much water on the road.  Thankfully it stops long enough for us to grab some food in Settat - enough tagine already, we find a pizzeria.  There is even one last kasbah to wander about - seems to have been turned into garages.  Returning to Marrakech, we get lost in the souks one last time and grab some souvenir tat, then back to the modern city for food - a place called Cheese Me where as you might expect, we get a considerable variety of cheese, plus numerous wines to accompany.  Pretty good for a last meal, and we have time for some final beers at the British Pub.  Then, a night's sleep, an early start and back to actual Britain.  It is, indeed, cold here...

Cheese Me!

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Morocco, Part 4

Turns out to be easy enough to get up with the dawn when the alternative is hanging around in a freezing tent... so, back on the camels and out through the desert, certainly is pretty cool watching the sky brighten and then the sun come up over the dunes.  Back at Erg Chebbi we find the place rather deserted, there is a woman wandering about who doesn't deign to talk to us, plus what looks like somebody under a blanket on a sofa in reception.  Ho hum.  We search around and find the key to the room with our bags in, and manage to get a (cold) shower and return to find that that the blanket guy is now moving about.  Some breakfast maybe?  While we're waiting I go to check the car... it's unlocked - they asked for the key the day before in case it 'got windy', so OK - turns out it is also contains some empty cigarette packets, a bag of food waste, and a whole load of beer cans.  The car in fact stinks of beer, and it even looks as though somebody has urinated on the side of it (actually there seems to be not much taboo about this in Morocco, people seemed happy to use the historic ramparts of Marrakech as a toilet, and in the desert we are told, 'use a dune' - I guess, it does dry out quite quickly here).

Sunrise in the desert.

So, I put our bags in the car, finally we get some breakfast, and after they return our car key we have a few choice words.  Maybe if they apologised and offered to take some money off the bill we'd accept that, but instead we're just given a bunch of excuses.  Well screw this, Chris and I walk out and drive off, rather expecting a horder of camel-riding Berbers to start chasing us.  At least it's an early start, so we have time to head into Merzouga, which unsurprisingly is not much of a place.  There should be a lake nearby, maybe with some interesting wildlife... well driving there over the desert is certainly interesting.  But it turns out the lake is only there in spring, maybe... we do however find a mummified camel corpse, I extract a tooth for each of us to take home as a souvenir.

And now we have a long, long way to drive - all the way to Fes, back in the North of the country.  At least this will put some distance between us and the Erg Chebbi, although I remember we did say we were off to Fes and so worry that at any time a rusty van will pull onto the road and start chasing us.  It never happens... sure is a distance though.  We break for coffee in Errachidia, then for a decent lunch in Midelt - this time the 'typical meal' is soup, beef Tagine and yes, fruit.  Really starting to fancy something different to eat now.  Our journey seems to be through mountains most of the way, not as high as the route we took heading South, but stretching over a longer distance it seems.  Certainly makes for a difference in climate compared to the arid desert we've been in for the last few days, up here it is almost alpine - indeed, we pass through a small town named Ifrane which it turns out the French built back in colonial days in the style of a Swiss resort.

Heading back to the Erg Chebbi.

The mountain roads make for slow progress though, with lorries, tractors, and vehicles belching so much smoke as to seem to be on fire crawling along.  Straining to overtake one such on a short straight bit of road, I am a bit annoyed to turn the next corner and find a police road block.  Ah well - I had a feeling this would happen at some point.  The 300 dirham fine is only £22 or so, think I can handle it.  And we roll into Fes, not too long after dark - once again we are in a riad in the medina, but Chris does a sterling job to navigate and we park up, and once again dive down an alley to find the rather impressive Riad dar Guennoun.  Hot water!  A choice of food!  I finally get some cous-cous, having several times seen it on menus with a warning it'll take hours to prepare.  And not only do we get a decent bottle of red with it, but also a second one to drink up on the roof.  Who needs to leave the hotel!

Photos to go with this post can be found here.

Morocco, Part 3

Todra Gorge.

Day three, and it's time to focus a bit less on the cultural and architectural side of things, and a bit more on the glories of nature.  We drive a short way up the Todra river to park in the famous gorge, where I drag Chris on a six mile hike up the side, around, down, and along the river.  It is certainly very impressive, reminiscent of the Grand Canyon but if anything even bleaker, at times the terrain resembles photos I've seen from Mars rovers... pretty hot even in mid-November also, nonetheless we make it around and down, returning to the river in time for some lunch.  This time we're back to salad, then the main is a Berber Omelette, chopped vegetables with an egg or two poured over, once again cooked in a tagine.

The route along the river is interesting too, with a network of irrigation channels through the fields allowing crops of various kinds to be planted, while olive groves and date palms seemingly grow wild.  Again managing to avoid being sold carpets and so forth, we get back in the car for a long drive East and South to Merzouga and the edge of the Sahara.  At this point our lack of a working satnav - it still hasn't charged, looks like there is no current through the cigarette lighter - becomes a bit of a problem.  I have a map on my phone, but navigating around on the small screen is not easy, and we end up getting the route a bit wrong.  Ironically, the police close a road and direct us on what is actually the correct way, but we stubbornly go wrong again... it is 8.30 or so before we reach the Kasbah Erg Chebbi, where at least we can get some food, and even a warmish bottle of rosé.  I am starting to get a bit tired of the 'typical meal', here it is salad, again, chicken tagine, again, and fruit, again.

In the desert, you can remember your name...

The next morning, we have arranged with the hotel for a 10am start out in the desert for a full day and night of camel riding and who knows what.  Shame there is no hot water as I reckon I need a shower before heading out - well, a cold shower it is then.  A quick breakfast - the usual bread, jam and so forth - then we head out to meet our mounts.  I've never ridden a camel... the way they kneel to let you mount is cool, the way they stand up back legs first, tipping you forward alarmingly, isn't so great.  We have no reins, rather a home-made looking metal handlebar at the front, with the camel pulled along on a rope by our Berber guide.  Initially I find the downhill sections quite tricky, especially when my camel decides to kneel down unexpectedly... eventually though I figure out that leaning back is the way, and I can pretty much dispense with the bar.

The desert is an amazing place to be sure... a landscape sculpted by the wind, dunes rising to sharp crests then dipping like waves, into another dune, and yet another, stretching to the horizon which is itself formed from mountainous piles of sand.  Our camels make their way up, down and along the dunes for an hour or so, then groups of tents start to appear, initially these form square blocks around a courtyard, clearly related to the riads and kasbahs we've seen.  Then over a ridge, there is a cluster of single tents, and we are led towards one.  And asked 'when do we want lunch?'  It is only 11:30 or so but there is not obviously anything to do here, so I suggest midday, at which our guide looks a little disconcerted.  12:30 then?  You are supposed to be the guide old boy, how about just tell us when it will be ready?  We do at least get some tea and some nuts, and so while away an hour or so, investigating the area which seems to be a Berber camp, complete with a few donkeys and what I assume are at least semi-domesticated pigeons.

Dunes at sunset.

Lunch arrives, and, yay, another 'typical meal'.  More salad, another Berber omelette which is basically the salad, warmed up with an egg... and of course fruit.  One of the younger locals sets up a display of various little camels, allegedly locally made... we buy one each, no way to avoid it really.  And then our guide tells us he'll be back to take us to the oasis - which is fully two hundred metres away - at 4pm.  It becomes clear we should really have opted for the trip starting at 4, but never mind.  I have a go at 'dune boarding' - somebody has left a snowboard near our tent - but dragging it up a big dune in the desert heat is too much.  Instead I leave Chris, and my shirt, to take off on a hike through the dunes, up and around the oasis on the biggest one I can see.  It uses up an hour or so and does give a feel for being out in the desert with no water - I don't see any mirages though.  We then take a tour of the dunes on camel back, which is kind of fun I must say - one day I have to ride one with actual reins.  Then we're abandoned again, with the suggestion that we climb the big dune to watch the sun go down.

Well - it is very pretty I must say.  Can't help but feel that this day is turning out to be not quite as packed with excitement as it might have been though... sun having gone down we head back to the oasis, and again the guide seems to want us to pick a particular time for dinner.  Screw it though, I am not eating before 7pm.  We drink some more tea and generally chew the fat, in a little tented area that we have all to ourselves, with blankets spread on the sand there is clearly room for many more.  Looking around, the entire oasis seems to consist of such places, all better equipped than ours though.  Dinner arrives, and isn't too bad - yes, it's the same again, but at least the chicken tagine is less chicken and more an interesting assortment of veg.  We get joined for dinner, not for the first time, by a cat... otherwise it is just us though, and indeed after dinner our guide puts a couple of candles in one of the tents and says, 'you sleep in there'.  OK... not quite sure what idea he has got here.  Can't say I want to go to bed at 8pm, and certainly not in the same tent as Chris who, I hope he doesn't mind me saying, snores a little.  I move some of the blankets to a tent on the other side, and then we wander around the oasis looking for something to do.  There isn't much... we peer in each of the other tented areas, many of them have fires going and in several cases there is drumming and 'singing' going on - often tourists drumming away while their guide sings or indeed takes photos.  It does seem odd that there are each of these little places, with only two or three tourists in each, why not combine their resources?  Moreover, why have we been left to our own devices?  Well, dammit, these people have a fire, we shall too - I've been using a long stick I found to feel ahead in the darkened oasis, don't want to walk into a camel by mistake.  So, we return to our tents, and I break up the stick and burn the thing - the heat is quite welcome as the desert in November gets a bit chilly at night.  You get a good view of the stars mind, and we spend a while trying to take photos of them before reaching the point where sleep may be possible.  Not that sleeping under a pile of hairy blankets is going to be that easy - though, on the plus side, sort of, we do have to be up at 5.30am the next day!

Luxury accommodation at the oasis.

Photos to go with this post can be found here.