Last night I had a moment in Rabat. One of those moments that you want to capture and take with you for the rest of your life. A moment that a camera cannot capture. A moment that stimulates all of your senses.
I had been walking through a souk for around an hour with my befriended travel buddy from Sydney. The souk is full of narrow lanes full of stores of food, clothes and handy crafts. The architecture is distinctly Islamic, with Mosaics everywhere. The air smelt of incense and spicey food. The air was warm, but sligthly sticky. We were in a quieter part of the lane but could see the shoulder to shoulder crowded section ahead. Store keepers were bartering with locals in a mixture of Arabic and French. A cat was drinking out of a storm drain. It was around 8-30pm and the sun had set.
At this point the Islamic call to prayer started. A man in Arabic can be heard, his voice resonating and echoing down the narrow lane. The sound had no distinct source, it seemed to come from everywhere. The sound had a way to get to you. Somehow you could feel it rather than hear it.
After what felt like a minute, but could have been 10 seconds, the call to prayer ended. The Moroccans continued on with their business, but I walked away from the experience feeling somehow richer to be a part of it.
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Barcelona, Madrid, Toledo
I´m in Madrid and have been partying it up for a bit over a week. After two months without drinking I am well and truely back on the horse and galloping off to the horizon at great speed.
I think I mentioned that I joined two Americans, Phil and John, in Carcasonne ( http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=33440&l=648e2&id=705941710 ) . Check out the photos.
From Carcasonne we went to Barcelona and stayed in a place called the Kabul hostel. If you ever backpack to Barcelona stay there. There is a massive social atmosphere. I stayed in Barcelona for three days and checked out some Gaudi stuff (google Sangradia Familia maybe with some correct spelling). Photos: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=33442&l=4a6af&id=705941710
From Barcelona John, Phil and I were planning to head to Valencia. It didn´t work out. We went to the train station and the next one was leaving in three hours, so we caught one to Madrid instead. I was up in first class enjoying the luxury at 300kmph (due to my Eurail pass) while John and Phil were in cattle class.
Tonight will be my 6th night in Madrid (http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=33444&l=dd1ac&id=705941710 ). Madrid has a great party atmosphere that I´ve been making the most of. I´ve checked out the Prado Museum with it´s Goya works and a Rembrant (art´s not my thing), the Real Palace, a bull fight (gruesome, I don´t know how this can be allowed in our civilised times), and a nearby town called Toledo ( http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=33445&l=7d59e&id=705941710 ).
Tomorrow I´m off south towards Gibraltar and then Morocco.
Spain has been a rather gastronomical event for me. Mainly of kebabs and felafel. I think I´m gaining the weight I lost doing the marathon very quickly.
With 40 secs of internet left I´ll be brief.
Earplugs rock
The language bar in XP rocks
Booking trips doesn´t
Joined up with an Aussie to Morocco
Spain has been a rather gastronomical event for me. Mainly of kebabs and felafel. I think I´m gaining the weight I lost doing the marathon very quickly.
With 40 secs of internet left I´ll be brief.
Earplugs rock
The language bar in XP rocks
Booking trips doesn´t
Joined up with an Aussie to Morocco
Monday, April 14, 2008
Montpellier, Carcasonne
Leaving Paris I decided to head south. Both because I want to go to Morocco and because I figured it would be warmer.
First stop Montpellier. After the SNCF booked me a hotel in a town called Sete which is about 50km from Montpellier and is a retirement village, I eventually made it to Montpellier. The beautiful winding alleys feel like they've been carved out of stone. I spent hours just walking the streets, getting lost, finding my bearings again, and then getting lost again.
I visited my first art gallery and discovered I am not into art.
After two nights I had had enough and decided to move on to Carcasonne. It's is has a medievel walled castle on top of the hill. Which the hostel I stayed at was in. The view was majestic from afar, but I found it awful inside. It was very expensive and was gimmicky as all hell.
So the next day I decided to head to Barcelona on the 7:15am train. I have attached myself like a leech to two Americans, Phil and John. The rail office said we couldn't book tickets. So we just hopped on the train anyway, hoping to claim ignorance and that our eurail passes would get us out of trouble. The situation got stressful at the Spanish border when they started kicking people off the train. We got a few more stops along before we were kicked off. We just hopped on the next train to Barcelona and got there about 2 hours later than planned.
We're staying in the Kabul hostel just off of La Rambla, the main drag in Barcelona, think Rundle mall but with pick pockets. The hostel is great. By far the best I've stayed in so far.
I went out on the turps last night. I'm still regaining my drinking form after being off the horse for a while. After buying two litres of beer for two euros and drinking some vodka with some Israelis I ended up crashing before midnight. Something that is very uncommon in Barcelona with its famous party culture.
Things I've learnt:
-you can get a lot of milage out of a set of underwear
-pack light, pack really light. I'm talking carry on light.
-talk to everyone
-unplanned is best. You have more adventures.
-a smile gets you a long way.
-if you see a toilet, use it. You'll never know when you'll see another one.
-modesty is a luxury. Leave it at home.
First stop Montpellier. After the SNCF booked me a hotel in a town called Sete which is about 50km from Montpellier and is a retirement village, I eventually made it to Montpellier. The beautiful winding alleys feel like they've been carved out of stone. I spent hours just walking the streets, getting lost, finding my bearings again, and then getting lost again.
I visited my first art gallery and discovered I am not into art.
After two nights I had had enough and decided to move on to Carcasonne. It's is has a medievel walled castle on top of the hill. Which the hostel I stayed at was in. The view was majestic from afar, but I found it awful inside. It was very expensive and was gimmicky as all hell.
So the next day I decided to head to Barcelona on the 7:15am train. I have attached myself like a leech to two Americans, Phil and John. The rail office said we couldn't book tickets. So we just hopped on the train anyway, hoping to claim ignorance and that our eurail passes would get us out of trouble. The situation got stressful at the Spanish border when they started kicking people off the train. We got a few more stops along before we were kicked off. We just hopped on the next train to Barcelona and got there about 2 hours later than planned.
We're staying in the Kabul hostel just off of La Rambla, the main drag in Barcelona, think Rundle mall but with pick pockets. The hostel is great. By far the best I've stayed in so far.
I went out on the turps last night. I'm still regaining my drinking form after being off the horse for a while. After buying two litres of beer for two euros and drinking some vodka with some Israelis I ended up crashing before midnight. Something that is very uncommon in Barcelona with its famous party culture.
Things I've learnt:
-you can get a lot of milage out of a set of underwear
-pack light, pack really light. I'm talking carry on light.
-talk to everyone
-unplanned is best. You have more adventures.
-a smile gets you a long way.
-if you see a toilet, use it. You'll never know when you'll see another one.
-modesty is a luxury. Leave it at home.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Marathon, after thoughts
I thought I should do another post. But, rather than explaining how I felt on the day, explaining how I feel about the marathon now.
I didn't enjoy the experience at all. I enjoyed a lot of the training, but not the marathon. Reading the previous post I think you should be able to tell that it wasn't fun. However, I do not regret the experience one bit.
I am very proud of what I achieved. It was bloody hard and took an extraordinarily large effort. Adversity presented itself and I unglamorously overcame it. Sure I was aiming for a much quicker time, but that was without the food poisoning. I was hoping to enjoy the sights, but I didn't realise it would be so cold and miserable.
If someone came up to me today and told me they were going to attempt to do a marathon I would pat them on the back and encourage them (which is something I didn't get from many people, most people looked at me blankly and asked if I was crazy). Sure, I'd tell them about my experience, but you would have to say I was very unlucky to fall ill at that time.
I now have a great tale to tell. One of tragedy and triumph and what a location!!!
Now where did I put that beer?
I didn't enjoy the experience at all. I enjoyed a lot of the training, but not the marathon. Reading the previous post I think you should be able to tell that it wasn't fun. However, I do not regret the experience one bit.
I am very proud of what I achieved. It was bloody hard and took an extraordinarily large effort. Adversity presented itself and I unglamorously overcame it. Sure I was aiming for a much quicker time, but that was without the food poisoning. I was hoping to enjoy the sights, but I didn't realise it would be so cold and miserable.
If someone came up to me today and told me they were going to attempt to do a marathon I would pat them on the back and encourage them (which is something I didn't get from many people, most people looked at me blankly and asked if I was crazy). Sure, I'd tell them about my experience, but you would have to say I was very unlucky to fall ill at that time.
I now have a great tale to tell. One of tragedy and triumph and what a location!!!
Now where did I put that beer?
Monday, April 7, 2008
The marathon!
Well I finished it in around 4:20. I don't know my official time yet, but will try to find out.
Sunday at 8:44am I'm standing on the Champs elysses along with 35000 other people, stretched hundreds of metres back to the Arc de Triomphe and hundreds of metres in front of me. The Chariots of Fire music is playing over the loud speakers. Looking ahead I can see wave after wave of clothing being tossed to the sidelines, no longer needed to keep the runner warm. I choose to keep mine as it's bitterly cold. According to a Mexican I met today who did the race it was about 2degrees. Fortunately there was no rain, hail or snow. The time ticks over to 8:45 and the people at the front start. Eventually us in the middle begin to move. At first a slow walk, then we slowly gather speed into a slow jog.
At this point I am going to go back in time to Friday night. The day I arrived in Paris. The day it almost all came off the rails.
I caught up with Kae Martin the other person I knew who was doing the marathon and her friend Heather. I was feeling absolutely buggered from the jet lag. We decided to go for a bit of a stroll along the Champs elysees (I've got no idea how to spell). At around the Grand Palace (Grand is an understatement, the thing is massive) I start to feel a bit queezy at this stage, so I get a drink from a road side stall. We continue on and reach Place de La Concorde, it's an awesome sight if you haven't seen it.
At this stage I begin to feel even more queezy and find a nice spot next to the fountain when I can puke my guts up. Needless to say, we decided to head back at this point. Walking back along the Champs elysees I throw up another time.
I finally make it back to my hotel and drink a lot of water and hit the sack at around 8pm without dinner (not good if you've got a marathon coming up).
Queue the night of hell:
It's 2am, I turn on the light again and head to the bathroom to throw up for somewhere between the 15th and 20th time. I start to think that I might not be able to do the marathon. Then I start to think that I have no fat reserves and if I get sick I'll need to go to hospital and probably on a drip.
On Saturday, the day before the marathon, I only managed to keep down a banana and a bread roll. I was severely dehydrated.
On Sunday at 4am when I woke up (gotta love jet-lag), I felt good and decided to do the marathon.
Fast forward to the marathon again. This will be brief as I've only got 7 mins of internet left.
I knew I wouldn't be able to make my target time. At around the 2km mark I couldn't see the 3:45 pace maker any more. This didn't bother me.
Every 5km they had a food station. I had a banana and a bottle of water at each. by the time I got to the next station I was getting hungry again at around the 15km mark. The first 30km were relatively easy. Other than the bitter cold.
The cold was something else. It managed to cut right through you. Every muscle in the body ached, but not because of the running. It was miserable!
At around 31-33km I hit the wall. It is difficult to describe the wall. Let's just say you stop. You find yourself walking rather than running even though you didn't make a concious decision to do it. There is no energy left in your system to propel you forward any more. Somehow you dig down, find some courage, and manage to push forward for another few hundred metres. Then you hit it again. This time harder. So you dig deeper and go another few hundred metres. Then you hit it again, much harder.
At around the 35km mark, my skins were no longer skin tight due to the reduction in size of my thighs. I think this was due to dehydration because I was extremely thirsty.
At around the 36km mark my spirit was broken. I was cold and shivering. I had no energy. I could only shuffle around 100m at a time. The masses were starting to overtake me. I no longer cared.
Around the 37km mark a girl from Perth saw me and yelled out come on Australia. I managed to run with her until the 38km mark when I cramped up.
I walked to around the 40km mark and bumped into a Perth bloke who had just been to the medical tent. He has done the Hawaii Ironman twice and said that this was much much harder due to the cold weather. This made me feel a bit better. We walked and chatted for a while.
At this stage I noticed the ambulances. They must have been picking up the people who couldn't quite make it. The sound of an ambulance siren can really cut deep into your soul when you realise it is probably picking up someone that you have been running next to.
Some time after the 41km mark I joined a bunch of around six Melbournians until the end. I managed to run the last km or so.
Eventually I managed to cross the finish line.
They say you're meant to get a rush of endorphines when you finish a marathon. I didn't. I wasn't happy about what I had achieved, I was glad it was over. I found it a hellful experience. No doubt this was a combination of the very cold weather and the food poisoning.
I've also heard that the 30km mark is the half way point in a marathon. Don't get me wrong the first 30km were difficult, but the last 12km were something else. For lack of a better term I found it soul destroying.
Lesson of the day: don't do a marathon while recovering from food poisoning!
Sunday at 8:44am I'm standing on the Champs elysses along with 35000 other people, stretched hundreds of metres back to the Arc de Triomphe and hundreds of metres in front of me. The Chariots of Fire music is playing over the loud speakers. Looking ahead I can see wave after wave of clothing being tossed to the sidelines, no longer needed to keep the runner warm. I choose to keep mine as it's bitterly cold. According to a Mexican I met today who did the race it was about 2degrees. Fortunately there was no rain, hail or snow. The time ticks over to 8:45 and the people at the front start. Eventually us in the middle begin to move. At first a slow walk, then we slowly gather speed into a slow jog.
At this point I am going to go back in time to Friday night. The day I arrived in Paris. The day it almost all came off the rails.
I caught up with Kae Martin the other person I knew who was doing the marathon and her friend Heather. I was feeling absolutely buggered from the jet lag. We decided to go for a bit of a stroll along the Champs elysees (I've got no idea how to spell). At around the Grand Palace (Grand is an understatement, the thing is massive) I start to feel a bit queezy at this stage, so I get a drink from a road side stall. We continue on and reach Place de La Concorde, it's an awesome sight if you haven't seen it.
At this stage I begin to feel even more queezy and find a nice spot next to the fountain when I can puke my guts up. Needless to say, we decided to head back at this point. Walking back along the Champs elysees I throw up another time.
I finally make it back to my hotel and drink a lot of water and hit the sack at around 8pm without dinner (not good if you've got a marathon coming up).
Queue the night of hell:
It's 2am, I turn on the light again and head to the bathroom to throw up for somewhere between the 15th and 20th time. I start to think that I might not be able to do the marathon. Then I start to think that I have no fat reserves and if I get sick I'll need to go to hospital and probably on a drip.
On Saturday, the day before the marathon, I only managed to keep down a banana and a bread roll. I was severely dehydrated.
On Sunday at 4am when I woke up (gotta love jet-lag), I felt good and decided to do the marathon.
Fast forward to the marathon again. This will be brief as I've only got 7 mins of internet left.
I knew I wouldn't be able to make my target time. At around the 2km mark I couldn't see the 3:45 pace maker any more. This didn't bother me.
Every 5km they had a food station. I had a banana and a bottle of water at each. by the time I got to the next station I was getting hungry again at around the 15km mark. The first 30km were relatively easy. Other than the bitter cold.
The cold was something else. It managed to cut right through you. Every muscle in the body ached, but not because of the running. It was miserable!
At around 31-33km I hit the wall. It is difficult to describe the wall. Let's just say you stop. You find yourself walking rather than running even though you didn't make a concious decision to do it. There is no energy left in your system to propel you forward any more. Somehow you dig down, find some courage, and manage to push forward for another few hundred metres. Then you hit it again. This time harder. So you dig deeper and go another few hundred metres. Then you hit it again, much harder.
At around the 35km mark, my skins were no longer skin tight due to the reduction in size of my thighs. I think this was due to dehydration because I was extremely thirsty.
At around the 36km mark my spirit was broken. I was cold and shivering. I had no energy. I could only shuffle around 100m at a time. The masses were starting to overtake me. I no longer cared.
Around the 37km mark a girl from Perth saw me and yelled out come on Australia. I managed to run with her until the 38km mark when I cramped up.
I walked to around the 40km mark and bumped into a Perth bloke who had just been to the medical tent. He has done the Hawaii Ironman twice and said that this was much much harder due to the cold weather. This made me feel a bit better. We walked and chatted for a while.
At this stage I noticed the ambulances. They must have been picking up the people who couldn't quite make it. The sound of an ambulance siren can really cut deep into your soul when you realise it is probably picking up someone that you have been running next to.
Some time after the 41km mark I joined a bunch of around six Melbournians until the end. I managed to run the last km or so.
Eventually I managed to cross the finish line.
They say you're meant to get a rush of endorphines when you finish a marathon. I didn't. I wasn't happy about what I had achieved, I was glad it was over. I found it a hellful experience. No doubt this was a combination of the very cold weather and the food poisoning.
I've also heard that the 30km mark is the half way point in a marathon. Don't get me wrong the first 30km were difficult, but the last 12km were something else. For lack of a better term I found it soul destroying.
Lesson of the day: don't do a marathon while recovering from food poisoning!
Thursday, April 3, 2008
T-minus 12 hours
In 12 hours I leave for 10 weeks in Europe. A trip I am totally unorganised for. A trip that is totally unplanned. I'll try to write something here every now and again about my (mis)adventures.
On Sunday I will compete in the Paris marathon. My entry number is 30109. You should be able to look up my results here. I've run over 470 km in a bit over 44 hours in the past 12 weeks. Hopefully it was for the best.
Wish me luck!
On Sunday I will compete in the Paris marathon. My entry number is 30109. You should be able to look up my results here. I've run over 470 km in a bit over 44 hours in the past 12 weeks. Hopefully it was for the best.
Wish me luck!
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