Welcome to Jordan! - with lots of photos

First things first, despite being in Jordan, almost no one is "from" Jordan. Even those who are from Jordan, they are most likely not from Amman. It may seem like an odd scenario or concept, but when considered as one of the most stable and prosperous (relatively) Arab countries in the Middle East, it is easier to understand why so many Palestinians, Egyptians, and Syrians. In addition to those seeking safety, stability, and refuge there are also those who are (mostly) from the Gulf and quite obviously wealthy. Just as Jordan is a relatively well-off country, it is also a relatively progressive society and culture. What might be prohibited in a more conservative country - read, Saudi - is more accessible here. Despite being a relatively modern and urban city, tribal ties are still very strong and at the heart of individuals' identification and connections. Additionally, the population of Jordan has swollen in the past century with large influxes - continuing until now - from surrounding Arab nations that are or were in turmoil. The most prevalent case are Jordanian-born citizens who are Palestinian in heritage, but who most likely have never set foot in Palestine.

Coincidentally, the first person that I met arriving in Jordan was a bus driver who had fled from Palestine after 1967. His English was extremely good and he was very well spoken as well as genuinely welcoming. He helped me get my bus ticket and on the bus from the airport to downtown. It was definitely a genuine experience that included a segment on politics, Israel, the Occupation, and his misfortune. Unfortunately, I can no longer remember the details, but although he drove a bus he had been highly educated and employed before making the unwanted move to Jordan.

Even after being in Amman for some time now, almost everytime that I meet someone - a taxi driver, a shopkeeper - they are Palestinian or Syrian. I have yet to figure out what is the most appropriate response. This is especially true as almost all the Palestinians have never seen Palestine with their own eyes and unless there is a dramatic change in regional politics they will never have the chance to step foot in what they consider their homes. So not only does one refer to Israel as Palestine - unless you truly know with whom your speaking. One also ought not to too proudly or loudly state their past or future travels to Palestine as you are more privileged than they might ever be. However, if you are part Palestinian - preferably your father - then you are more than welcome to talk about what city or village your family is from, and maybe how long ago they left Palestine. Even if you speak no Arabic, have never stepped foot in the country, or meet your family - if it is in your blood, you are Palestinian. Despite all these seemingly oversensitivity, for what we - as outsiders - may consider, it is a tough subject as it hits home to family roots, tribal connections, and believed injustices.

For those of you who weren't following my every fleeting thought, Amman was not my first choice. Despite my interest and pension for the unstable and off-the-beaten track places and choices, the political landscape of the Middle East lessened the scope to which I would be willing to travel, and temporarily live. Initially, I had wanted to attend the University of Alexandria in Egypt, but as tensions had been cyclically mounting and elections were scheduled for this time frame I decided it was not worth the risk. Despite my typical less than stellar grades - well at least during the first few years of university - the aim of this semester was to focus on my learning of the Arabic language along with some cultural immersion and education; therefore, going somewhere that unstable and regulated was not the place for this time.

As has been the theme so far this year, I have taken a more relaxed approach to planning as some bewildered folks noted when I left in January. I think I've come to realise that despite having nothing booked or confirmed, I did have a mental 'road map' that guided my journals so far and I think will continue to do so for this year. In any case, rather than attempting to find an apartment via the internet, I settled for staying in a hostel downtown for an indefinite amount of time upon my arrival until I settled in and found a place. This turned out to be a quite wise move on my part, despite taking over a week to find suitable accommodation. During that period, I stayed at the Amman Tower Hostel which is located in the 'downtown' part of the city. Conveniently located between two busy and usually jammed roads and beside a mosque - daily call to prayers from the minarets at least five times a day can be loud and persistent at first. I stayed there for over almost two weeks, commuting to the University every day, which is in the north part of the city. Even though taxis are affordable compared to Western standard (a few dollars usually), I opted to take the bus - cheaper and more interesting.

The city is divided into very distinct neighbourhoods with their own vibes and specialities. Al-balad, Amman's downtown core, is nothing particularly stellar when compared to other cities both modern and ancient. The small area holds a small selection of ruins, many hotels and hostels, and a good number of shops and restaurants. During my stay at the hostel downtown, I had some great times with other travellers who were also staying in the hostel and travelling both long and short term. This included going to one of the few local bars, O'berg (pronounced like Auberge), which serves women alcohol and provides a very local vibe. Located down a small alleyway with snack shops and stores along the way. Once you clamber up the stairs, you enter a smokey, dimly-lit, small room with a bar and kitchen; tables tucked tightly together; and charcoal station for the arjeela. The decor is apt with photographs of Arab singers and artists who can also be heard crooning from the speakers. Although not the best grub, they offer "local" beer - Amsel that is produced in Jordan for export; argeela. water pipe or shisha; and a authentic environment with the swooning voices of Arab singers.

Closest to the downtown area is Rainbow Street which is a modern, cool-chic, expat-oriented street with lots of food options (generally pricier), artistic shops, and small niche stores. A little further away is abdali which offers a very large flea-market on Thursday and Fridays with a huge selection of used clothing and shoes, household items, and fresh produce. Starting at Rainbow Street and moving west are eight traffic circles used as reference points - get into a cab and try and use street names forget it, circles are critical for navigation. The main city malls are in Swefiyeh to the west, closer to the more affluent, residential and the modern, westernised areas. To the east, lies the less developed and more impoverished areas of Amman. I have only made a few ventures into this area and usually only because I didn't manage to get myself off the bus before we went wizzing to the "other side". Although noticing a lower level of wealth, I did not sense a greater sense of risk or insecurity - even after wandering along unknown roads at night until a taxi driver decided I needed a ride. North of most of the city is where the University of Jordan's campus is located along with lots of student housing.

Despite having described as seemingly distinct areas, the districts in Amman are sometimes overlapping and still cause confusion, especially as some names encompass a number of smaller districts. What I had not anticipated or particular enjoy is the sheer size of Amman. Compared to other cities that I have explored and visited, Amman has rapidly and expansively grown from the seven hills it originally occupied and now sits upon over 22 hills. Instead of being considered a city, it ought to be considered more of a metropolis similar to the GTA or the Lower Mainland in Canada with various cities having been incorporated into one large area.

On the subject of hills, they are everywhere. This is especially apparent when wandering the city and even more so after getting lost - usually after climbing up the wrong hill. It is not a city that is developed for pedestrians, most sidewalks, if existent, are crumbling, blocked by trees, or covered in refuse. Thankfully, most vehicles either dodge foot traffic or incessantly honk to warn you of their approach. The main means of transportation you ask, after personal vehicles, why taxis, bien sure. Compared to western countries, taxi fares are reasonable and made for average locals. Costing 2-3 JD for a decent trip through the city, 5 JD being the most I ever spent (northern to southern edges of the city), and starting at 0.25 JD - after ensuring that the meter is set before taking off! Biking is not really an option between traffic and terrain; mopeds seem to be limited to delivery drivers; donkeys are limited and I have not seen any horses; and walking is not a "thing". Buses are available and while I was commuting between the hostel and the university, I would take the bus. Normally, viewed as vehicles for the working class and rather unpleasant, I had mostly positive experiences riding the bus. In the beginning, I primarily took the cities buses as they didn't wait to be full and were more reliable - despite a lack of schedule and dedicated stops. I also benefited as my routes (I could choose from several) were not the most popular as some other buses were packed like sardines - once a bus drove off with a lady's ponytail dangle out of the door, there were that many people stuffed on the bus. However, on the way back to the hostel, catching cities buses seemed much more futile so I started taking the mini-buses. They are white, 12-18 seater buses that run along dedicated routes. Before leaving their starting point, they wait until they are full most of the times and if it's not a popular time will leave after a while, but it will cost more - fare depends on number of riders, when full 0.35 JD or 0.55 CAD. Learning the areas and circles is a definite asset as on a number of occasions I either missed my stop - flying off towards some other undesired neighbourhood - or was unable to clearly ask for where I wanted to go.

As with all my other city exploration, I walked a great deal throughout Amman often getting lost and having to descend and climb multiple hills, occasionally dragging my compatriots with me. Despite not being a "walkable" city, I have not had any negative experiences other than the normal staring - 1. it's cultural, 2. I'm foreign, 3. I'm female, and 4. I'm walking. Then again on one fine day, slogging to the bus "station" from a day at the market, a driver pulled over in front of me and said the equivalent of "come in" (tafadali) as I walked by his car. Apparently my provocative hiking pants, long sleeve shirt, scarf, runners, and multiple bags were good indicators that I was a prostitute; however, I feel as if the fact I was walking was probably the largest factor. Being responded to as a prostitute has been a common occurrence that has either dissipated as I have been in the same areas for a while or I have become accustomed to the interest.

Whether it be from hospitality, national pride, or friendliness, at every turn and encounter one is "welcomed" to Jordan even if you have been here for an extended period of time. As being welcomed to a place (e.g. Welcome to Canada!) and welcomed for something (i.e. thank you - you are welcome) are the same in Arabic, I have gotten somewhat over-welcomed by everybody. On the other hand, my iconic, Canadian usage of "sorry" as definitely been weened down to almost complete disusage.

In order to catch up for my blogs in Jordan, I have written an outline for the next six+ entries, which does not include new things from this point onwards. Therefore, I will be once again working on catching up on these entries with the most effort I can afford. Despite having travelled and lived in different places, the first month in Amman was definitely more overwhelming than most of my other experiences and since then I have felt as if I am perpetually trying to catch up or do everything. It has taken until March when I found a more balanced approach to my life in Amman, but compared to life on the road or back home is still much more demanding.

And now I should study.

Alex

Bus from the airport to the city.

Ikea (still in construction at this point)

View from my hostel room.

Great breakfasts included at Jordan Tower Hostel

My bunk at Jordan Tower Hostel

Chilling in the lobby with Pen and Melissa

Dinner at Hashem's - hummus, fattah, falafel, stuffed falafel, pita bread, sweet mint tea. Served on plastic chairs between two shops outside. 

Dinner at al-quds with Pen and Melissa - classy, turkish coffee time!

Our waiter at al-quds

Night out at O'berg

Arjeela & Amsel

Visiting the Roman Amphitheatre after dinner!

Enjoying the coziness of a taxi - five in the backseat (you can see my jeans and white top!).

View of Amman from one of my many walks on one of the many hills. 

Market in the East part of the city - view from a city bus (was working on getting back to the centre of town)

View of a city bus on my way to the University

Chilling by the Seaside

We pulled into Essaouira just in time to see the sunset, which was rather exceptional as we first had a view of the whole city with the Atlantic Ocean and setting sun, and then we pulled into the harbour just as the sun was dipping below the horizon. If there was something exceptional, even more so than the city as a whole, were the sunsets. Each night was amazing and each night was unique. This was one of the easiest commutes between my inter-city transport and the next hostel. I had about 500 metres to cover and after looking at the map (and choosing the bus that dropped me off closest), I was able to beat my way past (or at least elbow) the awaiting "cart-men" willing to drag your luggage or parcels to a given location. I walked through the city walls, which are in an impressive shape, and walk down the main road until I reached my little off road (the alleyways were even labelled!). Nevertheless, I wandered down the alley a couple times before a group of boys pointed me in the right direction. After I rang the buzzer, one of the owners hurried over as he had been out at the shop.

The hostel is quite quaint, but has a nice atmosphere and great people. There are three levels: main has two sleeping rooms, a little living room, a tiny kitchen, and the main washroom; the second level has another sleeping room, a toilet, and an outdoor living area; and finally the top is an open patio with a great view of the city. As with most good hostels, you can tell it is a winner as the same people you hung out with at the last (good) one were, are, or show up there! There were almost ten people I had met in Marrakech who had either beat me there or showed up while I was there, which is kind of nice as you don't even need to be travelling with others to still be social on the road.

As with every new start in a city, I wandered, slightly haplessly, around the city within its walls. It is quite a small city, but has a very nice vibe with lots of artistic folks. Although I didn't feel as if there was quite as much available as there was in Marrakech, and from what I've heard Fez, there were definitely more unique and smallscale endeavours and some lovely calligraphy art shops. As in the other places, I refrained from buying any major souvenirs, which after seeing people lugging theirs around and knowing I have a great deal of time on the road left, I only minorly regret. Eventually I landed on a little cafe in the middle of the medina and had an herb omelette and some moroccan tea. I also met a lady from England who was also travelling and looking for someone who would be up for going out. We made plans to meet up the next evening to head out to some of the night venues.

The next day, not having a particular set itinerary, I set out to see the port, the Skala du port, and the Citadel. It was neat to walk through all the little blue boats, and bigger ones, as well as the fishers trying to sell their day's catch. Climbing up the Citadel, I got a nice view of the city, its walls, the port, and the Ile de Mogador. Being a nice sunny and warm day (until the wind got to me), I sat up in the top of the citadel and just took in the scenary and sunrays! Once I got a little chilly, I headed down and grabbed some freshly squeezed, orange, grapefruit, and lemon juice from one of the local stands. Then I headed down the beach for a couple kilometres both ways. It was a nice way to spend my first day, in the laidback city.

The beach was quite active, I think it being Friday helped. There were families out enjoying the weather; boys and kids out playing soccer; people learning to surf and kitesurf; a few foreigners sunbathing; and horses and camels available for rides. I just meandered along the sand, accidently soaking my sandals when I neared the water (birkenstocks aren't the most water friendly). Thankfully as I carried them, they dried off pretty quickly and seemed to have recovered better than when my last pair went into the Pacific and Mediterranean! The first stretch of sand was very clean and nice to walk along, as I got to the part where the camels and horses were kept, it became quite full of poop. After dogding the excrement, I was then greeted by garbage strewn along the sand. As with all the areas that are not kept 'clean', plastic is by far the biggest - and sometimes only - pollutant (visible) whether it be sandals, yogurt containers, jugs, or plastic bags. Everything else seems to be reused or disposed of somehow, unfortunately plastic is not that maleable or useful after its first usage. Once I had made it to the end of the beach - I could have crossed, but didn't want to - I made my way back. In order to take in the most of the sunset, I chose a restaurant that was on the plaza/square near the city walls, port, citadel, and ocean. Not only was the sunset a delight, but local families came out in droves, which provided good people-watching. Although I was not hassled during dinner - in Marrakesh, people would try and sell you cigarettes, tissues, etc, as well as polish your shoes throughout your meals - there were a large number of beggars all throughout the city. As I was nearing the end of my trip, I decided to enjoy another tajine, but with fish as I figured it would be fresh. It indeed was quite tasty, but not as enjoyable as my meals in Marrakesh - although I did listen to a Montreal couple talk about Canada to their local real estate agent.

Later that evening, I met up with the lady and a local musician she had met earlier. We headed off to the first place, which was a really nice, roof-top terrace near the port. A local band was playing when we arrived - an Algerian song I know and like, Aicha by Cheb Khaled - and they were really good. It was a really nice place that was laid back and had a good atmosphere. After the band finished, a younger guy started to DJ, which was entertaining as it was mostly Western pop music, but it was still good. Although it is possible to drink in Muslim countries, I don't suggest partying in them as they tend to be pricy (6-15 CAD per drink), as well as it can be looked down upon. That being said, the next place we went to was a club where the girls looked on par with Western girls and there was booze aflow. There was another local singer who was quite good, but the atmosphere was not quite as enjoyable as the first one, Taros Cafe.

The next day, after a very fulling and delicious breakfast, I headed out to buy a few groceries and wander another part of the city. This time I ventured north, which brought me to the local market, which were stalls - tarps on the ground and tables with merchadise, and carts full of produce - all along what is normally a street. There was everything you could want from food to clothes and home maintenance items. It was definitely interesting and much different from the markets established for foreigners, it also helped that I was one of the very few foreigners throughout the mayhem. I ended up buying some mandarines and bananas from the market and then getting some dates, figs, and almonds. Once I wound my way back to the hostel, I had a tasty lunch of hard boiled eggs, fresh bread, strawberries, banana, mandarins, and yogurt. Then I set out, for the second attempt, to find the bus station to buy my ticket to Casablanca. As with most things in Essaouira, the bus station was definitely more local than previous, bigger cities. There were people trying to sell tickets on smaller (rickity) lines, less signage, and more general disrepair.

Another another delightful breakfast, I headed back to the bus station with my pack in tow as even the far station was only a kilometre away. I have to say that was one of the places I most did not want to leave and even hung out on the rooftop patio for a bit before I dragged myself away. On my way, I saw a really nice torquoise kaftan that I was tempted by. He told me it was 900 dirhams (125 CAD), but I knew that if I had had the energy and time I could have gotten it down to at least 450 dirhams (60 CAD), if not lower. I probably could have done it that day, but I was a little stressed and not in the mood to drink tea and try and haggle my way down. The bus ended up arriving 45 minutes late so I just stood around the station - I was going to have to sit for six hours. I watched as everyone boarded their buses; a homeless man kept getting kicked out of his sleeping spots; a poor little dog was looking for scraps and quite friendly; and workers drank tea and socialized while sitting in the luggage compartment of buses.

I am now about to move into my apartment near the university. I have been in Amman, Jordan for a week now and have started classes. I will work on finishing up Morocco and a intro to Amman soon - as well as keeping up with my homework!

The lunch I made myself after going to the market - mmmm tasty & fresh!

The fantastic breakfast made by the hostel staff, soooo good. 

View of the sunset from the hostel's rooftop patio. 

View of the sunset from the city walls with the citadel and the Ile of Mogador in sight. 

The bus station in Essaouira - the friendly little pup, the homeless man trying to sleep, and one of the buses from the company I travelled on to Casablanca. 

Sailing to Africa & Arriving in Morocco

After my day exploring Gibraltar, it was time to get ready for my move to Africa. Busing back to the airport to get my bag and back to the city; I ended up going to the old (now closed) ferry terminal. After getting directions from the customs agent, I hurried my way to the cruise terminal (down the road). I was sure I was in the right spot when I arrived at a group of Arab men who were standing around with all their stuff and waiting outside of the gate - they only let pedestrians through once the boat is on its way. So I, somewhat awkwardly, jointed the awaiting group. It turned out that there were only two of us that were not Moroccan - the other being a Gibraltarian who had made the crossing many times. I ended up following him around as he knew the ropes and I was rather out of my element. Apparently he no longer made the trip via Algeciras or Tarifa due to the souring relations between Gibraltar and Spain, which has caused issues at the border.

Once the boat was on route, we were allowed through and after going through "security" (I was waived through) we moved to the waiting lounge. After another hour of waiting there was finally signs of impending departure. Once we boarded the ferry, via the car deck, we scurried upstairs and went through the passport control officer. After filling out a small form with our basic information, we saw the officer who checked that we filled everything out, entered something on a computer, and, rather violently, stamped our passports. As I was standing behind the Gibraltarian (one of the Moroccans had inquired as to whether I was with him), one of the Moroccan women pulled me to the side - what I understood to be the proper procedure for women. However, it caused a little confusion as the passport officer thought I was budging and tried to tell me to go to the back of the line until the lady piped up in my favour. The sail was rather uneventful other than a German lady being shocked that I was going to Morocco without covering my hair. Once we arrived, we all scampered off and had our passport stamps verified. At that point we went to find the bus to Tangier as we had arrived in the new port, a good 45 minutes away from the city.

Once the bus arrived (coach style) there was a little confusion/delay until we were able to board and head out. It was a smooth ride, but not that interesting as it was pitch dark. For a reason unknown to me, the guy behind me had his GPS on and it kept trying to give him directions - rather annoying. Arriving at the apparent bus terminal (in the day the actual place is visible), I hopped off the bus with a game plan - having previously downloaded a guidebook on my tablet, I found an entry of a hotel that offered Wifi and was decently priced. So after telling the man who was trying to "help" me (according to him he was an official from the bus company), I just told him I had everything prepared and walked away despite his protests. In reality, I had a place in mind and an idea of how to get here. So I wandered to where I saw taxis lined up - later realizing that they were grand taxis and not city, petit taxis. I walked up to one of the drivers and asked to go to Holland Road - managing (I think/thought) to agree on 50 Dirhams (rather than the initial 100) with another driver, we set off. My driver turned out to be extremely helpful and interested in my travels. He brought me straight to the hotel and despite looking disappointed at the 55 Dirham I pulled out, left on a friendly note. I walked up to the, thankfully 24 hour, reception and asked for a room. He looked a little surprised, but hopped up - and after stopping to fix a washroom - showed me a room. It was nothing glorious, but at that point I just needed somewhere to lay my head. So I went back down to finish the booking for the night.

I ended up talking to the employee and a reporter who had popped his head out to see what was going on. They were both friendly and interested in my travels and studies; however, being rather frazzled and tired it was not my top notch performance. In the morning, I finally dragged myself out of bed to pay for a second night so that I could keep my room for the day before leaving that night to Marrakech on the night train. Breakfast was a little meagre as I only had the snacks that I had been carrying with me and was too lazy to move very quickly. First stop was the train station, preferring to walk my way around, I looked up the directions on Google Maps and with a vague to decent idea of where I was going headed off. As I left, the morning receptionist looked rather surprised at my presence as well, but then again so did the cleaning ladies. As I trotted down the main avenue, it wasn't too much of a shocker, especially after coming from Europe it was easier to see the influences. Although there was a definite predominance of men, especially in cafes, and most women were wearing hijabs, etc. It was a decent hike of not knowing where I was going, but having to follow the major road definitely helped - being overly keen I did take one wrong turn and had to turn myself around through rather muchy streets (I prefer to not back track when possible). Finally, I reached a rather large round-about with four large arteries and what looked as if it could be a train station - also the new developments were becoming fewer. It ended up being the station and I bought a ticket for a bunk bed on the train to Marrakech, a ten hour trip.

For the remainder of the day, I wandered back to the hotel after grabbing some groceries then headed out to wander through the Medina (the old city), which was filled with tiny streets (dead ends that I found frequently). There were many merchants trying to sell everything from produce, clothing & shoes, fish & meat, toys, and everything and anything else you could want - quality varying. After making about three laps of the Medina - it's pretty small in comparison to other cities - I decided to find my way down to the old port. As there were a good number of people - follow the people - I carried on walking along what looked like a seawall. Well that's because it was, but think Stanley Park without the squirrels, trees, and bikes. At this point between travelling and already walking almost 10 kilometres, I was a little tuckered and was hoping my walk would be over soon. It lasted another good five kilometres as I finally made it around the city walls (all very hilly) and wound my way back to the hostel - stopping for a chicken shawarma. The seawall was neat to walk along, I got to see the city from a different angle including the sheep, garbage (plastic), and old constructions, as well as watch the people along the way. Once back, I packed up my ruck once again and then curled up for a pre-snooze, snooze then trotting off to get my train.

Not wanting to get into another Grand Taxi - they are taxis that are typically old Mercedes that go between cities, charge more, and fill up to 6 passengers - I walked toward the main street. Coming to the realization that it seemed to be rush hour and most drivers weren't keen on picking someone up with a pack, the size of mine, I trotted off towards the station at a good pace (my quick tempo). Making it there still half an hour before the scheduled departure, I was in good time, not too sweaty, and a little more revived. Once the platform appeared on the screen, I went through and found my compartment with the assistance of one of the employees - knowing French is extremely handy here, although it means my very rusty Arabic is staying in the background (Dari comes to mind easier still).

As I waited in my little berth, I thought I might luck out and have it all to my lonesome, but another lady popped in having only bought her ticket then (I was basing occupancy on the fact that only my linen had been put out). We eventually got talking and I found out that she lives in Marrakech, but is from Tangier. Not wanting to pry too much, I am presuming she was visiting family and on her way home. As with good Moroccan generosity and hospitality, she welcomed me to Morocco and offered me part of her pizza - the offering when she already ripped into two, says "you can have some", and practically shoves it at me (kindly). So we talked for a bit more about Morocco, Canada, and accidently religion. It all turned out fine, it was more the "opps" factor of what I had opened up. The rest of the ride was quite leisurely, once we closed our door she took off her hiqab and settled in, and I set into typing my previous blog until I was too snoozy.

Parts of the city, culture, and infrastructure do resemble Afghanistan (as it is all that I have to compare within the Middle East) and that is a theme that has so far continued - mud & sand, hospitality & generosity, and social interactions. However, there are definite elements from European influences, as well as prosperity that is greater than Afghanistan at least. Oh and the tea! I almost forgot about the light tea (mint/black or green) with LOTS of sugar - no exaggeration.

Hopefully this entry is as decent as the others, writing it now I am noticing that things are already a little blurred with the next places. I am going to go explore more of Essaouira and will work on writing Marrakech's entry before I leave so that I am back on track.

-Alex

*Pictures include: me & my pack in the Tangier hotel (that's pretty much my look everything time I move); my hotel room in Tangier, the train compartment to Marrakech, and where I was writing most of this entry - eating breakfast in Essaouira.

A Quest & the Low Season in Granada

Well at least I can say that Granada was an experience. After catching the city bus to the city centre and actually getting off at the correct stop, I managed to wander in the wrong direction, which lead to quite the adventurous route. As my research and use of maps in the previous cities hadn't steered me wrong, I thought I would be fine here too, apparently I was mistaken. So I scampered up the hill (also everything on this route was uphill and steep), weaving my way up, up and around until I reached a quasi dead end. Thankfully some bus stops have maps and even indicate which stop you are presently located at. I ended up using two different ones to give me a sense of where I was - very far west of my objective, I was. Finally, the last part of my quest was to follow a hiking path that opened up to a really good panoramic view of the city, as well as an apparent dead end, again. In reality, it was a group of hillside, gypsy homes that are caves and yards on very steep ground, just above the more typically built homes (still steep and hippy-esque).

I realized as I walked back and forth along the same route (u-turns) that bringing a neon, yellow jacket might not have been the most subtle idea for being lost. Despite all the stories that are told about gypsies/Roma (they could be true as well) I didn't have any issues despite feeling as if I were trespassing and most of the dogs held discontent attitudes towards me. I even ended up going back to one of the homes to ask one of the women how to get myself off the hill. As she had already seen me go by once when I wandered back she beconed me to come in (through the fence) and then pointed me in the right direction of the stairs down. In reality, I was practically on top of the hostel, but it still took me a good while to weave my way through the alley roads and ask for directions a few more times. In the end, I wandered for two hours across an unknown amount of kilometres with an unknown amount of kilograms stuck to my back through both a pristine, posh community and a neighbourhood of gypsy, cave homes (more like dwellings). Despite having a background that makes backpacking easier, or more usual, that trek was the closest I've dragged myself to a breaking point (that I can remember at least). Also it took me a few days to realize that I am "backpacking" because to me, I am just travelling. No heat, no problem; shared room & facilities, I have a bed with blankets and a kitchen; carry all my stuff, pack what I want; no laundry machine, soap and a sink; no dryer, use spare laces as drying apparatus; no cell plan, use Wifi for everything. All in all, it's good.

Typically to go see the Alhambra, tickets must be booked and bought in advance. I had tried to book one, but their website (well, ticketmaster) was being finicky so I chanced it and went relatively early the next morning. Thankfully, between the weather (rainy, cold), the weekday (Wednesday), and the season (low/winter), I was in luck. I was even able to get the time slot that I wanted! My plan was to join the walking tour of the city in the morning and make my way back up to Alhambra in the afternoon; however, I never managed to find the group so I went and checked out the cathedral. It is a very impressive structure, but also very cold. Every time I would run into a ray of sunlight I would pause and attempt to say in the heat - at least Granada didn't have the howling wind of Madrid. Before I went inside Alhambra, I stopped part way up and had a midday picnic. I got a few weird looks but enjoyed the sights and watched an older, gypsy lady try and sell sprigs. I even managed to both not give (say I didn't know) and give directions to people in Spanish...why those who can actually read the signs and directions need assistance was beyond me  (tourist area with lots of maps and signage). Once inside, I visited the palace, alcazar, and gardens - the latter being the least impressive, probably because by that point I was rather soggy and tired. The Alcazar provided fantastic views of the city and it's surrounding areas. The palace was an impressive Moorish styled construct and they provided information on the manner in which restaurations had been completed and the way that those currently under progress were being done.

After another day of walking and taking in the sights, I decided to take it easy and ended up reading on the couch with the dogs. The hostel was a very stereotypical backpacker lodge, not quite the chill vibe I was looking for, but overall it was good. My first night, I ended up going to see a flamenco show with one of the Aussies. It was a good time, there was one singer, one guitar player, and one dancer. The setting was pretty neat as it was a tiny white cave (typical of the area) that was only about 7 or 8 feet high.

My diet has gone somewhat downhill, I think. Between the ease of pasta and pastries, and accidently buying fruit bread for my meat and cheese sandwiches, it's been a good stack of refined food (carb/wheat). To try and compensate, I've been carrying around mandarins, and either buying baked goods or adding spinach to my food. I'm hoping  that once I get to Morocco that my diet might consist of more beans, meat, and produce.

We are now driving between Malaga and Algeciras, which is quite a scenic drive as it is along the Mediterranean coast with a number of white towns and the North African coast line in the background. I will be staying in La Linea de la Conception tonight and then walking briefly across the border to Gibraltar where I'll be spending the day before I cross the Straight into Morocco - here's to smooth sailing, in a variety of ways.

-Alex

Round 'n round in Cordoba

Let's just say that this set up is a much more awkward position than my last entry. I am currently sitting on an Alsa bus on my way to Granada, also in the south of Spain between Cordoba and the Mediterranean coast. I've spent the last couple days visiting the sights and having a random man literally woof at me, even the locals looked perplexed and I still am not sure at the reasoning. For some reason I thought that the whole fitness thing was a North American fad, but there seems  to be a good deal of Spaniards who run outside. It is slightly entertaining as they are dressed for winter running and it is above zero, but to them it feels like winter. Also having kept track of my expenses, a first for me, I've been spending an average of 40 Euro per day without limiting myself excessively!

The hostel that I stayed at this time was quite nice, but much quieter, which depending on your perspective can be a nice break. I did manage to get more sleep that way, but since I'm travelling alone it is nice to meet people through the hostel, especially in the common area and kitchen. It doesn't help that I managed to sleep through the first morning's breakfast and didn't realize that I had access to the kitchen throughout the remainder of the day. Some have asked how travelling by myself is going and so far not bad - I am travelling with an ad hoc plan, making reservations each city at a time (for the next one while I'm in the previous one) and being by myself allows me to do that with relative ease. I am looking forward however to getting back to a more vibrant hostel so that my meals and down time will be a little more interesting. During my time in Cordoba, I ate three meals in restaurants on my own and overall they were succesful, albeit pricier than I would have prefered. The first night I wandered to city for a good, long time before settling on a tiny bar, I think. I ordered a glass of wine (cost 2.5 Euro when it's possible to buy a bottle for under 2 Euro) and an slice of frittatta. The owner was rather friendly and keep offering me what he was serving the other patrons, eventually I settled on a pastry filled with seafood, tomatoes, and something else (olives?). The next day I settled on a café - coffee & ham filled pastry - and later a little restaurant - seafood paella, or risotto. A downside to  getting up and eating at strange intervals is that I am most definitely not on the Spanish schedule - small breakfast, lunch after 2, and dinner between 7-9. I was eating my paella lunch while the school kids were having their post-school day coffee - their version of afternoon teatime.

I would say that 50% of my time exploring the city involves me wandering the city streets (calle) usually in the right directino, but not always in the right sequence or following a set route. Before an exercusion, I will have an idea of where I am going and look at a map beforehand. Once I am out and about,  I will keep my map in my pocket and weave my way until I either reach my destination, find another one, or find a point of reference to make a u-turn. This town was no exception, I walked in many a circle, but also saw many hidden cornerstone I would have otherwised missed and garnered a better sense of the area.

The main appeal and attracting in Cordoba is the Mezquita - a catherdral, turned mosque, turned cathedral. The original cathedral is all but lost with the most impressive, and unique, architecture is the combination of Moorish and Christian styles. There are over 800 arches as well as the typical cathedral, ornate designs. Despite being impressive, it is slightly disappointing when you consider that every piece off the structure has been either excavated and/or refurbished, or is a replica. A neat, but eery, aspect which I think has previously evaded me is that on the floor there are stone placards of important personnel with their date of death and their exact age (down to the amount of days old that they were). I also visited the Alcazar of the Christian Monarch. The interior display was nothing spectacular, but the gardens were very well maintained and preserved. It reminded me of the gardens your read about in old literature that were within castle grounds. Throughout the city centre there are relics and artifacts from the city's long history and the myriad of ruling bodies, even the city walls are integrated into the modern city design (e.g. the highway around the city follows the path of the walls).

Arriving and leaving Cordoba were both a little hectic, so far the only times I have felt as if I am on the Amazing Race. After arriving on the train, I knew I had to go find the #3 bus (apparently the 3 in all cities is the bus that goes to the bus/train station and downtown). So as I was going through the various bus stalls, I looked up and saw the three facing the opposite direction on the other or side of the street so after a slight jump and hustle, I managed to catch it as it was about to leave! This morning went fairly smoothly, I got up and packed up my things (finally settling into place), showered, and had breakfast. On my way out the door, I said goodbye to the Dutch girl I met and forgot my water. Then as I was walking towards the bus stop, the bus went by me (think it was a couple minutes early). Thankfully the next bus was only 12 minutes behind and I had left with plenty of spare time. As we were reaching the bus and train station, I needed up hoping off the bus a stop early which meant I was a little disoriented and did a few about-turns before I pointed myself in the right direction. Getting the bus ticket was a breeze,I used the automated machine, but for some reason my credit card seems uncooperative, even after talking with the bank helpline last night. I managed to scoot across the road to the train station to find a replacement water bottle and after tossing my bag on the bus find/use the washroom before we took off.

We are pulling into Granada soon and I have quite the hike ahead of me as I chose a hostel on the top of a hill (offers a delightful view of the ctiy).

-Alex

PS: if I were to go on an actual round-the-world (RTW) trip, not only would I lose the books (for school), but also at least half my outfits and the small backpack (which other than the plane ride I have not used and currently have it strapped to my ruck). Which means, some things might be getting the heave-ho after my semester.