Sanchez Jalapeno

Have you noticed how many travel blog sites are out there? Heaps is a gross understatement. On Twitter alone I must follow at least 150 really interesting and informative travel blog writers. I’m always on the look out for new blog to follow - it’s such a joy to find a hidden gem full of interesting facts and travelogues on cities I want to visit or compare trip notes with.

That’s why I’m glad I stumbled across travelblogsites.com. I’ve been following this website for a little while now. They rank the webs best travel blogs on a weekly basis, and profiles the best ones daily. It’s sort of like a one stop shop for quality, independant travel writing. It’s run by the guys from travelpod (which in my humble opinion houses some of the worlds best travel journals… you can read mine here) and I’ve been fortunate enough to now have sanchezjalapeno.com join the TravelBlogSites community which I’m very excited about.

The site is a great resource while to while away a few hours, or get inspired by some really creative travel writing. Check it out or follow TravelPod on twitter

Follow Shane on Twitter , read his guest posts at havepack.com or catch up on his travels here.

The square of Djemaa el Fna sprawls out haphazardly, a big area that early on in the day can seem a bit vacant, but fills up completely come nightfall. At one end of the square there are restaurants and cafes, At the other -beginning of the Souqs, and if you venture that way can see the fine art of selling in overdrive as storemen press T-shirts and jewellery into your hands.

Locals and tourists alike find themselves here in Djemaa el Fna as the afternoon turns to evening, to meet friends or snap a photo, and of course to eat. This is why I’m here, to fill up on fresh food from the famous night market.

As I walk into the open space it is still very warm and at this time of the day more stalls are being set up for the nightly show. I’m early.

Take a breath and look around for a bit, you’ll be eating soon, I tell myself grumbling stomach. There is an atmosphere of excitement, as if a big party is about to take place.

This is exactly what it turns into in an hour or so, when all the stalls are up and running, people are everywhere chatting excitedly and looking around at the feasts in front of them. Produce is set out proudly and tantalisingly – a variety of fish and other seafood, kebabs of meat or vegetables, piles of fresh salads, olives and dried fruits. Other smaller stalls are selling mint tea or coffee with deserts of cakes and biscuits. Some I walk past specialise in just one thing, like snails, and a huge bubbling pot fills the entire little shop with a line of bowls next to it waiting to be filled and someone squeezed behind it smiling and waving for you to come closer.

The sounds of cooking are all around me – things are chopped, then sizzling on the stoves while spices and herbs are added, and smoke wafts around you as you walk, giving you delicious hints at what you could have if you stop at this one for dinner tonight. The stalls go on and on, a little temporary labyrinth built each night in the centre of the square.

Beside the food is an area where a visual feast is decked out – ladies sit doing henna tattoos, street performers all dressed up sing and dance, and round each corner is the possibility of walking into an area where snakes and their charmers, or a monkey on a leash can be found. I stick to the food but many are seduced into getting a photo taken with these animals – that or they have a snake or monkey draped on them before they know it.

Lights come on, the music swells and the food smells become too good to continue looking around any longer. I stop and see the variety on show in front of this stall, decide its where I want to be and point a few things out as my order, then sit down. A man places a paper mat down in front of me and some olives are set out. As I watch my food being cooked, I realise all my olives are gone – should never leave them alone with me for a minute – I’m given some more.

Then my food comes out – roast eggplant, kebabs, vegetable cous cous. Prawns, Moroccan salad, beetroot. I have been waiting for this all day. I get to work and more bread is placed beside me. The flavours are fantastic, that freshly grilled taste coupled with coriander, cumin and others flavours I don’t know. The olives are simple but with a light marinade of herbs. The bread is fresh and I mop up the juices from the salads and sauce from the kebabs and vegetables. I eat and eat and the night world goes on around me. More people duck in to sit at the long tables next to me and the routine begins again as they pick their food and the chefs get to work. The music seems to get faster as I eat, whirling as the tastes whirl in my mouth.

After I’m done I slowly get up and decide I need to walk my eating odyssey off, still steering clear of the monkeys and snakes. The night is warm and everyone is happy, me most of all.

Marrakech is my first stop in Morocco and I don’t want to leave, a day here in Djemaa el Fna makes me hungry for more.

Follow Milli on Twitter, Flickr or read more of her travels here

Day one.  4:30pm.

My Easyjet flight arrives into Marrakech an hour early, but any time saved is quickly lost during the 2 hour wait in the Immigration line. The queue isn’t even that long, but it’s excruciatingly slow because all the immigration officers keep chatting to each other. The guy in front of me waits ten minutes while two officers seemed to be talking about the size of different breasts. Or watermelons. I don’t speak Arabic and it’s hard to say just by reading hand gestures.

Our Taxi driver flies through the peak hour Marrakech traffic, trying to get us to the Medina before it pours with rain. We dodge scooters carrying whole families, and men riding donkey’s with gas cylinders strapped to their backs (the donkeys, not the men) heading for the Djemaa el-Fna – The centre of the Medina and the location of the nightly food market.

© Milli Vukovic

We arrive at our Riad, or as close to it as our driver wants to go – the alley ways become increasingly narrow, so we are unceremoniously dumped by the side of the road. I scan the maze before us, scratch my head, and start to panic. Out of nowhere comes a guy with a cart – sort of like a wheel barrow mixed with a car trailer. Thinking it was a little primitive, but my feet were aching from the wait in the immigration queue, I start to hop in. The guy just grunts, glares at me and points to my backpack. Seems I’ll be walking, but my bag hitches a ride. I’m just happy that I’ll be getting to my Riad at all. After we arrive it’s starts to pour down rain, so I go to the roof and watch the electrical storm, getting drenched in the process. We go to bed early, I’ve got a busy day planned in the souqs tomorrow.

Day two. 7:00am.

© Milli Vukovic

No one is around, so I unbolt the giant Riad door and sneak out, headed for the Djemaa el-Fna. I want to see Marrakech go to work. The Orange juice sellers are just setting up so I get a freshly squeezed juice out of a dubious looking glass. I remember my guidebook telling me to not use the utensils and cups in the market– sound advice but how do you do that when it’s already been poured in a glass? It’s silly to be too precious about this sort of thing anyway, so I shrug, gulp down my juice and continue walking.  

The square is slowly coming to life, and we go for a walk to a nearby Mosque. It’s especially beautiful, and it seems to have some relics in different states of repair dotted around the outside. Unfortunately some angry looking youths start walking towards us, one of them making suggestive comments towards my girlfriend. Her father tells me not to accept anything less than a Mercedes and two camels; these boys hardly seem like the type to pay up, so we quickly scat.

There is a fair bit of sugar in the mint tea

It’s souqs time. I gather my thoughts, attempt a calm Zen like composure and dive in. The Labyrinth is full of butchers carving camels heads, men selling ‘Genuine’ Genie conjuring rubbing lamps, leather bound journals and jewellery. There are dried fruits, olives, spices and preserved lemons in one lane. In another I find men cooking shawarmas , drying fish,  and a Dentist for good measure. My plan is to get hopelessly lost and maybe arrive back in the square for a tajine about lunch time. It works, if a little to well. All roads may very well lead to Rome, but they seem to stop by the Djemaa el-Fna first.

Lunch is a Moroccan Salad (coriander, tomato and onion) for starters, a vegetable tajine for the main, followed by a pot of piping hot mint tea. This comes to about 3 dollars making me a very happy little backpacker. After lunch it’s a quick trip back to the Souqs so I can pick up a new pair of sunglasses. The shopkeeper is friendly, and he asks what I will take to give him my girlfriend. I relay the conditions to him, he says that’s ok – he has  a Mercedes, it’s the name of his camel. No deal.

Before I realise, it’s dusk. The Djemaa el-Fna is alive with snake charmers, acrobats and the smell of roasting lamb. The nightly food market is well underway and we navigate through the stalls, being pulled this way and that by touts offering up such tasty morsels as lambs brain and cow intestines, we settle on a small restaurant and order olives, Moroccan salad, tajine, and fried prawns. A monkey escapes his handler and runs for freedom, but is caught after about a minute. Another monkey aided in the escape by jumping on the face of the handler. Good teamwork.

Fried lambs brain, if you're keen.

Day three. 2:00pm.

The train to Fès has broken down many times today, but this is the final nail in the coffin. Everyone has jumped out onto the tracks and we walk for a few kilometres to the next station. We’re packed like sardines into the back of a Mercedes, 4 people each over 6ft tall sitting and sweating uncontrollably on each other. It sounds much saucier in print than it was in reality. You haven’t really lived until you’ve had your nose crammed into the armpit of a ginormous, sweaty Moroccan man.

A bonding experience

With Fès still a few hours away we settle on the nearby town of Meknès. Again we are unceremoniously dumped from the car – it seems to be a national sport – and we find a hotel for the night. Meknès is pretty and cosmopolitan in the Ville Novelle (new town), and there are no other tourists around. The reason for this is that it’s a fairly boring city with not much to occupy a traveller. Still, I’m happy to see something off the tourist trail.  

Day four. 8:00pm

The train breaks down a few more times today, but always seems to spring back to life just as everyone disembarks. We arrive a few hours late, but it’s better than not at all. Tangier is beautiful. It’s a vibrant city where everyone seems happy, teenage couples hold hands and overlook the Medina from the lookout in the Ville Novelle, and bars give tapas for free. Yep – free. All you need to do is buy a drink, and they bring you tajines, fish, chickpeas and salad. I vow not to buy dinner once in the next 3 days.

© MIlli Vukovic

I’m enjoying a beer and some tapas in the ‘America’s Pub’ – which is decked out like a London tube station. A local introduces himself to me, when I ask what he does he tells me he’s a ‘business man’. He doesn’t elaborate. He does mention later that his job takes him to Spain all the time, and that he can speak 5 languages fluently. I feel very embarrassed with my one and a half languages, but he’s happy to speak in Spanish with me so I can work towards getting that to 1 and ¾ languages.  

My new friend seems to know everyone in this town, he’s constantly shaking hands with people, and he commands the attention of the bar staff by a mere click of his fingers. It’s almost as if they fear him. He tells me he’s good friends with the chef as he walks into the kitchen like he owns the place. On his way out the bar he tells me that the chef’s going to look after us. He wasn’t kidding, I’m presented with fish piled so high I can barely see over the plate. I think I’m in love with this town.  

Day five. 2:00pm

Holy crap, next door to the hotel is a Spanish donut guy! He’s got a tiny hole-in-the-wall shop where he sells these tiny morsels of heaven in bags of ten for about 30 cents. I’m in love even more now.  

I go for a walk in the Medina, the souqs are much different to those in Marrakech. For one all the roads are paved here, and the shops have security systems and fancy lighting. Also most things are priced in Euros and are about 3 times as expensive as they were in Marrakech. I guess it’s to do with the proximity to Spain.

Lunch is at Anna e Paolo’s Italian restaurant. Freshly made ravioli and a bottle of Moroccan red wine for about 10 dollars each. I don’t think I can love any harder than I am right now.  

Day six. 5:00pm.

Pretty much a repeat of day five. Lunch with Anna e Paolo, a walk around the Medina and up along the coast. We go to the bar which was the inspiration for Rick’s café. It’s an amazing piano bar in the ritziest hotel in Tangier. A scotch on the rocks cost me about 14 dollars. So I tell him to ‘play it again’ and then steal the toilet paper to take back to our hotel room;  we’re running out. It’s the little things.

Day seven. 11:00pm

© MIlli Vukovic

I’ve tried the tapas at most bars in the Ville Novelle. I’ve eaten so many Spanish donuts that the guy selling them has asked me to move in with him. I’ve walked around the Medina so much that I’m now timing myself doing laps, trying to beat my personal best of 10 minutes 22 seconds. And finally I’m relaxing with a coffee in hand, MacBook in the other watching Tangier pass me by. Tangier is the most un-Moroccan city in the country, but I find that I could easily live here, like so many artists have done before. William Burroughs and some others from the Beat Generation used to have a room in the hotel I’m staying in and Oscar Wilde, Tennessee Williams and Winston Churchill have all at one stage stayed longer than planned. I can see myself living in the shoddier, run down part of town, just me and my laptop in a sea view room writing away about the artistic decadence of Tangier. But then I look at my bank account balance; While the tapas are free the drinks certainly are not, and I realise I need to move on to cheaper pastures – I can’t live on Spanish donuts for ever, despite what the guy working there keeps telling me.

Follow Shane on Twitter , read his guest posts at havepack.com or catch up on his travels here.

Photo by Milli Vukovic

An abundance of borsch, cranky provanistas and desolate, snow capped pine forests that stretch forever. Riding the Trans Siberian rail is probably the most amazing thing I’ve ever done. I often recommend it to travellers I meet along the way, but Soviet bureaucracy (amongst other reasons) stands in the way of a lot of people thinking they can do this on a backpackers budget. There is a ton of paperwork you need to fill out, and even more companies willing do complete this for you in exchange for your life´s savings. The thing is, with a bit of forward planning you can do it yourself for a fraction of the cost that a lot of people pay to ride the worlds longest railway.

When I was planning my trip I looked into getting a company to handle all the details for me. The cheapest I could find was through Vodka Train – a subsidiary of Sunlanders travel. They would take care of everything for me, and if I paid them, they would courier my passport around to all the embassy’s required and organise my ‘invitation’ to enter Russia (A requirement of all foreigners). Basically all I would have to do is sign the paperwork, submit a few photos for visas and fork over the cash. I paid them a deposit and they gave me a dossier explaining my itinerary, the places I would be staying and a cost breakdown.

I took a close look at the dossier. The journey I wanted to take departed from Beijing, visited Ulaanbaatar, Irkutsk & Lake Baikal, Moscow and St Petersburg. The trip was for 21 days (which included arrival and departure days, so really 19 full days), would be in 4 berth 2^nd class carriages on the train and dorm accommodation when we stopped along the way. The group size would be somewhere between 8 and 15 and there would be guides at stops enroute in the form of ‘Honchos’ – local students employed by the company to take us around the sites.

All up to do this trip with Vodka Train, it would cost me $3,990AUD (including a mandatory local payment of $150USD, payable to the Honcho in Beijing). As a backpacker this was an incredible amount to fork out, considering it didn’t cover any visa fees or meals, but as I was pretty naïve and hadn’t been particularly fastidious in researching, I didn’t really know if this was a good deal or not. I noticed in the price breakdown the hostel dorm I would be staying at in St Petersburg was listed as costing $70 dollars. I knew Russia was expensive but thought this was crazy, I checked it out online and the cost through the hostels website was $35!

I decided to purchase the Trail Blazers Trans Siberian handbook, and the Lonely Planet Trans Siberian guidebook. These books gave detailed information on how to purchase the tickets at each leg, the chaepest way to travel – but you run the risk of not being able to get a train for days if not weeks on the busier lines, a risk I couldn’t really run due to time constraints. Both books gave excellent recommendations for independent tour companies in many countries that can organise train tickets and one company they both mentioned was Real Russia– Based in Moscow with an office in London.

I requested a quote and was it was prepared for me in a few hours. 1^st class tickets (in a comparatively luxurious two berth compartment, including meals on the train) and the Russian visa invitation letter came to $3000AUD. For a 2^nd class 4 berth compartment the cost would be about half this. I opted for first class – the equivalent of 7 days travel on the trains without stinky cabin mates appealed at the time, but in hindsight I do regret that I missed out on this opportunity to share food, beers and interesting conversations with other travellers.

I had to organise the visas myself, but all this involved was filling out a few forms and sending my passport off to the embassy’s. My accommodation for the trip came to about $400 dollars (all in private rooms, twin share) so in the end I saved over $400AUD, travelled in style and got to stay in some really cool guesthouses, in some of the most amazing cities I’ve ever visited, for duration that I chose, not one decided for me. If I chose the 2^nd class cabins, I would have saved $2000AUD, more if I stayed in dorm accommodation along the way.

I’m not saying these sort of package tours are bad. Obviously these companies need to make a profit otherwise they’d be bankrupt. If you are short on time and don’t want to do all the research yourself then go for it. But if you’re a budget traveller with a desire to step into the unknown and figure it out yourself, then forget the tour, do the research and plan yourself one of the best trips you’ll ever take.

Hints and Tips

• The Trailblazers and Lonely Planet guides compliment each other. Fork out the dough and get both. The maps are better in Lonely Planet and the format is familiar, with good recommendations for accommodation and the history of the route, but the Trailblazers guide is full of interesting sights to see and practical information (like if you are a UK resident, bring along your triangle gas meter key, it fits exactly to the toilet lock so if you find yourself busting to go during the 8 hour border crossings you can sneakily let yourself in. Just be warned that it all goes onto the train tracks below…) the Seat61 website is a great source of information for all things rail.

• Bribe the Provanistas– they’re the cranky carriage attendants that make sure the water in the samovar is always full and piping hot. Bring them with a gift from your country and they get a lot nicer, I was even allowed to use the toilet while we were at the Russian border as long as I promised it was only a number 1, and they gave me some great Russian chocolates (which are amazing, so don’t bother bribing with chocolates -even the crappy no name stuff in Russia is better than most in Australia)

• Sure bring a book, but don’t bother with War and Peace, there’s too much to see, you probably wont get through half of it. Though make sure you are stocked up on 2 minute noodles – you can pick them up from the Babushka’s on the station platforms along the way – they sell everything including icy cold Russian beer, home made soups and pastries. Awesome.

You can read about my travels on the Trans Siberian here