On the streets of Prague

Once out of the underground and on the streets of Prague, we were immediately engrossed in and thoroughly fascinated by the city sights.  We visited the Old Town Square located between Wenceslas Square and the Charles Bridge, where we took in the huge Astronomical Clock, the third-oldest still-working clock in the world.   We also studied the statue of Jan Hus, the religious reformer who was burnt at the stake for his religious beliefs.  Twenty-seven crosses mark the pavement in honor of martyrs that were beheaded here. 

From the square, we crossed over on the Charles Bridge to the artsy part of the city then climbed the steps leading up to the Palace.  However, by the time we arrived at the Palace it was closing time and we had no choice but to appreciate its magnificence from the outside.  From up and in front of the Palace gate, we took in the spectacular panorama of the city below.   And once back down and past the artsy section, we ventured into the winding streets of the Old Town, where we explored the nearby church of St. Martin in the Wall.   This beautiful and oldest church built in 1178 was a treat to us, as was St. Francis of Assisi where I found a little respite.

St. Martin in the Wall is an ancient, beautifully preserved church, set among the winding back streets and quaint buildings and close to Wenceslas Square.   The farthest into the church that I was able to get  was the entrance.  Before I could get past the vestibule, I was being asked to buy tickets for a concert taking place that evening— the Chamber Ensemble Musica Praga from the Czech Philharmonic Orchestra was offering music by Mozart, Vivaldi, and Pachelbel, among other famous composers.   It was either buy tickets for the concert, or exit the church quietly. 

Because of time constraints, I passed on the concert.  Nonetheless, I was grateful to at least walk within the entryway of the sacred church and say a quick prayer, while Crissy waited outside on a bench across the church.  Smart girl, that Crissy!

After doing as much sightseeing as the time allowed, we returned to the hotel. 

The next day we were back in the Old Town.  We sauntered into a small café in the art district, where we each ordered a pint of icy-cold Pilsner and shared a hearty sandwich.  The young proprietors of the place delighted in playing pop music for our enjoyment from a laptop connected to a set of small speakers.  Crissy and I appreciated the young men’s efforts to make us feel at home and reciprocated with warm smiles.

from     We finally emerged from the establishment, half-giggly from the pints of delicious Pilsner, feeling no pain whatsoever from all the sightseeing, as we headed to the nearest metro station, and got lost in the dense crowd of weary rush-hour commuters.  

     

Millions of people from all over the world travel to Prague every year, losing themselves in this magical city of bridges, cathedrals, gold-tipped towers, and church domes.   Founded in the later 9^th century, Prague soon became the seat of many a Bohemian king.  A popular travel destination that’s been referred to by many as one of Europe’s most charming and beautiful cities, it remains almost undamaged by wars and Communism, and retains a wonderful mixture of cobbled walkways, enclosed and walled courtyards, and countless church spires, all in the shadow of the majestic 9^th century Castle that looks eastwardly and sets behind it.   Independent travelers, thirsty for adventure are drawn to it.  A modern vibrant energy infuses the air with music, art, and special events.  Such is the vibe of this gem of a city. 

On the third day, we were back in the center of town to tour the Castle before anything else, then squeeze in a visit to Saint Wenceslas and its local winery.  The restored winery is located in the central part of the grounds, between the buttress wall of the Old Castle stairs and the upper scenic ridgeway.   Legend has it, that it’s the oldest vineyard in all of Bohemia.   It’s reputed that this ‘divine’ vineyard was cultivated by the patron saint himself, opening its doors to visitors to Prague Castle, upon marking its 1,100^th anniversary.  The area is exceptional in that it’s well positioned in the center of the city, and preserved in its original, unaltered appearance.  And rightly so, very important for us to visit!

After enjoying a glass of wine each and sharing a cheese platter, we readied to return to our hotel.

This time, however, instead of taking the metro, we opted to walk.   And what a walk it was!   Crissy suggested we foot the entire distance back to the Andel—it was quite the walk and extremely exhilarating at that.   In my book, it was just what the doctor ordered!

Madrid, the beautiful and stately motherland.....

When we landed in the motherland, I was at once impressed with Madrid’s pristine and modern Terminal 1 at the Barajas Airport.   The fifth in Europe and 11th in the world, more than 52 million people passed through this hub in 2007.   It is the world’s largest airport in terms of area covered by the terminal buildings—over 11 million square feet, in fact.  All of the signs are visible and easy to follow here.   After admiring some of the interesting murals on display, we were anxious to get to our hotel.  As for the metro, having aced the one in Brussels, Madrid’s was a piece of cake considering that both of us spoke fluent Spanish.

Another view of La Gran Via

In no time, the we had arrived at our hotel. 

With Cristina's acute sense of direction and map-reading skills, we had no problem finding the hotel.   El Gran Tripp is conveniently located just steps from La Gran Via metro stop, on the famously ornate and upscale boulevard by the same name.  The hotel was perfect – clean, modern, and affordable. 

 “Finally, it is happen to me!”  The moment we got in and I got a good look at our room, I broke out in song to the lyrics of Cece Peniston’s “Finally”.

“Mom, you are CRAZY!”

Ignoring my daughter, I went on singing, as I scoped out our chic and roomy accommodations.  

“Finally!   A place to lay our weary heads!   But not before taking a nice, warm shower.   Ah, what a beautiful thing!  To be able to shower and nap after two days of travel!  We’re finally home, Crissy.  Well of course, not home, home, but somewhere we can call home, if only for a few days.”  

My tendency to ramble was a telltale sign of the fatigue.   While Cristina, my polar opposite, speaks only when absolutely necessary.

“Mom, you are too much.  I am convinced that you can talk forever.”

Fuente de Cibeles

Beautiful buildings abound in Madrid

Madrid is a city bustling with life and bursting with seemingly content people—a style of life so palpable one can almost stretch out their hand and touch it.   I felt at home immediately, and at once welcomed and relished the way everyone merrily went about life—so different from what we’d experienced in Brussels, or even back in New York.   Madrileños seemed to be out and about everywhere, sitting on street and park benches just shooting the breeze, or at the cafés and taperias;   but always savoring the precious life around them.  I wondered if they had always been this way.  It was only in 1975 when Generalisimo Franco died and Spain transitioned into a democracy. 

Madrid at night

Puerta de Alcala

the city is even more beautiful at night!

As in other European cities, street crossings are equipped with mechanical sounds that emulate the chirping of birds, indicating that it’s safe to cross (presumably for the hearing-impaired).  This had a soothing and calming effect on me.   Paradoxically, while at once I felt part of this groove, I also had the feeling of being in an alien world.   There was definitely a different vibe here – invigorating, yet at the same time mind-numbingly relaxing.  For some reason, I couldn’t remember ever having experienced this unique laid-back attitude in New York City—maybe because this lifestyle did not exist in the Big Apple.

The large number of Madrileños sitting and sharing pleasant conversation 'al aire libre' as they indulged in hot chocolate and assorted sweet rolls and/or ham and eggs, struck us.   Some, even drinking wine that early in the morning.   Here, time seemed to stand still.   And I had distinct feelings of déjà vu, as if watching a silent movie playing right before my eyes, while at the same time feeling like we were characters acting out our respective roles in the movie.

As we waited for breakfast, I skimmed my book: “La Gran Via, one of the city's most important shopping areas, with a large number of hotels and large movie theaters, is also noted for the grand architecture prevalent among many of its buildings.  Nowadays most of the theaters are being replaced by shopping malls.  “Spanish Broadway” is considered a showcase of early 20th century architecture, with patterns ranging from the Vienna Cessesion, Plateresque, and Neo-Mudejar, to Art Deco.” 

Needless to say, I was in my glory.

in front of one of many tapas bars..

we passed this beautiful church while touring at night

my new Spanish friend...

After touring the city, we decided on tapas for dinner.   Our quest for tapas took us past the area where the 'ladies of the night' were conducting their business. 

“It’s heartbreaking to see such young girls engaging in that trade.  That girl can’t be more than sixteen,” I observed.  “And she’s being shoved around by her pimp.”

Being the mother of two girls, I couldn’t help feel empathy for the pretty young girl. 

Not long after, a policeman arrived at the scene and both the pimp and the girl disappeared down an alley.  This particular event was upsetting to me, who tends to feel everyone’s pain, particularly in situations where I am hopeless to act.  It put somewhat of a damper on our otherwise first day in el Foro, as some Madrileños refer to their city. 

Not far from El Prado Museum, the part of town we were in was busy and bustling with nightlife.   And one couldn't help but be captivated by it all.   The taperia was about to close for the night, but we managed to sneak in, in the nick of time.  After securing a table in a cozy corner of the establishment, I got up to place our order at the counter: jamón Serrano, croquetas, and empanadillas among other savory delectables, accompanied by a tall glass of ice-cold sweet Mahou beer.  I had never tasted anything as mouthwatering, as sweet, and as delicious as Mahou clara—a refreshing picker-upper made with equal parts beer and Sprite or lemon soda, and served in a cana glass.  The Spanish version of a shandy, these refreshing sweet drinks are more popular in Western Europe than in other parts of the world.   After the episode we had witnessed with the young prostitute and her pimp, I welcomed and relished my choice of sedative. Like tapas, Mahou beer is distinctively Spanish.   And I could not get enough of the icy cold, sweet concoction.

“I am not a beer drinker, but from my first taste of this stuff, I am definitely hooked,” I confided to Cristina.  She could only laugh—I tend to dramatize just about everything. 

La Gran Via

We could have stayed in Madrid for the major part of the trip, but there was still so much to do and see to limit themselves to just one city.   So immediately after breakfast, on the third day we walked the entire distance from the hotel, to a car rental on the far end of La Gran Via where we lucked out with a brand new Mercedes/Benz for the price of a regular car.  

Plaza de Espana

The next day we were off to tour El Escorial, the King Philip's summer palace and El Convento Las Descalzas Reales.  

Check back for our adventure at El Escorial.

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El Metropolis Building

The Westin Palace

a dessert palm watered by Islam - mystical Morocco!

Morocco’s reigning monarch, King Hassan II, likens his county to a dessert palm: “rooted in Africa, watered by Islam and rustled by the winds of Europe.” – A poetic description for a place which can appear mystical, magical, and foreboding all at once.  

The ferry ride was amazing!  There we were, on a luxury boat with first-class accommodations and every other amenity.  And I was in my total glory.   As we took in the view along the Strait of Gibraltar from upper deck seats, the balmy Mediterranean breezes blew every which way.  As they blew, they flapped our unruly locks, smacking us in the face from time to time.  Much to our surprise, most of the passengers, regular commuters on their daily routine, chose to sit inside. 

The breathtaking views, the hot Mediterranean sun, and the balmy winds, all made for a thoroughly enjoyable sail across the eight-mile stretch of water.  Colin Hayworth, a red-haired British on board, approached us and introduced himself.  Seeing that I was holding a camera, a businessman who worked out of Tangier, he generously offered to take our picture, then proceeded to warn us about the possible dangers of visiting the predominantly Muslim country without an official guide.  After our photo session and friendly chat, we kindly thanked Colin  and assured him we would take his advice seriously.

When the ferry docked in Tangier, Colin promptly disappeared into the crowd of everyday commuters, while we stood at the pier sticking out like newly arrived tourists, looking lost—precisely how we were NOT supposed to look!  We soon realized we'd been rather foolish not to have booked a guide before leaving Seville.   In all fairness, this trip being so last minute, we barely had time to get on the ferry, much less arrange for a guide. 

The magical city of Tangier with the fabled Kasbah [Casablanca] in the background, beckoned to be explored. We couldn’t wait to start sightseeing, but the Englishman’s advice rang clear in my ears and I suddenly felt apprehension at heading out without a plan of action.  Especially, given our lack of knowledge of the language.  Our wellbeing and safety, were at the top of my priorities.  I was not about to chance that, for anything in the world. 

the Kasbah, fabled Casablanca!

We were discussing our next step, when a lanky, light-complexioned man appeared standing in front of us.   He was sporting a badge, which caught our attention.  Taking him for a customs officer, we waited for him to speak. 

“Hello!  My name is Youssef Hassan, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to Tangier!” he jovially announced in perfect English. 

He was dressed in a neat white polo shirt and khaki pants.   And just as Colin Hayworth had done, he at once also began to emphasize the importance of having a knowledgeable guide to tour the Medina—not so much out of a fear for safety because their country is safe by most standards, he said.  But more, so that we might experience as much of the city in the shortest time possible.    He proceeded to run his impressive resume by us—he worked for the number-one tour company in Tangier and had worked with some of the world’s finest people.  Pulling out a cell phone, he opened it to the picture file and proudly showed off a picture of himself posing with a broad-smiling Matt Damon.  “One of my recent clients,” he said with a smile.   “Mr. Damon was filming the movie, Green Zone, here last year.   I was his tour guide and chauffer the entire time he was here.”

Hmm, impressive, I thought.   We kindly shared in the Muslim’s enthusiasm.  “Really?” we  answered, nodding happily.

After listening to everything Youssef had to say, we  felt we should give him the benefit of the doubt.   Actually, it was more like we didn’t have much choice.   It’s better to be safe than sorry, I thought.   But Youssef was so convincing, not to mention endearing, that we decided to take a chance with him.   Plus given the circumstances, the roughly $150 he was charging for a couple of hours, seemed reasonable enough.  After agreeing on the price, Youssef promptly led us down the staircase at the pier and out into a ‘taxi area’ several yards away where a sky-blue battered jalopy was parked.   A short man of average weight with olive skin and coarse hair, who looked a little older than Youssef, had been standing waiting by the car.   Youssef introduced him to us as the chauffer.   After helping us into the car, he got into the driver’s seat, while Youssef, who looked more Scandinavian than Muslim, went around and sat in the front passenger seat.   And off we went with the two total strangers!

"Boy!  Am I trusting!  To be putting our lives completely into the hands of total strangers," I thought again as we got into the faded blue jalopy with the two men.   I said a quick prayer in my mind then lording it over to God, I braced herself.   But as the day progressed, we felt safer, almost to the point of feeling like we were touring the city with trusted relatives.  In reality, Morocco is quite safe by most standards.  As we drove to all the important sites, all the time Youssef sat at a 110-degree angle and tried to face us as he rattled off important names and dates.   I appreciated that he took pains to turn around and look at us both when he spoke, making us feel like he really cared for us as clients. 

First it was off to the more modern part of the city, and then to the public squares, the temples, the Grand Mosque, the Grand Soso square, and the marketplaces in the Medina.  Because you know, a trip to Tangier is not a trip to Tangier unless one gets dragged to the marketplace where one’s sympathy is played upon into buying something!   We were no exception.   In our case, a $600 rug that I put on my credit card.  Also unfortunate for us, the Kasbah was not opened to the public--much needed renovations were underway to restore the citadel for tourism.   And so we missed out on quite possibly the most important reason for visiting Morocco.  However, thanks to Youssef we covered other important parts of the city in a time frame of about six hours.

 

local men mingling in the square

Youssef took us on a detour that led us into the hub of the old city, as we traversed through more and more alleyways and narrow streets, and deeper and deeper into the heart of the Medina.   Dark questioning faces peered from behind half-drawn curtains.   Half-naked children interrupted their street play to stare at us innocently.  And women wrapped from head to toe in bright colored caftans, eyed us curiously as they stepped aside to make way for us.   We would ever forget this trip!   

Where is he taking us? We’ll never find our way out of this maze, I thought. 

in the Medina

Youssef was actually taking us to a restaurant he had told us about earlier—apparently one that probably belonged to a friend or an acquaintance of his.   Because here, more than in other cultures, “one hand washes the other.”   We were in for the surprise of a lifetime.  This meal would go down in the books as one of the best during our trip.   The savory meal, complete with tagine (a delicious and hearty, highly seasoned chicken stew in a pungent red sauce), a side dish of seasoned local vegetables, couscous and pita bread, was a celebration in itself.   As we indulged our taste buds to the highly traditional Moroccan meal, we were disappointed that Youssef could not join us.   Another disappointment was having to pair such a sacred meal with an orange Fanta, instead of the local Casablanca beer.   We felt somewhat guilty about indulging in such a spread, when we knew that the entire city of Tangier was fasting and praying—Ramada was underway.   But Youssef and the friendly restaurateur insisted we enjoy our meal without any guilt—they would have their own light meal at midnight, after the last prayers of the day were said.   After we were comfortably seated in a corner of the restaurant, Youssef bid us goodbye and was off, assuring us he would be back for us in about forty-five-minutes or so.   Once the meal was served, both the waiter and the proprietor also disappeared.  And we were left to savor our meal in private, as we were the only patrons at that time.

love the tile work....

the restaurant is all ours...

part of our Moroccon meal..

As promised, almost an hour later Youssef returned to take us to the marketplace.   He definitely had a plan of action—after taking us to several specific shops, he took a sharp turn that lead into a two-story establishment that sold only rugs and carpeting.  I felt obliged to return the favor of the delicious meal, by contemplating buying a couple of small area rugs.  However, I was in no way prepared to dish out $600 for a room-size rug to another of Youssef’s acquaintances.   I felt for it!   When I claimed I didn’t have enough cash, the proprietor assured us that they accepted all credit cards.  Did I have a choice but to buy the rug?  I don’t think so!   All kidding aside, the rug weighed close to a ton!  “Seriously!” I muttered, “What is this thing made of?”  To which the owner replied: "a special blend of plastic and other materials", and then proceeded to test its strength and durability.   He lit a match to it, spilled liquids on it, and put it through every other rigmarole. 

where we bought the infamous  rug...

  

On another note, the over-zealous, tourist-loving proprietor kidded me, “You know, you could live like a queen here.  Your beautiful daughter, she is worth any amount of camels and so much more.”  

We’re guessing that he uses that line on every mother that frequents the place.  Being the kidder that I am, I followed with, “Could I really get a hundred camels for her?”

“Oh, much more than that!” the man answered. 

Emily happened to be wearing an ecru-colored silk dress with flower appliqúes.  Whether or not he was kidding, I deduced the reason the Muslim thought of her as a bride was because of that dress she was wearing.   That definitely not being Emily's intention to call attention to herself, she stood out like a diamond in the rough.  “Wow,” I whispered to my daughter jokingly, “Me thinks your dress made a real impression on him.” 

Emily was not amused.

After posing with the proprietor’s nephew on the terrace, with the Kasbah in the background, we were off with Youssef carrying the rug.  Who will carry it from here on? I asked myself.  I soon realized my biggest mistake was buying the stupid rug in the first place, and secondly not having it shipped home.

“Damn!  Maybe I should have tried lifting it, before getting suckered into buying it!” I chided myself.  

Another day, another adventure of a lifetime!  As for the ill-timed purchase, definitely a big blooper, considering that we, mainly I, would have to haul the damn rug for the remainder of our trip.  

on the terrace - Kasbah in the background...

night falls on Tangier

with our friendly guide....

around town....

down alleyways we go....

the modern Tangier