Showing posts with label cheap travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cheap travel. Show all posts

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Nine things you thought wrong about Morocco

A Spanish friend and I took a week and traversed the gut of Morocco. Much like I described the derelict parts of Bulgaria, the desolate, dog-eared side of Morocco has its charm. The half-finished buildings and the missing windows and the trash-strewn fields and the "toilets" at roadside stops all contribute to the intrigue and offbeat beauty of Morocco, a country that doesn't try to hide itself behind blush and high heels. You can’t fully understand and experience a country in seven days, but we got a pretty extensive glimpse into Moroccan life on the road from Marrakech to Fez and back. It was us, our van, the Sahara Desert, the Atlas Mountains and hundreds of kilometers of open highway. And wow, was it incredible.

Tinghir, palm tree oasis in the Sahara

Atlas Mountains
I learned a lot in a short time on The Great Moroccan Road Trip. I realized that people know nothing about the country, that much of our “knowledge” of what Morocco is and isn’t comes from tall tales and TV shows. So, inspired by the bountiful tourist misconceptions, I’ve jotted down a list of things you thought wrong about the jewel of North Africa.

1. Police only want to rip off tourists.
This couldn't be further from the truth. I'd read horror stories of tourists being hassled for speeding and paying arbitrary fines on the spot. What if they took us for all we had? It's true the country is one giant speed trap. Police checkpoints are everywhere, and the speed limit signs are posted so close together it's impossible to obey them. But we passed through more than 15 stops, and every time, the officers saw we were tourists and let us on our way with a smile and a bit of elementary English or conversational Spanish.

2. The roads are awful.
Sure, they are not like U.S. highways, but anyone who expects them to be doesn't understand much about the world. Moroccan roads are narrow and generally lack asphalt shoulders, but they are in surprisingly good condition. The main and semi-main highways have gravel shoulders. We crossed the center of the country in a big van with no problem, and we didn’t use four-wheel drive. We navigated using street signs, a Michelin map and English/Spanish/broken French to ask for directions. We got lost a few times and cursed poor signage when we did. But guess what? We lived to tell the tale.




3. Going on a guided tour is the best way to see Morocco.
I don't doubt that the guided tours are great. But they aren't necessary. If you have someone who's comfortable handling tight curves on mountain roads and who's not intimidated by offensive and defensive driving, I'd recommend a road trip. The guided tours post their exact itineraries online. It's easy to find one you like and use it to plan your own adventure. Let it be known, however, that renting a car wasn't cheap (250 euros for four days, including extra insurance for peace of mind. I’ve read it’s cheaper if you rent from a local company.). Despite the expense, having a car was great for convenience and comfort. Do be advised, though, that passing through towns is like an obstacle course, but not a fun one. The only reward at the course's end is knowing you didn't crash into a donkey cart or run over a cloaked woman. The country is full of long-haul cabs that take tourists and locals to and fro, but they pack as many people as possible (plus one or two more) into those aging Mercedes. I imagine traveling in an overcrowded hotbox could make the red rocks of the Sahara look a little bit like the bowels of hell. 

Defensive driving at its finest.

Driving gave us the freedom to soak in views like this. 

4. Morocco is incredibly cheap.
This may have been true before the tourist boom, but Morocco is no off-the-map destination. It’s full of tourists, and the prices reflect that. You can find beds at well-reviewed youth hostels for about 9 euros a night per person (which is comparable to Budapest and Prague, for example), whereas nicer hotels are closer to 20 euros per person and up. It’s en vogue to renovate old homes and convert them into gorgeous hotels, and for how nice they are, they’re definitely cheaper than a similar lodging option in, say, Italy or Paris. But don’t think visiting Morocco with a clinking coin purse is sufficient. You’re going to spend a decent chunk of change if you want to see more than one city. You can find traditional food for around 3 euros a person, but if you’re more comfortable eating at tourist restaurants, expect to pay closer to 8 or 10 euros for a meal. As for souvenirs in the medinas, hard-line negotiation is a must. At most you should pay half the price vendors initially quote. 

The souks, Marrakech

5. Since it’s touristy, everyone speaks good English. 
Morocco is the first place I’ve visited where people were much more inclined to speak Spanish than English. Geographically, it makes sense, of course, given that it’s directly south of Spain. In Marrakech, the vendors spoke just about any language necessary to lure a customer in for a sale. But outside of Marrakech, I noticed English was much less common. When we camped in the Sahara, the workers all spoke great Spanish but limited English. Along our driving route, neither English nor Spanish worked well. Broken French was the best – and often only – way to communicate. This isn’t to say you can’t make it on English alone, of course, but it’s likely to be more difficult.

6. The Sahara Desert is made up of endless sand dunes.
You know that awesome footage you’ve seen on National Geographic of undulating mountains of powder-fine sand kissed by the desert sun? Most of the Moroccan Sahara is nothing like that. Much of it is rocky and dusty. Some is flat. Some is mountainous. The rest falls somewhere between the two extremes. There are two small parts, called the Erg Chebbi and Erg Chigaga, that are as orange and dune-y and spectacular as what Google boasts. But for reference, the Erg Chebbi is only 22 kilometers across at its widest. Think of that in terms of the expansiveness of the Sahara and you’ll realize it’s only a small blip on the map. 

This is the Sahara. 

So is this. 

And this. 

And this. 

And this, too. 

7. Moroccan men love to harass Western women.
Yes, some of them do offer camels in exchange for ladies, but the only time I heard such a proposal, it was a joke. Moroccans are sales people, and they’re tactical. If they see you looking at a map, they’ll offer to guide you to the location, hoping for a small service tip at the end. If you stop to look at their wares at a stand in the medina, they’ll often badger you to go inside to browse further and talk prices. The closer you get to the desert dunes, where tourism is the area’s lifeblood, the worse the hounding gets. Men will block the highway or flank your vehicle on their motorcycles to promote their sales pitch. But from what I saw, they did that to men and women alike. 

It didn't take much coercing to get me into the shops. 
8. Morocco is all desert. 
I'll let photos speak to the country's geographical diversity. 





9. The food and water will kill you. 
Oh, how we Westerners love to have our food packaged or pasteurized.  In Morocco, if you refuse to try any local fare, your overall experience will be as sterile as that pre-made supermarket sandwich you opted for at lunch. I found a dead, petrified bee in the taffy I bought from a street vendor, and I ate it anyway. I ate fresh salads, olives and fruit. I drank juice in the mornings and ordered traditional pastilla and cous cous at afternoon meals. At the Marrakech food market, I went as far as to eat the leftover eggplant off a stranger’s plate after she left (that was probably a bit too far, admittedly). In the end, my gut didn’t violently scold me, and as far as I know, my body hasn’t been ravaged by a tapeworm or pathogen. I never did drink the water, but I did brush my teeth with it. I wouldn't necessarily recommend my careless approach to eating whatever I saw, but a little culinary adventure is healthy. 

Delicious mixed salad

Pastilla, a traditional dish (often described as a "meat pie" of chicken) in a crepe-like crispy shell and topped with powdered sugar and cinnamon

Beautiful traditional sweets

Marrakech food market

So, with all that said, here’s to living and learning, to debunking myths and to spreading truth in a world of tales. 

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

16 days in 17 photos

Madrid > Milan (only to the airport. An Italian friend picked us up there). > Jesolo, Italy > Ljubljana, Slovenia > Lake Bled, Slovenia > Verona, Italy > Parma area, Italy > La Spezia, Italy > Cinqueterre, Italy > La Spezia > Pisa/Florence (accidentally) > Venice > Prague, Czech Republic > Budapest, Hungary > Madrid, Spain.

May 30, 2013, to June 14, 2013

The flooded Danube River in Budapest. When in Italy we realized that the Danube was at record high levels, which could affect our trips to Prague and Budapest. Luckily it didn't cause any problems for us in the end.

I loved this "castle" in the city park in Budapest. Turns out it's just a recreation of one in Translyvania in Romania, but it's cool nonetheless.

Budapest was our last stop, and we were exhausted, so we paid for a hop-on/hop-off bus, and although I felt slightly dorky, it was worth the roughly 13 euros to not have to walk one. more. step.

Fisherman's Bastion, a lookout point, on the Buda side of Budapest. One of the prettiest structures I've seen.

Plaza del Erbe, Verona. Such a beautiful place.

Our Italian lunch in Verona: tomatoes, parmesan, ham and bread. We ate an incredibly amount of bread and cheese while in Italy.

We officially became members of the Betolo Fun Club. We got picked up in the Betolo at the Milan airport and roadtripped to Jesolo, Italy; Slovenia, Verona and back to a small town outside Parma.

Manarola, one of the five villages that make up the Cinqueterre area of Italy's northwest coast. The breathtaking villages are built into the cliffs and aren't accessible by car.

Venice, my second time there. The cheapest gondola ride we could find was 30 euros a person, so we passed.

Old Town Square in Prague.

Trdelnik, a typical Czech/Slovakian pastry. Perhaps the most amazing pastry I've ever had.

I was so excited to see Nebraska represented on the John Lennon Wall in Prague.

Old Town Square, Prague. The whole city looks like it came from a movie set.

Ljubljana, Slovenia is a beautiful, relaxed small city.

The stunning Vintgar Gorge near Lake Bled, Slovenia.

Lake Bled, Slovenia, where beauty is everywhere, the drinking water is as pure as it gets and the air is crisper than crisp.

We had to do a steep 30-minute climb in totally inadequate footwear to get to this point to see Lake Bled from above, but it was worth it.
 Looking at these amazing places reminds me how lucky I am to do what I do.

Un saludo,
Teresa

Traveling 101: What not to do

After finishing my first year teaching and before coming home to Nebraska, my roommate and I took a nice 16-day swing around Central Europe. Once upon a time, I was a planner - meticulous and organized and anal. But together we have become the ultimate non-planners, a pair of late arrivers of the worst kind. But dang do we have a good time.

I'm going to use our failures to craft a somewhat sincere tips list for any readers who might try to recreate anything we did. Here's the trajectory of our trip: Madrid > Milan (only to the airport. An Italian friend picked us up there). > Jesolo, Italy > Ljubljana, Slovenia > Lake Bled, Slovenia > Verona, Italy > Parma area, Italy > La Spezia, Italy > Cinqueterre, Italy > La Spezia > Pisa/Florence (accidentally) > Venice > Prague, Czech Republic > Budapest, Hungary > Madrid, Spain.

1. If you sleep in the airport, be on time for your flight.
The minute I finished my last day of work, I headed to my apartment, finished packing, caught a bus to Madrid and slept in the airport, awaiting our early morning flight to Milan. Somehow we ended up losing track of time and having to power-walk/lightly jog to the gate after the rest of the passengers had already boarded. In the end, after sleeping in the airport five times, my best tip would be to just loosen your grip on your wallet a bit and fork out some euros for a bloody hotel. But if that doesn't happen: Don't try sleeping on the floor in the Madrid airport. There's a rancid woman who lives in the Ryanair check-in area, and the floorspace outside of that area is freezing. Your best bet is to snag a table at the cafeteria and fashion a makeshift bed out of the chairs.

2. If you're going to be in a country for any significant length of time, buy a SIM card with internet. 
We spent about a week in Italy and found ourselves chained to restaurants with wi-fi and internet cafes. We wasted way too many hours and euros on internet, trying to communicate with the Italian friend and panic-searching for lodging. We could've bought a SIM card from the get-go (for about 15 to 20 euros) and saved ourselves the stress and money. As long as your smartphone is unlocked for international use, you can pop in a SIM card from any European country. You'll get a local number and everything. So European.

3. Speaking of lodging...Find lodging before you arrive to a country where you don't speak the language.
We arrived to La Spezia with no place to stay and without internet to look for a place. The information office was entirely unhelpful, so we paid 5 euros for wi-fi to do a haphazard lodging search. Italy is expensive, in case you didn't know, and we couldn't find anything cheap and available. So we reached out to an Italian Couchsurfing contact, who helped us find a place for 30 euros a night (each) near the train station (the owner didn't speak English, so I have no idea how we would've dealt with the situation without the local guy). Unfortunately, the Couchsurfer came to our rescue after we had already wasted three hours at the train station, caged in the wi-fi zone next to the loudest train platform.

4. Read the terms of a low-cost airline flight very closely.
We're seasoned Ryanair flyers, so we've never had a problem with them (make sure you always print out your boarding pass ahead of time or you'll have to cough up 50 or 60 euros at the airport). But from Venice to Prague, we flew Wizzair, a Hungary-based low-cost provider I'd frankly never heard of. It was cheap. For a reason. At a Venice internet cafe while trying to check in for the flight, I discovered that you have to pay to take a standard-sized carry-on. Only very small carry-on bags were free. Beings that we only had carry-ons for 16 days of traveling, our carry-ons were far from small. So we tried to pay online to add carry-ons to our flights (how ridiculous is it to pay to add carry-ons?), and guess what? The site didn't work. So we scrambled to contact the airline, but it costs more than a euro a minute to call. We bought a calling card, which we later found out can't be used to call a toll number. Ultimately we went to a bar with internet (which we had already been to earlier that day) and wrote a Spanish friend and asked him to call the Spanish Wizzair line. He called at 10:02 p.m. The customer service line closed at 10. So we ended up throwing a bunch of stuff in one big carry-on and paying 45 euros at the airport to take it on the plane.

5. Make sure you triple check that you have boarded the correct train. 
From La Spezia, we intended to go to Collechio (a small town near Parma) en route to Venice. But we unknowingly boarded the wrong train and ended up in Pisa at 10 p.m. (I wish we could've seen our faces when the ticket man on the train informed us that we were not going to Collechio.) We had to take a train from Pisa to the central station in Florence and then catch a bus to a secondary Florence station to get to Venice on the night train. Let's just say Pisa and Florence are not places you want to be wandering aimlessly at night.

I'm sure someone somewhere once said that from failure you gain strength or wisdom or something like that, right? I like to think I've gotten something out of these mistakes other than a handful of memories that are awesome only for how awful they really are. If not, oh well.

Here's to living and learning.

Un saludo,
Teresa

Thursday, April 25, 2013

On the importance of shopping around

It quite literally pays off. Cliche, yes, but true. I looked at flights to go home for the summer about two weeks ago, and I about puked from sticker shock. Since then I've been busy taking way too many siestas and doing way too much of nothing, so I haven't had time to look at flights. Today I finally did, and good thing I shopped around.

When I first looked, this is along the lines of what I saw. I wasn't happy about it and actually got a little worried. 



So I looked at trusty Student Universe, the site where I bought my one-way ticket to come to Spain last September. Didn't turn out to be so great this time around.


So then I thought maybe it'd be cheap to fly to Chicago and then either buy a separate flight to Omaha or take a bus. Wrong. Still $701 to go to Chicago through Student Universe.

I looked at Iberia, Spain's airline. ARE YOU KIDDING ME, IBERIA? Almost 2,500 euros to fly to Omaha?


Then Expedia, from Madrid to Chicago. 633 euros. Then Expedia from Madrid to Omaha. 1,300 euros. So no. Then CheapOAir - $634 to Chicago. Nope again.

And then as a last-ditch effort, I Googled "student flights" and found STA Travel, which I had heard of when I studied abroad in Spain and Costa Rica, but I hadn't been impressed by their rates before. Then, THIS:


The exact same flight that is 2,422 euros directly from Iberia is $487 through STA Travel, which is a reputable company, even as too-good-to-be-true as it seems. The site has awesome deals for students and "youths" (me) under 26.

So, I'm coming home June 17, and I ended up paying $487. I'm thrilled.

Un saludo,
Teresa

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Where in the world was Teresa Lostroh?

It's been a while since I've penned a travel dispatch. I'm trying to move away from the whole chronological "this is where I went, this is what I did" formula, but in case you're asking, "Where in the world was Teresa Lostroh?"....Stick with me. I promise there's an entertaining line or two.

1.) Tenerife, Canary Islands, Spain.
Went there for Los Carnavales, a Mardi Gras-esque liquor-fueled free-for-all. Was a tourist by day and a martian/some sort of Asian by night (we dressed up for Carnaval, in accordance with the custom). Felt like I landed on the moon when I visited the Teide Volcano, the world's third largest. Declared my panoramic shot of Los Gigantes (massive rock formations) the most epic ever. Ate three times my stomach's capacity at a typical Canarian eatery - and enjoyed every second of it. Got two Spanish friends to ask for a take-home food box for the first time in their lives. Broke my camera during an ill-advised self-timer attempt, therefore losing my beloved "vivid" setting forever.

Lunar landing?


The "Los Gigantes" panoramic


2). Mallorca (Majorca), Balearic Islands, Spain.
Was hoping for a glorious, snafu-less return trip to my favorite place on Earth. Went to the Cap de Fomentor peninsula on the island's northeastern tip, where I captured more epic panoramics and several Awkward Family Photo shots with my roommate. Also went to Sa Calobra, a remote cove reached by a mess of winding mountain roads. Went out, got my iPhone 4S and wallet stolen, effectively losing all photo evidence of the trip. So much for snafu-less. Thank goodness for memories. Ate fresh oranges from my friend's orange tree. I think the saying goes something like, "Once you go fresh oranges, you never go back." Let Mallorquin food win my heart even more (snails, bread, squid, vegetables, frito mallorquin, etc.) Spent Sunday in the obnoxiously Anglo neighborhood of Magaluf, where Spanish is a foreign language, Brits run amok shirtless and sunburned and Happy Hour starts at sunrise. Dipped into a bar at 7 p.m. that was packed with hammered middle-aged Brits reliving Spring Break. Jammed to lots of oldies and continued jamming even after the Brits' bedtime struck at 9:30.

Cap de Fomentor, Source

Magaluf, Source

3). Cordoba, Spain.
Split my heart in sixteenths as I fell in love with yet another colorful Spanish town. Got my mind blown by the Mezquita's wondrous mix of Christian and Muslim architecture. The place is huge. Went to a flamenco show in a nondescript basement on some Cordobese side street. Ate oxtail and flamenquin, a traditional dish of pork loin wrapped in ham, breaded and fried. Both dishes filled my belly but didn't change my life. Decided I must return when the city's ubiquitous residential courtyards are flush with May flowers.


Mezquita

Mezquita


4). Sevilla, Ronda, Trujillo, Granada, Malaga, and Nerja, Spain
Parents came to get a taste of la vida espanola. Cried when I met them at the train station in Sevilla (hey, it'd been five months). Launched a 10-day tourist blitz on this fine country. Did a generally terrible job of sharing with them the delights of Spanish cuisine (the best meal they had was at the hotel restaurant, without me). Made the mistake of ordering a fried seafood platter at a restaurant in the interior of the country. Acted as translator at a Case International implement dealer in Don Benito for my dad, who has an insatiable curiosity about agriculture no matter where he is. Took parents to Sevilla and Ronda, two places I'd already been. Forced my parents to be in more pictures together than they've been in over the past 35 years combined. That's not hyperbole. I'm serious. Went to a flamenco show in a kitschy tourist haunt in Sevilla. Enjoyed it despite its kitschy-ness. Fell in love with yet another pair of Spanish coastal towns, Malaga and Nerja. Pretty sure my parents are still talking about Malaga's marble sidewalks. Despite my love for Malaga and Nerja, thought both towns would be infinitely better if we could expel at least 70 percent of the northern Europeans and make the towns more authentically Spanish. Dad drove through snow - in southern Spain, of all places - to get to Granada, where that damned white powder covered the city for the first time in 25 years. Mom about lost her feet to frostbite while we tried (kind of in vain) to enjoy the Alhambra in the cold. Most importantly, was reminded of how awesomely loving, generous, fun and supportive my family is.

Plaza de Espana, Sevilla

Snowy Granada

Alhambra in Granada

Malaga from the fortress

5.) Toledo and Guadalupe, Spain
Have to wonder if my superlatives lose their weight when I overuse them: favorite, prettiest, most Spanish. But each trip manages to equal or top the previous. Loved Toledo's sublimely medieval core, which is on a hill reached by arched stone bridges. Toledo doesn't have the bright-colored buildings (much of the city is sandy stone) or the it-feels-like-this-entire-city-is-smiling vibe of Cordoba, but it's as genuinely Spanish. Guadalupe is what every small town should be: quaint, walkable, endearing, enchanting. It's all of those things despite the omnipresent tourist shops and carbon-copy signs hawking Guadalupe's typical blood sausage. Must admit the blood sausage is worthily hawk-able, though. Town's massive monastery has perhaps the loveliest courtyard I've seen yet. There I go with the superlatives again...

Toledo

Toledo

Guadalupe monastery

Guadalupe
Toledo

 That's the quick-and-dirty version of my life as of late.

Un saludo,
Teresa
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