The Thing About Bagging Peaks...

Towering about the beautiful mountain town of Chefchaouen stands the unattainable peak of Jebel el Kalaa. Needless to say, our minds were set on one thing, bagging the peak. We set out at the break of 10 on a crisp morning, equipped with our finest shorts and hiking attire, after a nice breakfast en route of french baguette and goat cheese. For most of the morning it was an all uphill trek, through gorgeous valleys, meagre forests and tiny hamlets, finally throwing us out onto a windswept ridge, below the summit. As we braved on the wind was relentless, our shorts flapping and water supply at a dangerous low. After piling on our last aricles of warm clothing, we were ready for the summit bid. Then, finally, success! There was no more mountain, all that was left were stunning views of the entire region. Feeling accomplished we enjoy a trumphant lunch of mackerel in tomato sauce and bread and plan our descent by a different route.

Peering down from our summit perch we spot what can only be a shelter, built for lesser hikers to spend the night before they attempt the unattainable. Upon closer inspection it,s a modest farmhouse. Three teenage boys are busy tilling the steep hillside fields. They are more than happy to point the route down, one they no doubt travel daily.

The thing about bagging peaks is ... it,s more rewarding when no one lives on top.

Also, a relevant update:

The Hartwick Cup of Catan scores: Dan 3, Evan 2

The Thing About Picking up Moroccan Women...

Two PM. Last Sunday. Rabat, Morocco.
After rocking the local kasbah, we head down to the neighbourhood breakwater for a lovely promenade and sit. A popular pass time for the elderly, families, and the local single crowd as well. After a brief stroll we sit down on the rocks. Two young girls sidle up to the next rock over, also seemingly for a sit. As the moped traffic picked up, we realized this was no ordinary promenade. This is the equivalent of a friday night at the local pub.

A steady stream of boys and men parade by, never missing an opportunity to flirt with the girls. Flirting meaning what can only be assumed to be teasing and cat calling. Then things started to happen. First a young gentleman, we use that term loosely, wearing a saggy speedo, complete with cigarette behind his ear strolls up to the girls to show them his pubic hair, only to be honked out of the way by a suave looking sir, riding what must only be his trusty steed, a very shiny moped. Wearing a pink dress shirt and matching pink tie, as well as euro styled gelled hair, chin strap beard and shades, he starts with a hand shake and a few words to the girls. Next thing we know they are on his moped and away they go. Another successful afternoon in Rabat.

The thing about picking up Moroccan women is you gotta have a moped. A chin strap beard doesn;t hurt either.

As for more serious things, we are having an amazing time. Climbing mountains, exploring thousand year old medinas, eating tasty cakes and delicious sandwiches. And our trip onward is alive! We have our Mauritanian visas!

Best witches
D and E

The Thing About Expectations...

The dream is alive! Welcome to another blog post. Lots has happened since our last post.

Our last night in London was spent drinking beers of the world (including a Moroccan variety) with our hosts Sara and Nikki and our good English friends Rob and Charlie. The night actually never ended (what Charlie would call a "through") as we caught a 2am bus then a 6am flight to Marrakech, Morocco.

We made it!! Our first day in Africa. On the bus ride to the central market we were in full preparation given our expectations of a world of ridiculousness; flying monkeys, sizzling snakes, tantalizing tagines and one million people yelling. Then we arrived. A huge half empty square crawling with middle aged european vacationers in full traditional travel attire. But in fairness, we did see a monkey.

The square did liven up at night when no fewer than 100 portable food stalls materialized all serving the exact same menu. Walking through every tout tried in dubious sincerity to convince us that their stall was superior to all the others. After choosing one somewhat arbitrarily, we sat down to a tasty but overpriced and meagre meal. Expectations of wonderful cuisine were not met but the market was in splendid full swarm... 1 for 2 isn,t bad!

Morning after this culinary disappointment and we were on a mission. And success! Not two blocks outside of the central market we enjoyed two wonderful meals both totaling less than the price of a pint at the Coppertank. Deep fried fish, warm bread and sauce, lentil and chickpea soup, and the ubiquitous mint tea all washed down with a sizzlingly hot sugar coated doughnut. Oooh yeah!

The thing about expectations is to keep them in check until you,re done exploring. We,re taking this lesson straight to the fried fish bank.

Love from Dan and Evan

The Thing About Happy Hour......

Welcome to our blog. Let us know if it gets boring but we'll try to minimize the, 'and then we went here and did this'-es in favour of scintillating stories and tid-bits. Tips and feedback will be appreciated.

Four lovely days in Jolly Old London Town. Navigating through Tottenham Court Road, to Tottenham Street, and finally to Tottenham Mews Court, we ducked into a dingy London alley - the perfect place to house confused mental patients. We grab Sara, one of our gracious hosts, from the mental asylum and head down to the 'pub' for some after-work pints. Dressed in our Vancouver best we're promptly rejected at the door. Sara to the rescue, pulls the reservation ace out of her sleeve, explains that we're foreign (Canadian at that), insensitive to the intricacies of fine London culture, and on our way to Africa with minimal clothing options. Success! They pity us and offer a few tips on avoiding similar problems in the future. The culprit: our trainers/jeans combination. Feeling sorry for ourselves, and rather conspicuously underdressed, we open the door to find every other male in some form of trainers/jeans combination with many plaid shirts to boot! Must have been the beards..... Had a great time with Sara, her cousin, and some half-price pints for happy hour.

All in all, a great four days in London with Nikki, Sara, and Louise. The perfect way to start our African adventure. This morning we fly to Morocco for hot times and cold falafel. We can't wait for Pete's first blog post from the wilds of Vancouver.

The thing about happy hour is...... dress code is stringent. And don't forget your razor.

Dan and Evan