Meknes, Morocco: Riad Hiba

The cab sped off and left us a bit disoriented.

At least the driver pointed towards a small alley before he hopped back in his vehicle. That was a start. If you've been in Morocco long enough, you'd know that entering an innocent looking alley means possibly getting in some nasty maze. And navigation could take ages, especially if you got heaps of luggage in tow. Like us.
 

Bab Mansour, gateway to Moulay Ismail's imperial city. A quick stroll from our guesthouse.

Minutes prior, we just arrived in Meknes via train from the country's capital Rabat. We didn't have a difficult time grabbing a petit cab for the station's replete with them. The driver we got — after glancing at the address of our guesthouse — seemed confident where he was going. 

He delivered us to the correct jump off, alright, but left us with no clue where to go next.

Riad Hiba's nondescript door.

There was a lack of directional signs (found out later on that there are actually plenty of them along the alley coming from Place Hedim and not where we came from), but a few questions here and there answered by shopkeepers and bystanders brought us to the riad. Its mark, though small, can be easily spotted by passersby. Hubby gently tapped the door knocker.

Stunning ceiling. 

Seconds after, a clink, then the heavy wooden door opened. A male receptionist greeted us with a shy smile and wordlessly helped us carry our stuff into the 17th century structure. The hallway led to a foyer that's sheltered by a stunning stained-glass ceiling. I must have gaped up almost the entire time we were checking in.

Ornate window frames abound.

We were assigned to a room (I believe the riad only has seven) across the reception desk. For a reasonable $45 we got two double beds, a flat screen telly, small heater (which barely warmed up the room), free WiFi access and en suite bath. There's obsessive attention to details. Carved furniture, gorgeous lamps, intricately weaved carpets. It was screaming honeymoon. The bathroom's quite basic though, at least the hot shower worked.

Traditional and charming.

One negative thing I think worth mentioning about the room is its very dim lighting. Yes, even with all those lamps in various shapes and sizes. We felt that our room was so poorly lit that emerging out of the riad was like breaking free from a dark dungeon each time. 

Riad Hiba's rooftop where breakfast is served.

A modest breakfast (baskets of bread with cheese and honey plus tea/coffee) is included in the rates, and is served on the rooftop which offers an amazing view of the city. The riad is right in the heart of Meknes' old medina, and one can be caught up watching everyday life from the rooftop's vantage point. Found myself in such situation a couple of times, and it was always a pain to leave my fave nook up there.

View from a resto's terrace, where we had an early dinner on our last day in Meknes.  

Hubby and I adored the riad so much, we stayed longer than intended. Also, we fell in love with the medina's vibe. Though bustling at certain times of the day, it's relatively laid back and less touristy compared to Casablanca and Rabat. It may have less attractions, but prepossessing nonetheless.

Our visit helped us recuperate from travel fatigue, and we had Riad Hiba to thank for.

  Vegetable Tajine capped off Meknes leg.    

Riad Hiba

20 Rue Lalla Aicha Adouya

Meknès, Maroc (Morocco)

Mobile No : +212 (0) 675 94 33 23

Round-The-World 2011-2012, Morocco Leg: 

Chellah Necropolis (Sala Colonia), Rabat, Morocco
Photo Essay: Kasbah Des Oudaias And Le Tour Hassan, Rabat. Mexico
Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca, Morocco: A Persian's Birthday


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Chellah Necropolis (Sala Colonia), Rabat, Morocco

"Have we come to the right place?"

It was a question born out of bewilderment. No tour bus as far as the eye could see. No importunate guides jumping at us with paws up. And the city's buzz sounded muffled from where we were standing even though our cab ride from Rabat's center took only a few minutes.


We trudged toward the magnificent gate with hesitance. The absenteeism of tourist hordes led us to the speculation that the driver delivered us to the wrong destination. I looked up at the Moorish arch that marks the entrance. It reminded us of Bab Oudaia, which we visited earlier that morning. Such an impressive sight. Somehow it indicated, this is where we we're supposed to be.


The admission fee, an incredibly cheap ten dirhams (about $1.20), is all a visitor has to pay. Fancy audio guides are nonexistent, and human ones come by only at certain times of the day. Apparently, noon's not one of them. Usually, the presence of tour guides peddling their service makes us sprint to the opposite direction. But for a place like Chellah, where info signs are nil, we longed for one.


The noise of civilization faded out all the more as we stepped deeper inside the historical site, and was replaced by the constant clacking of storks' beaks. Man, were there heaps of storks throughout the expanse. Either flying about, or idly sitting in their respective nests. They barely noticed us.

We let our toddler Luna run free.


Chellah was the site of ancient Roman city named Sala Colonia, as evidenced by a few key Roman architectural elements. Before the Romans took reign of the area in 40 AD, the Phoenicians were believed to have inhabited the banks above Bou Regreg river. In the 12th century, the Romans left the city and moved to Salé.


A necropolis was built on the same site in the 14th century under the reign of Marinid sultan Abou al-Hassan. He also added a mosque and a fortification wall. The Islamic complex is easily recognized, thanks to its still-standing minaret which is now home to — you guessed it right — a family of storks.


Chellah's crumbling ruins ain't an Angkor Wat. It ain't a Machu Picchu either. But you see, its charm lies in its sorry state. The structures' undiscerning features can flirt with one's imagination.


It's a place that is not masked with heavy makeup. Devoid of facilities that beg for a tourist's approval. No souvenir shops, no posh cafes with a view. Chellah may seem like an underdog in Morocco's tourism arena, but it has potential in becoming one of the frontrunners.

At least for a crowd like us who sees beauty in the forgotten.


Round-The-World 2011-2012, Morocco Leg: 

Photo Essay: Kasbah Des Oudaias And Le Tour Hassan, Rabat. Mexico
Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca, Morocco: A Persian's Birthday


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2012 Year-Ender/World-Ender

Ahhh... 2012.

You are an ebullient homage to wanderlust. Frankly, I am quite obsessed with your ruffled months. In fact it's almost midnight and amid that end-of-the-world hullabaloo, here I am fondly sewing a patchwork of idyllic imagery to commemorate your flamboyance and purport. Now this may seem like a pathetic way of exiting the universe, but at least I dove in a vibrant flashback during my last minutes on earth. I get to utilize fancy words too.

Nope. I'm not drunk.

Shoot for Travel Blogging Calendar 2013. Shout out to the photographer, fellow Pinay travel blogger Claire of Lakwatsera De Primera. Not the actual photo on the calendar.

Speaking of dying, just last week an aunt of mine told me, "Dami mo nang napuntahan, pwede ka na mamatay." (You've been to so many places, you can die anytime now.).

"Eh... I'd like to see more. A lot more." I said. Then she went, "Hinde, pwede ka na mamatay!" (Nah, you can die anytime/now).  I thought to myself, if the planet doesn't blow up and claim my life, her statement probably will.

But yeah, I got her point. And 2012 is a testament to that. See for yourself how the universe spoiled us to bits this year.

1. Mexico

Clockwise from top left: 1. New Year's Eve dinner, mole! 2. Palenque Ruins. 3. A cenote (sinkhole) in Cancun. 4. Chichen Itza without the hubby and baby doll.

2. Peru 

Clockwise from top left: Watching penguins in the wild, Islas Ballestas. 2. Red Beach in Paracas National Reserve. 3. Machu Picchu. 4. The Tree, Nazca Lines.

3. Brazil 
 

Clockwise from top left: 1. Cristo Redentor. 2. Carnival at the Sambadrome. 3. The hubby bought his first pair of Havaianas (Luna's first pair too)! 4. Sexy Ipanema Beach.

4. Morocco 

Clockwise from top left: 1. Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca. 2. Ancient Roman City Volubilis. 3. Sahara Desert. 4. Ait Benhaddou, Ouarzazate.

5. Vietnam 

Clockwise from top left: 1. Street art somewhere in Pham Ngu Lao District, Ho Chi Minh. 2. Pho! 3. After wriggling through the tunnels of Củ Chi. 4. Saigon Notre-Dame Basilica.

6. Mongolia 

Clockwise from top left: 1. Tsagaan Suvraga, Gobi Desert. 2. Two kilometer trek to Yolyn Am. 3. Inside our Couchsurfing host's ger in Ulaanbaatar. 4. Khongoryn Els Sand Dunes.

7. Russia
 

Clockwise from top left: 1. Aboard the Trans-Siberian train, skirting the world's oldest lake. 2. Luna dons her first down jacket. 3. Nizhny Novgorod. 4. St. Basil's Cathedral, Moscow.

8. Philippines

Clockwise from top left: 1. Dasol, Pangasinan. 2. Liwliwa, Zambales. 3. Gubat, Sorsogon for the Book Sharing Project. 4. Tondol Beach, Anda, Pangasinan.

9. Singapore 

Clockwise from top left: 1. With Singapore-based Filipino bloggers. 2. Ze sister's birthday. 3. Second overseas trip with the 'rents. 4. Harry Potter Exhibit.

10. Australia

Clockwise from top left: 1. Dee Why Beach. 2. Luna's play date with Justice and Mayor. 3. Meet up with Pinay travel bloggers. 4. Catching up with Persian in-laws.

11. Indonesia

Clockwise from top left: 1. Sanur Beach. 2. Luna tramping on an Ubud rice field. 3. Fourth anniversary of togetherness, Bali's Uluwatu temple. 4. First time checking in a boutique hotel.

12. East Timor

 Clockwise from top left: 1. Maubara Fort. 2. Third year wedding anniversary spent volunteering for Academy of Swimming Education East Timor. 3. Dollar Beach, Manatuto. 4. Cristo Rei, Dili.

And then some. 

Paying it forward. Left: Participated in the Book Sharing Project for the benefit of Rizal Elementary School in Gubat, Sorsogon. Right: Posed for the Travel Blogging Calendar 2013. Sales of the calendars will be donated to Mitrata Nepal and VSO Bahaginan. Purchase one now! Visit http://www.travelbloggingcalendar.com/
So do you think I can die any time now (Gulp.)?  How was your 2012, fellow travel junkie?
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Photo Essay: Kasbah des Oudaïas And Le Tour Hassan, Rabat, Morocco

Crumpled and torn. Already battered, yet we were using it for the first time. Our toddler Luna prolly had too much fun playing with it. The map that Jahlil, our Couchsurfing host, doodled may not be Lonely Planet worthy but it served its purpose well. Which was to guide us through Rabat's labyrinth-like walled medina towards Kasbah des Oudaïas on the Atlantic Coast.

It was day 254 of our round-the-world trip.

Like many other administrative capitals of the world, Rabat does not have enough charm to seduce off the beaten path trotters. But for those who let themselves go astray in this relatively laid-back metropolis, a gem could be waiting around the corner. We found a handful of them.

Bab Oudaia, magnificent gateway to Kasbah des Oudaïas. This Moorish arch was a project of Almohad Sultan, Yacoub al-Mansour, built in the twelfth century. 

  An old man donning a Moroccan Berber robe strolling alongside his grandson whom Luna stalked for some time.      Sweeping view of the Atlantic Ocean from the Plateforme du Semaphore (Signal Platform).     Overlooking the city of Salé (believed to be the oldest city in the Atlantic Coast), on the opposite side of the Bou Regreg river.   Stumbled upon a weaving center that's obviously set up for tourists. Surprisingly deserted.   Inside Kasbah des Oudaïas, whitewashed houses line up along narrow alleys. Anyone can freely enter and wander around the kasbah. No admission fees, no guide needed.
Tranquil Andalusian Gardens, popular to sauntering lovers, lie behind this wall.   Overpriced Moroccan pastries from Cafe Maure, comes with an awesome view of the estuary. Ideal place to jot down those mushy sentiments on your journal.   Because our visit is both a blessing and a celebration. Henna artwork done after much harassment from a Moroccan artist hanging out in Cafe Maure.   Le Tour Hassan, Rabat's most famous landmark. Another project of Yacoub al-Mansour, a minaret that was supposed to be sixty meters high. The tower was abandoned when al-Mansour died.   Our three-day stopover in Rabat was a spontaneous move, initiated by a vague plan of meeting my Moroccan ex-boss whom I worked with for six months in Abu Dhabi four years ago. Due to conflicting schedules, we weren't able to meet up during those three days, but eventually did 19 days later on our last day in Morocco... An account for a different day.

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Hassan II Mosque, Casablanca, Morocco: A Persian's Birthday

As I munched my jaw-locking, uber chewy breakfast baguette in our characterless Casablanca hotel room, I mindlessly watched a steady morning stream of passersby from the balcony. I was thinking real hard. The room service guy looked vaguely familiar. I knew I saw that face recently somewhere...

Before I could recall, the hubby's voice tugged me off my spaced-out state. "I'm ready to go.", he announced in his usual apathetic tone. For a birthday celebrant, he didn't seem eager for a shindig. And I couldn't blame him. Morocco's February climate can be a shocker for a tourist who just flew from a sunny country in the Southern Hemisphere, say, Brazil.

Hassan II Mosque, one of the world's largest mosques.
Hubby put on his hoodie (which he bought the night before after realizing that he lost the jacket we purchased from Mexico) with doubt written on his face. It wasn't enough to keep him warm. I on the other hand, stuffed the tot's essentials in a teeny backpack that our daughter got as present from the owners of a guesthouse we stayed at in Lima, Peru.

Within a few minutes, we descended to the lobby. The awesome receptionist who sawed our broken luggage lock (I don't know how the heck he had a small saw handy, but he saved our day!) handed us a photocopied city map. We mumbled both merci and shukran, unsure which language to use because Moroccans mostly speak French when addressing foreign travelers. The bellman opened the door for us, then it hit me... The bellman and the room service guy is the same person! He just changed uniforms. Man, talk about multitasking.

And its minaret, the tallest in the world.
Our prime destination didn't seem distant on the map, so hubby and I agreed on walking all the way there. We reached the Old Medina without getting lost, but struggled finding streets that lead to the mosque because most of them are unlabeled or named differently.

We asked fellow pedestrians for directions, and all of them advised us to get a taxi. It's either we wandered too far off, or simply because they think we're insane doing a long distance stroll with a toddler in tow - without a baby stroller. Whatever it was, we were finally convinced to flag down a cab.

The celebrant.
A grand taxi (an old Mercedes model turned into a taxi, shared by random passengers plying a common route - works like the Pinoy "FX") picked us up and drove us to Hassan II Mosque or Le Mosque as locals call it. The ride didn't take long, which proved us right. The mosque ain't far at all, we merely got steered off-course.

The nippy Atlantic Ocean breeze greeted us as we got out of the grand taxi. I crossed the street without a care. Entranced. Hassan II Mosque swept me off my feet.

Brilliant Moroccan art.
This grandiose mosque named after former Moroccan king Hassan II is definitely a looker, and one of the only two (at least for me) must-visit places in Casablanca. Thousands of local artisans were hired to work on the mosque, and what's even more impressive is that some part of it is atop the Atlantic Sea (it actually sits on reclaimed land). An idea inspired by a Qur'an verse which states that Allah's throne is built on water.

It is dazzling from afar, and more so up close. We didn't bother asking if we could get in, and just sat somewhere near the entrance where we watched worshippers shuffle to and fro. Luna on the other hand, busied herself mingling with local kids.

Stared at the mosque's ceilings and arches with ze mouth wide open.
The Muslim-born birthday boy, looked his happiest though he was uhm, freezing. It may have been a simple celebration, but we were in one of our fave regions on Earth.

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The Evolution Of A Pinay Travel Junkie

How long have you been around? Long enough to sniff that what's mostly penned here is about this awesome thing called world, and rarely about the deep sentiments of that Pinay travel junkie who inches her way around it? Perhaps you don't give a damn, and well, I don't either. But you see, 265 days into our round-the-world trip, I'm feeling rather nostalgic. Bordering emo. Recently, for four days we traipsed around quaint Moroccan desert towns - With no status updates. No Tweets. Just the barren expanse and our thoughts.

I felt pure mirth. And contentment.

"If evolution really works, how come mothers only have two hands?" ~ Milton Berle (Sahara Desert, Morocco)
"You're living THE life!", some people remarked on our social networking accounts. At least, an ideal life for a vagabond. Probably we really are, but I assure you we've earned it the hard way. Every phase of my earlier backpacking years led me to where I am now. All the travel mishaps and heartbreaks molded me into a tougher backpacker chick who's ready to take on the world.

Join me on my jaunt down memory lane and you'll see how.

Clueless

When I was in college, a nasty split made me sign up for the outdoor organization. It's something I was long deprived of, because the ex disapproved. Yes, back then I followed commands. But soon after I was unleashed from my longest exclusive-dating relationship ever, I followed my heart.

Doing the "connection cave" in Sagada about a decade ago. A joe hot on my trail. Must be those denim shorts.
With borrowed hiking sandals and a borrowed backpack (plus P1,500 in my pocket) I invited myself to their Sagada trip. They welcomed me with open arms, and introduced to me the muddy yet awesome world of trekking. I got acquainted with my adventurous side. Also, I garnered a new set of unpretentious pals... And a foreign admirer.

Dazed And Confused

It was sort of my rock n' roll era. I was in my early 20s, and the beach to me was synonymous to swimming in copious amounts of alcohol, not swimming in the sea. I used to visit party central Puerto Galera on every vacation leave, and sometimes even on an ordinary weekend.

A gazillion Mindoro Slings after, almost passing out on the sand. With strangers who became my friends, most of whom are now globe trotters too.
Evenings were spent bootyshakin' with trannies or skanking with dreadheads by the reggae bar. Or swaying to djembe beats in front of the bonfire. Whatever it was, sure as hell I'd end up heavily inebriated. I had ugly nightcaps that consisted of toilet hugs and/or bar fights. Don't get me wrong, I still consider those the good ol' untroubled days but I hated the feeling of emptiness I had every time I was home bound. I longed for... Cheesiness ahead... A more meaningful life.

Soul Searched

Like a junkie who submitted to rehab, I was admitted to a new outdoor group whose members were weekday yuppies and weekend nomads. All of whom, except one, I met for the first time on their Maricaban Island camping trip. I had a royal welcome, meaning, I was provided a tent just for myself.

Once more, I surrounded myself with people who sought refuge in the mountains and on remote beaches. Maricaban Island, Batangas.
I fell in love with nature more than ever. I reclaimed inner peace, which I kept in my grasp during trips thereafter. My unsatisfiable hunger for new experiences forced me out of my comfort zone, and I eventually morphed into the suicidal solo backpacker.

Room For Two

The solo backpacking period was short-lived for I found a possessive backpacking buddy. And this buddy became my fiance after he said yes to the theatrical marriage proposal I did on stage a now defunct famous reggae joint in the Philippines. That guy was the admirer who followed me around Sagada five years back (yep, that's why I'm covering that pretty face).

My fave hangout, park across Rijksmuseum.
I followed him to the Netherlands where he resides to meet his folks and see his world. It was my first time to travel overseas, and I experienced culture shock in a good way. The trip sparked my interest in visiting other foreign lands and immersing in different cultures. It also shattered my engagement into pieces.

Modern Day Hobo

I came. I saw. I conquered. I got broke.

Approaching my thirties, I was still working odd jobs, just long enough to fund the next trip within my home country. But when I craved for journeys to distant countries that require long-haul flights, I tried my luck being an overseas Filipino worker. It was the only way to finance my vice.

Abu Dhabi Heritage Village, making the most out of my one day per week off.
I worked as a receptionist for a hotel in U.A.E. and lived in a house with fellow Pinay workers. While I saved up my salary for the round-the-world trip I was planning that time, they sent most of theirs to families back home. I sent cash to my 'rents too, but not as much as they did. It was a humbling experience.

It was also in the desert that I met my sole mate. I gave romance on the road another try. We simultaneously quit our jobs to do backpacking together in Southeast Asia. Consequently I shelved my solo RTW plan.

That Excess Emotional Baggage

Within just nine months of dating, my sole mate proposed. We got hitched a little over three months of engagement, and I got knocked up just weeks into our married life. It was a darn frenetic year. And along the way, I realized my spirit was no longer free. Though it ain't chained either. More like, grounded.

Luna, our little globe crawler. It's her turn now. New South Wales, Australia.
Because I couldn't (and will never ever) give up backpacking, we traveled with our newborn in tow. But as you could imagine, our needs have evolved. There may be certain restrictions when traveling with a baby, but there are valuable lessons us parents learn as well during this process.

Freedom, turn here -> Travel (Walk this way and you'll never be the same again.)
Like selflessness. Let me tell you, the joy we see in our daughter's eyes is simply... As that credit card ad goes... Priceless. I am now a full-blown backpacking mum. And though I lost a part of my carefree self, I don't really mind. Because in retrospect, I lived and am still living an awesome life. Travel made me an accomplished person (at least to my standards) I never thought I'd become, and it taught me finally what a meaningful life is.



This is Pinay Travel Junkie's entry to the Pinoy Travel Bloggers' March 2012 Blog Carnival themed "Leap of Faith: When Travelling Changed My Life".

To be hosted by Reiza of Wander If You Must.



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