~ wander.essence ~

morocco: the ancient roman ruins at volubilis

wanderessence1025 January 28, 2020

It would be 3 1/2 hours to Volubilis on winding mountain roads through green fields and forests. I was surprised by all the green I was finding in Morocco. We stopped for one look back at Chefchaouen before we left the blue town behind.

farewell to Chefchaouen

We went through a poor area in a mountainous region with ramshackle dirty houses and a river snaking through the valley amidst piles of rubble and laundry hanging on rooftops. Towns were badly in need of fresh paint.

We stopped for a restroom break at a place with a swimming pool and dining tables set formally with tablecloths clustered around the pool.

The landscape flattened and eucalyptus trees lined the road under chilly gray skies. This was farmland with neat rows of crops – barley and chickpeas – and orange orchards; yellow flowers highlighted the fields. We passed a donkey pulling a cart, a flock of sheep and lambs, a shepherd wearing the djellaba. Cows grazed beside the road. I felt like I’d taken a trip back in time to a previous century. Orange groves and olive trees lined up neatly on the horizon. We stopped at a roadside stand for some oranges fresh off the trees.

a stop at the orange orchards

orange orchards

We arrived in Volubilis by noon. The site is a large expanse of Roman ruins in the middle of a fertile plain about 33km north of Meknès. It is the best preserved archeological site in Morocco, declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1997. Excavation is slowly ongoing, with only half the site excavated. It has an amazing number of mosaics preserved in situ.

Evidence has been found, such as Neolithic pottery, indicating that this area was settled as long ago as 3000 BC due to its fertile valley. Later it was settled by Phoenicians and subsequently by Carthaginian traders in the 3rd century B.C. One of the Roman Empire’s most remote outposts, it was annexed around 40 A.D. Up to 20,000 people lived here, planting wheat and deforesting massive swaths of land. The Romans abandoned it in 280. It then prospered under local rule as an Amazigh capital, and its population of Berbers, Greeks, Jews and Syrians spoke Latin until the arrival of Islam. Moulay Idriss founded a sanctuary here in the 8th century before moving the capital to Fès.

The Roman Empire

Volubilis and its fertile plains

Volubilis

Volubilis

Volubilis was inhabited until the 18th century when its marble and precious stone was plundered for Moulay Ismail’s palaces in Meknès. The buildings were finally destroyed in the Lisbon earthquake of 1755.

Volubilis

Volubilis

Volubilis

Volubilis

Volubilis

At Volubilis, olive groves and nearly 60 olive presses were found, indicating olive oil was the economic backbone of the settlement. A female skeleton was found facing Mecca, indicating she was Muslim.

Galen’s Baths was a Roman hammam with underfloor heating and communal toilets.

Galen’s Baths

public toilets at Volubilis

The Capitol from 218 was dedicated to the triad Jupiter, Juno and Minerva.

The Capitol

A Roman Basilica to the north had columns topped with storks’ nests. The original building was two stories tall. Local markets were held in the surrounding forum.

Roman Basilica

stork’s nest at the Roman Basilica

Roman Basilica

Roman Basilica

Roman Basilica

The marble triumphal arch, called the Arch of Caracalla, dated from 217 AD, was built to honor Emperor Caracalla and his powerful mother, Julia Domna.

Triumphal Arch

Volubilis

There are a number of houses with mosaics along the main thoroughfare and ceremonial road: Decumanus Maximus.

Decumanus Maximus

arches along Decumanus Maximus

Volubilis

The House of the Acrobat showed an athlete getting a trophy for a race in which he dismounted and jumped back on as the horse raced along.

House of the Acrobat

The House of Ephebe showed a man who seems to be fishing with a lot of text and graffiti in a jumble all around him.

House of Ephebe mosaic

The Orpheus mosaic showed Orpheus taming the animals with his music.

Orpheus Mosaic

Orpheus Mosaic

The House of Columns had columns around an interior court.

House of Columns

House of Columns

The House of the Knight had an incomplete mosaic of Bacchus and naked Ariadne.

Bacchus and naked Ariadne in the House of the Knight

The House of the Labors of Hercules had a circular mosaic showing the twelve labors.

House of the Labors of Hercules

In the House of Orpheus was a mosaic with nine dolphins.

House of Orpheus, Mosaic with Nine Dolphins

Another mosaic showcased sea creatures.

mosaic with sea creatures

mosaics near sea creatures

mosaic details

There was a lone cypress tree at the House of Venus, showing the rather erotic abduction of Hylas by the Nymphs and Diana Bathing, glimpsed by the hunter Acteon. She turned him into a stag as punishment. Sadly, I somehow missed these two most important mosaics in the entire complex!

We didn’t spend much time in the Interpretation Center, but I was caught by one mosaic: Mosaic of the Triton; its dolphins were a symbol of good fortune in Roman times.

Mosaic of the Triton

The Roman Empire

We stopped outside of Meknès for a lunch made by a women’s cooperative. It was a rather derelict building in a rural area with mangy dogs wandering around. The ladies there served up a cucumber tomato salad, a delicious aubergine, lentils, chicken roasted with a nice sauce and olives, oranges and mint tea for dessert.

chicken lunch in Meknès

woman in cooperative pouring mint tea in Meknès

I said “Dusharufna” (an archaic form of “pleased to meet you”) to our driver Saeed and he got a hoot out of that. He kept laughing and greeting me with a handshake and speaking to me in Arabic. It was funny when he laughed and smiled because he had braces, a mouth full of shiny metal.

As we drove the final half hour to Fès, Aziz told us that there are 35 CEOs with G Adventures in Morocco. He told us habibi means sweetheart, but could also mean best friends for men. I already knew about the “sweetheart” meaning, but not about the best friends between men.

We arrived in Fès around 5:00. After settling into our room at Hotel Mounia, Susan and I walked past the food stalls and street vendors selling socks, belts, electronics and juices. We walked down the wide avenue Hassan II, known by locals as the Camps d’Elysses. We stopped at a café where I had a small Flag beer and Susan had a coffee. Christian from Germany joined us for a beer as well.

It was a shame our hotel was in the new town, because it made it impossible to wander freely around the ancient medina of Fès.

After returning to the hotel, we met the group at 7:00 to go out for street food. We had Moroccan soup with chick peas along with various kebabs – heart & liver, chicken, beef. I only ate six kofta kebabs. While at dinner, Christian and I told Aziz we’d had a Flag beer at an outdoor cafe, and he argued that we couldn’t have done so because it’s illegal to drink in public in Morocco. However, we did it, openly and without problem, so he was wrong, yet he continued to argue that we couldn’t have done so!

We went back to Symphonique, the bar in the basement of the hotel, and had another Flag beer and smoked some apple tobacco shisha, which brought back memories of smoking shisha along the Nile in Egypt, but not nearly as nice. Chai, Gabe, Rene, Natalie, Christian and Susan were all there.

I finally started getting into my book, The Forgiven. It had been a slow read thus far, but I liked the writing.

*Steps 11,629, or 4.93 miles*

*Thursday, April 11, 2019*

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“PROSE” INVITATION: I invite you to write up to a post on your own blog about a recently visited particular destination (not journeys in general). Concentrate on any intention you set for your prose. One of my intentions was to write using my five senses, which I still struggle with, but tried to incorporate here.

It doesn’t matter whether you write fiction or non-fiction for this invitation. You can either set your own writing intentions, or use one of the prompts I’ve listed on this page: writing prompts: prose. (This page is a work in process.) You can also include photos, of course.

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, February 10 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, February 11, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

morocco: the blue-washed chefchaouen

wanderessence1025 January 26, 2020

Susan and I started our “free day” in the blue-washed Chefchaouen, originally known as Chaouen (“peaks”). It was once isolated and xenophobic; Christians were threatened with death if they entered. Occupied by Spanish troops in 1920, it remained so until independence in 1956. The pale blue wash introduced in the 1930s was supposedly to keep mosquitoes away. Previously windows and doors were painted in traditional Moroccan green. In 1975, the town was renamed Chefchaouen, or “look at the peaks.”

We walked around the red-walled kasbah, built in 1471. The kasbah is a heavily restored walled fortress with a lovely garden. Moulay Ali Ben Rachid built the fort in Chefchaouen as a defense against the Portuguese who had seized control of Tangier, Asilah, and other port towns. The town expanded with the arrival of Muslim and Jewish refugees from Granada in 1494.

kasbah in Chefchaouen

kasbah in Chefchaouen

kasbah in Chefchaouen

me at the kasbah

kasbah in Chefchaouen

We climbed up to the ramparts to gather in a view of Old Chefchaouen, including the plaza and the kasbah, as well as the surrounding countryside.

view of the countryside from the kasbah

view of Chefchaouen from the kasbah

view of Chefchaouen and the Rif Mountains from the kasbah

view of the countryside from the kasbah

view of kasbah in Chefchaouen from the kasbah

The kasbah houses a small Ethnography Museum which we briefly walked through.

Ethnography Museum

courtyard in the Ethnography Museum

Leaving the kasbah, we wandered past the Grand Mosque (Jamaa Kbeer), built by Moulay Mohamed, the son of Moulay Rachid, in 1560. Its unusual octagonal minaret, with its three tiers of blind arches wrapping around the tower, was built in the 18th century, inspired by the Torre de Oro in Seville.

Grand Mosque (Jamaa Kbeer)

We wandered through the lanes of the town, dipping into the enticing shops. I found a pair of turquoise cotton striped pants that were lightweight.

lanes of Chefchaouen

colorful dresses for sale

While we waited for a tailor to hem my pants, we had coffee at a small outdoor cafe in the cobblestoned Plaza Uta el-Hammam and watched the square as it filled with people.

Plaza Uta el-Hammam

Plaza Uta el-Hammam

The buildings of the medina were a fresh blinding blue or white, with terra-cotta tiled roofs adding a taste of Andalucia. Apparently the medina was recently repaired with Spanish funding. We wandered all around the town, looking at the goods for sale. I bought a small journal, a scarf, a pair of pink dangly earrings, a small canvas painting of blue steps with flower pots. Other goods included colorful paintings, leather goods, scarves, clothing, shoes, slippers, ceramics, Berber jackets, rugs, woven goods and tajines.

Chefchaouen

slippers for sale

A photographer was taking photos of a Chinese couple decked out in wedding attire in all the charming spots. I found so many charming scenes, although the morning shadows made the light challenging. Chinese tourists were in abundance.

Expo d’Art

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

We had a glimpse of the Spanish Mosque, where we would climb later in the afternoon.

Spanish Mosque

We continued our wanderings through the town and the ancient medina. We ran into Father Anthony having soup and mint tea in a hole-in-the-wall cafe. A true art lover, he had bought a boatload of goods that he said were excellent quality. Anthony is a 76-year-old bodybuilding Catholic priest who showed us last evening how he travels with a kind of mess kit that includes a chalice and other communion accoutrements. He carries two small bottles of airplane-sized wine that he will stretch out over a month of travels. He told me he was praying for my loved one and said he hoped I’d pray for him too even if I wasn’t religious.

We left Anthony and wandered some more until we stopped for lunch at a cafe on the plaza. I had an omelette and an avocado salad with a vegetable-rice mixture, accompanied with “gas” water.

Chefchaouen

kitten in Chefchaouen

Al Hamra Hotel

Chefchaouen

me in Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

medina of Chefchaouen

The medina here was one of the cleanest I have ever encountered in my travels.

Chefchaouen’s medina

Chefchaouen’s medina

Chefchaouen’s medina

tailor shop in Chefchaouen’s medina

dyes

Chefchaouen’s medina

dried figs

Chefchaouen

We returned to our hotel to drop some of our purchases. The Hotel Madrid had an old world lobby with red and white cushions on benches and stools and round painted tables.

lobby of Hotel Madrid

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

dyes in Chefchaouen

In the afternoon, we climbed a mountainside path to the so-called Spanish Mosque on a hilltop to the west of the medina. We walked by the Ras el-Ma waterfall where women in djellabas were wading and scrubbing their laundry.

The Spanish Mosque was built by the Spanish for the local population in the 1920s but was never used. From the path and the hilltop, we had great views of the blue town.

views of Chefchaouen from the path to the Spanish Mosque

views of Chefchaouen from the path to the Spanish Mosque

Spanish Mosque

little goat on the mountainside

views of Chefchaouen from the path to the Spanish Mosque

Spanish Mosque

views of Chefchaouen from the path to the Spanish Mosque

As we entered the town again, I was captivated by oranges bobbing in water-filled plastic tubs. The water continuously flowed from a hose into and out of the tub, creating a mini-waterfall.

Chefchaouen

Chefchaouen

We stopped at another cafe to use wi-fi. I had an orange juice with strawberries and Susan had a mint tea.

Grand Mosque (Jamaa Kbeer)

Hotel Madrid

Susan and I went to dinner at Casa Hassan. We sat next to a cozy fire crackling in a large cone-shaped fireplace. We shared a Moroccan soup of chick peas, vermicelli, lentils, and a bit of ground beef. We also had a vegetable pastilla (vegetable mix in phyllo) with rice and raisins. We shared a lemon tart for dessert, all for 65 dirhams (~ $7) each. It was delicious and the atmosphere was lovely.

Casa Hassan

It was very hard to read in bed with just an overhead light, but I read The Forgiven as long as I could before falling asleep. The next day we would leave early to go to Fez, with a stop at the Roman ruins of Volubilis.

*Steps: 16,490, or 6.99 miles*

*Wednesday, April 10, 2019*

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On Sundays, I post about hikes or walks that I have taken in my travels; I may also post on other unrelated subjects. I will use these posts to participate in Jo’s Monday Walks or any other challenges that catch my fancy.

This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: Sáo Bartholomeu de Messines.

anticipation & preparation: jordan in 2011

wanderessence1025 January 24, 2020

Tuesday, November 4, 2011 marked my first (un)official day of the holiday known in the Islamic world as Eid al-Adha. This “Festival of Sacrifice” is celebrated by Muslims the world over to commemorate Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son Ishmael in obedience to God. Lucky for Abraham, God intervened and provided his faithful servant with a ram to sacrifice instead of his son.

The real Eid al-Adha didn’t actually start for a couple more days. To be honest, I didn’t even know which day it officially started. However, on this Tuesday, we had drenching rain showers and flooding, so the University of Nizwa cancelled classes at 2:00 pm and, as a follow-up, in a stroke of generosity, cancelled classes for Wednesday as well. I was thrilled because it meant our Eid holiday began one day early.

I wasn’t expecting any substantial holiday so soon after arriving in Oman, but since it was handed to me, I had to take advantage. I immediately booked a trip to Jordan for only 6 days, because it was impossible to get reasonable flights going out on the first couple of days of the holiday. I would leave Saturday, November 5 and return on Friday morning, November 11.

The Dead Sea, Jordan

Uncharacteristically, I hardly planned anything for this trip. I had planned to bring my Lonely Planet Middle East guidebook, but after my suitcases were all packed for Oman, I weighed them and found them to be over the baggage limit. I frantically removed about 10 pounds out of each bag. One of the things I removed was that guidebook.

On my other travels, I had read extensively about my destination, both fiction and non-fiction, and had been enriched by that preparation. This time, it all came upon me too quickly. I’d done almost nothing to prepare for this trip except talk to one of my colleagues, Willem, who recommended every place in Petra where I’d be staying: The Rocky Mountain Hotel and the Seven Wonders Bedouin Camp. From the owners of the Seven Wonders Camp, I got the name of the Jordan Tower Hotel in Amman. Other than that, I had NO plans.

camels at Petra

I figured a near-spontaneous trip like this, without my regular Type-A planning, might throw me for a loop, knock me totally off-balance. It might teach me to loosen up a bit, go with the flow. No matter. It would certainly be another unforgettable experience to add to many such over the the past year and a half.

If I had read any books set in Jordan, I might have read some of these:

West of the Jordan by Laila Halaby (Kindle)
Live from Jordan: Letters Home from My Journey Through the Middle East by Benjamin Orbach (Kindle)
The Confusion of Languages by Siobhan Fallon
Seven Pillars of Wisdom by Thomas Edward Lawrence
Married to a Bedouin by Marguerite van Geldermalsen
Appointment with Death by Agatha Christie
Cities of Salt by Abdul Rahman Munif
Story of a City: A Childhood in Amman by Abdul Rahman Munif
Forbidden Love by Norma Khouri
The Language of Baklava by Diana Abu-Jaber
The Cry of the Dove by Fadia Faqir
Willow Trees Don’t Weep by Fadia Faqir
Staircase of a Thousand Steps by Masha Hamilton
Shepherd of Solitude: Selected Poems 1979-2004 by Amjad Nasser
Hero: The Life and Legend of Lawrence of Arabia by Michael Korda
Desert Skies, Rebel Souls by M P Tonnesen (also Egypt & Israel)

For more international books, see books | international a-z |.

The only movie set in Jordan that I saw before going was Captain Abu Raed, which was excellent. The others I might have watched had I had more time to prepare:

Lawrence of Arabia (1962-1963)
Saladin (1963)
Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)
Free Zone (2005)
Captain Abu Raed (2007) ****
Cherkess (2010)
When I Saw You (2012)
When Monaliza Smiled (2012)
May in the Summer (2013)
Theeb (2014)
From A to B (2015)
Queen of the Desert (2015)
The Rendezvous (2016)
17 (2017)

For more international movies, see movies | international a-z |.

Petra, Jordan

*November 5-11, 2011*

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“ANTICIPATION & PREPARATION” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about anticipation & preparation for a particular destination (not journeys in general). If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments. Include the link in the comments below by Thursday, February 27 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Friday, February 28, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the 4th Friday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂 If you’d like to read more about the topic, see: journeys: anticipation & preparation.

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read posts from our wandering community. I hope you’ll be inspired!

Mari, of Mari’s Travels with Her Camera, has written about how she prepared for travels in Thailand.
- Thailand: Anticipation and Preparations

Thanks to all of you who wrote posts about anticipation and preparation.

call to place: jordan in 2011

wanderessence1025 January 23, 2020

When I first arrived for my teaching job in Oman in September of 2011, I was determined to see as much of the region as possible during my time in the Middle East. My list included Jordan, Lebanon, Morocco, Egypt (again), UAE, Kuwait, and Qatar. I also would seek to travel to places easily accessible from Oman, such as Nepal, Sri Lanka and Ethiopia, places with direct flights from Muscat. As it turned out, I would never get to Lebanon due to unrest and travel warnings. While in Oman, I wouldn’t make it to Morocco, either, although I finally made it there in 2019. Neither did I make it to Kuwait, Qatar or Sri Lanka. And sadly, I didn’t make it back to Egypt.

the Monastery at Petra

Wadi Rum

Our first holiday, Eid al-Adha, was within a few months after I arrived in Oman in September, and I had determined that I would make a trip to Jordan. I was lured by photos I’d seen of the terra-cotta colored Petra ruins & the desert of Wadi Rum. I wanted to try floating in the Dead Sea. I was enticed to stay in a Bedouin Camp and visit the Roman ruins at Jerash. I had a few images in my mind of the city of Amman from a great movie I saw in the USA called Captain Abu Raed. My Jordanian friend Lina had already given me a feel for Jordanian hospitality and culture.

Jerash

Jerash

I would take off for my adventure to Jordan from November 5-11, 2011.

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“THE CALL TO PLACE” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about what enticed you to choose a particular destination. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments. If your destination is a place you love and keep returning to, feel free to write about that. If you want to see the original post about the subject, you can check it out here: imaginings: the call to place.

Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, February 26 at 1:00 p.m. EST. My next “call to place” post is scheduled to post on Thursday, February 27.

If you’d like, you can use the hashtag #wanderessence.

This will be an ongoing invitation, on the fourth Thursday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

ushering in november at meadowlark

wanderessence1025 January 19, 2020

I went for a walk through Meadowlark Botanical Gardens on the first of November, and I was surprised to find how vibrant and colorful it was. It was the perfect welcome to the month, full of promise. 🙂

autumns leaves

gazebo on the hill

gazebo on the hill

the hare at Toddler’s Tea Garden

ornamental grasses

Lake Gardiner

colors under the bridge

swirls of color

Trees along Lake Caroline

Gazebo at Lake Caroline

Korean Bell Garden

Korean Bell Garden

Korean Bell Garden

Korean Bell Garden

Korean Bell Garden

Korean Bell Garden

Historic Tree Grove

a sculpture at Meadowlark

Ramblin Robbie

Historic Log Cabin

delicate leaves

exuberance

towering pines

dried hydrangeas

a pop of red

*Steps: 9,954, or 4.22 miles*

*Friday, November 1, 2019*

morocco: casablanca to tangier to chefchaouen

wanderessence1025 January 16, 2020

On the first morning with our G Adventures group, we enjoyed an impressive breakfast spread at our Casablanca hotel: an omelet with peppers, tomato and white cheese, a slice of lemon cake, coffee and juice. We left in a spanking new van at 8:15 and headed north about 5 hours to Tangier. I sat beside Yulian, a 39-year-old Chinese-Canadian legal assistant who lived with her parents in Toronto. I was surprised to find out she grew up in Nanning, China, were I taught English for a year from 2014-2015.

The highway to Tangier was smooth and modern over a green but flat landscape. Many modern cars, Mecanes, VW Passats, Audis, Peugeots, Mercedes, Citroëns, BMWs, Nissan Jukes, and Dacia Dokkers (Moroccan cars made in Tangier) whizzed along the road, overshadowed by lumbering SUVs. Heavy gray clouds hung anchored in the sky while wispy ones drifted by. Patches of blue peeked out. Poppies dotted the green fields, along with derelict ruined homes with laundry hanging outdoors and satellite dishes on the roofs. Shantytowns sprawled over farm fields, goats nibbling on the grass.

We traversed the land over modern bridges. Palm trees surrounded a pink stucco house, and more pink stucco compounds followed. The sun shone in golden layers on the fields, and between neat rows of orchards. Garbage collectors worked along the highway in neon chartreuse vests, while birds soared over the fields. Black and white spotted cows munched on grass.

I had too much time on the drive to think and I worried about my loved one, who had quit work before Christmas, hadn’t been able to pay his rent, and had to move out of his brother’s house. We hadn’t heard anything from him in weeks. He had removed himself from all social media, and I felt sad and worried about him. The problems with him had been going on for so long. I felt disheartened that I couldn’t even escape for a holiday without his issues haunting me.

We crossed a huge suspension bridge with cables. The countryside was a glowing green, with valleys deepening and hills rising higher. Cows and sheep dotted the fields. Horses pulled flat carts loaded with families. A horse lay in the field beside two women picnicking under olive trees. Pale yellow flowering bushes bloomed amidst herds of sheep.

suspension bridge on the way from Casablanca to Tangier

We stopped for a bathroom break in a large village with a lot of unfinished buildings intermingled with finished apartments, reminding me of Cairo. A modern pedestrian bridge carried people across the highway. Lavender wildflowers blossomed in the median. The Asian ladies and the German Christian chattered in the van.

We passed a banana farm covered in plastic. Aziz told us they produce fruit for 3-4 years, then new plants are planted. He told us agriculture is 40% of the Moroccan budget. Most of the big farmers export their crops. In the south, three kinds of oranges are grown, as well as strawberries, broad beans (fava beans), maize, barley, wheat, lentils, chickpeas, and white haricots. Most lentils are imported from Canada. Hummus and schwarma are from Lebanon.

The second largest contributor to the Moroccan economy is phosphate. Morocco has 80% of the phosphate reserves for the world, used for fertilizer.

Tourism is third, and last are silver mines in the Anti-Atlas Mountains near the Sahara to the south. The Middle Atlas Mountains are near Fez and the High Atlas is the longest range, 700km from Algeria to the Atlantic. The highest mountain is Toubkal, at 13,000 feet. In the north are the Rif Mountains, from Tangier to the Algerian border. They are known for kif (cannabis). Aziz tells us there is no petrol or oil here. He said there are political problems in the Western Sahara.

We saw lavender and hot pink stucco houses, farmers burning brush in a field, smoke floating to the sky, horses pulling plows and hay carts, goats wandering on the dirt streets of a village, farmers irrigating fields with hoses.

A dead dog lay alongside the road. Terra cotta buildings were surrounded by cacti. A town stood on a hill, punctuated by a blue and white minaret. Laundry fluttered on rooftops.

Aziz told us Arabic is spoken in Tangier and Fez, while a Berber dialect, Tuareg, is spoken in Chefchaouen. French is the third language spoken. He said Morocco is made up of 60% Berbers and 40% Arabs. The Berbers are native people in North Africa, from Morocco, Mauritania, Mali, Algeria, and Tunisia.

Aziz put on some Arabic music and started singing away. We laughed at his antics. Out the window, camels stood in a wetlands area with the Rif Mountains behind. White apartment buildings gleamed beside the sea. We were entering Tangier.

Tangier stands at the entrance to the Mediterranean, marked by the Strait of Gibraltar. The city has been settled by the Carthaginians, the Phoenicians, and the Romans. Later, rule of the city was disputed by the Vandals, Visigoths and local Amazigh tribes. Then it was taken over by the Syria-based Umayyad empire, followed by the Almoravid empire, until finally the Portuguese took it over in 1471. Control of the city went back and forth between Portugal and Spain until 1662, when the city was given to England as a dowry for Catherine of Braganza’s marriage to Charles II. Only 22 years later, Britain gave up Tangier because it was too expensive to maintain, and it has been part of Morocco ever since.

After World War II, the city was an international zone that attracted many eccentric foreigners, artists, hippies, and spies. The city fell into neglect with the arrival of sleazy elements. Morocco gained independence in 1956, and now Tangier is more Moroccan, with influences from Spain and France.

Fatima hands on a wall in Tangier

Aziz handed us over to a local guide, Hamid, who led us to the Kasbah, the ancient fortification that once served as the city’s defenses and that towers over the Strait of Gibraltar. Hamid told us that Moroccans dream of emigrating and working in Europe. If they could swim, they’d all escape to Spain. It’s 12km from Morocco to Gibraltar.

The Kasbah looking over the Strait of Gibraltar

Tangier’s corniche

Tangier’s port

As we walked through the town, I got a text from my loved one, who has suffered numerous setbacks in his life resulting from bad decisions. He was in St. Louis, Missouri with a high school friend, and he said things were getting worse for him, he knew he chose this, but he just needed to send some words. I chatted with him for a while and then called my husband, asking him to reach out. He had no idea I was in Morocco because he hadn’t been in touch since he’d left his brother’s apartment, for nearly three weeks.

I was distraught and couldn’t concentrate on the tour. I tailed behind the group, barely keeping up. Like several times on the Camino, when his problems were in my face, the experience was ruined for me. Tangier went by in a blur. I felt hopeless that his problems would ever be sorted out.

We headed toward the Grand Socco, encountering a wedding in progress. I walked in a daze, preoccupied and unable to be present.

frames over frames

Pharmacie & café

Moroccan men in a wedding party

streets of Tangier

aqua dome on a mosque in Tangier

Herbal remedies

threads in a tailor shop

door in Tangier

balconies in Tangier

Tangier

fruits for sale

Tangier

The palm-ringed Grand Socco, or the main plaza, is the romantic entrance to the medina. It has a fountain, the keyhole gate Bab el-Fahs, and a large police station. At its southernmost edge is the roundabout, Place du 9 Avril 1947. The newly remodeled Cinema Rif is an arthouse cinema and cafe.

fountain at The Grand Socco

The Grand Socco

Cinema Rif

In the Mendoubia Gardens, we found a 750-year-old banyan tree, which is said to be the oldest tree in North Africa.

banyan tree in Mendoubia Gardens

Mendoubia Gardens

We passed through the Bab el-Fahs to stroll the famous Tangier medina, a labyrinth of alleyways inside the walls of the 15th-century Portuguese fortress. Locals still lived there, although it was partly touristed.

Grand Socco

Bank

Tangier medina

Tangier medina

carrots at the medina

Tangier medina

chickens in the medina

strawberries

fruit in the medina

yogurt

paintings in the Tangier medina

rugs in the medina

As we sat at a café waiting for our van to take us onward to Chefchaouen, I talked with Father Anthony about my loved one. He listened thoughtfully. Later, on the bus, he handed me his business card with this written on the back: “Cathy, suggest you text your son with something like: ‘Please be mindful that you are precious to us, and we love you deeply.'” I sent the text and heard back that it meant so much to him to know this and that he loved us too. I so appreciated Anthony’s words, which were so loving.

Leaving Tangier

We left Tangier around 5:00, climbing into the Rif Mountains on a curvy road. The mountains were beautiful as the sun was going down.

drive from Tangier to Chefchaouen

village on the way from from Tangier to Chefchaouen

drive from from Tangier to Chefchaouen

drive from from Tangier to Chefchaouen

drive from from Tangier to Chefchaouen

We arrived in Chefchaouen by 8:00, where we checked into the Hotel Madrid. We had only one plug in the room, so Aziz asked the hotel to give us a power strip.

our room at the Hotel Madrid

common room at Hotel Madrid

painting of Chefchaouen

fountain at Hotel Madrid

After settling in, we climbed upward into the town to a restaurant, Bab Sour, where I got a mango juice and a bowl of bean soup that was lukewarm, very thick, and not good. The others in the group ordered a huge multi-course meal with vegetables, beef, goat, lamb, and chicken. I didn’t have the appetite to eat that much food. Already the young foursome seemed to be congealing into a group, one of the things I hate about group tours – the clique-forming. Aziz thought I didn’t want to spend the money. He said, “It’s not about the money; it’s about the experience!” But for me, it wasn’t about the money or the experience. It was a matter of not wanting to eat all those different kinds of meat, not being much of a meat eater, and simply not wanted to stuff myself with so much food.

Bab Sour

As I learned on the Camino, just because you’re traveling doesn’t mean you can leave yourself or your problems behind. You and your problems come along wherever you go. My loved one hadn’t been heard from in three weeks, and then he chose to contact me while I was in Africa, having no idea I was there. Our connections remained, our lives still went on, whether we were home or elsewhere.

The next day, we wouldn’t travel but would have a free day in Chefchaouen. I looked forward to exploring the blue city.

*Steps, 8,940, or 3.79 miles*

*Tuesday, April 9, 2019*

*********************

“PHOTOGRAPHY” INVITATION: I invite you to create a photography intention and then create a blog post for a place you have visited. Alternately, you can post a thematic post about a place, photos of whatever you discovered that set your heart afire. You can also do a thematic post of something you have found throughout all your travels: churches, doors, people reading, people hiking, mountains, patterns, all black & white, whatever!

I had a number of intentions for my photography in Morocco, but in this case, I simply tried to capture details that revealed the essence of Tangier. I was weighed down by family problems, but this is what captured my eye in my distracted state.

You probably have your own ideas about this, but in case you’d like some ideas, you can visit my page: photography inspiration.

I challenge you to post no more than 20-25 photos (I have a LOT more here!) and to write less than 1,500 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself. Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, January 29 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, January 30, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, every first, second, and third (& 5th, if there is one) Thursday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I promise, you’ll be inspired!

Jo, of Restless Jo, captured the liveliness and vitality of a medieval fair in Paderne, Portugal.
- Jo’s Monday Walk: Paderne Medieval Fair

Thanks to all of you who shared posts on the “photography” invitation.

on journey: virginia to cincinnati on a “road trip to nowhere”

wanderessence1025 January 15, 2020

As I started my “Road Trip to Nowhere” on a Sunday morning in September, the sun peeked out from a wispy sky and “Time After Time” played from my Spotify playlist. I had 540 miles ahead of me.

Passing Butler’s Orchard in Maryland, I remembered outings to pick pumpkins and ride a hay wagon with our neighbors Ed and Julie, back in the day when the kids were toddlers. They had two little girls, close in age to our two boys; all were best of friends.

The road always brings strange visions, odd bits of songs, and long-buried memories. Bruce Springsteen sang about a freight train running through the middle of his head, and a sign said “Dump Truck Drivers Needed.” The Toyota RAV took me under a gray flannel sky, between rolling hills and green pastures bordered by forests. At South Mountain, raindrops gently dotted the windshield, kudzu ran rampant along the roads, and web worms had woven white nets into the trees. Red barns nestled in farmland and Beaver Creek Antiques preceded Sharpsburg and Antietam Battlefield.

journal September 1, 2019

Soon, I was rushing headlong down a hill with runaway truck ramps offering escape from malfunctioning brakes. I listened to Gordon Hempton, an acoustic ecologist, on the On Being podcast. “Silence is an endangered species,” he noted, and added that eyelids evolved on humans but not ear lids; it is too dangerous for sound to be muted. He said the sound from grasses varies depending on the size of blades and that “earth is a solar powered jukebox.” He threw out other nuggets of wisdom about silence:

“If we let silence exist, it feeds our soul.”
“Silence is like a blank page to a writer – anything can happen.”
“The quiet place is the think tank of the soul.”

The sound of the wheels on pavement and the music on my playlist made silence elusive. Instead a “Ministry of Encouragement” was on offer at a church in western Maryland; another place of worship was called God’s Ark of Safety Church. Just past Cumberland a sign warned: “Maryland Wildlife: Watch for it! Stay Alert.”

Then I was barreling through a full-on downpour as I passed a white barn with a pine-tree quilt pattern on the end, and soon, I hit the Eastern Continental Divide at 2,610 feet. I climbed higher, topping off at Meadow Mountain (2,780 feet). As I descended into a valley, mist swirled through trees and goldenrod glowed through dense fog. After passing Deep Creek Lake, a place we’d visited as a family, I finally glimpsed blue skies as I drove into West Virginia: Wild & Wonderful.

West Virginia is nothing if not mountainous, so more runaway truck ramps branched off the highway. The state has places such as Cheat Lake, and eateries with names like Apple Annie’s Bakery, Brake 4 Chikin, and Smokin’ Jacks. I considered stopping for some liposuction at Tuscan Sun Spa, but I wouldn’t give West Virginia any business unless my life depended on it. After all, state residents continue to be big Trump supporters. On a concrete wall was a painted U.S flag: “God Bless America – United We Stand,” sounding a bit too much like a MAGA slogan. I soon crossed into Ohio, which wasn’t much better, with a huge industrial plant belching smoke near the border. A sign warned of “Drug Activity: Impaired Drivers,” alerting me to watch my back.

A big billboard put out recruiting tentacles for the armed forces. Many of the places I would visit on this trip recruited heavily for military service; it offered a way out of dead-end lives and poverty. The billboard said: “For Marines There Are Only Battles Won.” Hmm. That wasn’t really the truth, was it, as our armed forces likely lost as many battles as they won.

At the Diamond Stone Company, a man with no shirt loitered, smoking a cigarette over his huge sagging pot belly. I drove past Raccoon Creek Outfitters and the Cavalry Assembly of God.

Before I knew it, I was in Chillicothe, at the Hopewell Culture National Historical Park. There were several sites to the park along the Scioto River, so I started at the Mound City Group. This prehistoric ceremonial and burial ground is the only fully restored Hopewell site. Its walls enclose at least two dozen mounds in an area larger than ten football fields.

The monumental structures found here were built by Native Americans nearly 2,000 years ago. Hopewellian people gathered at these earthworks for feasts, funerals and rites of passage such as marriages, competitions, and mound construction. As many as one hundred cremated remains were found at Mound City.

There’s no evidence that people lived within the enclosure full time. No more than three Hopewell homes have ever been discovered in one place, so they may have lived in extended family units scattered along the waterways. Even with this simple social organization, the Hopewell people created immense public works requiring complicated engineering.

This culture seemed to unify around 1) building earthworks in geometric patterns and 2) manufacturing finely crafted objects made from exotic materials such as copper, mica, and marine shell gathered from distant lands. “Hopewell culture” describes the range of shared beliefs, practices and symbolism that flourished from about 100 B.C. to 400 A.D.

Hopewell Culture National Historic Park

Watching a twenty-minute film at the park, I learned that the Hopewell people built geometrical ceremonial or burial mounds in the valley around Chillicothe, Ohio from about 200 B.C. to 400 A.D. These mounds are spread over several sites but have similar shapes at each site: a large circle, a square, and a smaller circle. All small circles at all sites have the same diameter. The squares in all sites have the same length sides and contain 27 acres. The squares fit perfectly within the larger circles. No one knows the reasons for these dimensions. This kind of mathematical exactitude reminds me of places I visited last May in the Four Corners area, such as Chaco Canyon.

the burial mound layout

In 1920, archeologists uncovered cremated remains of 20 burials, some on raised platforms with an array of unusual objects. One rectangular grave was covered with sheets of mica, an exotic mineral not found in Ohio. The mica was mined in North Carolina and brought here perhaps as gifts or offerings, indicating an extensive trade network. The Hopewell prized mica, and often made mirrors or decorative cutouts from this transparent-to-opaque material. It seems likely the people buried here were important people possibly brought from far away to be ceremonially cremated and laid to rest.

Mica Splendor

Tools and ornaments used for these occasions were made from materials obtained in trade: copper and silver from near the Great Lakes, obsidian from present-day Yellowstone National Park, sharks’ teeth and seashells from the Atlantic Ocean and Gulf of Mexico, and mica from the southern Appalachian mountains. These raw materials were fashioned by artisans into fine objects, which surfaced from under the mounds.

Hopewell Culture National Historic Park

Like all other Hopewell sites, the burial mounds had been covered in forest, and then had been plowed under for agriculture. When Camp Sherman, a huge World War I infantry training facility, was built here, the land was further leveled. Luckily the burial complexes extended underground so archeologists were still able to excavate them.

Hopewell Culture National Historic Park

Hopewell Culture National Historic Park

Hopewell Culture National Historic Park

Excavations at the sites indicate that Hopewell people hunted, fished and gathered wild foods, supplementing their diet with cultivated food. Deep storage pits, earth ovens, and shallow basins were often found outside the structure, likely used for food processing.

Hopewell Culture National Historic Park

Hopewell Culture National Historic Park

Hopewell Culture National Historic Park

Mound 8 held nearly 200 pipes – mostly broken – carved from stone, detailing human heads and indigenous animals. These pipes showcased Hopewell hairstyles, headdresses, and facial tattooing. The pipes were probably used in rituals, where leaders smoked potent native tobaccos. Ceremonial leaders might have invoked the effigy’s spirit for protection or aid.

Effigy Pipes

About 1,500 years ago, the Hopewell way of life had come to an end for unknown reasons.

Hopewell Culture National Historic Park

President Warren G. Harding declared the site “Mound City Group National Monument” in 1923. In 1992, four more of Chillicothe’s earthwork sites were added and the name of the park was changed to Hopewell Culture National Historical Park.

Hopewell Culture National Historic Park

A thunderstorm gathered as I wandered around the grounds, and I just made it for cover. After exploring the museum, I drove to the Hopewell Mound Group. This site includes about three miles of earthen embankments, at least 40 mounds, including the largest known Hopewell mound, and two smaller interior earthworks. Archeologists named the entire culture after this site, the largest Hopewell earthwork ever constructed. The site’s and the culture’s name was taken from property’s owner in the 1890s, Mordecai Cloud Hopewell.

By the time I arrived, the storm was in full force, so I sat in the car waiting for the deluge to pass. Finally, I walked out to an overlook but only found hay bales and farmland, but no mounds. The grass was soaked, so I didn’t venture into the field. Lightning was striking in the surrounding fields, so I left the area to continue my drive to Cincinnati.

Hopewell Culture National Historic Park

Back on the road, I followed 35W through cornfields under gray low-ceiling clouds. From the soaked woolen skies came jagged lightning strikes, sometimes double or triple simultaneous strikes. I finally made it to I-71 S, past congregations of silos huddling together, held close by steel arms.

It was strange that on the right side of the highway, what my sister calls “God light” beamed from behind clouds, while on the left, the clouds drenched the land with heavy rain.

Cancellation stamp for Hopewell Culture NHP

strange skies on the road

I was soon driving past the Fort Ancient American Indian Museum 30 miles north of Cincinnati, while Weezer sang “Island in the Sun.” I whizzed past Little Miami State and the National Scenic River, and before long I was at the Kingsgate Hotel and Conference Center at the University of Cincinnati.

I checked in and went straight out for dinner to Cactus Pear, where I had three shrimp tacos, terrible rice, and a delicious cucumber margarita in a very weird atmosphere.

shrimp tacos at Cactus Pear in Cincinnati

The following day would entail a shorter driving day, only 335.8 miles, as I planned to visit two sites.

*Day 1: Sunday, September 1, 2019*

Driving distance: 540 miles. Steps: 4,420, or 1.87 miles.

(Information about Hopewell Culture is from National Park brochures, the museum and film, and the various signs placed around the park.)

**********************

“ON JOURNEY” INVITATION: I invite you to write a post on your own blog about the journey itself for a recently visited specific destination. You could write about the journey you hope to take in the year ahead. If you don’t have a blog, I invite you to write in the comments.

Include the link in the comments below by Tuesday, February 18 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Wednesday, February 19, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, once on the third Wednesday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

the ~ wander.essence ~ community

I invite you all to settle in and read a few posts from our wandering community. I hope you’ll be inspired. 🙂

Sheetal, of sheetalbravon, wrote a post about being sleepless in Stockholm.
- Sleepless in Stockholm

Many thanks to all of you who wrote posts about the journey. I’m inspired by all of you!

farewell to casablanca’s satellite dishes & hello to fellow travelers

wanderessence1025 January 14, 2020

This morning, we said goodbye to the satellite dishes of Casablanca. It didn’t mean we were leaving Casablanca yet; it simply meant we were moving out of our Airbnb with its 7th floor patio and moving to the hotel where we’d meet our G Adventures group. We moved out after eating breakfast at our go-to breakfast spot, Café de France.

satellite dishes of Casablanca

our Airbnb patio

We took a white taxi to Moroccan House Hotel Casablanca on Rue Mohamed SMIHA, where we were lucky enough to be able to check in right away. Susan gathered some laundry and turned it over to the concierge. The hotel was a bit over-the-top, with its frilly canopied bed, its two beds with brightly painted headboards, and paintings of harem girls playing tambourines for a belly dancer.

Moroccan House Hotel Casablanca

lobby of Moroccan House Hotel Casablanca

our room at Moroccan House Hotel Casablanca

me in our room at Moroccan House Hotel Casablanca

From our new hotel, we walked around Marché Central, an arcaded and walled market with fruit, flower, fish and meat vendors, and seafood cafés.

flowers in Marché

a very old newspaper on a wall in Marché

We wandered by and through the modern Casa Port train station, with its shops and eateries.

Casa Port train station

Casa Port train station

wall mural near Casa Port train station

Casa Port train station

From there we wandered aimlessly around the Ancienne Medina, mainly looking at bags, lanterns, magnets and scarves. I loved the paintings but didn’t know how I’d lug them all over Morocco and then Italy. I bought two scarves, so the madness was already beginning!

We returned to our dinner place from the night before, Casa José, where we shared an avocado & shrimp salad and some mushroom & ham croquettes. Stomachs full, we wandered more through the medina, admiring tiles, minarets, doors and windows. We heard some yelling and saw a brawl brewing between light and dark-skinned Moroccans. A woman was swinging an umbrella as a crowd gathered. Susan and I got the heck out of there.

Ancienne Medina

Ancienne Medina

Ancienne Medina

Ancienne Medina

Ancienne Medina

hair salon in Ancienne Medina

door in Ancienne Medina

We ended up back in the area we’d walked two days prior, near the Rialto Theater, and situated ourselves under an awning at a café directly across from it. We watched a mini-drama unfold as someone valet-parking cars created a huge honking traffic jam. We sat for a long time, whiling the time away, sipping a sparkling water and reading torn-out Lonely Planet guidebook pages about Tangier.

Rialto Theater

near the Rialto Theater

me at a cafe across from the Rialto Theater

Back at the hotel, we met Aziz, a Berber, who would be our CEO (Chief Experience Officer) for the 14-day trip through Morocco. He announced to us that he was single and available. We had 14 people altogether:

Me – from northern Virginia, USA.
Susan – from Maryland, USA.
Christian – from Germany.
Natalie (39) – from Australia, worked in London.
Father Anthony – a 76-year-old bodybuilding Australian priest who mostly worked in academia and economics.
Edward – one-half of a married couple from British Columbia. He was director of a school in UAE for 12 years; he also worked in Nanjing, China for a while, and Turkey as well.
Elizabeth – the other half of the married couple. She worked with orphans and was a physical therapist.
Tienchai, who goes by “Chai,” a pediatrician from Bangkok.
René – a dentist from Vancouver (half of a married couple).
Gabriel – American, and the other half of the Vancouver couple. He worked at the Center for Disease Control in infectious diseases.
Theresa from near Beijing, China. She didn’t speak much English.
Tammy, a Chinese-Canadian woman from Toronto.
Yulian (39), a Chinese-Canadian woman from Toronto. She worked as a legal assistant and lived with her parents. She was originally from Nanning, China, where I spent a year teaching English from 2014-2015.
Sue, a Chinese-Canadian woman from Toronto.

The last four women belonged to a travel club in Toronto that put people together to travel.

René and Gabriel seemed friendly and talkative. Gabriel applied for Canadian citizenship as soon as Trump was elected. He’d lived in Canada for twelve years already, and was debating whether he should renounce his American citizenship. Once you renounce it, apparently you can never get it back. This was the fourth G Adventures tour for René and Gabriel, (they’d been to Sri Lanka and the Maldives, Jordan, and on a short trip to Hanoi and Halong Bay) and for Christian. Chai had been with G Adventures to Egypt and was booked for another trip as well.

Most of us, except Chai and the four Asian ladies (who had a reservation at Rick’s Café) ate dinner at a cool restaurant where we sat on cushioned seats around brass tables. I ordered Kofta tajine (meatballs with carrots and potatoes in a hot terra cotta dish). It was good but made my stomach rumble a bit. No alcohol was served. It was a good time to get to know our fellow travelers.

Gabriel, René, me, Natalie, Christian, Susan, Edward, Elizabeth, and Father Anthony

Kofta tajine

our restaurant

the restaurant

The following day, our tour would take us 4 1/2-5 hours to Tangier, where we’d spend a couple of hours in Tangier’s medina. Then we’d drive two hours further to Chefchaouen.

*Steps: 15,130, or 6.49 miles*

*Monday, April 8, 2019*

**********************

Include the link in the comments below by Monday, January 27 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this invitation on Tuesday, January 28, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

celebrating a birthday at mary’s rock

wanderessence1025 January 12, 2020

Mike took the day off from work on my 64th birthday, and we ventured to the Shenandoah Mountains at the height of the fall’s colors. Usually it’s too crowded to visit the Skyline Drive on weekends in autumn, so I was pleased he was able to get off work so we could hike up to Mary’s Rock.

We drove into Shenandoah National Park and headed for milepost 33.5 at the Meadow Spring parking area. We found a brilliant red tree in the parking lot, then we crossed the road to pick up the trail. It was a relentless uphill climb until the Meadow Spring Trail intersected with the Appalachian Trail. We veered right onto the Appalachian Trail and followed it to the next trailpost, where we turned left to see the views at Mary’s Rock. Once we reached the summit, we retraced our steps back to Meadow Spring.

the brilliance of fall at Meadow Spring parking lot

Meadow Spring Trail

ferns on the Meadow Spring Trail

Meadow Spring Trail

I always love the moss, ferns, and fallen leaves on Virginia’s mountain trails.

moss along the Meadow Spring Trail

leaves on the Meadow Spring Trail

Meadow Spring Trail

more moss and leaves

strange shaped log

ferns on Meadow Spring Trail

me with a fan of leaves

Mike on Meadow Spring Trail

an array of leaves and ferns

along the Appalachian Trail

along the Appalachian

Mary’s Rock is a 3,514-foot (1,071 m) tall mountain and is the eighth highest peak in Shenandoah National Park. The summit of the rock offers views of the northern section of Shenandoah National Park and Page Valley.

view of the Valley from Mary’s Rock

view from Mary’s Rock

Mike at Mary’s Rock

me at Mary’s Rock

After admiring the views from the summit, we got back on the Appalachian Trail and began our descent.

descending the Appalachian Trail

back in the parking lot with our brilliant tree

We drove north along Skyline drive, stopping at various overlooks along the way.

overlook along the Skyline Drive

overlook along the Skyline Drive

overlook along the Skyline Drive

overlook along the Skyline Drive

Leaving Shenandoah National Park, we drove to a lunch spot we’d never tried before, where we scarfed down some delicious chili dogs with cheese fries, promptly undoing any health benefits we’d achieved on the hike.

Burgers “N” Things

Then we stopped at a farm market to pick up some apples, apple cider and honey.

farm stand

apples

jars of Shawnee Apple Butter

local honey

The next night, Mike arranged for our friends Michael and Karen to meet us at Nostos for a Greek dinner. Karen gave me a beautiful Italian leather journal and an Italian pen. We enjoyed wine and great camaraderie, as always, topping off yet another year in my meandering life. 🙂

going out for dinner

Karen, me, Mike and Michael at Nostos

*11,709 steps, or 4.96 miles*

*Hike Friday, October 25 / dinner Saturday, October 26, 2019*

**************

This post is in response to Jo’s Monday Walk: Fuseta to Olháo.

visiting a world of pastels in washington

wanderessence1025 January 9, 2020

In mid-October, we ventured into Washington, D.C. to see the exhibit “The Touch of Color: Pastels at the National Gallery of Art.” The exhibit will be at the gallery until January 26, 2020.

First used during the Renaissance, pastels are manufactured from a balanced mix of pigment, a filler such as chalk or clay, and a binder; they are then are shaped into sticks and dried. Artists like the medium because it is simple; the artist applies line and color with a single stroke of a stick. Because the texture is soft and crumbly, the line can be left intact or smudged with a finger or a roll of leather or paper.

Before pastels, artists used chalks in various colors, but they were limited by the colors that came out of the earth. Early in the 18th century, Venetian pastelist Rosalba Carriera popularized pastel “painting,” or working on paper mounted on canvas and completely covering the surface with an opaque layer of pastel that imitated the effect of oil painting. French pastel artists were admired for their ability to imitate textures ranging from flawless skin to luxurious fabrics. Most pastel paintings in the 18th century were portraits; because of the quick drying time, sittings could progress rapidly. Artists admired pastels’ ability to capture fleeting expressions on the human face, or in landscapes.

A box of pastels was also very portable, giving the artist mobility.

pastels

Different types of pastels were sold in the 19th century – soft pastels suitable for blending, hard pastels for drawing fine details, and large conical sticks for coloring large areas. A range of papers was available, some coated with sawdust, grit or textile fibers.

tools of the trade

pastels

Pastels are known for their brilliant colors and delicate, velvety texture and have proven to be a versatile material in the art world. Artists have used it in many ways, from glowing portraits in the 18th century and shimmering landscapes of the impressionists to the abstract compositions of the 20th century. Interestingly enough, they have changed little in centuries of use. They can be used wet or dry, and are also considered very fragile, as the powdery medium doesn’t adhere well to paper or canvas.

Taking a walk through the exhibit, I found many pieces that caught my eye. Apparently most of these are from the Gallery’s huge permanent collection, which curators have studied to create a history of this medium.

The Mocking of Christ by Jacopo Bassano (1568)

Hunting Trophy with Mallard, Partridge, Goldfinches, and Onions by Antoine Berjon (c. 1810)

The Well-Loved Mother by Jean-Baptiste (1765)

A Meadow at Sunset by Paul Huet (c. 1845)

As pastelist Rosalba Carriera rose to celebrity status in the early 18th century, pastel became considered an appropriate medium for women. It was cleaner and simpler than painting in oils, and it was more easily interrupted and resumed, allowing women to tend to housework and children. It was considered an acceptable “ladylike” medium for amateurs.

Mary Cassatt came upon some pastels by Edgar Degas. Seeing them changed the direction of her work and inspired her to turn to impressionism. She collaborated with Degas for over a decade, and they shared many of the same techniques.

The Black Hat by Mary Cassatt (c. 1890)

Reclining Nude by Paul Gauguin (1894-1895)

One of the most creative pastel artists was Edgar Degas, who experimented with the medium for decades.

Two Women by Edgar Degas (c. 1878-1880)

Ballet Dancers by Edgar Degas (c. 1877)

The Ballet by Edgar Degas (c. 1880)

Café-Concert by Edgar Degas (1876-1877)

The Palace; white and pink by James McNeill Whistler (1879-1880)

The Church of San Giorgio Maggiore by James McNeill Whistler (1880)

The “painting” below was the highlight of the exhibit, in my opinion. It was also on the cover of the exhibit brochure.

Study of Flesh Color and Gold by William Merritt Chase (1888)

A Dock Harmony – Fishing Boats by Charles Fromuth (1897)

Breach by G. Daniel Massad (2009)

Fifth Avenue Bus, 23rd Street and Broadway by Everett Shinn (1914)

Grocery-wrapped Pears by Janet Fish (1974)

Pastels by Henri Matisse are rare, as he experimented with them for only brief periods.

Woman with an Exotic Plant by Henri Matisse (c. 1925)

Wildflowers by Odilon Redon (c. 1905)

Breadline by George Luks (1900)

I was amazed by the detail on the lace cap in the painting below by Pietro Rotari.

An Elegant Young Lady with a Lace Cap by Pietro Rotari (1750/1756)

Portrait of a Lady by Neroccio de’ Landi

I am fascinated by the different mediums artists use to create, and though I hope this year to keep my focus on watercolor, pastels may be a medium to try in the future. 🙂

(Information presented above is from a brochure from the exhibit, as well as informative signs throughout.)

*Saturday, October 19, 2019*

*********************

I am went to an exhibit about Pastels at the National Art Gallery in D.C. this past fall, and as I’ve started becoming interested in different mediums for art, I thought I’d assemble some of the greats here.

You probably have your own ideas about this, but in case you’d like some ideas, you can visit my page: photography inspiration.

I challenge you to post no more than 20-25 photos (I have more here!) and to write less than 1,500 words about any travel-related photography intention you set for yourself. Include the link in the comments below by Wednesday, January 15 at 1:00 p.m. EST. When I write my post in response to this challenge on Thursday, January 16, I’ll include your links in that post.

This will be an ongoing invitation, every first, second, and third (& 5th, if there is one) Thursday of each month. Feel free to jump in at any time. 🙂

I hope you’ll join in our community. I look forward to reading your posts!

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