On the Road Again: Marrakech to Fes for a Wedding Reception (or: Hangin' with the Hajji)

The drive to Marrakech to meet Alan’s 3:30 plane started off with a rush. We had no alarm clock in the apartment so tried to rely on open windows for the dawn’s first light to wake up, with limited success. Our goal was to be on the road by 7 am allowing for traffic on the 8 hour drive. The main road south is a two-laner with lots of villages and towns to slow down for along the way, not including other traffic – often heavily laden truck traffic which can be time-consuming to pass depending on oncoming traffic. Also, because it was Friday, weekend markets were in preparation mode, and traffic was going to be a bit heavier than during regular weekdays. We managed to wake up, shower, packup, and do a quick apartment cleaning in 15 minutes, and were just opening the door as Sayeed arrived.

The first few hours of the drive were relatively comfortable – cool morning temperatures in the mountains were well appreciated, knowing that we were soon to be driving in the plains toward Marrakech where the temps were in the triple-digits (Farenheit). Also, Sayeed’s car does not have air conditioning. It’s a Puegot hatchback. So, Tony and I took turns on who would ride in the back seats. With both driver windows down, the bulk force (and grit) of the air focuses on the rider in the back seat. If you’ve ever ridden in the back of a pickup truck at high speeds, and felt the wind force itself in through your nostrils, you know what this is like. As we headed further south, unfortunately, this wind became hotter and hotter. Whoever was in the backseat did little to no talking – the air would force its way into the speaker’s mouth and leave them instantly parched.

We did manage to take some breaks along the way for snacks, drinks, and once along the large dammed lake in the center of the country that supplies irrigation to what would otherwise be desertified, unarable land. That land, while red and sandy and dusty and hot, is still managed to cultivate fields of olive trees, argan trees, corn, beans, chickpeas, grapes, date farms (palmerias), orage apple and cherry groves, etc. In the spring it must look like a carpet of variegated greens.

We made it to Marrakech just after 3 pm, and waited for Alan’s arrival. There were 3 or 4 flights landing at that time so it took a while for him to clear customs, but when he did, he got a warm group welcome – even though Tony, Sayeed, and I were completely burned out by this time.

We headed into town to figure out what we were going to do for the night. After having a few beers to cool off and unwind, we met another friend of Sayeed’s, also a samsar, who showed us a cream-of-the-crop apartment in the ville nouvelle (new section) of the city. It was beautifully furnished, and had some very nice artwork. It was also walking distance from the Djma-al-Fnaa, the main square in Marrakech, where caravans of old used to stop to sell their wares and rest after crossing the Sahara. Today it is a Unesco World Heritage site. The medina backs right up onto the plaza, and from there you can wander into snaking alleyways selling everything from extracted teeth to herbal cures for witchraft curses. The main square is filled by day with various vendors, my favorite of which are the orange juice vendors. For the equivalent of about 25 cents (up 5 cents from 8 years ago), you can order a fresh-squeezed-as-you-order glass of orange juice. At night, the plaza fills with acrobats, performers, snake charmers, and my very favorite, the story tellers.

In this day and age where every rooftop seems to have a satellite dish, and even the most remote households are somehow ‘plugged in’, I love that the storytellers get such large audiences in the plaza. The stories they tell are millennium old, and spoken in Arabic, with lots of fanciful gesturing. Even without understanding the language, it is a performance not to be missed. The largest groups of spectators gather around the story tellers, after which a hat or bowl is passed to collect contributions.

Unfortunately, on this night, probably due to my not eating during the day (while roasting), I had developed a pretty bad migraine. So, Tony and Sayeed took Alan out for the night to a somewhat touristy restaurant that also includes belly dancing and other performance art, along with very good traditional food. It was a good introduction to Morocco for Alan’s first visit. The next day, we started our long drive back to Fes to attend Mohammed’s sister’s wedding reception.

Alan, Sayeed, young musician, and Tony - dancing a jig at the Dammed Lake in the Middle of Morocco.

Because of weekend traffic, driving back took us almost 12 hours, so we didn’t arrive at Mohammed’s place until about 11 pm. After having been in a pretty warm windy car all day. I can’t say that we were on our best appearances. At any rate, the family welcomed us in with open arms.

On a side note – I’ve been invited into several Moroccan homes in the past, but have always been treated like, and with, the men; not like a visiting woman. Typically the woman’s domain in the home is the kitchen or the rooftops, and I suppose it’s nice not to have been subjugated to those realms in the past, but I have often missed out on interacting with other Moroccan women because of this. Not so with Mohammed’s family. His sisters speak some English, and immediately his younger sister Asmet (who was dressed, literally, like a fairy princess) took me by the hand and led me into the salon – filled with women. There was one other westerner there, a co-worker of Mohammed’s from New York. All of the women, except the bride, were older than me, and were involved in discussions that I would have felt intrusive joining. Especially since I don’t speak Arabic. So, Asmet, who probably was anxious to have someone to play with, tried to teach me to dance.

She was like a little ballerina, Moroccan-style – meaning she was doing early belly-dancing and berber dance moves, complete with intricate finger movements, facial and even eye expressions. The whole room got a kick of me trying to learn from (by mimicking) a 10-year old who was very clearly much more skilled than I. Then some Berber music played – which by now I’ve come to recognize. So I tried to apply some of the moves I saw the Berber dancers doing in Iframe a few nights before, and this got applause from some of the older Berber ladies in the room. Berber music is often accompanied by a very syncopatic, loud clapping that is done with both thumbs pointed straight up. The ladies started clapping – louder, faster, and Asmet and I had a hard time keeping up, before falling onto the couch in fits of laughter. I’m sure the other women were thinking “what crazy foreign fool is this”….but I was having fun, and so was Asmet, so that was OK.

Then I was brought into the other salon where the men were. One of the ladies in the kitchen, keeping tabs on our location via calls from Sayeed, had prepared a meal for Tony, Alan, Sayeed, and I, along with the fathers of both the bride and the groom, and of course, Mohammed. The groom’s father was a hajji, or a Muslim who has completed his pilgrimage to Mecca. I’d never met a hajji before, but he insisted on sitting with Alan and I. When the first course was served – a huge chicken pastilla (a pastry crust filled with chicken, vegetables, couscous, and almonds, sprinkled with cinnamon and powdered sugar) – the hajji broke off some of the best internal pieces and placed them in the main communal bowl in front of Alan and I. In a communal bowl feast, it’s considered rude to eat the food not directly in front of you – such as reaching into another person’s area for a good morsel. By placing the choicest morsels on the dish in front of Alan and I, the hajji was offering us the best bits.

Finally, sometime after midnight, we put an end to our long day. Mohammed, despite his day’s activity with his family, arranged rooms for Alan and I back at my favorite place, El Riad Yacout, where we stayed up until 2 am drinking and catching up on news in the courtyard. We didn’t talk much in the car on the way up, because….it was just too darn hot to talk. And, we had to decide what our game plan was for the next two days. This was Saturday, and Alan flew back to Norway on Tuesday – at 7 am. So we had to be back in Marrakech for Monday night. Having just made that drive, twice, in a hot car, we were discussing alternatives into the wee hours of the night.

I don't have any photos posted for this post - I was quite tempted to bring the camera along for the wedding reception, but there are times when it just seems impolite to shoot photos of other people's moments. Considering that Alan and I were guests, and treated most graciously, I would have felt uncomfortable snapping photos of a large family that I didn't know during a very private and otherwise traditionally significant event.

Where to Next? Back to Iframe and Marrakech!!

During the night, Alan and I discussed some realistic options considering the distance we had to travel to get back to Marrakech to see him off. One of them was to rent a car and drive back via another route, up and over the Atlas Mountains, coming into Marrakech from due east, via the Dades Gorge and some of the most scenic high passes in the country. The only problem was that this would add significant drive time – because it’s the only other road option – and because those roads are less maintained than the main one that took us to Fes. And, because they were mountain roads, the speed levels would be limited and the route much more circuitous (although more picturesque). Not to mention the inherent danger, with sheep and goats ranging the countryside, of driving in this area at night.

So, we decided to rent a car, with air conditioning, and drive back part way the way we’d come to Fes. Then, we’d take an eastward tack to go up to Azilal and Denmante in the High Atlas, which loops back down to Marrakech. This offered us some cooler mountain temperatures and a variety of scenery for the second half of the drive.

But first, we met with Tony and Mohammed in the morning at the Riad El Yacout. They had a few errands to run, and Alan and I were going to roam the medina somewhat before meeting them at a pre-ordained destination. I think they seriously doubted that we’d be able to find the place to meet them and, since Alan brought his mobile phone, they were likely expecting a call from us for directions. The medina in Fes is reputed to have nearly 10,000 “streets”, though tiny, snaking, labyrinthine alleyways is a more apt description, and to date, it has never been thoroughly mapped. It’s one of the only medinas in the world (other than Cairo’s) where, unless you have a day to find your way back out, you often do require the help of a local or guide to get you to your desired destination. Unless you’re strictly wandering.

Alan and I started off in and around the medina, knowing that the further downhill you go, the deeper you get. We walked by horse stables, bakeries, tanneries, tailors, butchers, weavers, metal smiths, carpet shops, vegetable and spice markets, clothing markets, and general bric-a-brac and knick-knack stalls. Then, we tapped a local on the shoulder, asked him to take us to the ordained destination, and got there without a hitch.

Here’s the interesting part. We beat Mohammed (the Fes native) and Tony to the meeting place. When we did call them, is was to flaunt that we were ready and waiting….what was taking them so long??!

Errands completed, Alan and I needed to head back to the Riad, collect our bags, and pick up a rental car. Mohammed expressed some concern about being able to rent a car on a Sunday, almost guaranteeing us that it couldn’t be done. But I like a challenge. Back at the Riad, with a mixture of French and English, I was able to contact a local car rental service – because, indeed, the majors like Avis, National, Budget, Alamo, etc were closed on Sunday. The car rental industry in Morocco is different than that in many other countries. It’s almost expected that you’ll rent on a one-way circuit, and the agency sends someone to meet you at the end of the drive and take the car back to the point of origin. Also, most rental cars are standard. So, when Hassan showed up, bringing the car to the Riad, I was quite pleased with myself. I was able to negotiate a rate better than the range indicated by Lonely Planet, and in French. And, lucky for me, I can drive a stick shift.

When Tony and Mohammed showed up, they were a bit surprised about my accomplishment. They don’t know me so well, apparently. At any rate, Tony still had some free time on his hands, but Mohammed had to go back to New York, so we thanked him and wished him well, and accepted some money from Tony for a shared ride back to Marrakech. I wanted to keep the car and head to Essaouira afterward, one of my favorite spots in Morocco, before heading back to the Casablanca Airport where the agency rep was to meet me and retrieve the car.

By this time it was late in the afternoon, the car was almost out of gas, and we didn’t have much daylight for driving. So we decided to go as far as Iframe – after our descriptions of it to Alan, he was intrigued by seeing something so different, yet Moroccan.

We headed out into Fes traffic, and this was the most difficult part of the driving. Having said that, the roads are well signposted and cared for, and the first part of the drive is 4-lane road up into the mountains. We had beautiful end of day, golden-light…and arrived in Iframe just in time for a few rounds of beer and a trip to the market. Tony went back to the same apartment folks that we’d rented from previously – by renting directly from the owners we could save a little money that would normally be the samsar’s cut. They had a bigger unit with more bedrooms available, so after securing that, we decided to cook up a meal and crack open the Vodka that Alan brought, having a night in, with good company.

Then things got very silly. In my journal, I repeated myself 3 or 4 times – but am still surprised I had the discipline to write at all that night. We knocked off several beers and a few bottles of wine before getting into the vodka. Tony was again cooking, this time a Spanish Tortilla.

Being from Texas, I had my doubts about how a big tortilla was going to feed all 3 of us. Near Mexico, this is essentially flour or corn flat bread that’s used as a wrap for other ingredients. Apparently it’s something completely different in Spain. And Tony loves to cook. So, this was going to be like a big potato and vegetable has, that in theory, you can flip in a saucepan like an omelet. Unfortunately, the saucepan was not up to the task, and the handle bent under the weight of the food. Tony was getting more and more animated in his frustration with the lack of quality kitchenware, and Alan and I were getting the giggles. Tony got so frustrated in the kitchen that we’d often hear a string of rapid-fire Spanish echoing from around the corner.

As the night and the hilarity wore on, the men engaged in discussion of physical fitness – I suppose as men are wont to do. It became quite funny, then, when Tony was demonstrating a kind of all-body type of push up (more akin to yoga’s downward dog pose), and then some kick-boxing squats, which Alan was dutifully trying.

After a late night, we started our drive south in the morning. I started driving, and literally after 8 hours behind the wheel – because it was so much fun – it only felt like 4. The roads were narrow, incredibly windy, and immensely fun to rip through.

We again passed by the dammed lake in the center of the country, where we got out, again, for the obligatory leg-stretch and view. There is a young boy who haunts this pullout. He plays a home-made stringed instrument made from a rusted out can. It has two strings, but this boy can make that squawk box sing. We gave him some snacks and dirham to play an Irish Jig, which I tried to jig to, and Tony belly danced to. It was good fun.

By afternoon we had reached Azilal, an incredibly picturesque town in the High Atlas, that strangely, is not hugely touristified yet. It’s got the best of what I love about Utah and Wyoming – mountains, red rock canyons and cliffs – supported by systems of artesian wells and year-round water. The only thing missing were bears and moose. I felt as though this was the place I’ve been looking for over the last decade.

Later, I needed a rest stop, so we pulled off at a small village gas station, only to find a field mobbed with people on the other side, partially blocking the road. We went over to see what was happening, and learned that this village was having its annual celebration of the locals having turned back nomadic tribes, centuries ago. The demonstration included outfitted men riding equally outfitted horses, and toting musket-like guns with abundant silversmithing. Various bands of the riders would start from one side of the field, allowing their horses to dance and trot forward a bit, before charging the other side – guns raised, women ululating, and finally, guns firing as they approached the opposite side. This continued back and forth for some time. Men on the sidelines were betting on various horses (or riders). It was a thrilling, completely serendipitous moment.

Beyond that, it was a relatively uneventful drive back into Marrakech. We wanted to get an easy-to-get-to hotel, because traffic there is unreal. Tony drove the last portion of the stretch, because I didn’t want to try my luck in Marrakech.

After finding a hotel in the Ville Nouvelle (new city), we settled in for a few beers. Tony had another friend from Spain, another Mohammed, who lived in Marrakech, and he joined us for drinks and a game or two of pool before heading home. Alan and I were kind of wiped out from the day (Tony frequently catnapped in the cool comfort of the back seat of the car), so we opted to have a night in and catch up on news, gossip, and all the other good stuff to know that’s happened since we last saw each other a year ago in Singapore.

Marrakech to Essouira - some R&R

Starting off the morning slowly in Marrakech. I wanted to take a wander through Djma-al-Fnaa, my favorite plaza in the world, for some breakfast and fresh squeezed orange juice. Tony was with me for the ride to Essouira, so we walked through the medina to visit his other friend Mohammed for a walk and chat. I kept one eye open for a kasbah lantern - was thinking this would be perfect in the bathroom - but didn't see any that called out for me. In Nepal, it is said that you cannot go shopping for buddha statues - the buddha has to find you, so I was applying the same philosophy to finding a lantern. Or being found by one. No luck on this trip.

Eventually we hit the road from Marrakech to Essouira, about 3 hours eastward. Driving out of Marrakech was a bit hectic - it was good to have a co-pilot along for the ride. Morocco's roads are well signposted, even in the cities. But in Marrakesh, the traffic is horrendous, and any 6 square inches in front of your vehicle could at any time be immediately squeezed into by a biker, a mule cart, a horse-drawn caleche (well, you'd have to be a bit slow for that), a motorcycle - you get the idea.

Just outside of town, I experienced my first police shakedown. As with any town's outskirts, I suppose, the speed limits drop coming into the city, and gradually increase when leaving. Unfortunately, I probably really was doing 70k in the 60k zone, just feet in front of the 80k zone. As I was pulled over, I was excited to see how this would pan out. Fortunately, I had Tony's linquistic and bargaining skills onboard. When the officer approached and I handed him the paperwork, I'm not sure he quite knew what to do with me. He took the paperwork and my license over to the other waiting patrolmen, while Tony and I watched in the rear view mirror.

They way it goes, apparently, on Moroccan speed traps, is that once the officer begins writing in his Big Official Book with Carbon Paper, you get an Official Ticket, and have to pay 400 dirham (a little more than $40 USD). OR - you can offer the officer 100 dirham, for his troubles, for the heat, for the inconvenience, etc. - and be sent on your way. Tony suggested going the 100 dh route.

Problem was, I kind of wanted the official ticket. I could add it to my collection from Norway, Australia, Canada, New Zealand, Australia, and the 'ticket' from the Maoists in Nepal to walk through the countryside. But, Tony took it upon himself to go out and have a word with the officer. He brought a candybar along (it was on the verge of melting) and a 50 dirham note. With the ease of a graceful, hidden handshake, and the handover of the candybar, the deal was done - my paperwork was returned (to Tony) and I was free to proceed. Without a ticket.

Essaouira - At Last!

I have wanted to return to Essouira for several years. On my previous visit, it had all the peace and charm and laid-back grace of a mellow, former hippie enclave. Nowadays, it's developed some - there are explosions of condo construction - but the vibe remains the same. Essaouira is known for its annual Gnaoua music festival in June (click here for a sample). This music has a sub-saharan undertone with a reggae backbeat and is unlike music elsewhere in Morocco. The village just down the coast, Diabat, was once a month-long refuge of Jimi Hendrix (still featured on the Gnaoua festival logo). It's also one of the worlds pre-eminent wind-surfing locations, known for steady knots in the afternoon, and as such has recently also become a bit of a kite-surfing mecca.

But it's much more. It's been the seat of a number of films, including Orson Welles' Othello there, and last year, Ridley Scott's Kingdom of Heaven, which I might have to rent. Besides facing due west and enjoying a daily sunset extravaganza, the city is built on old Portuguese ramparts (Skala de la Ville or du Port), still lined with branss cannons. The city has also realized it's beach potential, and cleared a wide swath of beach for tourism. The beach plaza has soccer fields, basketball courts, a few food stalls, and of course, wind- and kite-surfing rental shops.

Just a bit further south, there are remains of an old Portuguese castle that are reachable during the morning's low tide. Just south of that are windswept sand dunes, hills, and scrub brush leading down the coast to rocky cliffs and some rubble-and beach coastline. It is one of my favorite cities in Morocco. Even still.

Last Full Day in Morocco

For the last complete day in Morocco, I wanted to finally enjoy some R&R time. I'd been rushing through the countryside, meeting people, going places, doing things - which is fine. My philosophy on vacation time is that this is the rare window of opportunity within the year I get to really live, so I cram as much as I can into it. Let's face it, it's no big secret that I, like many millions of Americans work in the Job I Found Myself Landing Into, as opposed to the Job I Wanted to Create for myself. I have only just recently almost begun to start accepting that. For now. But, it's certainly not the Life I Want to Live, which is what I do, sadly, a few times a year on vacation.

This trip was exceptional in that I got to do so much on my time away, and often, would break out the camera as an afterthought. But, for my last day in Morocco - specifically, Essaouira - I wanted to relax and play with my camera. It was also Tony's 40th birthday. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do. I suggested ushering in a new decade by trying something that he'd never done before, so we opted to go find some horses.

Just down the coast, in Diabat, there is a ranch - really the back of an old crumbling mosque - with a stable of horses. It's only recently begun attracting tourists, so is fantastically still authentic - a run-down, functioning stable as opposed to a flash tourist destination. We opted for a few hours' ride to fill the morning, and were quickly fitted out with knee-high chaps. As someone who's ridden in Australia and once for an hour in Texas, I've never worn chaps - contrary to common Texas stereotype (as held through much of the world). We started off following Hassan, the guide from the stable - though why we really needed a guide in this beachside nestle of dune-hills, I'm not sure.

At any rate, we started off, and the horse I was on really didn't like the other two. He would, despite my best pull of the reigns, try to bite the other two horses' faces. Once we emerged into more open riding area, I thought this would stop, but it didn't. So, Hassan, the guide, and I swapped animals. Now, I was on the best looking horse from the stables. A tall, majestic sable brown horse that somehow exhibited a leadership air about him, if that's possible - probably from being used to leading the riders. Since Hassan was leading, and it was Tony's birthday, I opted to hang back and ride last. This also gave me the opportunity to sometimes wander a bit, since I had my camera with me.

We meandered initially on a closely wound trail through scrubby dunes, emerging onto pure sand dunes. When I was last here 8 years ago, this stretch of dunes had a string of Atlantic-washup trash almost a kilometer long. It was heart-wrenching - there were recyclables of all imaginable types washed up along the tide line. Now, however - likely as a result of its continued 'destination' status - Essaouira has really cleaned up its act, and this has been adopted by the surrounding communities as a means to attract more tourism. The benefit is an improved environment; the downside is the wave of new, perhaps unsustainable development on a delicate seaside ecosystem that has occured in the interim. Of course I'm glad to see that this has been cleaned up, but it is a bit disheartening to see that the reason - rather than pride in one's own environment - was instead to attract what is slightly less ugly concrete block condo development.

At any rate, we rode toward the beach and then along the old Portuguese fortress ruins. It was there that I remembered, on my last trip, I also had short hair. I was traveling with a friend from Australia (Adam) and he snapped a photo of me climbing the ruins, and then perched on top of the highest point, thinking. Which my mom then painted in a portrait. Small world. At any rate, it was a wonderful and novel way to see the scenery. The wind was strong, but so was the sun. I had a tank top on but wore a button-down shirt over it, and at the end of the day, was rewarded with a weird take on a farmer's tan (burn): red arms up to the sleeve point, but with a scoop-neck front. And my ears!


As we slowly made our way via a grand loop back to the ranch, the horse I was riding decided he wanted to have some fun. Who could blame him? He's on the beach, got the wind in his hair, has been tracking kind of slow but normally was used to leading. So he popped a horse-wheelie.

He reared up in that classic horse pose - both front paws reaching skyward - and let out a fantastic whinnie. When all fours were again on the ground, he took off on a run. Didn't matter that I was indicating a slow, and then a force-stop on the reigns. He slowed when he was damn good an ready, just a few moments longer. I didn't notice at the time but after the excitement, I somehow had the werewithal to protect my camera by rolling it into my button down shirt and covering it with my left arm (from the saddle horn). It was all quite exciting.

Afterward, the day was filled with remaining R&R activities...a few celebratory beers, lunch, strolling along the medina, snapping photos....and then meeting up with friends to celebrate Tony's birthday.

Treed

Today, my co-worker's friend, attorney, and spare-time tree-trimmer, old-school style, came by to trim the giant maple in the back yard. It's around a century old, and unfortunately, is nearing the end of its life - tho she does have a few good years left in her yet (the TREE....). Two old branch-holes near the top of the trunk have filled with soil (better that than rot) tho sound a bit hollow, so it's only a matter of time before the core rots out with age. But, we'll fill the missing branch-holes with expansion foam to keep them from filling with water and rotting more quickly. At any rate, I think I've found the perfect platform for a good backyard tree-stand.

....and the aftermath......

New Hammock

I picked up one of these cat hammock contraptions recently, because Kathman spends so much time on this windowsill. Here you can see his interesting....weight gain.

Kathman taking a drink

This is not really a spectacular shot - many cats like to drink from running water. What is surprising about this shot is that, moments before, I just learned - completely by accident - that my camera had a built-in flash. My excuse for not knowing was that my owner's manual for this relatively new camera was lost in one of my international relocations. So, thanks to a new download and 147 page print job, I learned the happy secret of the hidden flash.

Friday Surprise

On Friday morning, when I stepped outside to go to work, I heard a distinctive whhhooooooossshh....and naturally looked up. Imagine my surprise to see a hot air ballon, drifting over my neighborhood! Turns out it was part of an annual balloon festival in town for the weekend. Chalk this one up to one more small town surprise.

Saturdy Wandering

Today I wandered over to McComb, Ohio, to check out the Second Annual Cookie Festival. I got much more than I bargained for. First, the cookie festival, which I assumed would have a few cookie booths and not much more, was a full-blown affair. There were carnival rides, a few cookie offerings, handmade doodles for sale, and best of all - an antique car show. This is a long glance at a 58 (I think) Chevy Impala. I've recently discovered some photo editing software on my computer that's good for 90 days I think, but opted to play around with this image a bit. I like how it turned out. For a few more pics from the day's events, check out the last few images on my flickr photo stream here.

A Taste of Culture

This Saturday, I drove up to the big town (Toledo) with a friend from work, Gary, to attend the 17th annual Tala festival - a Hindu festival at the Hindu Temple of Toledo. This was a modest affair, accompanied by an outdoor tent replete with food, clothing, and interesting item vendors. Even though we're having a cool front of mid-80 degree temps under full sun, which without a tent wouldn't be too uncomfortable, the temperature under the tent was very pleasant - even when standing next to the food vendors who were cooking up a storm.

Inside the temple, there were temple tours and a cultural program that was scheduled for the entire day, held in the auditorium next to the shrine. The program started with younger performers and graduated to older kids and eventually, I assume, adults, but we didn’t stay for the duration. There was a great Rama dance, a Shiva courting the maids dance, and a few junior Bollywood scenes right from dvd.

This photo is of a Guatama Buddha statue. Yes, Buddha.

“But I thought this was a Hindu festival…!?”

Well, you’re right. This used to confuse me when visiting Hindu temples as well. A Nepali friend explained it for me though. When Siddhārtha Gautama was an insulated prince in Kathmandu, he was a Hindu of the Brahmin caste, as was his family. Suspecting that there was a lot more going on in the world than he was able to see and experience isolated within the palace walls and princely life, Gautama struck out to experience the real world as a monk. In doing so he came face to face with the harsh realities of caste life, poverty, and injustice, which set him upon a course of wandering and meditation to make sense of it all, prior to reaching enlightenment in India after a series of challenges. At that point he opted to return to the world at large and teach meditation skills so that others could attain enlightenment. There are some later Hindu teachings that indicate Buddha was an incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu in an attempt to trick demons, so it's not as simple as I've laid out here, but you get the gist.

At any rate, my Nepali friend Sushil explained that Hinduism and Buddhism are intricately intertwined as a result. I don’t think that’s as obvious anywhere in the world as it is in Nepal, but that’s another story.

It was great to see the festival, the wares, sample the food, visit the temple, and enjoy several performances. For a few more photos of the day's activities, click here.

Get Your Fresh, Hot, Dosas!!

One of the food vendors was working hard to make enough dosas to meet demand! Dosas are a potato dough that's spread thin on a hot grill. Just before it's folded up (like the one on the left), the cook added some masala potatoes in dahl (lentil broth). It's the eastern precursor to the burrito!

Henna tattooing

The requisite henna tattoo booth at the Toledo Hindu Festival... Henna's a natural herb that, when mixed with lemon and honey and cured, makes a long-lasting stain, or temporary tattoo. Typically these are very elaborate and can cover hands, feet, and faces. This booth was offering henna hand tattoos, and the artist was doing a beautiful job.

Shrine by Numbers

I'm sure this is not the case.......surely it's not.....but this beatiful shrine had adhesive number decals that were aligned - the 60's were aligned, the 61s were aligned, and the only thing I could relate this to was the Ikea approach to furniture assembly. "Slide panel 61 into slot 61 after adding wood glue to the inside of the slot..."

The Eagle has Landed!!

On the way back from the Hindu Temple festival in Toledo, we spotted the biggest collection of inflatable characters I've ever seen - at a car dealership, natch. Risking being accosted by a sales person, I pulled in to snap some whimsical photos. We were just in time for the end-of-day deflation....which I was able to capture for one of the characters. To see them all, click here.