Here’s a picture I took in Stockholm:

The harbor with a battleship. I didn’t think much of it at the time. Turns out it was the USS Cole.

My journey to Morocco started on Friday night at about 1am. To get to the airport, I had to take a bus to the subway, the subway to the central station, and then the bus to the airport. To top that off, I had a 7 hour layover in Frankfurt, which I spent reading and sleeping on a bench until I was kindly asked to leave. I finally arrived in Fez at 6:35, the last train for Rabat left at 6:45. I took a bus into town and tried to get a bed at the hostel. It was full, but the guy at the desk pointed me towards a few other hotels. I ended up getting a room and heading to the internet cafe to find out where the hotel in Rabat was and what time I was going to be arriving.
Found out quickly that the hotel was right next to a Mosque. That was at 4:20 when the call to prayer sounded. I got up and had some coffee, then walked to the train station.

I was really expecting the worst when arriving in Morocco. After my experiences in India, I thought I was going to be endlessly hasseled and I was overeager to get to Rabat where at least I’d be with six other people. But Fez was amazing. No one bothered me. No one was shouting out to me. One kid came up and asked if I needed a hotel, I told him I didn’t and that was the end of it. The same was true in Rabat. I got out of the train station and asked for directions to the hotel, no one seemed to know, but one guy pulled out his cellphone and dialed the number I had written down and got directions. I was utterly impressed with how friendly and helpful everyone was.

Train station in Fez:

When I got to the hotel, I asked if the Pauls had come back yet. Their English got me nowhere, and neither did my French. Fortunately I had my modern standard arabic, which at least meant they could understand me, even if I had only a tenuous grasp of their responses in Moroccan. Turns out Robbie had taken a taxi all the way to the airport to surprise Jill and John, who were getting in late. Unfortunately, he woke up late and ended up missing them. We figure they were probably all at the airport at the same time, but just didn’t run into each other.

Once they got in an settled, we walked down through the old city and to the beach. I’ve never seen so many people in one place in all my life. Robbie got some great pictures, unfortunately I don’t have any with me here. I’ll try to post a copy at some point though. We bought some fresh cooked potato chips from a guy on the ramp up from the beach, then walked back through the crowded markets. We had dinner at the hotel, and Robbie and I made plans to meet Chris, Anna, and Laura. Their budget flight out of Paris was delayed (they even had to switch from Paris-Orly to Charles DeGaulle) and didn’t get in until about 5am. Robbie and I were waiting for them at a cafe, we had some coffee and orange juice together and then went back to wake Jill and John.

The cast of characters:

Chris, Jill, Laura, Anna, Me, John, Robbie.

After a quick rest, we walked to Chellah, the site of some Roman ruins and later a Mosque.

The most surprising part might have been the sheer number of Marabou Stork nests, even on top of the Minaret!

Then we showed the new arrivals the sights we had seen the day before. We watched the sunset over the Atlantic Ocean.

After that we had dinner at a great Moroccan restaurant. I’d say over the course of our trip, perhaps the biggest language stumbling block was the Menus. Of course all were in French. If we were lucky, there might be English translations. Even if we asked for an Arabic translation, my Moroccan dialect food vocabulary isn’t particularly extensive. So, it was a good thing we didn’t order the baby deer on the menu that night. Or what we guessed to be baby deer. (Cervelle) We later found out that means brains. Not that it woudn’t have been good, but that’s the thing you would like to be expecting before the waiter removes the cover, I think.

Morocco is fabulous.
I have a few more days here, and in those days I hope to get some pictures up. Honestly I’ve been running around seeing so many things I haven’t had time to blog. And internet hasn’t been easy to come by everywhere.
Stay tuned for some great pictures though.

Sweden really was a great experience, and a nice hiatus in the middle of my journey.
My visit here was lengthened a little because of the sickness, but I’m headed to Morocco to meet up with the Pauls shortly.

Thomas and I got to see a little of the city before we headed out to the island. This is what Old Stockholm looks like:

On Friday, I headed out the the island. Of course, even as we were arriving, the family was already engaged in some fixing-by-committee:

We set up the may pole and had a wonderful Midsummer lunch.

For dinner, the Americans were responsible for making hamburgers and s’mores. Most of the ingredients were brought on the airplane in two giant suitcases.

Ludde managed to pull in the big pike, a fish that wikipedia insists is essentially inedible, though we consider it a delicacy.

On Saturday we threw a little birthday party for Dad and Maria:

Alfred and Cornelea:

And an obligatory Kubb picture:

After we got back to Stockholm, I took it pretty easy. On Wednesday we went to Solvalla, the cart-race track, to watch my cousin Louise compete.
She was the heavy favorite at the start, maybe with the help of all of us bidding her up.

Almost the whole extended family made it out to cheer, even though there was a Euro2008 Semi-final on that night!

The horses behind the pace car:

In first place:

And the final stretch:

Unfortunately, this is right about where horse 2 picks up steam and ends up winning. Louise got 2nd place though, which is a pretty great accomplishment.

Another shot of Stockholm:

And a gorgeous sunset (taken at about 11:30pm):

I got up early, once again, to take the train to Agra. It was absolutely amazing how packed the train station was, even at 5:30 in the morning. The train ride was quick and pleasant, by 8am I had arrived in Agra.

I had intended on leaving my bags at the cloak room in the Delhi station, but the line was incredibly long, so I decided I’d wait till I got to Agra, hoping there was a cloak room there. Sure enough, I found the cloak room. Another traveler was waiting for it to open at 8:30, we decided we’d split a cab to the Taj, I thought it’d be pretty interesting to have someone to travel with. But they didn’t let him check his bags, because he didn’t have locks on it. I had read in the guidebook that you should “make sure your bags have locks” and had also been told this by the guy who helped me book my train tickets. Of course, I figured that was only a precaution, that it had to do with people pilfering stuff out of the bags even while they were safely stored. It turned out that this was just the policy. Bags have to be locked. He tried to argue, insisting that he just had dirty clothes and that if someone wanted them, they could just take them. But rules are rules (in a country that I thought didn’t seem to have any law or order). I was glad that I did have locks on both of my bags (even the cloth one that tied with a string). My new friend got sent out to buy locks or figure something else out, so by the time I had signed my things in, he was nowhere to be found. I headed out to the taxi stand, figuring that the pre-paid option was going to be the best. I ended up hiring a cab for the day, which would take me to the Taj, Agra Fort, and the “Baby Taj”, then to the riverbank to watch the sunset over the Taj. It sounded like a good deal, so I went ahead and took the offer. I got in the car with the driver and a guide. Both were very friendly, though the driver didn’t speak much English. The guide told me a little about the history of the Taj, and gave me plenty of warnings not to accept anything from anyone, to be careful of my possessions, and not to feel pressured into buying anything.

I walked down the road toward the Taj, bought my ticket, and entered the complex. The first thing I saw was a spectacular red sandstone entrance gate.

The complex was just truly spectacular. Seeing it in pictures and movies didn’t prepare me for just how incredible it was going to be.

I’ll just let the pictures speak for themselves:

I spent a few hours just walking around, absorbing the place. I would probably have spent more time there if I’d been traveling with others, but as it was, I figured it was time to move on. When I left, the line to go through the security screening was immense. My recommendation: get there as early as you can!

From there, the car took me to the “Baby Taj” which was the tomb of Ittimad ad-Daulah, the father of Shah Jahan, the builder of the Taj Mahal. This one is called the Baby Taj because the design was the inspiration for its bigger counterpart. Though smaller, the marble work is extremely intricate and truly amazing.

Then, the tourist trapping started. My guide assured me that he was taking me to a marble factory, where I could see how marble was hand made, by the same family that had done work on the Taj. This is exactly what I dreaded the most about tourist places. We got forced/lured into the same types of things in Egypt, whether it was someone’s “Perfume Factory” or “Carpet Museum” or “Art Gallery (papyrus shop)” Well, first I was shown the magic of how the marble was made. Not altogether uninteresting, but not what I came to Argra for, and I certainly didn’t appreciate being forced to go. The guy started the sales pitch. The smallest marble tabletop he showed me (about 5 inches or so) started at $340. “Well, this is going to be too heavy. No thanks.” I said and got up to walk away. Well, he was prepared for that one “We’ll ship it to you. Shipping cost is included.” So, I left through the door I walked in, despite his warnings that “The exit is over here!” I opened the door into the “museum” only to see another flustered-looking tourist getting put through the paces. I got in the taxi and firmly demanded to be taken to Agra Fort right away. “Ok, but we have to go to another factory first.” I insisted on going to the Fort, and my guide told me that the visits to these shops are “part of the package”. He explains that each place gives him a receipt that he was there, which he then has to give to the police who run the prepaid taxi stand. After the next place, a really upscale place where I was persecuted by salespeople at every turn (“Sir, can I sell you something?” “NO.” “Sir, what are you looking to buy today?” “Nothing at all.”) he showed me the receipt. He claimed that this was all for my own good, that he was taking me to “government approved places” and that if he didn’t take me there and bring back these receipts, the police would start getting on his case about where he had been taking his tourists. I don’t know if he was just making that story up, or whether it really is a racket that the police are involved with. Either story is completely plausible. Either way, I’m sure that the guide gets a kickback of whatever I would have bought.

After another approved shop, we finally headed towards Agra Fort. He kept trying to get me to take lunch, but I really wasn’t hungry and my stomach was hurting. Of course, as we got to Agra Fort, it started raining. We waited it out in the car for about 10 minutes, then I decided to just head out anyway. It was pretty hot, so the rain wasn’t unpleasant. I really tried to spend as much time in the fort as possible: At this point it was about 2pm, and my train didn’t leave till 8:30. The fort was really spectacular. It had a lot in common with the Red Fort in Delhi, but this was even more ornate.

The pulpit where the Shah held audiences, with a view of the Jamuna River:

There were views of the Taj from everywhere:

And then some parts that actually looked more Fort than palace:

I thought this was pretty neat, what looked like a giant well, but was actually a ventilation tube to the underground chambers below:

The view down the well. (I couldn’t help but think of the scene from the movie 300. “This. Is. Agra!”)

At that point, I was resolute about my gameplan for the rest of the day. I was going to tell the guide that I wanted to buy some water and an ice cream, find an ATM, buy some post cards, and visit the post office. Well, I got in the car, got the ice cream and water, and took me to the ATM. Then he took me to a shop of embroidery. Except, they didn’t actually explain how the embroidery was done, and it turned out to actually be a jewelery shop! Then we went to a curio shop, then a carpet maker. At the curio shop, I managed to find a few postcards and stamps. The carpet making was actually kind of neat, and I talked the guy out of actually showing me his wares, assuring him that I really wasn’t going to buy them anyway.

The guide was still pressing me to get some food, I told him to take me to a coffee shop. He took me to an empty restaurant. I said no. He took me to another empty restaurant, this one a bit nicer. It looked clean, so I figured this would give me a chance to write my post cards and keep my journal updated. I ordered a coffee, and took a look at the menu. The fresh coconut ice cream caught my eye. “Sorry, we don’t have any.” You know what would be great? Is if restaurants told you what they could sell you. Like, maybe printed up a list of things they had, and maybe even put some prices on it for convenience…
How many times have I been to restaurants when traveling where they just didn’t have the first 10 things I ordered? I mean, what is the point of a menu? Here’s a list of things that would be really delicious. You can think about how delicious they would have been while you eat something else. Anyway, he told me that they had the regular flavors, so I ordered some strawberry. I started writing post cards, and then out of the corner of my eye I see a guy walk into the restaurant, into the kitchen, holding a plastic bag containing… two tubs of strawberry icecream bought at the mart around the corner. Sigh.
One of my sets of stamps didn’t work. They just wouldn’t stick to the post card no matter how hard I tried. At that point, the guide and the driver came in and sat down. I complained about the stamp that his croney had sold me, so he brought over a waiter who first tried a glass of water, then went and got some superglue and glued the stamp on.

Then I said I wanted to go to a bookshop to pick up some reading for the long airport waits and flights I had coming up. It took about ten tries to explain that I didn’t want a tourism book, just a regular book. Ok he says, no problem. And takes me right to the tourist shop next door. Among the tourism books, I did manage to find some Indian literature, so I bought that. Then he took me next door to “his brother’s shop”. This was another jewelery shop. He showed me a string of large pearls. Only problem was they were clearly plastic. They had the typical “equatorial line” where the mold plates would have joined and the little dots where the plastic would have been injected into the mold. How much for that? Only $50!!!! I knew I had lots of time to kill, so I spent lots of time in there looking at stuff I had no intention of buying. He claimed he’d just come in from Dhaka, for the cricket match. Well, I produced my VVIP ticket stub from my back pocket. He was unable to do the same. Some fan…

Then my guide took me to the last tourist shop, this time the Uttar Pradesh Official Government shop. The first guy sat me down and showed me a bunch of silks of extremely poor quality. Then he gave up and another salesman “the artist” came over and showed me his silk-screen drawings. These were actually not half bad. He started at 1200 Rs. I tell him I can’t afford it. He drops down to 800 quickly. I tell him I’m really not in a position to buy anything, I have to pay the taxi, get a rail ticket, get another taxi to the airport. I just don’t have the money. He asks me how much I do have, I refuse to name a price, claiming that I don’t want to offend him with some lowball offer. Thinking of saying 100 Rs. He drops to 500. I still tell him I can’t, he goes to 450. “I’m not even negotiating with you! I really just can’t afford it!” Eventually drops to 250. Still sit there stonefaced. I get up, tell him I really cant, and he shouts 200! as I’m walking out. That marks my best haggling to date. Usually, my goal is to get to 1/4 of the first asking price. I know that that’s even usually more than it’s worth. Plus, it’s not like the guy is going to sell something for a loss. So I never feel guilty about underpaying. I guess it really proves that the ultimate negotiation strategy is to act like you don’t want it. Or, in this case, to not want it.

They finally take me back to the railway station. My train arrives right at 8:30. At that point I try to figure out which car I’m in. My ticket says E1, but none of the electronic signs on the platform say E1. I go all the way to the front of the train, where the conductor tells me E1 is at the other end. So I start jogging to the other end, and the train starts rolling away!! So I start running alongside it, and in a Darjeeling Limited moment I had to jump aboard the moving train!

This post is a long time coming. First of all, the computer I’m on doesn’t want to let me upload pictures, so it took me a while to find a workaround. Second, I seem to have come down with Salmonella in Bangladesh, so give me a break!

On Friday we woke up early to get to the bus station. I knew it was going to be a long trip, so I just prepared myself.
After about 3 hours, we came to a river crossing. Since there’s no bridge, we spent about half an hour in line to get a ferry.

That served as a bathroom break, so I walked around the ferry. It was crazy to see people selling all kinds of things, from newspapers to bananas to household items, right on the ferry, just like any street market.

At about 3pm, we arrived somewhere and a whole lot of people started getting off the bus. It wasn’t like a border post or anything, it was just some city that looked like all the other Bangladeshi cities I’d been to. Eventually though, I was the only one on the bus. So I figured it was time to get off. I tried asking whether we had arrived in Benapole, but I was thoroughly confused. Eventually I figured out that, yes, this was the end of the line on the Bangladeshi side. Not having any clue what was going on, and unable to find anyone that spoke English, I figured I’d just wait around and someone would tell me where to go or what to do.
I saw our baggage being loaded onto sophisticated baggage carts:

I was eventually directed to get into a microbus that took us down the road a little ways and to another bus office. I got out, sat down, once again figuring that someone would tell me what to do. After a little while, someone came over and directed me to an office across the street. I went to one building to pay the exit tax, then went to another to drop off my passport and embarkation slip, then was told to go to another to wait. They came back with my passport, I exchanged my remaining Taka to Rupees (no clue what kind of an exchange rate I got there) then walked across the border. The Indian official seemed to take an awful long time inspecting not only my Indian visa, but my Bangladeshi one, and my other entrance/exit stamps. Not sure what he was looking for, but eventually he decided it was good enough.

On the Indian side, I had to visit another several offices to clear immigration and customs. The customs officer asked me what was in my bag. I told him it was my suit and shirts, and that was good enough for him.

The border:

Then I went to yet another bus office to wait. I had to pay another 120 Rupees. It turns out that the fare I paid only got me as far as the border. To get to Kolkata, I’d have to pay the Indian company. No big deal, but it would have been nice to know. What if I didn’t have any cash on me? ATMs certainly weren’t available. Eventually we got on the bus and were on our way to Kolkata.

Even though I had a map, and thought I had a pretty good idea of where I was and where the hostel I was looking for was, I walked in circles for a long time. One of the first differences I noticed was the abundance of touts following me around telling me where I could find a good hotel. I eventually found Hotel Maria, even though it wasn’t really located on the street it was supposed to be on. I managed to get “the last room” (I found out that there were dorm beds available, which I should have chosen, but oh well.) My single room, up on the roof, wasn’t much, but at least it was a bed. And it was a good thing I had my travel sheet.

There was a table and chairs up on the rooftop, and when I arrived it was filled with european backpackers from every imaginable country. It was really fascinating talking to them and hearing where they had come from and where they were headed.

I was sort of worried about my ability to wake up in the morning to catch my early flight to Delhi, since the only alarm I had was the one on my 1980s Casio watch I bought in New Market in Dhaka. I woke up just fine, and got to brush my teeth on the rooftop with a great view of Kolkata. One of the backpackers said it was his favorite Indian city, so I really wish I’d gotten to spend more time there.

I flew into Delhi with Jet Airways, a new low-cost provider that even has service to the U.S. It was a great airline that I’d eagerly recommend. From the airport, I grabbed a pre-paid taxi to the Railroad station, which was adjacent to the hotel I was looking for.

I walked down a crowded market street (the Main Bazaar) to the hotel. Most of the stuff for sale seemed to be targeted towards tourists, but I saw mainly Indians and very few foreigners. I eventually found Hotel Rak International. A very clean place with a friendly staff. They showed me a room, more expensive than Kolkata, but this one did have a bathroom. I dropped off my stuff and headed into town. I went back to the rail station to book my ticket to Agra for the next day. I got the last seats in either direction on the train I wanted, so that was pretty lucky.

I kept walking through the streets of Old Delhi and all of a sudden the narrow, winding streets just ended at the national Mosque.

Entering the Mosque was truly amazing. All of the din, dust, and bustle was just stopped at the gates. Inside was calm and quiet.

I sat for a while and just absorbed the scene. Afterwards, I walked onward to the Red Fort.

The grounds inside the fort were truly spectacular. Well-kept and well-preserved, I can’t even imagine how it looked in its glory days.

After the fort I continued my walk around the city. I was continually amazed by how the city has grown up around the old structures and monuments.

An old city gate, preserved right in the middle of the activity of the modern city:

The old city wall, built by the British:

And another old gate:

And since I know you’re all dying to see pictures of the Taj, here’s a little preview: