My Moroccan Escapade

Morocco - Mosques, Minarets and Markets

Day 1

Our large group of 39, dominated by Australians (surprise, surprise), set off from our Casablanca hotel en route to the capital Rabat, stopping briefly to see the main attraction of Casablanca, the enormous Hassan II Mosque, completed in 1993. The mosque has room for 25,000 worshippers inside, and a further 80,000 can be accommodated in the courtyard. Its minaret is the world's tallest at 210 metres. The mosque is also the largest in North Africa, and the third largest in the world. I was hoping that since we started with the biggest and best mosque there'd be no need need to see any more. No such luck.

Mosques don't come any bigger and better than the Hassan II.

On the way to Rabat our guide Hassan explained the history of Morocco in his strange and heavily accented English. (This was to be the source of great amusement during the tour. For example, not being able to say "teeth", he warned us against using the local water to clean our "teats".) Here is the main thrust of what Hassan said:

• The Kingdom of Morocco has a population of over 35 million and an area of 446,550 square kilometres. The political capital is Rabat, although the largest city is Casablanca.
• It is one of three countries (Spain, France also) to have both Atlantic and Mediterranean coastlines, and it also has a rugged mountain interior.
• Its rich culture is a blend of Arab (from Spanish Andalusia), Berber (indigenous African) and other African, Jewish and European influences.
• Languages spoken are Arabic, French and English, in that order.

We reached Rabat mid-morning and, after a "happy-happy" stop (a misnomer, considering the state of the toilets), we proceeded to check out the spectacular city's main attractions, namely:

1. the mausoleum of King Mohammed V, containing the tombs of the Moroccan king and his two sons, late King Hassan II and Prince Abdallah. Designed by a Vietnamese architect, the building is considered a masterpiece of modern Alaouite dynasty architecture, with its white silhouette, topped by a typical green tiled roof, green being the color of Islam.
2. the Hassan Tower, the minaret of an incomplete mosque. Begun in 1195, the tower was intended to be the largest minaret in the world along with the mosque, also intended to be the world's largest. In 1199, Sultan Yacoub al-Mansour died and construction on the mosque stopped.
3. the Royal Palace, which was protected by high walls so we had to use our imaginations. The grounds were huge so it must have been grand. BTW the King has 12 Royal Palaces, scattered all around the kingdom. He's obviously not short of a dirham or two.

Inside the Mausoleum

The Hassan Tower and unfinished columns

We then departed for Meknes, one of the country's imperial cities. (The imperial cities are the four historical capital cities of Morocco: Fes, Marrakech, Meknes and Rabat.) Dating back to the 11th century, its surroundings remain largely unchanged for centuries (the toilets as well). The old part is encircled by 25ks (!) of huge walls, the main entrance of which, the monumental and beautiful Bab el-Mansour, overlooks a large square. We entered on foot through the gate and then did a tour of the very ornate mosque. Covered with Moorish-influenced tiles, it was indeed exotic and spectacular. Our guide Hassan tried his best to explain the significance of the calligraphy, symbols and colours decorating the mosque (no depiction of any living thing is ever used) as well as its layout and design, but half way through I lost interest, asking myself how intelligent people could believe such a load of bollocks.I prayed (ironic choice of word) that this would be our last mosque. I had done "ABC" (Another Bloody Cathedral) tours in the past; this one was fast developing into an "AFM" tour.

The Bab el-Mansour

We arrived late afternoon in beautiful Fes and settled into our "five-star" hotel (really four, but nice anyway). An hour or so later we climbed back onto the bus in our finery to go and enjoy a superb Moroccan dinner and a folklore show consisting of  a band (singer, violin, lute and Arab percussion), a very good magician and of course belly dancers. Being a tourist show there was the inevitable audience participation. Thankfully I was spared the ordeal of having a pair of tassel-bedecked boobs shaken in my face or being dragged out onto the floor to imitate the belly dancer. One of our group - a school music teacher from the Midlands - wasn't so lucky, but he acquitted himself very well. (He later explained that he had done it before and that his performance was on Facebook.) The four-course meal, featuring lots of figs, dates, olives and spices, was very good. All in all, a very satisfying and enjoyable night.

Day 2

Today was devoted to checking out the medina (old city) of Fes, Morocco's third largest city. Actually it has two medinas, the larger of the which is Fes el Bali dating from the ninth century, which is listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site and is believed to be one of the world's largest car-free urban areas. The place, surrounded by a wall, is an enormous rabbit warren of narrow alleyways, and, without a guide, it would be easy to get lost there. Unfortunately (or fortunately depending on your point of view) it was the end of a holiday period and many of the tiny stalls were closed. Normally the place is bustling with locals and donkeys; the only donkeys we saw were us tourists. As well as exploring some of the sections dedicated to a particular trade (eg. spinning, dress making, copper work) we were taken to a rug dealer, a tanner, where we saw hides being tanned in small pools full of pigeon poop (the stench was so unbearable we were given sprigs of mint to hold under our noses), and a weaver, where beautiful silks of agave fibre were woven on a hand loom. Of course the pressure to buy was unrelenting, even from our Insight guides, who were obviously getting a commission. Haggling was an expected part of the purchasing experience; necessary too as the quoted price was often ridiculously high. For example in the rug shop the salesman quoted €5000 for a small rug that I showed a mild interest in. He maintained it was a "museum piece" (probably because it had been there so long) of exceptional quality. I got him down to €500. I didn't buy it though because I didn't really want it, but he didn't seem to understand this. In the end I lost my temper and told him to "rug" off. That's the last time I'll show any interest in buying anything in Morocco. Apart from this incident, however, the morning was fascinating and enjoyable - like a trip back in time.Here are some representative stalls.

An alley in the medina. That's Patricia, an 87 year-old Adelaide woman in our group who had done the tour 5 times! She certainly loves Morocco.

The carpet shop where they don't take "la" (no) for an answer.

Pelts soaking in putrid pools of pigeon poop. Pooooh!

Care for a date?

Spinning a colourful Moroccan yarn.

Day 3

A long day driving southeast, up and over the  High Atlas Mountains. Our first stop was at the Swiss-style alpine village of Ifrane, which in winter apparently is covered in snow and a skiers' Mecca. (A strange thought really: you don't usually associate skiing with Morocco, do you.)

Ifrane. Not exactly Middle Eastern, is it?

We then travelled through cedar forests and stony valleys, home to Bedouin tent-dwelling nomads who make a living by tending their small flocks of sheep. (Well the husband does - the wife stays home to keep tent, raise the children and look after the goats and chickens.) At one point we stopped to pop in on one of the women and inspect her canvas abode - to have an "in-tents" experience, if you will. I thought it a bit rude but the woman didn't get into a flap (sorry), even offering those who could fit in her tent some freshly baked bread and olive oil. I thought her obliging act of generosity seemed a bit fishy but maybe I'm being cynical.

The tent woman and her child.

We then travelled through the Ziz Gorge, which was like a mini Grand Canyon with the river Ziz lined with date palms like a never-ending oasis. The views were spectacular.

The Zig Gorge

We finally reached our overnight stop of Erfoud, a pretty spot where the red sand buildings contrasted against the surrounding yellow desert. The oasis town is close to the start of the Sahara Desert proper and is becoming quite touristy for this reason. It is also the favourite haunt of motorbike riders and rally car drivers (several groups were staying in our hotel that night.) Erfoud has been a filming location for many movies, including March or Die (1977), The Mummy (1999) and Prince of Persia (2010). Our hotel, the Kasbah Cherugi, was a bit of a tourist attraction in itself. A large complex of bungalows built around an oasis style pool, it offers the last word in luxury and ambience. There was even wi-fi in the rooms!

The pool at the Kasbah Cherugi. Pretty spoof, hey!

My exotic room

But the highlight of the day - an optional tour - was yet to come. After quickly settling into our rooms, most of us, in groups of four, got into four-wheel drives for a mad, bumpy dash across the rocky plains for a sunset camel ride on the dunes of the Sahara Desert. I'd never ridden a 'Ship of the Desert' and was determined to add the experience to my list of New Things I had done this year. My appointed camel leader and guide Yeddar, assured me that I was lucky to have got his beast as he was quiet, well behaved and had a small hump so I would get a comfortable ride. (No need for a scrotum massage afterwards it seemed, although the thought had some appeal.) I wasn't so sure though: he was the only camel foaming at the mouth and he was making some very strange howling noises - like someone was inserting a red-hot poker up his anus. Luckily he was fine when the moment came for our dash across the dunes. (Actually a slow trot.) After about 25 minutes of rocking and swaying we reached the base of this tall dune, where we stopped, alit, clambered up to the top, laid out our blankets and settled down to drink our champagne (in my case Jägermeister) as we waited for the sunset. Unfortunately the sun was covered with clouds so we never saw it. No matter, we were too busy talking to the guides and getting pissed. The wind was quite strong and sand was permeating our clothes, drinks, cameras, hair and bodily orifices but still our spirits were not dampened. It really was a magic moment. When we returned to the jeeps we all got the inevitable hard-sell hard-luck pitch for money from the guides. (We'd already paid 200 dirhams - about $30 - for the excursion.) Mine brought out these hand-carved stone figures of camels and so on, but Ian the Jew was not interested, explaining that the only souvenirs he bought were fridge magnets. Instead I gave him a tip of about $5. He was not happy. This was the only sour note to the whole experience but no surprise. Everyone is out to make a dirham in Morocco.

My camel, Abdullah. One hump or two?

Dorrie of Arabia and his trusty guide Yeddar. Cute hey? (The guide I mean.)

Day 4

A long day of travelling but with plenty of interesting stops. The first was to the Carrières de fossiles (Fossils in Sahara Desert), just outside of Erfoud. The area is known for its precious and unique fossils. Back 500 million years ago, the Sahara Desert was under water and all sorts of giant squid and other types of sea creatures such as trilobites and ammonites abounded. On the outskirts of Erfoud you can visit impressive fossil-filled marble workshops that produce not only large pieces of furniture but also small items like paper weights and ash trays in which these prehistoric creatures can be clearly seen. Since I can see a fossil every morning in the mirror I saw no reason to buy anything in the showroom.

Pretty amazing fossils, hey!

What they make out of the fossilised rocks.

The second stop was to see local Berbers water their camels and goats from deep underground wells. Some of the tour members helped the Berbers haul the buckets up from the shafts that seemed to descend forever. Of course they expected us to dig deep into our pockets for tips as well.

Watering the camels

The third stop was to a colourful farmers market - two actually, one being for fruit and vegetables and the other for live animals (mainly sheep and goats). The latter was a bit gruesome, with lots of freshly skinned animal pelts also being traded.

Late in the morning we arrived at the oasis of Tinehir, noted for its silver and jewelry workshops. There is a big gorge nearby called the Todra Gorge which is the city's main tourist draw. We took a detour to explore the spectacular gorge, called the Grand Canyon of the Sahara, and to stretch our legs. The scenery was gorge-ous. (Sorry, that one was too obvious.) Then it was on to a late lunch at Boumalne-du-Dades, in the dry rugged Dades Valley. (The word 'dades' means beautiful, and the place lived up to its name.) The valley was dotted with oases of figs, olives and date palms, with adobe mud houses hugging the slopes of the mountains.

The Dades Valley

The Todra Gorge

In the late afternoon we stopped in the desert for Berber mint tea at an Imam’s house at a traditional Kasbah. (In Morocco the word kasbah usually refers to a single stone or rock tower, either as part of a tower house or a tower isolated on a hilltop or commanding a field. It was a place for the local leader to live and a defense when a city was under attack.) We met the Imam - the local leader of the Islamic community and leader of the daily prayers - and asked him questions about his duties and about Islam in general. It was interesting, but once again I marvelled at the fact that people could believe in such tosh. For example, to become an imam a student has to spend the first 6 years memorising the Koran. Six years!!! What a waste of time and energy. (I'd be no good. It takes me six weeks just to memorise a four digit internet password!)

The Imam

Our final destination was Ouarzazate, nicknamed The Door of the Desert, and capital city of Ouarzazate Province, southern-central Morocco. Ouarzazate is pretty high up (1,160 metres) and is situated in the middle of a bare plateau south of the High Atlas Mountains. To the south of the town is the desert and some say Africa proper. The town is chiefly inhabited by Berbers, who constructed many of the prominent kasbahs and buildings for which the area is known. Ouarzazate is an important holiday destination in Morocco, as a base for excursions across the Draa Valley and into the desert. The Ouarzazate area is a noted film-making location, with Morocco's three biggest studios inviting many international companies to work here. Films such as Lawrence of Arabia (1962), The Living Daylights (1987), The Last Temptation of Christ (1988), The Mummy (1999), Gladiator (2000), Kingdom of Heaven (2005), and Salmon Fishing in the Yemen (2011) were shot here, as was part of the TV series Game of Thrones. Our hotel was very spoofy and has hosted many famous film stars. As I wrote my blog I couldn't help thinking I might be sleeping in the very same bed as used by Brendan Fraser, Russel Crowe or Ewan McGregor! That night I dreamt of mummies, lions and man-eating salmon...

The kasbah town of Ait Benhaddou just outside Ouarzazate. You've probably seen this in many films.

Day 5

Basically only half a day today - a morning drive westwards over the High Atlas Mountains via the spectacular Tizi n' Tichka Pass to Marrakech. We made just one stop to visit a government-sponsored 'Women's Cooperative' producing oil from argan seeds that is used in cosmetics and cooking. (If you've never heard of argan oil, don't worry, we hadn't either.) The women take the locally grown argan nuts (endemic to Morocco), crack them with a stone to remove the hard outer shell then painstakingly grind the  kernels to produce the oil which is fast becoming popular around the world, especially in the beauty industry. It is even supposed to be good for promoting hair growth. Naturally I bought a bottle. (I know, I should have bought a truckload. No need to be nasty.)

The Tizi n' Tichka Pass with a stall of local arts in the foreground.

The women's cooperative producing argan oil.

The afternoon was spent relaxing - either having a siesta in our beautiful hotel or going shopping. No prize for guessing which I did.

That night most of us did the last optional excursion - a short sight-seeing drive to the animated Jamaa Safna Square then dinner in a typical Marrakech restaurant with musicians and dancers. The dinner was so-so but the square was a delight. Famous for being the busiest square in Africa, it was full of musicians, watermen, snake charmers, fortune-tellers, story-tellers, food stalls and other exotic (and noisy) delights. It was packed with people but, according to Hassan, a lot less than normal because of the end of the school holidays. I'd hate to see it when it was really busy!

The Jamaa Safna Square, Marrakech

Day 6

Another half day (yes!) devoted to exploring Marrakech, fourth largest city of Morocco. It was founded in 1071 and became the capital for the two following centuries. The red walls of the city, built by Ali ibn Yusuf in 1122-1123, and various buildings constructed in red sandstone during this period, have given Marrakech the nickname of the "Red City" or "Ochre City". Today it is one of the busiest and most prosperous cities in Africa and serves as a major economic centre and tourist destination.

A swish Marrakech hotel in the typical ochre colour. There are whole boulevards of these.

We spent the morning checking out the Koutoubia Mosque, whose minaret dominates the Marrakesh skyline, then the Royal Palace - the grand Palais de la Bahia, built in the late 19th century and intended to be the greatest palace of its time. After that we were herded into a spice shop to learn about the medicinal and culinary uses of the local Moroccan spices. Most of us would have preferred to have been exploring the souks (markets) and several in the group vented their anger at Hassan for such a blatant grab for our money and wasting our sight-seeing time. (No doubt he was getting a commission.) Despite my displeasure I was sucked in enough to buy a jar of "anti-ageing" cream - not that I need it of course - made from the miraculous argan oil. If it works I'll order more on line. With a younger complexion and a fuller head of hair you won't know me by the end of the year. (In your dreams, Dorrie!)

The Koutouba Mosque

In the courtyard of the Palace

The beautiful tiles in the ceiling of the Palace

This is the miracle cream that will make me look 20 years younger. (No, you can't have any!)

That afternoon I had a full-body massage - the first I've ever had. Probably won't have another. I don't see any point in someone massaging my boobs, spare tyre and love handles. They're already perfectly relaxed and "hanging loose", thank you very much.

Day 7

The morning of our last full day in Morocco was spent driving back to Casablanca. To fill in the time we watched the classic movie of the same name. I wondered about the relevance, however, since Rick's Café (where the story is set) is fictitious and the whole movie was made in a Hollywood studio. It would have been more sensible to have watched The Mummy or The Prince of Persia so we could have identified the settings. Still, it was good to see the film again after all these decades, and it helped while away the hours. It also tied in nicely with the next activity, as you shall see.

That night we all assembled for our last dinner together in Rick's Café, a restaurant, bar and café in the city. Opened in 2004, the place was designed to recreate the bar made famous in "Casablanca". Set in an old courtyard-style mansion built against the walls of the Old Medina of Casablanca, the restaurant/piano bar is filled with architectural and decorative details reminiscent of the film: curved arches, a sculpted bar, balconies, balustrades as well as beaded and stencilled brass lighting and plants that cast luminous shadows on white walls. There is an authentic 1930’s Pleyel piano and As Time Goes By is a common request to the in-house pianist.
We enjoyed a great four-course meal, toasting each other with a hearty "Here’s looking at you kid!"

Rick's Bar. Play it again, Sam.

My Adriatic Adventures

My Adriatic Adventures

In many ways this tour was like the one to the Baltic States: it was to three small and poor countries - Slovenia, Croatia and Bosnia-Herzegovina  - which were throughout their history ruled by other countries (in this case the Romans, the Turks, the French and the Austrians) and which finally got their independence after the fall of communism in 1990. In both cases I knew virtually nothing about their histories, so once again it was a voyage of discovery.

Day 1

The tour started in Ljubljana, capital of Slovenia. Like on the Baltics tour it was a large group (42) with people from all around the world. This time, however, the dominant nationality was British, not German. (In fact there were no Germans - or French, and only a handful of Australians.) The first stop was to a world-class attraction: the Postojna Caves, a vast, 22km labyrinth of stalagmites, stalagtites, columns and weird rock formations, of which only 6kms is open to the public. The first two ks were by open train rushing through claustrophobic tunnels, then the next two on foot through huge limestone caverns, with the last two back on the train. I'd been to countless caves before but this took the yellowcake in terms of size and beauty. It was like something out of "Voyage to the Centre of the Earth". Outside the cave entrance it was very touristy (justifiably so); there was even a huge international hotel within walking distance. (No, it wasn't called The Cave Inn.)

The beautiful Spaghetti Chamber. I have no idea why they call it that.

From the caves we motored on southwards, crossing into Croatia and into some beautiful forest scenery. Being autumn, the leaves were starting to turn gold and it was a gorgeous sight. Then we crossed a mountain range and the landscape changed to a rocky, barren, almost desert-like state caused by the buffeting ocean winds. This area, the Paklenica National Park, doubled as the Wild West in the successful 1960s German films about  the Indian brave Winnetou. (Apparently you couldn't tell it was European and not American, though the German-speaking Indians were a bit of a giveaway.) Later on, some stretches were littered with unexploded land mines from the 1991-1995 Bosnian war and each side of the road the terrain carried warning signs to that effect. I couldn't help imagining the scenario of a non Croat-speaking tourist stopping for a pee. "Hey Ethyl, I wonder what this sign me..." (I shouldn't joke about such an awful time in their history.)

Paklenica National Park - Wild West on the cheap.

At 6pm we arrived at the charming and ancient Adriatic port city of Zadar for our overnight stay. Under Venetian domination for centuries, then Austro/Hungarian, Zadar was ruled by Italy after WWI, and today belongs to Croatia. Before heading for our hotel, we did a walking tour with a local guide. For this (and for all subsequent walking tours) we were issued with head sets. The guide talked into her microphone and we could hear her through our headphones, no matter how far away she was. It meant that when we visited a church she could stay outside doing a commentary and not disturbing the people praying while we walked around quietly inside. (Or I could pop into a toilet and not miss anything.) The head sets were brilliant and made us feel superior as no other tour groups had them.

The highlights of the Zadar, apart from the Roman ruins, were these coloured light displays produced by solar panels you could walk on and the "sea organ", an experimental musical instrument which plays music by way of sea waves and pipes located underneath a set of large marble steps. (No Handel's Water Music jokes please.) The sounds produced were deep, ghostly and ethereal. We were told these musical pipes were unique to this city. I'd certainly never heard anything like them before.

The colourful solar panel lights at Zadar

The Zadar Sea Organ

Day 2

Today we drove south to Split to visit the former home town of the Roman emperor Diocletian and his palace, a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Croatia's second biggest city (350,000) , Split is situated in the Mediterranean Basin on the eastern shores of the Adriatic Sea and is a huge tourist attraction, especially for cruise ships. It is called the Sunny City because it has more sunshine than any other city in Europe apparently. It certainly lived up to its name when we got there, though locals told us that it had been raining three days before *and* the morning before we arrived. How lucky is that! Driving into Split was pretty depressing. It was dirty, soulless and old-looking, like something out of the 70s. The historic city center, however, was colourful and vibrant. I guess you could say the place had a Split personality. (Sorry.)

Split

Today the palace constitutes the inner core of the city, still inhabited by rich trendies and full of shops, markets, squares inserted in its corridors and floors. The ancient Cathedral of St. Duje (a recycled pagan Diocletian's mausoleum) with its high bell tower is adjacent. We did an hour-long walking tour through, under and around the palace and cathedral, which was interesting, but all the cruise ship tourists, especially the loud Italians, were a pain. Thank heavens for our head sets!

This underground chamber of the palace was once full of garbage. Now it's full of tourists.

The items on sale at this stall in one of the corridors of the palace are made of marble from the island of Brac, near Split. Limestone from this island was used to make the White House.

An hour and a half later we split from Split and drove along the coast before reaching the capital Dubrovnik for two overnight stays. Dubbed the Dalmatian Riviera, this resort-filled stretch of coastline has some jaw-dropping views, with steep mountains plunging straight into the sea. (The road just skirts around them at their base.) Interestingly, towards the end, 10 ks of the road passes through Bosnia-Herzegovina, before going back into Croatia. (For our comfort stop we needed Bosnian money - the third currency in as many days!) Off the coastline were numerous small islands, adding to our viewing pleasure. Between the high mountains were flat areas supporting agriculture with such as crops as olives, figs, mandarins (they are exported internationally) and grapes. Croatian wines, we were told, are starting to make a splash in Europe. (Watch out Australia!) The ones I have tasted have been excellent. Of course they are ridiculously cheap.

A typical stunning view of the Dalmation Coast

Day 3

The day began early with an hour-long guided walking tour of the beautiful medieval walled old town of Dubrovnik. Although heavily damaged in the recent war it was quickly restored with financial assistance from UNESCO. After the tour many of us decided to climb the walls and do a circuit, which ended up taking an hour and a half. It proved to be one of the most enjoyable and awesome experiences of the last six months. Everywhere you looked was a picture postcard. I won't say any more, just look at the following pictures and you'll see what I mean.

At midday some of us did an optional extra rip-off tour, me being one of them. (You'd think I'd have learnt by now.) We first went to the moderately pretty coastal city of Cavtat, then to a "family vineyard" for a wine tasting. (The owner was probably the bus driver's brother-in-law.) We tasted a white, red and rosé and they were all god-awful. (The Australian wine industry needn't be concerned.) We then went on to taste some fruit liqueurs at another "family" brewer (the bus driver's cousin) but this time they were good. The setting was this quaint water mill by a picturesque little brook and the brandies were served by pretty Croatian wenches in traditional costumes. Most delectable (the liqueurs as well).

Wine tasting. The happy faces belie the quality of the wine.

Sampling the liqueurs. (Sorry about the quality of the pic. The Croation girl fogged up my lens!)

Day 4

Today was to be a bit of a culture shock. We left beautiful, prosperous Catholic Croatia and headed for war-torn, poverty-stricken Moslem Bosnia-Herzegovina. Our first stop was in Mostar, where a local guide took us on a walking tour of the city. It was heavily damaged by the Serbs and buildings are still pockmarked from mortar attacks. Many remain gutted and abandoned, awaiting restoration. The guide took us into a typical house in the Turkish quarter, into a mosque (my first, and last, time) and then to the famous reconstructed 16th-century bridge. The Stari Most, or Old Bridge, built by the Ottomans in the 16th century, is one B-H's most recognizable landmarks, and is considered one of the most exemplary pieces of Islamic architecture in the Balkans. Death-defying local youths and stupid tourists like to dive off it to prove their manhood. In fact while I was getting my camera out someone had just belly-flopped into the water. (Talk about bad timing!) Even I had heard of this bridge that was blown up in 1993 by Bosnian Croats as an act of vandalism then rebuilt and opened by Prince Charles in 2004. (Unfortunately he didn't dive off it. Pity.)

A derelict building in Mostar showing the effects of war.

Inside a mosque.

The famous reconstructed Mostar bridge.

We then moved northwards through steep mountains, bedecked with flame-coloured trees (a gorgeous drive) to Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia-Herzegovina, the most Turkish-looking city in the Balkans, famous for its mosques, markets, and bazaars. A pretty young local guide (a veritable Turkish Delight) lead us through the city, pointing out its many Ottoman and Austrian-influenced architectural features and peppering her talk with interesting facts, like Sarajevo was the first city in Europe to have trams. The Austrians decided to try them out there first in 1885 before introducing them into Vienna, figuring that if there were any fatal accidents it wouldn't matter. (The present day trams look so old they may well be the original vehicles!) Apart from staging the Winter Olympics in 1984, Sarajevo is of course famous for the incident that sparked World War I. It was here on 28 June 1914, where Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, and his wife, Sophie, were shot dead by 19 year-old Gavrilo Princip, one of a group of six Bosnian Serb assassins who wanted to end Austrian-Hungarian rule and set up a Greater Serbia or Yugoslavia. I stood in the very spot where he pulled the trigger. (No, I didn't feel an urge to shoot Tony Abbott, but it's a thought...)

The Latin Bridge, near where Franz Ferdinand was assissinated.

Our guide also related the horrors the city experienced during the siege of 1992-6 when it was totally cut off by the Serbs and deprived of electricity, water and essential supplies. Casualties numbered 14,000! The people never capitulated, however, building a tunnel to smuggle in food and water. They even staged a film festival, which continues today, using car batteries to run the projectors! (No doubt sponsored by 20th 'Century' Fox.) You have to admire people like that. Today Sarajevo is known as a tolerant, multi-cultural city where Moslem mosques, Catholic cathedrals, Jewish synagogues and Orthodox churches exist literally side by side and races intermarry freely. Though incredibly interesting historically and culturally, however, Sarajevo was for me dirty, ugly and charmless (I didn't take one picture) and I couldn't wait to get back to Croatia.

Day 5

This morning we travelled north through mountain scenery even more gorgeous than the day before. It was the first completely sunny day, which made the yellows, reds and gold colours of the autumn leaves even more brilliant. (The other days had been partly cloudy with isolated showers.) After a border crossing into Croatia that took forever we arrived at the country's best-known national park and most popular tourist attraction - Plitvice. Here we did a boat ride then a walk with a local guide through the breathtaking scenery of this beautiful park. Plitvice consists of 16 lakes, wooded hills, waterfalls, and cascades and in summertime it is crawling with tourists. (We were told we were there at the perfect time - it was low season and the trees were resplendent in their autumn colours.) The only thing spoiling the experience was our timing - we arrived at 3.30, giving us only a couple of hours of sunlight for photography. He were held up also by this Indonesian woman on the tour who had just had hip replacement surgery and was walking slowly with a cane. We had to continually wait for her to catch up and consequently were only able to do a small proportion of the available walking trails. She wasn't the only slow one though - many others found the trails exhausting and were huffing and puffing after only a few stairs. Every time anyone complained I just boasted, "If you think this is steep, try climbing the 800 stairs of the church tower in Ulm!" That shut them up. (Each time I said this I would increase the number of stairs, just to heighten the dramatic effect. By the end of the afternoon the Ulmer Münster was higher than Mount Everest!) Anyway, here are some photos that, despite the late afternoon light, might give you an idea of the beauty of Plitvice.

Gorgeous, hey?

This is probably the nicest picture I've ever taken.

Day 6 (last full day)

The first stop of the day was in Croatia's capital, Zagreb. Called "Little Vienna" because of the number of open-air coffee shops and konditoreis (a legacy of its Austrian background) the city is packed with historic buildings, such as the gothic-style Church of St. Marcus with its spectacular coloured tile roof (See pic below.) We did an hour-long walking tour lead by this personable 20-year old Uni student whose English was brilliant, except that he kept getting his v's and w's mixed up. ("A vonderful willage".) He was so nice and self-confident I didn't have the heart to correct him. Zagreb is a stylish, cultural and prosperous-looking city, despite its 12% unemployment rate. Definitely worth another visit.

Our enthusiastic young guide explaining a local custom of boyfriends giving their girlfriends a heart. The heart has a small mirror in the middle that reflects the suitor's true love. (Hopefully the mother doesn't open it first.)

The spectacular St Marcus Church.

Zagreb has several unusual muesums, like this one containing objects that caused relationships to break up. I reckon Split would have been a more logical place for this museum.

A local lass in traditional dress.

Did you know that Zagreb invented the tie (kravat)? I didn't.

In the afternoon we crossed the border into Slovenia to finish in Ljubljana where we started the tour. The country is a member of the EU and the only one of the three to use the Euro. (Croatia will be getting it in a few years time when it fulfils all the requirements.) The contrast with Croatia and Bosnia was stark: beautiful new highways, neat little willages and clean, painted houses as opposed to narrow, pot-holed roads and grey, un-painted and dilapidated houses (in B-H especially). Our final walking tour through Ljubljana revealed a lovely, compact capital city straddling a charming canal and full of newly-restored buildings in a myriad of historic styles. Also worth a revisit.

A couple of the nice buildings in Ljubljana

This peaceful canal runs through the city. It is bordered with numerous cafes and bars.

The final activity was an optional evening of traditional food, music and dancing in a "family restaurant" (you know what that means by now). If the eight singer/dancers were "family" they must have been the bus driver's grand parents and great aunts and uncles, wheeled out of the old people's home for the occasion. I kid you not, not one of them was younger than 60! The women were so unattractive I resolved to drink enough alcohol till they became pretty. It didn't work. After 5 glasses of wine they were still ugly. The five-course meal of typical Slovenia food was not bad, but the music (accordions!) was terrible, though the crowd lapped it up. Of course there was lots of audience participation, such as a hat dance where the victims, sorry, dancers had to take the hat of his/her neighbour and put it on his/her own head in time with the music, which of course got faster and faster. That one was mildly amusing. Thankfully, I managed to escape being chosen to make a fool of myself. (Picking my nose when they come looking for volunteers always seems to work.) The evening lived down to my expectations as I knew it would but it was a nice thing to do as a final activity with the group.

So that was the tour. A very interesting, informative and enjoyable visit to three unfamiliar countries with stormy pasts and hopeful futures. For those of you who have read up to this point, I am offering a little reward. Send me a blank email with just the words "Autumn Leaves" in the Subject box and I will send you a nice post card from Morocco (my last tour that commences on Saturday). This will show me if people are actually reading the blog or if I am just talking to myself. If I don't have your address include that in the text part of the letter. Bye, and thanks for reading!