Ibn Ibn Battuta

Lalibela: Sacred Spaces from Another World

The Seven Olives Hotel rests on a hillside overlooking the town of Lalibela, in north-central Ethiopia. Jacqueline parked herself there for two days, relaxing and reading on the terrace beside our room, taking three meals a day at the restaurant, and generally trying to forget about her long ordeal with the fleas.

Having sworn off all further visits to Ethiopian monasteries, churches, chapels, and cathedrals, she stayed behind each morning when I set out to explore Lalibela's main attraction: the famous rock-hewn churches.

In the late twelfth century, present-day Lalibela was known as Roha, and was

Bahir Dar: the Riviera of Ethiopia

Our northward drive continued Monday to the city of Bahir Dar, which we reached in time for lunch. Bahir Dar sits on the edge of Lake Tana, and is generously characterized as "Ethiopia's Riviera", though it seemed a bit more rough around the edges than some other rivieras I've seen.

We pitched our tent on the grounds of the Ghion Hotel, beside the lakeshore, and spent the afternoon relaxing and watching the birds (an eclectic mix of parakeets, vultures, pelicans, hornbills, seagulls, fish eagles, pigeons, and plume-tailed songbirds) clatter about the treetops.

The Long Road Northward Begins

The Abeba Tours manager and driver picked Jacqueline and I up at our guest house in Addis early Sunday morning for the start of our two-week northern road trip.

As the churches emptied out from their all-night services, white-veiled figures filled the otherwise deserted streets. We left the city's northern limits, cruising along a well-paved road that brought us abruptly from the metropolis to rolling farmland. Runners and pods of bikers chugged along the roadside; our driver, Yoseph, told us that Ethiopia's most famous athletes, including the internationally renowned marathoners, train along this stretch of road.

First Days in Addis: Dealing with Diplomats

 Next time we'll make sure not to visit Addis Ababa during an African Union summit.

Our first three days in Ethiopia's capital have been dominated by the presence of several hundred dipomats and heads of state from around the continent. Roads are blocked, hotels are full, and ATMs are tapped. The upside is increased security: a policeman or soldier with an AK-47 is stationed every 50 feet along each side of every street in the city, ushering along the motorcades and traffic.

Despite the unexpected disruptions posed by the conference (which apparently occurs here three times per year), Jacqueline and I got off to a great start in

Best Photos from Morocco: Urban Scenes

Now, the moment you've all been waiting for. No more landscapes, snake charmers, or chickens. These are the iconic images that define Morocco: its walled cities, ornate medersas, soaring mosques, and open-air houses.

While almost half of Morocco's population still lives in rural areas, the cities have long been the country's vibrant heart. They are the site of its most impressive monuments and markets, and of its most vivid colors. Being a fan of great architecture, I absolutely loved examining the intricacy of many of Morocco's ornate sacred spaces, which feature prominently in this collection:

The Final Countdown: Southern Comforts in Essaouira

Morocco map

For my birthday weekend, Jacqueline and I planned to celebrate by escaping Rabat. But we were only two blocks from home, the clock still showing an hour until dawn, when the shit hit the fan.

Bound for Essaouira, Jacqueline and I had just left our apartment, blurry-eyed but with coffees in hand. At the first traffic light, Jacqueline's stick-shifting prowess gave out. We stalled once, twice, three times. Each time the rental car bucked like a rodeo steer, sloshing more hot coffee on us and the vehicle's interior. Soon Jacqueline and I mutually decided that I should drive the trip's first leg.

Farewell, Fes...

It was supposed to be our final visit to Fes, a city with which I now feel we share a long and tarnished history. In truth, it was no more than half a year, rendered longer by the harsh weather and still harsher social climate (which I've described before - see "Running the Gauntlet: Street Harassment in Fes").

Jacqueline and I visited the few friends we have left in the city, poked aimlessly around the medina for an afternoon, and picked up a few cheap gifts. Long under renovation, the 14th-century Medersa el Attarine (مدرسة العطارين) was newly reopened, so we checked it out, too. Staying with our friends Jon and Jen was, as always, a highlight,

From al-Andalus to al-Maghreb, and Beyond

Spain map

Before returning to Morocco, Jacqueline and I spent the last days of our Iberian roadtrip kicking around Andalucia.

In Zafra, we discovered secreto ibérico. At a café in the old town's main square, both of us ordered the mysterious "Iberian secret", left unexplained by the menu, on the waitress' recommendation. It turned out to be a tender pork fillet, seared to juicy perfection - perhaps our best meal of the entire trip.

Ronda was a picturesque stone-and-mortar town split by a deep chasm, its sandstone cliffs housing the swallows that swooped through the evening skies.

Though the Meter Man Lurks, Lisbon Still Delights

Lisbon map

Why, oh why, did we decide to drive?

I first began to ask myself this question on the highway just outside Lisbon, as we sat in full horizon-to-horizon gridlock, creeping imperceptibly toward the Portuguese capital.

Strangely, when we finally reached the center of the city it looked almost deserted. Late on a Sunday afternoon, most shops were closed and the pedestrians were few.

So too were the parking spaces. Thus, while Jacqueline and I walked around downtown searching for a suitable place to stay, our rental car sat in a garage, racking up a substantial bill. We finally opted to stay in the brand new Shiado Hostel, on

Marrakech: Summer Vacation in the Red City

Morocco map

After a grueling and nearly sleepless week, my last five minutes in Rabat were a whirlwind: toss reports on boss' desk, shut down computer, sprint three blocks home, dump fridge contents into trash bag and give to building caretaker, shoulder backpack, cut power, fumble door lock, sprint four blocks to train station, board and collapse.

My latest contract finished, I was finally, unbelievably heading out for two much-needed weeks of relaxation. First destination: Marrakech, surely one of earth's least relaxing cities.

Something like Jazz, au Chellah

Rabat's annual "Jazz au Chellah" festival tends to be a fairly sedate affair, as one might imagine. Assigned seating, a crowd of stiff European expats, and mellow tunes lend it a refined garden party atmosphere. 

The backdrop helps, too; the concert stage is tucked among the overgrown ruins of the Chellah (شالة). One of only a few sites of historical importance in the capital, the Chellah is a jungle-like complex of deteriorating Roman and medieval Islamic structures, all surrounded by high, crenellated walls. On a balmy Monday evening, the storks whose cackling normally dominates the site's treetops

El Jadida, Just Five Short Centuries After Its Prime

Morocco map

Enough of politics - time to hit the road.

Jacqueline and her cousin Carolyn (visiting from New York) were leaving Saturday for a southern Morocco surfing odyssey. Unfortunately, chained to my desk as I am these days, I couldn't go for the full trip, but our friend Chris and I managed to tag along as far as El Jadida (الجديدة). The ladies dropped us at the entrance to the town's old Portuguese medina, leaving us to our own devices for the day.

Five centuries ago, El Jadida was the site of a seaside Portuguese fortress