Island Hopper's Travel Blog

My wife and myself are leaving today for Barcelona on our pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in the province of Coruña (North Spain). From Barcelona we will travel by train to Pamplona and after a day's rest will walk to Roncesvalles (France) and take the pilgrims' route known as Camino Frances.

It is our aim to walk a distance of at least 200 kms, weather permitting. We are very excited about our journey and have read about and talked to people who have done the same journey. Every body tells us that this will be an unforgettable experience of our life.

We have traveled in Spain but never on foot, although we lived in Malaga for twenty years and for two years were living in Seville (Sevilla) and always talked about doing this pilgrimage, some how we never did it.

Every year there is a festival in honor of Virgin del Rocio in the province of Huelva but we never went there either. This festival is one of the biggest and most popular where more than one million people converge. Devotees from all over Spain and specially from Andalusia take part in the festivities.

The festival lasts for three days and is full of emotional devotion, religious ardor in a festive atmosphere. The visitors have a chance of enjoying the wine and typical Andalusian Tapas, listen to Flaminco and others songs in praise of the Virgin del Rocio. People come on horse back, in bullock carts and on foot, bearing the summer heat. The distance from Huelva to the Church of the virgin del Rocio is about eleven kms, and after the three days' ceremony, a typical country banquet of food (Comida Compestre) is offered to the visitors. It is an unforgeable experience.

Summer 1967

Late that evening, after we had a delicious dinner of CousCous and lamb curry, hummus and kebabs, Nan bread with Harisa (chilli paste), olives and Dates, drank many glasses of hot fresh mint tea, we met a Veterinary doctor and a man called Moussa. I do not remember if his name was Ahmed or Mohamed, every body called him Moussa. He was a Tuareg, originally from Mali but was settled in Morocco and knew everything about camels and their transportation. He was a tall and thin man, with a narrow pointed nose, deep set eyes and a cruel mouth, I remember it well. With his white robe and a long blue tunic on top, with a white turban on his head, he looked clumsy.

When I was young, I had read many books about adventures of soldiers of fortune, convicts and con men, who had joined the Foreign Legions to seek fame and fortune. When I went to live in the Canary Islands, I gave myself the nom de plume Tuareg. I was very fascinated about the stories of Tuareg warriors fighting the French colonial masters and French Foreign Legion which was garrisoned in Algeria. And their caravans journeying from Morocco to the legendary and mysterious town of Timbuktu.
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This meeting was arranged by my friend Hugo who knew many people in Marrakesh. After a long talk, much of it in Arabic which I could not understand, it was settled that Moussa will, on the next day, travel with us to a settlement on the outskirts of Marrakesh, where he had arranged for the Vet to examine the camels which were to be bought and brought to Casablanca. I promised to arrange for the payment with my businessman in the Canary Islands.

Early on the morning of the next day, we started towards the town settlement to view the camels. We were on the outskirts of the city, outside the city walls and going back towards Casablanca. The Tuareg Moussa took us to a place called Palmeraie, which we had seen while coming in to Marrakesh. Moussa told us that this place was the original settlement of the city, where there were more than 140,000 Date Palm trees and with a large Oasis. He told us that there was a legend that at night, Yusef Ben Tashfin, the founder of Marrakesh and his warriors, used to rest in this Oasis which was not populated with many palm trees. But the warriors used to eat the dates which they brought from other oasis's and they would dig holes in the earth with their spears and bury the date bones, which after a time germinated in Date Palm trees, thus creating the settlement with thousands of Palm trees.

Every village, town and city needs a legend, in Pune (India) there used to be a Temple of Hanuman (The Monkey God) and in its courtyard there was an ancient Banyan tree with a large girth. This tree was hundreds of years old and from its base to the top, there were literally millions of iron nails hammered in its trunk. And the tree was alive, green. The popular legend was that every night, Hanuman patrolled the city, and nailed the evil spirits to the tree trunk, which would otherwise scare the devotees of the temple.

As we neared the village, a languor settled over me, I was sweating a lot and my stomach was bothering me. Soon we reached the house of the man whom we had come to see, and before Hugo had switched off the motor, the wide metal door in the mud wall of the house opened and a swarthy Arab stepped outside, shook hands with everybody and invited us in. We entered a large cool room, more like a covered veranda, and settled down on thick carpets and pillow-cushions. Soon two young girls brought us hot mint tea, goat cheese, dates and fresh baked Nan bread.

By now I was not feeling well at all and would have declined to eat anything except to drink tea, but the Arab customs of hospitality obliged me to partake of food. The cheese was so smelly that I felt sick and ran outside in the courtyard and vomited. Our host immediately called some one and from behind the house, from another quarter, his wife and young daughter emerged, took me by the arm and led me to a tap in the corner of the yard. I wet my head and washed my face and arms, but the sweat just poured down my body and I was extremely hot, feeling feverish and uncomfortable.

Presently we left this place and after walking ten minutes, came to another large mud house. The stench of camels hovered over the place and the air was full of foul smell, which the camels emit while chewing their cud. I felt terrible and refused to enter the house. Every body else entered, and later when the Vet had inspected the camels which were for sale, the deal was struck, they came back and we started for Casablanca. The return journey was a torture and when we reached our hotel, I fell totally sick. The doctor who came to examine me told me that I had some virus in my stomach which could have been caused by drinking bad water or some bad food.

I sent a telegram to the businessman in the Canary Islands, told him to send details for finalizing the sale, and by next day had a reply in which he detailed about the shipment from Casablanca harbor. He also instructed me to buy 600 water jars to be sent to El Aaiun. I was flabbergasted. Now I told my friend Eric to take charge and with the help of Hugo to arrange for the completion of job at hand. I was feeling retched and wanted to go back to the Canary Islands.

Some time later, I learnt that camels arrived safely at their destination but all 600 water jars were broken on the way.

Summer 1967

"Do you think that your businessman friend really means to transport camels by boat to Sahara?"

We were traveling by plane from Las Palmas to Casablanca and my friend Erick asked me this question.
Erick was Swiss, I have long since forgotten how I met him, but he became a friend and after some years he disappeared from my life. A very talkative guy, chain smoker like me, with a liking for free drink, he was a jolly companion. He knew many people in Las Palmas but was averse to working and was not interested in doing anything. We went fishing together, went to the island of Fuerteventura a few times, fishing and staying on the beach for a few days. It was him who knew the Canadian woman who had in 1967 bought a major chunk of beach front land at Jandia Playa (Beach) at a very cheap price and was selling one square meter for BP 1.00 (equivalent to 70 pesetas at that time).

I had sold many parcels of 5000sqm land to my friends and business acquaintances and sold even in Canada where I went in 1970. And now we were traveling together to Casablanca. I had phoned a friend of mine there, an Italian Jew who had lived in Morocco for many years and was in advertising and Insurance business and had very good contacts. I had explained to him our mission and he, without any comment, had promised to do what he could.

We landed in Casablanca late in the evening and there was a chill in the air but the change in the surroundings was remarkable. We took a taxi and went to a small hotel in the center, near the Hotel
Atlantique, where I used to stay during my visits there. A friendly and clean place run by an Spanish couple.

Casablanca was not the modern city with new buildings and mosques it is today, it was a chaotic city with buildings in need of repair, its boulevards and streets clogged with traffic and fumes of ancient motor vehicles. The city has always been influenced by French culture and architecture, with a hangover of a decadent Metropolis mixed with the authentic Arab ambiance. The white colonial buildings, impressive iron grilled doors on their facades, all have the unmissable Arab-Andalusian influence. You will hear more French than local language in the shops and streets.

Casa Branca (Casablanca because of its white colored buildings) as the Portuguese called it, was a city in which Berbers had settled as early as 9th Century when the influence of Islam was growing in Spain and in Europe. Berbers were against the Mohammedan religion, but by 14th century the whole region had become a haven for pirates who were attacking the Portuguese ships. So in 15th century Portuguese assaulted the city and named it Casa Branca and stationed a military garrison to protect their shipping lines. The rest is history, the French colonial rule in Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia and French influence in architecture, language and customs.

The daily life in Casablanca was and is even today, in and around its Central Market where you could buy fresh fruit and vegetables, live chickens and goats. The Souks were always full of pedestrians, buying clothes, spices and articles of art, and you would find every imaginable thing there. Streets full of shops, men dying cotton cloth and tanners in leather trousers, with naked torsos tanning leather, its overpowering stench assaulting your senses, the heat, the din of hammering on brass and ironware blasting your ears, shopkeepers shouting and pulling you to have a look at their carpets spread out in front. A total bedlam but so romantic, women in burkas covered from head to foot, young girls with blond hair and short skirts and blouses, men with long djellabas and others in western attire mingling freely in the streets.

The old city of Casablanca was located just off the town square, near the Medina, the main commercial centre, a lybrinth of narrow and dirty streets, near the sea and where many streets meet. During the daytime it was full of people, its bars and cafes full of men drinking mint tea and smoking water pipe, the hub con constant conversation reaching you as you passed, but in the evenings and specially at night, it was not considered safe to venture there. In hotels, bars and on the streets, you would find prostitutes and their pimps lounging in wait for their trade.
Morocco is El Maghreb and you may not find the salve girls, harems and houris of Arabian Nights there, but there is no derth of their cousins plying their trade at all hours of the day and night.

On the next day I phoned my good Jewish friend Hugo and set up an appointment to meet him at a restaurant near the Central Market, where they served delicious lamb cutlets and cuss cuss and cold local beer.

I have lived in the Canary Islands for 25 years, the best time of my life, the happiest time of my life I had in these Fortunate Islands. I went there in 1963 and in 1988 I moved to Malaga. Before that I lived and worked in Gibraltar and went to Morocco often.

In the year 1966 I left my job in Las Palmas and started my own business. But the wanderlust in my veins was very strong and I traveled for some months in Europe, visiting France, Italy, Austria, Germany, Holland and the U.K. I can safely say, without any false vanity, that until now I have not found a refuge in my life.

Around 1966 I came to know a business man who had recently settled in Las Palmas. He came from a country neighboring Spain. He rented a shop in the main business center, paid a hefty premium in cash, thus spreading the rumor that he was loaded.

At that time there was not much business with El Aaiuñ, the Capital city of Sub-Sahara which was under
Spanish control. General Franco was still alive and Spanish foreign Legion was stationed there. But the trade was growing and it was not infrequent to see men in long robes, heads covered with turbans and indeed Tuareg with their blue and white gowns, heads and faces covered, drinking tea in the shops and doing large purchases. At that time if a businessman wanted to visit El Aaiuñ, which was seldom and required a good reason, needed a special permit from Madrid. There was only one flight a week, going and coming back the very same day.

This business man was the first to increase trade with sub-Saharan market and had, without the general knowledge of many, opened a Cabaret in El Aaiuñ. A very strange and puzzling prospect indeed. One day I was sitting with him in his office (my office was in front on the other side of the street) and he casually asked me if I knew some one who would be interested in making some money, transporting some stuff to the sub-Saharan Capital.

I told him that indeed I knew such a person, and if he could give me some more details about this deal, I will talk to that person. He however, asked me to bring that person along and he will tell us both about the trip. So I spoke with this man, who was a friend, unemployed, married with a small child and I thought reasonably that he would be indeed interested. So one day soon after that we gathered in my office and over whiskey & soda, the businessman unraveled his proposal.

He told us that he had charted a boat in Casablanca to transport camels to Al Aaiuñ and he needed some person whom he could trust, to go along with the cargo. That he had persons of confidence who will take delivery. That he will pay good lump sum money for the trip. Now this friend of mine did not know any body in Casablanca and nothing at all about buying camels in Morocco. So we all had a good laugh and had some more whiskey and asked him as to who was going to procure the camels and why go to such lengths when camels could be bought somewhere in the Canary Islands and it was just a hop from Las Palmas to El Aaiuñ. He told us that he needed 48 camels and such number was not readily available in the islands, moreover they would come from Morocco anyway. As to who was going to buy the camels, would I be interested to go along and find some one whom I knew well to buy the camels? So we had some more laughs and splashed some more whiskey & soda in the glasses. It is not every day that such an offer comes along. Had he asked me to ride a camel caravan laden with salt to sell in Timbuktu, I would have jumped at the very idea. My heart missed a few beats.

On the third day of our stay in London, in the morning we took a bus and went to see Trafalgar Square.We got down at Piccadilly Circus and after strolling round Leicester Square, we went down Hay market and Pall Mall, and walked all the way to Trafalgar Square. The day was clear and a shy Sun had come out, many young people were sitting in the Square and on the steps of National Gallery. I think the Square has become a symbol of people's freedom, from here mass protests are organized or they end here, political and social leaders lecture here to the audience of thousands. The Parliament and No. 10 Downing Street are nearby and although nowadays this street is many times closed to general public, in the old days you could enter the street and reach No.10 and have your photograph taken.

Trafalgar square is surrounded by many famous monuments. On its left hand side is the famous st. Martin's Church and the National Gallery. This is also one of my favorite places to visit when I am in London. When I lived there, I used to go often and look at the paintings of Botticelli, Da Vinci, Rembrandt and Von Gogh. Gainsborough and so many others. When we went there, there was an exhibition of works of Velázquez. You could easily spend one whole day there. If you like to visit art Galleries of course. Then you have the famous Charing Cross station, and further down you will come to St.Paul's Cathedral. On the other side you have Soho, the strand and can go back to Shafts bury Avenue. If you go up the Charing cross Road you will see Foyles, the famous Book store.

It was getting late and we were tired, but we wanted to go to st. Paul's Cathedral. Our son instead wanted to see Buckingham Palace. So we retreated back to Piccadilly Circus and had some food and then walked down all the way to the Buck House. A long and tiring walk and by the time we reached there, it was totally dark and raining and few tourists outside the gates. We lingered there, took some obligatory photos and went walking (again) to Victoria Station. Now it was raining hard and we were cold, so we decided to go back to the hotel.