Author: Naomi Stobbe

Miles of Sand

Posted on | by Naomi Stobbe

Suddenly we are in a different Morocco. Our kasbah sits right at the edge of the dunes. We walk only a few feet and are in the undulating sand. The sand is two colours: grey and red. It appears that one may be a different weight than the other because, after the wind blows and the ripples appear, the grey sand is in the dips  and the red sand are the crests. The kasbah’s walls are mud and straw and the room that we have is huge. I go for a walk into the dunes and by the time I return Rudy has a cup of thick coffee and we head up onto the roof to see the sunset.

We slept under heavy blankets last night but we were not cold.This morning many of the group opted for shorts.  Malika, our young guide, dressed in a typical Saharan way. She is from this part of the country and feels at home here. The shower water was hot but only came out in a dribble so I just rinsed my hair. Breakfast was the usual Moroccan affair with loads of types of breads, olives, jams, orange juice and fruit. Rudy and I did not opt in to the 4 by 4 driving on the dunes. Instead we chose and equally envigorating activity. We washed out some clothes by hand and hung them in the hot sun. Here we don’t need to worry if they will dry in time. The sun beats down intensely.

After laundry we headed off into the dunes. It was hot, but not unbearably so. Dave and MaryLou joined us and we explored for awhile before we split up. I ended up wandering and creating designs in the sand. There is something so soothing about the miles and miles of sand and the sky. It is quiet and peaceful just to sit and look. This landscape is so very different from anything I have ever experienced.

I spent the rest of the day relaxing by the pool, but no swimming. The water was icy cold, even just to put my feet in. Rudy, Dave and MaryLou and the Aussies managed to snag some beer and wine (a bit of a feat because it is Ramadan) and wiled away the late afternoon chatting up a storm. Although there certainly are some downsides to traveling with a tour group, there are so many interesting things. As an adult, one gets very few opportunities to spend an extended period of time with a diverse group of people. So many stories. So much richness. Wow. It reminded me of when I went back to university as an adult and met so many new people in such a short and intense time.

Late afternoon we went to get our desert scarves tied on and climb onto our camels for a ride into the dunes to watch the sunset. I probably will never get an opportunity like this again and it felt so other worldly. Groups of 3 camels were tied together in a train and each train had a person who lead them. Often the surface of the sand is very firm but, after some foot or camel traffic, it does loosen and then the camels slide about. We stopped on the top of the dunes and watched the sun slide down until it was behind the horizon.

When we returned to the kasbah it was time for dinner, so we sat ourselves down at the long table in the heavily carpeted dining room.  It started the way all meals start here in Morocco (fresh bread dipped in oil, vinegar, and salt). The tile floors here in this area of Morocco are covered with a patchwork of carpets. Although red seems to be a predominant colour, there are no “matching” patterns. It seems that carpets are used for the purpose of warmth and that the beautiful colours and designs are secondary.

After dinner we gathered at the campfire to listen to drumming and watch the stars. Probably the quintessential desert night experience.

Fez

Posted on | by Naomi Stobbe

We are staying 2 nights in Fez (last night and tonight) before we hit the desert and rougher accommodations.  So, we are enjoying this lovely hotel experience: king-sized bed, hot water, and even a balcony to dry a bit of laundry.

Today was a full day. Breakfast at 8 am and then off on a city tour by 9. We packed into our little van and headed out to see the outside of the King of Morocco’s palace. It is only one of many palaces he has around the country and some cities have as many as 3 or 4. The king has mixed reviews within the country.  Our first guide that we hired in Casablanca basically said he was a dictator but everyone since then has mostly neutral comments. Anyway, the grounds of this palace is 85 hectares and the palace exterior was beautiful. Rudy and I took a picture just like every newlywed does on their wedding day.

After a visit to a fortress and a quick view of the city from above, we went to a tile and pottery coop. Wow, I was surprized to learn that they still produce tiles in the same way that they always have. The clay from Fez is grey and has no lead in it so is safe for food vessels. This type of clay is not found anywhere else in Morocco and because it fires at a much higher temperature it is much stronger and the colours remain vibrant for hundreds of years. There are many traditional colours and each tile is unique as to how the glaze looks after the firing so the overall effect is lovely. The tiles are all cut by hand with a chisel type hammer and then laid upside down to create the designs. Only after a cement is poured over it and fiberglass (not an ancient technique) is the piece turned over and he design revealed. To say that I was excited to see all those gorgeous tiles, not to mention the fountains and tables, would be an understatement. Everything costs a million dollars in this tourist trap but one of the chiselers gave me a bag of broken tile for my sister’s mosaics.

After the palace we headed out to the Medina, but not before we had a refreshing drink of sugar cane with lemon and ginger purported to cure many things (uti, sti, cancer, etc.) So, basically, I think I am good to go. We then entered through a large gate into the Medina. It was mind boggling. There are over 9000 alleyways in this Medina which is the largest in Morocco. The sun hardly enters the alleyways and although it was a warm day, Rudy shivered in his shorts and wished for socks, pants, and another warm sweater. Our guide was from the Medina and explained how new furniture was brought into the houses. The couches (or whatever) had to be raised to the rooftops and then carried over neighbours’ houses until you reached your own. Then the large skylight in your courtyard was opened and the piece of furniture lowered into your house. Our guide explained that there was no theft in the Medina as basically all the neighbours kept an eye on everyone else. Nothing a person does or says stays a secret for long.

Our first stop in the food section of the market was a place where a woman was making filo pastry. She had balls of pastry dough swimming in sunflower oil in a large tub. She rolled out each ball very thinly and laid it over a large cast iron cooking ball that was heated by a gas heater. The dough cooked quickly. Then a Moroccan “jam” (crushed almonds, dates, and honey) was spread on the pieces. It was so delicious. There were a lot of sweets in the market. The group was on a roll and treats were bought and shared around. The dates are especially delicious, so large and so juicy.

Next, we visited the copper, brass, and other metals area of the market. Men loudly pounded pots into shapes. Our guide tried to give a small talk but the clanging on hammers on metal drowned out his voice and most of the talk. What I did learn was that the copper pots are lined with tin so that they are able to be used in cooking. (Copper has a chemical reaction when heated and is toxic so cannot be used on its own. I lusted after some of the gorgeous cooking pots, but I would have had to hire a donkey to carry them around the rest of Morocco because of their weight, so I continued on with the rest of the group.

A defunct madrass was next on the docket. Our guide explained that previously a student was allowed to study for free in the madrass school if he memorized the 604 pages of the Quran first and after that he studied there for 5 years and then could go on to University. I am a bit fuzzy on the details of information that our guide transmitted but basically he said that public schools are now the flavour of the day for Moroccan children and that learning Arabic, French, Amazigh  (Berber), as well as other regular subjects, and that religion (the Quran) is only taught for 1 hour per week. He says that his kids are learning about the stories of the Quran on YouTube and that he tries to incentivize them to memorize some parts of the Quran with bribes and treats. Although religion has maintained center stage in all of the talks by guides it appears that it may be going the way of other major religions.

Then it was off to lunch. Some of these group lunches are less than great. I am sure that there is some exchange of money or favours for each of the places we go (both food and handicraft) and the price is often elevated and the quality lowered. This was the case with lunch. Rudy was freezing so ordered the beef tangine to warm himself. The dish, when it arrived, reminded me of some childhood Sunday dinners. The pastor at church, being especially inspired, would go on too long and the beef roast in the oven at home became tougher and dryer by the minute. The vegetables, on the other hand would overcook to mush. Suffice to say that the experience was not entirely pleasant.

And, things were beginning to brew in the group. Our Aussie friends were subjected to some dinner time conversation that was cutting and very uncomfortable to listen too. But more about that later.

The textile area was next. Pots of dyes bubbled on the streets where agave silk and cotton were placed to be dyed into any colour you wanted. We visited a place where men wove cloth on giant looms. Some of our group brought scarves that they will use in the desert when we go on our camel ride.

 

The tannery was next. Basically, it wasn’t much of a tour. But, to be able to look off the balcony and see the tannery below, was worth the harassment to buy leather goods afterwards. It was like something out of Monty Python or the game Carcasonne.  We learned that initially the hides are thrown into the white vats that are filled with lime, pigeon guano, cow urine, and salt to soften and remove hair, fat, and flesh.  Then they are placed in the vats containing natural dyes and finally set in the sun to dry. But tanning facts aside, I must get into the building drama of the day. Mutterings and unkind words and some snickering escalated and the tension was increasing. Our complainer, was upset with waiting for all the shoppers and by the time we got back to the van, words had been exchanged, the day guide had been argued with and a temper exploded. What ensued was a very awkward yelling fest while the rest of us sat in uncomfortable silence. The experienced guide tried to bring reason and explanation to bear but the two women were having none of it and yelled over him.  We managed to get going back towards the hotel only to have some shopkeeper run up with news that we should await a few minutes for another package. (Ooo. More fuel added to the fires of discontent.) Another stop at the grocery caused more trouble and by the time we got back to the hotel I thought that some of us innocent bystanders would need therapy.

Once back at the hotel, Rudy and I scuttled to our room to make sense of the happenings. We talked and then talked to Dave and MaryLou and decided that we needed to talk to our young tour guide. (This was her first solo tour leading a group.) We scheduled a meeting, talked about our concerns and suggested that perhaps these women needed to be refunded and asked to leave the tour. She had already contacted her superiors and they would make the decision for the next morning. MaryLou and I retired to our rooms and Dave and Rudy went out for coffee with the Aussies, who had just walked back from the market and missed all the drama.

According to Rudy’s report, the coffee and visit with the Aussies was good . The big event of the day was discussed with possiable options. It seemed like if the fighting would continue the tour might fall apart. Everyone was in shock. Not sure if they came up with a concrete conclusion, but one thing they did do was stop at a pastry shop.  They purchased small boxes of treats to feed the group next day on the coffee and bathroom stops as we traveled to the desert. Perhaps they thought that sweets would sweeten those who were sour and, at the same time, make those of us who were not fighting even sweeter and kinder.

Chefchaouen

Posted on | by Naomi Stobbe

This morning we were free to do as we wished. We slept in a bit and decided to forgo a shower because of the brisk temperature. I layered on a couple of pants (tights underneath and travel pants on top) and dug out much of my warm upper layers to go down for breakfast.   Our host made us an omelette and I chose my usual bunch of olives, white spreadable cheese and a traditional bread called msemen. We huddled in the lobby, our ice cold plates on the low table and ate our quickly cooling breakfast.

After breakfast I set out to see the sights of the local town. Chefchaouen is known as the blue town. Almost all of the buildings are painted blue and the overall effect is incredible. I climbed the hill and stopped first at an art shop. The woman was lovely and shared many things about Moroccan culture with me. Initially I have been surprised that many people speak multiple languages here. Our tour leader mentioned yesterday that everyone learns Arabic and French from kindergarten up and that at age 10 each student is allowed to choose one more language to study. She chose English and she said that one of her brothers chose Spanish and the other one, German. The woman in the art shop spoke English very fluently. She talked about how traditionally money was never mentioned in Moroccan society and that people took care of each other. I certainly saw this later on with our afternoon guide as I saw him interact with people in his community. I later learned from him that all houses look pretty much the same from the outside (small door in a wall) but on the inside the size of the abode and the way it is built indicate the economic status of the family. This way there is not the problem of comparison between poor and rich. Only your friends and family know your economic status. (But more about Mohammed later.) After a lovely exchange about art and life with the galley owner,  I headed down into the maze of alleyways and stairs in the Medina.

Of course I was super excited about all the exploring so I headed back to the hotel to get Rudy and show him all I had discovered. By the time the two of us had made our way down into the maze of houses and shops, the day had begun for the shop owners and customers. The streets were no longer empty. At one shop we stopped, we chatted with a man who had had his shop for over 50 years. Besides the stuff on the street level he encouraged us to follow the winding stairs up all four floors to see everything.

Many of the beautiful kaftans and lamps and leather work seemed to have been there for many years. We finally made it to the top of the building and there he had instructed that we would find a key to unlock the padlock to get out onto the rooftop terrace. The whole experience was strange and lovely.  There was even a full grown lemon tree on the rooftop.

By this time Rudy’s ankle was in need of rest so we headed back and went for lunch at a restaurant across from our hotel. Wow. It was lovely. I sipped on sugary mint tea, munched olives and delicious hot bread and had a goat cheese, fig, avocado, tomato, radish, and orange salad. MMMmmm.  While we were eating, an Irish woman came and sat at a table next to us and started up a conversation. Probably one of the best things about traveling is the people we have met. We talked politics, music, and Ireland. Also heard about what she loves in Morocco (This is her 3rd visit to Morocco this year). Everyone has a story and we are certainly rubbing shoulders with many fascinating people.
At 3:30 pm we met our group and our guide Mohammed for a tour of the city. So far he has been the best guide. This is his city and he knows so much. He said he had been away for a while and it was apparent. People of all ages greeted him. The history of Morocco is filled with so many different peoples from various nations, coming and going. The three religions (Muslim, Jewish, Christian) have been here for centuries and French, Spanish, and Portuguese have come and gone mixing and living with the Berber people. He regaled us with stories and history. We were even invited  into a riad (house) when someone on the street spontaneously offered it. I am gaining new insight into Muslim people and their religion and many of my preconceptions are beginning to fall away.
We continued on throughout the city and made our way out of the Medina and to the water source for the city. It is a giant aquifer in the mountain and the fresh clear water that has been purified in the limestone rushes down to the city. There has been tremendous rainfall recently in Morocco after 7 years of drought and once we got to the edge of the city we could see the effects of it. Although in many places in the north the people have been displaced, they are very happy for this water.

The end to the walk consisted of hiking up the mountain to a lookout to the Spanish Mosque is. It was built by the Portuguese king as a gesture of goodwill to the Muslims of Morocco who were very concerned that they would be forced to convert to Christianity. The view from the top was magnificent.

Day 3 in Casablanca

Posted on | by Naomi Stobbe

Traveling offers up both pleasure and pain and the balance of the two can determine how satisfied I am at the end of the day. Too much pain can overwhelm me and leave me feeling low and discouraged (not to mention homesick). Too much ease and pleasure and I am not appreciative enough of the joy that came with no struggle.

Well today we had a bit of both. We started off with breakfast at the restaurant just 20 steps from our lodging. Yesterday I ordered blindly off the menu and hit gold. Today I was not going to make any changes. A Moroccan breakfast often consists of cheese, olives, bread and amlou. But let me describe this further. The bread in Morocco is amazing. The French (colonial) influence is very apparent.  The buns are chewy and crunchy just like a baguette. The pastries are soft and rich. There is also a type of bread that is very grainy and nutty tasting. My breakfast consisted of the nutty tasting bread, a pot of spreadable cheese, some oily black olives and amlou. Amlou is a spread made with crushed almonds, argan oil and honey. The flavour is amazing. Add to that meal, freshly squeezed orange juice and cafe au lait. The result: complete satisfaction.

Our outings today consisted of visiting Rick’s Cafe (of the movie Casablanca fame) and a trip to the Hassan II Mosque. Rick’s Cafe is a romantic reconstruction of the 1942 film and is every nook and cranny has intricate carved chairs and buffets, beaded and metal lamps, a piano bar, marble fireplaces, and more. I felt that I needed to have a classy drink to celebrate the occasion and also, perhaps, to pretend I was as sophisticated as Ingrid Bergman, so I order a martini. I only needed a few sips before I felt like I might slip from “oh so elegant” to “oh so unable to walk down the curving staircase without falling” and so Rudy finished it off.

With our fancy drinks finished we headed down the avenue to attend to more serious endeavours (the mosque).  The Hassan II Mosque is the only mosque in Casablanca that non muslims can enter. It is a palatial affair with  space inside to accommodate 25,000 worshippers and a surrounding courtyard that can hold 80,000 more.  The minaret is 210 metres tall. The roof is retractable and can open to the heavens and the building was built out into the ocean. The marble pillars, walls of mosaics, carved wooden balconies and grates and the painted cedar ceiling were only some of the wonders. It was almost too much.  I do hope that the King (who completed the build in 1983) invested as much in helping the people of Morocco as he did on constructing this edifice.

But it was not all beauty and pleasure. Oh no. There was some pain involved. Well, perhaps not for me. Rudy was the one who had to suffer today. While we were being ushered into the lower hall where the 350 huge marble washing stations were, Rudy neglected to read the signage. Danger was lurking just inside. Marble curbs surrounded the washing fountains and Rudy, so engrossed by the glory and splendour, slipped on the edge of the curb and twisted his ankle and fell flat on the marble floor. Luckily his noggin missed the enormous marble basin or it might have been much more than a sprained and swollen ankle that would have resulted.

While that was the most serious incident of the day, our pain did not end there. The wind whipping off the ocean was joined by rain from the heavens and we had trouble getting transportation home. We called an “Indrive” taxi but were met with hostilities from the regular taxi drivers. One glared, spoke harshly to us, and lurked around so he could get the license plate of the “illegal” taxi. In the end the Indrive taxi woman couldn’t risk picking us up and we were too mad to take the offer of a ride from the irate regular taxi guy. And so we continued on foot. Rudy limping. MaryLou very cold because she didn’t have her rain jacket and Dave and I just generally grouchy. We tried for a long time to get another taxi on another cold windy corner but everyone was desperate for a ride and we did not manage to secure one. On we tramped. Another opportunity. Another disappointment. The taxi driver asked to much and we dug in our heels. He followed us around the corner and berated us. Is this story getting too long? Too much of the same? Okay. I will just say that we did finally make it back to the hotel in two separate tiny taxis with a couple of rally drivers swerving in and out of traffic. We were just in time for our tour group meeting.

The tour group is a varied group . Some of us are pretty run-of-the-mill and some maybe not so much. There is an unhealthy number of teachers in the group (too many know-it-alls) but we shall have to get along for the next 15 days. After our meeting we headed out for a supper together to a nice place where most of us had tajine, a traditional Moroccan meal cooked slowly in a clay pot. I had a vegetable tajine but others had chicken, veal or lamb.

Well, it is time for bed. Tomorrow we are up early and off to Tangiers.

Jet Lag, Coffee, and a Smoke

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Well, we made it! We are sitting in our hotel room in downtown Casablanca and Humphrey Bogart is nowhere to be found. I realize that the movie, Casablanca, was a Hollywood construct and in no way reflected the actual place even then. However, the words “sultry and sexy” had taken root in a back corner of my mind and so far, I cannot say I have seen either of them.

But really we have not seen that much. After deplaning we walked way too far through the airport to try to find “just the right phone company” to get SIM cards. We are traveling with MaryLou and Dave Driedger and in compliance with the request by our tour company we have come with backpacks. (Rudy didn’t get the memo and has his wheeled carry-on suitcase and it may turn out that he is the smart one.) By the time we had traversed a section of the airport us backpackers were struggling. Dave’s hip was giving him trouble, MaryLou was sweating in her raincoat, and I was remembering the South American backpacking trip with Ana, Miriam, and Paul. (My hips were aching, my pants were being pushed down off my butt by the hip belt to expose my plumber’s crack, and I was leaning dangerously backwards because of the weight of the pack.) Rudy, however, was walking briskly and happily at least 25 metres ahead of the three of us, merrily pulling his suitcase. Grrrr!

We eventually did get the phone cards, obtained tickets for the train and hopped on board for a 40-minute commute to our hotel. Well, not quite to our hotel. We ordered an Uber at the last train station as we didn’t want to (or couldn’t, because of the baggage load) walk to our hotel. As it was, it seemed an eternity before the Uber car pulled up and we probably could have crawled to the hotel by that time anyway.

Check-in at our hotel wasn’t until 3:00PM and so we had an hour to kill. We parked our luggage at the hotel desk and went for a walk to get some refreshments. It seemed as though every restaurant we passed had a row of chairs lined up along the sidewalk where men sat wiling away the afternoon sipping their little coffees and teas and smoking cigarettes. No women. Only men. And so we too sat ourselves down at a couple of empty tables, despite the fact that MaryLou and I felt quite out of place at the male-dominated cafe. It was moderately satisfying (Dave and I each had a delicious cafe-au-lait with multiple sugar cubes. MaryLou’s sugary mint tea was also good. But Rudy’s Americano, which was more like a small glass of strong Nescafe — was a bust.) However, things looked up for Rudy with the second-hand smoke. He TOTALLY enjoyed it. (Rudy would concur with John Prine’s sang, “When I get to heaven….I’m gonna smoke a cigarette that’s nine miles long.”) As for the rest of us, we could have passed on the experience. To top it all off and to add insult to injury, I had a bird poop on my head. It was time to head back to the hotel and check in.

After a bit of a rest in our rooms, we ventured out to get supper. We passed up on some delicious-looking street food (hope to be back tomorrow to check it out). Instead, we opted to sit down at an outdoor cafe. With the help of the waiter and our handy Google Translate app, we ordered a Moroccan salad (tomatoes, onions, and olives), French fries, baguette sandwiches with chicken skewers, tomatoes, and olives and a plate of kofta (meatballs) and sides. Yum. It was a good first meal.

Tonight we are off to bed early due to lack of sleep and a very long day. We are seven hours ahead of Manitoba time.

A Golf Lesson to Start The Day

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Rudy has done some research about golf lessons and this morning he strongly encourages me to go. Despite some misgivings I hop on my bicycle and head off down Monterey to Magnesium falls and follow the bike path along the wash until I get to the driving range and golf lesson course. I meet my instructors Mary and Greg. In the initial conversation with Greg  I learn that he is originally from Winnipeg, although he left a long time ago (1978). He is about my vintage and as we make small talk it comes around to weather in Wpg (bad) and government (equally bad according to him). He is a bit of a conspiracy theorist and says he is so glad he was not living in Canada during Covid. He said he watched the news and it all seemed like it was a bit of a shit show in Canada. He is sure that Trudeau Junior is a nut case. (“You remember his father don’t you?” he says to me, raising his eyebrows knowingly.) He quickly moves on to government control and manipulation. I dance and sidestep the conversation. Thankfully soon all the others arrive and we move on to the golf lesson. Today we are learning how to hit a golf ball out of a sand trap. I am the least experienced in a crowd of aging seniors. In fact I feel like quite the spring chicken. And although I may have an advantage of mobility and dexterity I am easily the most clued out. Thankfully Greg takes pity on me and give s me some pointers on grip and swing. I actually do quite well. I am able to climb in and out of the sand trap without any trouble. Margy has hip trouble and it is more difficult for her. Brad has more mobility but very thick coke bottle glasses. But despite all our infirmities and other strikes against us we do fairly well. Mary, the other instructor with a bit of a superiority complex, regals us with her professional golfing life. It is interesting but these stories leave me feeling just a little bit inept and does not add to the value of the lesson. Soon the hour is up and we all head back to our exciting seniors life away from the golf course.

My exciting life involves biking back to our place and planning what we will have for supper. This may seem mundane but I am positively enjoying my cooking life. I decide to make refined beans, Mexican rice with tomato, spices, lime, and cilantro and chorizo tacos. This involves a quick bike to the grocery store for a few supplies. My trip ends up being longer than it needs to be as I am waylaid at the baby clothes section of the store and I look for deals in the sale racks. Bingo, I find a sunsuit for a sweet little grand girl and something peachy for a blond blue eyed child that is coming later in April. It’s dark before I get home. I quickly make the food and we enjoy it. Afterwards I take my phone flashlight and make my way to the hot tub and pool and enjoy some evening air with a swim and a sit in the spa. I arrive back at the house to find Rudy deep in a documentary. I leave him to this and I retire to bed.

A Grey Day

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Miracle of miracles. Today we are expecting rain in Palm Desert. We wake up to grey skies and it feels like a day that we should stay in. We spend the morning doing computer work (Rudy) and crafts (me). By noon we get our rain. All 5 drops of it. Actually there is a bit more but the pavement does not stay wet for very long. I do go out a bit but it ends up being a very relaxing day.

Contrary to what I usually find relaxing but have developed a love for here in Palm Desert, I decide to cook. I search the internet for ideas for supper and decide on a comfort food evening meal. I have all of the ingredients I need in the fridge and cupboard and settle in to an afternoon of cooking. I peel potatoes, chop broccoli and fry bacon for a broccoli salad, and insert cheese and ham into chicken breasts. Because we are going gluten free I research an alternative to bread crumbs and end up browning almond flour to dredge the chicken breasts. After puttering in the kitchen I set out our meal of Chicken Cordon Bleu, mashed potatoes, dijon garlic sauce, and broccoli salad. Yum. All in all it is a great day of relaxation. After supper the storm that was promised actually materializes. There are huge bursts of thunder that blast loudly outside. We are content and cosy inside and we settle in for the rest of the evening.

 

 

Turning 64!

Posted on | by Naomi Stobbe

It’s my birthday and I am turning 64. Rudy is off golfing this morning with Robert and Arlene and I have a full morning planned for myself. I forgo the morning walk on the streets around our house and hop on my bicycle and head to the Bump and Grind Trail at the edge of town. I’ve got my hiking shoes on, my water bottle with ice, my sunglasses and my hat. I lock my bike to a railing at the trailhead and head up the slope. It is very hot and dry and I should have left earlier in the morning to avoid this heat but here I am. I hike for about an hour. I could take more trails or a longer one but I am satisfied. I hop back on my bike, make a few stops for a couple of crafting supplies and head home. Once at home I am on to my next activity: swimming. Oh, the water is so refreshing after a hot sweaty climb.

Rudy arrives home in time to shower before we head out for some birthday celebrations. There isn’t much chance for me to dress up here so I take this opportunity to put on a dress (and tights for warmth) and we head to an air-conditioned theatre to watch, Holdover. Both of us have no idea what the movie is about. Rudy has read something in the New York Times about how this movie is set in the 1970s and that it is made to look like it was shot during that time as well. It’s true, they do manage to make it look that way: a little grainy, the colour not quite up to today’s standards and maybe even the sound a little different than nowadays.The movie hits the spot for me. It is nostalgic, sentimental (with a good message), and predictable. A very nice choice for someone who hates too much suspense, can’t watch if there is too much violence, and really wants to relax instead of sitting on the edge of my seat all the time. I even shed a few tears.  A win all around for me. Needless to say it is not Rudy’s favourite movie although he claims he enjoys it. But then again, it is my birthday so I guess it is fitting that I enjoy it. For those of you who think the movie is shlack by my description, you are wrong. There is lots of great acting, some good ideas to ruminate on, and some great cinematography. After the movie, we walk down the riverwalk (an artificial landscape with rocks, shrubbery, water, etc.) to the restaurant I have requested. We order lettuce wraps, spicy chicken, and a Singapore noodle dish. Yum! So good!

Luxe Punch: Zacapa No. 23 Rum, Angostura bitters, lemon, pineapple, Chinese five-spice, honey

The whole day has been a win for me. I love being a year older!

Triathalon

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On one of my conversations with my daughter Miriam she asks me what I do each day. Scrambling for something new to say I falter. I really don’t do much new each day. I should have loads of adventures to talk about. I feel I need to validate my existence here. And then suddenly it comes to me. Something really stupendous and impressive that makes me feel like I am accomplishing something.

“Each day I complete a triathlon,” I say.

She chuckles. Well, it is not a continuous event. But I do swim and cycle and run (well maybe a few steps but mostly it is walking) each day. Yes there are a lot of breaks. And no, most of it is not very strenuous. But really isn’t participation good enough. Today when I went for my walk I spent some time smelling the flowers. Well at least taking pictures of them and enjoying them. Most triathletes  work so hard that they don’t necessarily notice the beauty around them. I mean, it is hard to focus in on the flowers when sweat is streaming off your forehead into your eyes. So I prefer a less strenuous workout and as a result I really get to enjoy my surroundings.

Digesting a Good Book and a Good Meal

Posted on | by Naomi Stobbe

It’s Sunday and depending on how you are marking your week it is either the end of the week or the beginning. Really, for us, it makes no difference. I no longer suffer from those Sunday night feelings of sadness that the weekend is done and a slight sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that I will have to be on top of things as far as lessons, and energy for students goes come Monday morning. It is funny how once you leave that behind you hardly can remember the end of the weekend feeling. But I do remember it a bit and I am grateful for this great relaxing time I am having.

Today the big plan is having Robert and Arlene over for supper. We have the whole day to prep for that. But knowing how doing nothing eats up the time we start on the lasagna making right away in the morning. The supper menu is Rudy’s idea so I say that I will be his sous chef. Rudy says he already had a Sue chef but that I can be his Naomi chef. (I write this only to give an indication of what kind of low level humour I have to put up with.) Anyway, we continue on some about 10 minutes until I get a phone call from one of my offspring and Rudy is left to finish the lasagna by himself.

After this I dig into the new David Bergen book, Away From The Dead. I really do not surface at all the whole afternoon. I basically lie on the bed with my kindle propped in front of me. At first the book seems slow, but as I continue I am drawn in by the characters. The book has lots to say but a person needs to let it sit for a while and ruminate about the times and the people caught in them. Each character tries to find a path within their given culture (both individual family and community), beliefs (religious and political), and unique personal ways of viewing the world. If there are fingers pointed by Bergen, it is not specifically at any one group or individual. Of course there is the fact that Mennonites play a central role in the book and so much of the lens is focused on that group. But, of course, there are individual decisions made and lives lived within any given cultural group. In the end I was struck by how the time that we live in and the issues and our understanding of them affect our understanding of the present and also of the past. Not a new thought but one worth unpacking. How does a person find their way amidst so many conflicting ideas and values in a given situation?

Well after I reemerge late afternoon I have only a couple of choices to make about my life and none of them earth shattering. Should I make the garlic bread or the caesar salad first? There is no wrong choice! Thank goodness!

Dinner with Robert and Arlene is great. We talk about how we don’t get together at all in Steinbach. Each of us is busy with the daily expectations of family mostly, work for some, and close friends. But here in Palm Desert the four of us have time to sit and ask each other questions and develop our friendship. It is lovely to do.