Twelve Days of Christmas...Moroccan Style

One of the main reasons for going on holiday at this time of year was to avoid the festive scrum and skive the choir rehearsals where I've been doing carols since October. Inevitably, by trying to avoid the musical nonsense, I've ended up thinking about it. And this wintery whimsy popped out.

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: a poached pear in cinnamon syrup. On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; two collared doves and a poached pear in cinnamon syrup. On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; three boiled eggs, two collared doves and a poached pear in cinnamon syrup.

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me; four chirping sparrows, three boiled eggs, two collared doves and a poached pear in cinnamon syrup. On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; five brass lamps!, four chirping sparrows, three boiled eggs, two collared doves and a poached pear in cinnamon syrup.On the six day of Christmas, my true love gave to me six snakes a-hissing, five brass lamps!, four chirping sparrows, three boiled eggs, two collared doves and a poached pear in cinnamon syrup. 

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me; seven fountains plashing, six snakes a-hissing, five brass lamps!, four chirping sparrows, three boiled eggs, two collared doves and a poached pear in cinnamon syrup. On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me; eight maids a-pressing, seven fountains plashing, six snakes a-hissing, five brass lamps!, four chirping sparrows, three boiled eggs, two collared doves and a poached pear in cinnamon syrup.

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; nine belly dancers, eight maids a-pressing, seven fountains plashing, six snakes a-hissing, five brass lamps!, four chirping sparrows, three boiled eggs, two collared doves and a poached pear in cinnamon syrup. On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; ten Taskiouine a-stamping, nine belly dancers, eight maids a-pressing, seven fountains plashing, six snakes a-hissing, five brass lamps!, four chirping sparrows, three boiled eggs, two collared doves and a poached pear in cinnamon syrup. 

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; eleven muezzins minareting, ten Taskiouine a-stamping, nine belly dancers, eight maids a-pressing, seven fountains plashing, six snakes a-hissing, five brass lamps!, four chirping sparrows, three boiled eggs, two collared doves and a poached pear in cinnamon syrup. On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me; twelve traders trading, eleven muezzins minareting, ten Taskiouine a-stamping, nine belly dancers, eight maids a-pressing, seven fountains plashing, six snakes a-hissing, five brass lamps!, four chirping sparrows, three boiled eggs, two collared doves and a poached pear in cinnamon syrup.

And there you have it, my perfect Christmas!

Veni, Vedi, ooh...

You may recall that yesterday we were somewhat irritated by ticket touts and their incessant behaviour. That just wasn't going to happen again. The plan was simple, get to the Colosseum early, avoid the queues, ignore the touts.

Especially ignore anyone that says "do you speak English".

Perfect. Now as we intended to be there for 9am when the ticket office opened and it was a 20 minute walk (without distractions) my keen mathematical mind told me we would need to leave at 0840. Stat.

Which was why we left at 9:21... This was down to two things a) the elder offspring being a teenager and hence incapable of waking at stupid o'clock and b) a discussion about whether a coat was a good idea. It was. He went without. The walk though was pleasant and we kept the distractions to a minimum, taking in the sights and talking about what we could see. In Parco del Colle Oppio the elder offspring asked whether a structure we could see was an aquaduct. We couldn't really tell and as it seemed close I checked on Google Maps. Nothing. Except, some distance away, the Colosseum.

Oh.

It was a bit like that scene in Star Wars where they talk about a ship heading to a small moon before realising it was actually a space station. It's very big. And big enough with little else big to appear to be just beyond some trees when it was really quarter of a mile away.

But first we had to negotiate some iffy looking Roman soldiers that would pose with you for money. It would have looked brilliant if one of them wasn't in wearing a woolen beany with some modern logo or other knitted in instead of a helmet. We declined.

We also ignored every tout as we discussed whether the outside would have originally been clad in marble as the stone and brick work showed signs of of regular patterns. We marched in, we queued for less than a minute, we bought tickets and in we went. As with the Castel Sant'Angelo the elder offspring was free as he's under 18!

It's a pretty impressive place, though the groups on guided tours were less impressive. More like hoardes of stampeding wilderbeests with electronic guides glued to their ears blissful of all that was going on. Which is a shame as they didn't get to linger and ponder the effort needed to build such a place, or even carve a single column. All lost as they moved incessantly to the next spot.

And they paid much more for this.

Still, mustn't grumble. I wonder if anyone gazed in wonder at the ancient graffiti carved in to the marble seating? The only problem was the rain started so I took a parental decision, we either buy a brolly from a brolly tout or back to the hotel for the elder offspring to dry up and get his coat. The hotel won and it wasn't long before we were back as well as laden with goodies from a local supermarket we found. It was picnic o'clock!

Oh, the brolly touts...

They are like rodents, swarming over the dampness of humanity trying to get you to buy their wares. As we walked through the park we saw yet more scurrying desperately towards the Colosseum in the hope of getting a sale. We turned down a lot of brollies.

Snacks eaten we were off again. Next stop the Fontana di Trevi. It was a fabulous walk over, peering down side streets, gaping at unxpected tableau, trying not to be squished by distracted drivers. Any thoughts of being able to dance in the fountain were of course ruined by the two policemen who had the job of stopping people going in. Or climbing on the sides. The area was packed and then. Suddenly. The crowd vanished...

Like some perfect storm it was several guided tours that had arrived at once.

We sat. Chatted. Absorbed the detail of what we could see. And wandered on safe in the knowledge that we were some distance away from the stampede. We had also switched to using GPS to navigate, no, not that one, Gosh Pretty See. This was a technique developed in Contrary Towers to allow you to take apparently random paths to the place you want to go without any hope of retracing the steps later. A bit like our recipes.

This meant we stumbled on a fabulous little piazza, interesting little side allies and even a building that had obviously suffered action during the war. Eventually we wandered in to the Piazza della Rotunda, glanced at the Pantheon (which we had been going to see) and instead stopped to admire the fountain and the surrounding buildings. It was very civilised.

At this point our general plan ran out of destinations so we picked the next stop as being the Isola Tiberina, not so much because we wanted to go there, but because we needed a rough destination.

And what a fabulous wander that was. We passed through the Largo di Torre Argentina and found a fascinating set of ruins set in a hollow. On their own they were interesting. Another English lady passed by and said to her companions "this is like such and such a place, but we have to pay a fiver to see that!". So true. Rome is littered with such sites, never mind the big headline places, look for the gems.

Like this one.

In one spot was the central exedra of Pompey's portico. The place used as senate house. The place where Caesar was assasinated on the 15th of March 44BC. I was a little bit excited. This was where by one act of disloyalty and murder the world changed. It was a pretty big thing. Huge.

I prattled on about this as we wandered on, taking a totally GPS driven route until, by chance, we found a kosher burger place on Via di Santa Maria del Pianto. If you're ever there look for Fonzies and try their chilli burgers, utterly gorgeous.

We realised we were now in the Jewish quarter and kept stopping to look at a myriad of different things. What puzzled us was the police, so many and the numbers increased as we got near the Great Synagogue. I have no idea of what was going on, but goodness there were lots of Police. And TV outside broadcast units.

Whatever, we had an island to invade.

And we did. Isola Tiberina is tiny. I suspect it is inabited because they decided to use it as a stepping stone to span the river, but it's very cute and worth a look. It's a shame we'd eaten as I would have liked to stop in the sole restaurant there!

After a while of chatting about what we could see and the elder offspring seeing how close he could get to the omnipresent Jackdaws, we set off, our destination the Circo Massimo.

Oh dear.

I'm sure it was fabulous in its day but now, well, less so. But that was okay as the adventure was in the journey, this was merely a waypoint. I did suggest to the elder offspring that we have a race. He declined as he obviously realised he would be humiliated by my massive running ability.

Or something like that.

The penultimate waypoint was to be the Colosseum, which was fab as we got to see the outside in a very different light. Though the brolly touts were still busy (no more rain) and had been joined by the trinket touts. We happily ignored them all.

After one final brief pause we headed back over the final mile to our hotel, weary, but I like to think pleased with the day of wandering in a giant circle around Rome. It really is the best way to see any place. Fact.

Ciao.

I give you good price

Marrakesh is playing havoc with my English reserve. We have been enticed into shops by a number of methods;

Come, look at my shop, Madame! Finest épices from Berber lands...I give you good price!

Non merci

My shop is near here, out of the market so I pay no taxes. Much cheaper there! I give you good price!

Non merci (increasing exasperation)

Madame, madame! Welcome, you need the main square? I show you way...

No I prefer to be lost. Merci.

Hashish?

NON!

You need argan oil for your skin, good for your body, for massage? I give your boyfriend Moroccan viagra?

No, he's fine, he has no need of that.

Taxi?

Non merci!

Flying carpet, madame?

You get the idea. I have always fought shy of haggling, hassle and harassment from shop people; even doing rapid about turns in independent shops where the assistant looks a bit keen. So the souk are my worst nightmare.

There is something called Ensemble Artisanal which has a selection of all the goods you can find in the souks. However because the government directs the prices, you don't need to haggle but they are obviously set at a premium. The shop assistants in this collection of shops look rather depressed and do not offer interesting information about their goods. I suppose they think this is the least fun way of doing business? Is the haggling part of the entertainment value?

Still, back to the souk and the familiar feeling of exasperation as you want to look in these treasure chests of brightly coloured goodies but dare not show interest as you will be pounced upon.

As it happens, getting into haggling mode is quite easy. So here is my contrary guide to getting good price...

• Be hormonal
• Do not look too keen
• Know exactly what you want and know roughly how much you want to pay
• Do not let the person you are with interfere - if they show weakness, you are lost and as a woman, utterly stuffed. You will not get the price down if the salesman knows your partner is happy to pay
• Depends what you are buying...we learned a shed load about herbs, spices, customs and interesting things from Abdel the Berber. Happy to drink his tea, learn stuff and then buy some tagine spices and eucalyptus crystals from him
• However if the herb prices are non negotiable, make sure you get the quantity you request and if you only want a gram, ensure you only get a gram - not 20!

Of course this is all very well in theory. I've been fleeced a couple of quid for 4 pieces of coconut (sigh), I'm sure what I was shown and what I walked out of the shop with were two different things (bastard lip balm) and if one more person wants paying for getting us lost, they are going to get a thump.

Anyway, I've bought more stuff this holiday than I ever have and for goodness sake, please don't let the Other Contrary one loose here; the brightly painted crockery, the colourful throws, the carved wooden things, the kaftans - I swear we'd need a bigger flat.

The gift shop is at the end...

The plan: visit the Vatican with a view to seeing the Basilica and the Museum. Simple, elegant, what could possibly go wrong?

Well, first off was the "helpful" beggars at Termini, I really don't need help. Or appreciate it being forced upon me. And then having a begging cup thrust in my general direction for a few coins.

Not. Going. To. Happen.

Honestly. So I somehow managed to negotiate the machine and bought two shiny tickets so we could head off to Ottaviano en route to the Vatican. Still going well.

Until we reached the touts. These reminded me very much of the punt touts in Cambridge, or as we called them the punt c*****. Except that this lot made the Cambridge boys and girls look lax on the harassment front.

Really.

So cue conversation:

Tout: Are you going to the Basilica?
Me: We are...
Tout: Oh everyone makes that mistake, goes there first and I can see the queue from here, at least three hours. You'd be much better going to the museum first on a tour and get in more quickly...

I should have pointed out that he made a fatal error. I can smell his bullshit.

Me:  Really *arched eybrow*
Tout: Oh it'll be much better...

At which point I cut him off and asked the elder offspring if he wanted to do a tour and then go to the Basilica, it is, after all, his trip. Bless him, he was as irritated as I was so we said no, argued for a bit and then marched off.

And then met another one.

This one went in to more detail. The museum tickets were €20 and he could book them online for us now to save us time. Or better still, have a tour for €35 each! And the guide speaks english as well as him!

Bless him.

We declined. He went on. I simply explained that if we found it all to horrid we'd come and see him.

When pigs fly, obvs.

On we went. It's true there was a huge queue but as it turned out we were happy just to see the outside, observe the queue and then do a little independant exploring.

Which was how we ended up taking a pleasant walk down to the Castel Sant'Angelo. Which was fabulous. And as the elder is under 18 and an EU citizen we only had to pay for me. Well worth €7 I thought. Really, we were there for hours, saw amazing views, enjoyed a drink on the terrace and avoided big crowds. This was more like it.

Eventually we wandered back to the museum, via a cafe, and found...

It was €16 and...
There were no queues.

The only issue was the tour groups marching and blocking the way. I felt sorry for them, they couldn't linger, it was all at someone elses pace. I did get a feeling for how horrible things could be when we ended up in the Sistine Chapel. Don't get me wrong, it was impressive, but I was more impressed with the breadth and depth of material elsewhere in the building.

I was also surprised at the range of things on show, including items from ancient Egypt. This really fascinated me, just what was the Vatican's interest in this?

And then there was the gift shops. Or should that be gift stops. They are everywhere, it seems every 40 yards or so. I did suggest to the elder offspring that maybe it was so they could catch you in the mood and before you were exhausted at the end. Or perhaps, like the endless beggars, touts and purveyors of tat they hope to catch you at a moment of weakness after wearing you down.

Or am I just a cynical old harpy?

When in Rome...

Arriving at a place in the dark and late at night is never going to give the best first impression. Especially when you're staying in a hotel near the Stazione di Roma Termini, a place that a cursory glance at the guide books suggested is best avoided at night.

Oh.

It was all a bit familiar. Not that I tend to hang around dodgy railway stations at night. The garish lights. The dodgy hotel touts. The even dodgier kebab places.

And a McDonald's.

No. Sorry, make that two. One in the station, one on Via Giovanni Giolitti. Outside of the station. Opposite the entrance. I fear Rome has changed since my last visit.

Not to worry.

With our best colonial pluck we marched in to the night for the short walk to the hotel, only being accosted once by said dodgy hotel tout. Further contact being avoided by my steely glare.

As we walked and took in the typically neglected buildings the elder offspring commented that it looks just like it does in Assassin's Creed.

I'm not really sure that's a good thing.

Anyway, hotel was found and it seems perfectly adequate. Even if the rooms are ORANGE, yes, ORANGE. As in you've been Tangoed ORANGE. I didn't bring my sunglasses, I know, schoolgirl error, but fortunately I have Neurofen if it all gets too much.

As an army matches on its stomach, or at least teenagers do, next stop was the restaurant opposite the hotel on the ground that it was... opposite the hotel. It was disturbingly empty but then I imagine any around there would have been at nearly 11pm. Food was okay which is infinitely better than bad.

And so today I sit writing this as I finish my breakfast. Rather annoyingly the elder offspring decided against food and went back to the room. So yet again I'm the only person alone in a room full of couples. I think this means I won't be making any trips alone. Being alone sucks when it's the status quo.

Anyway, next stop the Vatican. The perfect place for a confirmed atheist to spend a Saturday.

One final thought... A good friend of mine suggested last night:

"When in Rome... do a Roman"

I can assure you dear reader, it's not going to happen ;-)

Ciao.

Violas, trumpets?

What wonderful weather we had this weekend! When it's over 20 degrees, you're in shorts and tee-shirt, it seems odd to be buying autumnal squash but they were so pretty. Also I noticed that the House of Lidl had a selection of heathers and bulbs in stock. Bulbs? Already? I hadn't realised that they had to be planted in late summer. Oh. Rookie gardener...

I had already clocked whilst sitting on the balcony admiring the group of swans, two adults and three large grey cygnets, that my tubs of greenery were looking rather worse for wear. Not really weather related but they have been there since the spring and they needed some refreshing.

When I say refreshing, I mean a wholesale grubbing up and replanting. Today we went down to the local plant emporium to see what was on special. I'd had a conversation about 'Eric Aceous' compost with  my mum before setting out - apparently Heather is only interested in this acerbic young man. Still, as it happens, I was distracted by the smiling faces of the little purple violas and the trumpeting miniature narcissi.

Violas, trumpets? I hope the neighbours at the illegal shisha bar opposite won't be complaining about the strains of classical music piping across the Cut.

I made a vast selection of bulbs, violas and some little variegated shrubs. Planting the small shiny silver and bronze bulbs was like burying treasure. I like to know these dry plants will be hiding for the rest of the year, only to pop out excitedly in the spring. And we all need a dash of colour in the darkest days. In the meantime, whilst they sit snuggly in the earth, the friendly purple of the violas will entertain us. They have now been transplanted to their new homes and all of the tubs have been filled.

There was a moment of ditz when I changed my mind about putting violas in round plant pots, so removed them, tipped out the compost and out fell some narcissi bulbs. I hope that I dug them all out of the bag, otherwise, I'll be having a colourful surprise when I next go in the compost.

I also refreshed the rosemary with extra compost. There had been a rookie gardener error earlier in the year when I crowded the herb with geranium so they have suffered in the flowers exuberance. So I shall see how they perk up. I've added a few viola around the base of the rosemary so the tubs don't look so thread bare. There may be the odd random bulb to come up in those tubs too.

So pics to follow and roll on spring!

Fireworks of taste and festivals of heat

There is something about autumn which appeals to all senses. Like taking off sunglasses when entering the shade or removing earplugs in the morning, whatever has overcome your natural sight, hearing or whatever, Autumn is a rediscovery of intensity. The afternoon sun seems to saturate even the city trees and the morning damp grass smell permeates your layers; even though everything is dying, there is a vibrant melancholy. This sustains us as we move towards November and semi-permanent darkness.

So to have the London Chilli Festival in this amber, umber and burnt sienna world is perfect. Its location at Spitalfields City farm enhances the harvest festival feel and allows a welcome breath of wholesome air. This was before the smoky roasting, grilling and frying of various meats enveloped the occasion. This was the first of what will hopefully be a regular festival occurrence and the vendors at the various stalls were keen to educate, showcase and of course, sell their goods.

As you'd expect, most stalls were selling chilli based comestibles like sauces, dipping oils and dressings. Some had added frighteningly hot new varieties to piccachillis, jams and other condiments. My favourite stalls were the 'raw ingredient' ones, with the boggling range of dried chillies on offer from Capsicana Chilli Co making me salivate as I bought a selection. Pepper and Stew offered spice mixes to create African dishes at home. Other stalls were selling seeds and plants but my urge to garden has been replaced by the need to create some warming soups! 

Which is what I did this evening. Taking a Mexican pumpkin soup as my inspiration I adapted it to the ingredients available at home.

In a bowl, pour some hot water over a couple each of chipotle mora and Ancho Poblano and steep for 10-15 mins. At this point I couldn't resist inhaling the smoky, sweet fragrance from the two. 

Chop a large onion, several large courgettes, a red pepper and fry, allowing to singe slightly whilst stirring occasionally so they really soften. Letting them roast in the oven would have worked. Once the dried chillies are soft, chop roughly and blend to a thick paste with some of the liquid. Add a tin of tomatoes, the paste (don't drop some on your foot like I did) and the rest of the soaking liquid. Add seasoning, with a generous sprinkling of ground ginger, cumin, cinnamon and allspice - I added a sprinkle of celery salt which is very savoury. Stir well and add a little chicken/bacon/vege stock to loosen. 

Bring to the boil and reduce the heat so it simmers healthily for about 10-15 mins. Once the veg is soft, remove from the hob and blend. At this point my soup resembled a meaty sauce, thick and satisfying, so you could thin if you want something more polite. Personally, I would have also added some kidney beans if I'd had any... I ladled into bowls, drizzled with Dave's chilli oil, and sprinkled with strong cheese. It would have looked amazing with some chopped, fresh, green coriander leaf.

The soup's fragrance was that heady mix of bonfire night, cough pastilles, gingerbread and cinnamon hot chocolate. A soup to set off fireworks of taste and make one glad that the nights are finally drawing in.