The brief time we spent in Northern Ireland and Ireland was not enough! If, no when I travel back I’ll rent a car and buy a tent these would be key. The long and narrow windy roads that lead one through the lush and picturesque lands need time to be appreciated. We stayed at the Vagabonds hostel in Belfast, Northern Ireland which offered a chill vibe, an authentic backpackers hostel with staff like extended family. Making friends had never been so easy, especially with some hardcore games of cards changing polite interactions into humorous ribbing and razing.

The Cliffs of Moher are a must for anyone travelling in these parts. With the longest cliff drop a heart racing 700m, they made my internal alarm system go off approaching the edge. Sitting on the edge gocking down with my heart in my throat, I didnt appreciate the shear drop until walking back and seeing the tiny people dwarfed by the gargantuan cliffs. We did a tour via bus stopping at different spots from fairy trees with supernatural influences to amazing rock formations.

Our brief and final stop in Ireland was Dublin. We were well informed about the history of old Dub’ by a funny and energetic walking tour guide. We learned about a plaque commemorating a fake priest bolted on a bridge and a disturbing satirical story named A Modest Proposal, which involves eating humans. Of course the Guiness Museum was paid some attention, a modern interactive exhibit explaining the history and future of the company. And a pint of Guiness. We were treated with some beauty hospitality and conversation hanging out at a local pub. What started with one pint ended several hours later glowing and full from our new friends generous supply of deep fried godliness. Ready to shake a leg we had trouble with the door and were quickly inform by the drunken bar jester the proper way out, he left us with a hilarious set of curse words describing our inability to exit. We laughed all the way home.

One small ferry ride is all that was needed to significantly alter the traveling experience. Right off the ferry we were whisked away from a few “official” tourist ambassadors. From a grande taxi to the medina we were delivered, my inexperienced travel mind thought ‘this is great’ chauffeured to the doorstep.  You’ve probably already guessed it, yes there was a catch. However this would prove to be the formal introduction to Morocco’s method of business. I was not prepared for the style of life we dove into, equipped with my unabiding avoidance confrontation. Adapt we did.

Fresh produce, spices, naan bread, cigrettes the list goes on of what one can find in a medina. Raw in your face aromas to acompany the aray of eye candy. I refrained from freely taking pictures as I did in Spain and Portugal because usually a mild photo surcharge was imminent. I felt uncomfortable capturing the poverty of the country and didnt want to romanticize the reality these people are living.  Tireless donkies loaded up with propane tanks travelling through the maze like alleyways will run one over if it weren’t for ‘balak!’, or watch out, being said by the donkey driver. Think farmers market with a twist, a twist of lamb heads, sugary pastries and no fixed prices.

‘I didn’t know i had some many friends’ one of our fellow combatants accurately said. My friend, my friend were probably the most spoken english words I heard in Morocco. Multilingual to boot, the shop owners can usually pick where you’re from and will most definitely have a friend, cousin, nephew or some anecdotal reference up their sleeve waiting to butter up the wallet. The price would generally not be revealed untill some social bonding occured and the right amount of “friendship” developped. Hospitable by nature and ready with sugar laced mint tea, I dont want to leave a bad taste in your mouth about my experience. Maybe thats what the tea is for.

We road a bus from Tangier to the mountainous Chefchaouen. Well known for its charming blue color it provided a relaxed-layed back scene to soak in. If British Columbia is the weed capital of Canada then Chefchaouen is our brother from another mother. Difference being hash is the preferred method. For a few dirhams a local will guide you through the mountains and proudly show you acres of maryjane. Nights on the riad roof top melted away with muscians jamming out and competitive card sessions.

Beyond the blue city are the Cascades d’Akchour. Getting there is alone an adventure by piling 6 plus the driver in a grande taxi, a 80’s brownish cream Mercedes D400. Oh and make sure you sit front middle like I did, its the best. Did I mention its all standard driving out yonder? A 30 minute ride later arriving numb but gleefully appreciative of the future memory, we started off to the grand cascades. A solid hike hopping on stones over a creek and beautiful scenes along the way its well worth it, one note: go on a weekday because the sunday we went was very busy.

Cheers!