Education Beyond the Books

A recent visit to Morocco brings to light a common humanity

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 02/25/2009

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MARRAKESH, Morocco – No carefully crafted word or scenic photograph could do it justice. An oasis for the senses, Morocco captures your mind and tugs at your soul.

Islamic prayer calls echo from mosques five times daily, mixing with the beat of African drums. The taste of kebabs, mint tea, honey and other more alien cuisines. The fragrant smell of incense and hashish, mixed with the scent of sweat, donkeys and motorbike exhaust. The sight of orange groves and golden minarets. The feel of the scorching desert sun overhead and dusty streets underfoot.

It is a place of blinding contrast. There is abject poverty in the market alleys and Ferraris parked outside the Royal Gardens. Women covered head-to-toe in traditional Muslim dress, walking with men wearing Gucci jeans. Whole chickens roasted over open flames and eaten by hand, only blocks from KFC.

As a Caucasian American in Arabic Africa, to me, Morocco felt otherworldly. A place far beyond the familiar, marching to a very different drummer. But it’s a beat that is entirely captivating.

My Moroccan education began in the chaotic and crowed alleys of Djemaa el Fna, Africa’s largest marketplace. A giant square at the base of the Koutoubia Mosque, the Djemaa is an anthill of activity.

Wandering among the forceful hustling of orange juice sellers, kebab venders, snake charmers, fortune tellers and black market dealers in everything from fake designer brands to leopard skins, it’s a veritable trial by fire. But one that leaves you wiser on the other side.

Adhan, the Islamic prayer call, rings out over the city every few hours. It’s beautiful when it’s not waking you up at 5 a.m.

Observing a man dismount his bicycle in the middle of the sidewalk, remove his shoes, kneel facing Mecca and begin rigorously giving praise to Allah, I felt fortunate to experience a window into a religion grossly misunderstood by Western society.

Saturday, a bus trip to the Ouzoud waterfalls in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains brought a glimpse of Moroccan life beyond the city walls (www.gomoco.net). Under snow-capped peaks, we passed sheep herders, olive groves, and Berber villages to a place of both astounding natural beauty and wrenching poverty.

The falls themselves are one of the tallest in Africa, sending cascades of water – red with African dirt – into a gorge more than 100 meters deep. But nearby is a collection of vendors and beggars living off a trickle of tourist trade.

On our final day in Marrakesh, Tony – my traveling companion from WSU – and I choose to forgo the 80 Dirham (about $10) cab ride and walk to the airport far on the outskirts of town. Leaving Africa humbly on foot seemed fitting.

Trekking through the desert, down dusty streets and past herds of camels, I contemplated my experiences in Morocco – seeing the Arab and African world up close, living meagerly, haggling for every meal, and immersing ourselves in a place so vastly different from the one we call home. It was an unparalleled cultural education.

The U.S. is at war in two Muslim countries. Our soldiers are dying in distant lands, fighting people who seem foreign and out of touch with our Western reality. We see terrorist attacks on the nightly news and cringe at an entire culture.

Truly capturing Morocco is beyond my skill as a writer. But if there’s one thing I could impart from my journey, it’s that underneath the veil of culture, religion, and dress, the people here are as human as you or me.

Travel brings one indisputable truth: Arab, African, European, American, we are all citizens of humanity. We can recognize our differences – they make life exciting – but we must learn to celebrate this universal union before petty contrasts rip us further apart.

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/27890

A Look at London Beyond Big Ben

A look at London beyond Big Ben

Searching beyond tourist traps pays off for penny-pinching travelers

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 02/19/2009

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LONDON – Cloudy skies and misty weather. Rows of green trees in Kensington Gardens. Fish and chips rivaling Ivar’s. Music from The Clash to The Rolling Stones. Drinking songs on the subway and pitchers the size of buckets. If you’re from the Northwest, London is a place you could grow to love.

Stepping off our airport train at Victoria Station, I was immediately struck by comparisons to the Seattle area. From the brisk weather to seagulls circling the River Thames, the place felt just like home.

I came to London to see the tourist sights, dine on authentic fish and chips and take a Beatles picture at Abbey Road. I found a nostalgic similarity to the Northwest, mixed within an ancient city that is constantly evolving.

Beyond the familiar sites of Tower Bridge and Big Ben, I was fortunate to discover a side to London that could never be seen through the windows of a double-decker tour bus. Friendly locals, fresh blood brought to the city by immigrants, and centuries of proud history are pooled to create something fresh, but still distinctly British.

Walking to our hostel in Westminster, we passed tourists photographing smartly dressed guards at Buckingham Palace. It was immediately clear that seeing London’s famed sites was easy – they were everywhere you looked.

Discovering the heart of London took a more Sherlock Holmes-worthy investigation.

Meeting up with a friend-of-a-friend who was studying there, I found myself at The Court. Stepping into the pub to a greeting of careening rock 'n’ roll, rowdy patrons and enormous pitchers, I felt like I was back at The Coug, but with an unmistakably English twist. Not to mention the cheapest beer on tap was Stella Artois, a far cry from Busch Light.

After a few drinks and a happy birthday sing-along with some locals on the subway (“Tube” if you’re a Brit), we returned to our hostel and met the night’s roommate, a Sudanese student – further evidence of the far-reaching migration London has attracted.

The next day was spent among the tourist masses, wandering Trafalgar square, seeing the Rosetta Stone, Egyptian Mummies and other history at the British Museum. We passed St. Paul’s Cathedral, Shakespeare’s Globe Theater and crossed the Tower Bridge to a foreboding castle – the Tower of London.

But that night I was once again reminded that London is a town much more complex than mere postcard sights.

Beginning our Valentine’s night under the lights of Big Ben was amusing, but drinking Newcastle Ale on the steps of Buckingham Palace and serenading the Queen was much more fitting. And testament to London’s rogue style, passersby regarded our antics outside their monarch’s home as nothing out of the ordinary.

Directed by a friend who had spent time in London, Sunday morning was spent in Church. Not one filled with scripture but a weekly congregation of London locals – young and old – looking for fulfillment of an entirely different kind.

Sundays at noon near Camden Town, The Church (www.thechurch.co.uk) is a raucous combination of a bar, comedy show, music, burlesque dancers and all types of merriment. A gathering of locals and visitors from around Europe, it reinforced London’s style of reckless abandon, but somehow mixed it with a classically British refinement, while still putting every fraternity party to shame.

The night’s new roommate: a man from Peru looking for work, more evidence of the city’s renewal.

I saw Big Ben, Parliament, St. Paul’s and Buckingham Palace. I got my picture crossing Abbey Road. But I also saw a London that’s hidden beneath its famous surface. A city full of unmistakable parallels to home, but also one that is constantly evolving, all the while effortlessly maintaining its proudly distinct British character.

Next Week: Morocco...

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/27820

Barcelona Boasts Art and Architecture

Barcelona boasts art and architecture

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 02/12/2009

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BARCELONA, Spain – Traditionally Roman Catholic, the Spanish people are adamant about Sunday being considered a day of rest. Accordingly, mine are usually spent sprawled on Saint Sebastia beach, recovering from the previous night’s exploits at absinthe bars or Irish pubs.

But in a city of unparalleled architecture and world-class museums, I decided this one should be more productive. Armed with my Metro pass, camera and a comfortable pair of Nikes, I set off to see 2,000 years of art and history before sunset.

Christopher Columbus landed in Barcelona after discovering the new world. I thought it would be fitting to begin my artistic voyage at the sculpture built in his honor. Located at the bottom of La Rambla boulevard and towering over the city’s marina, the inspiring figure of Columbus points toward the sea, surrounded by a host of stone angels and marble lions.

Following La Rambla, I maneuvered the eccentric avenue’s human labyrinth of performers, pickpockets, street vendors and drug dealers to my next destination, the Museu d’Art Contemporani de Barcelona (http://www.macba.cat).

Unfortunately, the modern art museum was closed but the steps of the building’s plaza are renowned as one of the finest skateboarding spots in the world. I spent most of my adolescence on a skate deck, so I was content to snack on fresh bakery bread and watch the local riders.

Crossing the city center, Plaza Catalunya, I walked further into the city. At the brilliantly blue-tiled Casa Batllo, I admired its skeleton awnings, reptilian scale roof and lance smokestack, designed by architect Antoni Gaudi to evoke St. George slaying the dragon.

Four blocks further I found Casa Mila, also designed by Gaudi. An enormous apartment of seemingly melting stone and wrought iron balconies, the building seems out of place beyond the pages of Dr. Seuss.

Hopping on the metro, I returned to Plaza Catalunya, diving into the narrow streets and hidden alleys of Barri Gotic, the Gothic Quarter. Barcelona’s oldest neighborhood, it's home to a soaring medieval cathedral, built within the ruins of the old Roman wall and aqueduct.

Hidden on a shady avenue nearby, I found more than 3,000 works by arguably the most famous artist of all time: Pablo Picasso. At a price of 6 Euros for students, the Barcelona Museu Picasso (www.museupicasso.bcn.es) holds an impressive collection stretching from the artist’s childhood to his final cubist periods.

Back at the marina, I entered a museum starkly different from Picasso’s. Free with my international student ID, the Museu d’Historia de Catalunya (www.en.mhcat.net) celebrates the story of Catalonia. From Stone Age settlements and Roman Empire conquest, to the rise of the Catalonian Empire and the Spanish Civil War, the museum provides an in-depth history of a nation, one now longing to be independent from Spain.

After refueling with a falafel lunch, I crossed the green lawns of La Ciutadella park and strolled beneath the giant Romanesque arch of the Arc De Triomf, boarding the metro toward Parc Guell.

Planned as an elegant neighborhood mimicking nature, the funding for Parc Guell ran dry before Gaudi could complete it. Today, it’s a sprawling park of stone columns, ornate sculptures and fanciful buildings, all covered in vibrantly colored mosaics.

The sun had set when I reached La Sagrada Familia (www.sagradafamilia.cat). Illuminated by floodlights and set against a backdrop of cranes, it’s an impressive sight. Gaudi’s masterwork is the crown jewel of Barcelona, despite being decades from completion.

Begun in 1882 and projected to be finished around 2026, The Temple of the Holy Family is an artistic and architectural triumph. Captivating the city’s skyline, every foot of the temple’s towers (18 of them when completed) are adorned with symbolic sculpture, stirring evidence of the artist’s genius. Unequaled in its scale and splendor, it was a fitting monument to end my day.

Next stop: London.

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/27743

A Hurricane in Montserrat

Staggering winds change plan

Historic art tour postponed due to unforeseeable weather

Chase Gunnell

The Daily Evergreen

Published: 02/05/2009

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BARCELONA, Spain – It was one of the worst storms in recent Spanish history, unleashing hurricane force winds on Barcelona, killing more than 10 people in northern Spain and southern France and causing billions (of euros) in damages.

And we were stranded at a train station, 50 kilometers outside the city, high in the mountains of Catalonia.

The morning had started peacefully enough. Though heavy winds were rocking our apartment building, my friends and I had no intention of canceling our trip outside the city to the Benedictine Abbey of Santa Maria de Montserrat (www.abadiamontserrat.net).

The abbey, first built in 1025 AD, is more than 4,000 feet up in the Montserrat, or Serrated Mountains. Reached now either by a meandering tram or a set of cable cars, it has been a popular Christian pilgrimage site for centuries.

Home to La Morenta, or the black virgin, a 12th century sculpture of the Virgin Mary that is regarded as the patron of Catalonia, the site is revered by the Spanish people as one of the holiest places in Europe. The monastery itself has even been rumored to be the hiding place of the Holy Grail.

The wind was nearly blowing us over as we boarded our train, but being naively bold Americans, we had no intention of letting a little breeze stop our expedition.

After an hour’s ride, we stepped off the train at the base of Montserrat to see cable car lines swinging wildly in the howling wind, quickly dashing our hopes of a ride to the top. Not only were the cable cars closed, but the tram tracks had recently been buried by rock slides.

Our hopes of a Saturday spent walking through the centuries-old abbey may have been dashed, but unwilling to go home, we decided to indulge our vagabond sides and simply follow the train to the end of the line.

But first, lunch. The café was tucked away behind the train station. Standing guard outside was a pair of dogs that seemed fully capable of eating American travelers, and the shack itself could have easily been part of the set for “Hostel.” Despite the place’s appearance, the bocadillos, (sandwiches with Iberian ham, eggs, cheese and tomato spread) were delicious and the owners were extraordinarily welcoming.

We boarded the train once more, heading northwest into the mountains. Exploring the hamlets of Sant Vicenc de Castellet and Castellbell i el Vilar, we discovered an aqueduct built by the Romans and investigated the crumbling ruins of a Spanish plantation, while quenching our thirst with cheap Estrella beer at every local bar we passed.

The afternoon found us tiredly returning to the train station, only to find a uniformed conductor shaking his head. No more trains, the storm had blown trees down over the tracks. No more buses running either.

The Spanish transportation system is impeccable. But here, far outside Barcelona in a tiny town where our English stood out like a sore thumb, we were completely marooned.

So we did the only logical thing, we started walking. An hour of trekking later and one town over, we followed signs to another train station that supposedly led to the city. But things still weren’t looking good. The station was deserted, just a maze of empty tracks and walls of wild graffiti.

Of all the people we could have met in a deserted train station, in a wind storm, in the mountains of Catalonia, “Lefty” was the last one I would have imagined.

“I’m from New Hampshire, how are you guys doing?” were the first words I heard the man say as he came around the corner and spotted us sprawled and looking lost next to the tracks.

“Lefty,” as he introduced himself, had come to Spain from the states almost five years ago. He worked as a jazz musician in Barcelona for a while before he moved to the peace and quiet of the village, where he said he made an honest living as a “gardener.”

Lucky for us, “Lefty” knew the only taxi driver in town.

Two hours and 70 euros later, we were back in Barcelona, toasting to our adventure and watching the sun fall below the stormy horizon of the Mediterranean.

http://www.dailyevergreen.com/story/27642