Month: June 2016

The Calm Before the Souks

After spending the night near the gorge we were ready to take a look at it the next morning. The gorge has turned into quite the social gathering over some time. Half of the floor, next to the creek, has been paved for vehicles to drive on. There are houses within the gorge that people live in and also riads for people to stay in.

Previous tours had stayed in one of the riads, but it was not longer serviceable. A rockslide occurred and  a boulder crashed into the house, the kitchen ceased to exist.

We walked through while a cool breeze blew by. Teenagers hauled food and drinks to the other side of the gorge floor to enjoy the day together by the creek. They played instruments, sang songs, and one boisterous boy carried a watermelon across the creek on his shoulder, only to drop it as he was mere feet from his group. A sad sight of green and red meloncholy (get it… melon-choly… see the joke is… nevermind).

Fresh cold water to keep the drinks cold.

Kids being kids

Lovely restaurant inside the gorge.

Gorge

Former Riad used. As you can see a whole chunk was destroyed when a rock took a tumble.

Eventually, we drove off in the direction of Ait Benhaddou. It’s a famous town for filming many movies, but most recently the TV show Game of Thrones.

Just before we made it there though, our guide suggested we visit a Berber pharmacy/herbal remedy.

For the next 30 minutes we were inundated with smells. All of them good, a striking departure from basically all of Morocco. The gentleman in charge was the most pleasant snake oil salesman we had met in Morocco. He passed around cures for everything, each containing a touch of this herb, a splash of this oil (a sliver of this animal flesh). He also sold spice blends, at a steep price even by USD, to flavor all your dishes and inevitably boost your metabolism or slow it down.

Anything ailing you, he had, or at least could tell you this would cure that. We left empty handed, much to the chagrin of the Berber businessman, after the pitch of so may fanciful things.

Our guide Rashid called Clay Cat Stevens for the majority of the trip.

One of the views along the way.

When we did make it to Ait Benhaddou, we were forced to cross a swift moving creek. Disappointing, no one fell in, but it was touch and go for a few of the shorter people.

The city was awesome. Our guide did a great job of explaining the city to us, provided a brief history, and led us to the top of the city for views of the surrounding countryside. Our guide also mentioned he had been coming to the site for the last 5+ years and had seen its noticeable decline. While it is a UNESCO site, there are “more important” UNESCO places in Morocco so this location, especially because it is so remote, does not attract the amount of people and money to warrant the necessary upkeep. 

The river no one fell in.

Crossing the Nile (maybe? We were in Africa)

Just call her Daenerys Mother of Dragons.

Our guide felt that in the next 5-10 years it would look so much worse that it would be unrecognizable and soon after, cease to exist. He explained the houses are all made of mud. How only two-three families still live in the city, as the Moroccan gov’t persuaded/pushed all the other families out. Those remaining have no running water, no power, and are not allowed to because a UNESCO site cannot be altered apparently. These families will live there until their houses crumble away and there will be no city left to speak of.

Marrakesh and the Infamous Souks

After a night of more tajines and card games we left early in the morning due to the threat of severe inclement weather in the Atlas Mountains. We successfully missed the poor weather and made it into Marrekech early, giving us time to walk around the medina and thousands of souks lining the streets.

Hello Marrakesh

Our initial tour of the medina was not very beneficial. Our first stop was a cemetery that was only recently found when a plane flew over it and “discovered” it. It had been walled off from the city at one point because the person walling it up wanted the people honored inside forgotten about. It was a beautiful, quiet area in the middle of all the hustle and bustle.

The guide then took us to another riad/palace like place to explore. It was in the same structure as many of the other palaces, alacazars that we had visited. Walls on the outside and decoration on the inside.

Finally our guide speed walked through the maze of shops, hardly mentioning any significant notes. We were led through the leather district, iron working section, fabrics, and foodstuffs with nary more than a nod and a note of what area we were in.

Really, the walls of rugs mean we are in the rug section? The guy welding over there means we are in the iron sections? Even if you were blind, the smells, sounds, and touching of goods, could have given you enough clues as to where you were.

We decided to walk around a little in the souks to try to get an idea of the souvenirs we still needed to purchase for folks back home. It was painful. There are so many shops, sensory overload cripples you. It’s loud in much of the areas so you can barely hear anything. It’s deathly quite in others so it feel like everyone is listening to you.

I could not walk anywhere in Morocco without some store owner yelling “Ali Baba!! Ali Baba!!” In these places the problem is exacerbated because there are many more shops and many more shop owners.

If the sights, sounds, and smells don’t deter you from shopping, then the haggling will. You will never know how much something costs. Ask, and the shop owner will attempt to corral you into his store, barricade you in with a wall of goods, and then harass you until you buy or start cursing (at least in my experience).

People will tell you it’s an experience. It is. A horribly unpleasant one.

We had dinner with the group in the main square next to the shops. More sights, sounds, and unpleasant smells to go with the solicitors hawking watches, hats, and sunglasses. When they weren’t around, it was women and children begging for your last piece of bread.

Cities in Morocco are not a place you can enjoy peacefully.

The next day was the day I had been dreading. I knew we were going to have to buy things, but I didn’t want to deal with the people to do it. It took many hours across many shops to finally finish our Morocco gift buying.

Our biggest purchase was for my brother-in-law, who now has a lovely bag direct from Marrekech. It was a three bag purchase in total, as I procured a bag (purse) for our camera, and another gift for someone. We spent hours trying to find a bag that would not make him hate us. I have been told we succeeded.

Both the shop owner and I were unhappy after the purchase. I was tired of haggling and he was tired of me taking up all his time. But if I was gonna be miserable, everyone else around me was gonna be too. I had hemmed and hawed, complained, and did everything I could to ensure he did not enjoy his time with me.

Of course everyone we have met that has dealt with haggling will tell you that women are better at it than men. Elizabeth proved the adage true when she haggled for around fifteen minutes with two shop owners for three items. They did not seem to enjoy her ability to look them in the eye and give an incredulously low number. Repeatedly she did this to them. She didn’t so much haggle as she gave them one (low) price point and if they didn’t meet it within a 5-10 dirham range she walked. 

I think she always walked away with a better deal than I did.

Thirty minutes later, we found our way out of the hell known as the souks. We had walked by the same shops 3-4 times. A man began following us at one point, the kind of man that will escort you out of the souks to the main square for a substantial fee. But we made it out on our own, using the mosque minaret’s as our guides (and finally realizing they had a few sign posts to guide you around).

We mailed yet another collection of trinkets, art, and worn clothes back home and then headed out to dinner.

On our way to dinner, we had to stop by a dry cleaners. A couple of folks on the tour had dropped their clothes at the cleaners, attempted to pick them back up, and were told the price to pick up 8-10 garments was 100+ USD. This was not the price quoted initially.

After much back and forth with our guide, the price was reduced to 80 USD. As had happened the last time someone else had their clothes “cleaned” in a city prior to Marrekech on our tour, the clothes came back wet and dirtier than when initially handed over the the cleaners.

Let this be a lesson to everyone. Don’t go to Morocco, but if you do, stay in a place with a washer and dryer.

We enjoyed our final dinner with some members of our team. The next day a few people would leave and the rest would head to Essaouira.

Roadtrip to the Country

We left Fez and headed to Midelt. The day was pretty slow and mostly just a travel day between cities. Our first stop was a few hours into the drive at a town called Ifrane.  This town was built by the French in the early 1900’s due to it’s cold climate in winter. It includes a ski resort too. While we were there we didn’t get snow, instead an extremely heavy downpour came, including hail, so we sat in a coffee shop to wait out the storm before heading back to the bus.

After an hour or so we had another stop, this time for monkeys. Lots of people stop to see the animals, some of the people feed them. Everyone takes pictures. Elizabeth also enjoyed the dogs.

We had a picnic lunch on this day in between all the driving. The highlight of the lunch was Elizabeth finally learning (for herself) that the Mars bars abroad are really just American Milky Ways. The Milky Way bars abroad are more like 3 Musketeers. So confusing.

We hopped back into the bus and after a few more hours we eventually arrived in Midelt. You drive all this way just to get closer to the Sahara. There is not really any other reason to be out in this part of Morocco. We took a lovely walk around a canyon and through the countryside. It began to rain again so we cut it short and as a group we ran to the hotel.

Another uneventful night was broken up with the learning of a new card game. Not fit for print, the name of the game is bestowed upon the loser of the game. One of the benefits of the game is that are no winners, only a single loser. On this first night, one of the Australians lost five games in a row. Not an easy feat, but he continued to try to match this losing streak for the rest of the trip.

A Date with the Desert

The next morning began with more driving to get us to the Sahara. After a quick stop for a Moroccan pizza lunch, we arrived in the middle of nowhere. Our bus driver took a left on a flat piece of land and started driving. There were occasional signs for places to stay out there, ruts where other vehicles had driven, and not much else.

It was lonely and desolate and exactly what we were looking for. An hour later or so the dunes of the Sahara climbed over the horizon and buildings started to take shape as we arrived at our car’s stopping point.

We got out our small overnight pack and prepared to catch out next ride. But it was not to be, as a sandstorm showed up to stop our plans. We waited for it to blow through with many of us looking out the windows of the hotel, as if we were trying to get a glimpse of Santa or the mail man or the Wells Fargo wagon.

When the storm passed, we made our way to the edge of the dunes. Tentatively, we climbed on the back of our camels and began walking.

Now it was not as if this was all that extreme. These camels have made the walk hundreds of times, so much so that if one of us had fallen off and lost sight of the camels, he/she could have followed the trail of droppings and found the desert campsite. The camels are also tied together so they can’t even walk off if they wanted to.

Nevertheless, it was quite the experience to sit on the hump of a camel and traipse across a small stretch of the Sahara like we were in Lawrence of Arabia. Most of the guys in our group even wore scarves with a typical design of the region. We were also taught how to tie the scarf so it wouldn’t unravel while being worn. Such tourists.

We did eventually arrive in our desert camp. Not exactly rustic. We had a full mattress, running water, electricity in our tents and flush toilets. We sat around having a cup of tea feeling quite proud of ourselves for getting there anyway.

At first we started to play cards. Our guide scolded us, rightly so, for playing cards when we had so much of the desert to explore. Following his lead, we left our cards behind and climbed the largest dune we could see. It was right behind our camp, it was easy to access, the highest around, and would provide excellent viewpoints of the sunset. Nature intervened though because the wind was so strong and so much sand was being thrown around, you couldn’t stay on top of the dune for very long.

Instead, we headed down for dinner determined to watch the sunrise the following morning, even if the sand was whirling. We talked a fair amount at dinner on this night about the Camino, as those on the tour with us where interested in knowing about it. We happily explained how enjoyable it can be and how terrible it can be as well.

We watched the stars dance at night, following any shooting stars we could catch a glimpse of.

“I Wake Up… Rise to the Sun”

We did awake in time to catch the sunrise. I think I was the first out of bed and onto another dune to see if the payoff was worth the effort. It was. We all watched in awe as the sun rose to greet us. After climbing back down the dune we prepared mount our camels and leave.

We left the desert camp the same way we arrived – Camel power. Elizabeth’s camel was a bit fiesty and bit the camel ahead of her. The camel was immediately taken to the front so Elizabeth enjoyed uninterrupted views on the ride back.

We arrived back at the hotel where we had dropped our luggage, and we were off again. This time we were heading to Todra Gorge, a large creek in a deep canyon.

Three stops were made on the way to Todra Gorge.

The first was an awesome fossil shop dealing in marble with animal fossils remaining in it. It was something we needed, but could not afford.

The second was so we could climb down in a hole in the middle of nowhere. One the side of the road, we began to see small mounds of dirt, maybe six feet high. A lot of them, hundreds. We learned these were used for underground water transportation, these holes dot the landscape of interior Morocco.

The third stop dropped at the edge of a beautiful valley, and we began walking next to another creek surrounded by flora and fauna. We zigzagged our way through and around creeks, flowers, and ants to get to our hotel.

Morocco, like every country and state we have ever visited, has beautiful landscapes. The rivers, valleys, Atlas Mountains, Sahara desert, and plains all form an incredible place to experience. It was difficult to be outside with a view of a majestic piece of land and not appreciate it.

We left Chefchaouen early the next morning. Too early for taxis to be present at the stand. With no taxis readily available, we determined we would walk to the bus station. It was ONLY 10-15 minutes away from our hotel. Lets just say it’s a good thing we ran into a taxi on the way. We might still be in Morocco. During the drive, we realized we could have gotten very lost during that 10-15 minute walk.

With the help of the taxi drive, we caught our bus for Casablanca. It was a much nicer bus than I had anticipated, again with my terrible assumptions. It was nicer than several of the buses we traveled on in Spain even.

Many hours later, we were dropped off in downtown Casablanca, not at a bus station or even a bus stop in downtown Casablanca. We were 15 minutes away from the bus station where we were supposed to be. The driver explained that due to International Workers Day and the protests in the streets associated with it, it was impossible for our bus to get where it needed to be. Too many protesters, too many closed roads.

This was a big problem. We had no idea where to go or even where to start looking. In most stations (bus/train/airport), WIFI is available. I anticipated being able to check my phone for turn by turn directions from google maps. With our new drop off location, we couldn’t even find a cafe to get internet.

We were helpless and feeling a bit concerned.

Cue “Taken” with Liam Neeson. The italicized comments are my thoughts at the moment. Notice my optimism.

A young woman noticed our apparent confusion and disorientation. Easy marks. In English, she ask if we needed help and we said yes. Confirming definite lost tourist trope. She said she was from Casablanca. She was on a weekend trip with her boyfriend to Chefchaouen and was on our bus. She asked where we were staying and said she and her boyfriend could help us find the place. All said to help build a relationship with us to make us more comfortable around her.

As we began walking, leaving the stranded bus behind, I was running through every scenario in which we get taken. What we would do to attempt to escape, what bag would I need most, and how would I be tortured or drugged to death, or just shot in the head as they dragged Elizabeth away.

We continued our journey with this couple. The boyfriend went running off to try and find directions. Or to notify the goons he works for that they have hooked a couple of American tourists. The young woman chats us up. Seeking to learn things about us to use against us later or in order to attempt to extort money from our families.

The boyfriend was gone for 10-15 actual minutes. In order to notify his bosses. He comes back with a hand drawn map. Obviously the holding cell for fresh kidnappings has moved to a new location.

We start walking again headed deeper into the bowels of Casablanca and away from the main square and angry protesters. A ploy to make us feel safer and prevent any police who may recognize our “helpers” as petty criminals feeding some Middle Eastern slave trade with semi-attractive Americans.

We make a few turns. To try to disorient us. Pass by a McDonald’s . At least I know where I can go if shit hits the fan and it will because Hollywood says so. Then we stop. So their team can surround us. The boyfriend asks a couple of men about the location of our hotel. All of this is in Arabic so I’m thinking he is confirming the new kidnapping location again.

We make another turn or two and there is the sign for the hotel we are staying in. Odd they have taken us to where we are supposed to be, they must be excellent at this kidnapping bit.

They walk us up to the front door of the hotel. Where they will inevitably attempt to get me to give them 1000 dirham. Give us a hug and a handshake. Here’s where they stab us in the back or poison us. Tell us to enjoy our time in Morocco, and then walk away.

We stood their for a minute. Two strangers helped two lost travellers in a foreign land. They asked for nothing and gave us all their time and energy. For over 30 minutes they worked to navigate the confusing streets of Casablanca to guide us to our hotel.

We can’t remember their names, but their willingness to help us and be so generous with their time will never be forgotten.

The rest of the day pales in comparison.

We stayed in a beautiful, but rundown, art deco hotel from the 1920’s. We met the group of travellers on our tour, Australians, Americans, and a New Zealander and headed out to a bland dinner.

We went to bed still trying to figure out why the young couple was so nice to us.

The next morning we started with a tour of the thirteenth largest mosque in the world (largest in Morocco) and the tallest minaret in the world. Non-Muslims are not allowed inside certain parts of most mosques, but this mosque allows people the opportunity to see the typical closed off sections. It’s a large, grand structure.

From Casablanca we headed to Moulay Idriss, a stopping point for those who are in town to see Volubilis.

Moulay Idriss is considered a holy city and Non-Muslims were not even allowed to stay overnight until 2004. It hosts the tomb of a Muslim “Saint”, as Moroccan Islam is a little different that a more standard Islam. Our tour of the town included a history of who Moulay Idriss was as well as the basic structure of a medina. We took some nice photo’s and headed back to our riad.

A riad is a typical house of Morocco where the rooms face an interior garden or open area in the middle of the house. From the outside the houses look more like walls, the beauty of the homes is on the inside in the courtyard spaces. We were basically in a Moroccan BnB. We learned about Moroccan food and cooking from the proprietor’s wife and sat down to a pleasant dinner with the group.

The second full day of our tour began with Volubilis. This was one of the main reasons for visiting Morocco. Roman ruins are really cool. Seeing them in Rome is great. Seeing them all the way at the edge of Africa is even greaterer.

It was an incredible walk around a city still being excavated. We learned about their way of life 2000 years ago. We got to see where the Romans lived, worked, and where they visited the town brothel. We also had more incredible views of the surrounding area.

We left Volubilis and Moulay Idriss behind and headed to Meknes. A city with a long history from a long time ago, the buildings were dilapidated and depressing, a theme of Morocco. The highlight of the city tour was visiting a dungeon so large it has not been fully mapped.

Reports from an ancient age indicate guards were lost in the dungeons and died from not being able to find their way out. We also enjoyed when our guide shooed 50-60 people out from in front of the large doors to the kasbah so we could take pictures. We dug his style.

He also schooled a group of Spaniards that told him to stop because our group was walking in their picture. He let them know what manners are and that they should use them. It was awesome.

Towards the end of our tour we were able to see some impressive craftsmen hammer silver wire into different metal pieces to create ornate design.

For lunch in Meknes, we were lucky enough to try a camel burger. At this particular hole-in-the wall restaurant, locals bring meat for the restaurant to grill. Our guide had arranged for camel meat to be sent to the restaurant for us. The camel was not distinguishable from ground beef. It ate like any other ground meat. We would eat it again. After our camel lunch we walked about the medina before catching our train to Fez.

We have been hauling a significant amount of luggage on our trip. Two large backpacks, a checked bag, and often two other small bags. It has not been too much of a pain, but it can be inconvenient and tiresome.

We arrived to our train later than planned and were some of the last people aboard. This meant sharing a section of seats with regular people on the train and not our group. It also meant there were people sitting down already as we boarded and put away luggage. The room we were in within the train had four seats facing four seats. There was a little room underneath each seat for small items, but the large bags went above the seats. Our checked bag weighed around 60 pounds normally. I don’t have too hard a time lifting it, but it’s size and weight can be tricky. As we were leaving the station, I was trying to lift the bag to put it above the seats.

As I was lifting the train was moving. Moving just enough to throw off my balance a bit.

I was not strong enough to hold the bag over my head with one hand and brace with the other. In an empty train car, this would have only embarrassed me a bit, as I would have crashed into a wall and laughed at my weakness.

But the luggage rack I was trying to put this bag on was above a seat with a person in it. A person who now had a 60 pound bag quickly moving to crush his face. It’s took every bit of power I had to to not allow the bag to kill/decapitate/smother the older Moroccan man.

It came within millimeters of his face. It was close enough to mess his hair up a little, but not enough to leave him with a bloody nose, black eyes, or broken bones.

Elizabeth rushed over to attempt to help, to apologize, and to mention that we need to carry less stuff. Hindsight, am I right?

We got the bag up where it needed to be, apologize profusely in English (which does no good), and sat down. We were both flustered and mortified. Us awful Americans have almost killed a man with all our stuff.

Trying to lighten the mood, I looked at an older Moroccan woman sitting across from us, and next to the older man whose life just flashed before his eyes, point to the bag and then point to Elizabeth.

I didn’t know if it would translate, but with my pointing I was now accusing Elizabeth of forcing me to haul her bag around. Turns out the woman not only got the joke, she began speaking to us in English.

She was laughing at my accusation and talked about how women do tend to pack more than men. How on long trips, men seem to need so little. Of course, Elizabeth was quick to defend herself. Not all of it is hers she said.

The brief conversation was a life-saver. We were still worried about almost injuring a man and this woman completely diffused the situation. It was a big enough surprise she knew English and so well. We didn’t run into too many strangers, particularly of an older generation, who were so fluent in English.

Without her, the train ride would have been much more tense.

Once we arrived in Fez, we were exhausted. We lounged around until dinner, which involved a dish called chicken pastilla. I guess it’s like a minced meat pie but with chicken and warming/apple pie spices inside. They sprinkle a little powdered sugar on top. It was very good as were all the vegetables varieties that accompanied our meal. And a ton of bread.

The next day we were up bright an early, we had a full morning of touring Fez. First up was a ceramic factory. This was an amazing learning experience for us. To be able to watch and learn how mosaics and pottery are still being made by hand in Morocco was unbelievable. Watching each craftsman and woman design and sculpt showed how artistic each person was.

Learning that only after years of training can a person begin to make mosaics and how if a mistake is made on a large piece, the person gets demoted back to smaller pieces or cutting the shapes was impressive and depressing at the same time.

Next, was the medina. We saw the extremely ornate palaces doors, then the Jewish quarter. We learned the different in the styles of house between the Jews and Muslims. The main difference was that Jews had a balcony on the street and Muslims had balconies facing inside the house. The group then headed out to get some panoramic views of Fez and lunch.

We then went on what was probably everyone’s least favorite part of the trip, the hard sell.

Trying to buy anything in a store other than food or drink is a lesson in futility. There is never an honest price given. It is a perpetually painful experience in which the buyer always suffers (either mentally or economically). The amount of time wasted is incredible, just to buy some junk.

We spoke to a couple of younger Moroccans about the haggling and both indicated how much they hated it. One even said he takes his mother with him because he has no interest in wasting his time. I realize that’s a small sample size, but I take it as absolute gospel and will not be convinced otherwise.

So to make this part brief, we visited the famous tanneries of Fez (not being used at the time due to repairs taking place since at least October), a weaving shop, and the a silver shop. 

We bought nothing at the tannery or weaver. Much to the chagrin of every employee chasing you around the store trying to set fire to everything to prove how authentic bags, scarves, etc. is. You can’t look at anything in the store without them trying to drape it over your shoulder, wrap you in it, or put it in your hands.

You want to walk around, perusing? Find another country. You want to buy something until the employee starts talking and then the process starts and you don’t even care anymore. And then they drop the price and keep dropping the price until you decide to give in or give up. How about a reasonable price the first time so I can give you my money and leave the store to go do anything other than argue about a few pennies you seem so desperate to have.

We wanted a teapot, so sadly we endured the nonsense at the silver store. The silver store is apparently run by the family of the guy who made the palace doors. I suppose this puts a premium on the goods there.

After this guys pitch, which included bringing out a dozen or so teapots, plates, serving trays, gongs and anything else he could place in our laps, he left us to think about all the greats things to buy. And allow his minions to follow us around the store poking and prodding until we gave up and paid whatever they wanted.

We decided on a particular teapot after much deliberation (I can’t give too much away since it’s a gift that has yet to be opened). This was not to the satisfaction of the shop owner who said I needed to complete the set. Buying just this would not do.

At this point, I gave up. I told Elizabeth I didn’t care anymore, didn’t want anything, and was ready to go. She knew we really would regret not getting the teapot,so she calmly explained we only wanted the teapot and we did not want anything else.

To close out our night in Fez,  we enjoyed dinner of assorted street food kebabs. Some standard parts of livestock and some organs of livestock. All pretty tasty.

The next couple of days we said goodbye to medina life and headed out into the country and were Sahara bound.