Morocco: Shukran For the Memories...

I need to write something non-academic for a bit, so let’s finish-up on the Morocco trip, shall we?

For my last day in Marrakech (11 March 2012) I knew that I wanted to do something beyond sitting at the hostel and relaxing (as delightful as that was). Fortunately, JE, another member of the Djellaba Crew, was starting to feel the impending end of her trip as well, and so we made plans to go out and do a couple of touristy things.

However, before I get to all that:

I woke up early on the morning of the 11th, and so I decided that ‘now’ was as good a time as any to head to Djamaa el-Fna on my own. You see, I had yet to successfully navigate the twisting streets of the old medina on my own, and I wanted to do it at least once…and I succeeded!

From a distance / Brett is watching yoooooou...

Koutobia Mosque and Minaret (built 1150-90), one of the 'big three' minarets built by the Almohads.

Now, you probably noticed that the first photo was from a distance. There’s a reason for that: if any of the street performers (e.g., the guys with the cobras) notice you taking a photo that’s even remotely in their direction, they will demand payment. And since there are so many of said-performers, you practically have to stand in Algeria to get a decent shot. As such, any hope I had of snagging an iconic shot of Djamaa el-Fna was foiled—you can find one taken by someone else here, however.

Similarly, I wanted at least a photo of one of the souqs before I left. Again, I had to practice a bit of subterfuge to get this, and so it’s not great. Also, because it was so early in the morning most of the shops weren’t open and there wasn’t much foot-, bike-, and cart-traffic. Nonetheless…

(More representative photos, taken by others, can be found here and here.)

After my brief foray to Djamaa el-Fna and the souqs I returned to Waka Waka, where I enjoyed a yummy breakfast of coffee (about six cups—my goodness it was tasty!), crepes, and more apricot jam! M’mm, m’mm, good!

Once JE and I had both finished breakfast, we set off for our sightseeing excursion. Since I had to be at the airport by around 5:00 PM, and it was already noon, we didn’t have time to do too much. So, we decided to pay quick visits to El Bahia Palace and the Saadian Tombs…

It took us a while to reach El Bahia Palace for two reasons: first, many of the people we asked had no clue where it was; and, second, if they did know, they would only offer generalized directions so that we would inevitably have to ask someone else (e.g., ‘go down this way, make your first left, and then turn right’…without mentioning the three alleyways in between).

Regardless, we finally reached the palace…or, at least the small part, because the main section was closed for construction. Now, I can’t say too much about this—or the tombs—because all of the signage was in Arabic and/or French…and neither JE or I can read said-languages (though I did learn how to say both ‘thank you’—شكرا / shukran—and ‘no thank you’—لا شكرا / la shukran—in Arabic by the time I was done in Morocco).

Sadly, there’s also not too much information about the palace online either, other than what’s to be found at Wikipedia. Nonetheless, it was quite pretty—in particular the courtyards and gardens:

The first of many courtyards

 From El Bahia Palace we headed to the Saadian Tombs. Much like the palace, however, there’s not much information on the interwebs about them—just that they are the resting place of about 60 members of the Saadi Dynasty, and they date back to the late 1500s—and this time there wasn’t even signage for us to attempt to read. Again, though, they were pretty:

As near as I could tell, the triangular things on the ground are like headstones.

No camera manipulation here--this was the 'natural' lighting in this chamber.

 By the time JE and I left the tombs, my time was almost done—I only had about two hours left before I had to be at the airport. So, we stopped at a café near the Mellah (Jewish quarter) for a drink before heading back to Waka Waka so I could get my stuff. While at the café, however, I was able to snag some decent photos of the Atlas Mountains looming over the rooftops, as well as some pix of these giant birds that made their nests along the medina walls.

The Jewish quarter, with big birds and mighty mountains!

Finally, it was time…

Back at Waka Waka I grabbed my gear and bid a sad adieu to the Djellaba Crew—I really hope I cross paths with each of those wonderful folk again in the future! 

I made my way out of the medina, and arranged a cab ride to the airport for the low cost of 20DH / 2€ and a cigarette—clearly, I got much better at negotiating by the end of my trip. En route, I had a wonderful chat (in very broken English) with the driver about how beautiful Morocco was, and we even got into a bit of a discussion about Islam and Christianity: he initially assumed that I did not like Muslims because I am American and think they’re all like Bin Laden, and I told him that such was not the case, and how it was just as unfair to judge all Muslims by the actions Bin Laden as it is to judge all Christians by the hateful attitudes of Evangelicals. All-in-all it was a very nice conversation, and I walked away hoping that I had—at least in one person’s eyes—helped to dispel the notion that all Americans are like the Religious Right.

And on that positive note, I sadly bring a (textual) close to my time in Morocco. I can’t thank Nic enough for sending me there, and enabling me to take one of the most holidays of my lifetime! 

Palm trees and snow-capped mountains...

Goodbye Marrakech, Morocco!

Morocco: Goodbye, Sahara! I'll Be Back!

It was so warm beneath the mountain of furry blankets in my desert tent—I didn’t want to get up on 10 March. Nonetheless, I had a modicum of hope that I’d be able to catch the sunrise. Little did I know when I finally cast aside my blankets that the sun had been up for quite a while. Ah, well.

Around the same time, one of our hosts poked his head into our tent and informed us that breakfast was ready (another good excuse for getting up). So, after taking a few minutes to brush away the rum-, smoke-, and sleep-induced fuzz from our teeth, and then taking a few more moments to absorb the stunning starkness of our campsite and surroundings by daylight, we made our way once more to the dining tent.

Campsite

Two of the four beds in my tent. Mine is the one on the right, next to my bookbag. (The blankets are all piled on top of J. in another bed, in an effort to wake him up.)

 Breakfast was rather simple compared to the meal we had the night before, but delicious nonetheless. It consisted of bread, some kind of thick but creamy sweet-butter, apricot jam, and coffee.

Now, gurl, lemme tell you ’bout the jam and the coffee: Best. Damn. Coffee. And. Jam. Ever. 

Well, okay, in all honesty the coffee wasn’t the best ever—merely the best I’ve had since leaving the States. But the jam…my goodness, was it amazing! 

I’m not typically a fan of jellied things. (Stop right there—get your minds out of the damned gutter!) For as long as I can recall, I’ve eaten peanut butter and butter sandwiches because the texture of grape jelly grosses me out. Orange marmalade, in very small doses, is occasionally permissibly on hot, fresh morning biscuits, but that’s about it. 

During my desert excursion, however, I discovered that bread was merely a vessel for the consumption of apricot jam! First I went back for seconds…then thirds…and then, oh yes, I went back for forthsies. And don’t think that I didn’t take the last piece of bread during that final trip, because I damn well did.

At any rate, after breakfast it was time to get ready to head out, sadly. We returned to our tents and started to pack-up. I also asked JM to help me re-tie my tagelmust (which is a skill I still have not mastered even with the help of YouTube videos), resulting in the picture below.

Tagelmust: Before Photo

Now, I point out how my tagelmust looks here because, as you will soon see, it looked nothing like this only a short while later…

Which brings us to the next part of the story: Camel Ride (Part II). 

Sadly, by the time I made it to the area where our camels were housed for the return-trip, Coco had already been claimed by someone else in the group…meaning I had to settle for a different mount this time. But I didn’t name this camel. Why, you ask? Well, there are two reasons. 

First and foremost, for some inexplicable reason I had the song ‘A Horse With No Name’ stuck in my head. Now, I don’t think I’ve heard that song all the way through but once in my life, so what prompted its presence in my head that day is beyond me! Nonetheless, it was there, and so it seemed fitting at the time not to name my ride (despite the fact that he was camel and not a horse). 

The second reason I didn’t name my camel is because he was a bad camel. But since I didn’t hate him enough to send him to the glue factory (or whatever the equivalent is for camels) I did the next best thing: I stripped him of his identity by denying him a name. 

Now, I know that sounds harsh—way harsh—but you need to understand: he would not allow the saddle to be secured properly, meaning that every time I tried to reposition myself and give ‘the boys’ some comfort, the entire saddle would shift and I risked falling off. At one point, the guides actually made me dismount him completely so they could re-tie the saddle, but he must have been puffing up his belly or something, because it was even worse after that. 

Bruised cajones = bad camel.

 

Fortunately, the trip to where we met the bus was shorter than the trip to the campsite—only about 20 or 30 minutes. But it was a rough trip! I was jostled about so much that my poor tagelmust became hopelessly undone, and I couldn’t take my hand off the saddle’s yolk long enough to even attempt fixing it properly. This is why, in the ensuing pictures you see from this part of the trip, it looks like a ’fro-meets-thundercloud-meets-alien-thing is hanging over my head.

Of course, despite the bumping and jostling, after seeing one of my friends light-up while riding I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to indulge in a Camel while on a camel.

See what I mean about the tagelmust being a wreck!

This was its own hilarity-filled experience—have you ever tried to light a cigarette while rocking every which way on a relatively wild animal? (So help me, I just know that one of my gay friends is going to have a smart-ass answer to that question!) I’m surprised I still have eyebrows left. But I did it…

Watch out for the eyebrows!

 When I finally saw the bus it was a bittersweet moment. On one hand I was beyond thrilled to get off of my nameless camel. But, on the other hand, I was saddened that my time in the Sahara was already at an end.

There was still one final hurdle between us and departure, however: a group of children. 

[Image Courtesy of NJ and SP]

I look like some horrible taskmaster, don’t I? Or at the very least like a tourist who’s totally oblivious to the circumstances of his own life compared to those around him. At least that’s how I’m terribly afraid people will read it. 

And yet, in some regards, I secretly want people to have that knee-jerk reaction because maybe it will force them to interrogate their own social positions, which is why I’m posting it here like this. (Though, admittedly, a better way of inducing such reflection might be simply to encourage others to read Peggy McIntosh’s incredibly insightful and eye-opening White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack.) 

With that said, let me now give you the back story:

Yes, children—all trying to sell us homemade camels made out of palm fronds. 

What you’re actually seeing in the picture above is the look of someone (me) who’s incredibly uncomfortable and conflicted. I wanted to help them all, but knew that I couldn’t, so I gave a few of them some money (without taking the things they were selling so that they could hopefully sell them to someone else) and started toward the bus. 

Unfortunately, a gaggle of these kids was blocking my way, trying to sell their wares to my friends who had boarded already. I stood there behind them, both trying to make my way on and also smiling nervously because…well, I smile when I’m uncomfortable, and I was discomfited by the recognitions running through my head of all of the privileges I have in life compared to these children (e.g., the fact that I was able to spontaneously drop a not-inconsiderable sum on an excursion to an area that at least some of those kids will probably never leave). 

And, it was in that moment that my friend took the above photo.

Moving away from the heavy (albeit incredibly important) stuff, once aboard the bus we began the long trek home. There isn’t too much to say about the trip back—the only times we stopped really were at a couple of vistas, and twice for food (the first time at a place I never caught the name of and the second time in Ouarzazate). 

Yup, that's a real-life oasis behind me.

Tagelmust fixed (more or less).

We finally made it back to Marrakech at around 6 PM, at which point we moved en masse toward Djamaa el-Fna before saying our sad goodbyes. I would love to think that one day we will cross paths again.

Afterwards, I made my way back to Waka Waka, where I rejoined the Djellaba Crew on the rooftop. Once again, they immediately pulled me, and made me feel like I hadn’t missed a second.

You know, that’s one of the really incredible things about my time in Morocco—I feel like there were these long stretches of time that just came to an absolute standstill around me, so that you could just soak it all in. It was kind of like that whole ‘perfect moment’ scene from Star Trek: Insurrection. (And yes, I’m aware that from a critical Orientalist perspective that statement kind of plays into the whole ‘exotic-erotic’ myth, but the bit about time seeming to stand still for me is indescribable any other way!)

At any rate, three or four hours (and a few glasses of wine and smokes) later, we made our way back to Djamaa el-Fna for dinner at one of the stalls that’s set-up each night.

It really was a beautiful, fun-filled evening—perfect for my last night in Morocco!