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: Cobras, Shisha, and Djellabas...oh my!

So, despite explosions and extortive measures, I finally arrived at Hostel Waka Waka on the 8th! The owners, Yaya and Jawad, were both incredibly welcoming. In fact, before being allowed to do anything else—including paying for my room—Yaya insisted that I sit, relax for a bit, and enjoy my hot touareg tea (i.e., a mint tea that is a huge part of Moroccan culture, and which is served to guests as a sign of hospitality). 

My room was on the bottom level, behind the red-stripped curtain.

Looking Upward, toward the rooftop level.

Now, you might be wondering how long I was allowed to relax before paying for my room. I mean, Hostel Waka Waka is still a business after all, right, and surely they want their money? The answer is about an hour—an hour of doing nothing but relaxing, sitting on the couch, and chatting with the other guests as they trickled in.  (In fact, they didn't even ask for their money until much later in the evening!)

I still can’t believe how many amazing people I met at Waka Waka! They were all so inclusive and generous. In fact, I didn’t meet a single person there—or at any point while in Morocco—that I didn’t like immensely. Practically from the start, it was nonstop laughs and fun, and I’m thrilled to say that I’ve since added most of them as Facebook friends so that we can keep in touch. (Yeah, okay, I know how pathetic I am for being so happy about new Facebook friends—no need to rub it in.)

The first of the awesome folks that I met at Waka Waka was NS, a really nice Canadian gent who immediately started including me in the group conversation and plans for walking around the medina later. Mind you, I hadn’t even been assigned a bed yet—but I already had plans for going out.

Thus, a short while later, nine of us set off to explore the medina

Entrance to the souq

Though we didn’t stop (yet), our journey took us through the souq, which is supposedly Morocco’s biggest traditional market. I haven’t seen the hard data to support this claim, but I readily believe it. It was this massive den of chaotic, magical madness! There were so many shops—some no bigger than a wardrobe—jam-packed with wares that the merchants were trying to sell to any- and everyone!

But I’ll say more about the souq later, because for now I want to turn my attention toward the main square:

Djamaa el-Fna is (again, supposedly) one of Africa’s busiest squares. Now, as loathed as I am to include Wikipedia for purposes beyond the occasional unimportant referent, I will say that the following description is pretty accurate in terms of what I saw at Djamaa el-Fna:

During the day it is predominantly occupied by orange juice stalls, youths with chained Barbary apes, water sellers in colourful costumes with traditional leather water-bags and brass cups, and snake charmers who will pose for photographs for tourists.

As the day progresses, the entertainment on offer changes: the snake charmers depart, and late in the day the square becomes more crowded, with Chleuh dancing-boys (it would be against custom for girls to provide such entertainment), story-tellers (telling their tales in Berber or Arabic, to an audience of appreciative locals), magicians, and peddlers of traditional medicines. As darkness falls, the square fills with dozens of food-stalls as the number of people on the square peaks.~ Wikipedia Entry

The Waka Waka crew (which later evolved into the djellaba crew for reasons that I’ll go into later) made its way to one of the orange juice stalls, where I think I got swindled by the vendor—fortunately, this time it was only out of 10DH / 1€. Regardless, it was a damn fine glass of orange juice, being somehow thicker and creamier than the overly processed junk I’m used to in the US (and also possessive of a darker-reddish color).

A short while later, but still while in the square, my new friend ‘Papu’ (JJWR) was surprised to find a monkey on his shoulder. Yes, you read the right: a monkey. A medium-sized, golden-furred Barbary macaque…which was, sadly, kept on a chain by its handler, and did not look happy. Nonetheless, picture taking ensued, and soon enough the monkey was perched on my own shoulder…with his grubby little hand reaching into my coat pocket in an effort to steal my cigarettes.

Cheeky Little Monkey!

Though I do not condone the way this poor creature was treated by its handler, I probably would have regretted not getting a photo later, and that’s my pathetic excuse participating in this moment.

And that wasn’t my only photo-op from that first afternoon in Djamaa el-Fna, though the next one was far more expensive. 

Now, let me preface this bit of the story by simply saying that people are generally surprised—and a bit horrified—to learn that I am far less afraid of snakes than I am of rodents. In fact, I kind of like the appendageless li’l guys. Furthermore, I’ve always been particularly intrigued by cobras. 

So, upon encountering the snake charmers a short while later, it took less than a second for me to request a photo with one of the cobras. The charmer obligingly placed it around my neck!

Papu and I with our slithery new friends!

Post-photos, the snake charmer started demanding 300DH (at least it was less than the 400DH they demanded Papu pay). I talked him down to 100DH (or was it 200DH? I forget). It was still far more than I wanted to pay, but I reconciled this by saying that it was another once-in-a-lifetime thing. What I hadn’t reckoned on, however, was that the guy I paid would then use that amount to help his colleagues extract an equal amount from NS, who had (until that point) been doing a better job of haggling. Whoops.

Following our time in the Djamaa el-Fna, a group of us ventured back to the souq for some exploration. Aside form being tempted to buy a plate of sheep’s brains and face (no lie), and being told that we should all ‘stick [our] fingers up our asses’ for refusing a young man’s navigational services near the tannery, there’s actually not too much that I can report. As I mentioned earlier, the souq is both massive and chaotic—so much so, that it’s hard to actually talk about. 

One thing I definitely do want to mention, though, is how determined the sellers were—it was insane! It turns out I had nothing to fear from the language barrier, because these guys could suss out where you were from in seconds, and they would tailor their spiel to your nationality and language without blinking an eye. 

English? No worries.

Japanese? C’mon a’my house!

Spanish? Holla and ¡Hola)!

 

Furthermore, the vendors would actually remember you and any promises you may have made. For instance, if you promised them that you would come back later to check out their carpets or whatnot, and you didn’t, these vendors would spot you across a crowded road days later and remind you of said-promise. In fact, on my last day in Marrakech I went around with another of my new friends, JE, who informed me that she had made so many false promises that she couldn’t return to certain roads within the souq because they were all looking for her!

Though overwhelming, it really was quite fun. I only wish that I had taken more photos of it—but I simply spent too much time actively avoiding the donkey-carts and motorbikes that were whizzing along the narrow streets.

Following our trip to the souq it was back to Waka Waka for some relaxation. A group of us made our way up to the rooftop deck, and out came the shisha and we toked… I mean talked for what felt like hours afterwards. It was during this shennaniganery that I also enjoyed some really nice apple-flavored tobacco. I’d never had flavored tobacco before (other than menthol, I guess?), but I quite liked it.

[Photo Courtesy of Papu]

 Later that night, part of our group hopped in a cab and travelled about 15km to the nearest liquor store, while the rest of us—munchified and unable to wait for our friends—returned to Djamaa el-Fna and visited one of the many stalls for dinner.

Djamaa el-Fna as night falls

The stall we wound up at was pretty full, and so we were crammed into an area behind the serving and preparing area, right next to the grill. That was kind of fun and interesting…except for the constant grill-smoke wafting into our faces. (Mind you, it did enable me to watch my chicken kebobs being made!) Also, when it came time to pay for the meal things got a bit complicated because the waiter didn’t carry change. In the end, we got it all sorted out though, and even posed for some photos with the staff.

L to R: Cook, Me, Server, AH, Cook. [Photo courtesy of AH]

Satiated, we headed back to Waka Waka, where we met-up with the others…two of whom—KD and Papu—were wearing their recently-purchased djellabas (which were of ‘the finest quality’). Thus was the group’s obsession with djellabas born—by the end of the trip, almost everyone had one. (I, sadly, did not buy one—but only because time ran out and I never got around to it. I really regret not doing so.)

The ensuing hours passed in a blur…or, at the least, I can’t quite recall most of it. This photo may give you an indication of why:

Too Much Absinthe Makes the Brettsy Go Blind [Photo Courtesy of Papu]

It was after 3:30 AM when I finally decided to go to bed—and I had a wake-up call at 6 AM for my trip to the Sahara. But more on that in the next entry…

Morocco: Getting There is Half the Battle!

I should really start blogging about my Moroccan experience, don’t you think? So, here goes…

Technically speaking, my journey began on 7 March 2012. I say this because I woke-up at about 8 AM that morning so that I could start working on some last minute things (like, you know, packing and figuring out how to get to Stansted Airport from where I’m living), and I didn’t go to sleep again until the 9^th. But more on that later...

Nerves prevented even a brief nap prior to heading out for the airport, so that when I arrived at Stansted at about 3:30 AM on the 8^th I was already tired. Nonetheless, I successfully checked-in, passed through security (after being told to throw away my hair gel for security reasons), and worked my way onto the plane for a 6 AM take-off. 

(Yes, I’m one of ‘those’ people who gets to the airport at least two hours prior to a flight—this is, in part, due to a bad experience coming back from Ohio once wherein I almost missed my flight and lost a Whoopie Goldberg action figure while rushing down the concourse…but that’s a story for another time.) 

For the record, sleep did not come on the airplane either. Again, nerves were a factor—but this time there was the added ‘bonus’ of screaming, kicking children in the seat next to me and Ryanair’s insistence on promoting their ‘buy on board’ program over the P.A. system. Whatevs.

At any rate, about 4 hours later the plane was descending toward Marrakech. I was able to snag a few photos of the African landscape before one of the stewards snapped at me to turn the camera off. (I guess I missed the announcement that all electronic devices had to be turned off). Sadly, this means that I was unable to capture the most amazing image that I saw on the way in: the Atlas Mountains stretched out alongside Marrakech. Nonetheless, I love the photos that I was able to get, one of which you can see below:

The Moroccan landscape near Marrakech.

Upon arriving at Menara Airport I breezed through customs, and quickly made the switch from Euros to Moroccan Dirham (DH). Yes, I know you shouldn't convert money at the airport, but it's almost impossible to find someplace that will 'legally' convert to Dirhams in London—

As a quick side-note about the money: I sucked at using it effectively, namely because I was always having to convert prices in my mind into Euros and from there into US Dollars. This shouldn’t have been as complicated for me as it was—especially since 1€ = 10DH—but I was working on very little sleep the entire time! And this was on top of having to haggle over most prices, which I’m equally inept at. So don’t judge me when I start discussing some of my…less advisable financial decisions in a bit.

—At any rate, despite the fact that breezed through the arrival and visa process really quickly, it actually took me about 30 more minutes to work up the nerve to actually leave the airport. 

Yup, you read that right. 

In fact, I was so intimidated at that point by what might happen (I foolishly watched the AbFab ‘Morocco’ episode an hour before leaving for the airport) that I legitimately contemplated never leaving the airport.

What did I do during those 30 minutes you ask? Well, first I walked around the shops. And then I made my way out toward the taxi stand…but chickened out and circled back. Next I found a place to get some food and a map (which I never used). Then, finally, I made a second attempt at getting a cab. This second attempt at grabbing a cab was a bit more successful. 

However, all of the cabs were being coordinated by a single man who, after finding out where I was going, set the price at 200DH (20€; $40). This might not have been a bad price…if I was going more than 6km. Nonetheless, I was tired and lost, and so I agreed. (For the record, I tried to talk the driver down while en route, but to no avail—he wouldn’t go against the other man.)

The ride toward the hostel wasn’t bad. My driver was moderately fluent in English, and was able to point out sites as we drove around, and the contrasting imagery of brown buildings, palm trees, and distant snowcapped mountains was incredible. 

Two things worth noting about the ride, however:

(1) The road was clearly divided between incoming and outgoing traffic…but there weren’t any (visible) sub-divisions, meaning that each side had about three lanes’ worth of traffic (cars, buses, motorbikes, pedestrians, and donkeys with carts) weaving in and out amongst each other. That was a bit disconcerting at first—but I can honestly say that I didn’t see any accidents, and it all somehow worked.

(2) As we pulled up at one of the only stoplights between the airport and my hostel, and the driver was pointing out the wall surrounding the medina quarter (the older, fortified section of Marrakech, in which I was staying), there was a tremendous explosion!

Yes, explosion!

It was so jarring, that the driver and I both dropped in our seats and covered our heads (and probably loosed an explicative or two)…only to realize a moment later that we were stopped next to a construction site using dynamite. Sigh. Some kind of warning would have been nice, but at least it added an interesting side-story to the start my adventure. 

[NB: This is not my photo!]

Following that bit of excitement, it was only a few more minutes until the cab pulled to a stop. Now, we weren’t quite at the hostel yet, but cars are not allowed into the medina because the streets are so narrow and densely packed. 

But, I was prepared for this, and had directions from the hostel telling me how to get there from the drop-off point...

Unfortunately, the cab driver had other ideas, and whistled to a friend of his that was ‘conveniently’ standing not far away.

My driver told the man where I was going, and instructed him to take me there. I was also prepared for this eventuality, though, having read on another traveler’s blog about a similar experience that wound up costing them over 200DH. So, after paying for my cab and grabbing my bag (before the second man could throw it into his cart), I told UnwantedGuide-Man that I was not in need of his services and that I knew where I was going. 

But UnwantedGuide-Man nonetheless took the lead (headed in the direction which I knew I, too, had to go), and kept telling me that his services were free and that he would just show me where to go. No charge. 

(Sounding familiar? Perhaps you’re finding this reminiscent of my experience at the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur? Me too.)

In hindsight, it’s probably good that UnwantedGuide-Man was there, because even with directions I would have probably gotten lost. At the time, however, I was merely annoyed by his presence because I knew where this was leading (in both the actual and metaphorical senses). I kept telling UnwantedGuide-Man that I really didn’t need his services, and that I didn’t have the money to pay him.

‘No, no, no—it’s free! Come, come…’

M'mm-hmmm.

Sure enough, 5 minutes later we were standing before the door of my hostel and he was demanding 200DH. 

Regretfully, the entrance to my hostel was tucked into a very tight, very dark alleyway, and in that moment I was pretty intimidated since there was no one else around, and UnwantedGuide-Man was very physically imposing—also, it was taking forever for someone to answer the hostel’s door. I reminded UnwantedGuide-Man that I didn’t have the money to pay, but he kept pushing. Eventually, I (very reluctantly) parted with 100DH as a means of finally getting rid of him…and of course, the door just so happened to open at that exact moment, too. Funny that.

So, there you have the beginning of Moroccan experience—it gets a lot more fun and a lot less extortiony soon, I promise!