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On the Road with Fast Eddie
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On the Road with Fast Eddie |
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| May 26, 2001 As-Salaam alaykum: The last time I wrote, I shared with you the Spanish part of my recent holiday with my son Matt and then promised to talk about Morocco in my next text. Here we go... From Granada we made a five-hour bus ride to Algecirus, the most popular port from which to cross the Strait of Gibraltar to Tangier by boat. It was a two-and-one-half hour journey (about $21) and we relaxed on the sunny deck and pondered what lay ahead. For us both, the anticipation of entering Africa for the first time was intoxicating! Once there, we were barraged by the onslaught of those eager to get our money. As in any poorer country, one is introduced to the worst element of society immediately upon entering...worst in the sense that their single-minded aggressiveness is relentless and overbearing. At the port we found none of the friendliness and graciousness that we were to later experience. First it was the taxis drivers (in Mercedes) who demanded at least three times the rate we could get by walking for a half hour to where the small green cabs are more centrally located. A vendor insistent on us buying his wares insulted us when we indicated disinterest. Welcome to Morocco! I recommend you follow the advice I was given - get out of Tangier as quickly as possible. Whatever redeeming qualities it might possibly have are clearly not worth it and in my opinion, it's a shit hole. After finding an ATM to get dirhans, we went directly to the train station and left at 10:15 on an overnight train, with couchette, to Marrakesh, where we arrived at eight in the morning. By then we'd met some fellow travelers we were to spend much of our time with while in Morocco: two young Danish men who were on the tail-end of a several month long Istanbul to Morocco around the Med journey, a Belgian couple who were students in Cordoba, and two Canadians. They were all good company. Positioned strategically in the south, this 1000-year-old former Imperial city is strongly Berber. The Berbers have been the traditional mountain and desert people who've fiercely resisted any form of foreign rule throughout history, whether the invaders were Phoenician, Roman, Arab, French or Spaniard. Their culture is firmly stamped on every element of life there. Once there, we checked in the Hotel Smara in the medina (old city) and headed to the massive square Djemaa el-Fna, an open-air spectacle that bursts with sights, smells and sounds. As we sat in a cafe I was reminded of Kathmandu, Nepal, as both are so sensorially stimulating and exciting, and I could (and did) sit for hours just taking it all in: bicycles, motos (those tiny, noisy motorbikes) and cars whirling by, donkey carts creeping along, people strolling by - veiled women, robed men with their round hats and pointed, brightly colored slippers - young and old in a constantly moving, mesmerizing dance. Occasionally you see groups of video camera-toting tourists being led around like cattle by their guide. It was all both intense and fascinating. At night, there was a huge array of entertainment with food stalls, musicians, storytellers, snake charmers, and locals milling about. One evening, Matt and I got suckered into being the object of focus for a native jokester when he talked us into sitting in the middle of his circle while he carried on with his stories and games, occasionally involving us despite our total cluelessness about what was going on. All in good fun, I suppose. What wasn't so much fun was when, at another time, a snake charmer approached Matt, asking him if he wanted to be photographed with a snake draped across his shoulders. Matt's response was a very clear, "No!" Undaunted, the man lay the snake on him. Matt's reaction was to jump back, knocking the snake off. My reaction was to give the man a strong tongue-lashing! Adjacent to the square is the souk (market), a maze of narrow streets where you can buy everything from native instruments and clothing, to fresh dates, to gaudy western sunglasses, to goat's heads... recently severed. Prepare to get lost and prepare to haggle - unless, of course, you want to pay at least three times the going rate for anything. Shops selling mint tea (the national drink it seems) are a nice place to relax and take it all in. There are plenty of "sights" to see in Marrakech. One we checked out was Ali ben Youssef Merdesa, a theological college dating back to 1565, where there're stunning examples of stucco decoration as well as the most amazing bathrooms I've ever seen. Seriously! I "went" twice, even though I didn't really have to go the second time. I also had my second hammam, having done one in Istanbul. But this one was quite different...more invigorating than relaxing...both were wonderful. Matt and I entered a small room where we were first rubbed down with rough gloves and were astonished (and a bit appalled) to see the dead skin roll off us in layers! After a rinsing, we were then given massages. The total cost for both of us: 80 dirhan, about $8. We walked out feeling reborn. Don't miss it! Regarding our hotel, it was $5 each, a dollar extra for the shower. Like most of the hotels in the medina ours had a central courtyard with beautiful plant life and chairs to relax in. The rooms were decorated with Islamic mosaic tile work on the walls, with white stucco ceilings. They're simple, but elegant none-the-less. Regarding the food, it is very cheap, healthy and delicious. among the best I've had anywhere in the world! Couscous and tajines are the staples and found everywhere. Couscous is a grain steamed, usually with veggies, or with meat if you like, and often requires two hours preparation. Thereby advance notification is necessary in many restaurants. Tajines are stews cooked over a charcoal brazier in a special round, shallow earthenware dish with a cone-shaped lid. Both dishes are flavored with fresh herbs and spices and are amazing. For breakfast one morning Matt and I had a total of two omelettes, 3 coffees, a crepe we shared, and a 1.5 liter bottle of water - all for under $3.50. And in the square you can buy fresh-squeezed orange juice (about 8 oz.) for $.25. That's a nice way to start your day. Not wanting to spend all our time in Morocco in cities, Matt and I (following the advice of two Belgian guys we met at breakfast one morning) rented a car and headed into the High Atlas Mountains to take in some nature and a change-of-pace from the metropolitan frenzy. I had some trepidation about driving here after witnessing the chaos on the streets and not having had much practice the last year-and-a-half. And sure enough, my first challenge came not five minutes after starting out when after missing a turn I then decided (perhaps unwisely?) to do a legal, but none-the-less, daring u-turn. I was doing fine until a taxi coming the other way decided to stop in the lane I was turning into, blocking my way. So there we were, perpendicular to oncoming travel, blocking the highway. Needless to say, we were treated to a symphony of horns as well as a few helpful suggestions from other drivers regarding my driving techniques. Unscathed, we continued on where I soon learned how to navigate our little Renault five-speed around the animals, trucks and pedestrians that shared the road. Out in the country, we experienced a different element of life...a quieter panorama of agriculture, architecture and rural living. Listening to Matt's Bob Marley and Grateful Dead tapes, we passed scattered stucco homes, modest mosques, small villages and fields with sheep, goats and occasionally camels being tended. We stopped at roadside shops for fresh and dried fruits and nuts and enjoyed the curiosity and warmth of the people. Stopping in a small town, we were at first uncomfortable at being the object of everyone's attention as we sought out a place for lunch. But we settled into a local cafe and joined the locals as they watched a bicycle race. At one point there was a huge roar from the crowd, with everyone scurrying for a better vantage point. What should appear, but an old man slowly peddling his dilapidated bike along the race route. He was enthusiastically cheered on his way. After many miles of winding, twisting roads that eventually switch-backed up the mountainside, we soon reached the verdant valleys, clear lakes and sweeping vistas of the higher altitudes. We picked up an old man wanting a lift and enjoyed a one-sided conversation as our volunteer tour-guide carried on in Arabic. After he saved me from taking another wrong turn (road signs are a scarcity), we finally reaching our destination: Cascade d'Ouzoud. Arriving too late to descend to the bottom of the canyon, we opted to throw down our sleeping bags on the roof of a hotel on the rim and fell asleep watching the Big Dipper and a full moon glistening in a crystal clear sky. Awakening to the sounds of roosters, wild birds, and donkeys, we headed down the serpentine path to the bottom, crossed the river on a tiny ferry, and walked the short distance to a bluff where we set up camp. For the next two nights we slept at what I must say was the most remarkable camping spot I have ever had, which is saying a lot, considering all the backpacking I have done in Alaska, Nepal, Canada and throughout both Europe and the continental U.S. We directly faced a series of falls that dropped in three levels; multiple streams plummeting over 100 meters into a large pool below. As water struck protruding rocks, spray bounced upwards with sunlight streaming through the water. Red-rock cliffs, bright green shrubs emerging from them, nourished by the constant mist, frame the cascading water. These are the largest waterfalls in Morocco and the roar that echoed throughout the canyon soothed the nerves and fed the spirit. Birds zoomed across our horizon, sometimes landing on the canopy of vines above us and the trees beside us, and families of monkeys dined on fresh figs along the treetops just below us, looking up at us as we watched them with delight. The nightly rent for this paradise: $1 each! A ten-minute walk away, we found pools and mini-falls where we bathed in the cool waters of the river and lay on the rocks soaking up the sun and the grandeur of it all. Matt played his new darbuka (drum) he'd bought in Marrakech and I played my harp (harmonica) and once again I felt so grateful just to be alive and have the privilege of experiencing something so rare and precious as this! It was time to move on. So with Pieter and Dien (the Belgian couple) joining us, we headed north, once again with me double-clutching my way around hairpin turns, past buses and trucks, and across the beautiful landscape. While stopping at an ATM in a small town, I had one of my stranger encounters with a beggar as a nursing mother pulled out her massive breast and thrust it in my face! A few hours later we arrived in Fes, the oldest of the Imperial cities, but more modern and Arabic than its sister to the south. I also found it to be a bit more relaxed and laid-back. The gates and the walls that surround Fes el-Bali (Old Fes) are magnificent and like Marrakech the labyrinth of alleys and the covered bazaar assault the senses. Soon after arriving, the four of us participated in a commonly played game called "How many Moroccans can you stuff on a bus?" The way it's played, you squeeze as many people on as are conceivably possible and then at each stop, more get on! Then when it's time to get off, you have to push past more people getting on to get off. It's great fun, especially with a backpack. It's at this point that I should point out a negative of traveling in Morocco, as in any poor country - theft, deception and the high-pressure salesmanship. Morocco is safe to travel in, in that violent crime is minimal, but stealing is a danger and you must closely watch your belongings. After Dien got off the bus she discovered that someone had unclipped her fleece jacket from her backpack. She'd been "fleeced" (sorry, I know that probably isn't funny to her!). You must also be absolutely clear on the price of everything you consider buying, and writing it down doesn't hurt since "14" can mysteriously turn into "40" later. If two of you get into a cab and the driver says the ride is "20 dirhans", he may later try to charge you 40, implying that he meant "20 each". And whatever you do, if a man attempts to hire on as a guide, get rid of him...immediately! This all can get to be a bit a hassle, but hang in there and don't let them get to you. The vast majority of the people are so sweet and helpful. Our train ride from Fes back to Tangier with locals was a delight, despite the language barrier. And I should point out that when a closed road created confusion for us driving into Fes, a cab driver literally went out of his way to guide us to where we could find our way...merely for a thank you. In Fes, we stayed at Hotel Mauritania, which has a nice balcony overlooking the bustling street. Avoid the Hotel du Jardin...it is a dump, even by African standards. An Islamic country, Morocco is most definitely a male-dominated society. You seldom see women out and about unless with children or shopping, as public places are the domain of men. All shopkeepers, waiters, hotel proprietors, virtually everyone you deal with are male. Although I often saw women dressed otherwise, I suggest that females should dress conservatively. If you don't, you're just asking for stares and potential harassment, especially if not in the company of a man. Plus, I think it's just basic respect for their culture. Be prepared for primitive bathrooms...the kind with two footprints straddling a hole in the floor. Always carry toilet paper, and I always had a bandana hanging from my belt to use as a towel after washing my hands and/or face. Also bring sunscreen, lip-gloss and a wide-brimmed hat, and drink a LOT of water... bottled water only. I now wear a silver Berber ring that bears the sign of the snake and the desert, two significant symbols of their culture. Each time I look at it, I smile with fond memories of Morocco... magical, exotic, beautiful, and fascinating! |
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