Hola!
So, Morocco. I should seriously write this up because I have another one coming about the insanity of the Holy Week. Anyway…
Morocco was utterly incredible. Okay, so maybe my trip had a slight snag in the beginning where Fiorella and I both overslept (faulty alarms) and ended up bolting down Menendez Palayo at 4 am searching for a cab. As it turns out, our program almost left without us because two poor confused strangers had stumbled onto our bus and filled the seats we’d left vacant in our tardiness. Luckily, our friend Ellen noticed our absence and the strangers were promptly forced off the bus (well, or politely asked to leave, I can’t really comment as I was absent). Fortunately, we did indeed make the bus so my several hundred euro payment was not in vain!
It took a really long bus ride and then a ferry ride that I slept through and then another really long bus ride to get to Fez. I arrived with a duffle bag that I had squeezed so much stuff into that it resembled a sausage and several kinks in my neck from bus/ferry sleeping. However, I did not allow said neck pain to stop me from venturing into the city before a delicious Moroccan dinner (which we late discovered was apparently the only kind of Moroccan dinner we were ever going to eat. Ever.)
The next day we ventured into the Medina, which is a ridiculously huge marketplace. From the description offered by the tour guides, I can only assume that an occasional tourist is lost in the shadowy abyss of leather goods and shouts of “Moroccan husband!” never to return. Seriously, they said it had thousands of streets, and by “streets”, they meant tunnel-like alleyways. We saw donkey’s balancing huge cases of glass soda bottles on their backs and tables presenting spreads of one-time use toiletries and packs of pampers. We’d clearly entered the sort of completely different world you expect when traveling.
Our first stop was a rug store where they attempted to sell us on the vast benefits of owning, not just rugs, but Berber rugs. Unfortunately, few were sold on the vast overpriced carpets occasionally in patterns reminiscent of southwestern themes that I don’t find particularly attractive.
Next we visited an animated apothecary who managed to sell us on just about every product (well, as long as it wasn’t too terribly expensive). The ladies of the group (myself included) were all particularly taken with a green lipstick that, when applied, became a rosy pink (I’m still debating whether the shade is gaudy or not). After buying half the store, we wandered out into the Medina Maze and headed to lunch.
Anyway, from the leather place we ate lunch, which was pretty much exactly what we’d eaten the night before. Perhaps I should elaborate. We ate couscous, chicken, carrots, potatoes, something that looked like potatoes but tasted like cabbage, and a few other various vegetable-like things. All of it was well seasoned and we were, overall, pretty content. OH! I did try sheep brain though. The appearance and texture was kind of like eating cauliflower if it were made out of fat.
Then we went to the leather shop. They showed us how they make leather. It involved the feces of birds. I don’t remember which bird exactly because from the overlook, where we watched men stirring huge vats of dye, our nostrils were accosted with what smelled like excrement, animal carcass, and broken dreams. They had give us mint leaves before we made the trek upstairs and about halfway into the tour guides spiel, most of the group had crammed the leaves firmly into their noses. Then we wandered down to shop.
I would like to take a moment to commend myself on successfully bargaining down a leather bag better than any of the other 50 people with me. Now, I didn’t get what I would call an awesome deal. Let’s be honest with ourselves, as a group of 50 wide-eyed American students, we were like a herd of crippled gazelles on the Serengeti, hopeless. However, I did get less screwed than the other people, which gives me a certain sense of pride. I managed to haggle with the guy to get a 130 euro backpack down to 50 euros. Then I got it for 47 euros because I was a few dirhams (the local currency) short and I just slowly removed the bag from the counter as the man at the cash register shrugged, watching me. Win.
From there we met up with our bus and went to the hotel to eat and prepare for the traditional show we were to see that night. Let’s talk about the traditional show. It consisted of a decent-at-best magician who did things like turning money into paper (which is the exact opposite of the kind of power I would like to have). There were also two somewhat corpulent belly dancing women, one of which kept thrusting her bosom into the faces of the guys in the front row. Then they took twenty minutes to remove members of our group, dress them in traditional garb, and bring them back for 5 minutes to hoist them up in a wooden bowl-like structure and spin them around twice. It was like the Hora, but less fun for everyone.
The next day we got up early to head into the Sahara Desert where we’d be camping out for two nights. It was a super long bus rides along really windy mountain roads. Note: Before this I had suffered very little from motion sickness. But, you know how in Trouble there’s that die under the plastic bubble and you push it and it gets rattled all over the place before it settles down? Now imagine that die has a brain and stomach and can feel things. That’s what it’s like being on a bus speeding around the curvy, mountainous Moroccan roads.
Once off the bus we hoped into 4X4 jeeps for a race into the desert (well, we decided it was a race because they didn’t use real roads and we could see everyone taking different routes).
The desert was worth the trouble getting there. We were nestled right next to the sand dunes in a long row of tents.
After claiming mats to sleep on we ran through the arch that marked the end of camp and frolicked in the sand dunes and met the Berbers. The boy I talked to knew just a handful of words in Spanish and no English, but we did manage to find out a bit about the culture. What stuck out in my mind the most is that the boy, who was about 14 or 15 told me that school stopped at age seven for many kids in Morocco. That meant that he’d been working to make money any way he could for at least seven years.
That night we ate and then laid out on the sand dunes and talked to each other and the Berbers. Occasionally they’d pull out their backpacks full of jewelry and trinkets to sell it to us, but some were just content to chitchat, as Moroccans love to talk. We went to bed a bit too late considering we were to be up for the sunrise and the next morning regretted it a bit as we tried to race up sand dunes (which is incredibly difficult if you didn’t know, but more on that later). I’d like to say that it was totally worth it and I was in awe of the great beauty around me, but it was cloudy and so it kind of just looked like a moon and sort of lacked the promised magnificence. It was pretty, just not what had been promise and, thus, did not meet expectations.
That afternoon we got to jump on some camels for a pretty interesting ride. I had to keep reminding myself as I tried to hold steady onto the saddle that camels were desert animals and they’re made to walk in the desert on sand dunes, but when my camel, who I dubbed Melvin, slipped a little in the sand, I couldn't help but think that I'd tumble forward and be trampled by his awkward feet. Eventually we stopped and had to do our own walking up the biggest dune in that part of the Sahara. It was really, really big and really, really steep and while I feel accomplished, I have absolutely no urge to ever climb it again.
From there we rode into the town to be swindled by more carpet dealers and eat lunch. Unfortunately, at some point, a giant sand storm hit (I mistyped that as “sad storm” which is still pretty apt). We had to shut all the windows in the room we were in and every contact wearer loved me for remembering eye wash solution.
Post lunch, I stuck around to get henna done. They’d brought in local women who cheerfully applied the henna in flower and vine designs on our hands. The woman who painted mine had a baby tied to her back and a toddler wandering around. The baby gurgled and smiled at me even though flies landed almost directly on her eyes. I did my best to brush them off, but they lazily moved only to avoid my fingertips to another part of her face.
Another child wandered around, about twelve, doing the henna as well. She was very small and focused as she quickly squirted on the henna into more beautiful designs than any of the other women. She was clearly very artistic, but she’ll never really have the luxury of creative expression, in Morocco, her skills will be valued most for their moneymaking abilities.
We walked back through the sand storm that scraped at our skin and eyes, even though they were covered, to the large tent in our camp to take shelter until the storm was over. I distinctly remember thinking about the intrusive qualities of sand. It finds its way into every part of you and when you’re in the desert, you never escape it; there will always be sand everywhere.
That night there was a dance party after dinner. The Berbers definitely have some very interesting dance moves. One looks like a crippled man grasping his leg and hobbling across the circle and another like a spider, side crawling. We all danced (and sweated) and just before I went to bed, I wandered into the desert to sit in the dunes one last time and talk to a friend I’d made from the other program.
The next morning we departed early for Meknes. There wasn’t a lot of time once we arrived and it was like being reintroduced into society. Even the food we were served was less Moroccan. It was a chance for everyone to shower and get the sand out of their things and prepare to go back into Sevilla and their “normal” lives.
It really was one of the most unique and enjoyable trips I’ve ever taken. Congratulations if you’ve made it thus far in my entry. I contemplated breaking it down, and perhaps I will to expand on some of the experiences, but I thought I’d give a rough over view.
I hope you’re all having your own adventures.
Love,
Natalie
