Morocco

Meandering through Morocco

My roommate Jon and I embarked one Sunday morning for a trip of lifetime. My first visit to Africa was very unplanned, but all the more adventurous...

We flew into Fes, a large city in central Morocco. About five minutes off of the bus from the airport, Jon and I learned firsthand the unpleasantness of the self-appointed tour guides sprinkled throughout every urban center in the country. He was very aggressive, and Jon and Not use to the non-solicited help, I assumed the man to be shady. After shrugging him at the expense of our already dwindling self-confidence, we quikly found a place for lunch. Here over a couple of huge bowls of couscous, we were recharged with energy and excitement.


Our first major gauffe was deciding to take the first available mode of transportation to Chefchoen, our first night's stop. By electing to take a six hour train, we were forced to leave Fes only about an hour after arriving and had to forgo seeing the city's medina. Once we got off the train in the coastal town Asilah, we realized we'd have to take a two hour bus to Chefchoen, and then have an even longer commute in the morning. So, we decided to stay the night in Asilah.


Breakfast at a Moroccan café

The next morning we woke up an hour earlier than we meant to—we forgot about the time change. We had a nice breakfast in a cafe between our hostel and the train station.

All the cafes Morocco are about the same. Picture about a dozen or so men dressed in djellabas sitting at tables—often by themselves—drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes. Now picture Jon and me walking inside. We both have on jeans and t-shirts with our The North Face backpacks strapped on. Jon's got The Rough Guide to Morocco sticking out of the back pouch of his. So you can imagine how foolish I felt walking into a quiet cafe with every customer drinking espresso to ask (in broken French) if they had any food. The guy at the bar looked at me funny for a second, but quickly picked up a piece of flat bread and said "avec fromage?" (with cheese?). I eagerly agreed to the proposal, and Jon and I took our seats at the nearest table.

We watched Al-Jazeera on the cafe's television while the made our breakfast. At one point during an ad break, a picture of Bush flashed on the screen. Jon and I looked at each other uncomfortably.

A man brought over our food. He put down Jon's plate first, and then turned his back to us quickly as he wiped off a smudge of dirt from the side of my plate. But I didn't care, I was famished. What would be considered a meager breakfast anywhere else was quite good in Morocco. The flat bread seemed very fresh, and the cheese had been melted just perfectly .

As we paid our bill, I asked the man for directions to the train station. In Morocco, it was more of a challenge to find someone I could understand, than someone who knew how to get where we were going. This time I understood the guy.

Outside on the patio of the cafe, I stopped to ask a man for a light. He offered me his cigarette to use to light me own. I'm pretty sure he had a lighter, but I guess that's just another aspect of the Moroccan cafe...

Rabat, capital of Morocco

No Casa in Casablanca

I'm standing next to Grand Marche on the corner of a busy street during Casablanca's rush hour. Cars, motorbikes, and people are whizzing by. I'm tired and dirty, but still in great spirits. After leaving Asilah in the morning, I've seen a chunk of the Morocco countryside, had a nice lunch in Rabat and first exposure to a real Moroccan medina.

"Wouldn't it be funny if Yasim arrived on a motorbike and was like 'hop on guys'?" Jon asked me as we saw one whiz by. I glared at him. He laughed, and as we looked back to the street we saw another motorbike approach us. It was Yasim.

Yasim, a friend of Jon's girlfriend, was a great tour guide. He was very nice, and, having grown up in Casablanca, was extremely well-versed to the city. We met friends of his along the way as we traversed the streets of Casa. We ate at a nice Lebanese resaurant at the edge of Nouvelle Ville, just outside the Medina. There he told us his sister was in town, and he would not be able to house us for the night. Tired and hungry, I was mad. Now we'd have to find and pay for a hostel. However, the meal was good. So good, that I left a little less anxious about the whole "not having a place to sleep" detail.

Our adventure following dinner further distanced my thoughts from sleep. Yasim took us all over the city. We were led around the Medina through a friend of his that grew up in the Medina. We walked along the coast and saw the giant port. Yasim even knew where to take American tourists: Rick's Cafe. (I've never seen Casablanca, so I don't know what else to say here. We didn't go inside. We just snapped a couple of pictures.)

Then we set off on our hike through the quiet city to the world's second largest mosque. It was an incredible site. Of course, we couldn't go in or get too close because of the fact we weren't Muslim and it was late, respectively. But, it's presence from 2o minutes away by foot was eminent enough.

As we walked through the streets from the mosque, amidst young boys playing soccer in the street, we talked about the cultural differences between Morocco, Europe, and the U.S. Yasim held an incredible sense of curiousity in our culture and was just as willing to enlighten us about his. As we passed by the American embassy where, years earlier, a suicide bomber had detonated in the street, he spoke candidly about the incredible conservativeness of his Islamic parents and even about his own embarassing trip through airport security in the U.S.

Professionally, Yasim was interested in talking about our academic interests. He respected us as journalists and encouraged us to continue to see the world and explore its many cultures. He asked our advice on if and where he should attend graduate school after he gets his degree in information technology.

By the time we made our way back to our hostel, I wasn't ready to sleep anymore. My initial frusturation of not having a free place to stay had been replaced by a sense that I had learned more about Casablanca (and Moroccan culture in general) in this one night that I had learned so far on the trip. Yasim said he didn't want to say "goodbye" to us. He didn't believe in it. So, we departed with a "see you soon."


Essouira

Jon and I agree that Essouira was by far the highlight of our Moroccan adventure. This small resort town was once home to Jimi Hendrix. And I'm surprised more celebrities haven't flocked to this relatively unknown paradise.

The riad we stayed in was incredibly nice. We had our own room on the second floor with easy access to an often deserted roof terrace. On the first night we looked out from our table on the terrace to see camels on the sun-soaked beach less than a half of a kilometer away.

View from our Riad

Besides enjoying the warm beach, we made our way to the medina a few times throughout the two days we were there. I had my best meal of the trip in Essouira: chicken pastilla and 'avocats crevettes' (scooped out avocado with coconut shrimp on top).

One of the highlights of Essouira—and therefore the entire trip—was meeting our Welsh friends. Back at the riad by the pool, Jon and I struck up a conversation with three elderly Welsh couples. Intially, we talked exclusively about tranatlantic politics and our futures as journalists.

As the afternoon wore on, Jon and I soon found ourselves invited up to the terrace to share a few drinks with our new friends. With obviously no set agenda, we gladly accepted the invitation. The six adults were very pleasant and interesting to talk to. They told us about their own families, careers, and shared Welsh culture—except for Mauris, their 'token English' friend.

Our Welsh friends: Jeff and Jen, Dave and Sue, and Mauris and Ganor
A snapped this picture the first evening (prying paparazzi-style)
a day before we even met our Welsh friends

After tapas and a few drinks, they encouraged with us to join them for dinner. Once again, Jon and I gladly accepted. Dinner was even more enjoyable then the afternoon and evening. We shared great food and wine, and all talked with great excitement about everything from traveling around Morocco to the cultural differences between the British and the Welsh. Jon and I spoke especially with the youngest of the three couples—Dave and Sue Simmons. By the end of the night, I found myself learning invaluable life lessons from these individuals who had been complete strangers only half a day earlier.


Last Impressions

Unfortunately, the slight hangover I woke up with the next day was the best part of my last day in Essouira. Constant rain throughout the last day kept us from taking the camel rides we had reserved the previous days. To make matters worse, we missed the earlier bus to Marrakech—our final destination—and had to remain moping around the wet medina. However, we made the best of the situation by reexploring the medina when the rain subsided.

In the early evening we finally boarded our bus and left our beloved paradise. When we arrived to Marrackech following the five hour bus ride, we were quite tired. In addition, the weather was still dismal and our flight was early in the morning. As a result, we went straight into our hostel. Where Essouira gave us the best hostel imaginable, Marrakech gave us wet smelly beds in a 'private' room that shared a stain-glass window with a 20-man barracks. At 2am, a group of Dutch and then later eastern European (my guess) travelers turned the neighboring room into a post-game party. I couldn't sleep. Jon couldn't breath and had an asthma attack.

As a result of the day and (mainly) the night before, Jon and I were very excited to board our plane our of Marrkech. However, less than a couple of days later, and I found myself missing such a unique country. In a culture that valued many different ideals compared to Americans or even Europeans, I still managed to find myself happy and content for the most part throughout the trip. More so than their Christian counterparts, I feel like the Moroccans have an innate sense of hospitality. Unfortuntately, coming from a society where everything comes at a price, I approached Morocco incredibly cautiously. However, I'm confident that next time I travel through Morocco—and there certainly will be a next—I'll approach the trip as an unique, spontaneous joy ride that I'm only partially in control of.