Last Few Days in Morocco: Days 10-12

The Oasis

March 12: Mountains and Tumbleweeds

The next morning I woke up at 6:30am to get ready for the bus ride to Ouarzazate. Once we got to Ouarzazate we were to head to the Oasis of Fint. I didn’t know anything about Ouarzazate or Fint beforehand except what I read on Google and Wikipedia. I learned that Ouarzazate was the scene of several Hollywood movies and it is literally the doorway to the desert. When I think of the desert, I think of sand dunes, sand storms, camels, barrenness, and mirages. When I think of an Oasis, I think of a lush area with water that is full of life. What I didn’t know was that the doorway to the desert was literally a terrifying climb through the mountains with little water.

I was eager to catch the Supra Tours coach to Ouarzazate. While Supra Tours isn’t the top of the line as far as buses, it is much better than the coach we took to Essaouira. Once we were able to board the bus, we both breathed a sigh of relief. The bus was super clean, modern, and had air conditioning. Also, the bus was not full and we had several options for seating. As my companion did what he did best, slept, I jumped from seat to seat on the bus capturing pictures of the scenery. I was in utter amazement at the beautiful scenery. For the first hour of the bus ride, the roads were normal, straight highways. Then, we began our ascent into the mountains. The highways turned into narrow lanes, twists and turns, and in some instances there were no guard rails. In Marrakech and Casablanca, I was certain that I would meet my fate by one of the speeding motorists or by smoke inhalation. On the journey to Ouarzazate, I thought I would meet my fate by tumbling over the side of the mountain in the coach.

The prized Atlas Mountains

The bus stopped half-way into the trip (2 hours) at a very nice café and gift shop. There was an English toilet with an attendant, toilet paper, water and soap to wash my hands; all things very necessary (in my opinion) for any bathroom. After another two hours, we finally reached our destination, Ouarzazate. The bus dumped us off in a relatively unassuming location. “This could not be the town”, I thought to myself. We did pass the Atlas Film Studios just before coming to town, but once in town, there was nothing there. I likened this experience to that of an old cowboy movie where there is nothing but tumbleweeds blowing around on the ground. It was close to 2:00pm on a Monday afternoon. Most of the stores were closed, very few people were on the streets, there were also few cars traveling on the roads.

As we walked through town looking for something to eat, we came across someone whom Jamal CouchSurfed with several years ago. Before we could get a chance to decide what we were going to eat, we were whisked off to a café by his friend. After eating an average meal, we continued our walk through the town. We headed to the main tourist attractions which held a small market, a cinema museum (which was closed), and the Kasbah. After the long walk in the heat carrying my backpack, I was no longer in the mood to ‘tour.’ I didn’t go into the famed Kasbah. Instead, we opted to go to our final destination, Fint.

After some disagreeing, we finally caught a cab toward Fint. Fint is 10KM outside of Ouarzazate. The road was paved for about the first 2KM. Thereafter, we rode through rough terrain of gravel. The taxi came to a stop in what seemed like the middle of nowhere. We collected our things from the boot and took off on foot through the ‘oasis’. In order to pack light, I only carried ballet shoes and flip flops with me to Morocco. I was not prepared for mountain climbing or excursions in the oasis. Our walk to the hotel consisted of walking on dirt roads, through brush, and across streams of water where I had to balance myself walking across rocks and sand bags. I complained and cursed the whole way. As a child I played in streams and made mud pies. I’m not adverse to such things. However, I wasn’t prepared and once thrown out of my comfort zone I completely shut down.

As we were crossed the streams of water, we passed Berber women washing their clothes by hand in the river. As my stepfather said when he saw the pictures "we think we have it hard over here".




The one thing I noticed about Ouarzazate and Fint different from the other three cities I visited in Morocco was that there was a much different make-up of the population. In the other cities, I didn’t see as many Africans of non-Arab descent. In Ouarzazate and Fint, I saw much more darker-skin tones or people who looked like me. I felt that I was really amongst my people.

Finally, we reached our destination, the Hotel La Terrasse des Delices.


I read several reviews about it online and all the reviews indicated how lovely the place was, the amazing views, and the hospitality of the management and staff. As Jamal has brought several tourists to the establishment, he has built a relationship with the owner and for Jamal it was like visiting family. Therefore, I felt like I was visiting family rather than visiting strangers.

The hotel was absolutely charming and sits in what I would describe as a basin or valley, but on a hill overlooking part of the oasis. We were greeted by the owner, Rashid, settled into our room, and partook of the traditional mint tea. I immediately took a shower and rested until it was time for dinner. There were four other people staying as well. So, for the most part, we had the hotel to ourselves. For dinner, we were treated to a tagine of fresh vegetables and chicken, soup, a lot of bread, and some type of omelette. Once we finished dinner, we were entertained by some live music from the staff.

All these men were fine! I was in heaven looking at them and listening to them sing!

In the hotel, we had no television, no wifi and no cell phone connection, there were no cars whizzing by and no horns honking. Through the quiet surroundings I was able to hear the frogs croaking and though the clear skies Jamal and I looked up into the sky and tried to make out the different stars. It was the first time I had gazed at stars in ages and it was a truly magnificent site.

March 13: Berber Life

The hotel was all inclusive meaning we were served three meals a day. Breakfast consisted of a lot of bread and crepes with honey, jams, juice, tea/coffee. I really wanted sausage and eggs, but I enjoyed my meal sitting out on the terrace under the warm sun. I didn't think it was that hot or the sun was that intense, but upon arrival to the United States immediately after my trip, my parents have let me know on several occasions how dark I got.

After breakfast, we walked around the village. I will be honest, I complained and cursed a lot as well and I didn’t really enjoy it. In the middle of my temper tantrums, Jamal patiently and happily showed me the carrots the residents had planted as well as the wheat fields and pointed out other plants and trees natural to that environment. We walked through the dirt, mud, and streams again. We also climbed up and down hills. We greeted the residents as they passed by and conversed with some small children along the way. Finally we found ourselves at the home of Ahmed and his wife Khadija. Ahmed makes baskets for a living. At the time we met him, he was making baskets that would be used for lamp shades in hotels. I really wish I had room in my luggage or else I would have purchased the entire lot of lamp shades. He told us jokes in Berber (which Jamal translated for me) and we talked about his family. He was only 52, but looked much older. He said that although he wanted more wives one wife tired him out enough (which was also the reason for his greying hair and his old looks).

He and his wife insisted we have tea. So, we had tea in one of their salons. I am always hesitant about eating food from other people, but I drank the tea, ate the dates, and the bread. Afterwards, we bid our host goodbye and promised to return in the evening to taste his honey. We returned to the hotel for lunch on the terrace. Thereafter, I was able to read some of my book, Midnights Children, and catch up on some writing. Jamal went to sleep (as usual). After baking in the sun, I grew tired and decided that I too needed a nap. After a short rest, we headed back to Ahmed's house. He escorted us to another part of the house where there was television with cable. We watched television for a while, but Ahmed never returned. We decided to head out before the sun set as I was too scared to walk back to the hotel in the dark. Before we could leave, we were met by his wife. She offered us tea again and we couldn’t refuse. Finally, belly extremely full, we bid our hostess goodbye and headed back to the hotel for dinner.

Me and Ahmed. He made me this crown.

We were the only guests staying for dinner and there was no music that night, but Jamal and I didn’t mind as we talked about Khalil Gibran, Mamoud Darwish, Naja Ali, Gassan Kanafani and Moroccan Politics. I was definitely in my element. Eventually Rashid, the owner, joined us and we talked about the economy and how it has affected his business. Business was in fact slow, but he was confident that it would pick up. I wasn’t sure how old Rashid was but I didn’t hesitate to ask him if he was married. He is not. So any single ladies interested in meeting a handsome entrepreneur, make sure you make a trip to Morocco and visit Rashid. I can also say that most of the men I saw in Fint were handsome! I left the men to chat whilst I prepared for bed.

March 14: Turkish Toilets

Getting back to Ouarzazate was not as simple as standing out on the corner and waiving down a taxi. We were in the middle of nowhere. Jamal indicated that he had arranged a ride for us, but we waited and waited and no ride. Eventually we set off on foot to a school (the drop-off and pick-up point) and waited. Still…No car. I was hot, tired, and annoyed. I was also afraid that I was going to miss the bus out of Ouarzazate and ultimately my plane from Morocco the following day. Men passed us riding donkeys and I really debated hitching a donkey ride 10K into the city. After some time, I also debated making the 10K walk. While we waited, two cars passed us going in the opposite direction. After some time, Jamal headed back to the hotel whilst I waited on the side of the road. During that time, a couple passed indicating that they were headed back into town and that I could go back with them. While I wanted to attach a note to his bag and go with the couple, I thought I should not be selfish considering all that he done for me since my arrival to Morocco. Finally Jamal came with a car. I hopped into the car and we made the journey back into town where we booked our return ticket.

We had some time before the bus came. We walked around the town in search for an ATM machine as I was low on cash. We also sat down at a café so Jamal could get something to eat, but I needed to use the bathroom and was in no mood to eat or drink before a four hour bus ride. Finding only a Turkish toilet in the first café, I decided to go to a different place. In the next cafe, they told us they had an English toilet. There was no English toilet and no washbasin. Although I was briefly debriefed on how to use the toilets, I wasn’t given a proper lesson in Turkish toilets. After the 3^rd attempt at unsuccessfully finding an English toilet, I gave up and had to be creative. I won’t get into details, but let’s just say I was happy that I traveled with plenty of plastic bags, hand sanitizer, and tissues.

Finally the bus came and I was less impressed with this bus than the one we arrived in. Since Ouarzazate was not the first stop, the bus was already full, loud, and smelly. People ate on the bus and the only way to describe the smell is to imagine someone opening a can of sardines on a crowded elevator. Just our luck, we managed to get a loud pair of men behind us who laughed hysterically for the first ½ hour of the trip. I swear that they were trying to beat each other in the contest for the craziest laugh. After sometime, the laughing stopped and was replaced by a retching noise as the man directly behind me vomited every so often until the bus came to its midway stop.

I was disappointed when we passed the nice rest stop we stopped at on the way there. Once I saw the café disappear from the back of the bus, I knew that we were going to stop at a less than par rest stop and I was right. I begrudgingly got off the bus and headed towards the Turkish toilet. The Turkish toilet was my fate and I had no choice but to deal with it. I grabbed some Pringles and chocolate and boarded the bus again.

As the sun began to set, I was even more afraid of our ascent into the mountain than before. My thoughts went beyond tumbling down the side of the mountains to how long would it take rescuers to reach the bus if the bus went off the road and how many times the bus would roll before it came to a halt at the bottom of the mountain. Eventually, I used my breathing techniques my doctor suggested for flying (basically counting) until it became too dark to see my impending doom. Finally we pulled into Marrakech and I was not only happy to be leaving the bus, but also happy that this was my last night in Morocco. I love traveling, but I was growing tired and craving for home and a bed that I could recognize.

The view from the bus on the way home

After checking into my hotel, I grabbed some dinner in Gueliz. I really wanted to have a nice night on the town, but I was in no mood and really annoyed with my much younger travel companion. I barely said anything to him on the entire last day and once we returned from Ouarzazate, we argued before bidding each other farewell.

March 15: GoodBye Morocco

The next day I headed to the airport and took the short flight back to Spain. And that is how my Moroccan adventure ended my friends. I will note that Jamal and I are on speaking terms and plan to keep in touch. I hope!

Essaouria - Day 6-9 in Morocco

Some men sleeping!!


March 8^th, 2012: The Duct-Taped Bus

The trip to Essaouria started at the Bab Dukala bus station. Let’s just say that this bus station is no Port Authority. Before we could find the bus heading to our destination, we were bombarded with men trying to sell us tickets on their particular buses to various destinations. We purchased tickets at the ticket counter for the cheapest bus out of town (40dhm one way). Our coach was dirtier than any Septa bus I have ever ridden on and the experience 10 times unpleasant. We were lucky to sneak onto the bus without paying for our luggage (so for those wishing to travel by coach just know that you have to pay for your ticket and your luggage). I left the majority of my things in left luggage and only traveled with my small backpack. This is the closest I ever will be to a backpacker. I’ve realized on this trip that I prefer modern accommodations and a fresh, daily change of clothes. Washing clothes out by hand, using non-English toilets, etc. is not my cup of tea.

But back to the bus…we were one of the first people on the bus and had first dibs on the seats. We waited for close to an hour for departure and during that time, we were constantly bombarded with merchants boarding the bus trying to sell their wares: candy, water, jewelry, tissues, and desserts. They were intrusive and aggressive. In one instance, a young child made her way through the aisle with bottled water in tow. I told her no thanks and she took her attention from me to Jamal who was sitting in another row of seats asleep. When he didn’t respond, the young girl proceeded to tap him and tap him until finally he woke from his nap. A confused and alarmed Jamal jumped up and swatted the water away. I laughed hysterically.

I was certain that the shoddy bus adorned with duct tape would lose a tire or break down on the side of road before we reached our destination. At 40dhm, this was not the express or direct bus. We stopped at just about every local village along the way to Essaouria. The stops were not announced, but for the most part seemed to be pre-determined. At times, however, the stops seemed unplanned and simply at the whim of the passengers as they yelled toward the bus driver and beat the roof of the bus until the bus came to a halt. Finally we reached our destination about 3.5/4 hours later and I couldn’t have been happier to disembark.

The temperature outside of the bus was a welcoming contrast to the temperature inside of the bus; the bus was warm and Essauroria was breezy and a bit chilly. Essauoria like Casablanca is a coastal town which sits on the Atlantic Ocean. After a very short taxi ride to the center, we were met by a man who showed us to our apartment. I was nervous about the accommodations. I like to plan and pre-book things in advance. Furthermore, I like to read reviews about a place from several places such as Trip Advisor or Hotels.com. Jamal, on the other hand, is less of a planner and just goes with the flow. I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the apartment. There was a normal bathroom (one which didn’t consist of a hole in the ground), a normal shower, and a fully fitted kitchen.

Once we settled in, we walked around the town. Essaouria is undergoing major renovations throughout the town. Many of the sidewalks were being torn-up and therefore we had to walk in the streets which proved even more taxing to walk on. Construction started as early as 7:00am most mornings and lasted into the night. On some occasions, we could hear hammering past 11:00pm at night.


This is what they use to catch the fish

Our first stop was the docks where the fishermen were posted. Jamal thought it would be a good idea to buy some fresh fish and cook it. We looked over some fish and I decided that I couldn’t have fresh fish. I prefer to buy my fish already cleaned, without head, and chilling on ice. We left the docks and headed to the central markets which were full of life – but nothing compared to that of Marrakesh. It was much more subdued and there were noticeably less people. We purchased fresh produce, fresh mint, meat, and other items we needed for our stay. That night, Jamal cooked a delicious tagine. My contribution to the meal included cutting the vegetables as well as washing the dishes.

March 9^th, 2012: Horses for Courses

Me riding a horse!!

After I cooked breakfast, we walked along the coast. It was extremely windy and chilly. The cool temperature didn’t stop the visibly European vacationers from dipping in the ocean or laying out to catch some sun.

We walked from one end of the coast to the other until we came upon some horses and camels. Somehow I got the impulse to ride a horse. I rode on a horse once in Girl Scouts – many, many years ago. As children, we are relatively fearless and don’t think too much about things like falling off the horse or broken bones! So, with the help of the guide, I picked a horse that was not only beautiful but allegedly calm. It cost 150dhm to ride the horse for an hour. Jamal opted not to take his own horse (thankfully) and whilst I held onto the reins, he took another rope and led me around the beach on the horse. I refused to let the horse gallop through the sand or to go in unstable places. It was a relatively boring horse ride, but a different experience nonetheless. I was able to see some people wind surfing and other tourists riding camels along the beach.

Once my horse adventure was over, we headed to the market again to buy more food for dinner and some wine. The liquor store was closed since Friday is the holy day. One of the things I thought before coming to Morocco was that alcohol was sparse and when available, hidden in some dark dungeons. However, there are plenty of stores that sell alcohol as well as restaurants that serve alcohol. I was told that although it is a Muslim country, it is more liberal than some other Muslim countries. However, public drunkenness is less tolerated than in Europe or the United States. Sans alcohol, we gathered our food and headed back to the apartment to cook another tasty tagine.


Our dinner.

March 10^th, 2012: MarocStar

One of the locals heard me complain about the weather before embarking my horse the previous day and indicated that Saturday would be much warmer. So, I was excited to get out early, get some sun, and get some shopping done. That shopping really only included getting some argon oil and whatever else I came across that was not only affordable, but would also fit in my already jammed pack luggage. Before shopping, we walked around different parts of the town chatting and taking pictures. We sat for hours at a coffee shop around the corner from our apartment discussing our next stop to Ouarzazate. I updated my Facebook status, chatted with a few friends, and then we took off for the market once again. On the way, I purchased a gift for my parents and some argon oil. On the bus ride to Essaouria, there are fields of Argon trees possessing the prized olive which Argon oil is made from. In the town, I also spotted several stores selling shirts with the inscription “MarocStar”. The shirt had a man dressed in Berber attire carrying a surf board. When I went to purchase a shirt the man replied 200dhm and I thought that it was best I leave the shirt in Essaouria. The caption, however stuck with me. The man in the picture really captured the essence of Essaouria for those visiting the town for the first time. Essaouria was full of bohemians – tourists and Moroccans alike with long hair, sun-tanned skin, surf board and/or backpacks in tow. It has a totally different vibe than Marrakesh and Casablanca and not one that can be characterized as either old or new, but simple and serene. It was a blissful experience walking around and sitting out on the seat of the Atlantic. I was at peace and contempt with buying groceries at the market, walking around the beach, watching television, reading my book, and listening to music. I didn’t need any museums, clubs, or fireworks. Essaouria simply was…the good life.

Jamal enjoying the bliss

Day 3-5 in Morocco: Casa-blah and Back to Marrakech

Monday, March 5th, 2012

You’ve all heard of the movie Casablanca. Even if you didn’t see it in its entirety, most people know of the movie and the famous line spoken by the lead actor, Humphrey Bogart: “Here’s looking at you kid.” The fact is, the movie was not shot in Casablanca and until recently there was no Rick’s Café in Casablanca. Yet, this movie has helped to romanticize Morocco – specifically Casablanca to the rest of the world and I too fell for the hype.

I took a 3 and ½ hour train ride from Marrakesh to Casablanca. The train wasn’t as nice as the trains in Europe or America, but it was fast, on-time, had a toilet, and they served snacks throughout the journey. The stops were not announced and the main stop for Casablanca is called Casa Voyageur and not Casablanca (for anyone traveling to Casablanca by train). Who knows where I would have ended up had a passenger seated across from me the entire journey didn't tell me to disembark at Casa Voyageur. Once I came out on the other side of the station my first impression was “What a dump!” I negotiated my fare with the taxi driver and headed to my hotel. The ride from the train station to the hotel was relatively uninteresting and fairly run down. Many people asked me why I was going to Casablanca. The goal for my Moroccan trip was to see something old such as Marrakesh and Fez (although I didn't visit Fez this trip) and to see something modern and akin to any major city in the world. Perhaps I should have read some more reviews about Casablanca and the other major cities, but by the time I was warned against going, it was too late to cancel.

I was determined to make the best of my experience in Casablanca and see what the city had to offer. Just as in Marrakesh, I didn’t waste any time unpacking or getting settled in my hotel as I was to meet another CouchSurfer, Faical. He picked me up and we drove along the beautiful coast until we reached the Morocco Mall. The coast was perhaps the most interesting part of Casablanca and seemed really appealing on a hot summer night or any weekend. I arrived on Monday. The Morocco Mall is the largest shopping center in Africa according to Faical and Wikipedia. There is a small aquarium in the center, an IMAX and retail chains such as H&M, Gap, and McDonalds.

After lunch in the mall, Faical drove me to what is no doubt the gem of Casablanca, The Hassan II Mosque. The mosque is the biggest in Morocco and seventh largest in the world. Faical and I talked about it and I have also asked other people about the mosque. They told me it was built during a huge economic crisis in the country and during a time where there was ambivalence toward the monarchy. The hope was that mosque would bring more support from the Muslim population for the monarchy. For many Moroccans, the mosque brings resentment as many believe the mosque was lavish spending in a time when the country could not support the expenditures.



Afterwards, we walked around the Old Medina where I tried to determine if there was anything different I could buy in Casablanca that I couldn’t buy in Marrakesh. The answer was no. Whilst walking through the Old and New Medina, I noticed that Casablanca was a haven for knock-offs. The last time I have seen so many knock-offs, I was in a china-town in some city in America. And these were not the typical knock-offs of Luis Vuitton purses. There were also knock-off Converse and Nike trainers.

Casablanca lacked the old world charm of Marrakesh and met my expectation of a modern, westernized city. I ended the day with some lovely tea at Café Maure which I highly recommend on any future visits to Casablanca.

Tuesday March 6th, 2012: Them not Us
I was told by many that there was really not much to do in Casablanca – which is why I choose to name it a trip to Casa-blah. I asked the hotel staff if there were museums or galleries I could visit and they said no. For tourists, Casablanca only offered the beach, mall, and few interesting buildings which I didn’t get to see. They also offered some of the markets similar to that in Marrakesh, but on a much smaller scale. The next day, I returned to the market I visited the night before on foot and after picking up a few small items I headed by taxi to another large market that was suggested to me. I negotiated the price with the taxi driver beforehand and drove a short distance to the other side of town. The traffic made the journey longer than necessary, but during the drive we talked in Arabic and French until we reached the market. I thought our exchange during the drive was pleasant, but then things turned ugly. He demanded 100dhm from me instead of the 20dhm that we had agreed on. He then indicated that he meant dollars and not dhm. However, I told him why would I travel with dollars in Africa. We argued back and forth until finally I threw 50dhm at him, got out the car, and slammed the door shut. I only paid 20dhm from the train station to my hotel which was an equal if not further distance.

After sharing my experience with a few people, they indicated that I should have written the name of his car down and reported it to police AND I should have also told him I was going to do so. This experience made me bitter and angry. I was no longer interested in seeing anything else in Casablanca – at least not on my own. I literally walked around less than 10 minutes and walked back to my hotel.

Extremely hungry I asked my hotel if it was alright for me to have a meal at the pizzeria across the street. I asked because I didn't see any women at the cafe. Having been rejected once at a cafe, I wanted to make sure it was alright before I was embarrassed again. Once inside I ordered a "Panini avec frommage…no tomato…no sousage…frommage only" (Panini with cheese only). The waiter said ok. A few minutes later he came back with a Panini with mayonnaise, unmelted cheese, tomatoes, and some salad on the bread. I told him this is not what I asked for. He said I could choose something else. However, I didn’t want to choose anything else, I just wanted bread and melted cheese i.e. a cheese panini. Once I realized that I was not getting my point across, I prepared to pay for the meal in entirety. He handed me my bill which only included the fritz and cola. When I went to pay he told me he didn’t have any change for the 100dhm I gave him despite the fact that the restaurant was crowded. Furthermore, he made no effort to indicate he was going to get change. I waited and waited and waited. Finally I went up to the cash register where what appeared to be the ‘manager’ and stood and waited for him to give me change. I then asked him why I couldn’t have cheese only. He told me "if you want cheese, go to McDonalds" and pointed to where the McDonald’s was. Needless to say, I was infuriated, took my change and went back to the hotel hungry and infuriated.

With so much frustrating building inside of me, I was very much looking forward to the spa treatment I booked earlier in the morning. I had only visited a spa once in my life and that only included a back massage and a facial. I didn’t know what to expect. All I can say it was a very relaxing and a pseudo lesbian experience that lasted for almost three hours. I fell asleep a few times and I felt extremely relaxed. In Morocco the spa services are called Hammam's which is another word for bathroom. I highly recommend that if you visit, book a trip to a Hammam! After my hammam sevice, I really just wanted to go to sleep for the night, but I needed to meet another CouchSurfer, Saaid.

Saaid and I walked around the New Medina, we ate some ktban (kebab), met up with some of his friends for tea and shisha, and watched Arsenal beat AC Milan (but ultimately Arsenal was eliminated from the Champions League). One of the things Saaid and I talked about was my frustration earlier in the day. He indicated that I was treated that way because people probably thought I was African. A few times he interchanged African with Black. I could tell he was trying not to offend me, but I was baffled by this statement. Morocco is in Africa. Therefore, Moroccans are African. However, just like in any country, there are dividing lines be it class, race, religion, etc. In the case of Northern Africa, those of Arab descent clearly want to be differentiated from the rest of Africa. This is not the first time I have heard about this attitude from Northern Africans. However, I have never had anyone articulate that statement personally to me. He, like many North Africans, don’t see themselves as African at all. They are Egyptian or Moroccan only. I have many friends from various parts of Africa (excluding the MENA region). Even if they are living in France, America, or in Africa, they always consider themselves very much African no matter if their state is Nigeria, Ghana, or Guinea.

Saaid also suggested that I really didn’t get to see Morocco and that I needed to stay longer and see more things. I started thinking…really thinking and when I went back to my hotel, I decided that in fact I wasn’t ready to go back to Spain nor to Italy as planned. I discussed my thoughts with Jamal and he decided to come along with me to Essaouira and he also suggested that we go to Oaurzazate (the oasis or entrance to the desert).

Wednesday, March 6: Back in Marakesh – More Couchsurfers

After departing the train, I quickly checked into my hotel which was located in the Gueliz section of Marrakesh. Marrakesh is the perfect dichotomy of old and new. In one part of the city you have the old medina and the markets where I stayed the first few days. Gueliz, on the other hand, is the modern part of the town. There are a few McDonald’s, a Kentucky Fried Chicken, Zara, and other European and American chain stores. Night clubs and restaurant’s serving alcohol line the main and side streets.

After checking into my hotel, Jamal and I headed to the Jardin el Harti. On the way, we stopped at a local chop shop for lunch. I thought I was a germ-a-phone before arriving to Morocco, but I have realized that I have more tolerance than I thought. If you are concerned with cleanliness or catching salmonella, then Morocco is not the place for you. There were too many cleanliness battles to fight so instead of fighting them, I just looked the other way. In addition to the lack of cleanliness in the eating areas, the bathrooms proved to be even more of a challenge since most places did not use English toilets.

The toilet. I still don't understand how you do #2 in this.

After eating our lunch, we walked around the garden taking pictures of the various couples around the park. For the most part, I didn’t see any couples showing public display of affection of any kind in Marrakech. This was a point, I noted to my hosts Jamal and Faical, but they told me it was around. It wasn’t until I was in the Jardin that I noticed all the public displays of affection. We tried to determine if the people were husband and wife or simply boyfriend and girlfriend. Additionally, I made it my mission that day to capture as many couples as possible on camera.

Couples walking around the Jardin showing a little PDA

After the sun set, we headed back to the Djemma El Fna where we met up with another couch surfer, Josh. Josh is currently in France doing an exchange. He is originally from Atlanta and studying in Boston. After some tea and more food at Bakshish we headed to Jamal’s friends house whose name is also Jamal. There, we listened to music and drank a bottle of wine that Josh carried from France. I also met another couch surfer Auriele, from France, who was staying with Jamal (not my Jamal, but Jamal's friend Jamal). It was a CouchSurfing extravaganza and a lovely time. I was quite tired and after some time, I bid everyone goodnight and grabbed a cab back to my hotel to prepare for my early start the next say to Essaouria.

Jamal and Josh - CouchSurfers

Morocco: Day 2 - Broke Down Palace(s)

Although I didn’t go to sleep at a decent hour the night before, I woke up early so that I could get breakfast and visit some of the touristic places since I was on my own and without a CouchSurfing host. My Riad was very close to most places and on certain occasions I walked, but when I was uncertain of where I was going, I hopped into a taxi. Catching the taxi has been one of the most stressful and painstaking tasks since coming to Morocco. I did read beforehand that I should negotiate the price of the cab before entering the taxi or ensure the driver uses the meter if he has one. I did these things on all occasions. However, negotiating on a price for a short distance was tiresome. This was the one time where the little bit of Arabic I remembered was useful. When I was offered a price in English, such as 50DHM, I would shake my head, chuckle and respond “La. Humsa wa Ashreen” or “La. Ashreen” (No! 25 or 20 dhm). I never offered more than this as the bus ride from the airport to my hotel was only 30dhm one way and this was a much further distance than any place I intended to travel to whilst in Marrakesh.

That Sunday, I choose to visit two palaces – Palace Bahia and The Badia Palace. The Badia Palace was relatively uninteresting. Walking amongst the ruins, I could see the opulence which once was, but for the most part, it was nothing but an old, broke down palace. I walked around the ruins which were akin to some of the great ruins in Greece; a bunch of rocks. Although nothing spectacular, the trip to the palace proved amusing as I was extended a marriage proposal from a man old enough to be my great grandfather.

My future husband!

At one point I began chit-chatting with some security guards (in English) at the palace. They began talking about me in Arabic (saying that I was beautiful) and then I responded in Arabic “Shukran". Needless to say, it threw them off a bit.

I also visited the Bahia Palace which proved much more spectacular and interesting. I am not exactly sure what either of these palaces were used for or who lived in them once upon a time, but this palace was colorful. The walls, ceilings, and entryways were adorned with beautiful arabesque paintings and central to the palace was the beautiful garden with a small fountain.

I decided that I had enough touring for the day and grabbed lunch out on square close to both palaces before heading back to my Riad. Before I choose where I would eat, I exchanged pleasantries with some young Moroccan men. They asked me if I was Moroccan and insisted I could be Moroccan before I told them “No, American”. I doubt that they thought I was Moroccan, but rather wanted to make me feel more welcome so that I could choose their particular table to dine.

Once back to my Riad, I attempted to take a nap, but to no avail. Unable to get in touch with my other CouchSurfing host, I decided to meet up with Jamal again. We meet in the same place as the previous day, but headed in a different direction. I found myself in another part of the busy Souks, a part that catered less to tourists, but for the locals. With everything removed from my pockets and zipped securely in my purse, we squeezed through the crowd and I mean squeeze. I don’t believe I have ever been so jammed pack with so many people before. Babies were literally swallowed in the crowd. If you are claustrophobic then this is not the place for you. As we walked through the crowd, I saw loose hands literally making their way up and down people’s body in an attempt to collect some loose items from unsuspecting passerby's. In addition to the massive crowd of people, we also had to dodge carts and motorbikes which insisted on passing through the mass. Once we got through the traffic jam, we enjoyed some smoothies from a storefront shop and made our way to a lovely café owned by a French woman. The cafe reminded me of a coffee shop I would see in London, Madrid, or Spain – very quaint, hip, and full of non –locals. Whilst there, I decided to sit outside, brave the fumes from the vehicles and observe life on the streets of Morocco. The night ended relatively early as I needed to prepare for the next few days in Casablanca.

Morocco: Four Cities...13 Days

My trip to Morocco started with a short flight from Madrid into the unassuming and relatively small Marrakesh airport. Marrakesh ended up being central to my entire Moroccan holiday which was planned for 5 days, but I extended for an extra week for a total of 13 days.

This was the second time I stepped foot on the continent of Africa in one year, but this experience was vastly different; I didn’t know anyone in Morocco, most of what I envisioned about the country was based on fetishized images and I knew, for the most part, that I would not look like most of the Moroccan citizens.

In Ghana I feared being bitten by mosquitoes and contracting Malaria. In Morocco, I met a different sort of trepidation. I have never visited a Muslim country and I feared that I would unknowingly offend the citizens perhaps by dress, speech or some other unassuming action.

Part of that trepidation was relieved through some of the wonderful people I met through the site CouchSurfing. This site was recommended to me through my hair stylist in Spain, Shimada Kemp. While I had heard about the concept before, I didn’t feel it was suitable for me at the time. So what is CouchSurfing? In a nutshell, the site links you with other people who have a passion for travel and provides the opportunity to exchange with people from different cultures. You can opt to stay on someone’s ‘couch’ in a different city from your own and if you don’t feel safe with such an arrangement (as in my case), you can agree to meet someone from the local country or city for tea/drinks/dinner. I will write more about CouchsSurfing later for those curious about the concept.

Day 1: Shkoun Ana? (Who am I?)

After checking into my Riad, Dar Baraka, I immediately departed my hotel to meet up with my first CouchSurfing host, Jamal. Before I could reach our meeting point, I had to find my way through the busy souks with aggressive store merchants selling everything from argon oil to jewelry and handcrafted wooden figurines.

Just like any place I have traveled to outside o the United States, my identity is a point of ambiguity and curiosity to the natives and on this journey, phrases in French, Arabic, English, and Spanish were thrown at me like darts on a dart board trying to reach its target. In most cases, my ethnicity was determined to be American or British, but never African. Once again, my African (ness) was denied – even in Africa.

Finally I made it to the main square - Djemaa el Fna. Like any major city such as Spain or Italy, the main square/plaza/piazza is the heart of the city and Djemaa el Fna is no exception. It is the heart of the Old Medina. The square was full of food, snake charmers, herbalists, henna artists, horses waiting to take the tourists on rides around the city, and motorbikes which I had to dodge more often than I care to remember.

Through all the hustle and bustle, finally I met Jamal, a 26-year old Moroccan of Berber descent who speaks Arabic (standard and Moroccan), Berber, French, and English. It should be noted that at Lincoln University, I studied Modern Standard Arabic and I was reminded on numerous occasions that my Arabic was that used in the classroom only, but I digress. …

I was immediately impressed by my host’s intelligence, his traveling experiences, his positive demeanor and his willingness to take time out of his day to show me Marrakesh. On that first day, we walked around the Old Medina, drank fresh orange juice, mint tea, Moroccan beers, smoked some shisha, watched football, visited some of his friends and went clubbing. The only downfall of the day was getting denied entry into a café because I was a woman, but overall my first day in Morocco was extremely enjoyable; I didn’t have to eat a lone, I could stay out late and not worry about my safety, I had someone to translate for me as well as to practice my Arabic with AND many of my curiosities about Moroccan life were answered.