"Just come."
These were the words spoken on the phone by my dear Aunt Denya. Her words effectively ended the past two days of our going back and forth endlessly via phone and email. We were unable to make a decision up to that point as to whether I should proceed with my plan to fly to Boston the next morning, to meet her and fly to Morocco together. The flight was supposed to be the start of our overseas adventure, but an Icelandic volcano spewing smoke and lava had erupted 48 hours prior, stranding people at airports all over the world and shutting aviation down to a grinding halt.
Something about the way she said those words just set me on a path of action, although I knew we were bending both logic and reason by deciding to forge on with our plan. I'll be forever grateful to her for making a decision for the two of us! We effectively missed only one full day of our guided tour, but on the "Rockstar" side, we found out later that our delayed arrival made us the most anticipated guests on the 20 people-plus guided tour when we arrived in Fez. We were sure people were asking, "Who are these mystery guests? Will they ever show up?"
It was an absolute haul to get there, with lots of waiting around at several airports, pleas with various ticket agents, many flight re-routings, and minimal sleep for days. We had to rush off our flight and catch a five hour train ride immediately upon arrival in Casablanca to meet up with our tour in Fez. By the time we arrived at our Fez hotel, we were so exhausted we could barely pull out our passports at the reception desk. As we handed over our documents, a man with a leather jacket and big brown eyes approached us.
"Hello, my friends," he said, the first words uttered by Ibrahim, our official Morocco tour guide! Those words, like the words spoken by Denya days prior, just immediately melted away all the frustration and stress of trying to get there! Meeting him signified the end of the last few days' nightmare and the beginning of our Moroccan adventure. Ibrahim insisted we fill our tummies with a good dinner and go to bed happy. This, said at 10pm at night, when food was the last thing on our minds! We obeyed and for the first time I felt we had officially arrived: I was in AFRICA for the first time in my life!
We ate a light dinner, slept on our twin beds and arose for our Fez walking tour. We introduced ourselves to our fellow travelers as we piled onto the tour bus. I can't even recall our first introductions; by the end of the tour we felt like one crazy comfortable family, including the tooth-challenged bus driver whom I called "Al," for Ali Baba, and his young silent helper whom Denya and I nicknamed "Kid Walla."
"Al" the bus driver liked to hug the young ladies on our tour and never let go, as I learned quickly by the second day. Contact with him after that was limited to a slapping of palms as I walked on and off the bus, paired with a "....Salamalakum!"
Our Fez walking tour guide, Aziz, was a very foxy gent, wearing a traditional jelaba, a caftan-like robe worn by both men and women in Arab countries. He had both a regal presence and a quiet voice that commanded attention and respect.
We drove first to a mountain overlook, taking in views of both the old and new cities. The old city was what I termed the "Funky Cold Medina." I learned from Aziz that Fez is the oldest and largest medieval city in the world. The new medina (city center) had more a French influence, with big columns, wide streets and open air, uncovered marketplaces. The old medina, on the other hand, was exactly how I always imagined a Moroccan market would look like.
On our first day, getting lost in those winding streets, I had to keep pinching myself that I had actually made it to Morocco! The medinas were labyrinthian--over 9400 winding narrow streets, and a true feast for all the senses. As we walked through the streets, the smells of animals, garbage, spices and smoke wafted through the air. It was warm and dry in the medina, but not super hot.
We were able to witness the production of various handicrafts firsthand, something I experienced in India a few years ago, and what Kendal and I termed "The Shakedown." The tours go as follows: you are met at the souk by someone working in the store or factory, given a cup of tea, given a brief artisanal demonstration, and your Shakedown tour ends with a stroll through a handicraft store, where you are unofficially expected to buy something. Kendal and I became quite proficient at saying "no" on our India trip, and I carried over the "no, thank you" during these shakedowns with an odd air of familiarity.
During our walking tour in the old medina, we happened upon a mosque during the daily Muslim call to prayer. Aziz shusshed our group of 20 and quietly ushered us to the front entrance. The beginning calls of the prayer were taking place (sung live at this mosque - not Memorex!) and rows of men were kneeled in prayer facing East toward Mecca. Seeing this, combined with the smells and sights of the medina filling my senses, taking all this in, in an actual Muslim country, was surreal.
Our first Fez lunch was a yummy preview of Moroccan fare: first, "cooked salads," which are usually a selection of cooked potatoes, herbed carrots, garbanzo beans, beets, eggplant stew, small salty olives, usually served with crusty bread. I ate a ton of that bread, whenever it was served as it was so tasty! Then we'd have either vegetarian tagine (with long slices of carrots, zucchini and potatoes) or couscous with stew. I ate mostly vegetarian on this trip, but enjoyed some delicious fresh-caught fish along the way. I had at least two cups of Moroccan mint tea every day, super sweet and minty, served in a glass!
One of the highlights of Fez was seeing the elegant royal pal ace with my own eyes. It had gleaming gold doors, scriptures from the Koran written in tile all around it, and rounded Moorish archways. The smell of orange trees wafted on the breeze. Pink flowers bloomed in flowerpots surrounding the palace, adding a bright splash of color. The palace brought to mind a quote I read from the Moroccan King Hassan II: "Morocco...rooted in Africa, watered by Islam, rustled by the winds of Europe."
Our next day was a road tripping day, on the bus toward Erfoud. My staring out at landscapes became a theme of sorts for a giant portion of our trip. Our tour bus drove through beautiful, ever-changing landscapes on an almost daily basis, and I never tired of the country's diversity. Over the course of our trip, we saw the Mid and High Atlas Mountains (in some instances the mountains were covered in snow), deep palm valleys and wide gorges, the Sahara Desert, as well as barren landscapes that looked the way I picture the mountains of Mongolia. The scenery was so diverse and different for me, being a city gal, and staring out the window, just BEING, was such a welcome escape from my bustling LA city life.
Something I never knew about the kingdom of Morocco #1: It is a country with a large population of storks! They are usually seen on top of a village house's chimney, and they're usually perched atop a nest. I wonder if they assist with the country's labor and delivery!?
Something else I didn't foresee while in Morocco #2: I DO look like a Moroccan woman! I've never been anywhere in the world where I was mistaken more for a local than on this trip! Every day, literally dozens of people asked me, "You are Arabia?" When I didn't wear a headscarf, the men did double-takes, and when I did wear a scarf, the women did double takes.
The third "something": traditional women varied in regards to their headscarf styles. Some women just wore a scarf covering their head only, some had their faces completely covered, with only horizontal slits for their eyes, some were completely covered in black from head to toe including their hands, so you saw no skin whatsoever. Regarding the latter, it was hard not to stare, as it's so unbelievable as a Western woman to think of living your life that way.....
The fourth and final something: Moroccans have a very silly sense of humor. For example, when we asked Ibrahim about his family, he said one of his brothers, who lived in Germany and worked at the airport, was a little nutty. These were his exact words: My brother is crazy, his head is filled with 50% couscous, 25% rice and the other 25% he has problems so he doesn’t know!
I laughed constantly at his little stories...calling bathroom breaks technical stops, calling anyone over the age of 50 his daughter. It just never failed to make me giggle!
We drove through the huge Dades Valley and had lunch along the water. The Dades Valley is a sort of gathering place for Moroccans. Giant slab-like mountains and cool running streams make way for an insulated oasis of sorts. Walking around the Gorge was like cruising the boulevard in your youth: teenage boys in their finest Euro-American fashion, chatting up shy teenage girls in headscarves. There were impromptu jam sessions with hordes of people singing, dancing and drumming wildly as if in a trance. The echo with the Valley walls surrounding these music sessions was palpable, and I was hypnotized watching the show.
We then made our way to Erfoud. Our Erfoud heritage hotel was my favorite of the tour, literally an oasis in the middle of the desert. It had cave-like rooms, a delectable, enticing pool, big green palm trees everywhere, a huge spread of yummy food for dinner, and a very nice hotel staff. We checked in, toweled off our sweat (it was a warm African day, after all!), and readied ourselves for one of my personal highlights of the trip: a sunset walk over the Merzouga dunes.
The Toyota Forerunners picked up a small group of us and took us on extremely bumpy terrain to the dunes (and camels) awaiting us. I strapped my seatbelt on tight and held on for dear life as we careened back and forth over the uneven terrain. I think the driver loved hearing us squealing in the backseat and sped up even more.
When we arrived at the giant sand dunes it was one of those surreal moments in life: the sun reflecting on those Saharan dunes cast a pinkish glow and all one could see in the distance were hills, hills, and more hills. There were only a few sets of footprints over the dunes, and those footprints became invaluable to me as we made our way to the top. Walking IN those footprints prevented my feet from completely sinking into the sand, from the ankles down! The dunes and its environs were SO eerily silent all I could hear was my heart beating as I made my way over the silent, empty space. It was almost too dry for me to break out a sweat. Almost.
Camels, their piles of dung, and the camels’ nomadic human guides were all waiting at the base of the dunes for the few that had signed up for a camel ride to the top. Most of us opted to walk, as Denya and I did, and we all somehow made it up the slippery dunes that felt like quicksand. By the time we all arrived at the top, we enjoyed the most gorgeous pink sunset! I don't know if I can illustrate via words just how beautiful it was...I may have to just show you pictures to truly capture magical, breathtaking Merzouga! The Tuareg guides, desert nomads dressed in all their finery and turbans, were a sharp contrast to the beige dunes.
The next day was filled with beautiful scenery as we made our way to Ouarzazate. Its name literally means "no problem" or "without noise" and its environs provided a soothing few days, touring what is called "the road of a thousand casbahs." Along the way, Ibrahim pointed out hundreds of nomadic tents (and pointed out Berbers, the original Moroccan people, as well). The landscape and conditions in which they survive was quite the reality check for me as a citizen of the United States and all that entails: having an apartment, a job, a car, "things." There's nothing more eye-opening than seeing how people in third world countries survive and thrive...it shows you what's truly important in life; the more I travel, the more I am reminded to never take food, shelter and basic sustenance for granted.
While in Ouarzazate, my lower back and left leg were still killing me from our long flights and delays, so I decided to get a very affordable and wonderful massage at the hotel. The female masseuse, Sued, spoke NO English, and I had to throw all expectations out the window. The treatment room was sealed off, silent and very warm. No smooth jazz or new age music, just quiet! She thoroughly massaged my stomach, which isn't a normal occurrence in any styles of massage I have had before. We both cackled with laughter when I mumbled, "tangine, couscous..." as she applied pressure on my large intestine! Warm massage oil was used all over me, including my face, which was really quite nice, considering the dry desert climate. My fellow tourists commented on my post massage glow when I stepped out by the pool, where a dinner buffet was served.
By the second or third day of the tour our group of 20 really began to bond in a nice way! We had a retired rabbi and his Israeli wife, a foursome of Vietnamese, several couples from both the Midwest and East coast, a few women traveling alone, etc. Considering we spent so much time together, it was amazing that we enjoyed each other's company as much as we did.
Unfortunately, more than half our tour came down with stomach problems over the course of the tour. Aunt Denya was not one of those spared, and she was a real trooper as she dealt with days and days of stomach issues. I lucked out (or maybe it's just all the various shots and immunizations I've received over the years for other trips), as my stomach/digestion cooperated the entire time I was in Morocco. Denya coined all those affected with stomach issues as "The Green Team!"
One of our fellow trekkers, Brad, was hit hard with stomach issues. While we toured the Ait Ben Haddou casbah, Brad nearly passed out from what we think was a lethal combination of heatstroke and dehydration. The temp was at least 98 degrees as we made our way to the top, and it was extremely hot and dry. He'd already been looking peaked as the day went on, but the casbah really took the last of his strength. He sat down and started reeling back and forth, and was white as a sheet. I caught his head as he started falling backwards. The villagers immediately rushed forward and brought fresh orange juice, water from their wells, blankets...anything to help him. As he came to and embarrasingly insisted he was okay, he was sent down to the tour bus parked at the bottom of a steep hill on a donkey. I tried to give "baksheesh" to the villagers, attempting to hand them dirhams. Every single person refused the coins - one of the most touching moments of the trip.
Another touching moment occured when Al, our bus driver, was pulled over by the gendarmerie for what the policeman said was speeding. After a thorough discussion and an inspection of the bus exterior, Al was given the equivalent of a $50 speeding ticket. This was a hefty amount, considering the dirham to dollar ratio that I calculated in my head: 400 dirham.
Zvi, our token Jewish rabbi touring with us, approached me shortly after Al started up the bus. He asked if we should take up a collection on board to pay for the ticket, as there were about 15 of us and his ticket would be the equivalent to at least his entire day's pay. I loved the idea, and Zvi proceeded to ask everyone on board to donate, collecting all the money for the ticket. When Ibrahim handed Al our donation, the look on Al's face was well worth the few dollars we each paid!
We then made our way to famed imperial capital Marrakesh, known as "The Red City." Ibrahim said it was his favorite of all the cities, and it was a sharp contrast to our last few days of serene vistas, mountains, valleys and casbahs. It literally crackled with energy, was HOT, HOT, HOT, loud and smoky. The medinas were extremely colorful, with tons of silverwork, tea sets, iron work, Moroccan lamps in all sizes and colors, fruit and vegetable markets, etc.....the list goes on and on.
We ate lunch in Marrakesh in a very decadent fashion....reclining on pillows in a former palace located in the heart of the medina. We were all quite impressed by the palace's gorgeous interior: intricate, colorful tile work, stained glass windows, musicians playing some funky African instruments, twirling the tassels on their Fez hats in a circular motion (ask me to demonstrate for you!). I ate my first bastilla of the trip there, a flaky phyllo-dough pie filled with walnuts, cinnamon and vegetables. It was the perfect combination of sweet and savory, with powdered sugar on the outside. So yummy and finger-licking good, I ate it with my hands!
Ibrahim spoke at length about our visit to the Djemaa el Fna Square, which was in the main square of Marrekesh. He was more protective and kept more of a watchful eye on us than he did anywhere else on the tour. He advised us to be extremely mindful of pickpockets. When we made it to the Square, it felt like I was on the Venice Boardwalk, but with very different perfomers and food selections! Surrounding us were African musisicans, wildly gyrating dancers, snake charmers, men doing card tricks, women doing mendhi tattooes, etc. There were vendors selling huge dates, dried figs and apricots, and a long line of food stalls, many selling snails. The smell of smoke clung to every molecule of oxygen surrounding me, and the sounds of drumming and other instruments was deafening! It was what Kendal would call "a migraine in a venue!" Definitely not for the timid.
While in Marrakesh, Denya and I really wanted the opportunity to listen to Moroccan musicians in a Moroccan venue surrounded by Moroccans. This didn't materialize in the "Red City"; instead, we ended up later that night, exhausted, sitting in the hotel's outdoor bar, listening to the bar musician destroying the 1975 gem "Feelings," by Morris Albert. Once Denya heard, "Whoa, whoa, whoa, feelings..." in the song's chorus, she was outta there!
As our adventure began winding down, I realllly enjoyed our day trip to Essaouira, a beautiful village along the Atlantic Ocean. It was a great antidote to the extremely hot temperatures in Marrakesh. It didn't help things that our hotel's air conditioning was on the fritz during our entire stay in the city. We literally cooked 24/7!
The breeze in Essaouira was so refreshing and cool. The town had winding streets, open markets, fresh caught fish carted along in wheelbarrows, adorable blue and white houses, and a constant strong wind, making it a kiteboarder's dream. The ocean roared as we approached the fortress along the water's edge. I absolutely loved my lunch of fresh grilled sardines, veggies, and an assorted small cookie plate, many cookies laced with a hint of almond paste.
Our last night in Morocco took place in Casablanca, our departure city for our return flight. We stayed at a seaside hotel that reminded me of being back home in Santa Monica! The weather was foggy and damp, and the ocean roared outside our hotel room. Our last group dinner turned into an impromptu danceathon, and we even got the maitre'd to participate!
The morning of our departure, I really didn't want to leave Morocco! I found it such a sensual, interesting, beautiful place and our guide Ibrahim was just the funniest, most entertaining tour guide I've ever had! To this day, I still miss him and his extremely entertaining, funny ways. I want to dedicate this diary to him, a man who has more pride and knowledge of his wonderful country than anyone I've ever encountered in my travels!
Salamalakum, to "Ibra" and "him!"
