So here comes the long-awaited entry about all of my adventures in Morocco. It’s going to be long and loaded, so I would suggest waiting until you are home, pour a relaxing beverage of your choice (whether it be coffee, hot chocolate, or a pina colada), wrap yourself up in a nice blanket (because you are most definitely colder than I am at this moment), and enjoy.
Saturday, 24 October
I took the GREs this morning, which is the reason that we (being Allison, Rodline, and I) didn’t leave until Sunday morning. If I didn’t have the GREs, we probably would’ve left Thursday night, and saved about $200 on plane tickets. Oh the sacrifices we make for scholarly pursuits. But the good news is that I took them and I think I did well. It is kind of ironic though, because my uncle is taking the GREs this year as well, and he is complaining about how it’s all computer based, etc. Meanwhile I end up taking them in Senegal and take the paper-based ones, even though I would’ve loved to be able to type my answer instead of write it all out. Oh well.
For my last meal in Senegal (for a week) my host mom made me hamburgers!!! They were really good. And she put the fries right on top of the hamburger, just the way it should be. I’m really surprised that it ISN’T and American thing to just eat the fries as part of the hamburger. It would seem rightly lazy of us. I might start that tradition.
Allison, Rodline, and I all met at MyShoppe around 11. We hung out there for a bit, before finally getting a taxi to the airport. We went through all the security, which included a lot of passport checks, but we could pretty much bring whatever we wanted to on board, including any amount of liquid we wanted to. I love not traveling with America’s ludicrous TSA requirements that don’t actually make us any safer.
Sunday, 25 October
Our flight was ridiculously late (or early), leaving at 3:30 AM. We arrived in Morocco with the sun up, and everyone beginning their day. We thought we had to take a taxi back, and they tried to charge us a huge amount for the ride. We weren’t sure about bargaining or not (you always have to bargain for a ride in Senegal) so we tried to tell the cab drivers that it was too expensive. Then they took us to a sign nearby which listed the taxi prices from the airport to different destinations, so we agreed to the price listed to Casablanca, which was actually a pretty hefty amount. But we made it to the hostel, which I thought was pretty nice. We couldn’t check in yet, so we just left our stuff there and went to get breakfast. Our hostel is in the old medina (“Medina” is the Arabic word for “city” so in Morocco, when someone talks about “the Medina” when still speaking French, this indicates the original part of the town/city that has a stone wall around it, which was built in ancient times for protection).
We wandered around the medina for a bit until we found a place to get breakfast. It was a little café. The most fascinating part about Moroccan cafés is that it is usually only men who sit there and they all face the street. Even groups of five men who are talking together sit facing the street and never sit around the table in a circle. It’s really amusing. But I think the main purpose is for watching what’s happening in the street. Regardless, us girls sat down, in a quasi-circle around the table and ordered. Rodline got café au lait, and Allison and I got Moroccan tea. It is green tea (which I usually don’t like) with tons of sugar and also many mint leaves. We would end up drinking SO MANY glasses by the time our trip was done.
We went back to the hostel to check in, and then wandered around the city a bit. We headed over the the Mosque of Hassan II, which is the third largest Mosque in the world and one of the few Mosques which allow non-Muslims to enter. We went there and observed the outside, took pics, etc, and then went to lunch. We came back for the tour around 2:00. We had to take our shoes off to come in, which I didn’t mind of course. It was stunningly gorgeous inside. Our course, it was huge, and so elegant. Our tour guide told us that all of the materials used to build the mosque came from somewhere in Morocco, with the exception of the chandeliers and two slabs of marble up at the front, which all came from Italy. Interestingly, our tour was in English, but I don’t think our tour guide actually spoke English that well. She had actually just memorized the whole spiel. I figured this out, because she couldn’t understand one of the questions asked, and sometimes she would start her speech, but back up a few lines, and say exactly what she had said before. It was kind of impressive though, her memorizing an entire speech in a language that she wasn’t that familiar with.
Mosque Hassan II
Inside Mosque Hassan II
After this, we returned to the hostel and took a much-needed nap. Rodline woke up first, and waited around for a bit before underhandedly waking Allison and I up too. We went to dinner at this place that we had passed earlier which looked pretty “Moroccan” It was good. While we were there some drunk guy came up to us and started talking a lot. He was mostly amusing, but I always get annoyed by this. Allison doesn’t seem to mind though. When he first came up to us, though, we told him we were American. Then he points at Rodline and goes, “And where are YOU from?”
After spending a few months in a country entirely filled with blacks, and where seeing another white person is a novelty even for me, it’s weird to go to a country where there are so few black people. Rodline is black, of Haitian descent. Her parents are from Haiti but she was born in the United States and has lived there all of her life. But all day, people kept blatantly staring at her. She said that she’s heard that Moroccans and other north Africans, who look more like Arabs, look down upon sub-Saharan black Africa. And I think there is a difference in the way she was treated sometimes on this trip before and after someone found out she was actually American. We were also worried, because we had planned to possibly go to Spain one day when we were in Tangiers, and we knew that Rodline would probably get stopped a million times, because the Spanish are so worried about West African immigrants coming illegally into their country.
When we were at the Mosque today, we talked about this briefly and I remember having to remind Allison, who is from the suburbs of Boston, that there are some places even in America—like my hometown—where seeing a black person is uncommon. American society at large may be very mixed, but still very separated geographically in a lot of places. I think the main difference is that no one in Morocco is afraid of being labeled “racist.” They openly stare and make comments.
I really enjoyed the company of Rodline and Allison, and we had some really deep conversations. This night, we talked about race and religion a lot, and it’s cool to have feedback and to share ideas. Allison is Jewish, and it’s really interesting to learn about specific similarities between Islam & Judaism, etc. Plus Allison is really very much of a hippie, so she shares a lot of the same views as I do when it comes to religion. We believe in the same God, (as do Muslums) and Allison and I have very liberal views of religion.
We have been very non-P.C. (Politically Correct) this entire trip. (Of course in a very facetious way). I think the main problem with America and race is that everyone refuses to address it. If anyone tries to bring it up, then they’re playing the “race card” or something like that. I wish we could stop being so sensitive and talk about race, and try so see what other people feel about it. Mostly Allison and I make REALLY sarcastic comments that poke at the racism we see around us (like when one girl was staring at Rodline I said something to the effect of “Oh my god, look a black person, I’ve only ever seen one of those on TV!”) Sometimes Rodline looks at us really surprised, but reminds us that she really enjoys that we’re not afraid to say things like that. She tells us she might be sad when she goes back to her friends in the states who are very politically correct, and are afraid to say anything that might be seen as insensitive, and to really talk about these issues at all. She’ll also make facetious comments like when I told here I wanted to ride around on the conveyor belt with the suitcases, we acted out the reaction of people there. She said they would be like, “Umm…miss? Miss! Toubab! TOUBAB! You can’t do that!” lol.
I’ve never really been on the receiving end of racism. Even in Senegal, it’s mostly just that people see my white skin and believe that I have money, so therefore they should charge me more. I guess my family would agree with me on this point, that I also tend to be oblivious as well, so I may not notice all the racism that is directed at me. Allison once had her little sister help her to be able to say, “My name is NOT toubab, it is Aisha Binta.” (her Senegalese name). She really just didn’t like it. I don’t really mind, I mostly joke about it. Plus I probably don’t see it as much. Twice on this trip in Morocco, Rodline got called the N-word. It was wearing on her a lot. She talked to her sister, though, who has also been to Morocco, and who told her basically to get over it and to not let that affect her trip. On the other hand, we did meet a few nice Moroccans. Our tour guide in Fez (who I will talk about later) said quite earnestly about Rodline, “I love this color! This is my daughter.” And he kissed her on the cheek.
But I am getting ahead of myself.
Monday, 26 October
We got up this morning and had breakfast at our hostel, then walked around the city. We never really ended up where we wanted to, once being thwarted by the Moroccan guards around the US Embassy (which had INTENSE protection, btw). We told them we thought we had to keep walking straight to get where we wanted but they told us we had to go back and turn this way of that. (They were wrong) Of course the hardest part about navigating pretty much anywhere in the non-Western world is the absolute absence of street signs, making it hard to know exactly where you are or which way you need to turn. We ended up just going to this one landmark, Place Mohammad V, which just had a lot of pigeons. Then we went and decided to get food at McDonalds, since we haven’t seen one of those our entire time here. It was disappointingly small portions and NO FREE REFILLS as well as super expensive (for McDonalds). Honestly the first thing I want to do when I’m back in the states is go to a restaurant and make the waitress get me at least 20 refills or something like that. I miss customer service.
Oh, Morocco is absolutely filled with Pepsi signs everywhere especially in Casablanca. I was so excited because I got pepsi in a glass bottle. That pretty much made my day.
We took the train to Fes today. At first we shared the compartment with some weird Moroccan guy who kept talking to us, even after we put our headphones on and were trying to ignore him. We all slept for a bit, but then I got up and started working on my Arabic. Another guy had come in our compartment, and I think he was really surprised that I pulled out and Arabic book. He started talking to me. At first I was a little wary but then he turned out to be really interesting. He was a teacher of French and Arabic at a school near Fes. We had a really cool conversation. One part was I was trying to explain to him how I feel that in Africa things are more “inch allah” than in the States (“inch allah” is a phrase that means “God Willing.” “Allah” is Arabic for “God” in the same way that “God” is English for “God” or “Dieu” is French for “God.” It doesn’t refer to specifically to the Muslim God.). He responded that everything is “inch allah” but my point is that while that is true, people in American tend to BELIEVE that they are a lot more in control of their own lives. Here, schedules aren't a really big deal and time is not that valuable. If you show up late to a meeting, it’s not that big of a deal, because you were only going to show up to the meeting, God willing. But if you tried to tell someone in the states that it was God’s plan for you to show up late, you would probably already be fired. And here, people feel bad if they don’t add “inch allah” after talking about plans because they feel like it’s proper to remind themselves (and others involved in the plan) that everything is subject to to God’s approval and willingness. But I think if you were talking to someone in the States, like a boss, or even a friend, and they said, “Okay, you’ll be here at 10, right?” and you responded, “God willing.” They would probably say, “No you WILL be here at 10,” because no one wants to wait around.
I told this nice guy that we were just visiting Fes, and he made some suggestions on what to do. A little bit later Allison woke up, and was unaware that he was a different guy than before. So when he started talking to her, she was like, “Oh no!” but later realized that this guy was actually pretty cool. He told us that especially since we were only going to be there for a day and a half we should get a tour guide. However, he mentioned that the hotel would probably try to push THEIR tours on us, which would be really touristy. But if we called the tourism office, and set up a tour through the state, we would have someone trained in history to show us around. Then, he asked Allison for the tour book she was carrying, and looked at the Fes Tourism office, and scheduled the tour for us! How awesome and nice of him! He got off before us, but told us we were the next stop.
On a Train
Once we got to Fes though, it was chaotic! There were tons of taxi drivers, all trying to get us to take their taxi, but telling us we had to pay 20 dirhams! (about $3) We told them we knew it wasn’t 20dh, and that regardless, taxis had a meter, so it wasn’t debatable at all. Our friend on the train told us it shouldn’t be more than 10dh to get where we were going we finally got a taxi that agreed to use the meter. When we got in, though, the meter was already at 11dh, and we asked him to turn it back down to the beginning rate (usually about 1dh40). He started yelling at us! Talking about how it was such a short trip he had to start the meter high, etc, etc. Finally we convinced him to start the meter back at the base rate, and he drove us to the hotel. The final meter read 3dh40 (about $.50). I can’t believe people were really trying to charge us 20!!!!!!!!! But as I’ll continue to explain in later entries Moroccan taxi drivers are mostly [insert your favorite word to talk about mean, rude men].
Our hotel on the other hand is pretty BALLER, and by that I mean it’s not an Econo Lodge. (and for those of you that don’t know, “baller” means something that is pretty luxurious in a very fly (cool) way) lol. It was still the cheapest one we could find when we were doing this search. One thing we discovered over our trip though, is that I don’t think that the cheaper hotels and most of the hostels have internet sites. Allison’s guidebook did have a few cheap hotels listed, but only with phone numbers that we couldn’t call from Senegal. So we spent anywhere between $20-$30 a night per person (actually that is about the cost of HOSTELS in Europe) for these great hotels, with hot water and WATER PRESSURE, wi-fi, good breakfast, etc. The one we stayed at in Tangier also had a pool, restaurant, and bar.
We went to get something to eat. The hotel was very pushy, and kept being like, well why don’t you eat here, it’s not that expensive, and pretty much refused to tell us somewhere else we could go to get something to eat. But we ended up just leaving the hotel, and walking around a bit. This area was very safe, plus we thought we had seen a place to eat on our taxi ride not far from the hotel. So we walked there, and it was good. They didn’t have Moroccan tea on the menu, and Allison looked SO heartbroken by that. So our waiter went and got us three Moroccan teas from another restaurant nearby! That was so nice of him.
We all used the hotel shower. Rodline was most happy about the hot water. I was most happy about water pressure, and Allison was most happy about the ability to take a bath. We had a small balcony and sat out there to write a little bit, I studied, and we all chatted. Then we went to bed.
Tuesday, 27 October
Today we got up and ate breakfast and then went down to wait for our tour guide. He showed up in a polo, jeans, and baseball cap, and seemed really cool. He brought along this girl named Stacie. She is from New Zealand, but currently lives in Fes. She is a family friend and apparently he called her last night to tell her that he would be taking around some English-speaking girls that she might love to talk to. I think she really enjoyed it, being able to talk in English with someone (especially because she doesn’t speak Arabic or French that well), plus we were able to share our grievances about living in Africa, and the way foreigners, (especially white people) are sometimes treated, and how people bother you all the time, etc. We complained about the water, and I think she was jealous that we had hot, running, powerful water. But of course, we all love being here, despite our various complaints.
Our tour was weird though, in that our guide was hardly ever there with us. When we met up, we got his taxi driver friend to take us around to different places outside the Medina. We went to the Sultan’s palace. (One of three in Fes). Morocco is a kingdom, and of course no one is allowed to say bad things about the king. We asked our taxi driver what he thought, and he gave a lukewarm response. Stacie was telling us that he is generally liked. And people LOVE his wife, who is this beautiful red-haired Moroccan woman. They are very forward and liberal. Although Stacie did hear rumors that the king may have recently gotten a new wife in a hush-hush marriage. But no one was able/willing to confirm this. Stacie also said that she had heard that the staff at the palace is never told whether or not the king will be there or not, so they must prepare his meal every day. Imagine this happening at every one of his palaces all throughout Morocco!
Palace of the King
After the palace, we drove around the outside of the Medina, and up into various hills to look around. Fes actually has three different parts: the old original Medina, Fes Jideed (meaning “new” in Arabic), and the Ville Nouvelle (“new city” in French.) The Jideed is the village that sprung up when the old medina became to crowded, and also housed the large Jewish population when they were pushed out from the city around the same time as the Spanish Inquisition. The Ville Nouvelle is the area where are hotel is, and it is very modern. Anyway, we saw these from different vantage points. Plus we went to this pottery-making place, which made both varieties of simple pottery, i.e. bowls, plates, cups, etc. As well as really intense tiled items. There is SO MUCH tiled design in all of Morocco, something I saw in the Alhambra in Granada, Spain (made by the Spanish Moors). There was someone at the pottery place who actually gave us a full tour. He showed us people making it in various steps, we saw some workers at a pottery wheel, making bowls. It was SO incredible to watch the clay take form just as the potters (I guess that’s what they’re called?) moved their hands this way or that. We saw the kiln, the various stages of the tiles, and also people who were painting the pieces.
Pottery Makers
We also went up to this hill where some sultans of the Merenid (sp??) dynasty are buried. There was another nice view of the town. Finally we drove down to an entrance to Fes. (Cars aren’t allowed in the Medina) There we met up with our tour guide, who paid our taxi driver. Then he led us into the old city.
We first stopped at this weaving place, where they made scarfs, blankets, etc, etc. We looked around the shop for a while. It was really cool because there was this side room where there was a sofa. We sat on the sofa and were served Moroccan tea as we were shown various items and bargained prices. It was really quite nice.
Weaving Place
Next we went to a leather-making place. There was someone who showed us the view from the balcony, where tons of people were making leather. The process was somewhat explained to us, like the soaking of skins, dyeing, etc. But I wasn’t paying that close attention. There really was SO MUCH leather there, and really all over Fes, and to a lesser extent all over Morocco.
Leather-making
But I think I was much more interested in the Momma cat and her three adorable kittens. Some workers tried to show me things to buy, and I feigned a little interest, but mostly was just like, “Look at these kittens, they’re so CUTE!” They showed us really, really nice leather jackets, etc. But we didn’t even bother to look at them. Even at Moroccan prices, there is no way I could ever buy nice leather outerwear at this point in my life.
Next we went to a store that called itself a place with “traditional berber medicine.” Basically it was tons of spices, and things for the skin, etc. We smelled so many things, and rubbed random things on our skin, it was really intense. After that, we went to the Sahrij Medersa, which was an old Koranic school, and now I believe houses university students. The pool in the entrance hall had this really cool visual effect, which was that when standing on one end the closest side looked shallow, and the other side looked deep. But when you walked along the side to the other end, it looked like the sides were moving so that when you got to the other side, the closest end looked again like the shallowest.
After this, we went to a place where traditional carpets were sold. The New Zealand girl with us, Stacie, said that she actually used this place to help pay off her student loans. It is this place that is technically a co-op, and government sanctioned / aided. The people who make the carpets are typically widows. The prices are controlled, and super cheap. Plus if you have a Student International Identity Card, or buy a lot of once you can get free shipping, or things like that. But anyway, what happens is that you go there, pick out however many carpets (Stacie said she usually gets between 3-5) and then they will ship them to your home, right then, or once you get back to your home, and pay them. Then Stacie usually just takes the carpets to an auction house and sells them there. And makes about 4 to 5 times back the price. We talked about how it doesn’t even matter the current economic whatever, because the people that buy these carpets really aren’t affected. Also, I think that because it is a co-op, there is something about avoiding tariffs, etc. I’m not exactly sure how it works, but it sounds pretty awesome. My point is that I’ve decided I want to go back to Morocco and this is how I might pay for it!
Rodline, me, and Stacie with the carpets we picked out
The buying process was pretty cool. Allison, Rodine, and I weren’t buying anything, obviously, but it was cool to watch Stacie buying, especially once the seller stopped bothering us. We were served Moroccan tea, and just watched as tons of beautiful carpets were rolled out in front of us. One really funny / annoying thing that the guy kept saying was “Excuse me.” He really said it so much, especially when we would try to talk, even about the carpets. I kept thinking that anyone buying something in the states would be offended if the seller was ever like, “Excuse me, I’m talking.” lol.
After this we were really hungry, as it was kind of getting late (for lunch). We ate at this cool-looking restaurant which was literally a hole-in-the-wall. The only way to access it was through a door that was at the end of one of the streets there was literally no signs or anything. Our tour guide left again, and met up with us at the end of the meal. Then he took us to the Tidjaniya Mosque. Tidjaniya is a Muslim brotherhood, which started in Morocco, but is VERY prevalent in Senegal. Aziz is Tidjaniya. After this, though our tour guide said he had to leave. He told Stacie to take us to the Ben Ionia medersa. We couldn’t exactly go inside, but we took pictures through a door anyway.
Also, we had heard of this “water clock” which was supposed to be nearby we went searching for it, but we couldn’t find it. We went into this café called “Café Clock” which we thought may be helpful. The waiter came out and tried to explain to us in English the history. His description of how the clock actually worked was really bizarre, and therefore remains a mystery to us. But he did say that there was a story associated with the clock, which involved the maker of the clock, who had a wife. She was having a hard time getting pregnant and keeping a child. When the clock sounded, she heard it, and the child died. Therefore, the maker went and smashed the clock to pieces.
So it was a weird story, and left us wondering. On the other hand, in the “Café Clock” we found vache qui rit earrings. For those of you who don’t know, “La Vache Qui Rit” is a cheese (in English, “The Laughing Cow”) which comes in a circle, but has triangular pieces in this circle each wrapped in foil. It is delicious, spreadable cheese, and of course the best part is the laughing cow logo. So I now have earrings that are of a red, laughing cow. And they are pretty much my favorite things ever.
That was pretty much it for our day, we just got some bread to have for dinner later and went back to the hotel. We talked about how this tour today was so bizarre, especially in the random absences of our guide, and how it was structured. I was at first put off by the clear goal of selling products, but then I thought about how there is pretty much a gift store at the end of every tour/museum/etc that I’ve been in. And at least the actual tours were free. But this day of going around Fes was really no less satisfying than other tours. We saw so many things. Sure, we weren’t presented with tons of facts like, “In 1347, this was built by this person…” There was some of that, but mostly it was cultural stuff. Of course as a history major, I love those random historical facts, but I didn’t really miss it on this trip. It was so fun, relaxed, and we got to drink tons of tea along the way!
Wednesday, 28 OctoberWe had breakfast in the hotel, per usual. We had this really funny interaction with the hotel staff. We really wanted Moroccan tea, but I think we were the only patrons of this hotel to actually want that and not coffee. So we asked various staff members if the tea was ready yet, and I think they all thought we were weird because we actually wanted Moroccan tea. We had a nice convo with two (very good looking) Moroccans while we were waiting for the tea, and then once the tea came, they laughed at us when we each went back up for a second cup. It was really fun.
Allison wanted to go to the Jewish quarter (since she is Jewish). We first went to buy tickets for the train later that day, and then tried to catch a cab. But no one wanted to take us there, since it was so close. We found one taxi who agreed to take us there, but then once we got in, he said his meter didn’t work and that it would be 30 dirhams (10 each). We knew that this place was kind of close, so we refused and got out. We asked someone on the street, and they pointed us in the right direction (plus Rodline also kind of knew where we needed to go), so we just walked. We finally found this area, and we found a temple there, and we went inside to look around. It was kind of small and plain, but still cool. Plus we also went to the Jewish cemetery nearby. Allison thought it was cool to look around, plus she recognized some common last names and tried to practice her Hebrew. Rodline and I sat at these benches a little down from the cemetery and looked out to the countryside of Fes as we were in no mood to look at graves.
There was also a Jewish museum nearby, which was presented in a very odd way. It was just rooms full of random crap, none of which was displayed properly, but everything was more or less piled up all around the edges of the room, and also in the middle, leaving a walkway. It felt really cool to be there because by looking through some of the items, you could feel that there was so much there, and possibly some really valuable (in terms of historical value) items. And unlike normal museums, you could touch things there, and go through them. Unfortunately this probably means that everything there will deteriorate quickly.
After this we walked back to our hotel. It was a somewhat far walk, and we were starting to run short on time. We bought lunch along the way, and got our bags from the hotel. We had enough time that we could’ve maybe walked, but it would’ve been cutting it close, and we didn’t want to do that. So we tried to hail a cab which turned out to be really hard. One cab driver even gave us the thumbs down when we tried to hail him. One of the workers at the hotel came and tried to help us, and said that most taxi drivers knew that we were trying to get to the train station, and didn’t want to take us, especially since there were three of us. Finally one stopped, and we got in. Again, as we started going, he told us his meter didn’t work, and that we would have to pay 20dh. We told him that was too much, so he told us to get out if we didn’t like it. But we couldn’t as our train was going to leave soon, so we just stayed. For the rest of the taxi ride Rodline kept telling the taxi driver that he wasn’t nice or a good representative for his country, and I ranted in English about how stupid and illogical taxi drivers were here, because since they start with a base rate, technically by make many short trips they could increase the amount they make per mile, and I don’t understand why they refuse to take people short distances. It’s really frustrating trying to travel in Morocco, just because you’re not sure if you’re going to get a taxi. That’s really worrisome as a traveler. But anyway, we got to the train station, took our bags out of the taxi, and then Rodline (as we had planned) took four 5dh coins, and threw them down on the passenger seat (they all bounced in different directions and one of them rolled under the seat). I think our taxi driver cursed at us in English, but we just walked away and to our train.
After a very long train ride, we arrived in Tangier, and tried to find a reasonable taxi. There were these boys there that had motorcycles with wagon-like things on the back, so Allison and I asked them if they were taxis too, and they said, yes of course they were. Allison and I wouldn’t have minded taking them, but Rodline thought that was a terrible idea. One taxi driver came up to us, and was like, please come in my cab, and gave us a reasonable price. Once we got in he told us he was worried for us because the moto-wagons would be stopped by police if they saw passengers riding in the back (kind of like pick-up trucks in the US) and he wanted to save us. I thought that was really funny.
Once we got to the hotel and settled in, then we walked around for a bit to find dinner. We stopped at this random place, which had tons of pepsi signs, so I definitely got a pepsi, and then we could get a pita or things like that. It was okay, but the disappointing thing was that the fry maker was broken, so no French fries! Rodline was feeling out of it, so she went back to the hotel after, but Allison and I decided to go get some Moroccan tea. While we were sitting there, this guy came up to us, who was from Ghana (another country in Africa, but English speaking). We had a really funny conversation with him. He asked us where we were from, and we told him Senegal. He looked at us incredulously, and grabbed his skin, and said, “No you’re not, you’re not the right color.” So we told him we were from New York, and studying in Senegal. Then he said something like, “Why aren’t you asking me any questions, don’t you want to get to know me?” So Allison asked where he was from, but he responded with, “I don’t want to tell you, you might use it against me.” Or something like that. But eventually he told us where he was from and his name, etc. Then he asked us what we were doing in Morocco, and we told him we came here to drink the tea. He asked us if we had tea in America, and we said no, we don’t. So he asks, “Then how do you know what it is?” That was probably the most hilarious moment. Then he asked us about religion, if we were Muslim or Christian. Allison told him neither, and he asked how could that be. She told him, “I’m not Christian or Muslim.” So he looks at her, and says, “Are you a Jew?” to which she responded “Yes.” Then he asked, “So you don’t want to know God?” At this point we told him that his conversation was no longer welcome and asked him to leave. I think he realized that he at offended, and apologized, but he left as well. It was really interesting to me that he accepted both Christianity and Islam as “true” religions but refused to accept Judaism. Usually someone who is closed to other religions only accepts ONE as a possibility. But it made me think of Senegal, where Muslims and Christians live together mostly in harmony and share each others celebrations, and don’t really have any exposure to Judaism. So I guess that makes sense culturally. Allison and I laughed and laughed about this encounter almost to the point of tears. We attracted some strange looks from passer-bys, but oh well. It was pretty funny.
Thursday, 29 OctoberToday we decided to go to the beach. Tangier looked really disappointing, all touristy and modern, more like any city you might find in the states (with the exception of all of the cafés with the men facing outward). Random people at breakfast noticed when I used my “College of Charleston” backpack and commented to me about the city. I think that shows the quality of the hotel, that these are people who vacation in Charleston’s ritzy-ness.
We managed to find a taxi driver who agreed to take us to the “Caves of Hercules” for the meter. But then he took us to the wrong place, but once we got there, tried to tell him it was wrong, and that we weren’t going to pay him for the detour, he began to speak less and less English & French, and insisted he only really understood Spanish. He took us back down towards the main part of town. Luckily I had had the foresight to pull out my map so I could watch where he was going, so we weren’t actually lost. I think that was his plan, to get us lost, so we didn’t know what to do and had to take him for the ride anyway. But when we finally got him to understand where we wanted to go, he said we had to pay him extra, because it was so far out, and we said no and got out of the cab, without paying. We walked back to a main road, and tried to stop a few taxis, all of which wouldn’t give us a good price. We finally found a taxi and he agreed to 40dh. But he insisted on putting the meter on to watch, because he believed that it would be more than 40dh. But this was already as we were going, and we told him we wouldn’t be paying him any more than that because he had agreed to 40dh, and wouldn’t let us go by just the meter in the first place. It ended up being 36dh, so we made sure he knew that. It’s customary to round up to the nearest 5dh for taxi rides, so 40dh is exactly what we would’ve paid him anyway.
We went down to the “Caves of Hercules”. The name is based off of some myth involving Hercules separating Spain and Africa at Gibralter, and then going to live in these caves which are west of Tangier and Gibralter, and actually look out on the Atlantic Ocean. One cool part is that the opening to the caves actually looks like the map of Africa (if you look at it from the ocean, not from the inside. It’s really fun to watch the waves come in, but there really isn’t much else in the caves. We dawdled there for a bit, and then we went back out.
In the parking lot area there were three camels, so we went up to pet them. There was one baby camel, and her mother and aunt. The guy who owns them was talking to us. We chatted with him for a while, Allison especially. He took us for a ride for 20dh (less than $3). It wasn’t that long, but I still got to ride on a camel. Plus even after the really short amount of time, it started to get painful, like riding a horse, so I didn’t mind getting off. He talked to Allison for a while (her ride had been free) and asked her to come with him. He said he would give her a camel, and they could ride around together and sleep with the camels. Allison said she seriously considered this, but in the end said no.
We went to one of the restaurants to get some tea. Then we wandered around some more, and went to get lunch. There really wasn’t much to do here, and the only thing to eat was fish. So that’s what we got. There were tons of cats that came around to bother us, and of course we fed them because they just looked so cute! I really miss my cats and dogs. So much. Magique just doesn’t quite do it for me. Oh well. I guess the camels were kind of fun to pet, until they started trying to bite us! lol.
We went down to the beach after this. Morocco is quite chillier than Senegal, so it was a little cold and the water was FREEZING! (okay not literally, but it was close). We just relaxed on the beach for a while, attracted the attention of some locals, who just sat up on some rocks and just watched us for a while. We finally left, and walked back up to find a taxi, fretting about the outrageous amount they were sure to charge us. Before we got back up to the main area, though, there was a grand taxi that was waiting, and asked us if we needed a ride. He asked how much we paid on the way here, and we said 40dh. He told us that’s what he would charge us to get back, so we got in. It was so nice and amazing that it was that easy! Plus, the taxi driver and his other passenger were quite beautiful, I might add. When we got back into the city he dropped us off a little bit from our hotel, saying that this was the drop-off point, but he pointed us in the right direction to get back. He also told us that we shouldn’t let Grand Taxis (which aren’t metered like the “petit taxis” and charge a flat rate) charge us more that 10dh a seat, or 40dh for the back seat (which can seat 4 people). He was so nice, it was really relieving to have someone like that.
On the way back this random Moroccan school girl, who was probably 8 or so started following us and just staring at us. It was SO WEIRD! But when we got close to our hotel, she turns to me and asks in slow English, “What is your name?” I responded, “Fatima. What is your name?” And she answered, “Sarah.” Which I thought was hilarious, that we had kind of switched the culture of our name.
We took a nice nap, which felt good even though we had had a really lazy day already. Then we went out to get dinner, then to get tea as well. Then we continued our laziness and just went to bed.
Friday, 30 OctoberWe went to the medina in Tangier today. It was a very hard walk getting there, as it was all uphill. And we are three out-of-shape Americans. We went past the medina a bit, but it was a good thing, as we ended up finding this cliff that came out, and overlooked the Strait of Gibraltar, and from which you could see the coast of Spain! It was really gorgeous, and the water is such a beautiful blue.
The medina was nice, there was really one museum we wanted to see, but of course it was closed when we tried to go to it. So we decided to find lunch instead. We tried not to walk down too much of the hill, but that didn’t work out. There was this random Moroccan guy, who offered to show us a nice place to eat. Allison’s guidebook repeatedly tells you NOT to follow locals, mostly because they can get really annoying and demand money. But nevertheless, we followed him, and he was neither. He showed us to this nice restaurant, and we ate there. My (and Allison’s and Rodline’s) favorite thing was the pastilla, which was this dough with confectionary sugar on top, which had a samosa-like filling inside with chicken. It was DELICIOUS. And we were almost too full to eat the rest of our meal.
We went back up to the museum, which was now open. It used to be the sultan’s palace, but is no longer used for that reason. It had really cool artifacts from all over Morocco, and from many different periods. And the palace itself was beautiful, it reminded me so strongly of the Alhambra, the way that everything was designed and the walls were decorated. It was really very interesting.
Courtyard of the Palace/Museum
We stayed there for a while, then left and attempted to find some tea, but just ended up shopping. Finally much later we wandered down to towards to the shore (down a very steep hill that we knew we would regret when we had to come back up). We shopped for a little bit longer, and then went to eat. While we were sitting at this restaurant (which was in a perfectly safe and upstanding area), two prostitutes came and sat down a few tables away from us. You can tell they are prostitutes firstly because it is really rare for women to be alone in restaurants or cafés. Plus they were dressed somewhat scandalously, and had on tons of makeup. Two guys came up later, and talked to the prostitutes. Then they left and walked off to the right. 30 seconds, later, the prostitutes got up, paid their bill, and walked off to the right as well. I think it’s weird to see such obvious and open sex deals, in a country where technically any non-marriage sexual relations are forbidden.
Saturday, 31 OctoberToday was a long travel day. We got up and went to breakfast, then finished packing and went to the train station. We had to switch trains on the way. The first train wasn’t that bad, it wasn’t crowded, but it did get really hot. The second train was so crowded. I was so glad to get off.
Taxi drivers were of course terrible when we got back to Casablanca. The part I think is most frustrating to me is that when you tell them it’s not a good price they start yelling at you! I think they very well know that they’re ripping you off, and they get mad when you won’t let them. That’s so stupid. I really hate taxi drivers here.
We ended up walking towards our hostel, since I could kind of figure out the way. But when we got probably more than ¾ of the way, Allison said her backpack was really hurting and she just wanted to take a cab. So we finally hailed one, and it took us to the hostel. When we got there, there was some argument over the exact amount that owed, something about paying for the bags. I was really worried that since my bag was in the trunk, not on top, that I couldn’t get it out. Allison was arguing with the taxi driver and I had to say, “Allison, ALLISON! Please, make the taxi driver open the trunk so I can get my stuff out!” Thankfully he did, and we just stopped arguing with him, and walked away, because he was obviously trying to charge us some bullshit thing. In the hostel, we had a long conversation about taxis and culture. I said I just wanted the taxi drivers to be nice, and not charge us amounts, or at least see in shades of grey, charging rich voyagers more, and poor student travelers a little less, and maybe actual Moroccans less. Of course with the meter, there shouldn’t even be a difference, but sometimes the taximen still try. But Rodline and Allison told me I need to stop living in my world of rainbows, haha.
I really don’t know what I think about non-regulated prices. It’s weird here—and in Senegal—to think with a different mindset. Those selling products (or services) don’t think about how much items are WORTH, but how much they can GET for them. I of course was raised on the American mindset, where everyone should have to pay the same price for the same item. But I do like the idea of the “fairness” of charging higher prices to people who have more money and can afford it. Although I don’t like how it’s based on the color of skin, or if you’re wearing nice clothes, etc. Like people see my white skin and say, oh she’s rich, she can afford it. But what they don’t see is that I’m a college student and that I really do need to save. Then again, the amount that I’m “saving” when I bargain usually really isn’t that significant of an amount and the other person could probably use that money more. But I get kind of offended when I think I’m being “ripped off” and refuse to maybe take a price that is maybe $1 difference, mostly on principle. Oh the conflict of culture. It’s also interesting to think that both in Senegal and Morocco—with the exception of the Moroccan taxis—most people want to sell an item far more than you want to buy it. Most of the time you just have to act disinterested and even walk away, and they’ll give you a good price. The more disinterested you are, the more they want to sell it to you.
Oh, we went to dinner tonight at a Chinese restaurant. It was very good, although I still miss my American Chinese food, so fatty and breaded and delicious. There was a group of Chinese young people, who were having a grand time, drinking and laughing. It was really hilarious to look over and see the “Asian glow” (when Asian people drink alcohol and subsequently get really, really red in the face) so vibrantly. There was one guy especially who kept challenging others to chug with him, and they just kept bringing round after round of beer. It’s an interesting site to see, people drinking a lot, after being in Muslim countries for so long.
Sunday, 1 NovemberToday was our last day in Morocco. We spent most of the morning wandering around looking at shops, buying final items. Then we had lunch at this nice pizza joint.
We went to these baths after that. I had gone to the “baths” in Granada, Spain, when I was there two springs ago. That consisted of many hot, shallow pools of slightly different temperatures, plus a cool pool in the center, and also a tea room off to the side. We also got a massage when we were there. So when Allison mentioned going to the baths in Morocco—jokingly—I was like, “No, really we should!”
I think baths like the one I went to in Granada may exist in Morocco—like there were those types of baths in the bottom of the Mosque of Hassan II. But the local baths are actually much different. In Allison’s guidebook, there was one relatively cheap one mentioned, but it was far away. We asked our hostel worker, and he pointed out one that was actually next door, so we went there. We paid 10dh to get in (about $1.50) then 1dh to store our things. We had brought bathing suits, but most of the women there only wore bottoms or were completely nude. I was really awkward about taking my top off, but I did eventually because it was necessary. It was really interesting in there, because of course it was only women, but no one was hiding their body. We didn’t really know what to do, so it was awkward at first, but we hired one of the women that works there to “bathe” us. Most women there bathed themselves, but of course they were used to this and knew what to do. But all of them used someone else to scrub their back, because that was quite necessary.
The bathing process involved bring a bucket or really hot water over, dipping a rough cloth in the steaming water, and being scrubbed really, really hard by this rough cloth. The woman who we hired took each of us and scrubbed our entire body, bring off layers of dirt and dead skin. (It was actually kind of gross). But when she was done cleaning my entire body (without any soap) I think that’s the cleanest I’ve ever felt in my life. Rodline made a comment afterwards, saying, “I think she just scrubbed the black out of me!” It was really intense. And I think I was technically less tan, as tan is nothing but skin that you have killed, and was probably just mostly scrubbed away.
In Allison’s guidebook, it talked about how baths were usually restricted to women until the Prophet Muhammad discovered their usefulness in promoting fertility. After that women were encouraged to go often, and began to see it as a right—and one of the few times they could leave their house, and probably gossip with other women who went to these baths.
When we were there, and surrounded by blatant nudity, we talked about how it was so non-sexual. I feel like most people in the states would associate nudity with sexuality. The woman scrubbed literally every part of us that wasn’t covered by the bottoms of our bathing suits, but it was not obviously sexual, or really seen as anything abnormal. Moreover, it seemed like a very social experience (one that we couldn’t enjoy, not speaking Arabic fluently). But we talked about how something like this would actually probably be really healthy in the states. Young American girls are constantly shown pictures of size 0 models wearing bikinis (only covering up the bare minimum). But if they went to these baths, and were surrounded by normal women, who have curves, don’t have perfect boobs or flat stomachs, I think American girls might not be as self-conscious about there bodies. Obviously, every girl goes through an awkward time when she is starting to develop and to find herself. But I think it would just be so healthy for girls to have to accept their bodies and be okay with them in front of other women, and be able to see realistic expectations. It was such a good experience!
After this extremely clean experience, we went to get another cup of tea, which was nice. Then we wandered around the shops again and finally sat down for another cup of tea! It was really nice that the plane was leaving so late so that we had the time to meander around at a very relaxed pace on the last day, instead of rushing to get everything in before we had to leave. Finally we collected all of our belongings, dealt with annoying Moroccan taxi drivers ONE LAST TIME, and went to the train station, then to the airport, then home (well home for now, in Senegal).
WHEW!!!!!!!! That was really long. Thanks for sticking with me and I hope it was fun and enlightening.
Me with the Murid shirt on.
