Before I regale you loyal readers with exotic tales from Africa, I would like to publicly apologize to my parents.
Dear Mom and Dad,
I am sincerely sorry for going to Morocco this weekend without telling you. I probably should have let you know that I was going to Africa, but I knew that you would spend every single minute of those 72 hours in constant worry and I wanted to spare you the stress. Just know that I made it home safe and sound and still in possession of everything I had with me when I left...plus a few trinkets I picked up along the way. It might not have been very smart to keep this information from you, but I assure you I had only the best of intentions. I am still safe.
Love,
Elizabeth
Ok. So. MOROCCO.
This trip was probably THE most anticipated trip of the entire semester. I can't even count the number of times I told someone, "I'm going to go to Morocco and ride a camel!" before I left the States to come to Spain. Despite the warnings, beggings and pleadings from my mom not to go to Morocco, I just couldn't resist.
One of the girls I work with in the Tourist Office is from Morocco, and before we left she taught me a few key words and phrases in Arabic. I knew it was going to be a good weekend right away because as soon as I got off the plane in Marrakech, I tested out my new skillz with the customs officer and it was a hit. I said "Salam" as I walked up and gave him my passport and when he gave it back I said "Shukran." He smiled appreciatively and gave me a nod of approval and I knew it was going to be great.
Words I learned (and used!) in Arabic:
- Hello Salam
- How are you? Kidayra?
- Fine Labas
- How much does this cost? Sh'hal dir hadi?
- Thank you Shukran
- Thank you very much Shukran bessef
- Yes Ah
- No La
- Goodbye Beslama
We made it to the hostel by a miracle (there are absolutely NO traffic regulations in Marrakech--the roads are a free-for-all and I thought we were going to crash into motorbikes/people/other cars every 30 seconds) and met our hostel owner/new best friend, Yassir. I don't actually know if Yassir is right because he was talking very fast and none of us actually caught his real name. But Yassir is very fitting. He was awesome. He gave us tea, a terrible map and a tour of the hostel and introduced us to the turtles that wander around the upstairs terrace. There are 4 or 5 up there, but we only got to meet Apple and Yassir's favorite, Ho Ho. They are adorable. Just like Yassir.
Also when I said "Shukran" to Yassir after he explained the map to us he got really excited and asked me if I speak Arabic! I told him I was learning, but I only actually know about 3 words. He laughed. It was so cute.
We set out to explore Marrakech, girls conservatively dressed and boys figuring out the terrible map. We successfully made the 5 minute trek to the Al-Bahia Palace, the highlight of which was the courtyard of bedrooms. All the information about the palace was written in Arabic (unfortunately my language skillz were not quite at that level yet) but a nice English-speaking couple explained it to us: "28 bedrooms, 28 wives...the king visited one wife every night. So, lucky king? Or lucky wives? Depends on who's asking."
After the palace we went to the main square, Djema'a al-Fna, for lunch. Tangines with chicken and couscous with veggies all seasoned with saffron and a thousand other spices filled our tummies so we could recharge and conquer the rest of Marrakech...aka, the Medina. We went to a few more rando but interesting museums before finally making our way into the magical Marrakechian market...the Medina. Pardon the cheesy alliteration, but it really was magical. It was kind of straight out of Aladdin or something. Amazing. Literally, a-mazing. A seemingly endless maze of thousands of vendors selling all kinds of Moroccan goods from slippers to ceramic bowls to lanterns to leather goods to dates and figs.
The exchange rate for the Morrocan dirham is insanely good...for us non-Moroccans. 1 Euro equals about 10 or 11 dirhams and nothing I bought in the market cost more than 200 dirhams/20 Euros. Pretty darn cheap, I'd say! We explored the Medina for a while and when we finally found freedom and fresh air outside the market it was well after dark. Still stuffed from lunch earlier that day we decided to save our precious dirhams and skip dinner. We went out to the main square to people-watch, because according to my guide book, it's one of the most fantastic open-air spectacles in the world. Djema'a al-Fna didn't disappoint! We saw snake charmers, men with monkeys on leashes, orange juice vendors, incense burners, boxing matches and impromptu concerts. And of course, the henna tattoo artists. We girls couldn't pass up getting a tattoo...the boys had an easier time saying no.
We had a big day ahead of us the next day so we called it a night pretty early and headed back to the hostel to rest up for our Saturday excursion. Our hostel was very dimly lit, even with all the lights on. But when it came time to finally turn them off, it was a big struggle. After a few minutes of fumbling for the switch, Sarah had a brilliant idea: "HEY! Maybe it's a CLAP LIGHT!!!" .......Just for the record, there are no clap lights in Morocco.
Bright and early the next morning, after a delicious breakfast (shukran bessef, Yassir!), we were picked up at our hostel to go out on an excursion to the Ourika Valley to hike the mountain and see the Five Waterfalls. Once again, driving through Marrakech almost gave me a heart attack. There are so many bikes in the street and they just go wherever they want! And they're not just your everyday, run of the mill Schwinn bikes either. They're these super charged motor bikes (probs just a regular ole Schwinn with an engine slapped on the back) that go every which way with no regulation whatsoever. And the old men in robes driving them aren't very attentive, either, which makes for an even more increased risk for crashing. Luckily our driver was a native and he knew what was up. He got us safely out of town and into the mountains with no problems at all.
We were handed off to another guide once we got to the valley. His name was something like Moussef or Mourkash or maybe Muhammed. No one understood him but we just ended up calling him Mountaingoat. Mountaingoat took us on a hike up the mountain to see the waterfalls of the valley. He scaled that mountain like he lived on it! I mean...he practically does (he takes tourists up there twice a day), but still. Crazy. This hike reminded me a little bit of hiking Panther's Peak in Tucson, Arizona...except there was a trail this time. And no cacti. And we were in Africa. So it was better...and a little bit easier! But not much. There was many a time when Mountaingoat and Marathon Mike sprinted ahead up the mountain, leaving us girls and Mickey behind to fend for ourselves, which was rather difficult. But for the most part Mountaingoat was really helpful. Especially when we had to climb this tiny tiny questionably unstable steel ladder to scale the rocks. We all survived though, no worries. I made sure of it, because I was NOT about to die in Morocco since my parents didn't even know I was there!!!
There are so many pictures from the hike, I don't know which ones to post on here. So instead, here's the Facebook album to see all of them.
After the hike we had an amazing free lunch by the river. I like to call it "free," but really it was just included in the price we paid for the tour. Mountaingoat passed us off to the waiter, and came to collect us when we were finished. Then he turned us back over to our driver, who took us to our next adventure: CAMELS.
The Bacon Wallet and I on our camel.As we were driving out of the valley, the driver pulled over to the side of the road where there were 8 camels just chilling there with three or four men. Apparently this is a thriving industry in Morocco--we saw a few of these "establishments" along the road. We hopped out of the car, handed the owner our 50 dirhams each, and mounted the camels! It was mostly like riding a horse, only there are no reins. The camels are tied to each other head-to-tail, and the man led us in a line on our 20 minute walk. As we left the "front desk" area, the two leftover camels--one huge one and one baby--got jealous and started to run after us. The owner (who happened to be holding my camera and taking pictures of us) sprinted over to the camels, grabbed a stick and started herding the runaways with said stick and my camera. The big camel was acquiescent and went back to the front desk, but the baby was not having any of that, so she came along with us. The man with my camera tied her to my camel (they were obviously bffs) so I got two camels for the price of one. I greeter her with a friendly "Salam!" and we all became fast friends.
Unfortunately the camel ride marked the end of our excursion, and after we dismounted we made our way back into the city. We regrouped in the hostel, freshened up (as much as we could without water) and headed back to the Medina to spend the rest of our dirhams. We shopped till we dropped all our money, saving just enough for dinner and a cab ride, and emerged from the Medina in the main square. We all splurged and bought some fresh orange juice for 3 dirhams...yes, that would be 30 cents...and then feasted (slash probably got ripped off) on kebabs, bread, and free bottled water. After dinner, we spectacled some more at the fantastic open-air spectacle. And it was spectacular...until...
One of the men with monkeys on leashes came up to me offering his monkey for a photo op. I said no a few times, and he laughed and said "no" to the monkey. I tried to be more affirmative by saying it in Arabic while shaking my finger at him: "La, la, la." Again he laughed and mimicked my actions to the monkey. He offered the monkey to me and I said no, I don't have any money for a photo. The monkey reached out his hand and the man said "Just try. No photo. It's free!" So I reached out one finger to shake hands with the monkey--ONLY shake his hand--and the next thing I knew the monkey had jumped off the man's arm and was hanging on to my hand, trying to make his way up my arm. I started violently shaking my arm in a feeble attempt to throw the monkey off, but then I realized that a) it was a living creature and due to the fact that I have a soul I couldn't exactly just throw it off onto the ground, and b) it was successfully crawling its way up my arm towards my head. So I gave up fighting it and just resorted to covering my face until it was over. I could feel the monkey's back legs around my neck, and the rest of his body on top of my head for a solid 10 or 15 seconds before the man finally came to my rescue and removed Curious George.
Unfortunately there are no photos of this event, partly because we would have had to pay for them, but mostly because everyone else said they were just so stunned by what was actually happening that they didn't really know what to do.
We spectacled for a while longer, and after a long eyeful, we unanimously decided to nix the Moroccan club scene and just head home for the night. We had an early-ish flight to catch...plus none of us felt like being abducted that night.
Just for the record (Mom), we never even considered going to a club. That was a joke.
The next morning, we said "beslama" and "shukran bessef" to Yassir (so sad) and hopped in our death trap/taxi to the airport. By another miracle, we made it without a scratch. The night before, hoping the Moroccan airport security would be as lax as security in Madrid, Caitlin had decided to try to carry on some kebab skewers she had purchased in the medina. I passed through first and watched the screen as her backpack went through the scrutiny machine. They paused the belt and examined it a little more closely, making out what appeared to be bomb assembly parts/a machine/a deathly claw of sorts. They immediately had Caitlin open her bag so they could investigate. They took out the skewers, clearly a potential threat, and confiscated them. In a last-ditch effort to salvage her purchase (and her dignity) she called out, "But it's NOT A WEAPON!!!!" ...As if that was really going to change their minds. Sorry, Mr. Connolly, but you will not be getting Moroccan skewers for Christmas this year.
The rest of us passed through security with all our goodies and after an unexplained hour and a half delay we finally boarded the plane and flew back to the real world. I'm glad I took so many pictures of Morocco because even though I've only been back in Toledo for few hours, the weekend already seems surreal. It's such a different place than anywhere I've ever been. The man-to-woman ratio (easily 100 to 1), the head scarves and covered faces, the separate women's line for airport security...I've never seen anything like it before. It makes me wonder what they think of us Westerners who come in with uncovered heads, jeans, t-shirts and with only 2 guys for a group of 5 girls.
Again, sorry, Mom and Dad, for not telling you about it, but this trip was amazing. I'm definitely coming back to Morocco in my lifetime. I have to decorate my house!
Also, sorry that this post is the approximate length of the Qur'an. There's just so much to tell!
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