Tangier, Casablanca, Rabat, Meknes, Fes, Berber camp near Erfoud, Ouarzazate, Todra Gorge,
Taroudant, Tafraout, Essaouira, Marrakesh
November/December 1999
STRAITS
OF GIBRALTAR
When the veiled woman dropped to
her knees in prayer next to our backpacks, we knew we were in a new world.
Along with two friends, we were traveling on the early morning ferry from
TANGIERS
Bogus customs officials and
"licensed" guides swarmed us as we got off the boat in Tangier. We'd
been forewarned by the guidebook, so pushed right through
to the street - where Lou negotiated the taxi fare from 1000 dirhams
(about $10) down to 300. Pretty good for a beginning bargainer. We bought train tickets to
Everything imaginable was for
sale. The sights and smells were alternately wonderful and awful - pungent
piles of saffron, turmeric and paprika; braids of dried figs; elaborately
arranged displays of olives and dates; whole sheep heads hung by their upper
lips; ropes of entrails and globs of tripe; live chickens waiting to have their
necks wrung on the spot; platters of silvery fish; bunches of mint and
cilantro; colorful tangerines. (Funny that we'd never associated tangerines
with Tangier!)
Stalls were piled high with
plastic washtubs, cheap cooking utensils, soup bowls straight from a factory in
SMUGGLERS
The four of us were comfortably
settled in a second-class compartment when a young Moroccan couple entered. We
protested that it would be difficult to find room amidst all our belongings.
They replied "Difficult, but not impossible!" and plopped themselves
down. They chatted to themselves in Arabic sprinkled with French, and at some
point we realized that they understood English very well. (Rare in
As we rode along, one of the
extremely obese women we had noticed on the train station platform pushed her
way down the narrow train corridor. We tried not to stare, but pitied the poor
woman - who obviously had a serious thyroid problem. A second terribly fat
woman followed, then another and another. We were in a train car with at least
eight women weighing about 400 pounds each! How could this be? Was an entire
village afflicted with thyroid disease? We pressed our Moroccan companions for
an explanation, which was totally unexpected.
The women were smuggling fabric,
and were wrapped around and around with many meters of synthetic silk from
PHOTOGRAPHING
MUSLIMS
We learned another lesson from
this experience. One of our friends had a video camera, and began photographing
the women after they exited the train and were met by men with trucks. One man
appeared very angry at this, and began shouting and shaking his finger
"NO!" One of the Moroccan translators was also upset, and said that
if someone pointed a camera at her she would break it. She said that her image
was her own and that others should respect that. This comment was from a woman
with a master's degree from a respected university and not from a superstitious
villager, so it gave us pause. Joan said something about it being a cultural
phenomenon with which we weren't familiar and that our friend didn't mean any
disrespect. The Moroccan woman strongly rejected this idea. She said it was NOT
a question of culture, but of ethics.
As we journeyed through
A
"SOFT ADVENTURE" TOUR
We usually travel independently,
except for a few specialized tours such as in Alaska, when it was necessary to
travel in a group (
Several times our Moroccan guide, Samir, made agreements with local people that no photographs would be taken of them, yet some in our group could not resist the temptation to surreptitiously use a telephoto lens to "take" a photograph on the sly. One day Samir promised a group of women seated outside a kasbah (old clay fort) that our group would not photograph them, asking us to photograph only the building. One tour member, however, began to shoot them anyway, so Joan deliberately stepped in front of her shot. This was undoubtedly judgmental of her, but we were distressed to witness repeated acts of this kind of cultural insensitivity. On a lighter note, we thought there would be no harm in photographing ourselves in their clothing. An enterprising shopkeeper tried to persuade us to buy these garments once he got us into them. No such luck. (Did you ever see such a woebegone sheik as Lou? Maybe it's because he's just looked at his wife!)
RAMBLING
THROUGH
Our group tour began in Casablanca - big, bland, Westernized and boring - where we only stayed long enough to see the magnificent Hassan II Mosque, balanced between sky, earth and sea (part of it rests on pilings in the water). This enormous mosque is the world's largest religious monument after Mecca, in Saudi Arabia. Its vast prayer hall holds 25,000 worshippers and is large enough to house the cathedrals of Notre Dame or St. Peter's comfortably. Below is the mosque's minaret, where the muzzein calls the faithful to prayer five times a day.
Biblical times surrounded us just
twenty minutes down the road from Casablanca. Looking out the bus windows, we
could see jellaba-clad men and veiled women plodding along with heavily-laden
donkeys and camels. We passed adobe houses, women washing clothing in
irrigation ditches and mule-drawn carts. We even saw a farmer plowing his field
behind a wooden plow hitched to a tandem team of mule and camel. Strangest of
all, we passed through stretches of barren landscape filled with thorny trees -
on TOP of which were grazing goats! The only hint of modernity was pollution
- shreds of black plastic
film clingging to scraggly desert shrubs in every direction.
We made a clockwise journey around Morocco, beginning with the imperial cities of Rabat, Meknes (with a side trip to the Roman ruins at Volubilis) and Fes. The latter is famous for its handicrafts, and is our favorite town in Morocco. Then we drove south and east to Erfoud, the staging site for a trip to the famed sand dunes of Merzouga. We had our own private bivouac here, set up by Berbers. As we traveled around the dry, hot landscape, we occasionally passed a town huddled next to a green oasis.
The remaining stopping places were
Todra Gorge, Dades Valley, Ait Benhaddou (the huge old kasbah used in the
filming of "Lawrence of Arabia"), Ouarzazate (ugly town, but a useful
stop on a long stretch of road); Taroudant, Tafraout, then to the seaside town
of Essaouira and, finally, the teeming bazaar city of Marrakesh. We'll use the
latter to describe something of the flavor of a Moroccan city.
LOU'S
CARPET CAPER
FES: We'd been warned to
watch out for the wily Moroccan carpet dealers. No problem. We weren't going to
buy a carpet, anyway. Such innocence. Samir took us to one of the finest
carpet shops in Fes, located in a magnificent room - formerly a 15th
century palace courtyard. Along its thirty-foot high walls was a stunning
display of gorgeous carpets. On all sides were smaller rooms containing
hundreds of rolled up carpets, all handmade and vegetable-dyed by a
network of 1300 women.
After explaining the various types
of carpets to our small group, the sales manager divided the group, handed
the others to his assistants, and took the two of us into a side room. This
plumpish man was in his mid-40s, elegantly attired in a creamy jellaba. He was
friendly and efficient - showing us 15 beautiful carpets, which we finally
reduced to three for serious consideration. (How quickly our determination to
resist dissolved!)
Lou asked the prices of the three
carpets. The sales manager said 5,360, 6,780 and 7,800. When we didn't flinch
at these prices, he apparently thought he could sell us a more expensive
carpet, so he brought out a one-of-a-kind work of art. This carpet incorporated
the weaver's life in a luscious red and orange woven diary. It was
14,500. We conferred privately. At 10 dirhams to the dollar, this
price was a bargain for such a fine carpet; we decided to offer 9,000. He
responded with 13,500, and - after much-feigned hand wringing and good-natured
bargaining - we reached agreement at 10,500 including shipping. What
a deal! We were elated, and our friends were awed by the vibrant carpet. The
owner, too, was impressed with our selection, and brought out his album to show
photos of the U.S. ambassador who purchased a carpet somewhat like ours.
Furthermore, he had recently sold a similar carpet for 25,000! The sales
manager congratulated us, saying that he showed such works of art only to
people with exceptionally fine taste.
When we travel, Lou carries an
American Express card, while Joan carries Visa. The shop preferred the Visa
card, so Joan dug the card out of her money belt and went into the office to
pay. A young clerk ran the card through and filled out the voucher. Joan signed
and took it to the owner, asking: "Where does the slip indicate the amount
charged?" The owner, in a fit of anger, yelled in Arabic at the clerk, who
beat a hasty retreat. Then the owner tore up the sales slip, wrote up a new one
and showed Joan the amount in the upper right corner. Joan nearly fainted.
She hurried to Lou, pulled him aside and gasped, I think we just paid $10,500
for this carpet!" Lou was totally shocked. The prices he had been quoted
were in U.S. dollars - not in dirhams! We apologized profusely and
attempted to slink out of the shop as rapidly as possible. The quick-thinking
sales manager spread out our second and third choices on the mosaic floor.
(Earlier, we had been unable to decide which we preferred - a 6x9' carpet at
5,360 or a 5x10' at 6,780.) He offered us either one of these carpets for
$5,300. At this point, things were moving fast because the bus was loaded and
waiting and we were the only ones left in the store. Lou pleaded that he could
not let our friends wait any longer, at which point the sales manager came down
to $3,800. Lou further pleaded that this amount was still way out of our price
range. As we edged towards the door, Lou indicated that $1,100 was his maximum.
The manager put one hand on Lou's shoulder, warmly shook his hand, and said
"D'accord." In two minutes the carpet was rolled, wrapped in burlap,
tied and in our arms!
Back in the bus we apologized to
our fellow travelers for keeping them waiting an hour. We explained that we
unwittingly and out of sheer naiveté had worked our way into a very embarrassing
situation - and the best carpet deal of the day. We'd paid only 19% of the
initial price instead of the usual 60%. Samir - who'd been laughing at us for
the past half hour - said that we'd probably gotten our carpet at the dealer's
cost. From this point on, we all called him "Berber-man Lou" in honor
of his (inadvertent) success in bargaining with a man who came from many
generations of rug merchants and traders!
ALI
BABA'S NIGHT OUT
He had another name as well.
Wherever we went in Morocco people called out: "Ali Baba!" Lou's
beard may have gotten him into the spotlight at a restaurant we visited in Fes.
With our two friends, we decided to avoid the hotel dinner one night and strike out on
our own for a good restaurant. Left to our own devices, we would have taken a
taxi, but Samir - worried about losing his clients down a dark alley - insisted
we go in the bus. So there were the four of us - sitting in the front rows of a
30-passenger bus, accompanied by the driver, Mustafa, and his assistant, Ebrahim. This was a stretch limo taken to extremes!
The restaurant was amazing.
Hundreds of years ago, it was the reception room in the palace of Moulay
Yousef, King of Morocco. Immense in size and in excellent condition, it was
incredibly decorated in tile, marble, carved cedar and stucco. Wow! The center
of the room was a 35-foot cube. This area was surrounded by ten huge marble
columns, with a mosaic tile fountain on one side. A rich red Moroccan carpet
lay in the center of the gorgeous mosaic floor. We had a sumptuous meal. The
pastilla (pigeon - bones and all - in a pie with almonds and powdered sugar)
was an interesting, never-again experience.
Entertainment was provided by a
series of musicians (lutes, violins, tambourines, many types of drums), folk
dancers (one tapped Lou for a dance, and they ended up on their knees,
wriggling shoulders), a belly dancer (he wishes she'd tapped him, too!) and
male dancers with drums and swords. However, the main event was yet to come.
Without explanation, a waiter beckoned to Lou to follow and led him up three
flights of stairs to an attic room. Here, four Moroccan women were preparing
two French tourists as "brides" in a wedding. One was to be an Arab
bride, the other a Berber bride. Guess who was to be the groom? Yep. They
slipped Lou into a jellaba and fez, and he and his two brides
were led downstairs to make their grand entrance. The brides and groom were
formally presented to us as if we were the guests at the traditional Moroccan
wedding. The first bride sat cross-legged on a palanquin, and the four women
lifted her high and paraded her around the restaurant. She was elegantly
adorned in a crown-like headpiece and formal robes, and was, as the Arab bride,
appropriately reserved. Then it was the vivacious Berber's turn. In her peasant
bridal robes, she was more demonstrative. When it was Lou's turn to be paraded
around, he was still more effusive, and even doffed his fez to the applauding
guests. Normally, a groom would have only one bride, but he had two - with a
third in the audience! This was totally tourist silliness, but Lou's
enthusiastic participation made it fun to watch.
SLEEPING
GYPSIES
Camping out in the desert with the
Berbers was the highlight of our time in Morocco. Our group of 14 climbed
into three Land Rovers for the trip out into the dunes. Lou needed more film,
so Samir stopped at a small shop. The attendant wasn't there and we were in a
big hurry. Samir told us to take what we wanted and we scurried back to our
waiting vehicle. Even though Samir promised us we'd return the next day to pay
our bill (which we did), we felt he was a modern-day Ali Baba and we his
thieves! As we drove further into the desert, our Berber driver turned at a
sign that said "To Africa" with an arrow pointing south. We
complimented him on finding his way to the continent, and told him of our
renewed confidence in his leadership. He thought this was very funny. It turns
out that most Moroccans actually do not think they are in Africa because they
are ethnically Caucasians, with roots in the Middle East and Europe. For them,
Africa is the area south of the Sahara Desert.
Our campsite was nestled in a cluster of sand dunes. There was a ring of low-slung sleeping tents, made of dark camel- and goat-hair and supported by crooked tamrisa branches. Berber carpets covered the sand on the floor of each tent, which held twin beds covered with white, sequined wedding blankets. Between the beds was a small table with a candle in a metal lantern. Outside in front of the tents, were more lanterns, and large carpets were stretched end-to-end in one continuous path around the ring. O.K, Maybe this was just a Berber dude ranch, but it was great fun!
HUMPING
CAMELS
As soon as we stashed our packs in
the tents, we were introduced to our camels. Aside from their strong
odor, we liked these strange creatures. (Later in the trip we happened
upon a couple of copulating - maybe we should say "humping" - camels.
Talk about strange! The male chewed his cud and looked bored, while the female
panted excitedly. )
Camels are known for their cranky
dispositions but these seemed to be well-behaved, if a bit aloof. They observed
us with a quizzical, almost snooty tilt of their heads, but their haughty
smiles gave way to loud groans when asked to rise from a resting position.
Wearing jellabas and zifs, young Berber guides from a nearby village helped us
to mount, led us on the camels for a few hundred meters, helped us dismount,
then walked with us to the top of a tall dune to watch the sunset. Joan's
guide, Yousef, was an amicable youth of 16, who has been supporting his retired
parents for the past 6 years by guiding tourists and polishing fossils dug up
around here. No more schooling for him. He expects to polish fossils the rest
of his life.
When the camel caravan returned to
camp, there was a huge campfire burning in the center of the ring of tents.
Around it were five dark-skinned Berbers in white jellabas: two with
drums and three with metal bar-bell-shaped clappers. They greeted us with a
"gwana" performance. Gwana music originated in Ghana and was brought
north by slaves in the 16th century. As night fell, they built the fire higher
and the music pulsed stronger. Eventually we got the rhythm and joined in
clapping and dancing around the blazing fire.
Later, we gathered for dinner in
the dining tent. The Berbers brought in a whole roast lamb, which was kneeling
on a huge platter as if in supplication. Samir instructed us to dust each bite
of lamb in a pile of cumin and then a pile of salt. Incredibly good! The second
course was couscous with chicken, turnips and pumpkin. We finished with fruit,
chocolates and the ubiquitous mint tea. All of this was served on white linen
tablecloths with cloth napkins and a full set of china and goblets. Rich red
carpets adorned the walls and covered the sand floor of the tent. Elegance in
the desert!
We finally headed back to our
tent, lit the candle in our tin lantern, lifted the white sequined spreads,
slipped into bed, blew out the lantern and slept comfortably - until 3:45 AM,
when Lou rose from his warm bed to pee. As he opened the tent and stepped out,
he was astounded by the clarity of the dark desert sky. Orion and The Pleides
had drifted from the eastern horizon to high in the western sky and the Milky
Way, so bright when we had gone to bed, had all but disappeared. He was
absolutely stunned by the incredible landscape glowing by the light of the moon
- the golds, ochres and terra cottas of the sand below the mauves and lavenders
of the night sky. Standing there, he thought of Henri Rousseau's painting Sleeping
Gypsy (Museum of Modern Art in New York.) Rousseau never saw the desert,
yet his imagination fully captured its lonely magic. Lou awakened Joan,
and together we stood transfixed - surrounded by silent dunes under a chilly,
star-dappled sky.
Leaving our campsite behind, our
group spent time hiking in the Atlas Mountains and wandering through remote
villages before turning northward to our final city.
MARRAKESH
We were awakened at the earliest
light of dawn by the haunting sound of the Koran being chanted from the minaret
of a nearby mosque. The muezzin has a weirdly beautiful voice, electronically
amplified in four directions from the tall tower. Soon, the Koran was sounded
from other mosques until we were enveloped in a chorus of Arabic singing from
all sides! This musical tapestry continued for nearly 15 minutes, after which
the call to prayer came - "Allah is Great!" and silence descended.
Marrakesh is a fascinating blend of the new and the very old. We used an Internet cafe presided over by a young Arab who speaks good English and is very computer literate. Many of the passersby are in Western business wear, including quite a few young, unveiled women. On the other hand, we emerged onto a main thoroughfare from our very Westernized hotel to see a raggedy, mule-drawn vegetable wagon rattle by next to some of the omnipresent Mercedes taxis! The cafes are full of men sipping sweet mint tea; we have never seen a single woman in an outdoor cafe or in a bar - not even in the large cities. And many of the older women are completely hidden by veils. All-in-all, an interesting mix. Wonder how the city will look in 5 or 10 years?
The final dinner with our small
tour group was in a fancy Moroccan restaurant. We enjoyed 15 small dishes of
Moroccan "salad" (all spiced or herbed differently, including: fava
beans, carrots, tomatoes pureed with honey, eggplant, olives, peppers, wild
spinach and beets) followed by a huge platter of chicken baked with olives and
preserved lemon, flat bread, wine, honey-filled pancakes and the omnipresent
mint tea. We finished by toasting each other and thanking our guides, who
responded with toasts to us.
CRUSADES
Samir's speech was especially
heartfelt. He speaks fluent English, in addition to Arabic, French, German,
plus some Berber, Spanish and even a little Japanese! He's tall, handsome, full
of enthusiasm and has a wonderful sense of humor. When he tried to make a
speech at the end of dinner, this elegant and articulate man broke down in
tears after one sentence, and said that this was one of his best tour groups in
his 14 years of guiding, and it was people like us that made his work
worthwhile! (This photo shows a dapper Samir playfully dancing with the waiter
in a rooftop restaurant.)
Samir's emotional speech was
particularly important to those of us who had engaged him in an hour-long
discussion of Arab/Western relations. He translated portions of a book he had
with him, which was written by a prize-winning Moroccan historian who lives and
works in Paris. This book gives the history of the Crusades from the Arab
perspective, including a few gruesome details conveniently omitted from Western
history, such as the fact that the marauding Crusaders (most of whom were
probably more like pirates than priests) not only killed the men and raped the
women as they conquered Arab towns, but also rotisseried and ate the Arab
children. (This is corroborated, if underplayed, by at least one Western
history book.)
Apparently, the hundreds of years
that have elapsed since the brutality of the Crusades are as yesterday in Arab
memory. They are deeply suspicious of the West, and especially of the U.S. in
recent years. Samir's account of the Gulf War, for example, is vastly different
from the news reports we had in the U.S. (And his understanding of the
situation was corroborated by the five Canadians on our tour; they feel
Americans get a very distorted picture of what the U.S. government is doing on
the international scene.)
According to Samir, Iraq and Kuwait had a quarrel, and Iraq went to the U.S. ambassador and said they would like to settle the problem. The ambassador (a woman whose name we don't know), said - in effect - that's your affair, we aren't interested. Yet the minute Iraq acted, we responded militarily within 24 hours! It looks very suspiciously as if we helped provoke the problem, or at least gave the green light to Iraq, so that we could intervene and keep Iraq from consolidating any more power.
What was of particular concern to
us was that Samir, who is a warm and moderate person, Westernized and
well-educated, became upset and vehement as he described all the problems the
Arab world has had with the overpowering influence of the U.S. If Samir could
be that upset, what about the militant Islamic fundamentalists?
This trip to Morocco took place in 1999. Samir's speech - in hindsight - explains a lot about the mindset of the Islamic terrorists who attacked America in 2001 and the response of the Arab world to America's subsequent invasion of Iraq - and to President Bush's gaffe about the U.S. being on a crusade.
2000 TRIP: ASIA
DETAILS, DETAILS, DETAILS
GUIDEBOOK: Morocco (Lonely
Planet)
BACKGROUND READING: On
Photography, Susan Sontag
FILMS: Lawrence of Arabia
was filmed at the fabulous kasbah of Ait Benhaddou in Morocco, but Casablanca
was filmed on a Hollywood stage set!
(1999 Prices)
TOUR COMPANY: 17-day
Eldertreks tour of Morocco: $2895, plus airfare to Morocco. Send for their
excellent catalogue.
Which do we think is better
- a tour group, a private guide or independent travel? Each way of traveling
has trade-offs. A packaged tour takes care of logistical hassles. A good tour
will get you into places you might not have gone otherwise. In Morocco we
visited private homes, abandoned kasbahs, isolated oases, and went on the
Berber camping trip. We didn't need to lug our two carpets around the country
with us, but could stow them on the tour bus. On the downside, even a laid-back
tour such as this one has schedules to meet and requires that you move with the
group. Independent travel makes for more flexibility. You can stop when you're
tired or sick or want to be alone for awhile.
Another way to see Morocco is to
hire a licensed National Guide who has
been tested on culture, architecture and history, speaks English and has a car. Two
experienced travelers could use a guidebook to plan an itinerary and
occasionally hire a
private guide to visit Morocco for less than what we
paid for the tour ($150/day apiece.) We highly recommend our guide Samir, who
has left the Moroccan company used by Eldertreks, and is now a free-lance
guide. Contact him via e-mail. (He's often on tour, so it may take awhile for
his answer. His spoken English is better than his written English) samir_guide@yahoo.fr
FES: Palais de Fes - The infamous
carpet shop where Lou's Carpet Caper took place. Excellent carpets, wonderful
rooftop restaurant. Watch out for the details of the sales pitch, though! 15,
Makhfia (next to Cinema Amal) Ph: 7615 90; 76 26 95
FES: Les Remparts de Fes - The
palatial restaurant where "Ali Baba" was paraded. 2, Arset Jiar Bab
El Guissa. (05) 63 74 15
Joan and Lou Rose joanandlou@ramblingroses.net