Michele and Drew's Excellent Spanish Adventure: May 2015

Morocco April 1-11

olive art

I’m going to preface this post by saying the highlight of going to Morocco was experiencing and learning about Berber culture, which is rich and diverse. The Berbers occupied areas of northern Africa for 9000 years, before the Sahara region was a desert and were influenced by the people who passed through over the centuries, including Jews, Christians, and later Muslim Arabs. Will we go back? Absolutely…I see a desert trip on camel in the stars for us.

A hard working donkey getting a little rest

restaurant terrace Marrakech

Drew"turbined" by a shopkeeper

As fairly seasoned travelers, we feel confident that armed with a map, we are pretty much good to go. I embrace GPS technology, but I always feel most comfortable with a map in my hand. I think Marrakech may have been the first major airport I have been to, where there were no maps to be found. We tethered Drew’s cell phone to my ipad and so I was able to bring up google maps and take a few screen shots so we could navigate offline. Yikes, power was low (forgot to charge the night before.) We easily got to the city by the airport bus ($6) rather than expensive taxi, and felt a bit smug about this…how hard could it be to find our riad (lodging)? After arriving at the city bus stop near the main square, we passed a long lineup of charming green wooden horse drawn carriages. We passed through Jamaal Fna’ square, skirting the monkey tamers, snake charmers, women who grab you to paint your hands with henna, and African dancers who were all aggressively looking for a buck. If they see you take a photo you better plan on giving them some money. This square is the heart of Marrakech, and a tourist Mecca. From

Row of carriages and horses waiting for tourists

here you can lose yourself in the labyrinth of the souks (stalls for selling leather slippers, purses and poufs, pottery, metal light fixtures, inlaid wooden boxes and trays, spices, and clothing.) We didn’t count on virtually absent street signage, soon to be powerless cell phones and ipad, and inaccurate/incomplete google maps; our smug attitude was soon replaced by self-doubt. We were barraged by lying adolescent boys left and right, who insisted the road was closed and we were going in the wrong direction (despite not knowing where we were intending to go). We knew better than to listen, but were no less lost. Lady luck was with us when we snagged a Spanish couple with a GPS/map app. They spent

Spice market

45 min. navigating us to our lodging at Riad Swaka, located inside the 1000 year old Medina (riad=the name for the traditional square donut shaped houses with central courtyard open to the sky that brings in natural light to all the rooms from the inside walls, while keeping out noise from the outside.) We learned that most riads arrange pick up from the airport to avoid this from happening…”didn’t we get the e-mail about that?” (nope) they asked. They were as relieved that we arrived as we were.

We were told that many families who had lived in the Medina for generations sold out to expats

earphones, really?

who bought these riads, rehabilitated them, and turned them into tourist accommodation. It hasn’t really been that long since homes have had electricity and running water in the Medina. I was told that for some families, this became a practical issue, as the homes couldn’t accommodate the large extended families comfortably, and selling and splitting the financial gain was a way to keep the peace in families.

Transitioning from the narrow dusty, crowded streets of Marrakech, that pedestrians share with motorbikes, donkey carts, hand carts, and the occasional car, into the tranquility of the riad felt a bit like transitioning from purgatory to heaven. I have to admit, my first though was “what have I done! How are we going to stand this city for 5 days.”

After an introduction to our gorgeous riad by our wonderful host Ishmael, and talking about the activities they could arrange for us, like private or group tours to the Atlas mountains, or to the Sahara desert…I took a deep breath and

Inside Riad Swaka from our bedroom window

felt a bit better knowing I had easy access to places outside of the city. Our room and the terrace were gorgeous and were a real respite from the craziness of the medina.

After settling in, we went back out into the maze of streets, without a backpack; it was not only more comfortable, but it made us less of a target in terms of being pestered. To be clear, the city is very safe both day and night, in fact, I felt more safe there than in some US or European cities. We quickly became accustomed to dodging motorbikes, carts and carpet salesman. It became fun, and fodder for exploring. We eventually decided to get our photos taken with a few snakes draped around our necks and a cobra on the ground in front of us for good measure. There is no set price and they pretty much drape the snakes on you as you walk by whether you want them too or not… afterwards we gave the snake guy a 20 duram note ($2) and he hollered no $25 dollars! I calmly said that is enough for 5 minutes work, and we left…you sort of have to get thick skinned for that kind of interaction.

I've morphed into a cobra

Ah, fresh squeezed juice, yummy street food…a photography cornucopia of color, texture, interesting light…I was feeling content and getting into the local rhythm. In the evening Jamaal Fna’ square takes on an even more festive feel with dozens of food tents with bench seating. Hawkers convince you to sit in their tent to eat, as you are cheered on by the other workers. Ubiquitous were the tangines of lamb and chicken, kabobs, fried fish, cous-cous, grilled veggies, and my favorite, the pastilla (a salty and sweet filo type pastry filled typically with pigeon, chicken or fish, as well as ground almonds, cinnamon and sugar, eggs and spices). There were also booths that catered more to Moroccans featuring soup, bread rolls with eggs, butter and sauce and other things I didn’t recognize, as menus were written in Arabic. Boys pushing pastry carts walked up and down the aisles between the tents, intending to tempt diners. Occasional hawkers would get mad at each other for what appeared to be breaking the “turf” code. We got in the habit of popping into small local eateries for takeaway grilled dough impregnated with tomato and onion, rolled up in paper and

Marrakech-charmed by snakes

eaten like a hot dog. On our second visit at a particular eatery we were heartily welcomed back and by our fifth, we were treated as honored guests. We had a similar experience with the guy at juice booth (45) in Jamaal Fna square. By the third visit, the “juice guy” was quick to refill our glass for free, and shooed off the beggars who favored the square. But it was his welcoming smile that grew more enthusiastic at each visit that kept us coming back.

We learned that it is a time honored, and very social tradition for men and women to go to hammams, for a weekly sauna (3 rooms of various temps) in which they cover themselves in a greasy paste like olive oil soap (black soap), and scrub themselves/each other with a rough loofah like mitt to remove dead skin. This reminded me a bit of Turkey’s sex segregated public baths, which in contrast had immersion pools of water (being lathered up, scrubbed and massaged by a big Turkish woman wearing only her black bra and underwear in a public bath is an experience I will never forget.) You can either just scrub your friends back, and she scrub yours, or pay a

Rug dealer-Marrakech

professional to help with the scrubbing. I skipped the hammam experience this time, but sort of regret it.

The man playing for us stokes the fires in the hammam

Marrakech

We hired a guide for a half a day to show us things within the Medina. He showed us the public ovens where locals still bring their homemade bread dough to be baked the traditional way in clay wood fired ovens (not at home in their own). We also got to see the inside of the rooms where the fires for the hammams are kept going. There is an interesting little side business that goes with this task. Locals can bring in a tall clay pot, filled with their meat, veggies and spices…the man who keeps the fires going places hot ashes around the pots so they slowly cook for the entire day. How ingenious! We toured Bahia palace (without a guide it wouldn’t have been that interesting.) He explained to us that the riad style of architecture with no external windows, was in part to keep women from being seen by the outside world. He said that the whole tradition of “the veil” was reduced to women being seen as possessions by men. This didn’t surprise me, but the candor with which he spoke did. Unfortunately we were taken into a carpet shop by our guide (who was probably looking forward to his cut), where we were “held hostage” for way too long, until we escaped (thanks to Drew) without buying carpets. Ishmael the riad manager was ticked off at the guide, as he had been told not to do that.

We went to the area in the medina where leather is processed outdoors in large concrete vats. Animal skins are processed as they have been since at least medieval times. Most of the hair is removed from the pelts with a tool with a large curve blade that reminded me of the Alaskan ulu (The hair would be cleaned, spun and used for weaving). The skins are immersed in rectangular pools of water and lime to remove the rest of the hair and flesh, then moved to a pool of pigeon poo and water (and yes this stinks), and stomped on by 3 guys, then moved to a pool of water and blood…the skins we saw were cow, goat and camel. Saffron, henna, poppy, and bark are used to dye the skins. It takes about 3 weeks to process the hides. The souks are full of slippers, poufs and purses made from these skins. Getting a “tour” involved showing up and aimlessly wandering through the doors…nothing formal on our end, but tips are expected every step of the way (as is the custom for pretty much everything). One of the workers who helped us seemed to have broken protocol. He eventually ran off to fetch an English speaking guide, who in a rather bored manner spewed information that he probably repeats 25x a day 7 days a week…at each step he commanded me to “Take photo!” I, of course, did as I was told. The last phase is to exit through a shop where you are encouraged to buy a pouf, purse or shoes. We left a tip and escaped again without buying any of the above.

Later, in a rather non-touristic area of town, I saw a young boy sitting in a narrow alley with handmade earrings on a board…the prices were listed and reasonable. I must have bought 8-10 pairs just for the shear pleasure of buying something without being forced to haggle. The kid just looked at me wide-eyed, mouth agape in complete disbelief, when I told him his prices were fair and I wanted to pay his “asking price.” I’m not sure what makes haggling in Morocco so much more exhausting than haggling in Asia…but it felt cathartic to do it my way.

Other mini adventures:

Evening "Spectacular"

Aladdin's flying carpet-Fantasia

We went to the “Spectacular,”also known as the Fantasia. Equestrian traditions run deep in Morocco. Fantasias roots go back to the warring Berbers and desert battles. It is now a folkloric tradition, and authentic competitions are held throughout the country…not just for tourists. We knew going in that our version of a “Fantasia” was going to be pretty much a tourist trap. There would be dinner, dancers, and a troupe of horseman with guns for $45 each. This was held at a Disneyland-like venue, complete with “Aladdin on a flying carpet.” We hit the jackpot as we were sat with a couple from Spain and got to practice our Spanish all evening with them. My

Fantasia horsemen

rating: The dinner-B, dancers/singers-C, the horseback riding-A+. Riders on Barb stallions rode one at a time, at a full
gallop doing death defying gymnastics, swinging themselves up, down, backwards and all around their horses. About 40 riders galloped at full speed ending in a quick stop and synchronized firing of muskets into the air. Their talent, bravery and focus were amazing. I read that only men and “virgin girls” are allowed to ride these stallions.

Visit to the Majorelle gardens and museum-

Its just outside the ancient medina walls, but very walkable. The gardens were designed by Jaques Majorelle in the 1930's when Morocco was a French protectorate, and later purchased by

"Fantasia"

Yves Saint Laurent, who spent a lot of time here in Marrakech with his partner. He looked to
Morocco for design inspiration. The Gardens are an interesting amalgamation of bamboo forest and cactus (of all shapes and forms), with splashes of color. On the grounds is a fantastic Berber museum with a collection of traditional “dress” warn by various tribes, and other articles of daily life.

Ourika Valley-

What a beautiful day for exploring this lovely valley only

View of the Atlas Mountains

an hour from Marrakech. When I heard that each village in the area has a market day, I asked our guide to incorporate a stop at a village market into our agenda. Market days allow locals to not only buy and sell their goods, but to socialize as well; for outsiders, markets offer a window into local customs and a taste of rural life. We visited the market in a small town on the way to the Ourika Valley. I was not
disappointed. It was interesting; each vendor tended to sell a very specific thing-one guy sold cow heads; another sold sheep heads; another, bundles of goat feet; another live rabbits, another only organ meat. Then there was the cobbler, who fixed your shoes on the spot, and the donkey shoer, and the teapot guy. Veggies for sale were mounded on tarps on the ground. Everything looked fresh.

Huge waterfall in distance

After the market we continued eastward. The snow capped Atlas Mountains, with peaks of 4000+ meters created a gorgeous backdrop for the, lush green fields spotted red with poppies. We stopped in a tiny Berber village, whose houses were made of red clay-this area was know for its pottery; were
we were given a personal Berber Museum guided tour from a good humored young man who had a lot of pride in his culture. The museum’s collection emphasized objects and activities in the daily lives of Berber people. He said unfortunately new homes were being built with cinder blocks instead
of mud, which didn’t keep houses as warm in the winter or as cool in the summer as the old

Donkey getting shoes on Market Day

homes. We continued up the valley, passing tons of roadside pottery stands, camels waiting to be ridden, and the like. We eventually reached a village situated on the banks of a rushing river. Homemade wooden bridges criss-crossed the river at frequent intervals and led to other little settlements, or restaurants…each bridge looking a bit more precarious than the next. The river had flooded a few weeks prior and was running high. The place was quirky; some restaurants had tables
and chairs placed in the water on purpose on the riverbanks, I presume to cool down guests. Bright colored couches were also positioned along the riverbank. I can see why

Pottery curing in son in Berber village

this destination may attract
locals who head to the hills in summer when temperatures soar to 115 degrees in the shade in Marrakech. Drink stands creatively used the rushing water and rocks to cool soft drinks and fruit, “ Moroqui refrigerators.” Our “driver guide” passed us on to a local “mountain guide” who takes tourists up the mountain for $10 (for 2 of us). It turned out to be money well spent. We climbed to the 2nd of 7 waterfalls (our choice), but could see 5 of the 7. This entailed scrambling over boulders up steep trails crossing the stream several times by rock hopping, crossing bridges, and even climbing a ladder at one point. The views were gorgeous and every turn in the trail revealed something new and interesting to see.

One of the 7 waterfalls -Ourika Valley

Ourika Valley

camels and Berber ponies

They call this "Moroqui icebox"

sidesaddle on Donkey

One of many bridges crossing a rushing river-Ourika Valley

Essaouira-

Essaouira

I had organized a 3 day stay for us in Essaouira, a charming coastal town 2.5 hours east of Marrakech that is famous for kite sailing, and being the film site for movies like Orson Wells’ Othello, and Game of Thrones. We bought our Supratours bus tickets for Essaouira, a few days in
advance, which turned out to be a good thing, as it was completely full. Through observation I learned that you have to make sure the day of travel that you pay the baggage fee for your luggage (for which you get a sticker and receipt). This is something not obvious to non-locals and sent tourists

I'm on Tarzan and Drew is on Jane

scrambling at the last minute who were already lined up trying to get on the bus with their luggage. The bus service was cheap, clean and comfortable, and as modern as in Europe. We again stayed in a riad in the Medina. The town, and its medina are small and easy to navigate, and no motorbikes are allowed, so it was really

Enjoying the working fishing port-Essaouira

relaxing to walk the streets. The
buildings, mostly painted white, punctuated with colorful doors and such, were fun to photograph. There were still people who did their wash and got their daily water from public fountains. Essaouira is known for its beautiful inlaid wood crafts; its fun observing craftsman doing their thing in tiny shops by hand. Essaouira has a bustling working

Little birdies - Score!

seaport with a thriving fishing (sardine) industry. We watched sardine boats coming in with their catches, and other fish as well. The docks are lined with buyers and sellers of fish. It appears that after the nets are emptied of their catch and the boat is unloaded, young boys are allowed a short amount of time to
clean the nets of fish that got stuck in them, and are rewarded by being able to keep these fish. Here we had fun dining on seafood next to the boardwalk, sharing a table with a couple from Germany, and 2 young female Moroqui College English teachers there for a conference. We ate sea urchin, eel, and other fish that is sold by the kilo raw and

Fun with camel shadows

cooked to order. The food was good, but the conversation was even “more tasty.” Though the girls were in their 20’s, if they said “I want to travel to (anywhere) for a month/year, their parents would say “no way,” and they would be obligated to obey their wishes, but if they
said “ I want to go to (anywhere) for a
month/year to study” their parent would say “absolutely.” Education is highly valued in their culture for males and females alike according to these girls. That being said, many leave school early to help put food on the table. We were told kids are obligated to stay in school till age 14, but this is not strongly enforced. One of the girls we met covered her hair with a scarf, the other didn’t. I have never quite figured out why some are covered head to toe in a burka, while others wear a jilaba (like a long bathrobe/dress often with a hood) and

Camel riding in Essaouira

headscarf, others wear just a headscarf, and others don’t cover their head at all. Is it pressure from father, brother and husbands, or
simply personal comfort level? I don’t know what kind of family and peer pressure there is to conform. We did a double take when we saw people wearing actual fuzzy western bathrobes on the street with valentines hearts, and Sponge Bob square pants motifs. The shopkeepers in Essaouira were much more pleasant to interact and bargain with, than those in Marrakech. At one point while we were in a shop that I was visiting for the second time, a Moroccan woman entered and bargained with such vehemence, that I was shocked; it was so

Cart pushers enjoying a little rest and chat

unpleasant. She left without what she wanted, and came back a few minutes later after the shop keeper did not chase after her. After I
made my purchases I asked the shop keeper about this incident. He calmly shrugged and said, “she is from Casablanca, that is how they are.” That just really struck me as funny. One of my favorite experiences though in Essaouira was riding a camel (mine was named Tarzan, Drew’s Jane) on the beach. It was an hour of bliss for me, and it made me miss riding my horse Kota in California.