The Morocco Trip: Spring Break, March 2006

Morocco

Day 1: Friday, March 3

Getting to Morocco is kind of a pain to do on a budget. For some reason Orbitz can’t handle giving me good flights, so I ended up having to go from DC to NY to Paris and finally to Casablanca. I left DC at 1pm on Friday.

Day 2: Saturday, March 4

I got to Paris on Saturday at 7:55 am. The De Gaulle Airport in and of itself was nothing special, but there were some interesting things there. First off, I had to go downstairs to catch a shuttle to transfer to a new gate area to catch my plane to Morocco. A nice lady actually had a passenger manifest with my name on it and told me where to go. Talk about customer service. After getting down the escalator I noticed that most of the people were Arabs or were going to North Africa. The area was not clean and was in a state of disrepair. It wasn’t unbearable dirty, but the contrast from the cleanliness just back up the escalator surprised me. Either the place saw too much traffic to remain clean or the owners of the airport simply did not care to clean that area. Given France’s recent troubles with the Muslims in its country and the accusations that France is racist against Muslims, it seemed odd that the French could not even keep the North Africa transfer area in good shape. Then again, the airport might not have had the money…
The next interesting thing was the cultural shift the moment I got downstairs. Before getting there everyone had been Europeans standing in a line after getting off a plane to go through customs. Downstairs was a free for all. Everyone crowded up against the sliding doors and pushed and shoved to get to the bus. After the bus was full everyone had to jostle back inside and then jockey for a position near the door. After a few races for the bus I finally got on one.
At that point I was getting a little tired and bored because I had been traveling for almost 24 hours. So I started to try and find things about that bus ride that were different from things back home. The one thing I spotted as the bus driver. She was a beautiful married Caucasian French woman. In the states essentially any bus driver I had ever seen was Hispanic or African-American. But more than her race it was really her looks that blew me away. Any woman that beautiful would have been a model in the States inside of a day. Now, of course I’m not trying to say bus driving isn’t a perfectly respectable occupation. I really couldn’t care less. But it was the first time I ever really thought about how different the French and American labor markets were. I never really liked arguments about class, but the fact of the matter is that Caucasians are not prominent in the Bus Driving market in America. In France, however, beautiful women not only drive buses, but they take pride in it. They are also flirtatious, which was even weirder! It was the first time I had ever wanted to ask out a bus driver.
Eventually I had to get off the bus though, so I said goodbye and thank you and I was off…to another bus. This one took me to the airplane, but not without some more interesting observations about French society (I should mention here that this is all based on one hour in an airport. It wasn’t an anthropologic study or anything). Two Frenchmen and a Frenchwoman got on the bus and apparently were good friends with some old guy who had been sitting on the bus. The first thing he did when the woman got on was stand up and then take her hand and kiss it. Now they may have been old friends, but dude X that had gotten on the bus with the lady was very not happy about the fact that the geezer was hitting on the woman. She also seemed to think it was some sort of funny flirting joke. The thing that struck me was that the old guy was very forward, witty and touchy-feely. I mean, old men in the US can be cute and funny when they hit on younger women, but only if they follow a strictly hands-off approach. Physical contact is a no-no. But apparently, not in France. Oh well.
The plane ride was nothing special. I noticed that I wasn’t the only Westerner heading to Morocco for the week. Backpackers were everywhere. I actually started to feel embarrassed that I had come dressed in the same clothes as most of the people on the plane. The massive backpack fashion statement was just such a stereotypical give away. But as we shall see, being a tourist had a different effect in every place in Morocco.
Once I got off the plane I immediately started hunting for a plane. My plan at that point was to go to Meknes straight away and not stay in Casablanca or Rabat. I had heard that both of those cities were really boring. After Meknes I was going to head out to Figuig, a city on the furthest edge of Morocco right on the border with Algeria. Then I would book it across the entire middle of the country, skipping all the mountains in the middle and then end up in Marrakech. After that, if I had time I was planning on going down to Laayoune, the first city inside the disputed Western Sahara area. Then I was going to book it back up the country to Casablanca by Sunday to catch my flight…
The plan almost got executed.
SO back to the airport. I discovered that to get to Casablanca’s main train station from where I could continue on to Meknes, I had to take a train form the airport. The train station in the airport was easy enough to find. All I had to do was follow the masses and the signs, all of which were in Arabic and French. Besides being able to read the Arabic, any time I got confused the French worked just fine since it is pretty much just silly looking English. The ticket guy was pretty straight forward and I didn’t feel like I was getting ripped off. The only thing that was remarkable about the train station was that the board with all the train times on it was a brand new digital display. The rest of the station was bland and dirty (although only moderately so), but that display was effective.
Eventually I spotted some other tourists and I went up to talk with them. They turned out to be from Canada. Apparently Morocco is a big place for Canadians because of the whole French thing. They turned out to be really useful too because the train into Casablanca (which the natives call ‘Caza’) had multiple stops inside the city, but only one that would actually help me. But they were able to ask one of the conductors in French how the whole system worked so I knew. The problem then was that we knew the name of our stop, but the PA system on the train was inaudible. Every time the guy spoke, it came out as “Aheskkvklvn iavimelsf.”
The train ride took about 20 minutes and I got a chance to chat with the Canadians and look at the scenery. Morocco is a pretty nice country. It’s wide open and green, although things are pretty run down. The cities are poor, but it doesn’t have the oppressive poverty of Cairo that haunts the people no matter where they go (except the fancy Western hotels).
I got to the train station in Casablanca and got off. The trains in Morocco don’t wait for about 1 minute at any given stop so I had to hustle. Once I got off I asked around until I found the platform for Meknes and then I went I bought some Pringles. I had read in the guide book that it is rude to eat on a train when no one else is eating unless you offer food to people. But you can’t just offer once. You have to offer 3 times. The first two times everyone refuses, but the third time you are free to accept or reject for real. I thought that sounded like fun, so I bought the Pringles to test the theory out.
When I got on the train it was pretty much mad house. The thing was totally packed and I don’t know if you have ever tried walking through those narrow little train hallways with a huge hiking backpack on, but it is damn near impossible. Throw in people trying to get past you and you have a recipe for pain. It worked out ok in general because most people were used to backbackers and tight quarters, so no one really complained. I was glad.
Eventually some guy saw me wandering around and decided to help me out. He told me that up in the front of the train there were usually more open seats. He turned out to be right. Nice guy.
Once I finally found a seat I busted out the Pringles. Everyone refused and eventually I began to notice that the whole three times thing wasn’t any less weird in Morocco than it would be in the States. The people who refused the first time did not accept the second or third times either. One guy refused at first and then took some, but most people just took ‘em when I first offered. Essentially it just reinforced my philosophy that everyone in the world is the same on the basic day to day level. People form different counties aren’t a different race from Americans. They’re all human and mostly nice. Maybe in the public eye or on tv we try and play up our differences so everything seems more spicy and sells for more money, but really, we all gotta breathe, eat and drink water.
And after realizing that I started flexing my “I’m an interesting foreigner” muscle. I started talking to the passengers in combination English/Arabic. They all turned out to be pretty well educated and spoke pretty good English. One guy had been to the US a couple times. They taught me some new words and corrected some of the ones I had written down (before I left I met with an actually Moroccan and learned some of the basics like hello, goodbye, good, where is the train station, police station, when, where, restaurant, bathroom…all the fun stuff). Eventually they started telling me about good places to see in Morocco. After a few hours a new guy came into our cabin and he started pitching me a whole new itinerary. It turned out that his wife worked for the Tourism branch of the government or something and he had the hook up in Fez with a tour to Merzouga and a guided tour of Fez. At first I was resistant to the idea for the mere sketchiness of it. The guy just started pushing this deal on me on a train after meeting me for 2 seconds. But then I realized that it was my choice no matter what happened so I canned my bitching and starting thinking about the possible benefits.
I had wanted to go way out to the East at first, but Merzouga sounded really cool. The dunes there are world famous and they were filmed in “The Mummy.” And as for the guided tour of Fez, I knew from past experience that meandering around a city without knowing what I’m looking at gets boring sometimes. And the guy had a hotel with a shower that was cheap. Unfortunately in his plan I had to skip Meknes, and I was not down with that. I had a whole plan to check out some nightclub in Meknes that sounded like fun. If I went to Meknes on Saturday night the place might even have been fun. But the guy managed to convince to skip the Meknes stop so then it was too late, so I went to Fez.
When we got to Fez the guy got me a cab. The cabbie told me he had no idea who the guy was but that he had had the same guy pass off a customer to him multiple times. The cabbie turned out to be a tool and we didn’t leave for like 10 minutes while he tried to pick up another passenger, which never happened. I wanted to go to sleep, but I guess he had to feed his family...cause that’s what they all say. In the end it worked out and I got to the hotel.
The hotel was in the back of the old city and I got to see a whole bunch of Moroccan kids just playing soccer in this big plaza area right outside the hotel. It was an interesting sight because it had absolutely no tourist factor. They were just having fun. They looked at me kinda funny too with my big huge backpack (which, by the way, I had bought about week before the trip and the thing tore on the way to the airport. I actually had to go to a hiking store and pick up all kinds of stuff for the trip, including anti-bacterial underwear which apparently you can wear for a week just rinsing it off and hang-drying it…I brought extra underwear just in case). So I figured, if they thought tourists were funny-looking too, I was in the right place. My room was cold, but the bed had lots of sheets. I had a private bathroom, as promised, but it was not in my room. It was actually right down the hall in another room. I had to use a separate key to get in. It was kinda cool, except I had to press them to get me some toilet paper and got half a roll at that, and the shower sucked, but hey, I had my own toilet.
Eventually I went downstairs and got some dinner. I had heard that Moroccan food was the best in the region, and let me tell you…it’s true. Moroccan food is absolutely the best food I have had in the Middle East and North Africa. Possibly only some parts of Eastern Europe top it. But as a general rule I think Moroccan food takes the cake. After dinner I organized my next day with the owner. I had to get up early so I went to bed. Of course I couldn’t sleep so I stayed up and read “The Persian Puzzle” by Ken Pollack. I had a simulation a few weeks after I got back in my class with Madeline Albright about Iran’s nuclear program. The book turned out to be kind of a theme because Iran was in the news making threats against America at the time, but that comes up later.
Eventually I collapsed.

Day 3: Sunday, March 5

I was supposed to get moving at 8, but I slept right through that alarm and when the guy knocked on my door I was so tired he just told offered to wait another hour so I could sleep. I figure he had his own reasons for it, but I was tired so I agreed. I woke up again at 9:30 am and went down stairs. I found the guy organizing the operation (a different guy from the train) and he told me his son was talking me around the city. His son turned out to be pretty good at his job though. He took me around the city. First he took me to a leather shop overlooking the famous tanneries of Fez. They dyed stuff in big huge vats of color which they had to change out every day or something. The guys had been doing it for hundreds of year. Then the kid tried to convince me to buy some of the stuff in the shop. His dad showed up there too with some more tourists. I didn’t buy anything.
Next we went to visit the Kairaouine Mosque, which is apparently the oldest university in the world. I couldn’t go inside because the place was being restored, but it sure did look cool. After that the kid showed me a Berber hotel. The place was a stable and it apparently cost about 5 dirhams to stay there, which is about 60 cents. I asked the kid if I could stay there, but he said it was only for the Berbers to stay in while they were at the market selling stuff.
After that we saw a big sewing collective, then the kid took me to the “Big government place” where the sell happened. The whole tour turned out to be a set up to get me to a carpet selling place run by the government. The Moroccans had the same deal as the Jordanians. They hired village people to make rugs and then they sold the rugs for them. They would ship the rugs for free. The rugs were really cool, and the girl they had sewing the carpets was cute too. They tried to teach me, but she turned out to be much better at it than I was. She had to work fast too, cause that carpet was going to take another 6 months to make. The presentation of the rugs was fun. I got some good tea with ‘nana’ which is mint. The Moroccans call it “Berber Whiskey.” It was good enough to keep me there long enough for the salesman to roll a bunch of carpets in front of me. He had a good sales pitch. He would tell me just to choose the ones I liked, not to buy just to look. Then he tried to convince me that I could sell the carpets at auction back in the States for big profits and pay for my trip. He said he had heard of it before. I told him I had no money. He suggested that I call my parents and ask if they wanted to give me a credit car number so I could buy the carpets. I called my mom on their phone. It was about zero in the morning in Hawaii at the time so my mom wasn’t all that excited to hear from me. She also didn’t expect me to call at all and her first question was “Are you alright?” I told her I was and then asked if she wanted to buy a $1000 rug. She wasn’t all that interested. Neither was I, and I told her she could come to Morocco and choose her own. Then I told that to the salesman. He told me that was fine and kept trying to sell me more carpets. I got another cup of tea.
After that I saw some new tourists come in to get scammed so I figured they had better things to do than talk to me since I was not going to buy a carpet. I bounced. When we left we saw the kid’s dad again. I heard them talking in Arabic and the guy asked the kid if I bought anything and the kid said “no he wasn’t interested in anything.” The dad had two Japanese girls with him too, who became my friends later on, but that happened the next day.
After that I told the kid I needed to buy some stuff, like plug converters and soccer jerseys, and he told me the place to go for that was the new city. So he led me out of the maze that is Old City Fez and then told a cab driver where to drop me off. I thanked the kid and bounced. The kid sent me to the souk in the “Mellah” which is the word for sugar in Berber or something and is another name for the Jewish Quarter because back in the day the Jews sold sugar in North Africa.
In the market place I eventually found some plug converters after much demonstrating with the electronic equipment in the guy’s shop. Then I walked down a few stores and found a soccer jersey jackpot. The Moroccans, unlike the Gulf Arabs, love their soccer team. I managed to bargain the price down from 100 dirhams to 70 dirhams per jersey. Then I realized I didn’t know who to buy them for, so I went to an internet café real quick and checked my mail. A couple of my Cairo friends had responded to me and wanted jerseys, so I had to buy a bunch for them. Then I remembered that one of my roommates wanted one too. So I went back a bought a few. After I left that store I found another store with a wider variety of names on the back of their jerseys. I had to talk with the guys there quite a while to get the price to 70. I even asked some of the other customers if they thought it was a good price. I got jiped anyway because I was white. The store clerk said a Moroccan could get the jerseys form about 50. But again, coming from Hawaii where all we do is scam tourists, I understood. I bought a bunch of jerseys and then went back to my hotel.
I thought about walking first, but the crazy guys on the street and the distance convinced me that was a bad idea. The cab ride wasn’t that far, and the meter said the fair was 3 dinars but the cabbie charged me 5, saying there was some minimum fare. I didn’t buy that, but I didn’t really want to argue that time either. After that I headed back into the old city threw the main entrance. On the stair leading down into the city the Berbers had laid out their Sunday Market wares. They were kind confused as to why I was filming them.
There were still a couple of things I wanted to see so I wandered around the old city by myself this time. I found a few fountains and learned that the tanneries were actually owned by competing factions. The ones I had seen were the lesser ones, according to the guy I ran into (the guide book disagreed with him though).
After that I got totally lost. I tried to go down a few streets that people had told me were “closed.” I didn’t believe that anything was closed and since I could always bust out the “I’m a confused foreigner” line I went down the streets anyway. As it turned out I should have followed my own theory and trusted the people because the streets turned out to be dead ends. That was what they meant by closed. Eventually some kid found me and led me back to my hotel. He tried to pretend he was my friend, and then asked for money after we got back to my hotel. I tried to give him 10 but then he said that was as insulting as his foot and that Allah was watching me and he grabbed my wrist. I almost flipped on him right then and there, but we were starting to attract a crowd of Moroccan kids who most likely would not have been on my side if they saw me fighting with another Moroccan. And besides, the kid did lead me out of the confusing city and it was only like 2 bucks.
I went back to my hotel for a little bit and then I headed out again to go visit a ruined citadel which overlooked the city. I took a cab up and it cost about 5 dirhams. The cabbie was so honest about it I gave him 10. The ruins were not much to see. I did see some goats and have some kids try and steal my water bottle and my binoculars. After that I figured it was time to go home, so I headed down the hill. I stopped at a nice hotel for a second and on my way out I ran into another kid who wanted my water bottle. By then I had drank it all. I tried to show that to the kid, but he said he wanted it anyway. I don’t think he was happy with me when he figured out it was empty cause he threw it on the ground. By then I was getting in a cab though, so I couldn’t do much for him.
On the way down the hill the cabbie tried to charge me 5 Dirhams for a 3 dirham ride. By then I was sick of people trying to rob me so I gave him 3 and left. The cabbie yelled at me, but he wasn’t a Cairean so I wasn’t impressed.
When I got back to the hotel I talked to the trip organizer guy again and I started mapping out our possible trip. We eventually figured out that I could go to Meknes, an hour away, that night and hit up the nightclubs. Then I would hang out in Meknes for a day and then on Tuesday I would meet him and, as it turned out, the two Japanese chicks, and go to Merzouga. That sounded good to me so I packed up and headed out to the train. The trip guy managed to convince the hotel owner not to charge me full price for two nights since I only stayed there for one, and then I bargained down the price of the whole trip to 500 dirhams, which ain’t bad for a two day car ride and a hotel and trip into the desert. That would also pay for the tour with the kid which apparently I was supposed to have paid the kid for, although no one seemed to upset that I didn’t, so I stopped caring. Then I hopped the train to Meknes.
When I got to Meknes I found a hotel literally two blocks from the station. The place was fantastic (it was the Hotel Majestic). It had hot showers, a friendly old desk clerk, and a clock in the hallway. I decided it was time to get dressed and go out. I had a few hours so I decided to take a shower (which was amazing) and steam some wrinkles out of one of my good shirts, which was actually possible because the shower was hot enough to create steam.
So after getting all sexy to go out clubbing I went in search of the elusive Moroccan nightlife. The place I had in mind was Hotel Bab Mansour (most of the nightclubs in Morocco are associated with hotels). When I got to the club at about 10:50pm, the guys at Bab Mansour said the club closed at 11pm. That seem odd for a nightclub, but there wasn’t much I could do so I went to the club across the street at Hotel Akouas. The bouncer at the door spoke very good English and surprisingly good Fusha Arabic (Modern Standard). Now, the only people who speak formal Fusha Arabic are the Saudis. So when some hot ladies walked by, and then I commented on how the bouncer knew a lot of hot ladies, and then he asked me if I wanted one, I started making radical generalizations and came to the conclusion that a lot of Saudis must visit these “nightclubs.” Enough, at least, for the bouncer to learn Fusha for them. Oh yeah, and the Nightclub was actually just a whore house. Unfortunately I had already paid my cover fee (about $5) and of course once you give away money in the Middle East you are not getting it back. I went next door, got some chicken, ate till the store closed and then went to the club. Inside the girls were about as scantily clad as girls can get. There were apparently some regulars in the place.
The way the place works is that the guys come in, buy the girls drinks, give em cigarettes, dance with them, although not very much, and then they go back to whatever hotel they want. Unfortunately for all of you who want some dirt on me to ruin my future political career, I did not take part in the after party festivities, but I did go out dancing. Eventually it occurred to me that I was the guy who tries to talk to stripers and furthermore, I was hurting the girls’ profit margins, so I bounced. And for the curious, it cost about $10 a night.

Day 4: Monday, March 6

I had to check out before the afternoon, so I had to pack quick. First I had to take my anti-biotic underwear of the heater. I had rinsed it in Fez and the quick dry underwear didn’t dry very fast in the cold weather. I had 9 other pairs, luckily. I guess I can get scammed in the US too, I just get scammed by anti-biotic underwear instead of “authentic Moroccan Hookahs.”
After I checked out I headed off to find the taxi stand. The plan was to go see Moulay Idriss and Volibus. Moulay Idriss is a town outside of Meknes where the great grandson of Muhammad and founder of Morocco built a big mosque. It is a big pilgrimage site, being the fourth or fifth holiest site in Islam (after Mecca, Medina, Jerusalem and maybe one other). Because of that, non-Muslims cannot spend the night in the town, nor can they enter the mosque. Volibus is an ancient Roman town on par with Jerash.
On my way to the Taxi stand I had to get some money so I went to an ATM. Morocco caters to a lot of Europeans so they have the whole ATM system down pat. The things are every where and they work great. They don’t even charge a fee!
After that I asked around a bit until I got to the cab station. From there I caught a shared taxi to Moulay Idriss for about 2 bucks. It was just like being a sardine.
When I got to Moulay Idriss I had no idea where to go and I of course turned down anyone offering to help. One Japanese guy came up to me asking if I wanted to split a cab, but I had to tell him I was staying for a little while longer. There are a lot of Japanese tourists in Morocco, by the way.
I asked for some directions and head off to find the mosque. I overshot it at first because it is kinda buried inside a market place, although there is a big plaza outside of it. Eventually I got back to it. There was a big bar across the entrance to keep out all those dirty non-Muslims, like me, so I had to stand outside to take pictures, which they let me do, at least.
After that some guy offered to give me a tour up above the Mosque. He didn’t exactly say he wanted money, in fact he tried to act like he was just doing me a favor, so I told him I could handle on my own cause I was already sick of people completely bullshitting me just to make a $1.
Eventually I got back down to the entrance and I went up around the side of the mosque to see one of the few square minarets in the world. There was also a run down school with barred windows above the mosque. After that depressing sight I tried to get above the mosque. Unfortunately some tool latched on to me. I asked him to help me cause I was running out of time, but it turned out I didn’t need him since there were arrows directing me everywhere. But I got some good pictures and some interesting trivia, like the rug making in the mosque. After that the dude led me out and I dropped him a few dirhams. After that I went back to the taxi stand. I paid for an extra seat so I could get to Volibus without having to wait for more passengers, who were most likely never going to come as it was beginning to get late and Moulay Idriss closes at 3pm.
Volibus was nearby and it was really cool. Outside of the entrance there were a bunch of informal guides. They didn’t bother me however because that would have been illegal, and I didn’t talk to them because my mom had given me the Eyewitness Travel Guide to Morocco which had Volibus down to a science.
Inside Volibus I explored kinda on my own and kinda following behind a group of French people. The Frenchies had a guide who only spoke English which the tour guide then translated into French, so all I had to do was stand nearby. I heard about the house of Orpheus, Knight’s House, and the House of Hercules. There was a neato-arch and of course there is the ever impressive Roman sewer underneath the main street. The place was also greatly restored, especially the mosaics. I ran into some Americans from Georgia or something, which was hilarious because I could actually communicate with them, which is always confusing after a few days of only speaking Arabic.
Eventually, after a few hours exploring, I realized I had to get the hell out so I ran out, but stopped to take a picture of the nice marketplace. I couldn’t get a lift with any of the other tourist groups, so I decided to walk to Moulay Idriss to catch a cab back to Meknes. Eventually a cabbie pulled up to offer me a ride. I tried to bargain him down from 5 dollars, but it just wasn’t worth it to me, so I just paid up and caught a nice comfy cab all to myself all the way back to Meknes. That started becoming a theme for the trip.
Once I got back to Meknes I had a few hours before my train, so I decided to go on a walk through the Souks. I have to say, I have seen a lot of Souks, but the markets of Meknes were definitely some of the most impressive. Khan al-Khalili in Cairo might be the only ones which impress me more. The market in Meknes was expansive and very busy, with plenty of locals walking around buying lots of day to day things, which is what impressed me the most. I came to the Middle East at first thinking market places were just quaint tourist locations, like the International Marketplace in Hawaii. But that is very not true. There are a lot of touristy spots, but more often than not the markets of the Middle East and North Africa are really just massive Supermarkets, except outside and dirty. They are also the premier examples of competition and capitalism. All the stores sell the exact same thing so if you want a good price you just gotta negotiate better with the guy next door.
Now, on the flip side, the negotiating that makes markets so quaint is also what makes them a total waste of my time since any price is going to be a ripoff. However, I think locals may actually get good prices for their food, possibly even fixed prices. I would never know, though, since vendors are always trying to get a few extra dirhams out of foreigners.
A few interesting things did happen in the souk. At one stand a guy actually packed up his street vendor and ran away when he saw the cops coming. That is significant because it shows that not only are there actual laws in Morocco, they are enforced and the cops aren’t taking bribes! Now, I doubt the situation is that good, but I have never seen vendors run from cops in any other Middle Eastern country – I have seen it in Europe and the US.
I also had a guy come up to me in the middle of the market and offer to buy my video camera. At first he said 500 dirhams, which is about $50. I just started laughing, but he kept asking. So I stopped, turned to him and said “$10,000 Dirhams.” Now if you have been paying attention you know that is around $1,000. He didn’t think that was nearly as funny as I did, but he asked what price I wanted and I gave it to him.
After that fun I found my way back out of the Souk. Right as I exited some guy started yelling to try and get my attention. I ignored him cause I just figured he was another one of the thousand people trying to sell me something. Then someone coming from in front of me stopped me and pointed back toward the guy behind me. It turned out I had dropped some of my postcards out of my open camera bag. I thanked both of them profusely and once again had to reanalyze my perceptions of the Middle East, even the ones supported by hundreds of hours of annoying evidence.
I went to go get some food next. I had a few options of places to eat. One place had a couple of guys sitting around being lazy and absolutely no customers. I looked a little further down into the square and saw an amazing sight. There was a restaurant with plenty of customers and waiters who were actually walking quickly in order to serve their customers efficiently. I switched to that restaurant.
I was not disappointed. The cooks also worked quick and I placed my order quick and got my food fast. It was fantastic! The guy also kept the little kids selling gum and other trinkets from bothering customers who didn’t want to be bothered. I didn’t have a problem with the kids trying to make money, but sometimes they just pull on your shirt til you give them money, and that is not salesmanship, it is more like extracting blackmail to ensure that they stop annoying you.
I believe the name of the place was Paradise Burgers, and if anyone ever goes to Meknes I highly recommend it.
Next I went on the hunt for the Mausoleum of Moulay Ismail. I had to find a way through the big wall surrounding the place first (I would like to point out that in everywhere else besides the US, and especially the Mid East, people literally have to deal with driving through or around huge ancient walls!). On the other side of the wall I found a huge open square which was simply an awesome sight in a place where things are usually very cramped and crowded. I got lost looking for the Mausoleum at first (as always) but I managed to walk into this amazing government run building. It had a beautiful plaza in the middle of the complex with a fountain in it. The place was spotlessly clean. I couldn’t believe people put up with that crap from their government when the rest of the place was struggling to get by, but I guess that is why governments in the Middle East are so feared. In the middle of deserts they have enough money to keep the dust off the ground. Or maybe Morocco is just trying harder than the rest. Always two sides I suppose.
I eventually found the Masoleum. The place was pretty cool looking, and on the inside I found Moulay Ismail’s grave. It was actually in a room for Muslims only, but I didn’t realize that when I first walked into. The French guy behind me did though and it was obvious that I had disturbed his delicate European appreciation for the sensitivities of the “Natives.” Eventually the actual Muslims in the place told me that only Muslims were allowed and I sheepishly apologized and bounced.
I left that place and wandered across the street to another big empty building which is apparently the center of some historical controversy. The Koubbat as-Sufara’ is some fancy little building that used to be a reception room for foreign ambassadors. The locals say that it used to be a prison for Christian slaves of Moulay Ismail, which is indeed what one of the guys there told me, but the Lonely Planet guide claims that story has been discredited by investigators. Choose a side.
After that it was time to catch my train back to Fez to meet my tour guide and head for Merzouga. When I got to the train station I still had a few hours, so I busted out my book, bought some Pringles and started reading. Eventually I got bored and meandered around a bit. I realized at some point that I didn’t know where the train would arrive, so I asked some guy. The guy responded in English….American English. He asked me where I was from and I said Hawaii and he told me he had just arrived from Hawaii last week!!! I was blown AWAY! Besides the fact that I could actually have a coherent conversation with the guy, which again is very relieving, we could actually talk about HAWAII!
His name was Nowreddine Majdi and he had been deported from the US for overstaying his visa. He had been living in Japan, married to some Japanese chick, but it didn’t work out and he moved to Hawaii where he met another Japanese girl. He apparently had a thing for Asians, which was another thing we had in common!
He had been detained in the federal holding center near the airport, which I actually knew of from my dad telling me about it…because my dad meets a lot of his clients in there…
After that he got deported, one way ticket, to Morocco. He was working as a freelance tour guide and was apparently one of those guys who picked people up off the trains and offered to show them around. He spoke English, Japanese, and Arabic and with the large numbers of Japanese tourists in Morocco he made pretty good money. He seemed pretty honest about it too, which put him a notch up in my book. Eventually I had to get on the train for Fez. He was going to go with me for a few stops on the way home but then he spotted some Japanese tourists on another train and had to run and try and pick them up. It was pretty funny meeting him too. It turned out that he was at the clubs I had been at the night before, but he had been there the day before that. If I had gone to Meknes first before going to Fez I probably would have met the guy there, but hen again I would not have gotten my sweet trip to Merzouga, so I guess it all worked out anyway.
I slept all the way to Fez and when I got there I went on a hunt for the hotel I was supposed to get picked up at for my trip the next day. I got lost for a little while, but eventually I started stopping off in hotels and asking them until one of them finally found some kids who knew where the place I was looking for and they took me there. They also were Berbers and had a trip to Merzouga, but as it turned out my trip was better than theirs and cheaper. They at least thought I got a real good deal. They knew the guy I was going with to and said he was a cool guy. I wanted to call my tour organizer to make sure he knew where I was, and the kids helped me with that. When we called the guy he was apparently having a really bad day (it didn’t help that the pay phone kept hanging up because with those phones I had to pump a lot of small change into the thing to keep it going) because he yelled at the kid, but not at me. The kid didn’t seem to upset though. I eventually got my room and then said goodbye to the kid. Then I realized I was hungry and bored and the kid at least spoke English so I caught up to him (his friend had left) and I asked him if he knew a good place to eat. He did of course, and he led me there and the place turned out to be fantastic. The guys working at the place loved my digital camera and they even insisted that I go behind the counter and take a picture with them! After that I knew I was going to get some great service.
The food turned out to be awesome again, further reinforcing my perception that Moroccan food rules and when I left the guys were all sad to see me go and I was sad to leave. They were very friendly though and I very much appreciated their positive, happy attitudes. They had no idea who I was and couldn’t even understand what I was saying half the time, but we still became instant friends because of that digital camera. Everyone likes being in pictures.
I found my way back to my hotel I got ready for bed. After a few sit-ups and push-ups (yes, even while traveling) I got under about 4 sets of thick sheets and slept with my clothes, jacket and socks on since it was totally freezing.

Day 5: Tuesday, March 7

At some point in the middle of the night some woman called me. I had no IDEA who she was. However, she was speaking American English so I asked her where she was calling from. She said “California.” She had no idea how hilarious I thought the situation was. I told her she was calling a wrong number and that I was in Morocco at the time. Then she thought it was hilarious! On top of that, I realized that my new cell phone actually worked internationally! I think it is because it had a simcard and the whole rest of the world already used simcards, so apparently my phone could access the network. I couldn’t make calls out of the country, but I could make friend inside Morocco! So I called my tour buddy. He said that he was on the way. I couldn’t believe it. I was actually back on the cell phone network. I felt whole again.
Eventually the guy showed up, a little bit behind (Hawaiian time). I saw that the two Japanese girls I had seen earlier were in the backseat of the car. The tour guy said that I would be going with them (which we had agreed on), but that they were scared they wouldn’t get along with me. Well, I was a bit worried I wouldn’t get along with them either, but when I heard that I realized that they were cool people just looking for other cool people to hang out with and that I could handle. After saying our goodbyes (the tour guy wasn’t coming with us. He sent us with a driver) I got in the car and introduced myself. I realized that they didn’t speak English all that well (although it was much better than my Japanese) so I immediately started trying to learn Japanese. That broke the ice real fast. It helped that they were both cute and fun to talk to also. It wasn’t hard for any of us to tell a good joke since we almost never understood each other and that was always hilarious. Needless to say we all became fast friends, even the driver. The best part was when one of the Japanese girls said something to the other in Japanese, than she translated it to English and told me and then I would translated it to Arabic and tell the driver!
The girls were named Yuko and Chizoko. I called them KoKo. They taught me how to say “I like Snow” “I like Monkeys” “I want to go to Tokyo” and “Where is the bathroom” all very important phrases. The monkeys were important because on the way to Merzouga we went through some snowcapped mountains (yeah, Snow in the desert country. Morocco is pretty cool) and we stopped off at a monkey reserve. I was of course right at home and had fun filming my ancestors in their native habitat. They climbed all over our car and there was even a big boss monkey who bossed the other ones around. I loved it.
After the monkeys we stopped off to get lunch (this may have been before the monkeys, but it really doesn’t matter. It was in the mountains either way). We stopped in a neat little mountain town and got some bread and tea. The only significant thing that happened there was that I took a neat picture of a minaret against a blue sky which is now the background on my cell phone.
Eventually we descended out of the snow-covered mountains and into the desert. That might have been the fastest and most abrupt environmental change I have ever experienced, but after a while in the Middle East I guess I have just gotten used to abrupt changes… On our way down we passed a neat-o valley. We also saw a sign for a hotel literally in the middle of nowhere and the hotel itself appeared to be a burned out building. I hear the staff is first rate though, willing to travel great distances to work nowhere.
A little further on we came upon a marvelous vista right across a gorge from an old looking fortress town. The place looked like something out of the Crusades. The bridge across the gorge was quite impressive though, I think because I just hadn’t seen all that many bridges in the Middle East. Cairo has quite a few, but even those are either too tightly packed into the city to notice or they are novelties anyway. There just isn’t much water to cross in the Middle East.
While we were stopped the driver asked me if we wanted traditional Berber pizza for dinner. He said he had to call in the order a few hours ahead of time since that was how long it took to prepare the bread. I asked the Kos and they said it sounded good, so we ordered some Berber pizza. The rest of the drive to dinner we slept until we got to a small town on the outskirts of Merzouga. We bought some water in a little shop and then drove across the street into a Berber camp where our pizza was waiting.
Once we entered the compound our driver informed us that we had to transfer all our gear to a jeep which would transport us across the desert to the Berber camp in Merzouga. After that, a very dark-skinned Berber greeted me like I was an old friend and invited me to wash my hands before dinner. For some reason they took me aside first and then talked to the girls separately. They also brought the pizza to me first so I could inspect it and they served me the first piece. I felt like a king.
The food itself was purely AWESOME. Again, Moroccan cuisine is the best. We scarffed the food down and even gave a little to the cats. Then the time honored Moroccan tradition of trying to sell rugs to tourists began.
They took us into a building and tried to sell us all kinds of stuff. Unfortunately for them, the girls and I had already agreed that we didn’t want to buy anything, and certainly not rugs. I did end up buying a few gifts for my financial backers (Mom, mostly) and then went upstairs to pay. I’m not sure they intended for me to see their office, but it was quite a hilarious contrast. The office itself had all the latest technologies: computer, fax, phone, desk. It really destroyed the whole Berber village feel they had been trying to create during the rest of the sales pitch. Eventually, though, event he girls found some headscarves to buy which actually looked pretty good on em.
After escaping from the sales trap and being promised that we would return to see them again, we set off for the Desert. The jeep trip was fun as always since people in Deserts have a tendency to drive really fast and this time was no exception. The main camp itself was actually a hotel castle complex, but the only thing we did there was to drop our gear off in a room and get some camels. From there we rode our camels for about an hour through the desert. The walk was actually one of the most beautiful things I have ever done and I think I actually became “one of those desert loving English” which Lawrence of Arabia was always accused of being. For some reason sand dunes just make me happy. Maybe it’s a beach thing.
By the time we got to the camp the sun had set already so we settled into our room. The tent we stayed in was about 3 feet tall, but the mattresses were nice and cozy and they gave us about 3 blankets a piece. As we waited for dinner to be served we heard drums and banjos playing so we decided to investigate. It turned out to be the Berbers of course, who were playing music and dancing around. The Berbers are a lot like the Bedouins but I would argue that they are actually less crazy than Bedouins. From what I could gather, and I am sure someone would know a more definite answer, the Berber are one of 6 desert ubertribes. The others are the Tamazeet, the Ajeefee, Bedouin, Sharawi, and the Tashlaheet. Now these may be just in Morocco, but I think the guy I was talking to said they were all of North Africa (the Hawaii dude). The Sharawi are certainly in Morocco because they are central to the battle over Western Sahara.
So after a little Berber music we went back to our tent for dinner. Once again it was absolutely fantastic. The rice was simply unbelievable and mixed with a meat soup and good North African pita bread (none of the weak ass stuff I find in DC) we were very full by the end of dinner. At some point one Berber guy came in and ate with us for a bit and served us tea. After dinner we went out and explored the camp. Yuko and Chizuko danced to some Berber music and I got some good film. We met an Arab guy from France who had friend from Japan and while the girls were talking to the Japanese guy I asked the French-Arab guy about the riots in France. He said that he was surprised to see all the press on the riots since he was living there at the time and they were not nearly as bad as everyone was saying. The cities certainly were not in danger. He could have been playing it down due to some weird ethno-religious sensitivity, but I think his experience simply did not jive with the media reports, which was interesting for me because I understood it as a much larger problem. But the French government didn’t really do anything to change the situation except deploy some riot troops, so I guess they don’t care.
After the music and the chatting our guide informed us we had to go to sleep because we had to get up early the next day.

Day 6: Wednesday, March 8

I woke up and realized that the sun hadn’t come up yet, so I woke the Kos up and we headed off to see the sunrise. All the other tourists in the camp had the same idea and you got the hilarious situation where a bunch of tourists were hiking up 500 foot dune to see the sunrise while all the natives just waited at the bottom laughing. The sunrise was pretty cool, and the color on the sand dunes as the lights came up on the Earth was stunning; caught the whole thing on camera. After that we hiked up to the top of the dune and then I gave my camera, blanket and glasses to Chizuko and then I jump all the way down the dune. At some point I started rolling and sliding, switching back and forth but it was a hell of ride! After that I tried to write my name in the dune but the sand would stick after I stepped in it so the S didn’t work so well. I realized a little later that my tumble down the hill had totally destroyed my glasses case on the way down. Good thing I gave my glasses to Chizuko.
Breakfast included some bread, butter and olive oil. I saw some kids sliding down the dune on snowboards, but they were more interested in sliding down the dune than selling me on the idea that it was fun, plus we didn’t have any time. I guess I have to go back to Merzouga to try that out.
After that we caught our camels back to the main camp. On the way Chizuko sang a Japanese song about the desert which was amazing and very good for a desert trip. It turns out that both the girls wanted to nurses and Chizuko might actually end up at the University of Hawaii. Yuko thought she would be going to school closer to home.
Back at the camp we got to eat a little more breakfast and meet the dog, and then the girls got to learn how to play the drums. After a nice warm shower I went and learn some drumming myself. I practiced for like 15 minutes. It was a lot of fun!
But eventually we had to go. They wanted to sell us the scarves they had loaned us for the night, but we didn’t need them, so they settled for giving us their card. On the ride out the Kos and I discussed the fact that the Berbers would most likely try and sell us stuff again so we all agreed that we didn’t want to buy anything so we could get out of there as quickly as possible. When we got back to our car we transferred our stuff back and indeed my friend form the day before tried to sell me the same knife I had turned down (I had seen a nice little dagger that looked like Sting from the Hobbit, but it was too expensive). They didn’t drop the price to what I wanted, and I knew I had enough sharp metal objects from different countries already and so I could easily walk away from the dagger. We all said goodbye and hit the road.
The deal was that when the girls and our guide split off to go check out the Atlas Mountains I would catch a bus to Marrakech…and that is exactly what happened. I paid the second half of my payment to the driver and said goodbye to the girls. I was really sad to see them go and I almost decided to blow off my plans to see Western Sahara and just hang out with them, but I knew that would simply not have satisfied my travel bug, so I got on the bus and headed for Marrakech.
The bus ride was nasty. I had to share a seat because the bus was one of these independent busses that they pack full before leaving. The lady sitting next to me was obviously poor and she couldn’t afford to buy a ticket so I bought one for her. I may have been getting scammed, but it seemed to buy me a little respect on the bus and I figured that was worth a buck. The bus stopped in Ouarzazate, a famous movie city. There is a huge movie studio there called Atlas Studios right on the edge of the city. Movies like Gladiator, The Last Temptation of Christ, The Living Daylights and Alexander the Great have all been filmed in Ouarzazate. I took a picture.
I caught a cab from Ouarzazate to Marrakech. At this point I just wanted to get moving since it was a long ride to Marrakech and I wanted to stay there as long as possible since I was going to get a room at the luxurious La Mamounia hotel, frequented by Winston Churchill and the like. So, the way cabs in the Middle East work, especially shared cabs, is that every seat costs a fixed amount of money. Two in the front 4 in the back and the cab doesn’t leave until they are all full. I almost bought three seats just to get the hell out of there because I had already wasted 30 minutes, but luckily a guy showed up at the last minute. I tried to offer the front seat to the lady sitting in the back with all the guys, but she refused. She seemed to be confused as to why I would even offer, although I think she may have thought I was just being a cute American. I bought some Pringles and we headed off. Buying those two seats was the best idea ever because having someone sit on your lap for 4 hours is NOT fun.
We stopped halfway to Marrakech at some mountain rest station. The rest of the passengers got dinner, but I wasn’t hungry so I explored a little bit. I eventually wandered into a little shop. Now I do not know where all the generic stuff that people sell in the Middle East is made (probably China) but this guy in the middle of the mountains had the same stuff as everyone else. He claimed of course that it was handcrafted by the Berbers. Probably was, except in a factory, owned and operated by the government. Anyway, the guy had a cool camel and elephant, which are always good souvenirs for my parents and cousin respectively so I decided to buy them. At first he wanted 200 for the elephant, but when he realized I really did not care at all and would walk away without a moment’s regret he gave me both of em for 50 dirhams. I thought I came out pretty well.
We still weren’t leaving so I went into another little shop and bought a power strip. None of the plug converters I had bought work, plus I needed more anyway, so I bought a power strip with three built in converters. Eventually I was starting to wonder why we hadn’t left yet so I walked a little further down the street and found out. All the other passengers and the driver were in one restaurant with a television watching England play Spain or something. Anyway, it was a soccer game during World Cup qualifying so we weren’t going anywhere. Luckily it was almost over. I think England lost, but I didn’t really care. It was cool to see a game with the locals, though, cause every time the ball got anywhere near the goal everyone went nuts! Once the game ended we all loaded back up into the cab and headed out. I slept most of the rest of the way as there wasn’t much to look at. The cabbie appreciated the Pringles I gave him though. In fact he seemed to drive faster when I gave him Pringles so every time I woke up I offered him some. We made it to Marrakech by about 9pm.
When the cabbie heard I wanted to go La Mamounia his eyes lit up. La Mamounia is the most expensive hotel in Marrakech so the guy figured I was loaded or something. Whatever he thought, he gave me a ride to the hotel. I think he may have just wanted to drive up to the front door of the hotel. You have to remember that at this point I looked like a hobo with a brown sweater, a travel backpack, sandy sneakers a day’s worth of car travel in my hair. If I had walked up to La Mamounia they probably wouldn’t have let me in. As it was, the guards asked the cabbie if a guest was coming in and he just said yes so they opened the gates and my driver drove up to the entrance. They doormen were pretty cool. They took my appearance in stride and grabbed my bag without question. The hotel itself was absolutely amazing. It was also one of the first places I actually trusted to take my bag out of my sight. Most hotels I just slept with the thing.
The desk clerk, however, was not impressed by my appearance. I have experienced racism in my day, but I haven’t often been looked down upon for being a lower class than someone. This guy definitely thought he was something special. I almost felt sorry for him. The story with this hotel is that my Mom insisted that I stay at the hotel since it is apparently the greatest hotel in Morocco (it is pretty nice) and her brother (my uncle) had stayed there and said it was a must see, a tourist attraction unto itself. I tried to explain that to the clerk, but he still tried to get rid of me. First he said that there were no rooms available. I knew that was a lie because not only was it not traveling season, I knew from my friends who worked in the hotel industry that “no rooms” was completely relative to the client. He then tried to say that all the rooms available were out of my price range and tried to offer me some other affiliated hotels which were cheaper. I brushed that suggestion aside. About that time a bunch of rich-types walked through and I could help but take joy at violating their clean little world with my sandy-ass shoes and dirty, over-stuffed travel backpack. They were just so ridiculous looking.
At this point the Clerk started realizing I wasn’t leaving, but he did need to get rid of me. Suddenly he checked again and a room appeared! It was a garden room, but he said he would only charge me a non-garden room rate. I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, but I did know that he charged me $100 fewer dollars, so I really didn’t care. I signed the receipt and headed up to my room. My bag got delivered a few minutes later. The room itself was absolutely BEAUTIFUL! It had two huge beds, a TV which connected to speakers in the two bathrooms so you could hear the TV no matter where you were in the room. The toilet was in a separate room from the bathtub/shower. There was also a bathrobe in the room and complimentary shower slippers. It had a balcony and automatic shutters. Luckily it also had matches in the room because my shoelaces gave out. The cloth part had bust through the plastic tip and I had unlaced my shoes in order to get all the sand out and I could re-lace them without a hard tip. So I burned off the extra lace and welded the plastic tip so it was hard enough to re-lace. I would have used scissors, but they weren’t available. The TV had plenty of international news channels to watch which was great.
After checking out the room I went downstairs to film the hotel so my mom could see what it looked like when she finally saw the video. I noticed the hotel had a casino as well. I had been planning to go clubbing, but given my previous success I felt like I should take a break from the Moroccan club scene.
After I got back up to my room I ordered some room service and took a fantastic shower. I of course put on the bathrobe afterwards and read my Kenneth Pollack book on Iran. This is important because at the time the Iran nuclear crisis was starting to heat up and I was reading all about the old Iran in my book while watching the return of the old Iran on television. Then the bell rang. FOOOD!
The food was great. It came in on a table with butter and bread and those silver dish platter things. I ate it all in my bathrobe.
After I finished dinner it was too late to go out clubbing anyway, so I decided to drop in on the Casino. I almost didn’t get into the place since I only had sneakers, but they didn’t bother me. I played blackjack for the first time in my whole life and I actually made 100% profit on my $10 bet by the end of the night, which wasn’t so bad. At the end of the night the manager told me I couldn’t come back again if I wasn’t wearing nicer shoes. I smiled and told him not to worry. I wouldn’t be coming back.
I went back to my room took a nice hot bath and went to bed.

Day 7: Thursday, March 9

The next morning I woke up and took another shower. I just couldn’t get enough. Then I went downstairs to eat breakfast. The eggs were good, but the rest was pretty half-ass. After that I went to the concierge desk and asked them if they could find me a bus to Laayoune. They said they would look into it. After that I went and found the massage place in the hotel and got a quick full body massage, which was a great way to start a day. Then I went back up to my room and finished packing. About that time I saw on TV that some Iranian minister had threaten America with “harm and pain” if it pushed for sanctions over the Iranian nuclear program. I started laughing.
After the fall of the Shah, Iran really hated America and always said stuff like “we will destroy you all blah blah blah,” but for a few years during the Clinton era, Khatami was president of Iran and actually tried to repair relations with the US so not as many inflammatory statements had come out of Iran for a while. However, now that the reform movement in Iran has been crushed, the new crazy Iranian president, who is really just one of the old hats being put back in charge, has returned to the usual Iranian brinksmanship. So while I was reading about the Iranian history before Khatami, I also got to see what happened after Khatami live on TV in a hotel room in Marrakech. And I just thought that was the funniest thing in the whole world right then.
Eventually I finished packing and got dressed and the bellboy came up and got my bags. I said goodbye to my beautiful room and went down to the front desk and checked out. I also went to talk to the concierge. I had spoken to him earlier about finding me bus tickets to Laayoune and when he finally found them he told me I had to leave right then to go and buy them. I asked him if I could leave my bag at the hotel and he told me it was no problem. I left my bag and he got me a cab to the ticket office of the famous Moroccan bus company CTM. When I got there the nice lady at the desk knew exactly what I wanted and she spoke English. Crazy. I got my ticket for the 6pm, 17 hour bus ride to Laayoune and then I left the bus station to go off and see all of Marrakech in 6 hours. I started by heading up to a public garden a little to the North. When I got there the cabbie tried to rip me off. I yelled “haram alek!” at him and he lowered the price. I felt like I was back home in Cairo. The garden itself was pretty crappy as far as pretty flowers and plants go, but it was really neat as a place for the average Moroccan to go and chill. There were big roads running through the sprawling tree orchards and kids were hanging out in the trees, old men were sitting in the shade reading, people were going on dates; it was very human and friendly. I don’t remember the name of the gardens, but I think they are one of the few public gardens in Marrakech. Definitely worth checking out.
When I left the garden I went out a sort of backdoor so there were not many cabs. I strolled down the street and filmed the city and the people. The kids loved it of course, but the military base I passed definitely had a big “NO PICTURES” sign, so I didn’t film them.
I did take some time to reflect on Marrakech though. First off, the military is interesting. They do not have much of a presence in the city, unlike Cairo, but the military bases definitely emphasis the greatness of the government. The way the military does it is by setting up bases in old landmarks and building big huge arches over their entrances. The arches are completely useless other than for intimidation of anyone who looks at them…like the people who live in the city.
The people in Marrakech are a lot more like Cairens than in other Moroccan cities. I think it is because Marrakech and Cairo just see SO many tourists, how can the people help but rip them off, especially when they seem perfectly willing to pay.
Eventually I found a cab and I set off for the next garden on my map. This one was a private garden, however, and the difference was striking. The first plants inside the door came from Hawaii, which made me happy, of course. The rest of the place was simply beautiful. It had different areas separated by walkways. Everything was very colorful and the trees provided a shady cool atmosphere. The fountains exuded blue and cool and the benches were inviting. All in all the place was just relaxing. As it turned out it used to be someone’s private garden before they decided to open it up to the world. Props to whoever that was.
After the garden I decided to head back to my hotel. The first cabby I talked to said it would cost me 50 dirham to get to the hotel. I asked why and he said it was because he had a nice cab. I went and found a crappy cab for about 10 dirham. Back the hotel I got a disposable camera (my digital maxed-out so I need more film) and got some post-cards, which I mailed through the hotel (although they may never have arrived, making La Mamounia the first hotel to fail at sending my postcards home). Then I got my hat out of my bag and I headed off to the famous Djemaa el-Fna. The Djemaa is a big plaza in Marrakech where one can experience the beginning of “Aladdin” firsthand. There are snake charmers and storytellers and monkeys and guys selling nothing for lots of money. I got a picture with the snakes because in the EMT class I had been taking at Georgetown the teacher had given us an extensive lecture on why it is a bad idea to be anywhere near snakes. So naturally I had to have one on my shoulder. After that a guy tried to sell me a monkey, but I didn’t need more monkey in my life. I next went to check on the big crowd around the guy who was selling stuff that one might see on American television. In fact, now that I think about it, TV is really just the old-school marketplace scam brought into our homes. The guy was selling stuff to increase energy, sexual performance and the cure to the common cold. Probably just as effective as the drugs sold on TV everyday.
After I was done with the plaza I decided to hit up the marketplace. I went to one store and asked them if they knew a place I could get a Moroccan flag. One of the guys I the store volunteered to run off and find one, and then he ran off. After about 5 minutes I decided I would just go find it myself. As I was leaving I saw the guy who ran off. He was just wandering through the marketplace looking for a flag, just like I was planning on doing. He had no idea where to buy a flag.
The marketplace was pretty cool. It had two levels and it was absolutely massive. Like most markets, it was divided up by sections, cloth, meat, trinkets. I remembered that I had to get some souvenirs for some of my friends. I found one guy selling cool little rocks that split in half and had purple crystals inside. I got the price down from 200 dirhams to 50 which sounded pretty good to me. I even found a flag. However, one can only wander around a market for so long, so I decided to get out. The only problem was that marketplaces in the Middle East, although particularly Morocco, are about the most complicated mazes of madness on Earth. Luckily the people are also pretty nice in Morocco so I got directions quick enough. I headed up and up until I got to what was apparently a street, although it looked an awful lot like a market. The big difference was that there were motorcycles blazing through the narrow streets, weaving through the people. I got out alive, though, and ended up right outside a store selling soccer jerseys. I decided to get a few more and as it turned out this guy had an even greater variety of names on the jerseys. He tried to sell me the jerseys for 200 dirhams a piece at first. I laughed in his face. It really wasn’t a fair negotiation since I knew exactly how much the jerseys were worth. He went down to 100 a piece. I walked out of the store. He followed me and called me back in. He went down to 70, just like everyone else.
After getting my jerseys I realized I was starting to run low on time so I headed back to the hotel. La Mamounia itself is a tourist attraction. The back garden is amazing, with huge fields and rows of trees. It has squash courts and a pool and is generally the kind of made-up fantasy land most tourists are accused of living in when they travel. I can tell you it is definitely a fantasy land I would have hung out it for a while longer. There even turtles wandering around the place! Turtles with babies!
By then it was getting late. I went to get my bag and said goodbye to the bellboys that had been watching my stuff and I hiked out to the street. I had a little difficulty finding a cab at first, but one guy with a few girls in the back stopped for me eventually. I told him I wanted to go to the CTM office, but he apparently didn’t understand what I meant cause he dropped me off at some bus station. As it worked out though, there was a CTM office at the place and the guy working there told me it was no problem and that if I just went out to the CTM platform outside I could hitch a ride with them to the CTM office. He made good on his promise and got me on the bus. At first I was a little confused because I couldn’t figure out if the bus I was on was going to Laayoune after a stop at the office or if I had to wait. Eventually the people on the bus explained that I had to wait. Everyone likes to take care of backbackers.
As it turned out I had to wait for about an hour, so I decided to just relax and get some dinner before my 17 hour trip across Morocco. The guys in the restaurant thought my existence was pretty funny, so they hooked me up with a good meat sandwich and even watched my stuff while I went to the bathroom. I sat and read my book until the bus arrived.
When the bus arrived I found a seat in the back and tried to keep reading. At first there was a little light for reading, but as the bus started moving the lights when out and I couldn’t turn on my personal light. Eventually I got sick of that and I went up to the front of the bus to ask the bus driver to activate the internal lights. Apparently he turned them off for some reason, I can only imagine it was because it was late and most people on the bus were sleeping.
When I went back to my seat I discovered that my fricken light didn’t work anyway, but luckily the guy in the seat next to me was willing to switch. I read for a while and then I went back to my seat and slept.
When I woke up we were at another stop and some new people got on. Two of them were cute girls who came and sat in the back. I decided to read some more and I moved back to the seat behind them. I was sitting next to the cool guy who had switched seats with me before, but as I started reading another guy who had been sitting in the back also asked my buddy to switch seats with him so that he could talk to me. He struck up a conversation with me about America and all that. At some point I got annoyed and went back to my seat. I thought it incredibly strange that he just started talking to me, but it didn’t surprise me all that much. After a small break I went back to talk to the guy and my buddy.
We talked politics of course, but I didn’t give away much. The only thing I said to them that was really controversial was about religion. The guy that had started the conversation with me seemed much more modern and cosmopolitan than my buddy. For example, the pushy guy kept flirting with the girls and such while my buddy was much more conservative. And his religious views matched his actions. He asked me what I studied and I told him I studied the Middle East and Islam and that I had even read the Quran. He and the other guy both decided at that point that I was Muslim even though I tried to convince them that I was really just Christian. But they said I had to be Muslim because if I wasn’t they couldn’t have talked to me. I told them that was ridiculous and then explained to them that while I liked Islam’s tenets, I was born and raised Christian and would probably stay that way, besides the fact that I really didn’t care either way. I explained that I was more of a spiritual person and that while I believed in God, I didn’t give a damn how or if people praised him. They said it was very important that people prayed all the time. They also thought religion should be in government and that it should be involved in every aspect of life.
At this point I pretty much told them that I thought that was the worst idea ever. I don’t think they really expected me to disagree with them so passionately. I feel like most tourists who travel to the Middle East just nod their heads and smile. Also, most Middle Easterns, and people who travel through the region, seem to believe that whatever people say or do in the region is acceptable simply because it is part of their “culture.” So when I told them their opinion was simply the silliest thing I had ever heard and explained why secular government was vastly superior as far as I was concerned, they were actually forced to look at their views and realize that there was another way. I don’t think the sleek guy really cared, but my religious buddy definitely had a hard thought about that one. After that we just talked about mundane stuff and flirted with the cute girls.
At the next stop we had another interesting conversation. We stopped at a standard 101 Middle Eastern (I guess I am also including North Africa in the Middle East now) rest stop. When I went inside I ordered some tea and bread and some crazy guy with no teeth standing next to me said something and I said “hi” and made some joke and went to go sit with my friends from the bus. Eventually the crazy dude with no teeth came and sat with us. He leaned over to me like he had a secret to tell me and then informed me that George Bush was a Jew. I laughed in his face and informed him that not only was George Bush really really not a Jew, he was actually a huge Christian (I described him as a “big Christian” actually). The best part about telling the crazy guy of was that he was so crazy he 1. Probably doesn’t talk to foreigners ever, and 2. No one would ever argue with him since he looked and sounded like a nut job. Having the distinct pleasure of shutting him down made me quite happy. Of course, when I asked what they thought about Osama bin Laden, their response was that they loved him and that he was defending Islam. I just laughed at that one because ya can’t do much else in that situation. I told them I thought Osama was an evil human being who should die, and we all pretty much left it at that. Iraq was mostly sidestepped except to say that it was too bad there was no democracy there. Unfortunately, that the bus was leaving at that point. It was pretty late at that point and I slept the rest of the way to Laayoune.

Day 8: Friday, March 10th

My buddy woke me up at around 8 am. We had arrived at Laayoune. Laayoune is the first city in what is supposed to be Western Sahara. WS is supposed to be a country for the Sahrawi people created by much fighting between the Moroccan government and the POLISARIO. The Polisario is a rebel group based in Mauritania and Algeria which for a while had been running raids into Western Sahara to harass the Moroccan government. That is until the Moroccan government built a hug sand wall along the border with Mauritania. That pretty much ended the Polisario raids because the Polisario used technicals, pickup trucks with machine guns mounted in the back, and they had no ability to break through walls. After a while the Sahrawis decided they wanted a referendum on sovereignty, but before that happened the King of Morocco sent a whole bunch of Moroccans down to Western Sahara to increase the vote in his favor. The Moroccans called it the Green March, while the Sahrawis called it the Black March.
My two friends on the bus were Moroccans and when I asked them what they thought of the whole independence thing, they said that they thought no one in Western Sahara actually wanted independence. I thought that was kind of interesting since the UN and sent in a Peacekeeping force to enforce a cease fire for a country, which according too my two friends, no one wanted. More on that later.
Another reason my friend woke me up was that we had arrived at a military checkpoint. The soldier on the bus asked for my passport, and only mine. After checking with his boss he came back, gave me my passport and waved me on. The base which the Moroccan military used was either an ancient fort or designed to be one. It had big walls all around it and it had a huge archway for an entrance. I took some sneaky pictures.
We crossed a nice scenic river and pulled into Laayoune. The town was pretty interesting, especially compared to the rest of Morocco. It was actually what I expected every town in the Middle East to look like. It was a huge open space and it was very dusty and sandy and hot. I loved it. When I got off the bus I said by to my friends and then went into the bus office to inquire about a hotel. The guy told me a few places up the street. When I asked about the buying a bus ticket early he said that I wouldn’t have to worry as there would be plenty of space on the bus when it arrived. I should have bought a ticket anyway.
I hiked down the street a little ways and found one of the hotels the guy mentioned. I went upstairs and asked if they had any rooms. She said she did, but they were just too nice and too expensive for renting for one day. All I needed was a locked room where I could put my bags. Luckily she knew of some really cheap places. She couldn’t describe the location to me, so she took me into one of the rooms and opened a window. At first I didn’t even enter the room. I was so shocked that this woman would be in a room with me, a man, that it took me a second to decide to go in. After I did I realized she really didn’t care. I leaned out the window next to her and she pointed down the street. I thanked her and headed out. First I tried to check into a really fancy hotel where the UN based some of its personnel and where many of the UN personnel ate dinner. Unfortunately the rooms were like $100 a night because the UN had vastly inflated the prices. I didn’t get a room, but I did make a connection with the clerk who was a really cool guy. He gave me the skinny on what the UN guys’ schedule was and when I could come down to the cafeteria to try and talk to them. My mission was to find some Peacekeepers to talk to and the hotel seemed like my best bet. When the clerk ask me why I wanted to see them I thought I would have to come up with some clever story so I let him believe that I was writing a thesis paper on UN missions and terrorism, since I was actually really interested in those topics. The guy said he would help me out, but that the UN guys really only started showing up around 5pm so I had some time.
I headed out again to find a cheaper hotel. I got lost at first and ended up in some random back alleys where the natives were probably more frightened of me than I was of them. Eventually I came back to a big plaza where I had started my whole journey and I found the cheap hotel. I went around the corner and entered through a little side door. The hotel was up a steep flight of stairs. When I walked in there was absolutely no one working at any desks. There was a bar and some dudes watching TV. Eventually a worker showed up and I asked for a room. He led me up stairs and showed me a nice little no window room with a door that locked. Perfect. It cost me about $5. Even more perfect.
I got my day pack organized and got my disposable camera out and repacked my pack for a quick exit and then headed out. First I decided I would just wander around the city for a while. I went back to the big UN hotel and walked past it down a huge street that ran straight through the town. I tried to find places in my guide book, but the city was vastly confusing, none of the sights were really huge buildings, and none of them were very interesting anyway. I stopped by one café with a cute girl working behind the counter. It is always interesting seeing cute foreign girls because just looking at them seems to be a sign that you’re hitting on them. This particular girl was working in a restaurant surrounded by men, so she gave me no flirty responses whatsoever in front of them. The guys were all smiling though. I ordered an egg sandwich and went to go sit outside. The girl brought the sandwich out and gave me a little smile. I thanked her for the sandwich and went about eating it. It was the only thing, besides Pringles, which I had eaten since I got on the bus from Marrakech.
The street wasn’t all that fascinating to watch, but it was nice and peaceful, very different from the hustle and bustle of Cairo or Marrakech or really any of the major cities I had visited.
After I finished my meal I continued on past the restaurant down the road. The road was huge and had a nice long walking park running parallel to it for most of its length. The park was very nice, actually, and it had planters and benches and walls for people to sit and play on. I saw one father and son running around with a pair of baby goats. In general, it was just kinda cool. Eventually the string of buildings on the left side of the road broke and opened up to a shantytown. I had never seen a shantytown before and didn’t even know where the people were from, but I decided to check it out. At first I wandered through just a little portion of the town. It was extremely weird, actually, and I am really glad I didn’t bump into anyone while I was wandering the hallways because I felt like I had just wandered into someone’s house. People hung their laundry between the “houses” and it had a generally homey feel which I felt like I was invading. The homes were actually separated and each had its own door, so I really was just walking through a public area. I might have just felt like I didn’t belong; like having a big backpack full of stuff on my back was kind of insulting to the people living in such poverty. But that might just be me.
After I left the first alley I came upon a wide open boulevard of sorts. The street was a wide dirt lane separating two halves of the shantytown. I turned left and started up the street, away from the city center. I kinda just strolled along and people stared at me or waved. I saw a big truck full of water driving around distributing water to people and I guess to houses or wells or something. The thing that struck me as the most hilarious was the big modern walk-in multi-capacity phone booth that was planted right in the center of town. It had lots of telephone wires leading to it and it was big, blue and metal. The thing hadn’t been stripped entirely so I guess the people used it quite often, probably to call families back home or something.
I continued out of the shantytown and eventually saw some military guys hanging out on a jeep. I went over to them and asked them where I could find the UN base in the area. They said that if I told a cabbie that I wanted to go to the UN base they would know where to go. I decided to try it out. I figured that would be the best place to go to find UN officials. I went back to the main drag and found a cab. He did indeed know exactly where to go.
It took about 15 minutes to get to the UN HQ, but when I got there the cabbie informed me that the ride was only 5 dirhams, which is about 50 cents. When I said, “Really?!” it totally awe, he said that all rides to anywhere in Laayoune were 5 dirhams. The people were so poor they really just couldn’t pay anymore. I shrugged, paid him and got out.
At first I walked on the side of the street were the physical base was located. I walked past some security guards who looked at me kinda funny and when I went to take a picture they sprung into action…by shouting and walking over toward me. They asked who I was and what I was doing, so I told them. When in doubt, the truth always got me out of trouble since I was just a silly student traveling around and the biggest none-threat ever. I didn’t really car either way, but I didn’t leave either. I started chatting with the guards and asking them questions about the mission. That was when a UN security guard showed up. He asked me if I had an appointment with the boss and I told him no, but I would love to go see him anyway. The guy said that unfortunately I couldn’t go into the base. I tried my best, but in the end they said it was not possible. And then they asked me to walk on the other side of the street so I wouldn’t be anywhere near the base. I obliged them and strolled off. But I hadn’t given up yet.
On my way up the street I interviewed various locals about the UN guys. A few people thought I worked for MINURSO, which is the name of the UN mission in Morocco and what everyone referred to the UN guys as. Everyone seemed to like the MINURSO a lot. Most of the personnel were Africans, but there were some Europeans and Americans and everyone thought they were cool. I sneakily took some video of the base while talking to one guy at a food booth and even got a picture of a UN jeep. Eventually I started talking to these two kids who spoke English. They were very friendly so I decided to take them out to lunch. They said they knew a good place and I told them to take me there. We ended up walking all the way back to the big plaza outside my hotel. The restaurant we ate at was a small outdoor operation, but the food was good and the meal was only $10.
The kids were interesting too. Neither of them had ever left Morocco, except once to go to Algeria, since it was very hard for Moroccans to get visas. When I asked them about the Western Sahara problem, one of the kids, who was much worldlier than his friend who was actually the richer one, said that he didn’t really take sides on the issue. He was apparently a Moroccan, but he was friends with Sahrawis and there were no problems between the people, just the Polisario and the Moroccan government. After we ate we hiked back to the UN base and I got a picture of the base from the top.
After a while we got bored and they said there was a beach nearby so I offered to take them out there. They agreed and we all went and packed into a cab to head to the beach. The ride was incredibly long and I fell asleep on the way there. The town on the beach was actually called “the beach.” It turned out not to be a beach at all, but rather a dock. The roads were extremely windy and sand was blowing in our face the whole time. When we walked onto the base the guards at the entrance said they had to take my passport. I don’t know what they needed to do that for, but I really didn’t care. I left it with them and moved on. The dock itself was interesting. One part was jam packed with fishing boats stacked triple against the dock. Another part served big merchant vessels and the military. There were a few restaurants and the guards let me and my friends roam around the place freely. We went around to the back of the dock to actually look at the ocean. The shore was covered in ten-foot concrete barriers which looked like the jacks I used to play with when I was a kid. Eventually we had seen all the dock had to offer so we headed back toward the entrance. Halfway there we decided we would just take the bus, so we packed ourselves into the bus and headed back toward the taxi stand. At the entrance the bus stopped and waited for me to go and get my passport from the guards, which I thought was awfully nice of the bus driver and the passengers. Then he drove us about 2 blocks more and dropped us off. We headed back to the taxi stand, caught a taxi and headed back to town. It was getting late at that point and I wanted to get back to the hotel to find some UN guys.
On the way back to Laayoune my mom called me from Hawaii!! My phone’s sim card could apparently get international calls even in the Middle East, which I thought was ridiculously cool. There was a bit of delay between my mom speaking and me hearing her, but that only made it cooler. I even got myself on video talking to my mom. She even got to say hi to the rest of the passengers in the cab.
After that shockingly wonderful development I stared at the open expanse of desert surrounding Laayoune for a little while and then went back to sleep. When I woke up in Laayoune I took my friends back to the UN hotel. We hung out there for a while but eventually I told them they could go since I really couldn’t sneak into the UN cafeteria with them, so we said goodbye and we thanked each other and they left.
I hung out outside the hotel for a while, waiting for some UN personnel to show up. It was 5pm at that point, but no one had arrived. The Moroccan military and police had arrived though and they were hanging out outside the hotel. I couldn’t tell if they were protecting the place or staking it out. Eventually a few UN trucks showed up so I decided to head into the hotel. I went up the clerk and asked him if they had started showing up yet, but he said they hadn’t. He told me I could check the cafeteria where they ate if I wanted, so I did, but there was no one in there. I didn’t have much else to do, so I decided to wait and talk to the desk clerk, who turned out to be very interesting.
I started talking to him about my Middle East studies and how I was interested in the UN and that naturally led to a conversation about MINURSO and the Western Sahara conflict. I told him that the people I talked with said that no one in Western Sahara really wanted to be free. He said that you have to know who you’re talking to when you ask that question because the people I had been talking to were probably Moroccans, which they had been, but the clerk was a Sahrawi, and identified himself as such. At first he was hesitant to talk about it because, as a he latter explained, he was afraid I might tell the Moroccan government who would then kill him. I assured him I would tell no one of his suspicions. He explained how many of the Sahrawis really did want to be free of the Moroccan government and the people who didn’t were the migrants, or the decedents of the migrants, who came on the Black March. The rest of the people wanted out. The clerk claimed that the Moroccan government still killed people in Western Sahara and that it still put down demonstrations violently. He also said that the UN and MINURSO just stood by and watched, unable to actually do anything. His theory was that because the US needed Moroccan support for the war on terror the US had stopped pushing Morocco to solve the Western Sahara issue, so it was now stuck and the Moroccan government meanwhile solidified its hold over what should have been Western Sahara. No matter what one thinks of the guys argument, the fact that I had no problem traveling from Morocco to Western Sahara at least demonstrates that Morocco is still very much in control of Laayoune at least, which is supposed to be controlled by Western Sahara. The clerk said that the referendum which was supposed to happen never did and that there really is not a plan for it to go forward anytime soon. I guess he wasn’t too impressed with democracy in North Africa.
He also mentioned that between the Moroccans and the Sahrawi people there really wasn’t any trouble and that the problem was really just with the Moroccan government. That seems to be the way most people sidestep conflict in the Middle East and North Africa, which is entirely ridiculous since obviously people had polar opposite views on the issue and everyone thought they belonged in Western Sahara. If the fighting started, I think Laayoune would have been ground zero for all out urban warfare. But, then again, maybe there were no problems between the people and they could just accept what ever result came, even if it was exactly the opposite of what they wanted…
Eventually we shifted off the topic of Morocco and started talking about other fun ones like Iraq and Iran. I had my book on Iran with me at the time and I told him that the rosy picture he had of Iran was certainly not who they were and that he should read my book so he would know that. He decided he would do exactly that since he graduated from college with an English Lit degree. His thesis was translating a book from Arabic to English. Hard core. While he skimmed the book I went to go and check up on the UN guys in the dinning hall. As it turned out they were starting to serve food, so I got myself a plate from the buffet line and found a table for myself. I spotted a few people hanging out, but I didn’t know which ones worked for the UN and I started getting really nervous about asking random people if they worked for the UN. Eventually I asked one group, but none of them were in MINURSO. The other people in the place were two African guys having what looked like a very intense conversation in the corner. It took me a while to get over my fear of talking to them, but eventually I realized that if I wanted to get the story I would just have to do it…so I did it….and it worked great! The moment I introduced myself they were all smiles and gladly invited me to sit. Unfortunately I only had like half an hour before my bus left, but I got as much information as I could out of them. As it turned out the two of them worked found out about the UN after the UN ran a mission in Liberia. The two of them had been contracted as electricians and they had done such a good job that the UN decided to take them on full time as electrical generator operators. They had been to Bosnia and East Timor and now they were in Morocco. They didn’t know anything about the current conflict, in fact they completely brushed off all questions about it entirely, saying that I would have to ask the political people and that they were only lowly generator techs. I didn’t really believe them so I pressed a little harder. I asked them what the MINURSO was up to and they said nothing. In fact MINURSO really did nothing at all and that there was no fighting so the cease fire was holding and the UN forces didn’t do anything. That sounded pretty much like what the clerk said too.
When I asked them where all the other UN guys were, they said there was a big party going on down at the HQ, celebrating some random African country’s independence. It sounded awesome to me, but they said that there was no way they could have gotten me into the party since the security teams checked everyone’s IDs like 3 times. With that I had to bounce. I grabbed my chicken to go, thanked my new UN friends, grabbed my book from the clerk and sprinted out of the hotel. I sprinted across the square to my hotel room and grabbed my pre-packed bag and then sprinted back to the bus station. At the bus station the jackass behind the desk informed me that there were no seats left on the bus and that I couldn’t go with CTM to Algadir that night. Well that wasn’t going to work at all since I had to get back north quick for my flight on Sunday, so I tired to find another bus service. When I got there it was chaos. Apparently 30 other people were having my same problem. One guy who spoke English tried to help me, but to no avail. At that point I went for the taxi service. I ended up all the way back at the taxi stand by the UN HQ, which I thought was utterly hilarious, and I found a cab going all the way to Algadir. Unfortunately I was the last one to get a seat so I didn’t get a chance to buy the whole front seat so I ended up in the back with three other guys totally squished to hell. Now, the first time I did this in Yemen it was interesting. The second time I did it in Yemen it had been necessary. This time it was just terrible. My advice when taking long-distance taxis in the Middle East

BUY TWO SEATS!!!!!

Needless to say, the ride just sucked. It was long and really hard to sleep, but I could breathe and I had enough food and water in me that I didn’t die of hunger or thirst, so I survived to Algadir.

Day 9: Saturday, March 11

Unfortunately, when I got to Algadir, I made the mistake of jumping on a public bus for Essaouira. At first I had my own seat, but the bus didn’t leave until it was completely packed, and I don’t mean just the seats. People were standing and sitting in the aisle. The bus was so ghetto the back door and to be swung shut manually. The thing still ran fine though, so I guess it was all good. The really shitty part was when one of the helper guys on the bus started handing out barf bags. Then I knew it would get interesting. Luckily I slept most of the way, but at one point the bus got really hot and while we were swerving up this crazy mountain road at like 60mph and then people started throwing up. I thought it was a roller coaster ride, but that was just to make myself feel better. I went back to sleep as soon as I could.
When I arrived at Essaouira it was a mad dash to get off the bus before it decided to move on to whatever next random stop it was going to. Luckily they managed to get my bag off too. However, if I hadn’t gotten off my bag might have stayed in Essaouira while I went to boonievile…I tried not to think about that.
The bus had dropped me off right in the middle of Essaouira, so I really had no idea where to go. Luckily I spoke Arabic. I asked some dudes where the bus station was and headed over there to buy my ticket early. I got a 7:00pm ticket for Casablanca. I asked the bus guys where the beach was and they gave me excellent directions which I followed and found the beach. I was hoping that the two Japanese girls I had met had actually made it to Essaouira like they had planned and that I would randomly run into them, but it was not to be. I wandered down the beach for a bit until, at the end, near the old city, I found a nice little seafood restaurant. I was starving at that point so I decided to get some grinds.
The restaurant turned out to be one of the best in Morocco, and the food was excellent, came in huge portions and was about as expensive as an average meal in the states. After I got my table to myself, people started showing up in droves. And not just any people. The restaurant was packed with businessmen and rich European (mostly French) tourists. I ordered shrimp, which came in shells with heads and whiskers, and some fish. Unfortunately, the shrimp, while good, was hard to pick apart, and the fish had the same problem. I spent almost as much time picking out bones as I did eating the thing. However, their bread was awesome and they kept the water flowing, which was good enough for me. The bathroom in the restaurant was also exquisite. The lady sitting outside waiting for tips apparently cleaned because the thing was spotless. It even had toilet paper in it. I was shocked.
After I left I decided to go sit on the beach and read and relax for a while. One of the fancy hotels in the area owned part of the beach, which was weird to me since you can’t own beach in Hawaii. However, they did rent their beach chairs out for 50 cents, so I got one and got comfy and decided to tan a little bit as I had a Hawaii Club Luau coming up the next week at Georgetown University. I laid there for a few hours and basked in the sun and sand.
After I was done cooking myself I figured it was time to go check out the sights in the old city. I read in my guide book that there was a really good massage place in the old city and I set out to find it. The old city itself was really cool. It had an old city feel, and it was small but not claustrophobic. People tried to sell me things, but they didn’t hassle me too much. In one particularly shady part of the town a guy definitely tried to offer me some pot. As far as I can remember I think he offered me a gram for $50. And my extensive knowledge of pot sales tells me that that is a really good price (I actually have no experience in pot sales, but growing up in Hawaii one is bound to learn how much pot costs at some point).
After turning that guy down I finally found the massage place. The lady at the desk said I could sign up for the 6pm time. I realized that was cutting it incredibly close, but it was the earliest one available. She said the massage lasted 30 minutes so I would have plenty of time to make it to the bus. I thought that sounded good to me, so I signed up and paid in full.
And then she turned really cool. I asked if I could leave my bag in the store and the lady said “Of course!” I thought that just rocked. I left all my stuff except my jacket and my book in the store and then headed back out into the medina to explore. First I timed an exit route from the massage parlor to the street where I could catch a cab. It took about 7 minutes. That meant the cab would have about 23 minutes to get to the bus stop. Of course, I would have to change and dry off after the massage which would also take time, so by that point I realized I would be cutting it very close. But, as I realized with traveling alone, it didn’t matter. If everything went wrong I could still just catch a cab.
Eventually I got sick of wandering and I sat at a little café and sipped tea and finished my book about Iran. After I was done I went back to the massage place. The nice lady had left for the day and the owner had shown up to run the desk. He turned out to be some Brit who had bought the place and moved in! I couldn’t believe it! That worked out fine for me though cause it made explaining my situation very easy. It also assured me that the place was used to dealing with tourists.
Inside the massage place I got to sit in a nice heated room and pour hot water on myself for about 10 minutes, which rocked. I also met a very interesting character from Britain. He worked the Guardian, a left-wing newspaper in Britain, as a kind of liaison on the ground. He was an extremely interesting chap to chat with about politics and the like and we had as good a time as men can have while nearly naked in a hot steamy room. The massage was conducted by a boy, since it was the men’s time to use the place. Apparently Moroccan society had not elevated to the point of women being able to give massages to men. Anyway, it was good all the same. Eventually two more Brits showed up. They were brothers and they were visiting their new property in the Medina.
Now this is interesting. Essaouira, for some reason, has caught the imagination of many Europeans. Like these two brothers, many Europeans were now flying directly in to the new Essaouira airport and buying up the entire Old City. The houses were extremely cheap and the labor to renovate the place was just as cheap. Even the feel of the Medina had changed because Europeans had basically taken the place over. They had fixed up all the buildings and cleaned the place and redone all the architecture. SO, if you’re looking for a good real estate investment, I would definitely recommend getting in on this Essaouira thing quick because the property prices are going to soar really soon.
But eventually I had to bounce. It was 6:45pm by the massage place and I practically ran all the way through the market to the street. I found a taxi by 6:55pm and told him I had a CTM bus to catch by 7pm. Now, if there is anything cabbies in the Middle East (and North Africa) like to do it is drive tourists really fast. We made it to the bus station by 7:02pm and I saw my bus pulling up to the gate. I told him to pull in front of the bus and block it so it couldn’t leave and he did it. I paid him handsomely.
As it turned out I really didn’t need to rush all that much as after I got on the bus we just waited a fun extra 10 minutes before leaving. But I didn’t care. I was on a bus bound for Casablanca and I had taken a bath, so I just sat back and relaxed.
Eventually another interesting character got on the bus at the last minute and I ended up sitting with him. He lived a few kilometers out of Essaouira, so he was getting off soon, but for some reason we became fast friends. He talked about living in Morocco and I told him about living in Hawaii and we didn’t even get into politics. I was kinda sad when he got off, but then again I had the whole seat to myself. I slept the rest of the way to Casablanca.

Day 10: Sunday, March 12

I arrived in Casablanca with time to spare, but I decided to go to the train station anyway. It was about 2am and my plane left for Amsterdam at about 7am, and the train to the airport left at about 4am and arrived at about 5am, so I chilled in the train station for 2 hours. And chill I did, because it was fricken freezing in there. I ended up hanging out with two random Moroccans who assured me that the ticket booth, which hadn’t even opened yet, would open in time. It of course did, and I got my tickets. I said goodbye to my friends and crossed over to the next platform.
While waiting I saw another group of tourists with a ton of luggage. When I heard their accents I almost jumped for joy. I asked them if they were Americans and they said yes and I responded, “Thank God!” They thought that was pretty funny and I explained to them that after traveling for 10 days on my own with out speaking good ole’ American English it was quite a relief to be able to speak fluently again. We all became fast friends too. They were part of a school program where they came to Morocco to teach kids and then they had finished off the program by traveling around, but they needed serious help with their luggage. When the train arrived I helped them load it up quick, and it was a good thing I did because the train wasn’t waiting.
When we got to the airport we all went and got our tickets together. After I got mine I saw a sign for Iraqi airlines. I wanted to take a picture of it, but unfortunately the Moroccan airport security guards wouldn’t let me. Eventually we found our flight home and we all flew to Amsterdam.
Upon arriving in Amsterdam I promptly got totally lost in their airport. Someone had told me horror stories about having to run across the Amsterdam airport to find a transfer desk and get a transfer ticket so they could board their flight, all in 30 minutes. As it turned out that was all lies as far as my situation was concerned, but I didn’t find that out until I ran all the way across the airport, found that my gate was all the way back where I started, and then had to run all the way back across the airport.
And that is when it got really interesting. Because I had been in Morocco the security personnel had to check my bags extra closely along with question me about what I did and who I talked to. I couldn’t help but laugh. They didn’t really understand why I thought it was funny, but every time people think I am a terrorist I can’t help but giggle. I understood though because the Netherlands has been having some problems with its Muslim population recently and that was apparently the reason security was so tight. In the end I got on the plane I got back to DC all in one piece.


Conclusion:

When I got back to school I heard lots of stories about how much fun everyone had with all their friends over spring break, and I felt kinda lonely. But, without fail, whenever I told anyone what I did over spring break, they all thought it was the coolest thing they had ever heard of. In the end you just can’t substitute anything for a crazy trip to the Arab world.