Morocco
Morocco, the cross-roads and market-place between Africa and Europe, is epitomized in the Place Jemaa el-Fna of MARRAKECH, an exciting mix of colour, smells, patterns, sights, textures and tastes to titillate the senses, a polyglot of nations, religions and cultures harmoniously co-existing in a cacophony of sounds.Fortune tellers & beggars, snake-charmers & dancing transvestites, musicians & story-tellers, orange juice and water sellers, henna tattoo-ists & performing monkeys, all magically disappear as smoke and steam from cooking pots swirl through the Marrakech night sky. The predictably fine desert nights are perfect for the hundreds of outdoor food stalls that take over Place Jemaa el-Fna after sunset, an event as enjoyable and varied as the daytime entertainment.
My first trip to Morocco, planned and organized, followed the romantic and exotic names of the “Imperial Cities”, CASABLANCA, RABAT, MEKNES, FEZ and MARRAKECH. My second trip was quite different, taking in smaller and less-known places to the south, east and west of Marrakech. With 2 guide books, a map and my paints in a cabin bag and a tiny backpack, I travelled on the public buses, very much making it up as I went along.
Other local transport available were the Petit Taxis in the towns (usually with a ‘relative’ or ‘friend’ of the driver in the front seat who needed dropping off somewhere ‘on the way’), Grands Taxis (large Mercedes, price per seat, passengers literally squashed in) that hurtle between the towns and villages and anywhere else, and sometimes getting lifts in private cars.
The buses were packed with people, parcels, entertainment and temporary friendships. The driving was variable (!), specially on the mountains and there were frequent stops. A delightful part of my bus journeys was that I was always looked-after. With little common language between us, someone always got me onto the right bus, offered me a biscuit, indicated how long a stop would be, invited me to join them at a tea table (sweet mint tea with pieces of flat bread, dipped in oil and honey…YUM!), made sure I paid the right money, helped to look after my seat/bags and checked that I got off at the right place.
A plain bus trip became an adventure, a simple explanation a major discovery, a single purchase a major achievement. One diary note reads:
“After a very promising morning of being hand-balled around the transport system of Morocco, always moving sort-of in the direction that I want to go, have now come to a full stop. It seems I have to wait for 3 ½ hours for the next bus. So, I will have to engage in the much-practiced Moroccan pursuit of Sitting while Doing Nothing. Wait a minute….the Mint Sellers are on the move – expecting action? Yes…a bus arrives (not mine). Tea stop. Then bus honks horn, passengers amble and scramble on. Bus departs. Mint sellers disappear. Just me and a sleeping turban on the terrace…...sitting…..”
Morocco is a fascinating paradox of contradiction and dramatic contrast, at once mysterious and open, traditional and modern, exotic and functional:
- a Berber in traditional indigo-dyed blue kaftan and yellow turban offered me a lift in his 4WD Prado. Flippantly, I asked if the vehicle was better than a camel in the desert. With a twinkle in his eye, he replied “Ah, many camels I had to give for this….!”
- the white snow-covered Atlas mountain peaks rise above orange-purple desert sands, stunning and incongruous at the same time.
- an internet café operates happily beside a traditional spice and herbal medicine shop, while nearby a food stall has a rough hand-written menu board that concludes with a www. address (take-away??!!?)
- a mobile phone rings on the bus – all the women, covered from head to foot in veils and thick cloth, dive into the hidden pockets of their hooded jellabas.
OTHER HIGHLIGHTS FOR ME WERE :
- the BEST squid I’ve ever eaten, fresh from the fishing boat harbour at ESSAOUIRA, a fishing port and former Portuguese stronghold west of Marrakech.
I also found a movie set in the main street (“The Kingdom of Heaven”), a lapis necklace, and accommodation in a traditional Riad (townhouse). I wandered the honeycombed labyrinth of the walled Medina (fortified town centre), intrigued with the colours, locks, hinges, bolts and textures of the old doors, and was invited into a local bakery, where I and the bakers passed a magical hour drinking mint tea.
- an afternoon in TAROUDANNT being scrubbed in a hammam, followed by a massage with Argan oil.
Every locality has a public bath house, called a hammam. I had taken the option for an attendant who would accompany me. It was also her job to scrub me with something that felt like a pot-scourer – a very exhilarating experience! Then I had a massage with Argan Oil, which I was assured was good for everything, including complexion (anti-ageing), health (chicken pox and rheumatism), cooking and salads (vitamin-rich) and fuel for lamps! (The Argan Tree is also good for making charcoal, and feeding goats & camels.)
- an accidental picnic with a van-full of young musicians (one of whom spent 3 hours preparing a big pot of ‘stew’ over an open fire), in the hills outside the pink town of TAFRAOUTE.
The ‘stew’ was divided in two, half in the pot and half in the lid. It was delicious. We sat on the ground with five of us around each pot, dipping pieces of flat bread into the food with our fingers. Right hand, of course.
- the Souk of MARRAKECH.
The Souk of Marrakech is like a hidden area of quick-sand – one step in and you disappear! After many short forays, I eventually set aside a whole day to Get Lost in the Souk, and Explore. I plunged in and enjoyed myself immensely, just wandering wherever my interest took me and without trying to keep track. My theory was that I would eventually come out Somewhere, and then just follow the huge circumference around until I got back to where I began.(Inshallah!) It worked.
- Camels, Sahara dunes and Berber tents east of ZAGORA, and a hand-painted sign that indicates:
TOMBOUCTOU 52 JOURS
(52 days to TIMBUCTOO ...... by camel)