morocco
Arrived Marrakech at dusk.
Small airport. Katie
was there to meet us, terrific. Took
a taxi to town. The
taxi crashed into another one as he backs out of the car park. Lots of gesturing and
yelling, but we drive away anyway.
What a fantastic city. Katie has booked us into a
hotel near the square. One
of the world’s great sights. At
dusk, all kinds of people gather; snake charmers, acrobats, fire
breathers, story tellers, musicians, fortune tellers, water sellers
with their water in used goats slung over their shoulders. There are food stalls and
fresh orange juice. Can’t
see that all this is a tourist show; more Moroccans wandering around.
Early next day we head off to Essaouria
(pronounced Essa Weara). But
later we return to Marrakech for a few days.
The new part of the city has wide, clean, tree lined
streets, side walk cafes. The
buildings are traditional red brick.
Charming. The
old medina is the maze of shops, eateries and milling people that is
Morocco.
Takes 3 to 5 hours from Marrakech to
Essaouria, depends on the goodness of the bus and the number of stops. You can flag down the bus
anywhere along the way. Police
checks every few kilometres on Moroccan roads.
What are they checking?
Seems like standing in the bus might be not be on, as the
bus people make sitting down gestures to all those standing in the
aisles.
Most of the way stony desert.
Throw our bags into a hotel and off to where
Katie is staying. Take
a local bus 8 kilometres south, walk 2 kilometres down a stony road,
take a left, then another kilometre on a track, first palm tree you
come to, blue gate. Can’t
miss it.
Katie and her Canadian friend Dale are
staying with a Canadian lady, Moni, who they met in a café. Dale’s Dutch girlfriend is
there too for a few weeks. Moni
is quite extraordinary. She
is 53, came to visit Morocco and never went home.
She married a Moroccan, Usef.
Usef also has some other wives so isn’t always around. He is 28.
Moni is a lovely lady who is very good to Katie.
A Moroccan friend of Kate’s makes us a
Targine. It is like
a mostly vegetable stew made in a special pot.
No plates to wash here, we eat by grabbing bits of
vegetable with chunks of bread. Since
there is no fridge, all the food is fresh.
This is the best meal we eat in Morocco.
Next day he offers to make cuscus.
Great. Out
to the surfing beach at 1200. It
is raining. Lunch
turns out to be at about 7 pm. Hungry. Cuscus is a real big deal,
made on the holy day, Friday. It
takes hours. The
cuscus must be steamed in a special pot and the grains separated by
hand 3 times. Repeat,
3 times!
We spent a few days in Essaouria. The town colours are white
and blue. It is
pretty. My
favourite place. Old
Portuguese fort. Fishing
village. Many
foreigners, some resident. Biggest,
fattest seagulls you ever saw.
Back to Marrakech to arrange a trip to the
desert. We go with
two Poms in a mini bus.
Drive south through the Atlas Mountains. Arrive Zagora at dusk for
a two hour camel ride into the sunset.
It gets dark. This
is a bonus. Very
dramatic. Stony
desert. Sore bums. Eat and sleep in a Berber
camp.
Next day we drive east to
the edge of the Sahara. Onto
the camels, into the sand. Sore
bums. Sleep out in
the open on some rugs on the sand.
I like the desert. Nothing
to see but sand.
Pam and I climb the dune for dawn. Big dune, hard work. 30 minutes climbing, 30
seconds descending.
We are now as close as 52 days (by camel)
from Timbuktu. Sign
says so.
Between deserts are the gorges. Oasis filled with palm
trees. Old mud
brick villages, the colour of the land; 
sometime dark
red, some yellow, blending in. Always
the mosques.
We spend a night in a hotel in a narrow
gorge. Sore bums.
Low blood alcohol is affecting us now. Not much available
anywhere in Morocco. The
hotel offers send a taxi 50 kilometres to get us a beer. We decline. First hot shower, actually
first shower, since we left home.
One old village looks like a movie set. Expect to see Pharaohs,
but only bodies hanging from scaffolds.
It is a movie, isn’t it?
They are only models, right?
Hot. I
throw up. Felt a
bit ill for a couple of days. Better
now.
Back in Marrakech, we
arrange a 6-day trek in the High Atlas.
“Start with an ascent of Mt Toubkal, then 3 valleys. You’ll need a donkey, a
guide, food, accommodation in villages, and a taxi to and from”. Thus spake Mohammed, the
arranger. OK.
Toubkal is the highest place in North Africa
– 4167 metres. The
French Alpine Club has a refuge at 3000 metres.
It is 4 hours, easy pace.
Donkey, Pedro, carries everything.
Overnight. Cold.
We reach the summit in clear weather in 3
hours. Steep, loose
gravel. I find it
hard going. All the
symptoms of Acute Mountain Sickness, including the dreaded HAFE (High
Altitude Fluctuance). Never
experienced AMS at this altitude before.
No sympathy from Pam, who reckons I’m a wimp. Hang around for 20 minutes. Descend.
Two hours. Starting
to snow.
We lunch at the refuge.
Descend into the valley.
Snow icy, biting our faces higher up, wet and soft lower. 5 hours.
No rest stops. We
have walked 8 hours today with two rests.
We are dry though. Thanks
Mr Gore and Mr Scarpa.
Overnight at Mohammed’s house down in the
valley.
Next morning load up Pedro, and head over the Col, about 2600 metres,
into the next valley. Everything
pretty from the snow. Snow
and cloud in the pass, clear in the valley.
We won’t see any foreigners for two days.
Some villages are isolated.
No roads. Donkey
the only transport. “If
you hit a donkey hard enough, it will go anywhere” old Berber saying. Doesn’t work for me. I can’t make Pedro go.
The three-valley tour leads to a village
that I cannot enter. I’m
wearing shorts. Not
proper dress in traditional Muslim places.
Back to Marrakech.
Crazy taxi driver. No
accidents. We lash
out and go for the $20 room. It
has a hot, hot, bath. Find
a beer.
Arrive Tangier at night, get dropped in the
medina. Walk into
the first hotel we see.
We feel out of place.
Noisy. Good
thing there is no alcohol. Don’t
sleep too good.
I figure that there is
nothing wrong with Tangier that could not be fixed by a relatively low
yielding nuclear airburst. Pam
likes it.
We head out to Tetuoan (Tet Wan).
This is a lovely place, only an hour from Tangier. Different.
Mediterranean. Houses
whitewashed, more rounded, Spanish spoken here.
Turns out it’s a World Heritage city.
No tourists sighted in two days.
Where are they? Nice
room above a cobbled mall. Learn
that Pam is a “Femme de Foyer” – French for housewife.
Head south to a place I can’t spell. Get off the bus and get
right on the next one out of town.
Turns out we missed something.
What can you say about the biggest and oldest shopping centre in the
world? 
We head in at dawn.
No crowds. Good
photo opportunities. Don’t
get lost. Try the
souqs again later. Don’t
get lost again.
Walk back via the old Jewish quarter (They
are all in Israel now). Buildings
are different; balconies face the street, instead of an internal
courtyard, as is the Muslim way.
Night arriving.
The crowd is unbelievable.
We are carried backwards at times.
Pam starts to panic.
I remain calm! Walked
10 hours today.
Katie stayed here for 2 months last year. It is one of my top places. A friendly little Berber
town. Green tile
roofs. In the
mountains. Cedar
trees surround. We
stay in the best hotel in town - $10 US.
The room is heated, warm bath.
No tourists.
We find a beer garden! We have the best meal
tonight, but overdo it by ordering two Targines.
Moroccans put out so much food.
We eat only one meal a day, generally sharing a dish. I think it is their
tradition to leave something on the plate.
Well we have to.
There isn’t actually anything at Azrou;
maybe that is its charm. But
the next day is market day. The
market travels from village to village.
It is huge, probably bigger than an Australian shopping
centre, but of course much more interesting.
Everything fresh from the fields. Remember when you could
smell tomatoes?
We saw Joseph leading Mary on a donkey to
the market. Nothing
changed in a thousand years.
We are now travelling in the morning, sight seeing in the afternoon. Bed early.
Hit the next town. 
I want to get
back to Essaouria to see Katie.
Still, we’ve seen every wall, every carpet
shop, every souq in the country.
We discover that wine is available! Go to the central market
area, find a “grocery store”, get wine.
Stock up. Easy,
except Fridays. It’s
made in Meknes. Not
bad at all. Luckily
a fellow Australian discovered their secret.
More medinas.
More souqs. More
walls. Got lost. Got lead out.
Rabat is the capital of Morocco. More
rushed. More
western, maybe.
Yet to get to Salle, across
the river, you are rowed over for a couple of cents.
No hassles anywhere in Morocco. There is a new law
prohibiting Moroccans from talking to foreigners.
A night’s jail and a big fine if they do.
They can get a licence to talk to foreigners though.
Forget the old stories about the man-eating,
would-be guides at all the medinas.
We didn’t experience that at all.
The Portuguese were here, built an underground cistern. 
Nice place, on the coast.
Rows of upmarket seafood restaurants along
the coast, all built to face the road, even the outdoors areas.
No beer.
Breakfast, as always, is Café Noir. Strong black stuff. We eat some corn bread. Azrou has the best. We are experts now.
English not spoken in Morocco. Arabic or French. Struggling at times. Kate is good though. Must get out the Pink
Panther movies to brush up the French accent.
Headed out to Moni’s place. Found it!
OK a kid helped a bit.
Dale has a part as an extra in a movie. He has gotten very tanned
and looks like a Moroccan. He
gets paid twice as much as the Moroccan extras.
This doesn’t sit well with him.
He gets $30 US a day, plus food.
The day is 12 hours, plus.
They didn’t want Katie.
I don’t think she can pass as an Arab.
Kate and Dale came in for lunch - pizza.
They have a wedding to attend tonight. Weddings down here are
arranged. When a
man’s mother figures its time for him to marry, she negotiates with
other women for one of their daughters.
The bride and groom meet for the first time on wedding day.
Yet only a few hours north is Casablanca, a
modern cosmopolitan city where young Muslims wander hand in hand,
dressed in the latest western clothes.
We will leave from Casa.
Not like the movie. No Rick’s café.
Airport miles from town.
The wedding is a massive feast that goes all
night. The men and
women dance separately. Katie
gets given money for good dancing.
Yeah. Right
Kate. There is no
alcohol.
Dale and Kate come in for lunch – pizza. Pizza is an indulgence
here. Cheese is
expensive. Wander
around. Beer time. Katie takes us down some
back alleys to a hidden bar for Moroccan men.
Night. Go with Kate to her bus.