The Displaced New Mexican

Three Days in Morocco

We woke up early in Malaga to catch the first bus to Algeciras, where the ferries leave for Tangier. We bought tickets and found our ride. I love traveling by ferry boat. There is usually plenty of room to stretch out and move about, plus you can go outside and watch the waves and smell the salt air. The passage through the Mediterranean Sea was very smooth, but as soon as we passed through the Strait of Gibraltar (regrettably, I was not able to see the famous rock), the Atlantic got very choppy and windy. Soon, the skyline of Tangier came into view and I watched one of the shiphands raise a tattered Moroccan flag from the boat's flagpole.

Raise the colors!

Tangier from the ocean

Almost as soon as we were on the ground, a guy showing us his badge, which of course proved he was official was trying to get us a night in a three-star hotel. As we were trying to convince him we were not staying in Tangier, another official came to me and started asking to buy my hat. No, he did not want to sell me a hat, he wanted to buy mine and pay Euros for it. He said his son was a hat collector and would love my straw cap. I told him politely I was a bit of a collector myself and did not intend to part with my straw cap that day. After walking a few more meters, a taxi driver attached himself to us as we worked our way down toward the city from the port. We told him we were trying to get to Fes, a city about 200 km away. He gave us several options, and pretty soon I didn't trust anything he said because he kept changing his recommendations. Eventually we agreed to pay him to take us to the bus station. As we drove he told us we didn't want to take a regular bus and advised us to ride CET, another bus company. We figured he was just getting paid off by the other company and had him take us to the regular station.
The station was a mad house, full of shouting people. I went to use the toilet, which was essentially a hole in the ground with several people crowding around it, shuffling to get some water from the tap that flowed near the floor. When I came out there was a man expecting money. I had no Dirhams yet, so I fished in my pouch for some small Euro coin. I found a 20 cent piece and dropped it in his hand. He seemed quite confused for a moment, but soon nodded his head in acceptance. We found a company with a bus to Fes and bought our tickets using Euro. We went to the platform and waited for the bus to arrive. Soon, the man from whom we bought our tickets came out shouting angrily. It seemed there had been some miscalculation and we still owed some money. After several iterations of counting and recounting the money, we ended up giving him a small amount more and he was satisfied.
The bus ride was six hours long with no air conditioning and the seats were full. We were the only non-Moroccans in the vehicle. We drove along the coast for a while and finally turned inland. More than once I wondered just what we were getting ourselves into. We stopped in a town along the way where we took a break for a while. We bought some water and stayed in the shade of a wall while we waited to start again. A friendly young fellow who owned an underwear shop in Fes took an interest in us, especially Alexia, and talked for a bit. He asked if I worked in Hollywood and told Mikko he looked like an American boy. He said his name was Yousef and gave us his number in case we needed anything once we got to his city. When we finally got to Fes it was pretty amazing. The city was surrounded with walls and the hillside by the bus station was covered in white tombstones. As soon as we got off the bus, another friendly man approached us and offered us a hotel. We took him up on the offer and followed him on foot. He moved so fast I could not keep up no matter how hard I tried. I only found out later he could not be seen walking with us because he would be considered an illegal guide and could be arrested. We soon arrived at the hotel, which was quite nice, with a large open area on top with comfortable furniture and a pleasant view. Our room had two beds and a long couch suitable for my bed. There was even a bathroom in the room with a toilet and a shower nozzle on the wall. The floor sloped to a drain and the room itself acted as the shower stall.

From our rooftop. The wall on the right helps enclose the grounds belonging to the Prince of Morocco.

Our new friend had invited us to his family home for a cup of tea and some hospitality. We worried they might expect some money once they got us there, but decided it was probably ok. Again walking ahead of us, he guided us to the home, which was in one of the buildings in the market area. We found ourselves in a room stacked high with Berber carpets. We had a seat on some cushioned chairs and looked through a guestbook as another family member told us about guided tours they give to the Sahara Desert, in which participants ride camels and sleep in tents. Another book on the table showed photos from these journeys.
They served us mint tea, complete with fresh mint sprigs and saturated with sugar. It was very delicious and the place was very calming. The man in the room then offered us some "free information" about the family business, making Berber carpets. He then called another young man and they proceeded to unfold about 30 carpets, telling us about the natural dyes and fibers and the techniques used to weave them, as well as the meanings of some of the symbols on them. Warding off the "evil eye" seemed to be a popular one. He demonstrated how cats could not scratch them, how cactus silk rugs could not burn (this he did with a Bic lighter), and told us how they were pre-washed and would not change color. "Is more older; is more value!" he reminded us. Once an appreciable pile of rugs had built up, he taught us the Arabic words for "take it away" and "I want to see that again". They then went through the pile one by one and we told them to put most of them away. The girls asked to see one or two of them again, and they put them aside. He informed us that in Moroccan culture, salespeople never pressure customers to buy, only encourage. He then began to encourage the others heavily to buy. I guess I was quiet enough he didn't bother with me. After an awkward period of time, we managed to escape without any rugs. They were very beautiful, but were a little high for our little budget for a three-day trip. Outside we once again found the fellow who got us the hotel room, and now he had a young lad of about 12 with him. He informed us the kid was a good guide. "English?" the young man asked. "Yes," I said "we speak English." With a practiced nod of recognition he smiled at me and said "Fish and chips!" He repeated a few more canned jokes like "I better than official guide. Official guide have big stomach!" which he accented with a hand gesture indicating a fat belly. He wanted to know what time to meet us in the morning. We told him for the time being, we were not interested.
We explored the market of the Medina, the name for this walled portion of the city. Shops lined the maze of tiny alleys and the whole place was bustling. We had exchanged a little money at the hotel and used our new Dirhams to buy postcards, bread and a half a kilo of grapes.
The market shut down and we went back to the hotel. We sat outside and ate our grapes and bread. We were soon joined by a Slovenian couple we had met briefly earlier in the day. They had just come from dinner and offered us some of their "disinfection", their name for the flask of Chivas Regal they carried and drank after eating in hopes of killing off any unwanted bugs. We gladly disinfected ourselves and spent the evening chatting. They were on tour of the whole country in a rental car. They were seasoned travelers and shared some of their experience with us. They even loaned Mikko a few travel books to go over in preparation for the next day. While we visited, the hotel owner asked us if we would like breakfast in the morning for a small price and we said yes.
In the morning we met our Slovenian friends at the table and the proprietor brought us a delicious breakfast of Moroccan pancakes, fruit syrup, sweet bread, boiled eggs, coffee, wonderful fresh-squeezed orange juice and the obligatory Moroccan mint tea.

After breakfast (actually on the third day). From left: Mikko, Alexia, myself, Maja and Ales, from Slovenia. Nina, the Slovenian woman, took and sent us this photo.

After reading the guidebooks, we decided to go for a legal official guide and the Slovenians went in on it with us. At first it seemed the notice was too short and none were available, but soon our man arrived. Our guide was a small man in glasses and a long tunic named Ali. He spoke good English and was a very amiable guy. He asked how we had gotten to Fes, and when I told him he laughed at me, saying he won't even ride those busses and to take the CET. I assured him we would.
He gave us a very nice and informative tour of the Medina, which I'm sure we could not have gotten from the 12-year old, and we didn't have to let him run ahead of us. He took us to a muesum, which was once a house of trading. We saw many artifacts, as well as what we were informed was the nicest toilet in Fes. We could also climb the roof there and get a good look around the city.

After we came out we continued the tour. We saw dyed silk strands drying along the Medina walls and dodged donkeys, which are the only way to transport things inside the Medina. We nearly collided with an old man riding one, who laughed and yelled: "Taxi!"

Donkeypower

We stopped at the leather tannery, where we were able to go on the roof and get a bird's-eye view of how they had been making leather there for hundreds of years. Back inside we saw many shoes, jackets, cushions, bags and other leather goods. Everyone bought something, including myself. I got two small purses for my mother and sister, who I would be meeting later in the trip. We tipped our tannery guide and continued the tour.

Tanning hides

Vats for all the chemicals and dyes. One of the main ingredients they use to tan is pigeon poop.

Ali started to take us to a carpet shop, but we told him we had already had an extensive explanation of Berber carpets and could skip that one.
The final shop was an herbal pharmacy, which was quiet and cool. We sat on benches along the wall and a man in a white coat gave us a demonstration of a wide range of herbal products, from soap to tea to herbs to cure snoring. Everyone looked at me when he mentioned that. We put our selected items in little baskets and checked out. I bought some cooking spices and a vial of scented oil.

"Which one did you say stops snorers?"

Outside the business of the city hit me like a wall and as we walked through particularly fragrant areas I smelled the oil the man in the pharmacy had put on my hand. We met back up with Ali and went to a café near the museum and had some mint tea. Ali offered us some of his sandwich and we bought him a cola.
The tour came to an end and we paid Ali after he showed us the area of town with the restaurants. Ali had told us he had been studying Japanese with a book because he was starting to see more Japanese tourists, so Ales, the Slovenian man, took his address so he could send him a Japanese course on CD, which I understand he has done.
Later that evening the four of us went out for a meal in a restaurant. I had the cous-cous, which was very good, but sweeter than I expected, fresh-squeezed orange juice (of course) and naturally, mint tea (with all this writing about mint tea, I had to go to the kitchen and make some).

Me drinking the tea. Photo from Mikko

How it's usually served

The next morning after breakfast, we went to catch our CET bus to Tangier at 10:30. We had been told the ride was about four and a half hours, which would get us there in time for a ferry back to Algecires in time for the last bus to Malaga. At first it seemed very nice. Air conditioning, the bus wasn't crowded, etc. After a while we realized we were taking a different route; a beautiful, but very twisty road through the Rif Mountains. We finally arrived at a city, where some passengers got off and others got on. Curious, we asked a couple Scottish boys who had just boarded where they were headed, since by the clock we were already late for our arrival in Tangier. They had the same destination as us. We asked how long it would be. About three hours, they said. Our four-and-a-half-hour ride turned out to be about eight, which obviously threw our plan a little out of synch, which begins a whole other story.

Coming soon: Our miraculous escape from Morocco and the beginning of the second half of my trip with my family members in Italy!

Posted by The DNM at August 20, 2006 9:05 PM