Morocco
Many people have asked me why I chose to go to Morocco. The answer is, of course, because I hadn't been there. Seriously, people. There's a big world out there. What kind of life are you living if you haven't seen any of it?
I went to Morocco in late February. The weather was cold. I went there by myself. Made the trip in sections, first stopping in London to see my friend, Jaime, and her new husband, Matt. Then heading to Morocco for 9 days. Then stopping by New York City on the way back to see my friend, Shereen. But this page is all about the 9 days in Morocco.
CASABLANCA
I flew into Casablanca from London. I was initially thinking I'd just head straight for Marrakech when I got in but I accidentally left my passport in Heathrow (bad idea) and was stuck in Casablanca for at least 24hrs while they flew it to me. Casablanca is a shit hole of a place. Nothing of the image you might get from old movies. It's really best left off the itinerary. But if you find yourself there, despite your best efforts, you should really go see the Hassan II Mosque on the north end of town.
This mosque is the third largest Islamic structure in the world and the second largest mosque, just after the one at Mecca. The minaret (the tall tower used to call Muslims to prayer) is the tallest in the world. And at prayer time they shoot green lasers out of it, towards Mecca so people in the country side can tell which direction to pray towards. Let's appreciate the sense of scale here, shall we? In the picture to the left, the people in the foreground are more than one football field's distance from the mosque. The tiny colored specs towards the lower middle of the image are people actually standing at the base of the minaret. It's really freaking huge. Inside, the prayer hall is two football fields long, one field wide, and half a football field tall. Every square inch of this construction is covered in finely detailed Moroccan artistry. And everything used to make this mosque (except for two marble pillars and a couple chandeliers from Italy) is from Morocco. Underneath, there's a hamam - a Moroccan style bath house (just for show) and two enormous wash rooms each equipped with 42 giant lotus-shaped fountains for the special washing that takes place before every prayer. This mosque is absolutely breath taking, and one of the only religious structures open to non-Muslims. The Hassan II mosque complex also includes a Quranic school and dormitory seen in the next picture. The whole campus is on the beach.
While I was waiting for the tour to start I met this very nice Moroccan woman named Kadija, who was kind enough to tell me, in French, what time it was. We sat together and had an awkward French-English conversation. She lives in Fez and recently married a very nice, very rich man and happily awaits pregnancy. This marriage, I gathered, was not arranged but a "love story". Even though he's a full twenty years older than her, she thinks he's absolutely handsome and is very happy to be married. She mostly stays at home since her husband is very jealous of her talking to other men. At first I thought this was odd, but after being in Morocco for 9 days I realized this was pretty common.
When Kadija's husband and mother emerged from the mosque's washrooms they let me take their picture. Kadija and I exchanged phone numbers and though I don't know how well we'd communicate over the phone it'd be cool to hear from my first friend in Morocco.
I was the only person touring the Hassan II Mosque that day that required an English tour giude. So I got a personalized tour. My Arabic tour guide, Mourad, told me all about the mosque, it's history, and how to make water-absorbing stucco out of dirt, soap, and eggs. In my McGuyver-like adventures this information may come in very handy someday.
Since the tour didn't take very long, Mourad offered to show me around Casablanca. I had walked around inside the Medina earlier in the day and found it pretty intimidating. The people you see outside in Morocco are mostly men, since the women stay home most of the time. And the city inside the medina defies all sense of orientation. So I agreed to the tour, thinking it would cost an arm and a leg but would be worth it. We walked all around the city and stopped at a bar late afternoon for tea (for me) and beer (for Mourad). After a couple beers Mourad declared me to be like a sister to him and invited me to meet his family. The Lonely Planet guide mentioned that this might happen so I took him up on it. We went to his apartment which, like almost all Moroccan buildings, looks like shit from the outside and is gorgeous from the inside.
Here, I met his wife, Elham, and his oldest child, Nisrene. Elham is Moorish (descended from the Muslims of Spain) which is why she has such a fair complexion. His family was so unbelievably hospitable to me. Absolutely, unbelievably hospitable. Here I am, a total stranger that some guy brings home to meet his wife and child without even calling ahead to give warning and do they freak out? No. They make me dinner. Elham asks excitedly about my life back in Seattle. Nisrene practices her insanely cute 5th grader's English on me, sings me songs by Cat Stevens, and shows me the astronomy section of her text book (pictured left). Mourad shows me how to eat food Moroccan style (smooshing it all against the side of a piece of bread before scooping it into your mouth with your bare right hand) and tells me all about his view of the cosmos and how science and Islam fit together perfectly. Elham gives me a necklace as a present. And the lot of them refuse to let me leave until I promise to stay with them next time I'm in Casablanca so they can have a huge party and invite the whole family to a big celebration in my honor.
It was totally crazy how hospitable these people were to me! It was a side of humankind I had never imagined existed. A lot of Greek myths talk about how important it is to take in strangers and show them kindness. But have you been to Greece lately? That kind of hospitality does not exist in present day Greece. But it apparently does in Morocco. A guest is a gift from Allah, they say. And trust me, they treat you accordingly.
Even though Casablanca is a crappy place to visit, I'll probably go back just to see Mourad and his family. This kind of connection is worth more than seeing all the bullshit tourist attractions in all of Morocco.
So, passport in hand and life-changing experience having been had, I boarded the first train out of Casablanca to Marrakech. And I'll have you know it was a very plain, boring train. What the hell were Crosby, Stills, & Nash smoking?
CASABLANCA TO AGADIR
The train ride was very nice. The scenery was serene. Rolling hills and beautiful farm lands. The guy sitting next to me spoke no English and I speak no French or Arabic. However, this didn't stop him from giving me his phone number and trying very hard to get mine. He made me promise five times to call him (in French) and gave me a box of hot pink lipsticks from Canada. It was wierd. At the time I couldn't tell whether this was another grand gesture of Moroccan hospitality or if it was a pick-up attempt.
As soon as I got to Marrakech I rented a car and drove to Agadir. It's February. When a Seattle-ite goes to Africa in February there is an obvious expectation of sun. And Agadir is southerly, on the beach, and gets 360 days of sunshine a year.
I remember the rental car lady asking, in French, is this your first time in Morocco? Yes. Are you travelling by yourself? Yes. Is anyone meeting you before you go? No. Who's going to drive this car? Me. Are you going to hire a driver? No. Are you going with anyone else? No, just me. Are you sure? Yes, really, I want to drive across Morocco by myself. The whole series of questions repeated when we met up with her male boss just before I got the car to myself. When I returned the car intact there was indeed a bit of shock on her face.
page 1 2 3 4 5
