Today is my last full day in the Moroccan capital. I've been busy with last minute shopping and packing and various other chores.
Yesterday, I bought a new (used) camera from a very interesting back-alley salesman. I have the sinking sensation that it was stolen from tourists, as mine was stolen from me. There were still pictures of a group of European-looking friends left on the camera. Perhaps, in some karmic twist of fate, those people in the pictures will end up with my camera and be able to see the few pictures that I took of Fez on the day of the theft.
In other news, I got another haircut. I don't think my hair has been this short since I was 5 years old. In other words, its a buzz-cut.
The Moroccan people are getting very excited. Next Saturday is a religious holiday that the volunteers have come to call "sheep slaughter day." Every family gets their own sheep and in the case of my host family, the slaughter takes place on the roof. I liken it to Christmas because during that time of year, impromptu Christmas tree stores pop up around the city. Similarly, small sheep stands can be found every corner in Rabat. You can even go to the big supermarkets and buy wholesale sheep. I wish I could stay for the holiday. Sort of.
As much as I like Morocco, I am ready to leave. I am leaving tomorrow morning. My plan is to take the train to Tangier. From there, I am going to take the ferry across the Straight of Gibraltar and into Spain. From there, I am going to meet up with another one of the volunteers from Morocco and her friend in Madrid. From there, we will head towards Barcelona. The goal is to be settled into a nice place in Barcelona just in time for a nice European Thanksgiving dinner.
Also, Barcelona is playing Real Madrid in Barcelona next Saturday and I am very happy about that. Spain's two biggest soccer clubs are also the most popular teams in Morocco.
I am very excited for my upcoming trek through Europe. Please please let me know if you have any suggestions, questions or concerns.
Monday, November 23, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Last Day of Work
This is a picture of me actively forgetting how to play piano but still managing to make everybody very excited.
Even people who I didn't know showed up for my party. I don't want to brag, but my party was way better than those of the other volunteers who left before me. Hassane, my boss, said that I was the first volunteer who he ever "loved too much."
Friday, November 20, 2009
The best of times and the worst of times.
My time in Morocco is quickly coming to an end. I think that three months is a perfect amount of time. I have been able to see almost all of the sights that I wanted to see at the start of my journey. But, all good things must come to an end. As amazing as this country is, I am ready to leave. The incompetence and strange bureaucracy has taken its toll on me.
Let me explain:
Last Saturday, Lyall (my roommate), Michael (another volunteer) and I planned to take a day trip to Fez in order to watch Morocco play Cameroon in their final World Cup qualifying match. (Morocco had no chance of making the Cup but we figured it would be fun to see some of the world's top talent.)
Lyall, a football (soccer) fanatic had been trying to find a way to buy tickets in advance for a month. The Moroccan FA (Football Association) has a terrible website and was of no help at all. Eventually, we just decided to buy tickets when we arrived at the stadium since that is what all the Moroccan's said we should do. At 11 AM we boarded a train to Fez for a 3:30 PM match. The train was quick and we got to Fez around 2:00. It all went downhill from there.
We left the train station, following some fellows in Morocco jerseys because they were obviously going to the match. It wasn't until we asked a police man that the stadium would be a 1 hour walk. We then began to search for a taxi. None of the cabs that stopped for us would take us to the stadium. (I have discovered that taxi drivers avoid traffic by all means necessary.) After half an hour of walking and pleading, we found a taxi to take us there. As we got to the stadium, we were still in high spirits. That quickly changed when we saw that there were thousands of people just milling about. We quickly discovered that the box office was closed. This threw us off a little bit. We walked all the way around the stadium and couldn't find anybody who wanted to sell us tickets.
We decided that our best bet would be to try to get in on the Cameroon side because significantly less people were trying to get in at those gates. After thirty minutes of walking and yelling in Franglais, we found a security guard who had two tickets and was willing to sell them for face value. We took this and figured we could talk ourselves in. It wasn't that simple as every one of the hundreds of police and military personnel seemed to want a piece of that guy's profit.
We finally, made it through the first stage of security. This was made difficult because Michael is Nigerian and the guards didn't believe that he was with us. After that, we made it about 100 yards towards the stadium and encountered another series of security guards. This was a little more awkward because there were three of us and we only had two tickets. These guards also made life difficult for Michael because they didn't believe that we were friends. They thought he was a Cameroon fan trying to sneak in with us. After a five minute stand-off they let us through for 50 dirhams or half the price of one ticket.
As we made our way to the final stage of security, we encountered the man who initially sold us the tickets. He let us through hassle-free. 25 minutes after kickoff, we ran up the steps and had a magnificent view of the field.
It was at that magical moment when I realized that I had lost my camera somewhere in between the taxi and then. Realizing that there was no way I would ever see it again, I tried my best to enjoy the match.
The match was really exciting and lifted my spirits. I saw Samuel Eto'o score a goal as Cameroon dominated 2-0.
The most exciting moment came in the second half when a man jumped the barrier and ran the entire length of the field to kick a soccer ball into Cameroon's goal. All the fans went nuts. It was great sitting next to the Cameroon fan section as they were in a good mood. Toward the end of the match, Moroccan fans on the other side of the stadium all ran up to the top of the stands and started tearing the seat-backs off of the chairs and throwing them down onto the slower spectators below. Although there were hundreds of army personnel in between us and them, it was frightening because the guards weren't really doing anything to stop the rioting fans. After ten minutes, they seemed to tire themselves out and the game ended in relative peace.
After the match, we realized that it would be futile to find a cab that could take us to a police station as per the instructions of Projects Abroad.
We ended up walking the majority of the way back into Fez. We finally caught a taxi. We were tired and hungry at this point and very frustrated with everything about Morocco.
When we got to the police station and asked to file a report, they told us that they weren't the nearest police station to the stadium and I would have to report the stolen item at the other one.
This did not improve our mood one bit. After trying to catch another taxi for 30 minutes, we gave up and decided that it would be simpler to report the camera in Rabat. Projects Abroad approved our plan and we went in search of something to eat.
After a nice dinner, we headed back to the train station to catch our 8:50 train. (The ONCF (Moroccon train company) website said that there was an 8:50 PM train.)
After we got our tickets we saw that the time printed for departure was 2:10 AM. Outraged, we asked the ticket booth man and he informed us that no 8:50 train exists.
We checked the two bus stations and none of them had buses running that day. Being a 3 hour drive, a taxi would've cost far too much.
Too tired and frustrated to go anywhere else, we sat down on the benches and waited. Around 10, I went for a walk. Lyall was sick so he was asleep on the extremely uncomfortable train station chairs. Michael was catching up with an old friend from high school.
When I returned around 11, we decided to find sit at the small train station cafe and watch Jean-Claude Van Damm movies. We consumed endless hot chocolates and waited and waited.
At around 1:30 AM we decided to get on the train and sleep. I woke up at around 3:30 and realized that the train had yet to leave the station. After a few minutes, it took off and I went back to sleep.
We arrived in Rabat as the sun was coming up.
Moral of the story:
Do not ever expect to take a simple day trip in Morocco.
However, one kind of good thing came out this experience, once we got to Rabat, I got to ride in the back of a police van because, once again, we did not go to the correct station.
P.S. I do have all the pictures of the desert saved on the computer and I did manage to borrow a friend's camera to take pictures of my phenomenal going away party at my job.
Let me explain:
Last Saturday, Lyall (my roommate), Michael (another volunteer) and I planned to take a day trip to Fez in order to watch Morocco play Cameroon in their final World Cup qualifying match. (Morocco had no chance of making the Cup but we figured it would be fun to see some of the world's top talent.)
Lyall, a football (soccer) fanatic had been trying to find a way to buy tickets in advance for a month. The Moroccan FA (Football Association) has a terrible website and was of no help at all. Eventually, we just decided to buy tickets when we arrived at the stadium since that is what all the Moroccan's said we should do. At 11 AM we boarded a train to Fez for a 3:30 PM match. The train was quick and we got to Fez around 2:00. It all went downhill from there.
We left the train station, following some fellows in Morocco jerseys because they were obviously going to the match. It wasn't until we asked a police man that the stadium would be a 1 hour walk. We then began to search for a taxi. None of the cabs that stopped for us would take us to the stadium. (I have discovered that taxi drivers avoid traffic by all means necessary.) After half an hour of walking and pleading, we found a taxi to take us there. As we got to the stadium, we were still in high spirits. That quickly changed when we saw that there were thousands of people just milling about. We quickly discovered that the box office was closed. This threw us off a little bit. We walked all the way around the stadium and couldn't find anybody who wanted to sell us tickets.
We decided that our best bet would be to try to get in on the Cameroon side because significantly less people were trying to get in at those gates. After thirty minutes of walking and yelling in Franglais, we found a security guard who had two tickets and was willing to sell them for face value. We took this and figured we could talk ourselves in. It wasn't that simple as every one of the hundreds of police and military personnel seemed to want a piece of that guy's profit.
We finally, made it through the first stage of security. This was made difficult because Michael is Nigerian and the guards didn't believe that he was with us. After that, we made it about 100 yards towards the stadium and encountered another series of security guards. This was a little more awkward because there were three of us and we only had two tickets. These guards also made life difficult for Michael because they didn't believe that we were friends. They thought he was a Cameroon fan trying to sneak in with us. After a five minute stand-off they let us through for 50 dirhams or half the price of one ticket.
As we made our way to the final stage of security, we encountered the man who initially sold us the tickets. He let us through hassle-free. 25 minutes after kickoff, we ran up the steps and had a magnificent view of the field.
It was at that magical moment when I realized that I had lost my camera somewhere in between the taxi and then. Realizing that there was no way I would ever see it again, I tried my best to enjoy the match.
The match was really exciting and lifted my spirits. I saw Samuel Eto'o score a goal as Cameroon dominated 2-0.
The most exciting moment came in the second half when a man jumped the barrier and ran the entire length of the field to kick a soccer ball into Cameroon's goal. All the fans went nuts. It was great sitting next to the Cameroon fan section as they were in a good mood. Toward the end of the match, Moroccan fans on the other side of the stadium all ran up to the top of the stands and started tearing the seat-backs off of the chairs and throwing them down onto the slower spectators below. Although there were hundreds of army personnel in between us and them, it was frightening because the guards weren't really doing anything to stop the rioting fans. After ten minutes, they seemed to tire themselves out and the game ended in relative peace.
After the match, we realized that it would be futile to find a cab that could take us to a police station as per the instructions of Projects Abroad.
We ended up walking the majority of the way back into Fez. We finally caught a taxi. We were tired and hungry at this point and very frustrated with everything about Morocco.
When we got to the police station and asked to file a report, they told us that they weren't the nearest police station to the stadium and I would have to report the stolen item at the other one.
This did not improve our mood one bit. After trying to catch another taxi for 30 minutes, we gave up and decided that it would be simpler to report the camera in Rabat. Projects Abroad approved our plan and we went in search of something to eat.
After a nice dinner, we headed back to the train station to catch our 8:50 train. (The ONCF (Moroccon train company) website said that there was an 8:50 PM train.)
After we got our tickets we saw that the time printed for departure was 2:10 AM. Outraged, we asked the ticket booth man and he informed us that no 8:50 train exists.
We checked the two bus stations and none of them had buses running that day. Being a 3 hour drive, a taxi would've cost far too much.
Too tired and frustrated to go anywhere else, we sat down on the benches and waited. Around 10, I went for a walk. Lyall was sick so he was asleep on the extremely uncomfortable train station chairs. Michael was catching up with an old friend from high school.
When I returned around 11, we decided to find sit at the small train station cafe and watch Jean-Claude Van Damm movies. We consumed endless hot chocolates and waited and waited.
At around 1:30 AM we decided to get on the train and sleep. I woke up at around 3:30 and realized that the train had yet to leave the station. After a few minutes, it took off and I went back to sleep.
We arrived in Rabat as the sun was coming up.
Moral of the story:
Do not ever expect to take a simple day trip in Morocco.
However, one kind of good thing came out this experience, once we got to Rabat, I got to ride in the back of a police van because, once again, we did not go to the correct station.
P.S. I do have all the pictures of the desert saved on the computer and I did manage to borrow a friend's camera to take pictures of my phenomenal going away party at my job.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
We probably shouldn't go over there, that's Algeria.
(yet again continued from a previous post)
The next morning we woke up completely sore from our long day of camel trekking. After a typical Moroccan breakfast of bread and hard-boiled eggs, we set off on another journey atop our trusty steeds.
We rode for two hours. To the East, we saw a large plateau and our guide informed us that that was Algeria.
Morocco is currently in a border dispute with Algeria. They are fighting over the territory in the far South. Although it is basically arid land, it is rich in history and oil.
We figured that it would be in our best interest to stay in Morocco.
Just as the sun was at its peak, we stopped at a small house in the middle of nowhere. We spread out in a small tent and ate a large fishy dish. (Most of us didn't eat this because we were wary of any fish served in the Sahara.)
We spent a couple hours there napping and watching military vehicles kick up dust as they sped by us towards an unknown destination.
Heading back to Tent City, we saw a very random donkey at the bottom of a large sand bowl. He was tied to a bag of sand and seemed to be an exact replica of Eeyore.
Our day was not very busy but we were glad to return to our de facto home. They served us another delicious meal and we brought our blankets outside and watched the sun go down and the stars come out. I have never seen that many stars in my life. They were absolutely brilliant.
A few of us stayed up way too late talking about everything and nothing.
We finally went to bed because our guides said that we were to wake up at 4 AM in order to watch the sun rise and so that we could get back to Rabat at a reasonable hour.
We were woken up at 3:30 with vicious hand claps and chants. I jumped out of bed ready to seize the day despite my 3 hours of sleep.
We hopped on our camels and headed back toward the base camp. The sun rise was phenomenal because you could see it coming up in stages. It was also nice because it slowly heated me up like a rotisserie chicken.
Too tired and dirty to take a bus, the 11 of us hired two minibuses to drive us back to Rabat.
The drive back was fantastic. Coming from the South East and heading toward the North West, we saw all the environments and ecosystems that Morocco has to offer. We passed rainy forests with little monkeys, caves, prairies, lakes, small mountain towns, rolling hills and even a place that resembled the Badlands of South Dakota.
The sun just barely beat us home as we got back around 6 PM; just in time to watch it set.
As Lyall and I stumbled through our door, Phillip who declined to go on our adventure said, with a hint of dismay, 'Hmph, you're still alive.'
After our 4.5 day weekend trip, I was a little surprised that we had made it home alive as well.
The next morning we woke up completely sore from our long day of camel trekking. After a typical Moroccan breakfast of bread and hard-boiled eggs, we set off on another journey atop our trusty steeds.
We rode for two hours. To the East, we saw a large plateau and our guide informed us that that was Algeria.
Morocco is currently in a border dispute with Algeria. They are fighting over the territory in the far South. Although it is basically arid land, it is rich in history and oil.
We figured that it would be in our best interest to stay in Morocco.
Just as the sun was at its peak, we stopped at a small house in the middle of nowhere. We spread out in a small tent and ate a large fishy dish. (Most of us didn't eat this because we were wary of any fish served in the Sahara.)
We spent a couple hours there napping and watching military vehicles kick up dust as they sped by us towards an unknown destination.
Heading back to Tent City, we saw a very random donkey at the bottom of a large sand bowl. He was tied to a bag of sand and seemed to be an exact replica of Eeyore.
Our day was not very busy but we were glad to return to our de facto home. They served us another delicious meal and we brought our blankets outside and watched the sun go down and the stars come out. I have never seen that many stars in my life. They were absolutely brilliant.
A few of us stayed up way too late talking about everything and nothing.
We finally went to bed because our guides said that we were to wake up at 4 AM in order to watch the sun rise and so that we could get back to Rabat at a reasonable hour.
We were woken up at 3:30 with vicious hand claps and chants. I jumped out of bed ready to seize the day despite my 3 hours of sleep.
We hopped on our camels and headed back toward the base camp. The sun rise was phenomenal because you could see it coming up in stages. It was also nice because it slowly heated me up like a rotisserie chicken.
Too tired and dirty to take a bus, the 11 of us hired two minibuses to drive us back to Rabat.
The drive back was fantastic. Coming from the South East and heading toward the North West, we saw all the environments and ecosystems that Morocco has to offer. We passed rainy forests with little monkeys, caves, prairies, lakes, small mountain towns, rolling hills and even a place that resembled the Badlands of South Dakota.
The sun just barely beat us home as we got back around 6 PM; just in time to watch it set.
As Lyall and I stumbled through our door, Phillip who declined to go on our adventure said, with a hint of dismay, 'Hmph, you're still alive.'
After our 4.5 day weekend trip, I was a little surprised that we had made it home alive as well.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
That's the moon rising!
(continued from previous post)
We arrived at Omar's (our guide) house around 11AM. One of his assistants asked me, "Are you only one Euro or are you salad people?" I assumed that he meant to say "Are ya'll from only one country or do you represent more than one nation?" Naturally, as we had people from 6 different countries, we began to refer to ourselves as the 'Salad People.'
After a much needed siesta and a quick visit to a beautiful oasis we found ourselves being led once more to the massive off-road vehicle. However, this time, we had the choice of riding on top. Naturally, 7 of 11 of us chose to hop on the roof and sit on the luggage rack. As we sped into the Sahara we held on for dear life. In retrospect, the entirely uncomfortable ride was a blessing in disguise because it made riding camels a lot more bearable.
We were dropped off in a small settlement of tents and told to wait. After a few minutes, we saw a herd of camels walking toward us. About 40 of them walked right up to us and started to eat from little bags of grain. I hadn't realized how massive camels are until that are standing right in front of you. At first, I was worried that one of them would spit on me. I quickly warmed up to them because are gentle giants for the most part.
The Camel Trekking personnel saddled them up for us and instructed us to hop on.
After everybody safely got on their camel we set off towards the massive dunes about 2 km in front of us. The ride was not exactly smooth as we walked across the arid land but it got significantly better as the camels stepped onto the golden Sahara sand. The sun was at a perfect angle to take those typical man on camel shadow pictures. Around 5 PM we stopped at a particularly high mountain of sand. We climbed up with our sandboards (sandboards are actually just snowboards) and took in the fantastic view.
The sandboarding was somewhat of a disappointment as the boards aren't quite that copacetic with the sand.
However, Lyall and I each had one really good run where we picked up a lot of speed and hurtled down the slope until we fell over or ran into the brush that inhabits the bottom of the dunes.
As the sun started to set, we hopped back on the camels. I named mine Nils. ( in honor of the E Street Band guitarist and also because he liked to Kneel.)
After an hour of riding through the dunes the sun set and it immediately got intensely cold. We finally reached our sleeping arrangements which were a small chain of tents.
That night, in Tent City, I enjoyed one of the best meals that I have had in the past month.
For the rest of the night, we made up constellations, drank a lot of tea and played in a Bedouin drum circle.
As it got later, we saw a bright light coming from the East. It was a white light and, at first, we thought it was a car driving over the distant dunes. However, the light came over the hill and we realized that we were watching the moon rising.
(To Be Continued...)
sorry for not having one continuous post. I am crazy busy these days.
We arrived at Omar's (our guide) house around 11AM. One of his assistants asked me, "Are you only one Euro or are you salad people?" I assumed that he meant to say "Are ya'll from only one country or do you represent more than one nation?" Naturally, as we had people from 6 different countries, we began to refer to ourselves as the 'Salad People.'
After a much needed siesta and a quick visit to a beautiful oasis we found ourselves being led once more to the massive off-road vehicle. However, this time, we had the choice of riding on top. Naturally, 7 of 11 of us chose to hop on the roof and sit on the luggage rack. As we sped into the Sahara we held on for dear life. In retrospect, the entirely uncomfortable ride was a blessing in disguise because it made riding camels a lot more bearable.
We were dropped off in a small settlement of tents and told to wait. After a few minutes, we saw a herd of camels walking toward us. About 40 of them walked right up to us and started to eat from little bags of grain. I hadn't realized how massive camels are until that are standing right in front of you. At first, I was worried that one of them would spit on me. I quickly warmed up to them because are gentle giants for the most part.
The Camel Trekking personnel saddled them up for us and instructed us to hop on.
After everybody safely got on their camel we set off towards the massive dunes about 2 km in front of us. The ride was not exactly smooth as we walked across the arid land but it got significantly better as the camels stepped onto the golden Sahara sand. The sun was at a perfect angle to take those typical man on camel shadow pictures. Around 5 PM we stopped at a particularly high mountain of sand. We climbed up with our sandboards (sandboards are actually just snowboards) and took in the fantastic view.
The sandboarding was somewhat of a disappointment as the boards aren't quite that copacetic with the sand.
However, Lyall and I each had one really good run where we picked up a lot of speed and hurtled down the slope until we fell over or ran into the brush that inhabits the bottom of the dunes.
As the sun started to set, we hopped back on the camels. I named mine Nils. ( in honor of the E Street Band guitarist and also because he liked to Kneel.)
After an hour of riding through the dunes the sun set and it immediately got intensely cold. We finally reached our sleeping arrangements which were a small chain of tents.
That night, in Tent City, I enjoyed one of the best meals that I have had in the past month.
For the rest of the night, we made up constellations, drank a lot of tea and played in a Bedouin drum circle.
As it got later, we saw a bright light coming from the East. It was a white light and, at first, we thought it was a car driving over the distant dunes. However, the light came over the hill and we realized that we were watching the moon rising.
(To Be Continued...)
sorry for not having one continuous post. I am crazy busy these days.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Salad People
My weekends in Morocco are getting longer and longer. Last week's weekend began on Thursday evening. 11 of us hearty Projects Abroad volunteers set off for the Sahara Desert via the imperial city of Meknes. The plan was to take the 7 o'clock train to Meknes and then catch the night bus South to Rissani, a small town at the tip of the Desert. We realized that it was going to be one of those weekends when our train from Rabat was delayed twice and didn't leave until 9 o'clock.
We realized that we were not going to make the bus that night and made the decision to spend the night in Meknes and take the night bus on Friday and arrive in the desert on Saturday morning. We called our guide, Omar, and updated him with our plans. "No problem" said he; we could start our three day trek on Saturday and sacrifice a day of work.
With our ample time at the Gare de Rabat, we booked a comfortable hotel in Meknes and planned to check out the ruins of the Roman outpost called Volubilis.
We crammed into two taxis the next day and experienced G-forces as we hurtled around the hilly countryside outside of Meknes. Volubilis was completely worth the scary car ride. There were fantastic stairs, arches and columns. There were well-preserved mosaics on the floors of many of the buildings. Somebody said that Volubilis was where the Romans would capture the lions and tigers and bears that were used in the Gladiator fights at the Colosseum in Rome. I didn't question this claim for the sake of its awesomeness.
We spent a few hours basking in historical glory.
After a while, our drivers got impatient and we headed back into town via the picturesque mountain village of Moulay Idris. Getting into the taxi I proceeded to close the door on my own thumb and say a lot of dirty words. I got over that quickly though, so don't worry too much.
That night, Friday, we had time to kill before our bus so we went to a very sketchy bar. All the women there were not trying very hard, if at all, to hide the fact that they were prostitutes.
I forgot to mention earlier that my stomach was feeling very wobbly throughout this entire trip. Once we got on the bus, I had a feeling that I was going to need the toilet very soon. The drivers were very accomodating as they pulled over at the next gas station to let me use the facilities. I felt awkward as I was the only one getting off of the bus. However, I received a standing ovation as I stepped back on the bus.
After that speed bump, I began to improve and I managed to get a few minutes of sleep on our 9 minute journey to the South West corner of Morocco.
We arrived as the sun was coming up. The town was decorated more than the towns in Morocco usually are and we learned that the King was going to be visiting for a few days. Yes, Morocco is run by a king. Mohammad VI is not only a figurehead; he runs the show.(more on him late)
We were so tired that we accepted the first person we saw's offer for breakfast. Normally, we are quite wary of people who invite you to their restaurant/house but we were to weary/hungry to say no.
After the typical Moroccan breakfast of bread and tea (of which I did not indulge for the sake of my stomach) we met up with Omar's brother, Mohammad. We hopped in his big off-road vehicle and set off for the golden dunes of Erg Chebbi. (wikipedia it)
...To Be Continued
(sorry, It's time for ice cream)
Tomorrow, I will be taking a day trip to Fez to watch a World Cup qualifying match between Morocco and Cameroon. Morocco has no chance to qualify but i think they will be trying to save some face as they can still make the African Cup of Nations.
We realized that we were not going to make the bus that night and made the decision to spend the night in Meknes and take the night bus on Friday and arrive in the desert on Saturday morning. We called our guide, Omar, and updated him with our plans. "No problem" said he; we could start our three day trek on Saturday and sacrifice a day of work.
With our ample time at the Gare de Rabat, we booked a comfortable hotel in Meknes and planned to check out the ruins of the Roman outpost called Volubilis.
We crammed into two taxis the next day and experienced G-forces as we hurtled around the hilly countryside outside of Meknes. Volubilis was completely worth the scary car ride. There were fantastic stairs, arches and columns. There were well-preserved mosaics on the floors of many of the buildings. Somebody said that Volubilis was where the Romans would capture the lions and tigers and bears that were used in the Gladiator fights at the Colosseum in Rome. I didn't question this claim for the sake of its awesomeness.
We spent a few hours basking in historical glory.
After a while, our drivers got impatient and we headed back into town via the picturesque mountain village of Moulay Idris. Getting into the taxi I proceeded to close the door on my own thumb and say a lot of dirty words. I got over that quickly though, so don't worry too much.
That night, Friday, we had time to kill before our bus so we went to a very sketchy bar. All the women there were not trying very hard, if at all, to hide the fact that they were prostitutes.
I forgot to mention earlier that my stomach was feeling very wobbly throughout this entire trip. Once we got on the bus, I had a feeling that I was going to need the toilet very soon. The drivers were very accomodating as they pulled over at the next gas station to let me use the facilities. I felt awkward as I was the only one getting off of the bus. However, I received a standing ovation as I stepped back on the bus.
After that speed bump, I began to improve and I managed to get a few minutes of sleep on our 9 minute journey to the South West corner of Morocco.
We arrived as the sun was coming up. The town was decorated more than the towns in Morocco usually are and we learned that the King was going to be visiting for a few days. Yes, Morocco is run by a king. Mohammad VI is not only a figurehead; he runs the show.(more on him late)
We were so tired that we accepted the first person we saw's offer for breakfast. Normally, we are quite wary of people who invite you to their restaurant/house but we were to weary/hungry to say no.
After the typical Moroccan breakfast of bread and tea (of which I did not indulge for the sake of my stomach) we met up with Omar's brother, Mohammad. We hopped in his big off-road vehicle and set off for the golden dunes of Erg Chebbi. (wikipedia it)
...To Be Continued
(sorry, It's time for ice cream)
Tomorrow, I will be taking a day trip to Fez to watch a World Cup qualifying match between Morocco and Cameroon. Morocco has no chance to qualify but i think they will be trying to save some face as they can still make the African Cup of Nations.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Crazy Kid
Jumping into El Jadida's harbor off of a very high rampart.
The grabage in their harbor made me think of beautiful Baltimore.
Portuguese Cistern
This was a very cool old waterground cistern. According to Lonely Planet, it was the setting for the dramatic riot scene in Orson Welles' 1954 Othello.
Halloween at the beach.
(continued from previous post)
After a train delay, four others joined me in El Jadida. It was nice to be reunited with my native English speaking chums after spending the past two days pretending to speak French. We went for a quick dinner and I had my second panini of the day.
At this point, 11:30 PM, the hotel bar was closed so we walked around the corner to a place called Cafe Bar le Tit. It was a smoky, crowded bar that only served one type of beer. The man in charge greeted us warmly and pronounced that he loved Americans. Earlier, at the hotel, a man beckoned me to sit down with him and his friends and he gave me a hug because he too loved Americans.
Cafe Bar le Tit closed at midnight so we walked back to the hotel and watched a horrible American movie called 'Bloodsuckers' with Arabic subtitles. That quickly put me to sleep.
We woke up around 9 and had a delicious breakfast at a patisserie down the street (our hotel was on Avenue Mohammed V, which is pretty much the name of every 'main street' in all the cities of Morocco)
Now would be a good time to say a few words about how delicious orange juice in Morocco is. The orange juice that is served in all the cafes, patisseries and restaurants is always fresh and never too sweet or too sour. Generally, it is a little pulpy and it always comes in a tall glass with a bendy straw. It is amazingly consistent.
Our next stop was the medina. El Jadida was founded by the Portuguese and they built a magnificent walled city on the water. You can walk on top of the walls and watch the ocean break against the rocks below or you can watch the little kids jump off the walls into the extremely dirty harbor. It is a very pleasant albeit touristy place.
Five km to the South there is an incredible beach. There is a mile-long stretch of golden sand and there is very little garbage. Only a few people were on the beach aside from the five of us volunteers. Lonely Planet says that this beach is packed during the summer.
The water was comfortably chilly and the waves were massive. There was an absurd amount of seaweed floating around so it always felt like an octopus was feebly attempting to grab your leg.
Upon our departure from the beach I said to Lyall, "we are at the beach in Africa, on Halloween." It was a bizarre feeling because, up to that point, I had not seen any Halloween decorations at all.
We left the beach around 4 PM in order to catch a 5:30 train to Casablanca where we planned to celebrate the holiday and meet up with 6 more Projects Abroad personnel.
Once in Casa, we walked to our hostel which, translated from French, was named "Youth Hostel."
When walking to take a shower before our night on the town, the manager confronted me and told me that he locks the door at Midnight now because the last time Americans stayed at the hostel they were loud and disrespectful. I found it to be a very awkward time to make such an inappropriate announcement. I politely informed him that the majority of the people from our group weren't American and that we would be quiet and respect the rules.
Throughout our entire stay at that hostel, we received mean looks and stern tones from all of the employees who were all miserable old men.
But I digress. We cross-referenced with all of our guidebooks and found a nice sounding place that had food and dancing. I think it was called 'Cantina.' I wish I could convey the happiness that I felt the second that I walked into the place. They had the only Halloween decorations in all of Morocco! That excited me greatly, as did the smell.
I ordered chicken fajitas and they were delicious. The entire eating experience was great as they were playing the Moroccan version of 'America's Funniest Home Videos' on three massive TVs. We were surrounded by various groups of Europeans who seemed as happy as we were to have found a place like this.
They served fancy drinks and massive margaritas. Some of the people around us were doing shots that were served on fire.
We paid the bill and went into the next room and started dancing. For about an hour, our crew was the only one dancing but as the night wore on, many many others joined in. It was the type of place that encourages dancing on the tables. It was basically a funner, more expensive Tex-Mex restaurant. A fun time was had by all and we had to run back to the hostel in order to make our 12 o'clock curfew.
I could not have asked for a better place to celebrate Halloween in Morocco.
I slept well that night and slept on the train and slept some more once I got home on Sunday.
It was a very long weekend and I will never forget it.
This coming Friday is a national holiday. We are leaving Thursday evening to go to Erg Chebbi which is basically the desert near the Algerian border. It is a twelve hour trip. The plan is to ride camels, sleep in a Touraeg hut and sandboard down the biggest dunes in Morocco.
Also, I have been trouble figuring out a good template so feedback on the current layout of the blog would be appreciated.
After a train delay, four others joined me in El Jadida. It was nice to be reunited with my native English speaking chums after spending the past two days pretending to speak French. We went for a quick dinner and I had my second panini of the day.
At this point, 11:30 PM, the hotel bar was closed so we walked around the corner to a place called Cafe Bar le Tit. It was a smoky, crowded bar that only served one type of beer. The man in charge greeted us warmly and pronounced that he loved Americans. Earlier, at the hotel, a man beckoned me to sit down with him and his friends and he gave me a hug because he too loved Americans.
Cafe Bar le Tit closed at midnight so we walked back to the hotel and watched a horrible American movie called 'Bloodsuckers' with Arabic subtitles. That quickly put me to sleep.
We woke up around 9 and had a delicious breakfast at a patisserie down the street (our hotel was on Avenue Mohammed V, which is pretty much the name of every 'main street' in all the cities of Morocco)
Now would be a good time to say a few words about how delicious orange juice in Morocco is. The orange juice that is served in all the cafes, patisseries and restaurants is always fresh and never too sweet or too sour. Generally, it is a little pulpy and it always comes in a tall glass with a bendy straw. It is amazingly consistent.
Our next stop was the medina. El Jadida was founded by the Portuguese and they built a magnificent walled city on the water. You can walk on top of the walls and watch the ocean break against the rocks below or you can watch the little kids jump off the walls into the extremely dirty harbor. It is a very pleasant albeit touristy place.
Five km to the South there is an incredible beach. There is a mile-long stretch of golden sand and there is very little garbage. Only a few people were on the beach aside from the five of us volunteers. Lonely Planet says that this beach is packed during the summer.
The water was comfortably chilly and the waves were massive. There was an absurd amount of seaweed floating around so it always felt like an octopus was feebly attempting to grab your leg.
Upon our departure from the beach I said to Lyall, "we are at the beach in Africa, on Halloween." It was a bizarre feeling because, up to that point, I had not seen any Halloween decorations at all.
We left the beach around 4 PM in order to catch a 5:30 train to Casablanca where we planned to celebrate the holiday and meet up with 6 more Projects Abroad personnel.
Once in Casa, we walked to our hostel which, translated from French, was named "Youth Hostel."
When walking to take a shower before our night on the town, the manager confronted me and told me that he locks the door at Midnight now because the last time Americans stayed at the hostel they were loud and disrespectful. I found it to be a very awkward time to make such an inappropriate announcement. I politely informed him that the majority of the people from our group weren't American and that we would be quiet and respect the rules.
Throughout our entire stay at that hostel, we received mean looks and stern tones from all of the employees who were all miserable old men.
But I digress. We cross-referenced with all of our guidebooks and found a nice sounding place that had food and dancing. I think it was called 'Cantina.' I wish I could convey the happiness that I felt the second that I walked into the place. They had the only Halloween decorations in all of Morocco! That excited me greatly, as did the smell.
I ordered chicken fajitas and they were delicious. The entire eating experience was great as they were playing the Moroccan version of 'America's Funniest Home Videos' on three massive TVs. We were surrounded by various groups of Europeans who seemed as happy as we were to have found a place like this.
They served fancy drinks and massive margaritas. Some of the people around us were doing shots that were served on fire.
We paid the bill and went into the next room and started dancing. For about an hour, our crew was the only one dancing but as the night wore on, many many others joined in. It was the type of place that encourages dancing on the tables. It was basically a funner, more expensive Tex-Mex restaurant. A fun time was had by all and we had to run back to the hostel in order to make our 12 o'clock curfew.
I could not have asked for a better place to celebrate Halloween in Morocco.
I slept well that night and slept on the train and slept some more once I got home on Sunday.
It was a very long weekend and I will never forget it.
This coming Friday is a national holiday. We are leaving Thursday evening to go to Erg Chebbi which is basically the desert near the Algerian border. It is a twelve hour trip. The plan is to ride camels, sleep in a Touraeg hut and sandboard down the biggest dunes in Morocco.
Also, I have been trouble figuring out a good template so feedback on the current layout of the blog would be appreciated.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Sunset and Moonrise in the middle of nowhere
This was taken when Hassane stopped the car to buy candy and sparkling apple juice from a small shop on the side of the road.
Supdigzura: The Land of Teachers.
The past weekend started on Thursday at 6 AM for me. My alarm sounded and I sprang to my feet, ready to hit the road with my boss, Hassane. A few days earlier, he had proposed a road trip to his hometown of Safi in order to deliver some teaching materials to his old school. At first, I was somewhat skeptical of this proposal, recalling all of Hassane's prior flakiness. However, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and figured that, as long as I returned in one piece, it would be a beneficial experience as I had yet to travel South (except for the weekend in Marrakech).
In the car, I fell asleep almost immediately and woke up in Casablanca. We were driving through random streets and alleyways looking for Hassane's cousin and one of his brothers (he has four brothers and four sisters) who sell trucks and truck parts. We found them and hit the road again.
Safi is around a five hour drive. We arrived a little after one in the afternoon, or 13.00.
Hassane's mother lives in the province of Safi in a small town pronounced sup-dig-zura. Pulling into town, we stopped at the local market in the center of town which was the opposite of touristy. It is nice to walk around the shops without people trying to drag you into their shops. It was also interesting watching Hassane greet all of his old friends as he spotted familiar faces all over the town.
Our next stop was the house that Hassane grew up in. His mother was a very kind woman who spoke no English and very little French which means I had to rely on my very basic Arabic to tell her that I was comfortable and didn't need anything. Moroccan people are great hosts, although they can be overbearing if you refuse to eat something. (The only word my host family knows in English is 'EAT!')
After a quick lunch, Hassane and I had to begin our errands. Before we left, he and his mother completed a very bizarre petrol transaction which involved him pouring some of the oil in a big jug into smaller jugs that he had in the trunk of his car. Not only was it weird, it probably dangerous as a large portion of the gas ended up on the basement floor.
That being said, Hassane put gas in his car no less than 6 times over the course of the two days that I spent with him. I didn't ask him about it.
We visited his old school and delivered the books and CDs. The headmaster was very grateful but also informed us that there was a teacher strike in many of the public schools around the country.
We drove further out into the middle of nowhere, making random stops to visit schools where Hassane miraculously knew the principals.
All the while, he was telling me about his friend 'The Poet' who is known internationally as one of the best poets of the Arab world. We planned to meet him later that night.
The final stop before our meeting with the poet was at his former brother-in-laws' house. That is not a misplaced apostrophe. Two of Hassane's sisters married two brothers from another family and both couples ended up divorced. However, Hassane maintains that his sisters were wrong and that the two brothers were keepers. Thus, we were going to visit them on their farm.
As we drove on, the road gradually stopped being a road and turned into dirt. There were beautiful landscapes all around us as the sun was going down. Eventually, the dirt paths ceased to be paths and we were driving over mounds of dirt/rock. We reached the house just as the sun was going down. It had been a long day of driving from school to school and I was ready to relax.
Every Moroccan home that I have been into has at least one or two rooms completely dedicated to wrap-around couches that engulf the entire room. At the farm house, I had just settled myself on the sofa when Hassane announced that we had to leave in order to make it to the cafe on time.
Before we clammored back into the little old VW Golf, we used one of the gas tubs in the trunk to fill up the car once more.
On the way home, we got lost, bought Hassane's mother a new phone and ran into the poet.
Once, at the cafe I was surrounded by local teachers. There were about 6 of them and they all taught at local schools.
The poet was an unassuming man of 33 but it was obvious that the others had a lot of respect for him. He thought it was fascinating that my parents are writers. He got very excited when I told him that my father wrote a book.
Hassane, the poet, a friend and myself relocated to the friend's house for a brief dinner and long discussion. We conversed in French, English and I occasionally showed off a word in Arabic.
After dinner, we relocated once again to the house of the poet where I fell straight asleep. Later that night, I had an interesting encounter with a Turkish toilet but I will not go into detail.
I was awakened the next morning at 11. Then, Hassane informed me that I had had such a profound effect on the poet that he wanted to dedicate one of his books to me. He also gave me a signed copy of his most recent work. We said an emotional goodbye to the poet and his wife and exchanged e-mails.
After that, I was ready to get back to Rabat.
Driving out of Safi, I received a text from my roommate Lyall saying that a few of the volunteers wanted to visit the beach town of El Jadida and that they were taking the train from Rabat at 5 o'clock that evening (Friday).
We passed through El Jadida the previous day and I thought it would be nice to spend the night there. I sent Lyall a text asking him to pack my other backpack with a bathing suit and a towel because I had only packed for a one-night trip.
Hassane dropped me off in El-Jadida around 4 o'clock on Friday and I reserved a couple rooms at a hotel.
Their train got delayed and they weren't due until 10 that night so I had a lot of free time to explore the town. But, I was exhausted so I grabbed a panini and watched Dante's Peak in the hotel... TO BE CONTINUED
In the car, I fell asleep almost immediately and woke up in Casablanca. We were driving through random streets and alleyways looking for Hassane's cousin and one of his brothers (he has four brothers and four sisters) who sell trucks and truck parts. We found them and hit the road again.
Safi is around a five hour drive. We arrived a little after one in the afternoon, or 13.00.
Hassane's mother lives in the province of Safi in a small town pronounced sup-dig-zura. Pulling into town, we stopped at the local market in the center of town which was the opposite of touristy. It is nice to walk around the shops without people trying to drag you into their shops. It was also interesting watching Hassane greet all of his old friends as he spotted familiar faces all over the town.
Our next stop was the house that Hassane grew up in. His mother was a very kind woman who spoke no English and very little French which means I had to rely on my very basic Arabic to tell her that I was comfortable and didn't need anything. Moroccan people are great hosts, although they can be overbearing if you refuse to eat something. (The only word my host family knows in English is 'EAT!')
After a quick lunch, Hassane and I had to begin our errands. Before we left, he and his mother completed a very bizarre petrol transaction which involved him pouring some of the oil in a big jug into smaller jugs that he had in the trunk of his car. Not only was it weird, it probably dangerous as a large portion of the gas ended up on the basement floor.
That being said, Hassane put gas in his car no less than 6 times over the course of the two days that I spent with him. I didn't ask him about it.
We visited his old school and delivered the books and CDs. The headmaster was very grateful but also informed us that there was a teacher strike in many of the public schools around the country.
We drove further out into the middle of nowhere, making random stops to visit schools where Hassane miraculously knew the principals.
All the while, he was telling me about his friend 'The Poet' who is known internationally as one of the best poets of the Arab world. We planned to meet him later that night.
The final stop before our meeting with the poet was at his former brother-in-laws' house. That is not a misplaced apostrophe. Two of Hassane's sisters married two brothers from another family and both couples ended up divorced. However, Hassane maintains that his sisters were wrong and that the two brothers were keepers. Thus, we were going to visit them on their farm.
As we drove on, the road gradually stopped being a road and turned into dirt. There were beautiful landscapes all around us as the sun was going down. Eventually, the dirt paths ceased to be paths and we were driving over mounds of dirt/rock. We reached the house just as the sun was going down. It had been a long day of driving from school to school and I was ready to relax.
Every Moroccan home that I have been into has at least one or two rooms completely dedicated to wrap-around couches that engulf the entire room. At the farm house, I had just settled myself on the sofa when Hassane announced that we had to leave in order to make it to the cafe on time.
Before we clammored back into the little old VW Golf, we used one of the gas tubs in the trunk to fill up the car once more.
On the way home, we got lost, bought Hassane's mother a new phone and ran into the poet.
Once, at the cafe I was surrounded by local teachers. There were about 6 of them and they all taught at local schools.
The poet was an unassuming man of 33 but it was obvious that the others had a lot of respect for him. He thought it was fascinating that my parents are writers. He got very excited when I told him that my father wrote a book.
Hassane, the poet, a friend and myself relocated to the friend's house for a brief dinner and long discussion. We conversed in French, English and I occasionally showed off a word in Arabic.
After dinner, we relocated once again to the house of the poet where I fell straight asleep. Later that night, I had an interesting encounter with a Turkish toilet but I will not go into detail.
I was awakened the next morning at 11. Then, Hassane informed me that I had had such a profound effect on the poet that he wanted to dedicate one of his books to me. He also gave me a signed copy of his most recent work. We said an emotional goodbye to the poet and his wife and exchanged e-mails.
After that, I was ready to get back to Rabat.
Driving out of Safi, I received a text from my roommate Lyall saying that a few of the volunteers wanted to visit the beach town of El Jadida and that they were taking the train from Rabat at 5 o'clock that evening (Friday).
We passed through El Jadida the previous day and I thought it would be nice to spend the night there. I sent Lyall a text asking him to pack my other backpack with a bathing suit and a towel because I had only packed for a one-night trip.
Hassane dropped me off in El-Jadida around 4 o'clock on Friday and I reserved a couple rooms at a hotel.
Their train got delayed and they weren't due until 10 that night so I had a lot of free time to explore the town. But, I was exhausted so I grabbed a panini and watched Dante's Peak in the hotel... TO BE CONTINUED
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