Morocco here I come

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First night in Morocco

“The world is an open book, and those who do not travel read only a page"

This trip symbolized a whole new chapter in my life. It is impossible to put into words the things I saw and the feelings I felt these past six days. It's hard to find the right adjectives to describe things. So bear with my horrible writing and try to use your imagination to play with my words.

Day 1: Flying from Barcelona to Casablanca and driving to Marrakech.

We took the plane from Barcelona. Immediately as I enter the airport the fact that I'm in a foreign place smacks me in the face. Everyone is wearing different clothes and signs are in Arabic and French. All of a sudden I stand out like a sore thumb that I'm not from there. We are escorted to our vans in the parking lot, and a couple children approach us. One of the guards says something to them and they back off a bit. Off in the distance is a whole lot of nothing. What looks like abandoned buildings and roads. The terrain is dry and arrid, and there isn't much vegetation. Everything is flat. I spot a horse-drawn carriage in the distance, and clearly remember going "whoa" and pointing it out to the other students in my van. Not exactly a good reaction on my part. They are shocked like me, and one jokes about how it's a two horse power vehicle. Little did we know that this was going to be a well known sight, and it was nothing to be joking about.

We are in Africa.

The roads and driving standards were, to say the least, different. I thought driving in Europe was crazy, little did I know the driving in Morocco. It was insane and unnerving at times. They would pass cars like it was nothing, even if a car was coming the other way. We must've come within yards of head on collisions more than once. They would pass on curves, and even play chicken with oncoming cars or trucks. There were countless pedestrians, bicyclists, donkeys, and horse-drawn carriages. It was about three and a half hours to get to Marrakech.

We had one rest stop on the way and realize more about this new country we’ve entered. It is a small, shabby and dirty looking place. There is a lot of Coca-Cola and Fanta advertisements. Using the bathroom was an ordeal. Miguel had warned us that there may be a woman asking for money. Well, there was. She clearly said that we couldn’t use the bathroom without paying her money. Miguel had said they would do that, and to not give them money unless we felt like it. She was standing in front of the doors, and a few of the girls pushed past her without paying. She cursed them out- at least I’m assuming so- and that was enough to convince me I could hold it until our next stop. I was too timid for Morocco.

Once we finally arrived to Marrakech we unloaded our luggage and checked into our rooms. We had to fill out an information card (one of many), and settled in for about ten minutes. I was in a room with Jamie and Naomi.

It’s hard to describe what I was feeling at this point. Anxious, excited, nervous, and exhausted. As exhausted as I was, I was more excited and exhilarated by this place. I was also so content and glad that I decided to take this trip.

We then got on our way to the market.

Before I get into writing about the market, let me first say a few things about the city of Marrakech itself. It didn’t look like a “city.” It was some old run down buildings, really spaced out, with only a few signs. The roads were extremely wide, but packed. There was also a park with countless lilacs, and it made me think of my mom.

I'm reading the Kite Runner right now, which is about Afghanistan. While reading a certain passage, I thought he captured the images in words better than I. So, here is a small passage of what it was like in Morocco, and especially the market in Marrakech.

"The streets were clogged with bicycle riders, milling pedestrians, and rickshaws popping blue smoke, all weaving through a maze of narrow lanes and alleys. Bearded vendors draped in thin blankets sold animal skin lampshades, carpets, embroidered shawls, and copper goods from rows of small tightly jammed stalls. The city was bustling with sounds; the shouts of vendors rang in my ears mingled with the blare of Hindu music, the sputtering of rickshaws, and the jingling bells of horse-drawn carts. Rich scents, both pleasant and unpleasant, drifted to me through the passenger window, the spicy aroma of pakora and the nihari Baba had loved so much blended with the sting of diesel fumes, the stench of rot, garbage, and feces.

“A little past the redbrick buildings of Peshwar University, we entered an area my garrulous driver referred to as “Afghan Town.” I saw sweatshops and carpet vendors, kabob stalls, kids with dirt-caked hands selling cigarettes, tiny restaurants—maps of Afghanistan painted on their windows—all interlaced with back street aid agencies.”

While reading this I found so many similarities I had to include it. It was cool to read something so closely related from something you know, yet so distant from the life you’re accustomed to.

Once we arrived at the market, I got another slap in the face.

Miguel gathered us and warned us to stick together, keep a close watch on our things, and to remember to bargain prices.

We start walking into the outdoor market and are greeted with snake charmers playing music to cobras, and monkeys on leashes with their owners trying to get you to take a picture with them. And by trying, I have to stress that they literally put the monkey on your head and tell you to take out your camera. But you have to just say no and try to take the monkey off. There were older women sitting on the ground asking you to get a henna tattoo. Many children came up to me with dirty clothes and sad eyes asking for money. Even adults were begging for money. Slap.
There are at least a thousand cats walking around.

The shopkeepers deserve their own paragraph. There were aggressive—an understatement. They were aggressive on all accounts. Aggressive to get you to buy something from their shop, aggressive to get you to pay a certain price, aggressive to bring you to their friends shop, and then aggressive to get you to marry them. They were overly complimentary and sometimes outrageously crude. Throughout the entire course of the trip I was proposed to at least six or seven times, offered camels, offered vases for my eyes, offered a house and a good life, called a Spice Girl, called Madonna, and asked to get “jiggy wit it.” It of course made me feel good to receive such compliments, but it also made me wonder why they were like that. I’m not sure if its just part of their culture or if they were specifically geared to act that way toward American girls or just foreign girls in general.

It was a huge maze of alleyways and shops with beautiful colors and designs. It was gorgeous and ugly at the same time. There were a hundred wrong turns to take. They sold just about everything, and if they didn’t have it, they would get it for you, or they knew a friend who had it. Many of them spoke about four languages it was incredible. Arabic, French (Berber), Spanish, and English. One guy even came up to me and said “see ya later alligator”. Naturally I responded with “in a while crocodile.”

It was such a dirty place—stray cats were all over the place, along with bugs. The floor was just the ground, and smells of nastiness would continually penetrate my nostrils in wafts. There were putrid smells of bodily waste, rotting animals, and other things. The food shocked me at how unsanitary it looked. Insects were all over it, yet nobody seemed to care much. Cats were eating dead animals and leaving the carcasses on the ground, and you could easily step on them. Dead half eaten fish were also a common sight. I don’t want to know what or where I stepped in.

As nightfall approached many of the stall were closing up. It was Ramadan and no one had eaten or drank anything all day.

For dinner we walked around a series of stalls that looked much like restaurants with seating. Everyone tried to get us to eat at their stall because we were such a large group. Finally Miguel negotiated with one owner a good price for us and we had our dinner. We had bread, seasoned olives, a red dipping sauce for the bread, couscous, and seasoned kabobs of chicken and beef. The bread was delicious. It had a sweet aftertaste.

At night it was magic-like. All the people were happy. The food was great; there was a compilation of different music playing in the background, combined with the snake charmers recorder. The lighting was also beautiful, and the weather more than perfect. If I were to have handpicked how the night went, I couldn’t have imagined a better night.

I’m so happy and glad I did this trip.

Our means of transportation were horse-drawn carriages. It was unbelievable. Apart from the fact that I felt bad for the horses, it finished off the night perfectly.

We got back to the hotel, and all talked about our day.

Incredible.

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