MOROCCO Chapter 2: Pigeon Poop & CouchSurfing

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I had read about the tanneries in Morocco and was determined to visit one, so the next day Meredith and I tried to find the tannery in the old medina. We met a nice man who offered to show us where it was. He led us through the medina and handed us off to a man standing outside the tannery. Thinking that he was expecting money for leading us there, we offered him some but he refused to take it. The next man gave us some mint leaves to hold under our noses because the tanneries are notorious for smelling wretched. He took us into the tannery and gave us a brief explanation of everything. Today they use more chemicals than they used to in the tanneries but it is still very traditional. There were several large vats that they use to dye the hides. Each vat had something different in it, for example one had pigeon poop (how they collected that much pigeon poop is beyond me). After the brief tour, we thought he was going to ask for money but instead he dropped us off at this large store outside the tannery and another man met us (at this point we realized we were in the thick of some sort of operation/scam). The next man took us inside the multi-level plush shop filled with leather products, carpets, and Moroccan crafts. Meredith and I looked around for a bit and she ended up buying a knife for her brother (buying things in Morocco is a process—you have to bargain and the people there are professionals at it; they take you for all you’re worth). After we left the shop, the man who took us into the tannery was waiting outside and demanded a very large sum of money for giving us the "tour." We gave him a fraction of what he was asking for and told him that we had spent the rest in their store.

We made our way back across the medina in search of the Bahia Palace (a palace that was built in the 19th century and was meant to be the greatest palace of its time); however when we arrived it was just closing (it closed between 11:45am and 4:00pm).

[Background Info: After deciding that we were going to travel together Meredith told me that she didn’t really care where we went (as long as it wasn’t Italy, France, or Portugal because she had already been to all those countries) and she’d be cool with whatever I wanted to do so I did most of the research for our trip and chose most of our itinerary. While planning the trip I decided it would be cool to try out CouchSurfing (a non-profit online organization where you sign-up, make a profile, and can search for people around the world who offer up their couch to travelers). I forget where I had heard about the organization but the more I read about it, the better and more legit it sounded. I figured it would be really nice because by doing it we could stay with someone who spoke English and who would probably be willing to show us around the city; it would offer us more of a way to get off the tourist route. And it’s free (what could be better?!?).

I contacted people in Casablanca, Fes, and Marrakech. We didn’t want to spend all our time in Casablanca and decided that we would either go to Fes or Marrakech after spending a couple days in Casa (depending on where we could find a place to couch surf). I heard back pretty quickly from a guy in Marrakech who seemed really excited to host us (before any of you freak out, I only contacted people who were legit and had been verified and vouched for by several people from around the world. Regardlessly, most of our friends in Granada thought that we were crazy and after our site director sat me down and told me that he couldn’t legally stop students from visiting Morocco but that he strongly discourages it and told me stories about foreigners dying in terrorist bombings we decided not to tell him about our brilliant idea—aside from his fear of students traveling to Morocco our program director is a really awesome guy). After reading more about him (the guy who responded to me on CouchSurfing), I realized that while he is from the Marrakech area, he is not from the actual city. Rather, he lives in a small village an hour outside of Marrakech. At first I was slightly disappointed but the more I thought about it, the better the idea sounded of being able to get away from the city and all the tourists and to instead experience rural Moroccan life. I was in contact with him for a week or so before we left and talked to him on the phone a couple times after we arrived. We planned to meet at 2pm that day by the Koutoubia mosque (the largest mosque in Marrakech, just outside the old medina).]

Since we had time to kill between passing by the Bahia Palace and meeting Adil, our CouchSurfing host, we got some lunch and spent more time exploring the souks and watching entertainers in the Djemaa el Fna (the main square).

At two, we went and met Adil below the Koutoubia. After exchanging greetings, he quickly led us to the other side of the old medina where we caught a grand taxi (there are two types of taxis in Morocco: petit taxis which are regular city taxis, and grand taxis which stop at designated spots and wait until there are six people wanting to go to the same location (usually intercity), pile them in the car, and have set fees per person) to Sidi Rahal (his village). There were only five people waiting to go there (us and two others) so instead of waiting for a sixth, we said that we would pay for the sixth seat so that we could leave.

After an hour ride, we arrived in Sidi Rahal. It's a very small village. Adil told us that there are 7,000 inhabitants but it seems like there are less. It’s definitely a place that tourists don’t visit. Most of the houses are made of bricks and mud and only the main street is paved. Adil’s friend, Abdullah, met us when we arrived and walked with us to Adil’s family’s house. Abdullah is 18 years old and in his last year in high school. I’m pretty sure he is the tallest person I've seen since I’ve been here. He speaks English (his focus in school is languages) and he is hilarious—a great guy.

When we arrived at Adil’s house it was kind of awkward because he and his sister (he has two sisters and two brothers) are the only ones in their family who speak English so when we got to the house some of his family was sitting in the main room and all we were able to do was smile and say hello.

The first room in their house is carpeted with rugs and has some mattresses (on the ground) lining the perimeter of the room with pillows propped against the walls to rest your back. The room also has a TV (it seems like everyone has satellite TV in Morocco. Even when we were in really poor neighborhoods, it seemed like all the houses had satellites on them). We took our shoes off when we entered the room (as in customary in any household there (which is the complete opposite of Spain—we get in trouble for walking around the house in socks)). Then Adil showed us where we would sleep—it was a large rectangular room that had a long wrap around couch and a small table on one side. I noticed later that basically all their possessions were kept in these two rooms which they used to entertain guests. One day I peaked into their kitchen and it was literally an empty cement room with a small propane tank used to cook and some pots and dishes on the ground.

After we dropped off our stuff, Adil asked us if we wanted to take a nap. We told him we weren’t really tired and instead played some cards and drank some tea (they refer to it as Moroccan Whiskey, it’s a green tea that they load up with sugar and is the preferred drink all over Morocco, we drank it with virtually every meal). A little later Abdullah came over and we went on a short hike outside of the village. We passed by another small village and hiked up to these families amethyst mines. We climbed down into one of the mines until we reached water (the families dig down until they hit water and then verge off to one of the sides to continue mining). After we got back from the hike, we went to a small café and drank some more tea. The African Cup (continent-wide soccer tournament) was going on so there were a lot of men gathered inside watching a game. After we finished our tea, Adil slaughtered Meredith and me in a game of phooseball. It was dark at that point and we headed outside of the village up past a cemetery to a hill to meet some more of Adil’s and Abdulla’s friends.

They took us to this small little gazebo-type building (it was a small, enclosed, round room) on the top of the hill. Adil told us that there were many superstitions about the building—he showed us that next to the building there were two large ditches with some clothes scattered around them. He said that sometimes women who want to get married will secretly go up there in the middle of the night and take off all their clothes and wash themselves with some type of special water to renew themselves. Then they leave their undergarments up there and go into the little building, put henna all over their hands, and touch the wall (there were hand prints all over the inside of the gazebo—before he explained it to us, I thought they were made with blood). They believe that if a man comes up to the building and touches any of the woman’s garments that she left behind it’s fated that they will get married.

Two of Adil’s and Abdullah’s friends met us in the enclosed gazebo and two more showed up a bit later. They brought blankets and we laid them on the floor for seating. We lit a candle for light. Then, the two friends proceeded to pull out instruments…something that looked like a simplistic hand-made guitar and these little cymbal-like things. They began playing the instruments and singing. Later, when the other two friends showed up they started dancing (once again, kind of bopping up and down with a little bit of clapping. After a while one of them got down on his hands and knees and started shaking his head up and down, it was...interesting). They got Meredith and I to dance with them and had us try to play the cymbal-like instruments. The cymbals were a lot harder to play than you would expect and we both failed miserably at playing them with any consistent rhythm.

Meredith had left her camera at Adil’s house when we dropped off our stuff and mine had died while taking pictures on our hike so we were both extremely disappointed that we didn’t have a camera.

After singing and dancing for a while, they continued playing music and we began exchanging jokes. Abdullah was really interested in English jokes and proverbs (e.g. “don’t put all your eggs in one basket”).

It was kind of sad, I asked Abdullah if he will go to Casablanca next year to study English in the university like Adil did and he told me that he would like to but he doesn’t know if he will because even if you study in the university you still can’t get a job, so he thinks it’s kind of worthless (Adil is currently unemployed—he was working as an English teacher but was only offered a one year contract so he’s been out of work ever since that contract ended).

When we got back to the house that night Adil, Meredith, and I ate dinner. He brought out tea, bread, and a plate with some cooked vegetables and meat on it. We weren’t really sure how to go about eating it but we quickly picked up on the fact that to eat they tear off pieces of bread and use it to dip or scoop up pieces of food from the main plate. It felt a little bit foreign pulling meat (that we were all sharing) apart with my fingers instead of using a knife and fork. Also they only use their right hand (their left hand is strictly used for bathroom purposes). Being left handed I had to consciously think about that every time I ate, even though Adil told me that since I was a foreigner it didn't really matter.

After dinner we called it a night and planned to get up at nine the next morning to go on a long hike with Abdullah and Lahsen (one of the guys we met that night at the gazebo).

TO BE CONTINUED...

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Photos

The Koutoubia
Where we met Adil

The Outside of Adil's House
With his two sisters and mother

Comments

[karen]

couch surfing...
Sounds interesting, Er! NOW I know how you found that little village. I like the addition of the pictures.