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Hi all
Some notes from Morocco in January 2006
DOUBLE FEATURE IN TETOUAN
The first couple of days in this frivolous small metropolis I devoted mostly to
dealing with the downpour of creativity I was feeling. But on the third evening I
needed a break from the computer screen and the cyber cafe noise. I strolled
across the street to an old movie theater that promised some numbing affect to my
mercurial brain.
In my broken french I learned that the movie has just started a few minutes ago,
that the sound track was in English and that I can stay for the second movie, if
I like, for for the same admission price. Cool.
Stumping to my hard wooden seat, I felt and heard the daunting crunching sound of
sun flower seeds shells on the cold bare concrete floor. Or was it cockroaches
that I accidentally managed to send into a better world?
Only men were seated in the theater. Smoking eating and drinking was highly
encouraged - I guess. Most patrons seemed to be engage in one or more of these
activities - between conversions on their cell phones that rang happily during
the
projection.
The scratched copy of this movie (sound track in modern and fluent Thai, with
Arabic sub-titles) started some 45 minutes prior on a projector that was way past
it's peek performance days. Luckily I did not have to watch this plot develops.
It was a half-ass Kong-Fu meets Thai-mix-martial-arts flick with lots of B movie
guns that shoot endless amount of bullets at bad guys that die 4 or 5 times per.
The manager I reckoned, used to manage a morgue in his previous employment and
recognized the benefits of sub zero temperatures for preservation of his
customer-ship. I looked around for the first aid kit in case I start to show
signs of frost bites. I spotted a guy two rows away from me (next to the one that
was clearly developing bronchitis) that did not move the whole time, and I
suspected that he was one of the manager's former customer group.
The second movie was a cinematic jewel out of Bollywood. A Maharajah and his
daughter with servants on a bird hunt and a savage male servant out-running the
hound dogs to retrieve the fallen prey. Cool. When I saw the lustful look the
innocent young
daughter (dressed in white - you guessed correctly) gave the
Savage sweaty servant - I resisted the urge to get my moneys worth, in watching
both movies, and left the theater.
TRIP TO KETAMA - FEAR!
As it is, I know a few of you consider me nuts. This time I have to admit, I
surprised myself as well. I will agree to submit my passport for reevaluation at
the next reality check-point.
Katema - in the Rif mountains of northern Morocco. To my knowledge, the only
region in the world with an official permission to grow Hash - signed and sealed
by the Moroccan Monarchs.
According to Wikipedia
"Ketama (also known as Issaguen) is known as the center of the hashish trade and
is likely not an ideal destination."
From another travel information site: "Ketama,in the Rif mountains, has a bad
reputation, and could be dangerous. Ketama attracts few travelers ......... the
same visitors have not heard that they might get into a lot of trouble, too."
All this and more was adding to my growing fear as I took the bus from Tetaoun to
Ketama. A bus ride that earned me a small hard seat
at the back, sucking diesel
fumes that would make the Exxon Valdez seems like a peddle boat.
When asked about my destination - I saw a couple of men next to me on the bus
exchanging meaningful but subdued glances.
In Ketama/Issaguen main drag I walked the street feeling like a lone gun slinger
in a old wild west town. And I wasn't packing. Men lazily followed my stroll,
from the small stools in the tea houses along the road, with eyes dulled by hash
smoke, judging me to possibly be a trafficker (might carry a lot of cash) or just
a traveler (not interesting). The sweet scent of hashish was everywhere.
I was searching for Hammed - The man with the white hair.
Then came two consecutive taxi rides to Hammed's village, sharing the cabs with 5
Arab men (yes 6 passengers to a cab). I was afraid - every atom in my body was
spinning at top speed attempting to leave the sinking ship.
I grew up perceiving 6 Arab men in a Mercedes taxi as a moving target - not a joy
ride. While squooshed in the back seat I thought that this might be my last
taxi
ride. Ever. That I might come out of this taxi with balls twice the size I
started the trip with - or none at all. Second choice unquestionably preferred.
While in the taxis -
* Combination of adrenalin rush and fear control with deep breath and positive
visualization.
* It was about conquering fear. About learning from it.
* If I get robbed on these dirt roads and they find my American passport and or
my Israeli passport - I might be late for dinner. For ever. I might become bird
food - vultures mind you- not nightingales.
* About trusting my intuition.
* About knowing that if that was my last day on earth - so be it - I had a great
life.
* About resisting the Arab negative impression cemented in my system since my
childhood and adolescence in Israel.
* About watching the pretty snow covered mountain tops. How long would I survive
if I manage to run away in case of a fight?
* About being was in the lions den and the lions where in.
MOROCCAN HAMAM IN MARRAKESH
For my first excursion into the wonderful world of mid-eastern public bathing I
picked up a small out of the way Hamam in a very non touristy part of Marrakesh.
I was the only non Moroccan around. While undressing, the dressing room attendant
watched me like a fucking hawk. In truth, I do not think that hawks display this
kind of interest in disrobing men while they copulate. Lets put it this way then
- he distinctively displayed, how shell I call it - "curiosity".
I placed my cloth in the plastic basket provided, and was just about to enter the
main Hamam rooms when he jolted out of his comfy Kodak Moment corner and dashed
towards me with his mouth wide open.
I couldn't tell if he liked my cute ass so much, and I was not about to let him
sample any, when he pointed towards my uncovered privets (thanks dude - I
happened to know where they are) and covered his eyes in a creative pantomime
move that could only mean that I have to cover up. OOPS. I guess I will have to
wear underwear while bathing here. There goes the comfort.
The bathing part was nice - especially since the cheap hotels I stayed in the
previous weeks in Morocco had very little, if any, hot water.
There was one other guy that kept starring at me while soaping his balls under
his over-size underwear elastically suspended under his gut. Not exactly Calvin
Klein territory. By the time I enjoyed the forth hot bucket of water the guy's
eyes were still transfixed on me - and I wager his testicles must have been
awfully clean at that point.
There was one other guy wandering about that offered body scrubs but to me it
looked like he believed in the barter system (you wash my back I wash yours kind
of a thing) and I clearly stayed out of his growing list of satisfied clients.
All in all - a worthy experience. And no - I didn't collect any e mail addresses.
Hope you like
One more Moroccan update is on the way
Love
Zeev
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judylay
Judy Lay
your blogs make me laugh
I enjoy listening to you talk about sticking out like a sore thumb in weird situations. Ö Thanks for having such a great sense of humor and keeping this journal.