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Published: August 7th 2008
Hassan II Mosque
The Hassan II Mosque is the second largest religious building in the world. Located in Casablanca.OK, OK. So we've been back in the US for what, 2 months already now. It's finally time to tell you about Morocco. We started our time in Morocco in Casablanca. We did nothing spectacular, though we did manage to find some amazing street food--chicken kebab sandwiches in French bread with tomatoes, onions, and olives served with french fries and hot mustard eaten while standing from a plastic plate resting on a tiny metal ledge. Yum. Happily someone had ordered one as we were casting about for food so we could point at what he was having, grunt, and hold up two fingers to get our own. However, we hadn't come all the way to Morocco just to sit in our hotel and eat amazing sandwiches. We had bought a tour months in advance and it was time to meet up with our tour group.
Our tour group consisted of about fifteen Aussies, four or five Brits, two Brazilians, and us. We started off in Casablanca where we saw the gigantic Hassan II mosque. It was built in the nineties, but its modernity does not detract at all from its magnificence. It stands on a spit of land stretching out
Ancient Mosque
This old mosque stands in a dead city outside of Rabat. It's now home to many a stork. into the ocean, and on the day we visited, it was surrounded by massive clouds in a huge blue sky. The intricacy of the work on this stunningly large building was what struck me most of all. Of course, as a Muslim place of worship it had no representative art--pictures of people and animals are strictly forbidden. Mosques are instead covered in geometric patterns of stunning complexity and impossibly flowery calligraphy. Every surface of the Hassan II mosque--doors, floors, wall, ceilings--was worked with skill leaving me with a feeling of awe and almost mathematical clarity.
Not long after being bundled out of our bus, we were bundled back in and trucked off to another sight, another city. Our next destination was Rabat, the capital city. We had many places on our tour agenda so we were marched through Rabat at break-neck speed. "Take your time," our guide, Hamed would say, "ten myoonits." Then we'd be off to the next place for our next ten minutes. I wish we had had more time to enjoy Rabat. Like Casablanca, it lies on the coast, but unlike Casablanca, it is one of the old imperial cities as opposed to a financial and
Dinner Music
We listened to traditional Moroccan music while dinning on wonderful Moroccan food. shipping hub. Most amazing was the labyrinthine Mellah, or Jewish quarter. The walls of every house were painted a brilliant shade of blue. Streets varied from five to seven feet wide and twisted and turned this way and that for no apparent reason.
We were then whisked off to Fes, another of the imperial cities. The old part of Fes, the medina, is a huge network of tiny streets, markets, mosques, residences, hotels, and hidden gardens. We were led past piles of goat heads, camel meat and hanging organs; rosewater, cloth, and spice sellers; madrases and mosques. Fes is full of handicrafts, especially cloth, bronze wares, leather wares, and pottery. We were led to and left in workshops throughout the day. The demonstrations of craftsmanship were quite stunning, but the inevitable sales pitches that followed were tiresome. Every nod of appreciation was leaped upon by a salesman, "How much you want to pay?" After enough hassling, I just assumed a glazed expression and tried not to look at anything directly. I must say, despite the hard sell, I really enjoyed the visit to the tannery. We stood on a balcony overlooking the tanning pits, a grid of what appeared
Markets at Fes
This is only one tiny part of the huge marketplace in the city of Fes. to be stone wells filled with white goo or colored paste. The smell of death filled the air. Men would stick their arms up to the elbow in those stinking pits, pull out skin s and scrape off bits of fat and hair. It served as a clear reminder that leather comes from animals, and people have to work in some really nasty muck to turn a dead animal into a pretty purse.
After Fes we rode through a lot of absolutely amazing countryside. Parts of it reminded Chris of southeast Kansas, while other parts reminded me of New Mexico. I felt a profound longing to visit the United States again. Other stretches of country were uniquely Moroccan. Date palms and small Kasbahs or pink and yellow Moroccan houses would spring up out of nowhere, Oases in the desert. Roadside vendors sold argan oil, a special cosmetic oil found only in Morocco, by the liter from two foot high stone sheds miles from any town. Donkey trails traced back and forth across the hillsides. And if there's anything cuter than a full grown man riding a trotting donkey, I haven't seen it. Kids would pop up from behind rocks
Metalworker
Here a man hammers designs into a bronze plate in the markets at Fes. and trees at every scenic area selling geodes, rattan toys, or what appeared to be live gila monsters.
One day after a couple of long days on the bus, I went for a jeep and camel ride through the desert. Chris didn't think much of camels after our experience with them in Egypt, so he opted out and spent the day in our palatial hotel. The jeep ride included a stop at a nomad dwelling. None of the people in my jeep were too eager to stop. I find jumping out of a tour bus by the dozen to gawk at people's poverty very off putting. Since no one spoke French or Arabic we all sort of shuffled around whispering, trying to be polite. After poking around for a bit we jumped back into jeeps and charged off into the desert.
The sand dunes in the desert make one feel small. And although I chafed my ass, I still declare riding a camel through the Sahara awesome.
The next day took us to Ait Ben Hiddou Kasbah, a small town built out of an old palace. We were guided around by a young boy up and down
The City of Fes
Here we see the rooftops of the city of Fes. One of the largest and oldest cities in Morocco. mud brick stairs, in and out of old houses. Floors made out of mud don't differ at all in color or texture from mud streets, and since the kasbah was built on a hill it was very difficult to figure out if you were on the ground or high above it. It was wonderfully disorienting. After snapping a bunch of pictures and drinking a quick fanta in the shade, it was back to the bus and on to Marrakech.
Our tour ended in Marrakech, but we had five extra days there, so we took it easy. We left our fancy tour hotel and attempted to find our little ryad, a BnB called Riad Alexandra (nice). Armed with crummy directions, (It's near the post office), I rubbed the three words of French I knew together and found it. A neighbor popped out and proceeded to say, "Frenchfrenchfrench
Riad Alexandra frenchfrench
problem frenchfrench." She then pointed to a number on her cel phone, led me down the street to a pay phone and called someone who spoke a little more, but not much more, English. Yes, there was a problem. Wait five minutes. Hmmm. About ten minutes later a man on
Islamic Design
This door is decorated with geometric designs common to Islamic art and architecture. a moped met us in the tiny alley in front of the riad and took us to the other end of town to a different riad. Apparently the place we booked had no electricity.
No matter, the people at Riad Yasmina II were awesome. The food. The
Food! We asked for dinner every night. The first meal was so great, we just asked them to cook anything they felt like cooking. Oh, what an excellent choice. Couscous, lamb and artichokes, chicken, bread, kebabs! They actually started cooking our last dinner in the morning and served it at about 9 pm. And when I say
they I mean everyone. Grandma, daughter, niece, some guy who fit in the family picture somehow, and the manager. And it was legendary. Pigeon pie. The crown jewel of Marrakech cuisine. Homemade and hot. Wow.
No trip would be complete without a little bit of embarrassment, though, and here's mine. I'd heard about Moroccan baths here and there on our travels. They sounded enough like Turkish baths to pique my interest. So I dragged a group of Canadians college students off with me to a bath house. Apparently Moroccan baths are not like Turkish
Camels in the Desert
Alex went for a ride on a camel through a small part of the great Sahara desert. baths. Some things are the same. Bath houses are, of course, male or female only. They're steamy and hot. And there the similarities end. The bath house was a strictly locals only, no frills place. Staff members do not wash you as you lay on a giant marble slab. You wash yourself or your friends while squatting next to a bucket in a crowded tile room. Insert nervous laugh. ha-ha....ha...We two ladies didn't have it so bad. Some people felt sorry for us as we hemmed and hawed in a corner. She loofahed my back; I loofahed hers. We walked out feeling clean and pink. Exfoliated? Embarrassed? Probably a bit of both. The guys had a different story to tell. They bravely walked into the changing rooms, stripped down, wrapped towels around themselves and walked into the steaming rooms. They drummed up the courage to remove their towels only to find---
All the local guys still had their underwear on.
Man. I'm glad that wasn't me. Good laugh though.
It was hard to leave the open courtyard of the riad, the perfect temperature and blue skies, but France and the US were calling. We threw out anything
A Grand Canyon
We ate lunch in this massive gorge. A small stream ran through the bottom, nice. that would push our bags over the weight limit (who needs more than one shirt, right?), shouldered our packs full of souvenirs, and headed off to Paris for a couple of days.
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