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Published: November 22nd 2012
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3 Muskateers
After the Spa How quickly we adjust...what was novel a week ago is now old school. Putting up a tent, taking it down, stuffing it in a bag several sizes too small (regardless of what the manufacturer says), it's all run of the mill now, the nomadic life is passe. Other things retain the power to surprise, the absolutely gorgeous landscape of Morocco, especially the Atlas montains are deserving of praise: hard, dry and cold....life here is unrelenting for the inhabitants. Each tiny cultivated plot clings to the edge of a slow running waterway, hard won fertility. In other places dried up streams are bordered by abandoned terraces like a dusty brown necklace. The people are busy trying to survive, olives and dates are essential parts of their daily diet. Bread is made from home grown and ground wheat. Each small tent and hut has the obligatory grindstone close to it's entrance, larger grindstones are powered by donkeys. The women carry huge loads, literally bent over double, while the men sit in cafe's looking world weary drinking endless cups of 'berber whiskey' as they call their boiled green tea.
Along every roadside goods are lined up to tempt the passerby, bedouin knives, the
Mohamed and me
He offered camels! infamous carpets, enough djellabas to clothe the african continent and suspect 'silver' jewellery. Stopping to look opens a call and response worthy of the southern baptist churches...
just come to look,
no thanks,
only for the pleasure of your eyes,
la shoukraan (no thanks gone local),
no buying only to look to warm my heart,
really I am not interested,
please have tea you are welcome,
i am just looking,
how much you want to pay i give you moroccan price,
no i really don't want it,
you lovely lady i give 600,000 camels for you,
okay 200 dirham,
no little profit give 400,
no i really only have 200,
just little profit more than 300 last price,
no I really only have 250,
okay last price just pay 350,
no i really cannot pay more than 300,
okay okay okay give me 300...
And so I leave with another caftan, scarf, toe ring or polished fossil...
Today we are in Marrakech, home to hustlers, acrobats, snake charmers, and story tellers. The marketplace is swollen with foreigners, bemused by
A village survives
Water is the key to life the quick movements and fast talking of the salemen as they call out in a dozen languages. I am greeted with Namaste (Columbus would be proud), Salut, Obama, Brazil and the ubiquitous...MERHABA (welcome in Berber). In less than 2 hours I have spent every penny I was determined not to!Broke and overwhelmed I wander around with my hand grabbed and hennaed, hats placed on my head, beggars clinging. Sensory overload I am getting short tempered and just want OUT!!!!
Ahhhhh a hamman, warm marble pedestals, copious bucketloads of hot water, cleansing body maskes, massages with argan oil, I retreat inside and allow myself 4 hours of bliss, waxed, rubbed, mani and pedi cured, shampooed, conditioned, blown dry and expelled from the spa, I am a new woman...for less than the cost of a haircut in Amsterdam...I could almost migrate..
Tomorrow we move on to southern climes and the coast and 10 days of bush camping....The hard work of the hamman will be undone but the memory lives on....
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