Portal to another Protest

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Many people I met travelling up Africa would talk about how they are trying to avoid flying. How they want to travel the whole trip overland. That’s a thing of the past. Travel now is about the ability to portal yourself from one culture to he next within the hour (or two.) I learnt this years ago in Europe and whilst Africa is difficult to do it financially. It is still possible and I did it by bypassing Morocco’s north and planting myself into Fes’ El-Bali Medina, the world’s largest living medieval Islamic City.

I arrived in Fez at night and was straight into the tajines. A stew with vegetables and meat cooked slowly in its presented dish, an earthenware bowl. It was March and the weather was cold and many locals were walking around in jelabah’s. A long gown with a hood slightly pointed at the tip. A bit like Star Wars with a pointed tip.

The weather was pissing down rain early on and Fez didn’t quite capture the imagination. I was expecting to be swamped by chaos; smells and sounds unseen before but the rain eased that. Many people setting up in a coffee house drinking mint tea and playing Parcheesi board game.

What impressed me is the drainage of the whole place. At one of the main gates a lot of dirt built up in the drainage section and the next morning workers came to clean it up. Efficiency is not one of Africa’s strong points so Fez impressed me on that note.

Each morning was started with some mint tea and a Moroccan pancake with either honey, cheese or chocolate plastered over it. In fact Fez is a lot of walking around, sipping tea and eating. You can walk to the tanneries but I heard there was one in Marrakesh so I waited for better weather. Instead I just appreciated the sight of a horse stocked up with gas tanks on his back walking past me. Some guy wheeling some vegetables and a bunch of people trying to get me to have a tea or eat food at their restaurant.

Fes’ medina is a real blast from the past. The narrow alleyways mean the cars are left for outside so the environment is very intimate especially when a cartload of mint passes by. The produce looks so rich in its natural flavour. Everything is cheap too, which enables you to eat pretty healthy. Fruit, vegies, prunes, nuts and fruit juice. One thing about Arab countries is the fruit juice; it’s their compensation for not having much alcohol.


To get the full scale of the place it’s best to walk outside the walls along the road with the cars to realise how special this place is. There is the Merenid Tombs up on a hill near some ruins. They provide a panoramic view of a mishmash of buildings and mosques spanning a good kilometre. Whilst up there we walked around the cemetery where a flock of sheep were grazing.

I noticed the smallest lamb I have ever seen, than all of a sudden the mother moved sideways and started chewing this chord from the lamb’s stomach. A look to the back of the mother and blood and goo were smothered all over the back - She had just had the baby. The shepherd was close by. He looked very proud, I smiled and put a thumb up and he smiled back. The mother tried for a while to chew off the umbilical chord and once that was achieved went on grazing for a bit. That sight took away from the viewpoint in a way but still worth a light walk to get to it even with out a new lamb sighting.

Another great way to kill some time is to go to one of the numerous hammams. These are bathhouses like a giant sauna. The hammams are open for specific times for males and females. This was the busiest hammam I have been in and I conned two other travellers to join me. “You can’t say you have travelled to an Arab country if you haven’t gone to a hammam.”

Steam hits your face as you walk in with only your best underwear on (a bright blue panty style… Shit) Black and white tiles surround the floor and heat immediately is felt on the soles of your feet. It cost 80dh (got ripped off) so 10 bucks but oh well turned out cheaper than elsewhere in Morocco. Plenty of water gets flung over you by the locals as you wait and attempt to lie on the scorching floor.

The whole idea when you enter is to try and get the fattest masseuse around whose towel is holding on for dear life whilst wrapped around his large belly. I got some short guy with a massive potbelly and a red towel whose knot was pleading for mercy. Perfect! But first off I went to some other guy who started with some contortion moves. This creates some bellowing out as your limbs get put into positions only force can put it into. A few cracks of the back and I was taken over to the short fat guy with a red towel wrapped around him.

One of his first move, as I lay down on my back, was to put his privates in an almost revealing position as he split his legs and walked over me. Stopping in time to then pour water over me. I had nowhere else to look bar ahead between his legs where in the steamy domed room I see another man being scrubbed down by another guy. For a homophobe in the western world they would feel very uncomfortable but this was my third time so that stuff doesn’t matter to me.

Water gets splashed over you again and it is a soothing experience. The event is completed with a scrub down with a sandpaper like glove that gradually peels your dead skin into a dirt role that has accumulated over the past days. I have to admit I was incredibly clean. The cleanest of my three goes. At the end, your skin is so smooth you feel like a newborn. I went to get a professional shave before that and so my whole body was as smooth as a babies bum. Are we allowed to say that now in our anti-paedophilia media society?

I left Fes and moved to the coast and Rabat where I needed to start my numerous VISA adventures for this part of the trip. Mauritania was needed here and unfortunately they only provide visas at the embassy meaning Rabat it was. By the time I received my Visa I would have stayed in Rabat for 4 days… Sometimes Visa runs can be exciting and outgoing (like Uganda) other times it can be a depressing experience and then I tend to hibernate acting like a baby because governments have tamed my adventures temporarily. I arrived on a Friday and Friday’s in the Islamic world I like. It’s such a family day. The parks are always full.

Whilst Fes gave an insight into the old culture of Morocco there is a new culture brewing. That’s the chic looking Moroccan who resides in the capital Rabat and Casablanca. The guy in the designer suit or fake designer. A Jaguar driving past. The cities are one hour apart and are connected via train, which is a quality service.

Arab countries are really in a transition stage from its old ways to a very highly European influence. They even have trams ready to go to improve congestion, which really doesn’t exist in comparison to other cities in the world. Plenty of modern shops and clean expansive streets.

I had some funny experiences with the locals in my first week. I was asked by a guy, “Are you from Japan?” I wasn’t sure if this was an Arab joke because it happens quite a lot. Is it because I am in possession of a big zoom camera they automatically assume I’m Japanese because surely I don’t look like one? They surely can’t assume that Caucasian looks like Asian? I laughed off his question, waiting for a response like he was joking but there was none. ‘Oh my God he is actually serious.’ The guy said, “Oh I thought you were, because of your eyes.” (…?)

On my train ride from Fez I was entertained by not reacting to the locals playing western music on their mobiles whilst I read my book. They’d try and guess who it is and the guy with the mobile would say who it was in broken English. “Jums Blud, Miria Carri or the name of the song. “Otel Califoonya.”

Accommodation is not that inspiring. Either its $10 a night for your own room that’s clean enough, a shower you have to pay a buck for, no breakfast and most likely a squatter toilet that’s better kept than a western toilet. A further $6-8 more a night and you can get a bit more luxury of a power socket guaranteed in your room. I gambled on the power socket.

I spoke to my dad on skype the day of my first train ride and he still after all these years can not fathom how I am still travelling and not blown a few hundred grand. Actually come to think of it this is my fifth year. I’d be getting pretty close to spending 100 000 big ones on travelling. If I stretch it over the one year mark this trip I’d get pretty close. What an intangible investment!!

I realised pretty much straight away I need to learn French. For West Africa l only get some light respite in the form of Guinea-Bissau, which is Portuguese and I can use my shitty Spanish and Ghana and Sierra Leonie with that beautiful language we call English. Apart from that if I don’t learn some French I’m gonna be fucked!

In a rare treat whilst waiting around to process my VISA I managed to get myself into a protest again - This time in Rabat the capital. It was not as big but just as passionate. It was as if they wanted the world and locals to not forget they are like the rest of the region with its set up. But Morocco does have the best human rights record of the region.

I woke up from a morning siesta after being rejected to process my visa till the next day. I heard some noise that sounded like a protest was building - I heard today was the day. I walk outside towards Mohammed V Street and a gathering had occurred. Through boredom and nothing else to do I am treated like media by the locals and given an up close access in front of the main group starting the protest. I even get asked by Spanish TV to make a comment. I refuse as my Spanish is not good enough and really I had no true idea what was going on.

Instead I took some more photos got what I thought were decent enough photos and had my fill. Surely that is my last protest this trip?? The Mauritania VISA form was in French and Arabic so I was clueless as to what to fill in and eventually through help I got it done on the 2nd attempt.

The one thing I’ve realised, is the Islamic and French influence to this region. To get a true indication of the French influence you can go up to the street stands where a massive stew pot is steaming with snails to eat… I just can’t do that to myself again.

I quickly visited Casablanca and near the Hassan II Mosque, the third largest Mosque in the world, locals bring out their body boards and catch some waves with a very unusual backdrop. Morocco early on felt like a different destination with its array of cultures and influences. I’d continue the adventure the following week with a visit to Marrakesh and the coast along the Western Sahara.

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Photos

1 - Protest in Rabat
More photos from #57 onwards