The Mother of Birthday Gifts

After the long waits for filthy hot buses and taxis we were finally on the Moroccan rail line. I had read that the rail system in Morocco was one of the most modern in Africa, although I'm not quite sure how modern that really meant. The plan was to take the overnight sleeper south to the coastal town of Essaouira. The problem was that a Ramadan schedule was in effect and there were no overnight trains. So we bought a first class ticket for the 41/2 hour trip to Casablanca.

The name Casablanca may conjure up images of romance from the movie of the same name however like the movie most travellers are trying to get out of Casablanca. It's a big modern city of 4 million with big city problems and holds little interest for tourists. That said it is the most western city in the Arab world both geographically and symbolically and offers an interesting contrast with the rest of Morocco. With it's fabulous art deco architecture and women wearing the latest designer clothes a more common sight than the veil, at times we felt we could be in southern Europe. Sitting in the Romano Cafe we were surrounded with men and woman, indeed a very rare sight in Moroccan cafe culture.

There is one must see site in Casablanca, the Hassan II Mosque. Commissioned by former King Hassan II for his 60th birthday, the mosque is the 3rd largest in the world and took workers 7 years to complete. This offcially makes it The Mother of Birthday Gifts, well at least it's gotta be in the top 10. It sits on the Atlantic ocean and really is a sight to behold when we step out of our petite taxi. While the setting is spectacular it is also where the controversy and contradictions begin, the mosque was built upon a densely populated slum whose residents were displaced without any compensation. Also during construction the government was lacking funds so they made every family in Morocco pay a mandatory police enforced sum to fiance the project. I have no idea how that went over with the masses and I'm far from being an expert on Morocco but I could guess that maybe that money could have been spent in better places. Nobody actually knows what the exact final cost of construction was.

We wander around the outside of this grand building while we wait for the 10am English guided tour to begin, a tour is mandatory to visit the inside. This is the only mosque in Morocco I've seen where infidels, sorry I mean non Muslims can visit the interior. Upon entering all I can mutter is "whoa, this is crazy." Our guide tells us about the retractable roof, heated marble floors, granite columns and electric doors. The 210 metre tall minaret is the tallest in the world with a green laser that points to Mecca at night. All building materials came from Morocco except the chandeliers, they were from Italy. The main prayer hall can hold 25,000 worshipers and another 80,000 can be held outside. Notre Dame or St. Peter's can comfortably fit inside the mosque.

We complete the tour and I can't help but be awestruck, yet left with a strange feeling. It's the same feeling I've gotten after visiting these religious sights cum tourist attractions all over the world. From Notre Dame in Paris to the Blue Mosque in Istanbul, hordes of tourists (including me) pay money to enter then walk around these holy sights. Do we really gain anything meaningful from visiting? Or is it merely to check off another sight we've seen? If I was a Moroccan who was coming here to pray today I wonder how I'd feel about all this?

Fes, We have a Problem

Our escape from the Sahara went surprisingly easy. We travelled north via taxi and then bus back over the Atlas mountains to the north of the country. Passing through some towns which looked liked we could very well be in Switzerland.

Arriving late in Fes we decided to stay in the French built Ville Nouvelle instead of the ancient medina. The Fes medina is legendary for it's hustlers and faux guides. Also the budget accommodation is horrendous and damn it we wanted pizza. Everything was going great, we found a good budget hotel which even had a pool and then had decent pizza.

The following day we started by getting basics done like laundry, postcards and updating the blog. By afternoon we were ready to tackle the walled Fes medina. Like an invading army we planned our attack on the approximately 9400 twisting alleys, ready to dodge the faux guides and mule drawn carts. As we entered through the Bab Bou Jeloud gates we made sure we knew the rules. Walk past any faux guides smiling and repeating "La Shukran", Arabic for no thank you. Armed with our guidebook the plan was to somehow find our way to the north end of the medina so we could break our fast with a cold Casablanca beer. Breaking fast with beer you ask? Well we are Canadian infidels after all.

Right, so back to the Medina. Through the gates and everything seemed too easy. "Wow that was nothing, they always exaggerate things in the guidebooks." I said as the streets narrowed and we walked downhill into the heart of the medina. About 50 metres later it started. Usually hassle in Morocco was no more than some guy asking where you are from and to please look in his shop. Here it was like nothing we have seen anywhere else in the world. Young men stalked us, speaking non stop and ignoring our "La Shukrans". Not only did they follow but they would hang on to my arm as they walked with us. They were very persistent and followed for a good minute before fading away. That is until one young punk in a blue shirt showed up. He wanted to be our guide, to show us the hidden tanneries . We said la shukran many times, he was tough to understand and kept following but now grabbing onto my arm. I was about to snap on this guy but remained cool. Still he wouldn't let up, now telling us that without him as our guide "There would be problem for you down there." OK now this was getting a bit creepy, I turned to him and loudly said "just go away". Standing in a small but busy square this got the attention of others. One guy came over acting friendly until he walked away and slapped Jordana's ass. Then we were saved by a middle aged man, in the corner of my eye I spotted him with the blue shirted punk. They were yelling and the man then grabbed the punk by the collar and threw him up against the wall. Probably telling him to stop bothering the nice cool people from Canada, even though they sounded like Americans they weren't. OK maybe he didn't say that, but I'm not sure what he was yelling at him in Arabic. He still had a hold of him as they walked away with the punk yelling "F-you" at us. Very strange and a sad site.

From there on it got much better and the medina is truly an amazing place. We got lost a few times but usually found our way. The trick to was to ask the friendly shopkeepers for directions and avoid the roaming punk guides. The sun was quickly setting however and we needed to be on the northside of the medina at the 19th century Palais Jamai for our beer. Like contestants of the Amazing Race we hurried through the alleys asking people for direction. We finally made it out of the walled mayhem. Our prize wasn't a million dollars but we were rewarded with some cold Casablanca beer at the Palais Jamai, which is now a luxury hotel. A huge contrast from the filth and hassle of the medina below the Sofitel Palais Jamai is quite possibly the most luxurious hotel I have ever seen. As we drank our beer watching the sunset on the medina below and listening to the call to prayer from the 350 mosques I thought, Even if we don't get $1 million this was definitely worth the effort, but then again when isn't beer worth the effort?

Modern Nomads

Like the nomads we to were headed for the Sahara desert but not by walking the long journey south. Once again our day started waiting for transport, this time out of the Dades gorge. We got lucky and hitched a ride with a French couple driving their camper van. One long, hot and dusty bus ride later through the hamada desert landscape of central Morocco we arrived in the sun baked town of Er Rachidia. From here we piled into a grand taxi with 5 other men for the drive south to Merzouga, site of Erg Chebbi the incredible Saharan sand dunes.

There really isn't much of a town here, just a few scruffy shops and to the north and south of town are a few auberges (guesthouses) to stay. The star attraction lies immediately to the east, rising seemingly out of nowhere is erg chebbi. Erg Chebbi is a massive sea of sand stretching into Algeria and with dunes as high as 200 metres. Our auberge was set right at the edge of the sand and from our window it looked as if the dunes were waves closing in on us.

We organized a camping trip into the desert for 1 night, this time there would be no waiting for transportation. We just hopped on our camels and Jordana and I were led by our guide Ali away from civilization for a night in the Sahara. OK wait, let me say that again it just sounds too cool. A night camping in the Sahara. With us aboard the camels we rode up and down the huge dunes as they changed colour from golden yellow to reddish brown in the late afternoon sun. We arrived at our campsite set behind one of the tallest dunes we'd seen yet. We left Ali to setup and headed out to climb the large dune. About a quarter of the way up I commented to Jordana that the clouds looked really dark in the distance. Strange, I was told it hadn't rained in over 5 months and it just doesn't rain here in October. The sky grew darker and I noticed the clouds seemed to be growing like smoke as they neared. "Sandstorm! Jordana lets go back it's a sandstorm." "Oh common it'll just blow over," she responded. Just then the wind grew strong and the sky went from a deep blue to a brown haze and we were lashed with a blanket of sand. We sought shelter in our tent. Being in a sandstorm is a bit surreal but after awhile it feels like sleet except of course it's hot and you get covered in sand.

We spent the rest of the evening having a romantic candlelit dinner in our tent, listening to traditional Berber music and watching shooting stars in the now amazingly clear and dark Saharan sky. Sleeping was tough in the narrow sleeping bags and Jordana had a real difficult sleep or lack thereof. In the morning we watched the sunrise over the dunes in Algeria. As beautiful as this was the morning felt more like a bad hangover after a night of drinking. Everything was so great the night before but we were now so filthy and hot that we just wanted a shower. Even the camel ride which was fun and exciting yesterday now felt like a bad groin injury.

I'm not sure how the nomads will do it but all we could think of was a shower, an A/C bus ride and searching for pizza in our next destination, the medieval city of Fes.

Photos

Hey CCM readers, here are some photos from the trip so far. I know you are all eagerly anticipating our next entries, we should have a few more up over the next couple of days as we are back from the no internet Sahara desert, Enjoy.

Sunset at the Koutoubia mosque in Marrakech. This is a great place for an evening stroll with the local Marrakchi's.

Dinner at the crazed Djeema el fna, there are about 100 of these stalls to eat at every night.

The Man Show

When tossing around ideas of different countries to visit I have always tended to lean away from Arab geographies. Mike has always professed a strong desire to see all of the Arab world, from Northern Africa to the Middle East whereas I prefer Asian, South American destinations and the like. There has always been something about the Arab world that has scared me a little bit....perhaps even put me off. Perhaps it was the several butt grabs that I experienced in Egypt or the way the men look at me as a Western woman. One night while sitting at our usual cafe, sipping mint tea and watching Marrakesh stroll by Mike hit the nail on the head, It's like being in The Man Show. He goes on to explain that he thinks the reason why he likes places like Morocco and Egypt so much and wants to see more of them so much more then I do is because he feels like he is a part of this special club....a club where all females are excluded. And then I look around me...I along with one other foreign lady am the only woman sitting at this cafe that is frequented and at this point full with locals. I have also noticed the way Moroccan men congregate together, like every night is a 'guy's night.' And the way men are constantly adjusting grabbing or simply just holding their genitals while out in public. There is also a serious issue of nose picking among Moroccan men. I recently sat behind a man in a mini bus who picked his nose the whole one hour ride to our destination. It was very distracting watching this man dig and roll the entire ride. Mike was constantly pointing out beautiful mountain landscapes but I was constantly being drawn back in fascinated horror to this disgusting site in front of me. In Arab countries men work together, play together; pray together and socialize together and I as a woman am forever an outsider looking in. A Woman's domain is within the home, especially outside of the modernized cities, the home is perhaps where she is most free. Mike is constantly getting hugged, grabbed and nudged by the locals, as if he was one of their friends where I could go pretty much ignored if I wanted to. My one advantage here is that I am not permitted to sit next to a local man. Once on a grande taxi ride to the Sahara sand dunes, I started to climb into the shared taxi and the man already inside motioned 'no' with his finger to me. A Grande taxi is shared by many going in the same direction and can get quite hot and uncomfortable when full which it is always as the driver does not leave until full (the Moroccan view of full is sitting pretty much atop one another) But as a woman I am guaranteed the spot next to the door and my husband. On the ride we had to pull over so that the five other men traveling with us could break their fast at sunset. They all spoke no English so spoke to us entirely in French. Mike's French is dismal at best so I carried most of the conversation in broken French while we all shared a communal feast of dates, bread and apples. We all piled back into the taxi and continued our drive in the dark and for that one moment I felt like I had made it into The Man Show.

Walking With Mohammed

Everything sounds so simple when you read the "Getting there and Away" section of the Lonely Planet guidebook. Leaving the small village of Ait Bennhaddou we read that we could take a taxi to Ouarzazate, then a bus to Boulmane and finally another taxi to our destination the Dades Gorge. Here's how it really goes down; first the taxi turned out to be a ride we hitched in the back of a pickup where an old woman begged us for money the whole ride. Once in Ouarazate we discovered our bus for Boulmane would not leave for 3 hours. Then finally in Boulmane we had to wait for the share taxi to fill up with 16 people before they departed, this took all of 2 hours. All this to travel the great distance of 200km over a full day.

It was well worth the long travel when we arrived in the Dades Gorge. The area is similar to the U.S. southwest, minus Vegas of course. We quickly settled into our room with an amazing view and I finally found beer for the first time in Morocco. Could things get any better?

Well yes, the following day we arranged a trek in and around the gorge with a guide named Mohammed. I wasn't feeling so great so some Imodium was in order. We started out walking through a very narrow gorge on a dry river bed, and the deeper in the canyon we went the more narrow the walls became, reaching heights of 180 metres high. Mohammed took us up the steep hillsides climbing the nomadic Berber trails they used to traverse the region. He called Jordana a gazelle for her climbing skills and myself Ali Baba, apparently because I was unshaven and something about having 14 wives. I'm pretty sure I still only have one wife and I am now clean shaven. The Moroccan's have a great sarcastic humour at times.

"Now we go down to see nomad Berbers, live in cave with animals." Huh? Was this guy drunk? Sure we thought, nomads who live with their animals in caves, whatever buddy. I was expecting some made for tourist money scam or the Moroccan Flintstones. I was hoping for the Moroccan Flintstones, because tell me how cool would that be. Sure enough at the bottom of a dry river bed were a series of 6 caves where the nomads lived. They spent the summer here in the valley taking their sheep up the mountain to graze. Soon they would make the long trek to the desert for winter. We were both impressed how they weren't affected by tourism, not that any tourist were around but sadly you just assume they might be. They said hello in Berber and kept to themselves. A young girl of 15 made us tea. I discreetly asked Mohammed where their water source was? He said it was a spring in the area. At this point we couldn't turn down the sugary tea as it would be very rude. We drank our tea and observed their incredibly simple yet difficult nomadic lifestyle and departed by leaving our packed lunch of apples, oranges and dates with the young woman. She would not let us take her picture which was better than asking for money I thought. Leaving I felt good that some people were still able to live this traditional lifestyle in a country where it is becoming increasingly rare.

The rest of the walk was spectacular but with about 45 minutes to go I started feeling ill and it was more like the amazing race for the toilet! So I'll spare you the details and end it with it was our best and most rewarding day on the trip to date.

Rock the Kasbah

We both are city people and truly enjoy the madness of Marrakech. It really is a different madness in an Arab African city, one that everyone should experience. However it was time to move on.

We easily grabbed a taxi to the city bus station located next to the mud brick ramparts. I once saw an episode of Michael Palins series Sahara where he almost gets run down in this very station and describes it as sheer insanity. Today it was silent. Many buses stop running during Ramadan, so we easily boarded a bus for Ait Benhaddou.

The 5 hour drive south of Marrakech was spectacular. We quickly climbed the Atlas mountains on a breath taking road and crossed the Tizi N Tichka, the highest pass in Morocco (2235 metres). After the pass we made our way down to the desert and the landscape changed to lunar like, devoid of all green.

Ait Benhaddou is one of the best preserved kasbahs in the country. A kasbah is a fortified city in addition to a hit song by the Clash. The kasbah is beautiful and striking, set on a hill and surrounded by palms in the middle of the desert. Ait Benhaddou is well preserved because it has been used in about 20 films. Lawrence of Arabia was filmed here and more recently Gladiator. The kasbah has been UNSECO protected since 1987.

Here's the thing about sights such as these, don't get me wrong it is beautiful, However the few remaining families have thought of every way to extract money from tourists. Let me preface this rant by reminding you that this kasbah was almost completely rebuilt for Gladiator and receives restoration money from UNSECO. To enter the Kasbah the locals have closed off all the open areas. They force everyone to enter through one entrance where a hand painted sign demand a 10Dirham restoration fee. Once inside we wander the narrow passages and are asked if we would like to enter any of the locals homes, for a fee of course. We even saw one man take a photo of a door, then out of nowhere an old lady appeared to demand money for the shot. Its sad to see what tourism does to some places and sometimes you question whether you should be there at all.

That said it was a good day and once the tour buses left we did not regret staying in this Small desert village. It seemed once the hordes of tourists left the locals turned back into typically hospitable Moroccans.

As Jordana napped I stood alone on the guesthouse rooftop watching the sunset. But for the call to break fast the town was beautifully silent.