Making our way through Morocco

Morocco itinerary: Casablanca - El Jadida - Essouira - Marrakech - Ourzazate - Erg Chigaga - Dades Gorge - Meknes - Fes - Chefchaoun - Casablanca

* Casablanca: 
We had heard to leave this city as soon as possible (it has a reputation for being dirty and industrial and lacking character) and that's exactly what we did. After our plane landed we hopped on a train to El Jadida.

*El Jadida:
A quiet city along the Atlantic coast, it was the perfect place to ease us in to Moroccan culture. It was our first experience staying at a riad. 
In the past a riad was a mansion where the wealthy congregated. It's centered around a courtyard, the focal point of which is usually a fountain made of colorful tiles, and flowering trees filled with song birds surround these unique sitting areas. It has been our accommodation of choice throughout our travels in Morocco. They offer a peaceful respite from the mazes of bustling alleyways. With a plain mud brick exterior, it's always aw inspiring when the riads doors open to reveal the brightly lit courtyard, with rooms off-set, guarded by enormous intricately carved cedar doors, ceilings finished with hand-carved plaster crown moulding and a roof top terrace that overlooks the neighboring mosque and the vast spread of ancient symmetrical block architecture that is every cities medina (old city). The owners of our first Riad had just renovated and had photographic evidence of the amount of work it takes to transform a 400 year old mansion into a work of art with the modern amenities of plumbing, heating and electricity.

*Essouira:
Also along the coast, the smell of fish and salty spray lead us sightseers through winding alleyways to the main pier which was packed with historical looking boats and numerous children encouraging one another to accomplish the next biggest dive into the sea below. 
It was here that we were initially immersed in the souqs (market). While not near the labyrinth of Marakech or Fez, vendors here displayed anything from shoes, clothing or bath products to piles of spices, heaps of dried dates, the fruit of the season (strawberries and peaches for the month of May) and even whole animal carcasses. It was also here that Q contracted food poisoning from predictably a sample of dried dates which were sitting in the sun and covered with flies. 
It is never fun being sick and it is even more miserable being sick away from home. With no familiar comforts at his disposal, it was a rough couple of days for Q.

* Marrakech:
As the guide book warned "Nothing can quite prepare you for Marrakech" and day 1 in this city was quite possibly the worst of the trip so far.  
We caught a taxi from the bus station to the medina. Many streets are too narrow to drive down so we didn't expect to be dropped off at the door of our Riad, but after speeding through the twists and turns the car would fit through, by the time the cab stopped we couldn't tell north from south. The driver pointed one direction and said "100 meters that way". We soon found out he dropped us off in the completely wrong area and we later learned that leading the tourists astray is a big game among the locals. Everyone points you in the wrong direction. We wandered only a short time with our packs before asking a teenager to lead us to our Riad. We had read that this is usually necessary to navigate the medina. We negotiated a price ahead of time (nothing is free in Morocco) and he guided us through the maze. Along the way a few older boys started following us and although we couldn't understand their language, their tone towards our guide seemed quite negative. By the time we reached our destination we had a pack of about 10 boys tagging along with us, all hoping to get a piece of commission I assume, while all along the journey they were whispering words like 'mafia' and various sums of money, what they probably thought would be intimidating remarks. It certainly wasn't a comfortable experience. We brought our original guide into the riad and payed him a higher fee than we'd negotiated, thinking he might very well get some of it taken by the bigger kids in the group after he left the safety of the walls. 
That night we ventured out for dinner armed with a map given to us by the manager at the riad. It turned out to be of minimal use as we got turned around trying to avoid a drunk man who was stalking us to 'help' us with directions. We tried dodging him in a shop and he followed us in. We politely said we didn't need directions and he became quite angry. He finally said 'just give me some money!' We handed over  5 MAD (only about $1) and said sternly to him to leave us alone, which he did. The combination of events that day was enough to deter us from what we had hoped would be an enchanting city.

Action central in Marrakech is Djemaa el-Fna. This is the location of the cafe that was bombed last week, but prior to that publicity, it has for centuries been regarded as a kind of 'open air theatre'. There is always some sort of action taking place here... Snake charmers hypnotizing cobras with their oboes (we didn't support this animal cruelty because we read that their mouths are sewn shut and they often die of mouth infections or starvation), monkeys on leashes, musicians, magicians, fortune tellers and even dentists with tables covered in dentures. 
Once the sun sets, hundreds of food stalls set up shop selling freshly squeezed orange juice, coffee, fried snails and kebabs. 
Another attraction of Marrakech is the massive and colorful souqs selling all kinds of traveller souvenirs. By day 3 in Marrakech (Q fell ill again for the second day) we had our confidence back and we managed to wander the alleys and find our way back with less than an hour wasted on being officially lost. There weren't enough high-fives to do our excitement justice.
Before the long bus ride, Q's appetite was finally back to normal after his bout of food poisoning, but of course for nothing Moroccan. I'm a little ashamed to admit it, but we went to McDonalds and left with a suitcase sized bag full of food. It was delicious.

* Ouarzazate:
The 8 hr bus ride through the High Atlas Mountains was one of the most beautiful and unique stretches of scenery we have experienced. It was almost as though time there had stood still. The road wound through areas of lush green valleys with foraging sheep herds supervised by their Shepard and further on, passing mud-brick Berber villages which seem to be clinging for survival on the steep hillsides. 
On the east side of the High Atlas Mountains, the land appears fertile and crops sway in the breeze and to the west it changes to rocky and desolate. A completely different landscape, but still stunning. 
Ouarzazate itself was mainly a stop over point. From here we rented a car with our initial stop being Ait Benhaddou, a terra-cotta mud-brick kasbah recognizable most recently from the film Gladiator (the initial town where he is trained to be a gladiator). 
Next stop, the Sahara Desert.

* Erg Chigaga in the Sahara:
With the rental car we made our way to the town of M'hamid, the last town before nothingness. We had organized a tour including a camel ride, a 4x4 jeep ride, a stop at an oasis for lunch and ending at a camp near some of the biggest sand dunes in the world. A stretch of desert 40 km long with dunes reaching heights of up to 300m.
Initially the desert was not what we had envisioned. The ground was hard and barren, in some areas appearing shiny from the wind having stripped any and all substance from its surface. It's exactly what I would picture Mars to look like. We passed a man walking with a camel and a donkey each loaded with supplies. The guides explained he was a nomad. An hour later we met a woman walking in the intersecting direction of the nomad. She was holding an empty bottle of water. The guide passed her a full bottle of water and proceeded to tell us that she was the mans wife whom we had passed earlier. I couldn't believe how life could be sustained in this harsh environment. Apparently all the families who make up the small town of M'hamid survived as nomads in the desert just one generation ago. When severe drought plagued the area for more than a decade, most of the families were forced to give up their way of life. A few people, like the ones we witnessed, still survive as nomads. The guide described it as a much "simpler" way of life. They raise camel and goats and from that they are able to meet their basic needs. They have milk, butter, cheese and meat and what they are unable to provide for themselves they trade for in town every few weeks. The man had just come from town and his wife was going to meet him part way to help him with his load. A simple life he said? I'm not so sure.

We have been asked numerous times 'what's there to do in the desert?' I suppose our answer is to just absorb the atmosphere. For us, there is something very enchanting and peaceful about deserts and the Sahara is the mac daddy of them all. We climbed the dunes, calves burning, lungs screaming in the dry heat and as the sun set, we watched the shadows change shape on the untouched, perfectly peaked mountains of sand. As night sets in, there is no light pollution and there are more stars than most people realize exist. Perhaps the most excitement we had was when Q entered the tent after dark, his headlamp lighting his way, when a massive white spider with fangs 1cm long (not joking) charged into the spotlight. Wearing only his flip flops he instinctively stomped on the arachnid. Of coarse he saved it as evidence to show me. It was evidence I would have preferred to not been made aware of. I think it was one of the worst sleeps either of us has had.

* Dades Gorge:
On a road with only one way in and one way out, we were blissfully isolated at a tiny kasbah* with a striking view of the deeply carved valley and stream below.
* a kasbah is traditionally a fort which is strategically located around trading routes. Now many have been turned into guesthouses. 
The weather was a cool and rainy 10 degrees, so reading and naps were on the agenda.
 By this point we had returned our rental car and while there are occasional mini-buses that go up the stretch of road, they are few and far between. We waited for over an hour before successfully waving down a local passerby with a pickup truck. Our guest house owner approved and off we went, down the wet and windy trail, with steep drop offs I might add, stopping only for a short 5 minute break while the driver and other local passenger smoked some hashish. No big deal. At least they wore their seat belts.

* Meknes:
A city so quiet we could window shop at the souqs. For the most part in Morocco, if you aren't interested in buying something, you can't even really look in a shop without being hassled almost to the point of giving in to a purchase. They are masters of their trade.
The highlight of my stay was my first experience at a Hammam. 
A Hammam is a traditional communal Morrocan bathhouse used when warm running water did not exist in the home (it often still does not exist). Everytown has a Hammam. It is a part of Moroccan culture and as such I wanted to experience it. I was so nervous as it seemed the recipe for social disaster. I found the perfect opportunity when we stayed at a Riad run by only woman, one of which who spoke decent English. This was important as I needed guidance on where to go (some don't welcome westerners) and what to bring. She gave me the name of one in the new city since the one in the medina was old and run down. She told me to bring sandals, a towel, an exfoliating glove to scrub with and savon noir (soap). 

Note: our inability to speak the language, mainly French for tourists, has been more of a handicap here than anywhere else we've been. It is our goal to learn another language when we get home considering the majority of the world, on average, speaks 3 languages.

Off I went, solo, to the Hammam. I paid $3 for an entry fee and $3 for a gommage, a scrubbing by an attendant.
Once inside I encountered a whole new set of problems. What do I wear, for example. I had come armed with a bathing suit, so I asked a young lady who spoke a bit of English. Her reply, NUDE! 
How is it that woman in the Western culture aren't exactly comfortable strutting around nude, but in a society, such as Morocco, where modesty on the street is so important, nudity among the same sex is perfectly fine? I'm not saying it's not fabulous, it's just interesting.
A large closed door separated me from the bathhouse. I walked in to see a large steamy, white tiled room with faucets dripping... Empty. On to the next room... Empty. The suspension was building when I rounded the last corner and finally saw naked flesh. 
While accurate, nothing of what I'd read could have prepared me for that moment. Some woman were laying on the floor being scrubbed and massaged by the Hammam attendants, identified by their wrestling style bathing suits, while others were sitting on plastic stools scooping hot water out of larger buckets being filled with the taps. 
The guide book likens a gommage to a childhood bath-time ritual where everything from inner thighs to inner ears is given a thorough cleaning.
The next set of problems, where do I sit, what do I do, where do I look?
I have never felt so vulnerable as in this situation... in a foreign country which speaks a foreign language, naked. It's similar to that humiliating naked dream that everyone has had, only in this scenario, everyone else is at least naked too.
A local woman indicated to me to sit on a stool and mimed a circular scrubbing motion, followed by rinsing with scoops of warm water. I followed her actions. Having lost my "gommage token" and not being able to explain I had paid for a rigorous scrubbing, I spent 45 minutes washing myself. Towards the end, my "teacher" waved me over. I clumsily pushed my heavy bucket full of water, along with my toiletries all the while slipping on the wet floor, while naked. This is something you certainly can't look cool doing. She indicated to me to turn around (nothing like a game of nude charades) and she took my glove and proceeded to give me a back scrub, lifting my breast and making sure to get my armpits as well. All inhibitions were lost.
I initially couldn't understand how these woman could spend such a long time bathing. I felt clean after 15 minutes and I was the first one to leave just shy of one hour, but I can now appreciate this past time. For woman it's a social occasion. A time when the laborious chores are forgotten, difficult spouses are absent and woman have time to relax in peace and just enjoy each others company. 

We are now in Fez and will continue to jot down our journey in the near future.