And I Thought California Was Beautiful: Morocco

Last weekend I embarked on one of the biggest adventures I have ever taken--a trip to Africa. I was excited to be able to explore another continent (as one of my goals, now, is to visit each one before I die), but the idea that it was Africa, something so different from everything that I had known, was overwhelming. Our trip was to Morocco, which I thought of as Africa Lite, so I packed my (relatively) Muslim culture sensitive clothes (no sleeveless shirts, long pants, no shorts) and hopped on a red eye out of Spain.

When our plane first landed, I immediately noticed all of the French. In most airports, if there is a foreign language, the translation is in English. In Morocco, however, the first language is Arabic and the translation is ALWAYS in French. This is because Morocco was a French colony for many, many years, and most Moroccans are bilingual. We somehow found which bus to take after buying a map for 20 DH (about 2 euro) and headed into town. Of course, we got off at the wrong stop, as the hostel's directions were horrible, and ended up getting lost. We found where we thought we were supposed to be on the map, and started out on foot toward our hostel. What we saw on the way is difficult to describe. The street was some kind of market, but not the tourist kind that sells nice jewelry and souvenirs. Instead, this was the real Moroccan market. There were stands for meet, and big slabs of beef stacked up on top of each other. We saw flies covering food that the Moroccans stood in line to eat. Little children weaved in and out of the motorcycle traffic in the streets, and we held on to our backpacks tightly as we realized that we were in a new world. At one point, we saw a man holding five barely live chickens tied up by their ankles, about to go in for slaughter. The street smelled of urine, sweat, and heat. It was one of the most shocking experiences I have ever had.

Since I'm sure you are wondering, we eventually made it to our hostel. That is, after a man offered to help us, then stuck out his hand for payment after. We were completely jolted into what is Moroccan life within the span of 2 hours.

That day we went to lunch. I ordered chicken tagine, one of the staple Moroccan dishes. It was very tasty, to my surprise. The Moroccans eat it with bread to sop up the juice instead of silverware, but our waiter reluctantly brought us a knife and fork.

After lunch we went to visit one of the most important palaces in Morocco. It was certainly very interesting, but the difference between Islamic art and European art, as seen through their palaces, is astonishing.

This palace was almost minimalist compared to El Palacio Real here in Spain, with its ornate ceilings, grand staircases, and fancy furniture. We were so hot in Morocco that it was hard to breathe at times. We would buy bottled water, and after 10 minutes, the water would be completely hot and undrinkable. We settled in after walking around the city to take a nap before dinner.

The dinner process in Marrakesh is quite interesting. People set up tents of different restaurants, only demarcated by numbers. They all serve the same thing, and representatives from each stand out to haggle customers into choosing their restaurants. They shoot clever, and sometimes obscene, English phrases at passersby to try to entice them. Fortunately, our friends had recommended tent 1, so we made our way there. We were happy with the service and enjoyed a great dinner.

The next two days in Morocco seemed like a whirlwind, or maybe I should say a hot sand storm. We visited more palaces, learned how to bargain in the markets, and ate lots of food. No buildings in the old city of Morocco have air conditioning, except for this one really nice hotel just outside of the gates. We went to visit it one day. It had a Dior, Gucci, etc...but seemed so oddly placed in the midst of all of the poverty we saw each day. My entire experience in Marrakesh was a complete dichotomy. On one hand there were Moroccans living in unimaginable poverty. On the other, there were rich French tourists. I have never felt more like I was in a colony in my life. The Moroccan's sole purpose in life seemed to be to work for the tourists (French or English)--talk about understanding the meaning of mercantilism.

I must admit that by the time our three days had come to an end, I was ready to leave Morocco. The number of mosquitoes in our hostel room alone was miserable, not to mention the stifling heat. Still, my experience is one that I will never forget and that I feel like I am so privileged to have had.

Here are some examples of the images of Marrakesh: