Tag Archives: Morocco

Morocco

I guess the last time I left you all, I was about to make my way out of Spain and into the incredible continent of Africa for the first time in my life.  I am so excited to share my experience in Morocco with you, but first, here are the pictures from Granada that I promised (with captions!).

Granada

We made visits to the barrios of Sacromonte, Albaicin, and to the Alhambra, which is an enormous and ancient palace that used to house the Moors.  We also ate some really great food and made friends with a really nice bartender named Maryann, who worked at a little cafe/restaurant near our Air BnB.

view of Granada and Alhambra from the mountain

La Alhambra on the left, and the city of Granada on the right

panorama of Granada and Alhambra from Mirador de San Nicolas

another shot of Granada/Alhambra, this time from the Mirador de San Nicolas

gardens inside the Alhambra

gardens inside the Alhambra

 

breakfast of coffee and a bocadillo with Spanish ham

your typical Spanish breakfast: coffee and a bocadillo of Spanish ham, olive oil, and a light tomato spread

Morocco

picture of the Atlantic coast in Rabat, Morocco

Granada was absolutely lovely, but what I am about to share with you about Morocco was a completely different kind of experience.  It was not what you or I would normally consider a “vacation,” and I’m glad it wasn’t.

There has been a certain comfort in visiting the European highlights; though I didn’t necessarily know places like Portugal, Granada, and Barcelona before visiting them, I at least had an idea of what to expect.  I knew that we would be relatively safe traveling on our own; I knew that we could easily navigate public transportation to get where we needed to go; I was aware of the social customs that should govern our behavior while visiting these places.  The familiarity was comfortable, or at least comfortable enough so as not to overwhelm my travels.

For Morocco, I immediately felt like that this more or less guaranteed comfort went right out the window.  We were told that the ferry from Tarifa (in Spain) to Tangier (in Morocco) might be rough.  That we shouldn’t stray too far from the group once we disembarked.  That when we walked through the outdoor market in Tangier, there might be bloody animals hanging from the roofs of the vendors’ stands (there were).  That we should not drink the tap water or else we would risk getting sick (some did).  That we should carry our passports on us at all times, because in many places, we could be stopped and asked for proof of our presence in Morocco.  These warnings gave me some fear.  It was with shaky legs that I followed our wonderful tour guide, Sarah, off the boat and handed my freshly-stamped passport to the imposing, uniformed guard in Tangier.

picture of our travel group

Our travel group on the bus. We were limited to one backpack each for our 4 days in Morocco.

CIEE (my study abroad program) decided to conduct our tour of Morocco through an amazing organization called Morocco Exchange.  As I said, we were assigned to Sarah, who had been a Peace Corps volunteer for several years and now currently lives in Rabat, the country’s capital.  We were lucky to have Sarah as our guide for many reasons, I think especially because she had an awareness of our naivety and of our touristy tendencies as Americans.  But she combined this awareness with the experience of living alongside the Moroccan people and the understanding of their customs and behavior.  Therefore she was able to acknowledge many of our misconceptions and gently present us with a raw understanding of how things really are in this developing country: that most houses don’t have access to hot water; that many women (girls) are forced to marry at a young age; that the illiteracy rates are high among both men and women; that children often must travel (alone) miles and miles to school on a bus early in the morning in order to attend school, and for this reason many of them drop out.

Sarah shared with us a touching story about her time serving in a small village in the Peace Corps.  Her host sister, who was maybe 15 or 16 years old, was about to be married to a much older man.  This sister was nervous and upset, and Sarah was trying to comfort her.  Sarah classified this as both a high point and a low point of her time in the Peace Corps, and admitted that the memory always made her sad.  She started crying as she was telling the story, and I think this was the point when I reflected on how real the experience was and how real the people in Morocco are and always will be, even if in the United States we can’t see or hear them.

We don’t see people sitting on the guardrails of the highways in the countryside, not because they want to go somewhere else but because they don’t have anywhere else to go.  We don’t see children walking along deserted roads in the countryside, probably making their way back from school, which could be hours away from home.  We don’t see the square miles of shanty towns, the groups of homes made from tin sheets and cardboard, around which often the government often builds walls so other inhabitants of the city don’t have to see the poverty.  As is the case for so many of the things we do (or don’t do), it’s easier to construct barriers than to deal with the problem.

an enormous grave site in Rabat

You may not be able to tell (I couldn’t), but this is an enormous field full of gravestones.

I don’t mean to convey that the people of Morocco sit around all day and think about how difficult their lives are, because this was absolutely not the case.  In fact, nearly every Moroccan person I met seemed genuinely happy, not only to discuss their own lives but also to compare their life in Morocco to ours in the United States.  One of the great things about this program was that, each day, we were able to sit down with a group of Moroccans–two groups of students from Rabat, one family from the rural countryside–and just talk.  We talked about what their educational experiences had been like, what their views on homosexuality were, how dating and relationships function.  These conversations were many things: they were sometimes heartbreaking, sometimes funny.  But all of the time, they were informative and emotionally enriching.

In many ways, we (the members of our American group) were similar to the Moroccan students.  We both expressed a yearning for quality education–for one group, it was more accessible than the other.  We talked about travel–because so many Moroccans and North Africans seek a better life in Europe, it is much more difficult for them to travel north (ie, obtain a passport) than for us to travel south.  Sarah reminded us on our last day that one of the Moroccan students who had accompanied us (and had served as our translator when we talked with the Moroccan family) wouldn’t be able to enter the Spanish enclave of Ceuta (or Sebta) with us because he lacked a “blue book.”  Our passports are so much more valuable than we often realize.

I feel like I’m rambling.  Let me tell you briefly about some of my favorite things:

  1. That I was left breathless at the sight of hundreds of Muslims bowing together in prayer
  2. The flawless hospitality of our host families, who provided us with more food than we possibly could have eaten in the 2 days we spent with them and many of whom offered us a place to stay should we return to Morocco
  3. Being able to hear the stories of many Moroccans, young and old, and also the stories of Americans who have lived and worked alongside these Moroccans
  4. How the presence of God (Allah) permeated not only the physical landscape in the form of mosques, but also the social landscape in the form of language (I heard the phrase “Enshallah,” meaning “God willing,” more times than I could count)
the mountainside city of Chefchaoen

the “tucked away” mountainside city of Chefchaoen–our last stop

I don’t really know what you’re going to take away from this post, disorganized as it is.  To be honest, I am still trying to make sense of my experience, though I enjoyed every minute of it.  But between the time I returned from my trip and sat on my bed, exhausted and amazed, and now, two weeks later as I am writing this post, I haven’t been able to answer any of the enormous questions that Morocco put in front of me.  Why have I been granted such a privileged life while millions of girls (and boys) in Morocco haven’t?  Do I have a responsibility to help those who aren’t as privileged?  Is there any such thing as “responsibility,” or is it just a way of justifying the process of imposing our own worldviews on others because we believe that our way is the best or only way?  How will I ever be able to return to my “normal” life in the United States without that pull in my heart, telling me to remember all that I learned in Morocco?

*

This weekend will be the first that I haven’t traveled since…I think the end of January or the beginning of February.  Wow!  I am tired but have a good amount of travel still to go.  It’s nice to be in Seville this weekend though, and I am slowly realizing that I wish I had stayed here for an entire year just so I could see everything I want to see and still have plenty of time to enjoy the city where I’m actually studying.  I was hoping this weekend to have a chance to get to some of the museums but I forgot that the main reason I didn’t plan travel for this weekend was because I have midterms next week.  I did, however, sign up for a hike in the Sierra Norte tomorrow, so I’ll be studying the day away today.  Look out for another post soon about how things are going here in Seville (preview: they are going really well)!

 

 

 


Location: Rabat, Morocco

Best of Morocco pt. 3

Victoria and I dedicated our last two days of Morocco to day trips away from the city of Marrakech.

Day 4 was spent hiking the oasis-like Ourika Valley. Both Victoria and I had barely hiked before (maybe she has some more experience than I do) and quite unsurprisingly, I turned out to be a terrible hiker. I was so bad at following the trails that I had to be babysat all the way up AND down by the guide/riad host (plus random strangers. THANKS EVERYONE who had to pull me up that little cliff! I’m forever grateful) who accompanied us on our hike.

 

We made stops along the way to the Atlas Mountains: an Argan oil coorperative, a Berber home and one of many wobbly wooden bridges.  

Argan oil is a Moroccan specialty and comes in many forms such as extra virgin oil for cooking, mixed with hazelnut paste for dipping bread, scented hair and skin oil, mud facial mask and bar soap. At the Berber home, I saw an elderly lady baking flat bread in a mud oven. The living room was furnished with low tables and countless cushions and carpets and a tea set sat on top of one of the tables.

 

There was a river running in the valley area which was flanked by semi-open-air restaurants whose tables perch right on the edge of the riverbanks. We had a Berber-style lunch by the river with lots of slow-cooked vegetables, couscous and fresh fruit.

Overall it was a very nice day and I’m pretty sure I’ve got to get a month’s worth of workout done in just one day.

 

On our last full day in Morocco, we visited Ouarzazate, which has served as a filming location to popular movies and television shows like Mummy, The Gladiator and Game of Thrones. I haven’t seen Game of Thrones yet (don’t panic. I will get to it, eventually) but even without seeing the show I was mesmerized by its magnificence: the tan mud-brick kasbahs and city walls stacked on top of each other, the cloudless azure sky and the lush green of palm trees. Everything about the place was so beautiful and flawless that every single photo I took came out like postcards.

After returning to the riad, we had a huge dinner prepared by the riad staff. The homemade tagine was great but it was way too big for two girls.

We had minor issues with payment thanks to Hotels.com and Babette’s (the French owner of the riad) inflexibility with credit cards. We ended up going to Djemaa El Fna and use a cash withdrawal machine to pay for the bill which caused Victoria’s card to be blocked by the bank. We had to go back to London stuck with the blocked card but with the help of my dorm neighbor, Victoria was able to get her card to work again.

 

I still miss Morocco to this day. It’s like a homesick except Morocco is not my home. I would totally love to go back again to buy a large earthware tagine for cooking and a soothing glass of fresh mint tea.

For the pictures, please go to http://krazzykitty.tumblr.com/#51147901164.

   


Location: London, UK

Best of Morocco in pictures pt. 2

Our Day 3 in Marrakech involved a bit more of walking around but it all paid off as we were greeted by serene courtyard gardens trimmed with orange trees in both Musee Dar Si Said and Bahia Palace.
The picture-perfect fountains gave a cool, refreshing finish on the tiled courtyards guarded by stray cats.
I couldn’t stop ooh-ing and aah-ing at the eye-pleasing symmetry of the arches, doors, boxes and porcelain works and the bursts of colors in lamps and carpets.

Henna Caf� was totally worth the trek up north from Koutoubia Mosque. We both got a 100-dirham free-hand design on one arm for a total of 200. We were sat on the rooftop terrace with a cold glass of water (we ran out of cash for ordering anything else) and Huda the henna artist was very patient with us. Getting hennas here is a bit pricey but the proceeds go to local charitable causes. I highly recommend this place because unlike other places (especially Djemaa), Henna Caf� is very peaceful and they explain how to properly take care of the henna paste for the next few days.

Mine lasted for about 2 and a half weeks due to excessive hand washing but Victoria’s lasted a tad bit longer than mine.

Thanks for reading and I hope you’ll enjoy my last few posts (I will post another with the remaining Morocco pictures and then a reflection on my study abroad experience).

Link to Henna Caf� website: www.hennacafemarrkech.com

For the pictures, see http://krazzykitty.tumblr.com/#51143901014


Location: London, UK

Marrakech Day 1 & 2

On April 26 at 3:30pm, Victoria and I left my dorm to Heathrow via tube.

We were initially scheduled to arrive at Marrakech Menara Airport around 10:20 that evening but our flights were delayed and by the time we got out of the last plane it was close to midnight and the airport was nearly deserted.

Luckily, we ran into a lone backpacker from China who was camping out at Menara for the night for his morning flight. He was kind enough to negotiate a price with the predatory cab drivers outside with us. Turns out he is also a study abroad student in Paris, so Victoria, who is also studying abroad in the suburb of Paris, ended up exchanging contact information with him.

 

The taxi ride wasn’t too long but because of the extremely narrow alleyways the driver couldn’t drive us all the way to the doorstep of our riad – a traditional Moroccan/Maghrebi style B&B. He dropped us off at a small square/parking lot and pointed at an abstract direction and told us to “go straight and you’ll find it.”

The alleyways were badly lit, compared to those of big cities like London, Tokyo and Shanghai. They seemed to stretch and meander way beyond our limited eyesight.

 

The next thing we know, a bunch of local young fellas emerged. They are (probably) unlicensed, self-described “guides”, surrounding us, cackling, and nudging, exchanging knowing gazes among each other. Two of them “volunteered” to show us the way to Riad Zayane Atlas, even after we refused and tried to ignore them, frolicking around us.    

One of the “guides,” a man in early 30s was not happy about how we didn’t smile back to them as much as they would have liked. They did take us to our riad, after all, and after arguing a while they begrudgingly settled for a single dirham bill. It wasn’t a long walk at all from the parking lot in fact, the only reason we “hired” them was because it was just dark and we weren’t familiar with the area.

 

One of the hosts, whose name I cannot recall, a man in his late 50s, responded to the doorbell in his pajamas. He was slightly surprised at our late arrival but was patient with us while Victoria explained the situation. Because he doesn’t speak English, all of the conversations we had with him had to be in French so I could only understand his words through other people. He told Victoria the riad was not expecting us until the next day but we showed our copy of the reservation confirmation email. He retreated to the office and came back downstairs saying it was Hotels.com through which we booked the accommodation that messed the dates up. He offered his(?) bedroom for us to sleep in for the night and promised us that he will have a room on the second floor ready in the next morning.

 

 The first night, as well as the following few nights, I had trouble sleeping. But I wasn’t surprised because I’m just the kind of person who goes insomniac when overly excited. At about 5 in the morning, I heard the morning prayers. It brought to my mind the memories of Turkey. At the same time I realized there are only 3 hours until the breakfast is served.

 

With my adrenaline being pumped inside me at the maximum level, I rose from bed and enjoyed the breakfast thoroughly. The riad served us freshly squeezed orange juice, coffee, warm pastries and bread with sweetened butter and apricot jam. Half way through breakfast, mint tea made a grand entrance. Unlike other dishes which were brought by Fatima the chef and other female housekeepers, mint tea was always brought by a male host – serving tea to guests is considered an art form and is a traditionally masculine task in Morocco. According to internet sources, the base for mint tea is gunpowder green tea, alternatively known as Zhu cha in Chinese meaning “pearl tea”, which is imported from China. To produce foam on top, the tea is poured from a tiny metal teapot into delicately painted glasses at a distance.

All it took was a single sip for me to fall head over heels in love with Morocco’s favorite beverage. I’ve done a few quick “research” on mint tea before I embarked on the trip and I had very high hopes for the tea and every glass I had never disappointed!

Being from China and all, to say I am a huge tea lover is a mere understatement. Growing up, I have always enjoyed good tea and tasting teas from different countries is one of my favorite things to do when I’m on trips.

Ok, enough with tea now.

 

We were told that we still have a couple hours until after the previous guests leave and the room is cleared. So we decided to take a stroll down the street and see where we’d end up.

And voila! Before we know it, we were at the famed Djemaa el Fna!! And it was just as crazy as our forerunners have told us. Donkeys carrying baskets and people, horse-drawn carriages, and early-bird merchants – water sellers, orange juice stalls, henna artists, cafes – were already there, trying to earn some extra dirhams from confused tourists.

We went to explore some of the souks. The merchants, mostly teenage to middle-aged men, came off as slightly pushy. They were actually more aggressive than the Shanghai merchants! It wasn’t just once or twice that I got my arm pulled. Most young female tourists were heckled from dawn to dust and the fact that Victoria and I are both of Chinese descent didn’t help either. Instead we got A LOT more attention than others. From time to time we got called names – racially specific names, Gangnam Style references, the randomest combinations of Japanese words they could think of and something to do with having flowers in the hair (because while I was out and about in Marrakech I wore a flower in my hair). There were also unofficial “guides” here and there but not everyone of them wanted us to pay.

 

Then we walked toward the tallest building, the minaret of La Koutoubia Mosque until we were at the edge of a busy intersection. We took a couple of pictures of the mosque with the azure sky on the background and since it was close to noon, we decided to buy us each a large bottle of water and go back to our riad.

 

After we returned to the riad, we were greeted by Kamal, the other manager-slash-guide, who cordially invited us to rest at the sitting area on the first floor while the staff finished up clearing our new room upstairs. Kamal, to my delight, speaks English so that was the first time in about 48 hours I had long conversations with anyone other than Victoria.

He sat with us and gave us a map of the city and explained how things work in the riad and beyond. He also made suggestions for our one-day excursions and offered to accompany us to a hike up the nearly Atlas Mountains, which we gladly accepted. He assured us that he will contact a tourist agency to take us to Ouarzazate, which is one of many scenic filming locations for The Gladiator, Lawrence of Arabia and Game of Thrones, on our fifth evening. We then arranged a dinner to be had at the riad on our last day. He also recommended us to dine on a balcony table at Caf� de France and watch the sun set on Djemaa El Fna.

We did – we went early to the restaurant and sat all the way up on the third floor which gave us a spectacular panoramic view of Djemaa and Koutoubia.

The food was great. We both ordered two-course dinners. I had a plate of beef tagine with roasted almonds and prunes and Victoria had a plate of couscous with chicken (I think) and vegetables. Thanks to the cone-shaped earthenware it was cooked and served in (the dish’s name tagine also refers to the multi-tasking pot/container), the beef I had was among the most tenderly cooked and juicy. The broth was spiced with perfection without being oily. The beef-and-prune combo sounded odd at first but they went along very well together. The almonds added a fragrant touch to the dish.

Victoria’s couscous was tasty too. Even the veggies were heavenly. It made really me want to learn how to cook tagine dishes (that’s how Moroccan parents get their kids to eat their veggies, I suppose!). For desserts, we both had sliced fresh oranges with cinnamon sprinkled on top.

The sun didn’t set until nearly 8 in the evening but once it disappeared, the entire square lit up with candles, bare light bulbs, candles, Maghrebi lanterns and unparalleled enthusiasm of its merchants and street performers. Food stall workers yelled, snake charmers blew oboes and dancers sang. It was amazing. We could see that Djemaa El Fna truly is the heart of Marrakech and its energy the blood. We could almost hear its strong pulse.  

Overall, It was a day we felt quite in touch with the local lifestyle and got to know a little bit about Marrakech before our adventures that followed.

 

For pictures, follow the link here: http://krazzykitty.tumblr.com/#50172773939


Location: London, UK

Count down to Marrakech!!!

With a little blurb on Facebook in the morning saying my friend Victoria has tagged me in her status update about our upcoming trip to Marrakesh, did I realize that today is April 23, whooping two days before Victoria hits London Town and three days before we land in Morocco!! It’s going to be extremely action-packed 6 days, walking around in meandering souks and trekking in sand dunes!

This very thought alone gives me shivers! You have no idea how psyched I am to be visiting Marrakech. I even read a book about Marrakech–Hideous Kinky by Esther Freud (she is a great-granddaughter of Sigmund Freud).

 

So far I have packed 4 T-shirts, 2 pairs of harem pants (I’m happy to travel to a place where not getting out of harem pants ever is perfectly justified!), one pair of jeans, 2 maxi dresses, one set of swimsuit, one pair of beach sandals, one pair of nude flats, a bunch of towels, one set of pajamas, one pair of Converse sneakers, 2 bottles of sunblock and one pair of sunglasses. I may also squeeze a black mini dress and a blazer for an outing at a casino but I’m afraid the dress will be too risqu� (it is a one-shoulder dress, not too tight but hits well above the knees). Or just forgo the said outfit altogether and stick to one of the long dresses.

I still haven’t finished packing but I’m pretty positive all of these can fit into a duffel bag but the bag will be so snag that it will not have much room for anything I end up buying there. So I’m contemplating moving my items into a suitcase instead to make room for souvenirs. But there is one problem: the suitcase is HUGE. When I’m standing up the suitcase hits a little below my hips (I’m 5 ft 4 in tall).

 

If anyone has been to Marrakech or anywhere else in Morocco, do you have any tips/advice on what to pack? Your help is greatly appreciated (:

Pictures will be posted on my Tumblr page (www.krazzykitty.tumblr.com).


Location: London, UK