from chaouen David and I parted, I wanted to try to get to Larache, a small town on the northwestern coast with a beach (still looking for sun) and had to change buses in tangier to do so. I encounter two very strange romanians and have dinner with them and a moroccan guy we meet. Larache, on first glance, looks very destroyed. Not destroyed like crumbling stone walls and antique-ish peeling paint...no, more like "aftermath of war". I have a hard time understanding why this town in on the map, much less in my lonely planet guidebook with a complete description. Maybe it's a different place in summer and spring. There are some places with the blue painted walls and charming fishing harbor atmosphere, but the other areas are just broken concrete, broken doors, dirt roads that are muddy and covered with litter (I could go on and on about waste management and globalization and development, nonreusable garbage as a pseudo-western concept, garbage practices (production of, composition of, and disposal of) but i wont.) One of the Romanians haggled down the price of my single hotel room from 50 Dh to 35 DH, about 4 USD, which is officially the cheapest I have paid for a hotel room in this country. (no comment on the standard of cleanliness or comfort--my own standards are pretty low, so you can use your imagination) I went for a run here on the outskirts of town are these huge half-constructed concrete and brick buildings that look like the skeletons of what could be a nice apartments but are really slum-like. they are in the middle of this large open area of brownness covered with litter, sheep, and dogs. there is a lot of this half-construction here. someone told me it is because the construction is illegal, not because they began a housing project that ran out of money. i'd be interested to see inside.
some friends in ithaca put me in contact with some people here in rabat, and i met up with them here. One, sanaa, took me all around the capital city of Rabat, to the different attraction sites--roman ruins, a mausoleum, an craft market area, etc. i stayed with her family for two nights, where her 7 yr old niece just fell in love with me. very cute.
I am still in the vicinity of Rabat, but I left Sanaa to meet up with some others. Abdelghani met with me for tea then brought me to his neighborhood of Karia, just outside Rabat. I am currently staying at the home of another friend, who lives just down the street of Abdelghani, named Mohammed. Hospitality in this place is just unbelievable. They are just so giving of their time, their home, their families, it's an incredibly warm atmosphere. Mohammed's parents and brothers and sister are so welcoming, and inviting. There's been a lot going on in the last few days...mostly eating. Everytime I try to put my hand down to stop eating, someone is there to tell me to "kulee, kulee" (eat, eat) I've never eaten so much in my life. They've introduced me to so many people here, I will be very sad to leave Karia when I do. Mostlyit's the atmosphereand conversations that I love, but we've done some really fun things too. Abdelghani, Mohamed, Mourad and I went to Souq al-Khamis, a weekly market where you can find anything under the sun. I learned about some different produce and about the marks of a good sheep (when selecting for slaughter). There was a gigantic section justfor animal slaughter and butchers (cow goat and sheep from what icould see) filled with knife-wielding men, bloodycountertops, red puddles covering the wet dirt and everywhere remnants of horns and heads. (to be continued)
Saturday, January 12, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Skipped through Meknes very quickly (mostly because we were overwhelmed by the excess of Chinese factory-produced imitation goods) and moved on to a very small town, Moulay Idriss. It's a pilgrimage destination and I read that 5 pilgrimages to Moulay Idriss is equivalent to one hajj, but most people I talk to here say that's heresy. It's literally a town on a hill with one small main square and more labyrinthian alleys. Going on a morning jog here was blissful--sun, wide open green pastures, mountains, cliffs, olive (?) trees, flocks of sheep, mule & master plowing fields...
went to the neighboring roman ruins which were OK, but less than inspiring. I'm always suspicious of restorations and touchups. Intersting thing, though, is that people actually LIVED in thes Roman city until the Earthquake of Lisbon in the 17 or 1800s. No, they were not Romans. The Romans never succeeded in defeating the "Berber tribes" at least partly due to difficulty in attacking them in their high mountain locations. But i'll try to keep my (probably erroneous) history to a minimum on this blog.
took a taxi for 3 hours in a nasty rainstorm (totally gray day, sheets of water, serious road flooding in a 20-yr old Mercedes with non-functioning windshield wipers) to Chefchaouen, one of a few large towns in the rif mountains, famous for its reefer. All the walls, doors, streets are painted different shades of BOLUE (by law, as Marrakech was PINK by law). supposedly the color keep mosquitoes away but this must be the best kept secret in africa because i can think of tons of mosquito-infested places that AREN'T blue. but chaouen, in all its azure beauty, has been COLD and wet, so we've spent a good amount of time looking for restaurants with fireplaces (only 2) rather than exporing the Rif Mountains. I'm glad to be here in winter, though, because with warmer weather comes masses of tourists and dreadocked travellers and I'm not one for tourist towns anyway. It's been great to be able to use my Spanish here (because i'm further north) although I contintue to become more and more aware of how quickly i am losing it. still struggling a little bit with when to respond/engage with others who initiate conversation with me. sometimes it's a sale, someties the male/female interest, sometimes curiosity, sometimes friendliness. the last 2 always reward me with a memorable encounter, pleasant conversation, or fun event, the trouble is discerning one thing from another...
in a few days i meet some friends of a couple I know from ithaca, very much looking forward to that (in Rabat, the capital).
went to the neighboring roman ruins which were OK, but less than inspiring. I'm always suspicious of restorations and touchups. Intersting thing, though, is that people actually LIVED in thes Roman city until the Earthquake of Lisbon in the 17 or 1800s. No, they were not Romans. The Romans never succeeded in defeating the "Berber tribes" at least partly due to difficulty in attacking them in their high mountain locations. But i'll try to keep my (probably erroneous) history to a minimum on this blog.
took a taxi for 3 hours in a nasty rainstorm (totally gray day, sheets of water, serious road flooding in a 20-yr old Mercedes with non-functioning windshield wipers) to Chefchaouen, one of a few large towns in the rif mountains, famous for its reefer. All the walls, doors, streets are painted different shades of BOLUE (by law, as Marrakech was PINK by law). supposedly the color keep mosquitoes away but this must be the best kept secret in africa because i can think of tons of mosquito-infested places that AREN'T blue. but chaouen, in all its azure beauty, has been COLD and wet, so we've spent a good amount of time looking for restaurants with fireplaces (only 2) rather than exporing the Rif Mountains. I'm glad to be here in winter, though, because with warmer weather comes masses of tourists and dreadocked travellers and I'm not one for tourist towns anyway. It's been great to be able to use my Spanish here (because i'm further north) although I contintue to become more and more aware of how quickly i am losing it. still struggling a little bit with when to respond/engage with others who initiate conversation with me. sometimes it's a sale, someties the male/female interest, sometimes curiosity, sometimes friendliness. the last 2 always reward me with a memorable encounter, pleasant conversation, or fun event, the trouble is discerning one thing from another...
in a few days i meet some friends of a couple I know from ithaca, very much looking forward to that (in Rabat, the capital).
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
fez
im writing now from FEZ, which may very well be the greatest city i have ever seen. we took a 7 hour train from marrakech which was very scenic, passing by goat and sheepherders in pastures, mountains, plateaus, cities, etc. fez isnt even a "city" really--it's more a medieval center. it's a huge walled medina, like a lot of moroccan cities, but inside is literally a labyrinth of stone and brick alleys, old street lamps, tiny tiny doors behind which hide narrow twisting staircases leading up to houses and terraces, crumbling walls and dark arched tunnels. i really am having a hard time believing that this place actually exists, never mind that i am here walking around in it. i am amawed at how such a fairytale can preserve its character amidst such a changing world. i know it sounds like an overdramatized description from a travel book sponsored by a tour company, but its all true. david and i saw the tanneries, which is a large square in the middle of which lay large shallow wells of limestone and dyes. it's all a natural process, using the skins of a few different types of animals (we saw only sheep skins). cleaning, drying, de-furring, dyeing, drying, etc. it was incredibly fascinating to watch and smell.
i walked around the second day in fez just to take a stroll and a young boy wanting to be a guide latched on to me. i wandered down an alley to try to lose him, and looked up to find an old man way up high on the roof. this particular alley was so narrow i had to walk sideways, and at teh very end was a very small door. i said hello to the man, he invited me up, i followed him up at least 5 minutes of stairs and finally reached the roof terrace. i met his son, daughters, wife, stayed for an hour or two, and climbed up the walls to check out some higher terraces. everyone here is so open and hospitable, its very easy to meet people and have these kinds of experiences--it seems very commonplace. went to a fun new years party at a new restaurant opened by the friend of a new zealand expat who told us about the place. were allowed to bring our own alcohol, which took a little bit of hunting to acquire in dry morocco, but we did and was loads of fun.
i walked around the second day in fez just to take a stroll and a young boy wanting to be a guide latched on to me. i wandered down an alley to try to lose him, and looked up to find an old man way up high on the roof. this particular alley was so narrow i had to walk sideways, and at teh very end was a very small door. i said hello to the man, he invited me up, i followed him up at least 5 minutes of stairs and finally reached the roof terrace. i met his son, daughters, wife, stayed for an hour or two, and climbed up the walls to check out some higher terraces. everyone here is so open and hospitable, its very easy to meet people and have these kinds of experiences--it seems very commonplace. went to a fun new years party at a new restaurant opened by the friend of a new zealand expat who told us about the place. were allowed to bring our own alcohol, which took a little bit of hunting to acquire in dry morocco, but we did and was loads of fun.
bathing
The low-lit, dark cellar was full of women of all shapes and siwes scrubbing, rinsing, lathering. Hammams here vary from basic and practical to pampering and luxurious. The one i chose was the former--mostly it was women who do not have baths in their homes and use the public bath on a regular basis. i've read that islam places a lot of importance on physical cleanliness, which is why hammams were commonly used. There are two communal sinks--hotand cold--from which you draw water using what appeared to be old plastic bleach containers with large holes cut out for easy pouring. i filled up the buckets i was given and took a squat on the cement floor. i didnt realize i was expected to bring my own soap, so I bought it from the matron, who gave me a gloopy glop of brownness wrapped in plastic. I squeezed it out little by little and rubbed it all over myself--judging from the smell, it must have been olive oil-based bu the language barrier prevented me from getting more details on exactly what it was i was covering myself with. i would probably do it all again, if only because it sure as hell beats the frigid showers at hotels ive been in so far--"douche chaud" my ass.
i met up with a friend--another traveler i met in south africa last July--and we left essaouira to endeavor on a trek in the atlas mountains. we spent 3 days trekking, staying in gites in the villages. Plain concrete rooms, a kitchen, a few blankets, very little light and no heat--neither ntural(fire) nor artificial. we employed the services of guide Hassan, mule Aserdoon, and mule's owner Abdullah. The villages we stayed in were literally built right into the rock of the mountain, maybe 100 families in a village. People seemed to work in one of 3 things: tourism, agriculture, or their own personal domestic work. As dusk neared, the villages we stayed in practiced Eid traditions involving what was called a "billymaun"(sp?)(bil-ee-mound without the d) On the first night, the billymaun was a village gathering, women on some rooftops and men on others while 5 men used the skinsand fur of the slaughtered shop to make costumes (including a 'mask' of the skin and of the head and mouthpiece of a thick twig) and ran around the town madly, using long plastic tubes as whips to chase people and whack them with. they also enjoyed throwing large sacks of limestone to complement the tube whipping. No, i am not exaggerating about any of this. to be completely honest, it was one of the most unusual things i've ever witnessed. on the second night in a second village, the billymauns didnt even bother with the sheepskin costumes--some had one piece of fur draped over them, while others simply wore a mask cut out of some plastic container. but i was entirely unprepared for what was to come next. David and i wandered off on our own and discovered yet another billymaun celebration, but this time, we really were baffled. we walked down an alley of a series of houses and found a clearing--we stood at the lower end of an incline and the whole village was gathered standing or sitting in irregular lines on the rock walls that sliced across the mountainside wigwag style. i went to one side while david sauntered off to the other, and both of us were stared down. a man with a neon blue curly wig and painted blackface pranced in the center with a speakerphone shouting, singing, and beckoned us. another boy with a rasta hat (with long fake black dreads hanging down)ran down in my direction, then went past to scale the wall behind me. the only evidence that this was also a billymaun thing was the same orange plastic tube whipping. otherwise, this was a whole new billymaun ballgame. several other characters with indescribable masks participated, but i really cant remember or explain in words what was happening. david had it worse, as we had bought some chocolate at the village shop that ws totally tasteless so he tried to hand it out to the children/ they flocked around him and when he ran out, we found each other and quickly returned to the familiarity of our cold concrete guesthouse. the next day was our last day of trekking and both of us were more than ready for some urban chaos. SO SURREAL. it felt like being in a Dali painting. i'm sure theres a totally logical explanation for all of it, but i was at a loss. i think even if i were able to verbally communicate i probably would not have understood entirely.
i met up with a friend--another traveler i met in south africa last July--and we left essaouira to endeavor on a trek in the atlas mountains. we spent 3 days trekking, staying in gites in the villages. Plain concrete rooms, a kitchen, a few blankets, very little light and no heat--neither ntural(fire) nor artificial. we employed the services of guide Hassan, mule Aserdoon, and mule's owner Abdullah. The villages we stayed in were literally built right into the rock of the mountain, maybe 100 families in a village. People seemed to work in one of 3 things: tourism, agriculture, or their own personal domestic work. As dusk neared, the villages we stayed in practiced Eid traditions involving what was called a "billymaun"(sp?)(bil-ee-mound without the d) On the first night, the billymaun was a village gathering, women on some rooftops and men on others while 5 men used the skinsand fur of the slaughtered shop to make costumes (including a 'mask' of the skin and of the head and mouthpiece of a thick twig) and ran around the town madly, using long plastic tubes as whips to chase people and whack them with. they also enjoyed throwing large sacks of limestone to complement the tube whipping. No, i am not exaggerating about any of this. to be completely honest, it was one of the most unusual things i've ever witnessed. on the second night in a second village, the billymauns didnt even bother with the sheepskin costumes--some had one piece of fur draped over them, while others simply wore a mask cut out of some plastic container. but i was entirely unprepared for what was to come next. David and i wandered off on our own and discovered yet another billymaun celebration, but this time, we really were baffled. we walked down an alley of a series of houses and found a clearing--we stood at the lower end of an incline and the whole village was gathered standing or sitting in irregular lines on the rock walls that sliced across the mountainside wigwag style. i went to one side while david sauntered off to the other, and both of us were stared down. a man with a neon blue curly wig and painted blackface pranced in the center with a speakerphone shouting, singing, and beckoned us. another boy with a rasta hat (with long fake black dreads hanging down)ran down in my direction, then went past to scale the wall behind me. the only evidence that this was also a billymaun thing was the same orange plastic tube whipping. otherwise, this was a whole new billymaun ballgame. several other characters with indescribable masks participated, but i really cant remember or explain in words what was happening. david had it worse, as we had bought some chocolate at the village shop that ws totally tasteless so he tried to hand it out to the children/ they flocked around him and when he ran out, we found each other and quickly returned to the familiarity of our cold concrete guesthouse. the next day was our last day of trekking and both of us were more than ready for some urban chaos. SO SURREAL. it felt like being in a Dali painting. i'm sure theres a totally logical explanation for all of it, but i was at a loss. i think even if i were able to verbally communicate i probably would not have understood entirely.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Eid Mbarak!
It;s eid al-adha and the party is on! It;s been a nonstop 6 days in morocco. the holiday has had a wonderfully calming effect onessaouira, the hissing and hassling transforms overnight into genuine greetings and invitations to homes. The blkood in the streets and matted hairballs of singed sheep hair are testaments to the celebrations of the morning. when not under this eerie spell of eid; the busy port city Essaouira is alive with energy; fishing boats putting out their nets; locals overly insistent on §helping you find a hotel§ (for which they usually receive a commission) and the ever-present shopkeepers displaying their crafts. like in all the souqs of the cities here; there are a hundred hidden alleyways with small cave-siwed shops squatting in the medina walls; narroa restaurants with ainding candlelit stairways and stone-arch entrances. some of it is obvious artsy tourist draw; but some also has a very real §Old World§ feeling. Essaouira itself has a really interesting history; having been switched around under the control of Phoenicians; Portuguese and many others; and was originally the main trading center for access to timbuktu! cool, huh§ Attached pics fromù essa include my first taste of snail soup and scenes of eid.
the first 3 days in marrakech were busy, but tiring. it;s a fatiguing place to be--constant sensory stimulation and attention--usually good-natured b ut often attached to a sale. I;ve come to terms with one thing very quickly: iu am a bad bargainer. i;ll admit it. im not terrible, but no amount of bargainig in any previous trip has prepared me for the intensity of price haggling here. its difficult to know what is sociually acceptable behavior; never mind knowing what is a socially acceptable price. but thats just it, isnt it. there is no such thing as a §socially acceptable price§...which brings me to this whole concept of fixed vs. flexible prices. the price of any given item here (as in many informal markets) can literally range from 10 to 200 dirham. Frankly it;s difficult to bargain when I;ve come from a culmture of fixed prices in which haggling is not only unecessary but looked down upon. in fact, having fixed prices is practically seen as a moral value. consider the strore owner or storefront person in the US who erratically changes his/her prices by the appearances, familiarity, language capabiulities of the customer. doesnt american culture portray this as being unethical, slimy, morally corrupt, etc.? thats not to say it doesnt happen. because it does (in particular; i;m recalling a news special i saw once that pointed out discrepancies in car price quoted by car salespeople to m en and woman--woman getting told and paying higher price s than men for the same exact car). as much as i know thaty this way of looking at price is not "true" b ut rather culturally taught; its;s still difficult to shake off the instinctual reaction of irritation when i know i am paying 5 times more what another person is.
it;s all about EQUITY, right? from one perspective, equity is having the same price for every single person, disregaring what their wealth or social class allows them. from the other perspec tive, equity is about appropriate relative value--the customer for whom the product is worth more (say, a tourist who thinks moroccan kaftans are really n ovel), pays more. If I am willing to pay 200 Dh while another would only pay 20; it;s right that the final price reflect the difference in scale. after all, that final price is agreed upon by both parties, seller and buyer, at a point where b oth sides are happy--thats pretty just. I guess you could say there are problems with both perspectives. But lets get back to m orocco.
as always, it;s hard to distinguish between the extremely open fr iendliness and the undwanted female attention--the one thing that makes this discerning process so much less stressful than usual is the fact that with the unwanted attention, it;s almost never dangerous. when the only thin g at stake is a little dignity rather than both dignity and physical safety, I can breathe much easier and i;m much much more likely to engage, which isn;t always the case when traveling. of course; whe im calling 'dignity' is defined b y different parameters everywhere and i cant claim a right to m uch of anything(minus things like the right to be free of bodily harm), as this is not my country and i am an intruding visitor. again i digress.
Food here is incredible, as anyone who ever passes through morocco says. meat is always tender, vegetables never bland, couscous is fluffy, tajines simmering...mmmm...i havent been dining in the best of the best, but so far, everything has been srumdiddlyumptious. i met a german woman a fezw days ago, Barbara, who teaches at a uni in portland, and we've 'invaded' the male-dominated cafes for moroccan mint tea a few times. it's veryt sweet, but pleasant. We're going to a hammam (public bathhouse) tonight!!
excuse typos, different keyboards here...
the first 3 days in marrakech were busy, but tiring. it;s a fatiguing place to be--constant sensory stimulation and attention--usually good-natured b ut often attached to a sale. I;ve come to terms with one thing very quickly: iu am a bad bargainer. i;ll admit it. im not terrible, but no amount of bargainig in any previous trip has prepared me for the intensity of price haggling here. its difficult to know what is sociually acceptable behavior; never mind knowing what is a socially acceptable price. but thats just it, isnt it. there is no such thing as a §socially acceptable price§...which brings me to this whole concept of fixed vs. flexible prices. the price of any given item here (as in many informal markets) can literally range from 10 to 200 dirham. Frankly it;s difficult to bargain when I;ve come from a culmture of fixed prices in which haggling is not only unecessary but looked down upon. in fact, having fixed prices is practically seen as a moral value. consider the strore owner or storefront person in the US who erratically changes his/her prices by the appearances, familiarity, language capabiulities of the customer. doesnt american culture portray this as being unethical, slimy, morally corrupt, etc.? thats not to say it doesnt happen. because it does (in particular; i;m recalling a news special i saw once that pointed out discrepancies in car price quoted by car salespeople to m en and woman--woman getting told and paying higher price s than men for the same exact car). as much as i know thaty this way of looking at price is not "true" b ut rather culturally taught; its;s still difficult to shake off the instinctual reaction of irritation when i know i am paying 5 times more what another person is.
it;s all about EQUITY, right? from one perspective, equity is having the same price for every single person, disregaring what their wealth or social class allows them. from the other perspec tive, equity is about appropriate relative value--the customer for whom the product is worth more (say, a tourist who thinks moroccan kaftans are really n ovel), pays more. If I am willing to pay 200 Dh while another would only pay 20; it;s right that the final price reflect the difference in scale. after all, that final price is agreed upon by both parties, seller and buyer, at a point where b oth sides are happy--thats pretty just. I guess you could say there are problems with both perspectives. But lets get back to m orocco.
as always, it;s hard to distinguish between the extremely open fr iendliness and the undwanted female attention--the one thing that makes this discerning process so much less stressful than usual is the fact that with the unwanted attention, it;s almost never dangerous. when the only thin g at stake is a little dignity rather than both dignity and physical safety, I can breathe much easier and i;m much much more likely to engage, which isn;t always the case when traveling. of course; whe im calling 'dignity' is defined b y different parameters everywhere and i cant claim a right to m uch of anything(minus things like the right to be free of bodily harm), as this is not my country and i am an intruding visitor. again i digress.
Food here is incredible, as anyone who ever passes through morocco says. meat is always tender, vegetables never bland, couscous is fluffy, tajines simmering...mmmm...i havent been dining in the best of the best, but so far, everything has been srumdiddlyumptious. i met a german woman a fezw days ago, Barbara, who teaches at a uni in portland, and we've 'invaded' the male-dominated cafes for moroccan mint tea a few times. it's veryt sweet, but pleasant. We're going to a hammam (public bathhouse) tonight!!
excuse typos, different keyboards here...
Friday, December 14, 2007
Beginnings
Welcome to Maria's Blog! This blog is exclusively for my postings regarding travel, although no doubt I will diverge from that at times. A proper homepage with other Maria-related things is forthcoming...
But first, a word from my sponsor...oh wait, I don't have one. So I guess just a word from the author of this blog, yours truly. I've decided that rather than depending on paper (or less reliable yet, my brain) to document my travels and my thoughts while traveling, I'd join the ranks of Interweb enthusiasts and start one of these things. Mostly it's a matter of convenience, because posting reflections on here is much easier than recounting the same stories in several e-mails to several people. But also, let's face it, having a blog is the hip thing to do. If you know ANYTHING about me, it's that I'm hip. I am. Really. I swear. Please post all manner of stupid comments, legitimate observations, challenging questions, snide remarks, enlightening critique, personal anecdotes, etc. Or just read until you're bored. Which is riiiight abooouuut....now.
But first, a word from my sponsor...oh wait, I don't have one. So I guess just a word from the author of this blog, yours truly. I've decided that rather than depending on paper (or less reliable yet, my brain) to document my travels and my thoughts while traveling, I'd join the ranks of Interweb enthusiasts and start one of these things. Mostly it's a matter of convenience, because posting reflections on here is much easier than recounting the same stories in several e-mails to several people. But also, let's face it, having a blog is the hip thing to do. If you know ANYTHING about me, it's that I'm hip. I am. Really. I swear. Please post all manner of stupid comments, legitimate observations, challenging questions, snide remarks, enlightening critique, personal anecdotes, etc. Or just read until you're bored. Which is riiiight abooouuut....now.
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