Why else would a Virginian find himself in London, Edinburgh, Cardiff, Barcelona, Madrid, Marrakech, Dublin, or Paris? The people, of course.

Monday, July 5, 2010

Marrakech and Me - Part the Second

The second day Judd and I woke up, and almost immediately his friends from the program he's in (I did mention that he's studying in Fez, Morocco, right?) showed up. Since they were all Modern Middle-Easter Studies Majors from Yale, I was a bit outclassed on the knowledge of all things local/ fluency in Arabic. Other than Judd, though, I was the only one who spoke any French, so my pride was a little salvaged.

There was then a bit of a debacle with the renting of cars that I won't go into for the sake of my parents' blood pressure, but which had no lasting repercussions. (No worries, mom and pops). We moved out of the hotel and into a villa, of which you can see a picture to the left, on the outskirts of the city to accommodate the extra people. The thing on the table is a tajine, by the way. The villa was incredible, as you can see. There was even wild rosemary growing along the path to the front door. Unfortunately, I wasn't there long enough to do any cooking, but it was still really cool.

After we threw out stuff down, we headed to a local market outside the city where we could get some lunch. The hodgepodge of tents was incredibly derelict, in a deserty sort of way, and it was one of those times when I felt really out of place. Everyone was wearing a ripped little-league shirt or one of those man-dress things, and they were under feebly propped-up stalls made from various recycled fabrics. We couldn't eat at the first stall we went to, because we didn't have a live chicken for them to butcher, so we moved on. The second stall was good, though. We sat down and they brought us some bread and more of the delicious mint tea. We chatted with the people next to us--three guys studying to be physicians in Marrakech--and chowed down on some really really good lamb skewers, which were cooked over a rudimentary charcoal grill. Nom nom.

After lunch we dodged around the stray sheep/goats at the market and headed back to the car. We drove south of the city, heading to the waterfalls by Setti Fatma, a small town in the Ourika valley. The drive down was unbelievably gorgeous. Passing camels, mules, and motorbikes, we carved through the red-clay mountains covered with low brush. The towns we passed through were made of the same red clay, and adorned with blue paint, and the effect was unbelievably striking. The shops we passed sold rough, beautiful, handmade treasures like wooden benches and tajines. We almost stopped at a place where you could ride a camel, but Judd advised that riding a camel was hell on the nether regions, so we proceeded on. A river flowed to the left of the car, and hand-made rope bridges led to cafés on the other side.

Passing through several more towns, we came finally to Setti Fatma, a small town set in a more wooded part of the mountains. We parked, and climbed a path that began behind the town, through stalls selling fresh squeezed juices, dageers, carved stone figurines and daggers, mint tea, and shisha, which had been set up on the side of the wooded path. We stopped briefly to down some fresh orange juice (amazingly refreshing, see top right for the place we stopped), before continuing up. The path was really treacherous, and at several points I had to go on all fours to ensure I didn't break an ankle...or my neck. On the top left is Judd climbing the path.

After a long climb, over a slippery, wet, rocky trail, we finally reached the top, which held a pretty dinky waterfall with a small--though very beautiful--pool below, as you can see on the left and right. People were hanging out, taking pictures and wading in the pool. There was a place on the right where you could sort of climb up the side of the falls and get to the top. Showing an unusual amount of good sense, I decided it wasn't worth a broken ankle in a foreign country, and decided to stay put. But Judd--the only member of our group who could drive the stick-shift rental car--decided to risk breaking his ankle and climb up. Luckily, he's a pretty athletic fellow, so he was ok up and down, but I was a bit nervous for a while.

After a time, we grew weary of the falls and decided to head down. On the way, though, we stopped at an awesome place to smoke shisha (tobacco in a hookah [water pipe]), drink mint tea, and have fresh juice and chips. Check out the place on the left; it was amazing. We spent a while sitting and smoking, talking about various things, before continuing on. On the way down, some people from the group got souvenirs from the local stalls. I got a turtle carved from malachite, and I bargained it from 80 dirhams (the Moroccan currency) down to 60! Go me. By the way, I don't think I've mentioned this, but watching Judd bargain is really impressive. He switches fluidly from Arabic to French to English, all back and forth while crafting an argument, and consistently gets the best deals in the group. I usually let him buy things for me, but I was feeling pretty saucy. I might have still overpaid, but it came to $6 US, so I'm not too upset. Actually, the day before, Judd was buying a dagger and the merchant turned to me and said that my friend bargained like a Berber (the local nomads, who apparently bargain pretty hard). I guess that was a compliment?

The drive back was pretty uneventful (pictured right: the drive from Marrakech to Setti Fatma, daytime); it grew dark and hard to see, and I think I fell asleep for a while in there. There was a pretty interesting conversation going on in the car about people's personal narratives and how they intertwine with other narratives to form a collective group narrative, which can still exist even though it doesn't have a consciousness governing it, but that was cut short when we got a ticket. We had 6 people in the 5-seater car, and we got pulled over by a traffic cop. Judd argued for a while because every other car passing us had 6 people in it, and Judd was sure we were being targeted as Americans. In the end, he just bribed the cop 200 dirhams and we went on our way, but it put everyone in a surly mood.

When we got into the city, we parked on the street and decided to split up. Judd and I sought out a restaurant, while the others explored the streets. Judd and I wandered around lost for a while, shrugging off would-be tour guides, and eventually found the restaurant, by which time it had closed. We headed back to the main square and ate a significantly cheaper, though somewhat lackluster, meal. I had another chicken tajine. On the left is the main square at night, though you really can't see the scope of how huge it was. There were performers everywhere, doing dances, tricks, and other such tourist-attracting things. After dinner, we all reconvened, Judd had a very bad banana juice (it seriously just tasted like milk), and we headed back to the villa to sleep. Since I had a 10:30am flight (the gate closed at 10:05) I set an alarm for 6:30, and went to bed.

At 9:06am the next morning, I realized that it was kinda light out and I should probably be awake. Exclaiming "Shhhhhhit," I accidentally woke up Judd, to whom I briefly described the predicament. After throwing on clothes and shoes, we both sprinted for the door and Judd drove (really really quickly) in the general direction of the airport, which was a 20-30 minute drive away. This was complicated by the fact that neither of us knew exactly where the airport was, and had to stop every now and then so Judd could ask for directions out the window in Arabic.

Eventually (miraculously), we made it to the airport and I took off running. Unfortunately, Morocco forces you to go through customs on the way out, as well as in, though as it would turn out, that was actually what saved me. I spent 5-10 minutes running around checking in frantically. The customs people in Marrakech had been so slow, though, that no one on my flight had been able to get through, so they delayed the flight a little, allowing me to slip into the line precisely when they started boarding. Phew. I relaxed, read, and headed back to London still sweating from running around. It had been an amazing trip, more than I could say on a blog, and I consider myself beyond fortunate to have gone. Pictured right: I told Judd to put my monkey (extra pair of shorts) on his shoulder so I could take a picture and charge him 20 dirhams. I thought it was pretty funny.

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