When Morocco Met David...
Morocco is a country of multitude. It has a history carved by the Berbers, the Romans, the Arabs, the French and the Spanish. It has a diversity of terrains spanning beaches, plains, deserts and snow-capped mountains. It not only has delicous dishes such as couscous and tagines, but also delicious music such as Gnawa and Rai. It is a nation taking pride and belief in itself, and at the same time keeping the mind open while looking at the rest of the world.
My date with Morocco was without doubt too short. I do have the conviction, however, that Morocco and I are not a one-shot thing: I am going back. Until then, let my account of meager insight be your amusement...and mine.
Some Fast Facts my Readers might Ask about...
- The capital of Morocco is not the more famous Casablanca, or Marrakesh, or Fes. It is Rabat.
- Morocco's official language is classical Arabic. The country's distinctive Arabic dialect is called Moroccan Arabic. Approximately one third of the population speak Berber either as a first language or bilingually with the spoken Arabic dialect. French, which remains Morocco's unofficial second language, is taught universally and still serves as Morocco's primary language of commerce and economics.
- The Kingdom of Morocco is interestingly a constitutional monarchy, owing to the reform of the young King Mohammed VI (born in 1963, enthroned in 1999). In Morocco, the King can dissolve government and deploy the military, among other responsibilities.
- Morocco's largest industry is the mining of phosphates. Its second largest source of income is from nationals living abroad who transfer money to relatives living in Morocco. The country's third largest source of revenue is tourism.
- Morocco's independence from France took place on March 2nd, 1956.
- Morocco's currency is Dirham. Much to my dismay, even the flight between Casablanca and Madrid does not accept Dirhams for drinks.
- Islam is the religion of 99 percent of Moroccans.
- Most Olympics-watchers should be very familiar with Hicham el-Guerrouj, a star athelete from Morocco. In Athens, he was the gold medalist of both men's 1500m and 5000m. This however wasn't surprising anyone: he should have already gotten them in Atlanta and Sydney (anyone remember what happened?). Here is a wiki entry of him.
- Morocco was the first nation to recognize the fledgling United States as an independent nation in 1777. The Moroccan-American Treaty of Friendship stands as the U.S.'s oldest non-broken friendship treaty. Signed by John Adams and Thomas Jefferson, it has been in continuous effect since 1783.
- King Mohammed VI married a computer engineer in 2002, an event that appeared to symbolize acceptance of an increasingly modern role for women.
Day 1-2: Meknes
Meknes is one of the three major imperial cities in Morocco. Its royal glory was perhaps short-lived (1672 - 1727, during the reign of Moulay Ismail of the Alawite dynasty), but still one of the most memorable in Moroccan history. It was beneath Moulay Ismail's strong-arm rule that major cities like Tangier were recaptured from foreign invaders, and the coherent entity of modern Morocco was first glimpsed. As it is often the case in history, political and military power leads to extravagance in palaces: legend goes that the imperial palaces of Meknes were meant to compete Versailles when first built. Among the imperial cities I visited, Meknes is the most low-key, the most laidback, the most hassle-free, and hence the most enjoyable.
Strictly speaking, Meknes is the second Moroccan city I set my feet on. My flight landed in Casablanca. After some brief oh-I-cannot-believe-I-am-in-Africa excitement, I hopped on a train, directly went to Meknes. According to my tour book, Casablanca is an utterly modern city without many interesting places to visit: even the boderline-cheesy-romantic Rick's Cafe of Bogart-Bergman's Casablanca is fictional.
It was already like 3PM when I got to Meknes. I immediately did something a backpacker normally wouldn't do: I squandered by taking a horse-drawn carriage tour around the imperial city, a double-hour marathon loop through the Mausoleum of Moulay Ismail, the Royal Palace, the Heri es-Souani granaries, Agadal Basin, and part of the Ville Nouvelle. The granaries are particularly a marvel. They once stored grain and hay to feed Ismail's 12,000 horses. Now partial in ruin, row after row, the granaries provide unusual perspectives for photographers and wanna-bes like me. Soon it was getting dark, cold and all, but my horse driver enthusiastically fed me stories of his city, in his mixture of English and French. It constantly surprised me how effortless it was to talk to Moroccans. It just flew auto-pilot like that. I quickly shed my tourist mentality: before long, I took the driver's seat, and later we made a stop to buy some feed for the horse.
Because of the time difference, I got up pretty early the next morning. In the fresh sunlight, I started to appreciate my little simplistic hotel, Hotel Nouveau: from inside, it certainly mosaics-ized itself to teeth. I soon stood in front of the Mausoleum again, becoming the first visitor of the day; the cursive visit of the previous day left my curiosity ravenous. The place felt quite different in its peacefulness, which I guess both came from its freedom from tourist groups, and from the internal peace out of my morning sedated mind. I looked around, posing as an architect or an archeologist, studying the tile patterns, the beam structures, and the geometry behind the curvily carved passageways.
From there I took a walk, brisk and all, around the imperial city. For a while I lost myself in a nearby neighborhoood, chatted a bit with a group of local young fellows. This seemed to be their day of playing with a new toy, a camcorder. I then walked back to the main gate (Bab el-Mansour), and dived into the medina, the little winding streets twisted together forming what we call the old city. In this highly hierarchical neighborhood, I walked into those peripheral and less affluent ones, the iron welders and copperware makers. Later as I walked, I noticed more and more kids were passing me, and before I figured out why, a primary school was standing right next to me. In a maze of old buildings, the school was decidedly modern. Although this big concrete monster was perhaps a buzz-killer from a tourist point of view, I was just happy to see education everywhere is pretty much the same. In fact, the building so much resembles the primary school I had been to that there was certain nostagia growing when the kids high on the balcony were waving at me. I could be just one of them twenty years ago. Maybe the THEN-me was waving at the NOW-me.
It was drizzling. I spent the next half an hour visiting a merdesa (a theological school), and finding my way to the new city (Ville Nouvelle). After buying breakfast from a spotless upper-classy McDonald's (yep, they are everywhere), I bumped into a store bearing a sign I could read easily, in Chinese. As it turned out, the store owner only came from China a few years ago. With his son left behind, I could see how much he missed China. He invited me for coffee, and it was pleasant to speak Chinese in Africa. Still in the morning (now you can imagine HOW early I got up), I laid out my plan for the rest of the day: a side trip to Moulay Idriss and Volubilis, which you will soon see. My Chinese friend, in all his sincerity, bought me a ticket to Moulay Idriss and urged me to go back to his house for dinner. (I wasn't unable to make it due to a tight schedule).
Day 2: Moulay Idriss
Moulay Idriss, 30KM north of Meknes, is this little picturesque town where Islam started in Morocco. The town is named after the much revered saint Moulay Idriss, a great-grandson of the Prophet Mohammed and the first king of Morocco's first imperial dynasty. Moulay Idriss fled Mecca in the late 8th century A.D. and started to spread the religion from this town, where nowadays hosts the Mausoleum of the king and is one of the most important pilgrimage sites in Morocco.
More Pictures of Moulay Idriss
Day 2: Volubilis
A UNESCO World Heritage site, Volubilis is one of the largest and best-preserved Roman ruins in North Africa. It tells another layer of Mococco's rich history: before Islam, Morocco was one of the Roman Empire's most remote outposts. Volubilis was first settled in the 3rd century B.C. by some traders and annexed into the Empire at 40 A.D. At its peak, it housed up to 20,000 people, with everything a typical Roman city would have: triumphal arch, capitol, forum, baths and the basilica. Roman abandoned the city at around 280 A.D., but other ethnical groups, such as Berbers, Greeks, Jews, Syrians and later Arabs continued to inhabit the city until the 18th century.
The most amazing features are the stunning mosaics. Unlike other ruin sites where the mosaics have been peeled off to be sent to museums, mosaic floors and walls in Volubilis are left in their original locations, each of which tells a story in Greek and Roman mythology.
Day 3: Fes
Fes is the oldest imperial city in Morocco. It started with the dynasty of Idriss II (the son of Moulay Idriss) at around 800 A. D., and moved on serving as the capital of later dynasties such as the Merenids. Today, it is still the de facto cultural and religious capital of Morocco, producing a disproportionate share of intellectual and economic elite, and having long acted as a barometer of popular sentiment. The most interesting part of Fes is perhaps its medina. Being a UNESCO World Heritage site, it features 9,400 narrow streets with countless shopping opportunities.
Fes was perhaps a bit too intensive for me. I was talked into hiring a tour guide even before my train pulled in Fes. My guide turned out not speaking once for every five minutes, which was claimed to be out of sickeness (I hope he was telling the truth: I paid him twice of what he asked for just to hope he would get well soon). I was taken into buying an overpriced blanket. I was threatened to pay for one small glass of mint tea for a price one can buy two pots. After being stranded deep in the media by my guide, I got lost, not getting out until way after sunset. Within a couple of hours, I got hustled by literally 100 shop owners, tour guides, hotel touts and pay-for-directions kids. All that said, if there is anything to blame, I think I should blame myself for staying there for too short a time. It's an amazing city that takes time to unfold. That's all. Of course, let me not forget the friends I made in Fes, Abdo and others, who spent hours teaching me the basics of Arabic. For them and for the veiled mystery of the city, I am going back.
Day 4-5: The Sahara
A popular image of the Sahara is the huge, drifting expanses of sand dunes. This in the local language is called ergs. In reality, such a terrain only covers 20 percent of the Sahara, with the rest being plains of black gravels, called regs. Although regs are fairly common in Morocco, most of ergs only stretch themselves in Algeria, Libya and Mali, not in Morocco. An exception is Erg Chebbi, located on the eastern edge of Morocco, right next to Algeria.
I took an overnight bus from Fes to a tiny village on the border of Erg Chebbi, Merzouga. The traditional Berber village sports a temperament of ease and unhurriedness, not to be disturbed by the brutal forces of modernity. From Merzouga, I, together with four Czech friends I newly made, embarked on an overnight camel trek. I can only tell you I had never seen so many stars in the sky (and the falling ones) in my life. On top of the highest dune, I experienced my moment of petrifaction, floored by the sublime. I am a strong believer in languages, but then and there, I knew a few things just couldn't be described in any syntax by any semantic system.
Day 6: Todra Gorge and Tinerhir
Todra Gorge is a massive fault in the plateau, with a deep narrow passage and a river running through it. The most interesting thing about the Gorge is perhaps not how deep the gorge is, but how deep one can get into the rural life of Moroccans: sheppards, mining villages, palm groves, a family surrounding a big bowl of couscous for lunch, women washing clothes in the river, a mother with a crying baby on the back, a fuelwood collector, knickknack sellers waiting on the side of the highway. I covered the Gorge in a sunnily pleasant bike trip, starting from a bustling town 15KM away, Tinerhir.
Tinerhir surprisingly became my favorite town of the trip, not because there were many sights to see, but because of its unpretentiousness. My hotel was right next to its central square, with my window right facing the hurly-burly of the souqs, fruit shops and kebab stands. Perhaps it's in the winter, tourists were almost non-existent, people were friendly and chatty, and the price for everything was stunningly cheap.
I guess another reason I like my time during these two days is the sheer spontaneity of my itinerary. After leaving Merzouga, I was almost on an exile, advancing one stretch at a time, not knowing where I could reach when the sun went down. I squeezed in one shared taxi with six other Moroccans to an authentic Berber town Rissani, and then another shared taxi to another town Erford, and yet another crowded local bus to Tinerhir for three hours. On the day I left Tinerhir, I already felt like a local: instead of considering other options to go to my next stop (Ouarzazate, 3 hours away), I decided to travel like a local: waiting for a shared taxi to fill up its six passengers. Although eventually we didn't find the 6th passenger to show up, I became friends with my fellow "co-waiters". One of them later showed me the way to the local bus station and helped me buy the ticket, and another held a seat for me on a crowded bus. The fun part? None of them speak a word of English. I tried my every bit of brain power to assemble some French sentences. Together with gestures and their inherent helpfulness, we miraculously communicated.
More Pictures of Scenes on the Road to Tinerhir
Day 7: The High Atlas
It is perhaps hard to imagine a coastal country like Morocco has a 4167-meter (13665-feet) peak. The High Atlas is the highest part of the Atlas Mountains, a mountain range stretching from Morocco to Algeria and Tunisia, separating the Mediterranean and Atlantic coastlines from the Sahara Desert.
I arrived in the city of Ouarzazate (on the desert side of the High Atlas) after dark, and moved on to ride across the High Atlas the next morning. A happy surprise was to meet Ali again, a Moroccan friend I first met in Rissani. Two days apart, seven hours' ride away from Rissani, one traveler and one Rissani local, we somehow managed to show up in the same little hotel of a strange city, with the same route for the next stop (Marrakesh). As for the probability, you do the maths. We crossed the High Atlas together.
More Pictures of Scenes on the Road from Tinerhir and Marrakesh
Day 7-8: Marrakesh
If Fes is the cultural center of the north, Marrakesh undeniably is that of the south. Marrakesh started with the Almoravid dynasty in 1062, and then later being the capitals of the Almohad dynasty, the Saadian dynasty and a period of the Alawite dynasty. From a tourist perspective, Marrakesh is often the answer to the question "if can only visit one city in Morocco, where should I go?". Its central square, Djemaa el-Fna, is often called the backdrop of the world's greatest spectacles: juice stalls, salad stands, open-air cafes, snake charmers, charlatans, story-tellers, jugglers, street musicians, Arabs in jellabas, Berbers with turbans, women in veils, local young folks in European designer jeans, blondes from Germany, backpackers from Italy, old couples from France, large tourist groups from Japan, criss-crossing motor-bikes, horse carriages, people going to prayers, people going wild for fun, hishhash sellers, carpet sellers, umbrella sellers, pretty much a mix of everything, everyone from every walk of life.
After a week of traveling around, I was more or less in a mode of aesthetic fatigue. I indeed booked a hotel right next to the big square, with unbeatable views, but I think I even had some difficulty in reading my tour book. All I did was sitting in a cafe, an eatery, a cyber cafe, or a CD shop. Again, it could be out of my aversion of being treated as a tourist again, where I was hustled everywhere. Well, I was indeed a tourist, but I think my time in the less touristy Berber regions was better spent: locals would greet me for the sole purpose of greeting, and when they did try to sell things, they never tried with exorbitant prices. This non-tourist inclination haunted me to an extreme degree that I couldn't even eat the delicious dishes sold at the center of the Djemaa el-Fna. Any reason? Well, those who ate there were all whites, Asians and other imports.
All that said, I think Marrakesh is an easy-going city one can sit and enjoy. (Speaking of this, I am very much a moderate compared with my Czech friend Jan: in his dry humor, he would pinpoint ten things on the spot as proofs why Marrakesh was the worst city he had visited.) On the upside, I indeed did something more Moroccan there. I watched a soccer game at a cafe packed with locals (African Cup, Morocco vs. Egypt, 0:0), where soccer bonded us together regardless of the looks and languages. I also walked deep into an alley and tried a hammam (Moroccan-style of sauna plus massage). The face-scrubing almost-breaking-my-back experience certainly wasn't the most comfy of all, but it is a unique ritual to learn the culture. Last but not least, right in the middle of Djemaa el-Fna, I heard someone calling my name: my Czech friend Leny was running after me. While biding farewell three days earlier, I had never thought a chance meeting in Marrakesh would bring us together again, maybe a thousand kilometers away. Walking with them through the ancient ruins and souqs, I already felt it's a reunion of old friends.
Day 9: Casablanca
Casablanca is the largest city of Morocco, with a population of 3.8 million. It is the center of commerce and industry and the leading port. According to what I read, it seems to be a city for rich people to live their dreams and for poor people to look for their dreams.
Let me confess that I didn't get time to look around in Casa at all. I merely went there to catch a flight. The early morning of Jan 26 was pleasant. I pushed open the windows of my room, and it's a modern city with colonial traces, vibrating in the crispy clear air. I wish I could spend a day or two there. As I think of now, if I am going to tell a story of real Morocco, it is not all about medinas and deserts that typically fit into a tourist's conception of what Morocco is. Instead, it is about accepting the culture as it is. For that reason, Casa is now high on my list for a future trip.