Morocco.
Desert, sun, sand, heat—basically the opening scene from Aladdin. I know…now “Arabian Nights” is playing in your head and you’re picturing Robin Williams as that little Arabic man attempting to sell a “combination hookah and coffee maker.” Admit it—I’ve guessed your thoughts.
Casablanca.
Oh, now the theme song is playing in your head. “You must remember this. A kiss is still a kiss—“ Humphrey Bogart is drinking his champagne cocktail and telling Ingrid Bergman, “Here’s looking at you, kid.” Maybe you’re picturing Rick’s American Café or the Blue Parrot. *Sigh*
I hate to break the news to you, but Casablanca wasn’t filmed in Morocco. And Morocco is NOTHING like Aladdin. As a matter of fact, it was cold, wet, and pretty green. It was more like fields of grass with lambs and shepherds running around than any barren desert scene from Indiana Jones.
We arrived a day late to Morocco; we needed fuel but couldn’t fill up due to the rough seas. It’s all part of the experience, right? At 8 pm on the night we were supposed to arrive, immigration boarded the ship and sat in a classroom, stamping our passports and admitting our entry. The next morning we were all allowed off the ship.
At 7:30 our tour gathered in the Union and passports were handed out to all the students. We were preparing for our overnight trip to Marrakech and camel riding in Palm Groves. Once we departed the ship we drove through Casablanca—a highly depressing drive that made my mouth drop to the floor. Everything was run down and a layer of grime covered the city. Not to say that I expected it to be a metropolis, but clearly Morocco is a second world country. Ladies and gents, we as Americans have it so good. Our bums in New York City are there middle class. Just imagine it.
We drove four hours to Marrakech where we had lunch at a touristy little place chock full of Arabic influence and style. It was beautiful inside, but cold from the limestone it was made of. We were greeted at the front door by two woman dressed in traditional garb and photographers took our picture—the best part was that we didn’t have the option to NOT take a picture, and in the end we had to pay for them. Oh, tourism. We were served a traditional meal of beans and legumes with bread, couscous with lamb and grilled veggies, and mint tea with cookies and oranges. By the way, we definitely need to import oranges from Morocco—they are HUGE and so juicy. Yum.
After our lunch we made our way to Palm Groves—where we met our camels. Before riding, we were split into two groups and while one was riding the other were to have tea and crepes at a local village. We were in group two; we had tea first. Three vans, two quad looking vehicles, and a horse and buggy were our options for transportation to the village. We took the horse and buggy—which ended up being an interesting choice. Of course it was the slowest way to get into town and after seeing the village we entered, slow may not have been the better choice.
It was a small village with dirt roads and animals everywhere. Clotheslines were hanging outside and children, no older than 5, were acting as shepherds taking their sheep out to pasture. Though women in the Islamic culture aren’t supposed to make eye contact with the local men, it was very hard not to stare at the poverty and surroundings. I would never label it as beautiful, but it certainly was an experience.
When we arrived at the tea location we found it was inside one of the many homes. I handed over a guitar I had been carrying over to one of the locals and we all sat down on little cushions to have tea and listen to music. Four men played the drums and guitar and sang while we had tea and crepes with honey, waiting for the camel riders to arrive so we could switch seats. Kristen and I made a trip to the bathroom, which is something I will never ever forget. It was a porcelain hole in the ground. Legit. Kristen and I were laughing for about 5 minutes just staring at it. Don’t ask me how I used it, all I know is that I really, really needed to pee and it was my only option.
Once the camels arrived we were all given and seat and hopped right on. Any of you barn kids reading this, you’d have been very proud of me. I didn’t need a leg up or anything! Riding a camel is just like riding a horse, expect they have long necks that can turn around and look at you, spit and/or sneeze at you. Which, of course, mine sneezed all over me. I can now say that I feel I am an excellent camel rider and as we said along the trip, “I am Mo-roccan it!” If you ever get the chance to ride a camel, go for it. They are actually quite soft and furry.
That night we arrived to our hotel, The Ryad Mogador Opera, and had dinner. I quickly was in my pajamas and went to sleep. We were up early the next morning for another full day of tours and shopping in Marrakech.
When we woke up, we were not greeted by sun or even clear skies. It was cloudy and raining and miserable. After a breakfast of pastries and fruit, we trudged in the mud from mosques to the palace of the Prime Minister, to lunch and then a local shopping area/market place.
The mosque we saw was beautiful and it really was interesting to see how many there are in town. Each mosque is strategically placed so that all the Moroccans will hear the call for prayer, 5 times a day. We were not allowed in the mosque however because we, as foreigners, eat pork and drink alcohol in public, which are highly frowned upon by the Muslim religion. The entire building was covered in mosaic tiles in various hues of blue and white.
Next we went to the palace of the Prime Minister. It was a fabulous building with all these courtyards and rooms. Again, the intricacy and detail of the tiles was phenomenal. It reminded me very much of the Alcazar, from Sevilla, Spain. We were shown each room of the favorite wives, and various grand halls. However, the cold rain and wetness was seeping into my sneakers and clothes and I found myself as antsy as a five year old. I just couldn’t help it. And the next thing I knew, I was outside in the courtyard, standing under my flowered umbrella, tap dancing in the rain. My inner Gene Kelly was coming through I guess. My tour guide and chaperone thought it was amusing, as did my classmates and my roommate. Woops.
A few stops later we visited the Saadin Tombs of the Kings. And then we made our way to an indoor “supermarket”, as they call it. It was basically a giant souvenir shop. I ended up getting a few new postcards and scarves for people back home. They sold everything from formal wear and traditional Muslim dress, to lamps and tea sets; hookah and figurines, jewelry, rugs and furniture. Literally, everything you needed was here—if you are a tourist of course. We had a quick lunch and then went to the real marketplace.
This market was much more like the scene from Aladdin where Jasmine gives an apple to the little boy—except we were Americans, and obviously so. Walking around I was expecting someone to yell: “Fresh fish! We catch ‘em, you buy ‘em!” (Aladdin) But no one ever did. Instead other things were shouted in Arabic and French and broken English. Being an American tourist is sometimes a huge burden. It’s also funny to see what other cultures associate Americans with.
“Obama family!” “Angelina Jolie!” “New York, New York!” These were just some of the names we understood that were shouted at us from the locals. Of course there were your more basic phrases like, “Beautiful American” coming out of the alleys as well. We attempted to ignore the shouts, but it’s a little difficult and an uncomfortable feeling takes over. We walked through the open part of the market where dried fruits and nuts were being sold, where snake charmers sat and men played card tricks on the side walk. A man with a monkey danced around and got a heck of a show from the Americans who were fascinated by the animal.
We ended our scenic tour of Marrakech at Chez Ali…the Disneyland of Morocco. It was a fabulously touristy locale with folk dancers and musicians and Moroccan wine. Each group of folk dancers represented a different province of Morocco. At one point I got up and showed off all my dance skills with a Moroccan woman who lacked teeth but had very kind eyes. After the indoor show was finished we shuffled outside to an arena where an Arabian horse show took place. Men were doing tricks, but flipping and jumping off and on these galloping horses. Then a belly dancer came out, and I’m sure she froze her butt off, but she was quite good. The show closed with Aladdin’s magic carpet sailing across the sky, of course on a mechanical pulley. All in all, it was a great ending to our trip to Morocco.
Similar to Hall Wars at Quinnipiac, or Color War at camp, today was chock full of crazy games and screaming and chanting. Our sea, the Red Sea, had to dress up in all…you guessed it, RED—and likewise all the other seas had their own color.
