Begging for my wallet at rockpoint and then looking for it on the floor of a bus
I wouldn't call my trip to Morocco the worst vacation I've taken, but I would describe it as the worst experience on a vacation I could possibly have. That's not to say it was all bad. For now, though, I will focus on the bad. You see, this vacation is defined by my being robbed twice. I was going to make a little video describing the misadventures but I no longer have a camera. And I'm too lazy to figure out Flash. Instead... (click here to get to the exciting part)
Julia and I stayed at a hotel on the beach in Temara, just south of Rabat, for two nights. On the second day we both went out to the beach to get some sun. Outside of our room was a little sandy courtyard that leads to a 4 ft. wall with sharp rocks affixed to the top and spikes attached to a gate. So burglars can't get in...and guests can't get out to the beach. We had to walk out of the hotel and around to get to the beach. I'd walked around a bit earlier so I enjoyed just lying there. There were few people around, it's not yet tourist season, and people are a bit more modest so I kept my khakis and t-shirt on, removing only my shoes and socks. I thought I might dip my feet in the water or eventually go for a swim so I put my wallet and camera in my shoes and put my socks over the objects.
Julia went back to the room after a while and I continued to lie there, with my shoes and the contents within, directly beside me and even touching me. I never slept but I did have my eyes closed. Every so often I looked up and around. I once noticed a couple policemen on horses not too far and felt good. I also noticed two kids (probably around 17) sitting on a stoop outside the hotel courtyard behind me. I thought I recognized them from the day before. I kept note of them. As I lay, enjoying the sun and potential color my skin would get, I thought about putting my wallet and camera back in my pockets but was too lazy to do so. I thought of that part in 'A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius' where Dave Eggers is at the beach and kids just fuck with him and throw his shoes and he thinks they steal his wallet. I thought about how shitty it would be to have your wallet stolen and how I've been so lucky smart never to have it happen.
!!!Then I felt my shoes move and for a second I thought it was Julia messing with me. I opened my eyes and saw the two kids running off with my stuff. I freaked out and my heart started racing. I got up and ran after them screaming, in French, "Please! Stop!" "Help! Police! Please, help me!" They were young, in shape and wearing shoes. I was slow, freaked out and running barefoot on gravel. I followed them down a few alleys and streets winding behind the beach and near my hotel and saw them rifling through my shoes and eventually dropping some socks and my right shoe. There were few people around and no one could help. I thought all was lost but wanted to at least try to get them.
At one point the kid who had taken my right shoe with the wallet in it ran behind this wall while the left shoe/camera kid continued running. I stopped for a moment and asked this maintenance-looking guy who was watering some plants to help me. He may not have understood French/me and was of no use. I figured the kid hid behind the wall to catch his breath and thought he lost me but I quick ran to the other side of the wall and he was holding a rock and held up a finger over his mouth to signal me to be silent. I begged the guy watering the plants to help and pointed to the guy on the other side of the wall but got no help. I moved closer to the kid and he made a "Don't make me throw this!" motion. I begged him to give me my wallet and just to keep the cash. He started to pull the money out and I came closer but he again looked like he'd throw the rock so I stepped back. He threw the wallet at me and ran. I was in a bit of shock and tired as hell. Then some guy, who was eating at a restaurant with a view of the beach, drove up and took me around the town looking for the kids but we found nothing.
Immediately after I thought of how I probably could have taken the kid with the rock. I imagine he was tired and throwing the rock at close distance wouldn't do much. But I was too freaked out to even consider that at the time. I also later thought of how I should have begged for my camera's memory card. These thoughts then kept re-appearing through the trip as I fantasized beating these kids mercilessly. I thought of just pummeling the kid and when he's all bloody dragging him to a more well-lit/populated area insisting that he get his friend's attention and I get my camera back. This fantasy almost led me to a fight when a kid in the main square of Marrakech did a cartwheel in front of Julia and me and held out his hat for us to put money in. I almost made a slow clap and then the universal "jerk off/big deal" motion, hoping get mad and hit me and I could then beat him for the wrongs of all those who had stolen my belongings.
So, I got my wallet back- all my IDs, and even the 80 euros I had stashed in another section. The kid took about 1500 dirhams (150 euros) and they took my camera which sucks, but I can get another and Julia had taken pictures too. I thought I came out alright, considering, and even learned a lesson.
Fast forward to our second night in Marrakech. We're riding the bus from the city to our hotel about 20km outside. I'd been keeping my wallet inside my front left pocket and had my hand on it most of the time. This bus (I'll get into buses/trains in a minute) was crowded and dark. I kept asking people if we were at our stop and they were friendly and told us not to worry, they'd let us know. I checked my pocket, the wallet was still there. Five minutes later as someone tells me our stop is coming up I check again and it's gone. I check all my pockets, I look around, I retrieve my bag and look around. I look on the floor. I get my phone out and use it as a light to look. People ask me what's going on and I told one person I dropped something, then I tell him it's my wallet. Soon the whole bus is talking and trying to help. It's pandemonium and we're at the stop. I beg the driver to let me look for a moment and after some time I find nothing and we get off. I'm in shock again and someone offers us a phone to call the hotel manager to pick us up from the stop. I read before bed to take my mind off it.
What upset me about losing my wallet, twice, and my camera wasn't so much the actual losing of the items but the fact that it was me who lost them and peoples' reactions when telling them. I'm not the stereotypical jackass American tourist with a large vertical backpack with flags sewn on bragging of my travels. I'm not the guy flashing money around, snapping pictures of quaint barbarians, acting rudely to locals, refusing local food, talking loudly on public transport, insisting on English, looking to get drunk or laid. I don't carry a fanny pack or have my wallet in my back pocket. I'm just an unlucky, random guy who got robbed twice. Yes, I should have been more careful and it all could have been avoided. Yes, it could have "happened anywhere" but there IS a reason it happened twice to the same person in the same country in the span of a few days. I grew tired of people saying, "You know, you have to be careful." I know I was an idiot, but you're really blaming the victim, here. "It's your fault you were robbed twice, you filthy, white, money-possessor!"
And with the suicide bombing that took place in Casablanca after we left the city, I don't think I'll be back to the country in a while. Oh, and about the buses and trains. There aren't that many and it's just a clusterfuck of people pushing and smelling like urine to get a seat. Then you have stand up for a long time, waiting for a seat. And it just feels so completely awful and made me miss the elegance of French transportation.
Back to the good:
· The BEST orange juice I've had in my life. For around 30 cents a glass I had the orange semen of the gods in my mouth at least twice a day every day.
· The couchsurfers we stayed with were really nice. Madrid was cool. We drank 3 litres of sangria on our last night for only 15 euros. You know how I love sangria!
· The awful sunburn I got has given me some awesome freckles! Seriously, I have these new, very noticeable freckles around my nose and I love them. Plus, I forgot that I look kind of good with some color. I always say it's the Indian in me. I may not be able to get those scholarships, but I can get some Native American pigmentation!
· I was able to speak French more consistently, comfortably and confidently for two weeks than I've been able to in France this whole time.
· Losing all my money means I didn't have to fret about souvenirs!
· Having three bikes, two cameras and one wallet (twice) stolen makes me think my secret wish to lose everything and remove all my attachment to objects should come true. Does that mean garage sale when I get back?
· Aside from the thieves and pushy salesmen, everyone else in the country was incredibly friendly and helpful. Though Julia would pull my arm to get me to stop talking to someone who would just randomly say "Hello/Bonjour" (since a few sentences later some would then ask for money), I got to talk to and get helped by some nice Moroccans.
· Awesome couscous! (The famous Marakechi tanjia isn't anything to write home about though. Hint: it's just roast beef cooked for four hours.)
When I come back to the US in just over two weeks, wow!, I will be at the edge of my planned life. From August of 2001 I've known what I'd do until May of 2005 and in the meantime that got extended to May of 2007. For the first time in my life I don't have any concrete plans. This is terrifying and liberating. I thought of this while on the train between Marrakech and Casablanca and started writing things I wanted to do, subjects I wanted to study (I thought about school again) and places I wanted to visit or live. I felt excited and inspired about the future again for the first time in a long, long time. I've been happy with what I've done. But I've felt like I signed up for, say, Basketball Camp years in advance and when it was time for camp I had to go because I already paid the dues and it was expensive. Now I get to choose what camp I want to go to based on my immediate, though well-considered, whims. And that starts this summer. Feel the excitement!
I first have to get another confession off my chest. When I was in London alone I didn't take many pictures. I didn't see the point of photographing places that have better pictures available on the web. I began to see tourist photography as a Pokemon-like phenomenon and it angered me. I didn't have a friend to take pictures of/with so it was pointless. This then got me depressed that I was traveling alone and visiting the sites that I just wanted to see that was an extension of the "gotta' catch (see) 'em all" philosophy, which is dumb. "Okay, I saw Big Ben. But did I get to enjoy and discuss my travels a companion. Did I really see/live/enjoy London?" No. Okay, the guy I couchsurfed with was really fun and we saw some cool stuff, but I'll never see him again."
What I'm getting at is, I miss having my friends around. I miss going places with you, taking pictures with you (that sounds lame typed out) and enjoying your company. This makes me fear I'll never make more friends, but I think I've just been slightly misanthropic here and have high standards that can't be met in France. Hopefully...
I like how Julia included this picture of the slum around the 3rd largest mosque in the world, in Casablanca. We were told they basically kicked all the homeless out and built a mosque. We went on a tour of this with an elderly racist Israeli-American couple living in Texas but on sabbatical and visiting Morocco for a month before they could return to Europe because of their 90-day visa expiring. The guy, Ramon, said to me, "It's like that song. The 'Silence Song' where he sings, 'Islam like a cancer grows.' Well, those are the lyrics I use."
They really do like this shape for doors (found at the kasbah).
The Chellah was hellah awesome. Better than the Kasbah.
Doesn't that cloud look like a flying chicken or something?
More Chellah. I asked for directions and pronounced the "ch" like Challah bread. Oops.
Disrespect. This is not the oldest mosque in the world, as the hotel manager said. It's old, yes. But go Allahu akhbar elsewhere.
I do like sewer covers. And after being robbed twice I decided to think that at least they're idiots who can't spell their own city name.
The best part about this museum was not the art that looked like it belonged on velvet and sold at flea markets, but was this awesome interior patio. And that kid.
Julia at Place Djemaa el Fna. Orange juice, olives, henna, fake snake charmers, you name it. This is in the center of the medina of Marrakech. Quite fun/impressive, really. Outside it you find 'souks' where people sell all their wares and you haggle with them...which I hate...especially in French. I tried to bargain once, when I had about 40 euros left, but walked out. The guy followed me and offered another deal. I apologized for not having the money and Julia said I was being too nice.
Look at me! I'm just like Obama! I'm in a Madrassa!
Ooh, Atlas mountains. Last afternoon at our b&b (had great/bizarre, foreign satellite porn) in a Berber village to the south of Marrakech. I'm still ready to get the eff out of this country.
Madrid's Retiro Park: El Ángel Caído- The EasyJet magazine told me this is believed to be the only statue of the devil in the world.
Julia and I stayed at a hotel on the beach in Temara, just south of Rabat, for two nights. On the second day we both went out to the beach to get some sun. Outside of our room was a little sandy courtyard that leads to a 4 ft. wall with sharp rocks affixed to the top and spikes attached to a gate. So burglars can't get in...and guests can't get out to the beach. We had to walk out of the hotel and around to get to the beach. I'd walked around a bit earlier so I enjoyed just lying there. There were few people around, it's not yet tourist season, and people are a bit more modest so I kept my khakis and t-shirt on, removing only my shoes and socks. I thought I might dip my feet in the water or eventually go for a swim so I put my wallet and camera in my shoes and put my socks over the objects.
Julia went back to the room after a while and I continued to lie there, with my shoes and the contents within, directly beside me and even touching me. I never slept but I did have my eyes closed. Every so often I looked up and around. I once noticed a couple policemen on horses not too far and felt good. I also noticed two kids (probably around 17) sitting on a stoop outside the hotel courtyard behind me. I thought I recognized them from the day before. I kept note of them. As I lay, enjoying the sun and potential color my skin would get, I thought about putting my wallet and camera back in my pockets but was too lazy to do so. I thought of that part in 'A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius' where Dave Eggers is at the beach and kids just fuck with him and throw his shoes and he thinks they steal his wallet. I thought about how shitty it would be to have your wallet stolen and how I've been so lucky smart never to have it happen.
!!!Then I felt my shoes move and for a second I thought it was Julia messing with me. I opened my eyes and saw the two kids running off with my stuff. I freaked out and my heart started racing. I got up and ran after them screaming, in French, "Please! Stop!" "Help! Police! Please, help me!" They were young, in shape and wearing shoes. I was slow, freaked out and running barefoot on gravel. I followed them down a few alleys and streets winding behind the beach and near my hotel and saw them rifling through my shoes and eventually dropping some socks and my right shoe. There were few people around and no one could help. I thought all was lost but wanted to at least try to get them.
At one point the kid who had taken my right shoe with the wallet in it ran behind this wall while the left shoe/camera kid continued running. I stopped for a moment and asked this maintenance-looking guy who was watering some plants to help me. He may not have understood French/me and was of no use. I figured the kid hid behind the wall to catch his breath and thought he lost me but I quick ran to the other side of the wall and he was holding a rock and held up a finger over his mouth to signal me to be silent. I begged the guy watering the plants to help and pointed to the guy on the other side of the wall but got no help. I moved closer to the kid and he made a "Don't make me throw this!" motion. I begged him to give me my wallet and just to keep the cash. He started to pull the money out and I came closer but he again looked like he'd throw the rock so I stepped back. He threw the wallet at me and ran. I was in a bit of shock and tired as hell. Then some guy, who was eating at a restaurant with a view of the beach, drove up and took me around the town looking for the kids but we found nothing.
Immediately after I thought of how I probably could have taken the kid with the rock. I imagine he was tired and throwing the rock at close distance wouldn't do much. But I was too freaked out to even consider that at the time. I also later thought of how I should have begged for my camera's memory card. These thoughts then kept re-appearing through the trip as I fantasized beating these kids mercilessly. I thought of just pummeling the kid and when he's all bloody dragging him to a more well-lit/populated area insisting that he get his friend's attention and I get my camera back. This fantasy almost led me to a fight when a kid in the main square of Marrakech did a cartwheel in front of Julia and me and held out his hat for us to put money in. I almost made a slow clap and then the universal "jerk off/big deal" motion, hoping get mad and hit me and I could then beat him for the wrongs of all those who had stolen my belongings.
So, I got my wallet back- all my IDs, and even the 80 euros I had stashed in another section. The kid took about 1500 dirhams (150 euros) and they took my camera which sucks, but I can get another and Julia had taken pictures too. I thought I came out alright, considering, and even learned a lesson.
Fast forward to our second night in Marrakech. We're riding the bus from the city to our hotel about 20km outside. I'd been keeping my wallet inside my front left pocket and had my hand on it most of the time. This bus (I'll get into buses/trains in a minute) was crowded and dark. I kept asking people if we were at our stop and they were friendly and told us not to worry, they'd let us know. I checked my pocket, the wallet was still there. Five minutes later as someone tells me our stop is coming up I check again and it's gone. I check all my pockets, I look around, I retrieve my bag and look around. I look on the floor. I get my phone out and use it as a light to look. People ask me what's going on and I told one person I dropped something, then I tell him it's my wallet. Soon the whole bus is talking and trying to help. It's pandemonium and we're at the stop. I beg the driver to let me look for a moment and after some time I find nothing and we get off. I'm in shock again and someone offers us a phone to call the hotel manager to pick us up from the stop. I read before bed to take my mind off it.
What upset me about losing my wallet, twice, and my camera wasn't so much the actual losing of the items but the fact that it was me who lost them and peoples' reactions when telling them. I'm not the stereotypical jackass American tourist with a large vertical backpack with flags sewn on bragging of my travels. I'm not the guy flashing money around, snapping pictures of quaint barbarians, acting rudely to locals, refusing local food, talking loudly on public transport, insisting on English, looking to get drunk or laid. I don't carry a fanny pack or have my wallet in my back pocket. I'm just an unlucky, random guy who got robbed twice. Yes, I should have been more careful and it all could have been avoided. Yes, it could have "happened anywhere" but there IS a reason it happened twice to the same person in the same country in the span of a few days. I grew tired of people saying, "You know, you have to be careful." I know I was an idiot, but you're really blaming the victim, here. "It's your fault you were robbed twice, you filthy, white, money-possessor!"
And with the suicide bombing that took place in Casablanca after we left the city, I don't think I'll be back to the country in a while. Oh, and about the buses and trains. There aren't that many and it's just a clusterfuck of people pushing and smelling like urine to get a seat. Then you have stand up for a long time, waiting for a seat. And it just feels so completely awful and made me miss the elegance of French transportation.
Back to the good:
· The BEST orange juice I've had in my life. For around 30 cents a glass I had the orange semen of the gods in my mouth at least twice a day every day.
· The couchsurfers we stayed with were really nice. Madrid was cool. We drank 3 litres of sangria on our last night for only 15 euros. You know how I love sangria!
· The awful sunburn I got has given me some awesome freckles! Seriously, I have these new, very noticeable freckles around my nose and I love them. Plus, I forgot that I look kind of good with some color. I always say it's the Indian in me. I may not be able to get those scholarships, but I can get some Native American pigmentation!
· I was able to speak French more consistently, comfortably and confidently for two weeks than I've been able to in France this whole time.
· Losing all my money means I didn't have to fret about souvenirs!
· Having three bikes, two cameras and one wallet (twice) stolen makes me think my secret wish to lose everything and remove all my attachment to objects should come true. Does that mean garage sale when I get back?
· Aside from the thieves and pushy salesmen, everyone else in the country was incredibly friendly and helpful. Though Julia would pull my arm to get me to stop talking to someone who would just randomly say "Hello/Bonjour" (since a few sentences later some would then ask for money), I got to talk to and get helped by some nice Moroccans.
· Awesome couscous! (The famous Marakechi tanjia isn't anything to write home about though. Hint: it's just roast beef cooked for four hours.)
When I come back to the US in just over two weeks, wow!, I will be at the edge of my planned life. From August of 2001 I've known what I'd do until May of 2005 and in the meantime that got extended to May of 2007. For the first time in my life I don't have any concrete plans. This is terrifying and liberating. I thought of this while on the train between Marrakech and Casablanca and started writing things I wanted to do, subjects I wanted to study (I thought about school again) and places I wanted to visit or live. I felt excited and inspired about the future again for the first time in a long, long time. I've been happy with what I've done. But I've felt like I signed up for, say, Basketball Camp years in advance and when it was time for camp I had to go because I already paid the dues and it was expensive. Now I get to choose what camp I want to go to based on my immediate, though well-considered, whims. And that starts this summer. Feel the excitement!
I first have to get another confession off my chest. When I was in London alone I didn't take many pictures. I didn't see the point of photographing places that have better pictures available on the web. I began to see tourist photography as a Pokemon-like phenomenon and it angered me. I didn't have a friend to take pictures of/with so it was pointless. This then got me depressed that I was traveling alone and visiting the sites that I just wanted to see that was an extension of the "gotta' catch (see) 'em all" philosophy, which is dumb. "Okay, I saw Big Ben. But did I get to enjoy and discuss my travels a companion. Did I really see/live/enjoy London?" No. Okay, the guy I couchsurfed with was really fun and we saw some cool stuff, but I'll never see him again."
What I'm getting at is, I miss having my friends around. I miss going places with you, taking pictures with you (that sounds lame typed out) and enjoying your company. This makes me fear I'll never make more friends, but I think I've just been slightly misanthropic here and have high standards that can't be met in France. Hopefully...
I like how Julia included this picture of the slum around the 3rd largest mosque in the world, in Casablanca. We were told they basically kicked all the homeless out and built a mosque. We went on a tour of this with an elderly racist Israeli-American couple living in Texas but on sabbatical and visiting Morocco for a month before they could return to Europe because of their 90-day visa expiring. The guy, Ramon, said to me, "It's like that song. The 'Silence Song' where he sings, 'Islam like a cancer grows.' Well, those are the lyrics I use."
They really do like this shape for doors (found at the kasbah).
The Chellah was hellah awesome. Better than the Kasbah.
Doesn't that cloud look like a flying chicken or something?
More Chellah. I asked for directions and pronounced the "ch" like Challah bread. Oops.
Disrespect. This is not the oldest mosque in the world, as the hotel manager said. It's old, yes. But go Allahu akhbar elsewhere.
I do like sewer covers. And after being robbed twice I decided to think that at least they're idiots who can't spell their own city name.
The best part about this museum was not the art that looked like it belonged on velvet and sold at flea markets, but was this awesome interior patio. And that kid.
Julia at Place Djemaa el Fna. Orange juice, olives, henna, fake snake charmers, you name it. This is in the center of the medina of Marrakech. Quite fun/impressive, really. Outside it you find 'souks' where people sell all their wares and you haggle with them...which I hate...especially in French. I tried to bargain once, when I had about 40 euros left, but walked out. The guy followed me and offered another deal. I apologized for not having the money and Julia said I was being too nice.
Look at me! I'm just like Obama! I'm in a Madrassa!
Ooh, Atlas mountains. Last afternoon at our b&b (had great/bizarre, foreign satellite porn) in a Berber village to the south of Marrakech. I'm still ready to get the eff out of this country.
Madrid's Retiro Park: El Ángel Caído- The EasyJet magazine told me this is believed to be the only statue of the devil in the world.