The rest of Marocco
My failure to finish updating my trip to Morocco disappoints me. It is now too far passed to remember the little details that made me laugh. I will however make an attempt to describe the surreal trip into the desert.
February 27 (monday)
We woke up early this day. I don't remember when, I just remember being really tired. We got on a bus/van in Marrakech that would take us into the desert. It was seven of us and these two random guys we met in Marrakech. We gave these two endearing names: Tall Ted and Awkward Andy. So, the bus/van ride was hot, long, and BEAUTIFUL. Canyons and dunes and desert but at the same time snowy mountain peaks. The bus ride was full of turns and I kinda felt like throwing up. Eventually we were in the snowy peaks that at one point looked so far away and untouchable. I threw a snowball at somebody. We stopped in a little town for lunch. This was after we went back down the mountain, these mountains by the way are called the Atlas Mountains. There are the Hight Atlas, Middle Atlas, and Anti-Atlas. These names refer to where they are, not how tall they are. So lunch... I had an omelet that did not taste like an omelet, yet was still very good. I do remember being incredibly hot while eating my omelet because everybody took the the shaded seats; and after all, we were in the desert.
More bus riding, then right before sunset we arrived in Zagora. Here I was equipped with some berber desert attire. Berbers are the nomadic desert people that speak a language that is not moroccan, apparently they drive a hard bargain and I look like a berber and bargain like one. So we had about a two hour camel ride through this town and then across the desert to our lodging for the night, tents. I was on the biggest camel in the caravan. As a result, it felt like I was doing a full split the whole two hours. Camels are fat. However, this was a beautiful ride, I watched the sunset over the Sahara and all I could hear was the strange noises my camel made which was somehow soothing. As I read the description I just wrote of this two hour ride, I am bored and realize that it is actually not really like I have said, rather it was much better, please know that. Anyway, by the time we got to the tents it was pitch black, at least it would have been pitch black if it was not a full moon. We sat in the tent and they brought us couscous and mint tea. After dinner they brought instruments inside and had a little berber jam session. “They” refers to the berber guides that were taking leading us through the desert. The jam session soon moved outside onto the dunes that were still hot from the day's sun, yet it was a welcoming heat that kept us warm from the very cold desert chill. There were about 3858693 stars in the sky and that made me happy. After walking around outside for an hour or so, my eyes had completely adjusted and thanks to the bright moon and stars, the middle of the night felt like dusk. I would have liked to stay in the desert for at least a few more days and nights. The only word I can use is surreal, because even now I wonder if I really did sleep in the middle of the Sahara in a tent.
I slept very well in my tent. The tents were really neat by the way, there are pictures. The next morning I woke up before the sun came up. I woke up naturally, like my body was telling me it is time to get up. I am not sure how, I have never done that except of course when I have to pee or something. The first shadows that were thrown on the dunes went on forever. I didn't think anything could have been more beautiful than the desert at dusk but this dawn did surpass it. This was also the coldest part of the day because by this time the sand had cooled off. However, it did not take long for the sun to once again reheat everything. We got on the camels for the return to Zagora while the sun was still coming up. This time I got a super ornery camel with a big nose ring. I liked him a lot, though he made the trip miserable for the rest of the camels on our caravan. He would get super spooked at everything and would walk out of line and sit when he was not supposed to. The bus ride back to the train station in Marrakech seemed longer than the first trip. When we were about three kilometers from the station the bus/van engine began smoking profusely. The driver got out in a hurry and yelled something that was probably like “Get out of the van, it could blow up!” The thing is, the single door that all nine of us exited from would not open. So the driver finally realized this and opened the door. I was in the back and therefore the last one out. The bus/van did not blow up. We walked with all of our stuff the rest of the way to the train station. We could not help but discuss and imagine what we would have done if the bus/van overheated in the middle of the atlas mountains, or worse, a stretch of the Sahara desert. Perhaps then I would have had my wish to sleep in the desert another night.
I don't know if I mentioned it earlier, but I did not like Marrakech much, so I was ready to go. For the rest of the trip I don't really remember the travel logistics except that all we did was travel. I also remember that the train from Marrakech to Fez would have been fine except that there was a Moroccan guy all stretched out in the two empty seats next to me and his feet had the funkiest smell. I honestly thought I was going to have to go to the bathroom and vomit.
I loved Fez. I loved Fez. I think I will soon buy a house in Fez. Though I would probably buy a house in the medina, and never every be able to find it again. The medina in Fez is a labyrinth. There are no maps of the medina of Fez because there are not street names and the streets are laughably narrow. We joked that we needed to leave breadcrumbs as a trail whenever we left the hostel so we could find our way back. I know I keep saying it but I don't really feel like my words are doing justice to Morocco, and especially this city that I loved. So here are some Wikipedia facts. “Fez is believed to be the largest contiguous car-free urban area in the world.” “It is believed that Fes was the largest city in the world from 1170 to 1180”
We stayed at a hostel in the heart of Fez's medina. We tried exploring but knew we would be lost as soon as we turned off one street. We had no choice but to hire a guide. We were warned time after time, and from all kinds of books not to hire an unlicensed guide. Well, the young man the helped run our hostel offered to show us around. After some bargaining on my part, it was decided he would be taking us around. Naturally this young man, Abdul, did not have a license. We began our tour and Abdul proved very knowledgeable and spoke English very well. The tour was going along wonderfully, then about thirty minutes in some mysterious men came up to Abdul, put their arms around him and took him around a corner. We waited a few minutes before I went to see what was going on. A moroccan man came up to me and tried explaining something in french. He kept saying “guide faux” over and over. Finally I understood, false guide. Supposedly it's a big deal in Fez to give tours without a license. I tried to explain that we now were in the middle of Fez and had no idea how to get to our hostel. They brought Abdul out to explain to us how to get there. He just said “continue straight”. I felt really bad for him, he looked like he was about to cry. However, “continuing straight” did nothing for us. We were so lost it was almost exciting. So we stopped at an internet cafe for a bit to put off wandering around lost. Then we found another kid that was obviously not a guide, and he took us to a hostel that was near ours. We arranged with this boy, I don't remember his name because it was not Mohammed or Abdul, to meet us outside our hostel the next day and show us the Tannery. We had dinner outside, I had moroccan soup and the greasiest french fries ever and mint tea. We returned to the hostel and chilled on our roof for a few hours enjoying the evening. Every building in Fez allows you to go on the roof. Our roof had a couch.
The next day we met our little friend and headed to the Tannery. There were camel, goat, and sheep hides/skins laying out everywhere. We walked through huge vats of die and piles of skins where men were working. We could literally feel the splash of skin juices as they worked (pictures). The die was yellow, dark brown/black, red, and maybe other colors. The yellow was saffron, the brownish black was feces, and I don't remember how they got the reds. I really really wouldn't say it smelled good at this tannery. We rushed back to the hostel to check out and get our stuff. Then I rushed to this store to bargain with this guy over some shoes I had been eying. Then we rushed out of the medina to catch a cab to the train station to take a train to Tangier. In all this rushing I left my ipod at the hostel. Only to find out once the train started moving. I really really wouldn't say that I was pleased with this discovery.
The rest of the trip was a lot of traveling. We went to buy tickets for a ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar. The man showed us a flyer thing with a company name and prices. This particular company took 1.5 hours to get across. We told him that we saw a better price with another company. Then in his english/italian/spanish, basically said, “Ah! You want better price? Faster boat? We have this company too.” He proceeds to bring us another flyer with significantly cheaper prices and does the trip in half an hour. Not only this, but it also includes a bus ride from where are ferry arrives in spain, Tariffa to Algeciras, which is significantly closer to our destination, Malaga. We look at one another slightly confused as to why he did not mention this before, and give the man the money. The next day we missed the first boat across the Strait of Gibraltar. Then when we finally make it across, we miss the bus to Algeciras. I go up to the guy wearing the shirt that matched the ferry we were on and tell him the situations. He basically tells me that the driver thought everybody was on the bus. He told me this with a delightful smile knowing that myself and my american friends had a dilemma. With the same sarcastic smile and tone I tell him that we will figure something out but that he should probably go tell those pissed off moroccans over there that are waiting (I point). His face quickly becomes business and tells me he will call another bus now.
We arrive in Algeciras and walk to the bus station to find a bus to Malaga (the city our plane leaves from). We eat. I have meatballs spanish style, except it's chicken. We miss our bus due to an unknown time change when we crossed the strait. We try and use our four o' clock tickets for the five o'clock bus. Spanish bus driver flips out at me and says stuff in spanish really quickly for at least twenty seconds. I wait patiently for him to stop talking and then say, “I do not know the words that you are saying”. I explain to the lady that sold the tickets to us our situation. The words, “This is not my problem” actually escape her mouth before I manage to say, “I would really appreciate it if you would change our tickets”. I would not call my tone neither friendly nor amicable, if you ask me, I will do it for you in person. Alas, it worked. She did us the incredible favor of putting a big red stamp on each one of our tickets, I really should write her a thank you note. I show my ticket to the mean bus driver with a grin and sit down. The bus ride is hot. There were A/C vents but it was not on, I think he was trying to spite me.
Ahh, Malaga. One final bus ride to the airport. We fly from Malaga to Madrid. Eight hour layover in Madrid's Barajas airport. We play lots of Euchre, I sleep uncomfortably. Wake up, board the plane. Sleep, wake up. Enter rome. Take a train. Get off the train, walk underground. I take a subway. Transfer to anther subway. Walk above ground. Then I sleep...
February 27 (monday)
We woke up early this day. I don't remember when, I just remember being really tired. We got on a bus/van in Marrakech that would take us into the desert. It was seven of us and these two random guys we met in Marrakech. We gave these two endearing names: Tall Ted and Awkward Andy. So, the bus/van ride was hot, long, and BEAUTIFUL. Canyons and dunes and desert but at the same time snowy mountain peaks. The bus ride was full of turns and I kinda felt like throwing up. Eventually we were in the snowy peaks that at one point looked so far away and untouchable. I threw a snowball at somebody. We stopped in a little town for lunch. This was after we went back down the mountain, these mountains by the way are called the Atlas Mountains. There are the Hight Atlas, Middle Atlas, and Anti-Atlas. These names refer to where they are, not how tall they are. So lunch... I had an omelet that did not taste like an omelet, yet was still very good. I do remember being incredibly hot while eating my omelet because everybody took the the shaded seats; and after all, we were in the desert.
More bus riding, then right before sunset we arrived in Zagora. Here I was equipped with some berber desert attire. Berbers are the nomadic desert people that speak a language that is not moroccan, apparently they drive a hard bargain and I look like a berber and bargain like one. So we had about a two hour camel ride through this town and then across the desert to our lodging for the night, tents. I was on the biggest camel in the caravan. As a result, it felt like I was doing a full split the whole two hours. Camels are fat. However, this was a beautiful ride, I watched the sunset over the Sahara and all I could hear was the strange noises my camel made which was somehow soothing. As I read the description I just wrote of this two hour ride, I am bored and realize that it is actually not really like I have said, rather it was much better, please know that. Anyway, by the time we got to the tents it was pitch black, at least it would have been pitch black if it was not a full moon. We sat in the tent and they brought us couscous and mint tea. After dinner they brought instruments inside and had a little berber jam session. “They” refers to the berber guides that were taking leading us through the desert. The jam session soon moved outside onto the dunes that were still hot from the day's sun, yet it was a welcoming heat that kept us warm from the very cold desert chill. There were about 3858693 stars in the sky and that made me happy. After walking around outside for an hour or so, my eyes had completely adjusted and thanks to the bright moon and stars, the middle of the night felt like dusk. I would have liked to stay in the desert for at least a few more days and nights. The only word I can use is surreal, because even now I wonder if I really did sleep in the middle of the Sahara in a tent.
I slept very well in my tent. The tents were really neat by the way, there are pictures. The next morning I woke up before the sun came up. I woke up naturally, like my body was telling me it is time to get up. I am not sure how, I have never done that except of course when I have to pee or something. The first shadows that were thrown on the dunes went on forever. I didn't think anything could have been more beautiful than the desert at dusk but this dawn did surpass it. This was also the coldest part of the day because by this time the sand had cooled off. However, it did not take long for the sun to once again reheat everything. We got on the camels for the return to Zagora while the sun was still coming up. This time I got a super ornery camel with a big nose ring. I liked him a lot, though he made the trip miserable for the rest of the camels on our caravan. He would get super spooked at everything and would walk out of line and sit when he was not supposed to. The bus ride back to the train station in Marrakech seemed longer than the first trip. When we were about three kilometers from the station the bus/van engine began smoking profusely. The driver got out in a hurry and yelled something that was probably like “Get out of the van, it could blow up!” The thing is, the single door that all nine of us exited from would not open. So the driver finally realized this and opened the door. I was in the back and therefore the last one out. The bus/van did not blow up. We walked with all of our stuff the rest of the way to the train station. We could not help but discuss and imagine what we would have done if the bus/van overheated in the middle of the atlas mountains, or worse, a stretch of the Sahara desert. Perhaps then I would have had my wish to sleep in the desert another night.
I don't know if I mentioned it earlier, but I did not like Marrakech much, so I was ready to go. For the rest of the trip I don't really remember the travel logistics except that all we did was travel. I also remember that the train from Marrakech to Fez would have been fine except that there was a Moroccan guy all stretched out in the two empty seats next to me and his feet had the funkiest smell. I honestly thought I was going to have to go to the bathroom and vomit.
I loved Fez. I loved Fez. I think I will soon buy a house in Fez. Though I would probably buy a house in the medina, and never every be able to find it again. The medina in Fez is a labyrinth. There are no maps of the medina of Fez because there are not street names and the streets are laughably narrow. We joked that we needed to leave breadcrumbs as a trail whenever we left the hostel so we could find our way back. I know I keep saying it but I don't really feel like my words are doing justice to Morocco, and especially this city that I loved. So here are some Wikipedia facts. “Fez is believed to be the largest contiguous car-free urban area in the world.” “It is believed that Fes was the largest city in the world from 1170 to 1180”
We stayed at a hostel in the heart of Fez's medina. We tried exploring but knew we would be lost as soon as we turned off one street. We had no choice but to hire a guide. We were warned time after time, and from all kinds of books not to hire an unlicensed guide. Well, the young man the helped run our hostel offered to show us around. After some bargaining on my part, it was decided he would be taking us around. Naturally this young man, Abdul, did not have a license. We began our tour and Abdul proved very knowledgeable and spoke English very well. The tour was going along wonderfully, then about thirty minutes in some mysterious men came up to Abdul, put their arms around him and took him around a corner. We waited a few minutes before I went to see what was going on. A moroccan man came up to me and tried explaining something in french. He kept saying “guide faux” over and over. Finally I understood, false guide. Supposedly it's a big deal in Fez to give tours without a license. I tried to explain that we now were in the middle of Fez and had no idea how to get to our hostel. They brought Abdul out to explain to us how to get there. He just said “continue straight”. I felt really bad for him, he looked like he was about to cry. However, “continuing straight” did nothing for us. We were so lost it was almost exciting. So we stopped at an internet cafe for a bit to put off wandering around lost. Then we found another kid that was obviously not a guide, and he took us to a hostel that was near ours. We arranged with this boy, I don't remember his name because it was not Mohammed or Abdul, to meet us outside our hostel the next day and show us the Tannery. We had dinner outside, I had moroccan soup and the greasiest french fries ever and mint tea. We returned to the hostel and chilled on our roof for a few hours enjoying the evening. Every building in Fez allows you to go on the roof. Our roof had a couch.
The next day we met our little friend and headed to the Tannery. There were camel, goat, and sheep hides/skins laying out everywhere. We walked through huge vats of die and piles of skins where men were working. We could literally feel the splash of skin juices as they worked (pictures). The die was yellow, dark brown/black, red, and maybe other colors. The yellow was saffron, the brownish black was feces, and I don't remember how they got the reds. I really really wouldn't say it smelled good at this tannery. We rushed back to the hostel to check out and get our stuff. Then I rushed to this store to bargain with this guy over some shoes I had been eying. Then we rushed out of the medina to catch a cab to the train station to take a train to Tangier. In all this rushing I left my ipod at the hostel. Only to find out once the train started moving. I really really wouldn't say that I was pleased with this discovery.
The rest of the trip was a lot of traveling. We went to buy tickets for a ferry across the Strait of Gibraltar. The man showed us a flyer thing with a company name and prices. This particular company took 1.5 hours to get across. We told him that we saw a better price with another company. Then in his english/italian/spanish, basically said, “Ah! You want better price? Faster boat? We have this company too.” He proceeds to bring us another flyer with significantly cheaper prices and does the trip in half an hour. Not only this, but it also includes a bus ride from where are ferry arrives in spain, Tariffa to Algeciras, which is significantly closer to our destination, Malaga. We look at one another slightly confused as to why he did not mention this before, and give the man the money. The next day we missed the first boat across the Strait of Gibraltar. Then when we finally make it across, we miss the bus to Algeciras. I go up to the guy wearing the shirt that matched the ferry we were on and tell him the situations. He basically tells me that the driver thought everybody was on the bus. He told me this with a delightful smile knowing that myself and my american friends had a dilemma. With the same sarcastic smile and tone I tell him that we will figure something out but that he should probably go tell those pissed off moroccans over there that are waiting (I point). His face quickly becomes business and tells me he will call another bus now.
We arrive in Algeciras and walk to the bus station to find a bus to Malaga (the city our plane leaves from). We eat. I have meatballs spanish style, except it's chicken. We miss our bus due to an unknown time change when we crossed the strait. We try and use our four o' clock tickets for the five o'clock bus. Spanish bus driver flips out at me and says stuff in spanish really quickly for at least twenty seconds. I wait patiently for him to stop talking and then say, “I do not know the words that you are saying”. I explain to the lady that sold the tickets to us our situation. The words, “This is not my problem” actually escape her mouth before I manage to say, “I would really appreciate it if you would change our tickets”. I would not call my tone neither friendly nor amicable, if you ask me, I will do it for you in person. Alas, it worked. She did us the incredible favor of putting a big red stamp on each one of our tickets, I really should write her a thank you note. I show my ticket to the mean bus driver with a grin and sit down. The bus ride is hot. There were A/C vents but it was not on, I think he was trying to spite me.
Ahh, Malaga. One final bus ride to the airport. We fly from Malaga to Madrid. Eight hour layover in Madrid's Barajas airport. We play lots of Euchre, I sleep uncomfortably. Wake up, board the plane. Sleep, wake up. Enter rome. Take a train. Get off the train, walk underground. I take a subway. Transfer to anther subway. Walk above ground. Then I sleep...