Rock the Casbah

Sat & Sun 21st & 22nd Jan, 2006

So who wants to hear about Morocco?!?
Well, that’s a shame. The story begins and ends with the predictable shiteness of London Underground, as it always does. Thus established I will skip the tedious diatribe on one of the world’s biggest airports having the least efficient links to one of the world’s biggest cities and move right along.

Three relatively pleasant hours with Royal Air Maroc later and I touched down in Casablanca, namesake of the cult film. As per usual me + foreign country = comedy film in which I’m unaware I’m playing the lead. Having learnt from past experience, I was adamant to ignore anyone who spoke to me as it always ends in some unwanted and uncomfortable situation as far as Muslim men and Western women are concerned. As a result I had two customs officers running after me for my passport and one security officer who chased me all the way to the train station because I left my mobile on his scanner. After this I realised it was probably best not to be so aloof only to have the next person who spoke to me, a taxi driver, pestering me to have coffee with him. I truly don’t see the point of that considering we don’t speak the same friggin language.

Cashed in my £100 to suddenly become a very rich person in Morocco and bought my train ticket for the city. Made it just in time. The ticket man was screaming for the train driver to wait for me, which he did, right until I got in line with the carriage ad then he drove away! It was 10pm and I had to wait another bl**dy (thought it best to censor that word considering the furore caused by the latest Aussie travel campaign) hour for the next one. I gave it a bit of Inshallah (if Allah wills it – a surprisingly usual phrase) and deciding to ignore all good advice I’d received, skipped the £3 youth hostel and got me a double bed with own bathroom in the heart of Casa. I found my own way and everything. I’m a big girl now! Despite the noise of a nightclub and car horn honkathon right outside my window I managed to sleep and had a crazy dream…In it, I was a little kid growing up in Morocco. I remember it was really green, lots of rolling hillsides, pastures etc. I woke up and thought, ‘isn’t that funny, but Morocco’s not like that!’ Turns out Morocco is precisely like that and not at all how I imagined it would be. Spooky stuff huh?

Claire and co were a 4.5 hour train journey away so at 8am I climbed aboard and settled into a carriage with an elderly Moroccan couple. I passed the time half gazing out at the picturesque landscape and poignant scenes of daily Moroccan life; farmers at work, kids waving at the train, and slyly observing the Moroccan woman clearly torn between letting her thoughts wander and devotedly praying with her beads. At one point I thought I’d have a lie down only to have her give me a bit of a firm whacking around the head. Turns out she was just showing me she was moving over so I could have more space. In the end they turned out to be quite sweet.

Arriving in Fes I first realised just how poor a country it is when some guy grabbed my water bottle with one mouthful left and downed it and random children were begging for money. Time to learn to be a little hard hearted. Luckily Claire’s friendly face was there to greet me and and the true adventure began.

Off we went to the Fes medina (marketplace) and also the location of our riad (hostel). Claire spent a good amount of time briefing me on what I was in for over my 1st glass of mint tea. A wonderful brew. (For anyone who wishes to try one, it’s like a warm mint julep made with green tea, loads of fresh mint and two sugars – fabulous.) I wish I could fast forward all this but I really don’t know how.

So anyway, into the medina we went. In Fes this was hundreds, maybe thousands of stalls in a complex maze of narrow streets. The main fare being shoes, clothes, jewellery, lamps, rugs and crockery. Every bastard hassles you, from the fake guides of all ages to the storeholders to random passersby while all the while you’re dodging donkeys, mopeds and crowds of people. Then there are the men who rate you in English, French, Spanish and Arabic as you walk by. Luckily we only understood the English but even that was enough – ‘nice hair’, ‘nice skin’, ‘nice ass’. This is complimentary the first time but after that you want to deck every rude prick who dares open his mouth. It grates very quickly.

We passed briskly through to the other side for my first close up view of Moroccan living. There’s people EVERYWHERE. I just don’t think they believe in staying indoors which gives it a lovely community spirit. We planned to stroll to the nearby fortress, that is until we saw exactly how far off and how high it was. Instead we headed for an Internet café where Hayley made mistake number one – a new friend who wouldn’t leave us alone. After activating dodging techniques we opted for a quiet dinner. Not a tagine, thank heavens, as every other meal from here on out was. Moroccan food is sketchy and uninventive at best despite what you might hear.


Monday 23rd January

In the morning we checked out one of the tanneries which is actually quite a sight. Big outdoor clay vats for dying leather a variety of colours. I bought a leather jacket and a belt for about £60 (bargain). Then it was time to leave Fes in our new hire car christened ‘Fatima’.

After getting lost in Meknes we arrived in Volubulis, the best preserved Roman ruins in Morocco. We spent far too long looking for the mummified woman praying to Mecca who didn’t appear to exist. However, all in all Volubulis was quite the picture, being surrounded by green countryside in all directions. Hopefully I can post some pictures at some stage.

Our next stop was to be Midelt. Now whilst Morocco, north Africa, sounds like it would be warm year round it was ridiculously freezing and the higher we proressed up the mountains to Midelt, the colder it got. It was well and truly night when we arrived so we bunked down in a riad with a sweet Berber family (the “aboriginal” Moroccans – they’re usually very beautiful and supposedly make up most of the population but I think a majority of people lie about their heritage) and ate my first and least inventive tagine – the horror begins.
Tuesday 24th January

Upon waking and with daylight aided views we realised the reason for the cold…we were completely surrounded by snow capped mountains! After running away from one of the Berber boys trying to drag us into his shop (to exchange drugs for souvenirs!?!) we headed off for a long day of driving through breathtaking snowy mountains and some really poor but beautiful villages which almost made me want to throw everything in for the simple life. Must mention here the standard winter dress for men and most women is a full length wool type dress with a peaked hood which makes everyone look like ewoks. Very cool – I really wanted one. I’ve got the word ‘ewok’ written all over my diary so I remembered to mention it.

Eventually the mountains turned rocky and we finally found ourselves no longer in the snow but surrounded by the freekin desert! I’ve returned my guide to the library so I can’t remember the place names. Something like Erg Chebbi (the Sahara) possibly staying in Merzouga, right on the Algerian border. Fortunately the riad we’d chosen to stay in was shut so we got to stayin the fancy place next door. It was a little like paradise compared to everything else. It also had an employee who was the hottest guy in the world, ever. Finally, for the first time, we got to speak to random tourists and locals with no agenda who weren’t trying to sell us something. This is really the worst thing about Morocco. Meanwhile the boys played drums for us and it was all very relaxing and chilled.

As it turned out, some of the people from the village had never been anywhere else, not even the next town 30 mins away and had no desire to ever leave. It’s just so difficult to comprehend.

We had an early night after our tagine (even though we then talked for hours) in preparation for the next day’s big adventure…


Wednesday 25th January

…The dawn desert camelride! Wrapping ourselves in every article of clothing we had, we sauntered out into the darkness to find out camels, Jimmy Hendrix, Bob Marley et al waiting for us. As well as Ali, the spunky camel man and his little friend Mohammad 8012. I had Bob who for some reason was NOT happy. We meandered / mosied along through the dunes as far as our camels could manage where they dropped off us to continue our short but hardgoing foot journey to the top. Being unfit a couple of us had trouble, but it had to be done! The view from the top was both fascinating and inspiring but unfortunately Ali didn’t let us stick around for long which would have been quite cool for “reflective purposes” so we ran back down to the bottom expecting a faceful of sand. Luckily we made it intact.

After a hearty egg-filled breakfast (which also very soon became overkill) and showers to rid ourselves of camel odour, we jumped into the car with a random Berber who took us to a tiny village nearby to check out ‘Les Pigeons’, some tribal musicians who had continued the music through family generations since about the 1900s. They were also the only ‘black’ people I’d seen in Morocco (is there any way to say black without offending someone? Is there any way to describe someone black without saying black?) We sat in a little room while they performed for us and then made us dance with them (oh the horror).

Afterwards we checked out the local school (an even tinier room) which was a “learning” experience in itself. Haw, haw, and fed the small local children candy (and then watched them fight over it – whoops). Returning back to the hostel we encountered a young boy with a desert fox (cutest animal ever).

Back on the road, we decided to follow the advice we’d received and decided to incorporate ‘Todra Gorge’ (‘a steep sided chasm that cuts through the mountains according to the lonely planet) into our travel plan. Bridget left her bag in a nearby town on a snack stop but luckily it was just where she left it 20 mins later.

I don’t remember most of the rest of this day so I figure either I should have written this two months ago OR it was just a little on the boring side. Coincidentally this was the day my fabulous new digital camera’s memory card ran out of space which is a) bad because now I don’t know what we did and b) good because I didn’t take dozens of “cloud” photos because “they look quite pretty”.

Arriving in Todra Gorge I had to shut my eyes as Claire navigated the one lane winding streets because I kept screaming whenever a car appeared. We pinpointed a hostel which we later decided did not fit into our new luxury standards and headed further up to the posh place at the end. One tagine and some discussion of life with the Moroccan waiters and we hit the sack.


Thursday 26th January

Planned to take a morning stroll through the Gorge but didn’t get too far before Claire decided she was sick of being hassled by the locals along the way and we turned back. Drove through the Draa or Dades Valley – can’t remember – whichever one is the valley of the roses. Passed through desert versus snow aiming for Ait Ben Haddou (I think) or the Kasbah used in Gladiator, if they’re not the same place. Check me out with the knowledge!

More egg for lunch (the one that killed all future eggs) and then up to scope out the Kasbah. For me, this was probably the most trying of our Moroccan experiences. Purely because of the guide we didn’t want who came along anyway, didn’t speak English but tried to charge us money for various things along the way. I find it quite hard to be rude to people which just makes things worse. Anyway pretty views, nice sunset, but the experience sucked overall. Its difficult to find things striking and beautiful when you’re being hassled every step of the way.

As we were leaving we ran over some random kid, no great loss. OK. He actually ran into us, on his bike, and he was fine so don’t freak out. An hour later, driving in the dark - down the lost highway we get sideswiped by a friggin truck who then proceeds to drive off. D.LEM.MA. “Wow, that truck is close!” SCRAPE. Not much you can do really. We turned around and followed him for a bit but it was all just pointless.

Five years ofdriving through rain, thick fog and a particular blend of blackness not found anywhere else we eventually arrived in Agadir around midnight. The Gold Coast of Morocco. Tempers were high, tolerance was low. Food places were shut and beds were scarce. But we found somewhere and it was good, hoorah.


Friday 27th January

Today was disturbing. Not only were we smack bang in the Gold Coast (although still a long way from any civiilised Australian city) but we spent the morning in an Internet café. Had McDonalds for lunch (my bread was mouldy) AND Pizza Hut for dinner (and it was good!) Leaving tidal waves and a raging storm behind we drove through the land of donk(ey)s. He friggin Haw, then some green stuff, then chased a cow off the road (thank you digicam for the flashbacks) to arrive in the lovely beachside town of Essouira at sunset. Saw the world’s cutest puppy, had arguments with a few random parking dudes and entered the peaceful, pretty medina where I bought myself two lamps at budget prices and had a lovely time shopping with Claire. This is the one town I would actually go back to, even though we weren’t there for very long. Again we left major intercity travel for far too late in the day but headed off for Marrakech regardless. Got lost for the billionth time, ran around checking out various places to stay, naturally ending up back where we started. Pizza Hut was the only place open, I swear (thank God) and then we went to bed amidst the prostitutes.


Saturday 28th January – Marrakech (yay!)

Here we were in ‘the jewel of Morocco’, the one place where I really wanted to go. Attempted to rise early. Failed. Eventually got up and moved to a fancier, less prostitutey place down the way and enjoyed a bloody expensive (for Morocco – yet still ridiculously cheap in comparison) mint tea and braced ourselves for shoparama.

First thing we encountered – juice wars. Someone once had a great idea to set up a fresh orange juice store on wheels. At least 30 other people then ripped the idea off and now its juice cart central with very, very aggressive vendors. Somehow Claire got into a fight with the guy next door to the one we chose. Will never figure out why. Then we shopped till we dropped! Bought crockery, shoes, jewellery and scarves. Tried to buy a galabaya so I could look like an ewok too but consensus decided I looked like a satanist. Shame really. Discovered I am bloody great at haggling – who’d have thought! Turned on the charm immensely even though by the end of the process every storeholder hated me. It’s then you know you’ve got a bargain.

Picked up a 15yo boyfriend along the way who wrapped me in a scarf Muslim woman style and then us girls ate a feast in the square which at night turns into foodies paradise. (During the day its full of snake charmers, fire twirlers and entertainers but they were a bit rained out this particular day and will only hassle you for money anyways.) Had a bloody marvellous time. Claire got into another juice man fight. My fault. Lost my heart to one of them (until we got up close) and Kelly told the vendor nextdoor (who she only went to because she thought he was hot) why we’d chosen the other one. Not the thing to admit to in a Muslim country. Then we all got addicted to some yummy macaroon type biscuits and scoffed many.

Soon it was time to wander home and show off our purchases and then to bed for the last time in Morocco.

Early rise, few hours drive to airport, farewells, boarding plane, wrangling with shite public transport back in London and it was all over! Kasbahs rocked, tagines devoured and cheap shopping shopped!



SINCE MOROCCO – Thurs March 23

Well a bit has happened but I’ll try and keep it short after the rather mammoth last entry. Haven’t written lately as I knew I had to tackle the beast that was Morocco first. I know I didn’t HAVE to but I felt like I did.

Firstly, it’s been stupidly cold. I don’t care what anyone tells you. February and March are the coldest months here even though it’s meant to be spring.

Recently went to see Weso in Glasgow, Scotland. Great place where everyone oozes style and not in the superficial footballer’s wives way but in the emo, too cool for school way. The first thing we did was hire a car and Wes dragged Naomi and I up a 4 hour+ mountain trek for “serious hikers” right after it had heavily snowed that morning. I can’t tell you how many times I seriously considered knockiong him out with a heavy rock and going home. Everything was cold, hard and frozen. Saw some frozen fish eggs which was about the highlight (besides it being over!). Says it all really. Wes, if you ever read this – It was great! I swear!

Ate Chinese and got drunken that night. Next day Wes made us walk all over friggin Glasgow. I swear I’ve never walked so much in two days in all my life. But had a bite of deep fried pizza which I’m sure ruined all the good it did. And then the purpose of the trip – seeing Death Cab For Cutie! The one band I swore I’d see if they toured (London sold out). They were brilliant. The venue, The Barrowlands was awesome and has this really cool history. They’ve just heritage listed the massive Barrowlands neon sign. Nice one! Sums Glasgow up really.

A nine hour cramped bus ride later and was back in you know where.

The following weekend we had a bit of a boozy evening and ended up with 4 people in my double bed. Madness! Bit of a back story. I have a mouse in my house who pisses me off by keeping me awake chewing my rubbish but in a way I didn’t mind having it around. Yes, I am strange. Anyway, the night before my friend Alex had stayed as she had to work early the next day and it kept her awake. Because of this she decided to chuck my rubbish bag out the frigging window. This resulted in me being bailed up by scary woman type fellow lodger throwing all kinds of accusations and threats at me, including me being kicked out by the real estate. I chose to ignore it and sneak around the building from thereon in. Has been successful so far. No mouse since though…

Work is horrid and painful. Just when you think it might be getting better something else shitty happens and you hate it all over again. Have been lazily applying for other jobs and was just shortlisted as an Audio Visual Production Officer for a Museum in Liverpool. Had two days to whip out a showreel which I sent off last week. No news yet. Dunno about moving to Liverpool though.

Have a new (well oldish now) friend, Simon. He says he doesn’t read this but hell if I was him, I would! (because I’m bloody great!) I figure if I left him till last he would never bother to read this far. At first I was convinced he was the male version of me but I since found out he likes pink floyd and eats chicken legs which proved my initial thoughts to be untrue. Anyway I’m sure he will be mentioned again, probably quite often so at least you now know who he is.

Otherwise not been much going on. Lots of drinking lately, unfortunately. Going to try and avoid that for awhile.

More soon, I promise :)