Crossing Borders: Four days in Morocco

[Thursday, 4:00pm, my home-stay apartment in Madrid]

Today marks the completion of my first month abroad.  Life is moving so fast.  I had done so much in the first three weeks that I thought my trip to Morocco would help slow things down.  Well, for the most part I was wrong.  It’s going to be hard to describe all the experiences had, things seen, and places visited in one short blog post:

Wednesday night:

About twenty Boston College students, ten students from other American universities, and I hopped on a painful, overnight coach bus ride from Madrid to Algeciras (a southern port city on the Strait of Gibraltar), arriving at 7am, weary but eager to begin the journey into Africa.

Thursday:  

After splitting into two groups of 15 and meeting our Morocco Exchange trip leader, we boarded the fast ferry to Morocco.  It was my first time on a boat on the open ocean, and I did not expect such a large ferry to rock that much.  But, not to be swayed (pun intended) and unwavering J, I made it to Tangier, where we ate lunch and had our first discussions about Moroccan and Islamic culture with three university students. 

After, I had my second first-time experience of the trip: a camel ride - on the beach of the Atlantic Coast for about two minutes.  It was surely awesome, but camels smell awful, and I can’t imagine riding one for any extended amount of time.

Next we had a tour of nearby Asilah, a peaceful coastal town with blue alleys and walls where artists display their colorful paintings.  We then drove three hours to Rabat (Morocco’s capital city situated on the Atlantic Coast) where we met and had dinner with our host families. Two other BC students and I stayed with a very nice and cheerful lady (Her husband was on a trip to Germany, where two of her three married daughters live).  Unfortunately our host-mom did not speak any English, so communicating became a mixture of Charades and a multi-language guessing game.  Besides Arabic, she spoke a little French, which is Morocco’s other official language.  Thus, in order to communicate the words we couldn’t readily act out, we would speak in Spanish, hoping she would recognize some similarity with the few French words she knew.  And luckily it sometimes worked, as when our “La ducha” became her “Ohhhhh… la douche!”

Eating in Morocco was an experience of its own, both due to how we ate and what we ate.  Of course we had the classic Moroccan dishes: couscous and tajine, served with copious amounts of vegetables, meats, spices, bread, and bright-colored sauces.  And we would eat using just our hands to scoop food out of a center platter.  But more remarkable is that our host-mom would all-but physically force us to continue eating, no matter how full we were, saying “Koul! Koul!” (“Eat! Eat!”) and pushing more and more food across the platter or simply putting it in our hands for us.   Though she was all smiles about it, we did not want to offend her so we ate… and then we passed out.  

Friday:

We woke up early, had a small breakfast, and made our way through the rabbit’s labyrinth of narrow, indistinguishable alleys, multiple turns, and varying smells until we found our group meeting point.  After viewing one of Rabat’s shantytowns from our van, we visited an NGO where we had our second open discussion with Moroccans.  Among other topics, one comment compared George Bush to Osama bin Laden. 

Later that day we visited the ancient Roman ruins at Chellah, explored the Kasbah of the Udayas (a beach-side fortress), shopped in the Medina of Rabat (a huge market), and walked around with Moroccan students.  After meeting with a Peace Core Volunteer (who seemed a little too frustrated with her lonely, impoverish placement in a remote mountain village), we had one of the most unique experiences of the trip: visiting a hammam, or public bath.  Basically it’s a full-body, dry-skin-shedding scrubdown and hot shower that leaves you soft and refreshed.

Saturday:

We woke up early again and drove three hours to a village in the Rif Mountains with dilapidated houses and roaming animals.  We took in the beautiful views, ate lunch, and had a discussion with a local family (through a translator).  One woman added to our growing list of things to ponder: we asked where in the world she would travel if she had the opportunity; she responded that she would rather stay right where she was (in the middle of the mountains without running water or any sort of city comforts other than a small TV) because she already had everything she needed and enjoyed. 

Later we drove to the beautiful mountain-side city of Chefchaouen where we settled into a hostel, had a delicious Moroccan dinner at a local restaurant, and shopped around the Medina where I bought a henna tattoo on my forearm and a mini djellaba (see the white hooded pullover in the picture below).

Sunday:

We woke up before the sun rose to go on a short hike up to a mosque that overlooks the city, had a classic Moroccan breakfast, and then drove to the Spanish autonomous city of Ceuta where we walked across the Moroccan-Spanish border and took the ferry back to Spain.  After spending a few hours wandering around the streets and port-side boardwalks of Algeciras, we hopped on an overnight bus to Madrid, catching a glimpse of the illuminated Rock of Gibraltar on the way and arriving in Madrid on Monday at 6am. 

Some Fun Facts:

-Total Expenses: $302

-Types of transport: two metros, three coach buses, one tour van, two fast ferries, and one camel.

-Moroccans are hooked on tea.  As the national drink and considered a form of art, tea is basically the Moroccan replacement for alcohol (which is forbidden in Islam) and is consumed throughout the day.  We drank the traditional, super-sweet, “gunpowder” mint tea with every meal - it tastes quite similar to a liquid version of spearmint gum, but it’s sweeter than southern lemonade.

-Most of the time, the southern Spain and Moroccan landscapes looked more like Ireland than my vision of Africa.

-The typical Moroccan male clothing is a djellaba, which is a sort of hooded robe that gives the Moroccans a mystical, Yoda-like appearance.

-We asked a Moroccan for a typical joke.  Here is what he told us (apparently many Moroccan jokes involve “crazy hospitals”): ‘The doctors at a crazy hospital gave their patients some objects to use as a way to test if any of the patients had become sane. One of the patients was given a ladder, a paint brush, and some paint.  The doctors came across the patient on top of the ladder using the paint brush to paint the ceiling.  The doctors thought maybe this guy could be sane; painting the ceiling seemed reasonable. So, to check, they asked the patient if they could borrow the ladder.  The patient replied, “Ya, sure. Take it.  I’m holding onto the paint brush.’

-Morocco was the first country to recognize the United States as an independent nation in 1777.

-99% of Moroccans are devoted to Islam.

-They sell the old-school orange-flavored drink “Tang” in Morocco.

-Yes, I wear basically the same ‘black jacket and jeans’ outfit every day.  And not just in Morocco.

Feel free to contact me if you want to know more about my trip.  I’ve loved all the comments and emails so far.  Keep it up.  (charliemegaman@yahoo.com)

Roll Tide,

Chas